Month: January 2025

Is Lanzarote Spanish, African or British?

I have had a wonderful holiday this week on the island of Lanzarote, one of the Canary Islands. The weather has been low twenties – perfect. The food and drink has been plentiful – perfect. I have had adventures with my wife, brother in law and sister in law. I have had adventures by myself. Perfect.

The Canaries are in many ways a perfect holiday destination for this time of year. Lower prices than peak season, but still guaranteed sunshine. And because it is term time we have not been disturbed by rowdy children; just by rowdy pensioners.

But the Canaries, and Lanzarote in particular are a bit odd. If it wasn’t for tourism there would be very few people living here. It is a big volcanic rock, and the uncultivated ground is black and rocky. The islands are just 60 miles from Africa, but are part of the European Union, governed by Spain. So you see very little evidence of being so close to Africa except the weather. Signs are in Spanish but there is so much tourism that it is just as common to hear English, from Brits and Irish. The seaside resorts feel like a warmer Blackpool, with a huge promenade, and hundreds of bars and cafés. A little bit of the UK in Spain, close to Morocco.

I wonder how I would feel if parts of Britain were so Spanish. Not surprisingly I know some Canarians resent it and I have seen some signs saying “No to Mass Tourism”. But I have also seen lots of other signs “Lanzarote Loves Tourism”. I guess it is hard when the economy is so dependent.

Whatever the rights and wrongs I have had a wonderful break and would happily return, whether African, Spanish or British.

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What should I do at the airport first thing in the morning?

I appreciate that followers of this blog probably think that all my life is a holiday. Since I retired I have been able to fulfil many of my bucket list wishes. We spend our summers on a narrowboat and have travelled most of the canals of England. We have spent a month in Orkney and a month in the Outer Hebrides. I interrailed all over Europe for a month. We have skied. We have stayed in castles. I am a very lucky chap.

This week we are having a proper holiday in Lanzarote. Mandy’s brother and his wife invited us to join them for a week. A free holiday in the sun, after weeks of cold, wet, dark, was too much to miss.

We are flying from Manchester and have arrived hours early. I always arrive early when I fly. I panic (unnecessarily) about hold ups in security and missing boarding. In my 60 years of life I have never missed a flight so perhaps I need to relax more. Or maybe the reason I have never missed a flight is because I am obsessive about it.

Either way, it means I always have hours to kill at the airport. What should I do?

The traditional way to use up airport time in the UK is to drink lager. There are only two times it is socially acceptable to get drunk first thing in the morning – Christmas Day and at the airport. There are an awful lot of people here with pints in front of them. But I can’t face that.

We could book an airport lounge. We always used to do that. We could sit on sofas with plenty of space, drinking “free” coffee and reading the newspapers. It is a comfortable way to fly. But prices have recently got ridiculous. It used to cost about £15 a person, but the price here for two of us would have been nearly £100. That is not good value for money.

We could go to the gate early. That would certainly mitigate my lateness paranoia. But the seats are always uncomfortable. They often change the gate. And it is boring.

We could have breakfast. T2 at Manchester has been recently refurbished and there are a wealth of restaurant options. They are pricey at around £17 for a full English, but it’s a lot cheaper than a lounge. I think that is a good choice.

And I still have time to add another option. What better choice for using time at the airport than writing a blog. You should try it.

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Remembering phone cards

As we continue to go through all out chattels, having recently moved house, we come across all sorts of things. This week I found an air pistol, all my old work ID cards, about 400 pens (mostly dry), a picture of an ancient relative. And phone cards.

Anyone under 30 will not recognise these, but in the 1980s and 90s they were the thing to have – almost a status symbol. Coin operated phone boxes seemed so old fashioned, and if you were one of the many whose house did not have a landline, they were the best way to stay in touch.

The original cards (the bright green ones), used 1980s state of the art optical technology. Sounds great but in reality that meant they had a strip on one side that got steadily burnt away as you made a call. In 1996 they were replaced by the other ones with chips, and we thought they would go on forever. After all, mobile phones were huge bricks, only used by market traders and rich people.

Now I keep my life on my phone. The world seems very distant when we had phone cards, cheque books, filofaxes, cameras with films, portable TVs, paper memos at work, encyclopaedias. Technology evolves so quickly that even my iPhone is beginning to feel old hat. I wonder what the next breakthrough will be. Gartner suggests “Agentic AI” as the big thing for 2025, where AIs think for themselves. I wonder if the robots will know how to use a phone card.

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Am I just keeping that for sentimental reasons?

By the end of last week our new house was well organised and tidy. Everything had been deboxed and put away. Pictures were up on walls. The fridge and cupboards had been stocked. We had even put up a few blinds ad curtain rails. We had a dinner party on Sunday and I was proud of the house.

So why this morning was everything in a mess again?

The answer is the elephant in the garage. Readers of this blog may remember the photo I posted when we moved in, with the garage stacked floor to ceiling, front to back with boxes and furniture. This week I opened every box and moved the contents into piles for charity, for the tip, to keep in the garage and for the house.

What I discovered was that we have literally hundreds of things we do not use but which we carry round from house to house, loft to loft, shed to shed. It all takes up space. It all needs looking after. We just keep it for sentimental reasons. Pictures that the boys painted when they were toddlers. A table and chairs that Mandy’s Dad made. My own Dad’s collection of antique newspapers. Robert’s expensive coffee machine that is never used. Martin’s weights set that gathers dust under a bed. Mandy’s exercise bike from when she had her knees replaced during Covid. My golf clubs that I kid myself I will get back to one day.

I give myself the excuse that one day these things will come in useful. And hey, maybe I am right. But this week I have certainly got more pleasure from giving things away. Our oak bench seats have gone to my brother in law to be made into a seat and shoe rack for his hall. The golf clubs to my sporty great nephew. The old cutlery drawers have gone to “Save the children” to go in their window. A fridge, freezer, table and packing boxes are going to a friend’s daughter who is about to move house. Hundreds of puzzles, games and CDs are going to charity. An old leather chesterfield sofa and chair will hopefully be fetched by the British Heart Foundation.

I have felt ruthless and proud of what we have done. And still, the garage still hosts those old newspapers. And my old model railway in boxes. And Martin’s old snooker cue. And a table tennis table that went in the charity pile and somehow returned to the garage.

Maybe they will come in useful.

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The best of weather, the worst of weather

What a week for weather. In Lancashire we have missed the heavy snows of Scotland, but we have had torrential rain, floods, hail, hard ice and frost. Some of the worst weather all year. And yet, as the old year has become a new one, the weather changed and this morning we woke to the kind of cold crisp day that is my favourite.

It reminded me of the best ski days, the ones they call bluebird days, when the snow is fresh, the pistes are groomed, there is no wind, the temperature is cold, and the sun is shining. I am missing skiing this year. We have a week planned in Lanzarote later in January when I know we will have a lovely time in the warmth. But for me, nothing beats coming down the first piste of the day, when the skis through the corrugated snow making a sound like a sharp knife cutting through paper.

And that first stop of the day, at a mountain cafe, for a mulled wine, a beer or a cold coke. Your thighs tingling from exercise they are not used to. Your nose tingling from the cold. Your fingers tingling after removing the gloves.

But it is such a risk booking a ski holiday since climate change has altered the weather. A week looking out at green mountains is a waste. Worse, a week looking out at a blizzard that is unskiable.

So I will enjoy my week in the sun. And get on with unpacking more boxes for our new house. And remember happy times on the slopes

Maybe next year. If the weather is good enough.

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