Reconciliatory gibberish from an egotistical moron

Last night a man gave a speech he had no right to give, claiming to be president of a country which the world now views as a joke. Being forced to watch that embarrassment to humanity Trump give the state of the union address, claiming to lead a country he has no idea how to run, makes me want to vomit. How did we get to this? How did we get to the sight of this egotistical jackass from reality tv giving the State of the Union address? The fact that Trump was so reconciliatory towards the Democrats and America as a whole shows that the p’tahk knows what a mess he is in: Trump’s in a whole world of trouble, from dismal approval ratings to being investigated by the FBI; but instead of admitting his failure or that he has torn his country apart, he acts all nicey-nicey, trying to look like the good guy. At the same time, the fact that the speech itself was a load of cliche-ridden nonsense devoid of any substance, delivered in short, clipped easily-recited sentences demonstrates the fact that Trump is not a politician but a showman, more concerned with looking powerful and authoritative than with the welfare of his country.

How could any serious nation, let alone the world’s foremost superpower, put up with having tis fool as it’s leader? It really is laughable.

I’ll say it again: the USA is a joke, and the longer it calls this arsehole it’s president, the more of a joke it looks.

Back to reality

I dreamed about my grandma last night: a strange, sad dream where I was walking around her empty house. I have, of course, been thinking about her a lot recently. Yesterday, for instance, I was eating an orange and suddenly remembered how grandma used to give me an orange when I got home from school each night.

We are currently sitting in the airport waiting for the flight home. After an awesome holiday it’s time to get back to London and reality. It has been a wonderful week, and we’ve done some incredible things, but the news of my grandmother’s death has put a dampener on things. Waking up from my dream I remembered where I was, got up, and started to prepare to go home. Grandma was quite awesome in her own way and I think all the family will miss her. I think I’ll Skype my parents pretty soon after we get back, and then start to organise going up to visit them. Holiday over its time to get back to reality.

Guitaring in reception

I’m rather pleased with myself this morning. At time of writing (although not posting as I don’t have a wifi connection) everyone else is still in bed. Manolo rejoined us last night, as the plan to visit him in Fueta Ventura proved to be too expensive, and it was cheaper for him to come back. We had just got in from a lovely long walk along the coast and were starting to think about dinner, when he came in, guitar in hand. It felt like seeing a long lost friend, although I only met the guy the other day.

We started to chat in the hotel reception area, and pretty soon John went to get some drinks. I’m still off the booze so I just had coke, but everyone else- including Lyn- was on the hard stuff. They hit it fairly hard, and I soon lost count of how many rounds they got. Manolo got out his guitar and began to play. He’s a pretty awesome guitarist and singer, and pretty soon other people started to gather around to listen. At one point he played the House Of the Rising Sun, Lyn joining in on her iPad, and it was truly, astonishingly beautiful.

However, one thing lead to another, and the guys began to get fairly tipsy. We hadn’t eaten yet so we ordered pizza, eating it there in the hotel reception. Although John and Dominik cleaned most of it up, we made quite a mess – I hope the hotel staff don’t mind. I headed to bed at about twelve completely sober, but by then everyone else was definitely the worse for ware, Manolo slouched in his chair, fast asleep. Nevertheless it had turned out to be a great evening, and we all had an awesome time.

Im currently waiting for the guys to wake up. I just hope everyone isn’t too hung over; I, on the other hand, feel as fresh as a daisy. God I love not drinking sometimes.

Lollock and bollock

A couple of evenings ago, at the end of a lovely dinner at a nearby restaurant, dominik asked whether to ask for the bill. In an attempt at comedy I quipped that we could ask for Ben too. Dom and John looked nonplussed: of course our Polish personal assistants didn’t get the reference.

I explained that Bill and Ben was an old children’s tv show in the U.K. Dom’s reply, though, had lyn and I in instant fits of laughter. ”Ahh,” he said ”like Lollock and

Bollock in Poland”

He continued to talk for a few seconds after, but I just had to stop him. Had I heard correctly? Was he joking? Surely my friend was pulling my leg: no kids tv program could have such a hilarious name. But he wasn’t: in Poland they really do have a program called Lollock and Bollock. I know I shouldn’t find it so funny, and that it’s just a case of language differences, but I simply can’t help bursting into laughter when I hear that name; and to think that it’s from a children’s tv show akin to bill and Ben somehow makes it even funnier.

Mind you, it then took a while for us to explain why lyn and I were suddenly so amused, and then what the word Bollock means.


I don’t want to go into it much, but I just got some very sad, although not entirely unexpected, news from back home. My grandma, dads mum, passed away last night. It would seem that even here in paradise, you can’t escape reality. Let it suffice to say I hope everyone who reads this is ok. I love you grandma.

The cultures of Lanzerote

This island really is quite fascinating. I mentioned the geology yesterday, but it’s intriguing in terms of culture too. I have never encountered such a mixture of languages, cultures and traditions. Almost everywhere you look, signs are in at least two languages; every restaurant menu I’ve seen here is written in at least three. More than that, though,European, American and North African culture seems to collide here: of course the modern, western commercial influence is obvious; yet below that one senses a much older, deeper cultural tradition stretching back centuries. It’s hard to detect, obscured by decades of being a package holiday destination, but if one looks you can still see the remnants of a much longer history of North African, Islamic and Spanish people making this island their home. It is trying to discern that older culture from the modern, commercial stuff which I find both challenging and fascinating. Across the road from our hotel, with its trendy bar, swimming pool and wifi network are houses of a distinctly Spanish or even Moroccan style: the legacy of this island as a mid Atlantic crossroads, long predating it’s existence as a holiday destination, lives on it seems.


John’s friend Manolo went home this morning. John invited him to stay with us for three days as a kind of local guide. To be. honest I wasn’t sure about the idea at first, but as soon as I saw the dudes Pink Floyd T shirt, I knew we were going to get along. In fact he reminded me of Charlie or James so much that I asked him if he had heard of the Cat Empire. He had a very relaxed, laid back air about him, but one of a man who knows what he is doing. He was with us for the last three days , taking us to the most beautiful spots. He had to return to his home in Fueta Ventura today, but we hope to go visit him there in a day or two; if not hopefully we can meet up in London. He was such a great, kind guy I really hope I haven’t seen the last of him. Friendships with people like him are worth working on.

Lying on a sun lounger is not a holiday

Far be it for me to judge my fellow brits, but I must say how astonished I am that so many of my countrymen come here just to sit by the hotel pool. We have been going about, exploring every day, coming back to see the same people sitting by the pool, more or less in exactly the same spot, as when we left. I know I shouldn’t be too critical – each to their own and all – but I just don’t see the point. Going around these last few days, this island has struck me as staggeringly, staggeringly beautiful. One barely has to be a geologist to appreciate the sheer awesomeness of some of the rock formations around here; yet some of my fellow guests barely leave the hotel, and react with incredulity when we tell them that we actually go out to experience the country we are in. At the risk of sounding like a middle class snob, brought up on lengthy driving tours through Europe and America, I just don’t see the point. Why leave home just to lie on a lounger all day, especially when the landscape beyond the hotel is so stunning?

I can do anything

If you look at me and see only what I cannot do,

You see nothing. My char isn’t me,

It’s only how I get around.

My talker isn’t me, it’s only how I speak.

With them I can walk and talk

And dance and sing,

And blog and graduate and explore this vast world The same as anyone else.

If you look at me and see only what I cannot do

Then you see nothing. For I can do anything at all.


Something happened this afternoon which I doubt I could ever possibly forget. I ,better not go into too much detail or my mum will have kittens and never allow me to go abroad again, but, believe it or not, this afternoon lyn and I went caving. We were taken there by a very cool local friend of johns. It was well maintained and adapted for tourists, but even so we were not sure if it would be possible for us to go in. We decided to give it a try, so, leaving our wheelchairs at the surface, L on John’s back, we followed the path down into the ground.

It wasn’t too difficult at first, but as the stairs steepened and the ceiling dropped lower and lower, I began to realise that, under any other circumstances and with any other people, it simply would not have happened. And yet, it did: at one point we had to crawl on all fours the passage was so tiny, but somehow lyn and I, with the help of three incredible people, made it through the cave system.

And by god it was worth it. The rock formations and stalactites in there were awe inspiring. I could not help but be reminded of the Mines of Moria, or something from an Indiana jones film. The place was carved out by an ancient lava flow, so in places the walls looked as if they were melting. I have rarely experienced anything so beautiful, yet which I had to strive so hard to see. The sense of accomplishment I felt as I again saw daylight was comparable only to finishing my masters, and after today I will never see anything as impossible again. If lyn and I can go caving, then surely we are capable of absolutely anything.