Belfast, I'm in you (AM)

Appleheart and I landed in Belfast yesterday. I have to confess that all I know about Belfast,  I learnt from movies about 'the troubles' in the 80s and 90s, which is a narrow view to say the least. I'm sure Belfast has lots more going on than just being the site of sectarian violence borne of political struggle, but what that is I couldn't tell you, that's why "Belfast, I'm in you!" is all I could think of to say after Appleheart and I alighted at George Best airport on Saturday.
It's quite a nice position to be in, not knowing anything about a city apart from who its favourite sons are.

Yep. This guy. And also this guy, who I only know is from Belfast because the airport is named after him:  

It's soccer champion George Best! I remember the news coverage of his death included an amusing quote he made at some point, about how he'd earned piles and piles of money through soccer but had little to show for it. "Most I spent on booze and women", he said, "and the rest I wasted." Or something like that. Ha!

Anyway, Belfast. Because I know so little about it, and because several people had recommended it to us, against our better judgement we took one of those city sightseeing bus tours around the city. You know, the ones on the double decker buses. 

I really should have trusted my instincts on this one. Now I know this about Belfast: they built the Titanic here, and as far as Belfast is concerned, it was fine when it left so they've got nothing to do with what happened.  

I can also tell you where Belfast's smallest house is, where Belfast's oldest dual carriageway is and what it feels like to drive along it on top of an open double decker bus in the rain (shit), and the location of the public sculpture known as the Salmon of Knowledge. Ha!

But it's only my first day. I am sure I will come to know and love it. 

But if anyone knows of fun things to do here, please tell me. I am very very open to your suggestions, friends. 

What happens on a weekend (WE*)

Yesterday, J asked me in an email what happens in a Welsh weekend. Instead of answering her, I ignored her email and decided to write this instead. Here's what happens Matey!

My first weekend in Wales I went to two farmers markets and bought a bunch of cheese, bacon, some duck, some sausages some vegetables and naturally, some Welsh Cakes.

Don't know what Welsh cakes are? Don't worry, they will get their very own post in due course. All that stuff is long gone now, consumed during the course of the week. It was a great weekend, but it belongs to history. Now, let's focus on this weekend.

On Saturday morning we awoke early in order to catch the train to nearby Chepstow. We heard they have a farmers market and also a castle so we thought what the heck, let's go go Chepstow. It's only half an hour away on the train. In Wales, that's like going to Ballarat or something.

Turns out their farmers market is just three stalls in the car park of a senior citizens centre. So going to Ballarat might have been better. Until we saw their castle. Oh my goodness their castle is the real deal. It was built 1000 years ago and is in ruin now but heck you guys, castles be impressive. If a little chilly.

After wandering around the castle for a while we went to The Boat Inn for a pint and a lunch. I got the venison burger with Stilton and Appleheart got the fish and chips, and jolly good they both were.
It was very cold and we were feeling very tired so we caught the train home and had a cup of tea, some chocolate digestive biscuits then a little nap. In the evening we were still full from lunch so we just had more tea and digestives for dinner, watched grand designs and went to bed.

Then Sunday rolled around. I woke up early because I'd basically been sleeping since  4pm the day before. It was a beautiful crisp but sunny morning. Unbelievable! The mornings are grey here you see . I went for a jog along the river Taff then felt smug for the rest of the morning. Our only plan for the day was to go to a pub called Y Mochyn Du for Sunday lunch. I love how they have Sunday lunch here even though I can't pronounce the names of the pubs where they have it. Well, I can't pronounce Y Mochyn Du. 

We ate Sunday roast, drank a pint and watched Liverpool beat Manchester City which was is something Appleheart likes to do. It was lovely, but it was cold and we were very tired, so when we got home we had a cup of tea and  some chocolate digestive biscuits. One thing led to another and before you know it, we were napping. A nap from which I have just woken up, and woken to discover an email from J asking what Welsh weekends are like. Like this! Like this.

*Welsh edit. I was going to call it 'welsh edition' but then I thought of Welsh edit would be funnier because it's something GOOP would say and she is so annoying.

Northern Crab Life (?)

Hi you guys. 

Being on the other side of the world, facing six weeks without working, and not really being online means you never have any idea what day it is or what the time is. It's kind of great. But it means that my Crab Life suffers. I'm sorry for that. When every day feels like Sunday it's hard to recognise when an actual sunday comes around and you need to get some stuff ready for Monday's Miss Soft Crab. That's what happened to me yesterday. I was so busy wandering around the English countryside I totally missed the  opportunity to get my act together and tell you guys about it, as well as all the other jazz I've been doing. And right now I'm at the Victoria and Albert museum, using their free wifi while I wait to go in to the David Bowie exhibition, so I'm afraid I won't be able to fill in the blanks now either. 

Oh alright then, very quickly, here are a couple of things to tide you over. First, the best toasted cheese sandwich anyone has ever had, ever, in all of history. 

It was from Borough Market. Sure, it may look like all the other cheese sandwiches but it tasted like nothing I have ever tasted before, ever, in the history of my life. It was sublime. 

After eating it, I didn't really want to eat anything else so I could retain the memory of its perfection in my mouth for as long as possible. By I thought a light dinner couldn't hurt. 

That stuff on the plate is black pudding. Light. 

Yesterday I went to the countryside to go to Heston's pub, The Hinds Head, for a Sunday roast (beef, served rare with Yorkshire pudding, potatoes and horseradish cream). We had to walk along the river for a while to get there and while doing so, stumbled across this. 

It was a great day. 

Ok, David is waiting for me so I'd best be off. Thanks for be patient crab friends.