This is like a drug.

I have to say not writing blog posts was a welcome relief. Daily blog posting is a hard slog, particularly if your life is dull and boring when you aren’t actually on holiday. What wasn’t a relief was the number of people who expressed concern at the absence of blog and made note how their lives were that much the poorer for lack of thoughts of Nigel on a daily basis. Of course you wouldn’t know this from the comments made on the blog itself. Two people replied! Two!!!


Fortunately more people wrote to me at the email (including, God love them, the C word (not that C word) fans, expressing sadness at this blog moving on (and the loss of C Week – Bring Popcorn). And I sorta missed it. And I would go through life thinking that would have made a nice blog post.

So back. I did think of starting a new blog which I even went and registered. I may still do that. But I got bad feedback about the name of the blog and I am nothing if not easily influenced.

And building bridges.

So welcome back.


I’ve been putting off the inevitable.

For a variety of reasons I am curtailing this blog. I’m back from holidays and my life is really boring to report about daily. That’s one of the reasons. Guess the others.

Thanks for reading and for commenting. You were appreciated more than you will know. Truly.

Good night. God bless. Goodbye for now.



Arrived in Adelaide and greeted by my brother and 3-year-old niece. This, after 30 hours of being on the travelling road. I am exhausted.

I walk hand in hand with my niece who tells me that she went to my house yesterday and they pushed a button and water came out everywhere and it went everywhere and there was water all over the floor and house and everywhere was wet. She gesticulates wildly as she says this and her eyes are big as saucers.

My holiday was one big disaster after another. I am expecting my house to be destroyed before I returned. I ask my brother how destroyed the house is.

He tells me Rebecca has an imagination and the house is fine.  When we get to the house my niece shows me where the water that flooded the house came from. My water dispenser on my fridge.

Children and their imaginations. Sheesh. I had stains.


Writing this in Heathrow lounge.

Despite Volcanoes, airline pilot strikes and other events, it appears I will be leaving at 930 for Melbourne.

Will write more from Singapore if I get a chance. Last time was extremely dodgy  in terms of actual time in the Airport. And I have to buy some cigarettes for a friend. Because I simply do not have enough to carry.

I brought two suitcases and a carry on suitcase and a laptop. I have no idea where the weight came from. I was wondering if it was clothes….. Certainly there are presents for people but nothing for me, relatively speaking. Other than Doctor Who DVDs I haven’t got anything for myself.

And yet, the luggage kept building. Fortunately didn’t have to pay excess luggage (I was 2 kg over and they didn’t weigh my carry-on, thank you God.)

Just so you know, the tennis elbow is taking a major hit today.

More from Singapore. Maybe.


Last full day in Britain. Have spent it going to Winkleigh to visit graves and thatched cottages.

Have spent the day packing and unpacking. My first pack was 8 kg over weight… eek… but have now managed to get it 3 kg under weight. No idea how i managed that. Sending a 4 kg parcel to Australia does not equate to a 11 kg loss.

Not knocking it. Much more to do so this is short and sweet today.

Really sad to be leaving. Far more than last time.

Perhaps this may not apply to American readers, but the Australian and New Zealand (and English, natch) readers would be aware of the genius that is the Devonshire Tea.

Cornwall has recently trademarked its cornish pasties so that, unless it is made with Cornish ingredients and/or in Cornwall, a baker cannot call it a Cornish pasty. It’s just a pasty. Curiously this is a seriously big deal here in the UK.  While I agree it is positively anal, I am also aware of the steaming piles of excrement I have been served that allegedly is a Devonshire Tea.  As such I am advocating Devon trademarks the tea name. This would, also, be a big deal.

A Devonshire Tea is a pot of tea, milk, sugar if you will, two scones (either plain or fruit), a pot of jam and a massive pot of Devonshire clotted cream. Something like this:

Did you spot the fatal error in the presentation of the Tea? Yep, not enough cream. The pot should be twice that size.  You don’t mess with Devonshire people when it comes to their cream, as the tea shop owner found to her horror when she presented this measly amount of cream to the table. I’ve never seen a group of old aged pensioners bay for blood before.

The ideal of the proper Devonshire Tea is to smear a bit of jam on the scone, then pour teetering piles of cream onto the scone, preferably bigger than your mouth. The problem with a proper Devonshire Tea is you need clotted cream. If the cream is not thick enough that a spoon can stand up in it (and no, really whipped doesn’t count) then it’s not a proper Devonshire Tea.

That’s not to say it’s not nice to have jam and cream on scones. It’s bloody nice in fact. It’s just truly sublime here. And I’d encourage all of you to visit this magnificent county and have a proper Devonshire Tea here. You will thank me.

Leaving, Sorta

Technically I am due to return to Australia on Thursday. The Iceland volcano may have other ideas. I would be dead pleased if I did get stuck here. Great excuse. So knowing my luck, there will be no interruption.

The nice news is I do not have to get off the plane and start work. Hurrah. I was expecting this. No, I get a whole day off to acclimatize. I am very chuffed.

Been spending the last few days in Exeter saying bye to people. Went to my beautiful Stepsbridge today then had lunch at the Nobody Inn (cute name), a beautiful 19th century pub. The architecture was magnificent. Wonderfully there was a 93 year old regular, complete with his own chair perched by the bar, who had a pint of beer and shot of whisky kept continually topped up. In his younger day, this regular looked not unlike Winston Churchill. I think that would be a nice way of ending, being the local legend at the pub and always kept liquoured up. All the staff and locals adored him. The barmaid teared up when we discussed his passing.