Into the East

Posted on July 12, 2014 by yachtlyra

We have finally crossed the meridian and are travelling east; I keep having to remind myself when writing bearings in the log.

We had a lazy weekend wining and dining in Marina Greenwich. We had a couple of attempts at swimming. The first was off the shingle beach outside the harbour mouth. It was open to the swell and the rollers, which churned up the muck. Once out past the breaking waves it was refreshing to swim up into the waves, but afterwards I had to scrub a tide line of grit from around my middle. On the other side of the marina the beach was more secluded, but we felt out of place amongst the nudists, so headed back to the boat without so much as dipping a toe in the water. After that we gave up and read, lounging on the deck or outside one of the bars. We watched the football. Time passed very slowly, especially as we were eager to reach Valencia in time to pick up Emma and Katie on Wednesday. There was the concern that more faults would emerge, or the starter motor was not at the root of the problem. Thankfully the engineer had diagnosed our problem correctly. When the shiny, new starter motor finally arrived, at around two thirty Monday afternoon, he took just over half an hour to fix it in place and test it out. This morning we kept our fingers crossed till we had passed our previous point of return and then it was full steam ahead to Denia, where we are now tied up.

It was a very pleasant journey and a spectacular stretch of coastline. The early morning sun illuminated the high, white mountains. Towards lunchtime we managed a sail, but had to furl the sails away after turning the point towards Denia. At this point the wind grew much stronger and our ride into harbour was a bumpy one. There was a mix up over numbers and the first berth we tried was much too small. We tied up, but the lazy line was too short to really hold us and the office was not open for the marinera to check with. He was very unhappy and most apologetic, finally helping us into a spot amongst bigger boats. I had a few anxious moments maneuvering out of the smaller space, but John had it all under control. Again it was good we had Lara to help. They were very kind though and offered us a generous discount for our trouble. We had a late lunch on the quayside and now the wind has dropped and all is calm.

We are up early to be in Valencia at around the same time as Emma and Katie. We are very excited at the prospect of all being together.

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Smoke on the Water

Posted on July 5, 2014 by yachtlyra

The smoke pothered out of the engine room when John opened the door. We had left harbour and were motoring out parallel to the sea wall, some five hundred meters off, when John smelled burning and glanced over at the engine instruments in time to see all the screens go blank. He dashed below, opened the engine room door and yelled for me to turn the engine off. We all sat up in the cockpit and put our life jackets on. John radioed the marina for help and the girl on the other end was very efficient and told us not to worry, someone would come out to us. John and I struggled to put out fenders in anticipation as Lyra pitched from side to side. One rolled along the deck and into the water in that seeming slow motion, which is nonetheless too quick to pre-empt. By the time we had reached for the boat hook the fender was too far off to catch. We sat in the cockpit and rocking and rolling silently in the swell. Lara voiced the opinion we should all go sit at the bows, rather than on top of the smoking engine. This was a good point, but John and I had been out there and did not fancy ending up like the fender. I watched it drift further away, heading for Benidorm and wondered if that would be our trajectory. Moments passed and it seemed we were heading on a different track towards the local rocks. John was about to radio again when we saw a rib emerge from the harbour mouth and head our way at speed. It was a reassuringly big rib with two men on board. I put a rope onto the middle cleat for them to tie onto and wobbled my way to the stern to sit in one of the seats there.

They came closer, we watched as the driver pointed at our fender and the two men exchanged words, but kept on heading our way. The younger guy driving was English, such a comfort in the circumstances; John was able to explain the sequence of events to him exactly. He relayed them in rapid Spanish to his companion, then nosed the rib up close and the other man stepped up onto our deck over the guiderail with seemingly little effort. He shuffled out of his sandals and disappeared below with John, leaving his shoes swaying worryingly on the side deck. The younger chap asked if that was ours pointing at our now distant fender and, on hearing it was, set off to recover it. He then kept his distance till his colleague re-emerged. They exchanged words in Spanish and engineer waved his arm towards the shore and said, “Vamoose”. He went forward and they tied the rib to the front cleats on a long rope. Then with John steering they used the rib as our engine to propel us back into port, the engineer standing nonchalantly at the prow.

Once in the harbour entrance our heroes exchanged the tow to a smaller craft, the Englishman bidding us to put all our fenders low down on the port side, as we were heading for the boatyard. He tossed our wayward fender into the smaller boat and waved us goodbye as we called out our thanks. We limped through the marina past all the expensive yachts to where a line of men waited along the concrete quay. The engineer, still on out foredeck, cast off the tow and John coasted in. I threw the midline to one man and Lara handed the stern line to another, the engineer fastened the bow with a rope from the quay and we all heaved a sigh of relief to be tethered safely to the shore. After that another man came onboard and worked with the engineer trying to start the engine, as the acrid smell from the engine room permeated the boat. Their diagnosis was that our starter motor had failed to disengage and so had been driven by the engine and burnt out. This is an unusual problem. There would be no solution to it this side of the weekend; meanwhile we could stay where we were. This was very good of them, as we must be in their way. It is quite a good berth, fastened alongside not far from all the restaurants and bars

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000 00′ 00″ Greenwich

Posted on July 5, 2014 by yachtlyra

Our current port of call sits exactly on the meridian, so feels oddly linked to home. The marina is purpose built and small, with most of the berths being privately owned, available for visitors in their owners absence. Even so it is served by a host of bars and restaurants. The surrounding mountains are spectacularly high and craggy with roads and a railway rising up from the port in steep zigzags. There are beaches either side of the marina and it is altogether rather idyllic.

Our journey here was all under engine. No wind had been forecast till later than we wanted to be out, so we let Lara have a lie in. She emerged in time to see Benidorm, but had not missed much as the sea was choppy and the sky overcast. In the distance there was a strange neon glow on the horizon out to sea, which John thought was due to the dreaded Saharan rain, but none fell on us. Just before Lara came on deck a helicopter flew over and John and I shared a Space Invaders thrill watching it on the AIS. Boats are shown as darts, which point in the direction of travel, and turn from blue to red as they draw near. We knew aircraft carried AIS, but were not prepared for the cute white helicopter icon, complete with switching blades, which also turned red as it crossed our path.

We arrived at Greenwich in time for a late Spanish lunch. John had booked us a berth over the phone and when we radioed in they were ready, and sent us straight to a berth, where a marinera was waiting. John did a neat three point turn in the harbour and mooring went very smoothly, with the marinera coming on board to give John a hand heaving the lazy lines. Unfortunately he fastened them to both front cleats with opposing locking turns, which we were hard pressed to release, when we came to tightening up. After a lot of gut wrenching John managed to sort them out, but the small leader line is drum tight along our side, held off from rubbing against the gel coat by a series of rammed in fenders. The owner of our berth must have a smaller boat than Lyra.

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Alicante

Posted on July 5, 2014 by yachtlyra

The power walkers were all out in force again when we set off for Alicante, we see them silhouetted against the early morning light and hear the murmur of their conversations. Our early start was planned to allow for a lunch stop. This is a regular routine on our Greek flotilla holidays and Lara was eager to instigate it on Lyra. John was keen to try out Lyra’s anchor, as we had yet to deploy it. Our route took us close to the shore, behind a small island, designated a nature reserve. Very little wind was forecast for the morning; so we planned to make our way to the bay, anchor, swim, eat lunch and then sail in the afternoon, when the wind was supposed to come up. As it turned out the bay was much more open than we expected with a huge area of shallow water. We could see the bottom from a long way offshore. The wind came up earlier than anticipated and was blowing straight into the anchorage, kicking up enough small waves to make swimming from the boat an unpleasant prospect. We decided to leave the experience for another day, having lunch underway, but turning the engine off and going forward slowly with just the jib for a bit of peace. Once we came out from behind the island and turned towards Alicante it was just too hot with the wind behind us, so we furled the sail and motored again, to generate our own breeze. Alicante is an impressive habour, with the old fort dominating the skyline from the top of a steep hill. The marina is huge and has finger pontoons, but tiny ones, so John still reversed in to allow us to climb on and off the side. The pontoons were the bouncy type too and I was very grateful to Lara for performing the balancing act with the marinera, while I stayed on board and passed lines. Then we walked round the marina and across to where an arc of golden sand started out around the bay, with an azure sea rolling in. The swell made for an bracing swim, climbing the crests, neck craned and sweeping down other side to start again. In the middle of the sea a guy sat alone on a huge blow up adventure playground, with climbing slopes and trampolines, tethered to the beach by a thick pipe. Vibrations from the pipe, which was also used to inflate the floating apparatus, aggravated both John and Lara, particularly Lara, who said it felt as if the noise was inside her head, a very unpleasant sensation There were no takers for the playground and I think they are inadvertently driving their intended customers away with the high frequency sound. It was all out of my hearing range, but I had no wish to scramble up the slopes or bounce around the surfaces.

That evening we sat on deck looking out over the lights of the town and listening to a live performance of pan pipes, which seemed endless and offered an eclectic selection of tunes, from Abba to light classical.

John had booked us into Alicante for two nights, so the next day we set off to explore the fort. This turned out to be much easier than it looked, as a lift bored right up through the centre of the hill, with exits at two levels inside the fort itself. We bought tickets at the entrance of a long metal tunnel leading from the street into the middle of the hill, showed them to the lift operator, who spirited us straight to the top. This was a proper castle, with thick stone walls, arrow slits and heraldic shields and banners. In the lower section stalls were set up selling snacks and souvenirs. After wandering around, with Lara taking over as our resident paparazzi, we sat and ate tapas looking out across it all. The strange juxtaposition of the ultramodern lift shafts and tunnels with the mediaeval fort walls would have made it a good location for an episode of Dr Who. It had been used in one of the Star Wars films, a banner with R2D2 fluttered amongst the heraldry. We took the lift back to street level and explored the old part of town and found a restaurant in an alley, which we returned to for dinner.

 

 

 

 

 

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Torrevieja

Posted on July 1, 2014 by yachtlyra

At Uni Lara has embarked on a running program, which entails a mixture of running and walking, dictated from an App on her phone. She plans to carry on with it here, on the days we are not sailing and kindly agreed to my accompanying her walking, saying she could keep jogging back to me. Today was our first effort. Lara wore some smart lycra running gear well up with the current fashion. I sported a fetching old shorts and even older T-shirt combo. We set off for the high promenade that skirts the marina and heads out along the sea wall. Yesterday afternoon it had been deserted, at eight am we could see it was packed. Undeterred, Lara started her phone and up we went. I fitted right in. Most of the people we saw were my age or older, all wearing outfits of a similar sporting ilk and stepping out in ones and twos. Occasionally there were a few younger folk jogging like Lara, but the majority were old friends chatting away as they walked briskly together. Lara feels claims for the value of the Mediterranean diet should take this lifestyle choice into account. Half an hour later we had done our bit and returned to Lyra for showers and breakfast. Later that morning John and I showed Lara our own exercise routine. The go into a strange town without a map and find a supermarket before everything closes for lunch walking plan. She prefers her App. After all our exertions we relaxed on the boat for the rest of the day. The climate is so hot at the moment we can understand why we keep meeting people who are heading home for July and August. Nice to be able to swim now though.

At teatime we walked round the marina, past the fun fair and along the front of the town to a small beach. Pausing briefly to deposit our towels on a free patch of sand we paddled out into the sea to join the multitude of locals having an evening dip. The water was yellow with suspended sand, none of it any deeper than John’s waist and we had to wade out quite a long way to achieve even that, but as a consequence it was pleasantly temperate. After cooling off in the sea we lay on our towels to dry off, before heading back to shower before tea.

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Lara

Posted on July 1, 2014 by yachtlyra

Lara arrived looking very cool and sophisticated with her new backpack. She is here for the rest of our journey this summer and has certainly brought the clothes for it. John hauled her suitcase up the gangplank, lurching at one point, so Lara and I thought both he and the case would end up in the water. Now she in fully ensconced in the front cabin. That evening we took her to the Italian restaurant and shared a pasta dish and a mammoth pizza.

On Saturday we had a day in Cartagena showing Lara the sights. This time we took the lift up, went through the park to the viewpoint and then walked down into town, spying over the wall at the amphitheatre as we descended. We had a wander through the shopping center, actually going in shops. John and Lara bought shoes to swim in. They both look froglike in them. The shoes are odd looking things; the big toe goes one side of a rubber slot and the rest fit into a pocket on the other, like filled in flip flops. After our shopping we sat for a coffee and then made our way back through town to the tapas bar John and I had watched the England match in. It was even better than we remembered. There was a huge array of tapas displayed behind the counter and we were taken for a tour along it. Having made our selections we sat in the cool of the wood paneled room, being served yummy food and drinking beer. After that we all three needed a siesta.

That evening we set off to take Lara to the posh restaurant, but our plans for a complete tour of our recent watering holes were thwarted by its being shut. On the way in to town, we paused to stand outside a bar watching the penalty shootout between Brazil and Chile, by the time Brazil won quite a crowd had gathered. We continued into town, where the satellite link must have been delayed as first gasps and then cheering came from another of the bars. After having no joy at the Cathedral restaurant we walked down to the main street and arrived in Rio and it was carnival time. Music was pumping loudly and girls in feathered frames and spangles were dancing along the street. We stared bemused, wondering what would happen if Brazil won the tournament. There was a slight pause as they waited for something up ahead to make its way through the narrow passage by the balcony and then they were off, chasseing and flouncing away. Behind them came a float on which an assorted band of people, ranked up a staircase, danced on the spot fit to bust and waved rainbow flags. We had happened across a Gay Pride parade and it was much livelier than the other parades we have witnessed. Various similar floats drove by, flexing nearly to the road under the pressure of the enthusiastic of bopping of those onboard. The floats were interspersed by troupes of girls performing dance routines, somewhere between twirling majorettes and cheerleaders. The rear was brought up by a stunning fire dancer, a dark haired girl in black with a black bandana painted across her eyes. She was twirling a loop with fires burning at both ends and she drew a spontaneous wave of applause from the crowd as she passed by, heading for the narrow passage below the balcony. Every time we come out at night without my camera we see some event. Good job John always has his phone.

Next day we were all up early to head for Torrevieja. We needed to refuel first, which was much easier with Lara to help, and we were away by eight. Outside the harbour the sea was very lively indeed. Lara asked if it was always like it here and I thought it might well be given the number of wrecks scattered around the harbour mouth. This was not what she wanted to hear. Shortly after the wind came up on our port side, so we had a good sail, reaching seven knots for a while, before the wind became fluky and then dropped. We left the mainsail up for stability and turned the engine on again. LaraLara had brought a couple of umbrellas from home, so she and I sat each in our own little puddles of shade, like a pair of Victorian ladies on a boating lake. Even so the heat was too much for Lara and after lunch she retreated to the shade below.

We were passing a low-lying piece of coastline, behind which is a big inland sea, the Mar Menor. It sounded intriguing, but more of a playground for smaller boats or those of shallow draft. For us the stresses of uncertain depths and fishing nets outweighed the urge to explore. As we sailed by the wind gradually built to force five, so we let out the jib and flew along on a broad reach, at one point hitting nine knots. This spurt brought us to Torrevieja much sooner than we had expected. Lara came up and helped set out the lines and fenders and John nosed us in to find the waiting pontoon. It was alongside a smart bar with a swimming pool. As we came in a man sunbathing in the bar popped up like a meercat, to look out at our approach, not planning to help, just wanting to nosey. Fortunately Lara and I went into the routine honed on our sailing course two years ago and put on a faultless demonstration for him. After that John slowly reversed us round to the berth we had been given. We arrived, but found no promised marinera waiting to catch the lines. The cross wind was threatening to blow us toward the noses of other boats, the stuff of nightmare. John brought us back out and we hung around the end of the pontoon till we saw a man with a radio come strolling. Back in to where he now stood master of all he surveyed and all went pretty smoothly. Having an extra pair of hands makes a big difference. It was awkward here too, as the pontoon is a high concrete one, so we were throwing up rather than down and the rear fender was of no reassurance at all. John had to relocate the passerel to the top fitting before we go ashore. All marinas are vexingly different. Still we soon had the Bimini up and were sat in its’ shade with a bottle of beer from the fridge each. Then we went to the beach for a swim in the shallow water, just like a proper holiday.

 

 

 

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Waiting for Lara

Posted on June 27, 2014 by yachtlyra

Lara should have been arriving on Wednesday. We had been busy cleaning, washing and shopping in anticipation. Tuesday teatime John received a message from Ryan Air to the effect that her flight had been cancelled. French air traffic controllers are holding a strike. Coincidentally the French played their last game in the qualifiers of the world cup that evening. Anyway the news was followed by a frantic session on our newly active Internet trying to find her another flight. John battled his way through the adverts on the Ryan air website, which took him round in frustrating loops. Eventually he booked a flight with another airline, which arrives today (Friday). We are both excited and have bought pastries and girl beer.

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Under the Sea

Posted on June 25, 2014 by yachtlyra

Today it rained in Spain, sandy rain from Africa. Lyra now has watermark patterns in red dust on her lights and deck. It started before daybreak and there were flashes of pearly light at the portholes followed by dawdling thunder. Contrary to expectations the rain persisted for most of the morning, so we stayed below and reveled frugally in our new months Internet allowance. It was chill too. We had tinned tomato soup for lunch. After lunch we went across the dock to the Museum of Underwater Archeology. We walk past it daily, the name proclaimed in huge metal lettering all along the side,  and have been promising ourselves a visit. It is always the same with things close by; they are usually the ones you never quite get around to doing. Not in this case though and we very much enjoyed it.

It was more modern than many of the museums we have visited, with a beautiful space and interactive demonstrations designed to engage. The building echoes the shape of a ship’s hull and, once inside, the displays are in the basement below sea level, accessed down a long slope. Though subterranean it was light with lots of space to wander round the dramatic presentations of artifacts and well conceived models. First the history, morals and practicalities of underwater archeology were put forward in a number of tabletop displays. Then the science of conserving and dating material recovered from the sea was explained, using examples from a pair of Phoenician boats recovered from outside the harbour here. Then came artifacts and models of a series of wrecks from different eras, each wreck put forward as a time capsule and used to paint a maritime history of Spain. This spanned from before the Mediterranean was a Roman Sea up to an embarrassing incident of the nineteenth century, when we Brits fired on a group of ships entering Cartagena, when we were supposed to be at peace, pirating what we did not sink. There was plenty to read in Spanish and English and I learned a lot. The life sized models, including three cross sections of hulls hung on the wall, and the many “push the button see what we mean for yourself” displays made it a place you could enjoy with children. Not easy making a child friendly museum elegant enough to appeal to adults, but this one manages it.

Afterwards John cooked a piece of ham, which we ate on deck with potatoes and mushy peas. Then we settled down to listen to the England match. We will never learn.

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Wash Day

Posted on June 24, 2014 by cathyharnett

Sunday seems to be our weekly washday. There is a laundry here, but just one machine was working, so we had a go in the Internet café between loads. This is a Portacabin with a single computer. It is not possible to log in on other devices. There is also a machine dispensing chilled drinks, another filled with snacks, a selection of second hand books and two chairs. The chair in front of the screen is relatively comfortable. Nick, who we met in Barbate had managed look quite urbane, sitting in there of an evening with his own glass of red wine. During the day it was stuffy, the screen hard to see and I was on the other chair. John persevered finding data to update the pilot book, while I went back and forth swapping laundry loads. When we had finished Lyra was festooned in our fluttering garments and bedding. Why boats need to display an ensign to inform other craft about owners whose sundries regularly fly from the guardrail is beyond me.

Blowing in the wind

In the evening we walked into town and came across a small floriferous shrine with a plaster Jesus, at which a couple of youths were genuflecting. Moving on up a side street we noticed people gathering and hanging around, so we joined them. Shortly after a parade went by. First came priests all in white trundling along a float on which four bookish Saints surrounded a mound of flowers under a small crown. Then followed a troupe of dignified people in dark suites and, just as it was beginning to resemble a parade of Craft Guilds, a band of toy soldier cadets, playing a dirge, the sombre drum beat conducting their comrades in arms, who came gently goose stepping after. When they had all passed by we went the opposite way and passed another Jesus shrine being dismantled. Round the next corner we spotted a third in the process of being set up. Intrigued we sat in a nearby street cafe and ordered beer. A loud yapping was coming from somewhere close by, having scanned the pavement to no avail I looked up and there was the culprit with its’ foxy head through the railings of a small balcony. Looking along the walls were smaller banners proclaiming Corpus Christi. A quick Google on John’s phone told us it was some sort of celebration of the presence of Christ in Holy Water, it involved strewing the streets with flowers and this year it was today. We waited, hearing the distant drumbeat moving closer and then away from us. A line of biddies in plastic chairs formed opposite the shrine, at which a barked protest erupted from the balcony above. Just then the archangel Gabrielle came trundling towards us, and the barking ended with an abrupt yip.

The parade seemed to have grown somewhat. Smartly dressed adults strolled behind banners chatting to one another; many had medallions hanging from their necks. There was a more cheerful band to set a beat, but the parade kept stopping for no apparent reason, pausing, then continuing on its way. Every so often a group was headed by young girls in long white dresses and resigned expressions. Some carried baskets of petals, which they seemed to be picking up from the floor, in the manner of shell seekers on a beach, rather than strewing. The tide of folk looked set to go on forever. Suddenly John was in the midst of it, as a rabble of children overran the street, the flower girls accompanied by boys in white uniforms. They seemed less restrained and to be having a better time of it, chanting Viva at appropriate moments in an unending call and response song, sung by a bearded man with a reedy amplifier. After they had all swarmed by came more adults. John fought his way across the street to pay at this point, just as our original four Saints float arrived, at which moment figures on the cathedral roof behind hurled armfuls of petals into the air, to rain down over the shrine and all around it. We left before the end of the parade, having already seen what was to come.

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Cartagena

Posted on June 24, 2014 by yachtlyra

We woke early on Saturday too, so thought we would set off, do a bit of sight seeing, before the day became too hot, and call at the supermarket on our way back. This time we took the map. The first point of interest was not on it, just a number one and an arrow pointing off the paper. The second however seemed to mark the start of a line of Roman bits and pieces ending conveniently at the Supermercado. To start there was an amphitheatre at number ten. In the photographs it looked spectacular, so we set off climbing a steep incline and skirted the dilapidated curving walls till we arrived at an entrance that would do justice to an old fashioned cinema It was all boarded up, peering through the cracks the inside was utterly derelict. So much for the spectacular photographs. Moving on through the University campus we headed for site two, the Centre for the Interpretation of the Punic Rampart. We will never know. The Centre was enclosed behind impenetrable glass walls. Next we could find no sign of the House of Fortune, apparently only a mosaic floor remains and it has taken refuge beneath some apartment buildings. We gave up on the Augusteum and the Forum District. The trouble was none of them opened until eleven o’clock and it was still before ten. Supermercado did not let us down and we returned to Lyra with our supplies.

After lunch we set off again. This time we tackled it from the opposite direction and went in through the Roman Theatre Museum. This very new and impressive building displays finds made during the excavation of the amphitheatre. You go through a tunnel into the crypt of a ruined Cathedral, which had originally been two rooms of a Roman Villa. There are mosaic patterns on the floor, which we assumed to be replicas, as we were allowed to tread all over them, while other bits of floor were protected by a floating deck. Then came a light filled three-storey space with escalators. On the different levels were displayed pieces of architrave and column, some with restored sections. The restoration was deliberately different from the original, but sympathetic enough to give a feeling for the grandeur of the undamaged artefact. The top storey housed a model of the amphitheatre, which had been conceived by Augustus and looked very grand. We left the building on that level and emerged into the mid section of the amphitheatre. Here the same principle of restoration had been used on a massive scale. Stepped seating spread out in an arc, ranging up and down from where we stood; slightly above the seating to our left an intriguing cave mouth yawned, below to the right was the stage and a clutch of intact columns, behind, when we turned, were the ruins of the Cathedral. Surrounding the site were modern buildings, the propped up facades of older ones, and some shabby apartment blocks with washing across their balconies. A large piece of graffiti art looked out from the blank side of a building. Into the distance spread the city of Cartagena, over the plain disappearing into the haze of distant hills. From this hill groups leaned over the perimeter wall, taking in the vista for free. After exploring we too headed off up the hill, looked out over the port and finally climbed to the fort at the top, which housed a museum explaining the history of Cartagena. This took the form of a couple of films with English subtitles for fast readers, replica artefacts and strange, little tableaux, where projected figures populated tiny models. We realised the derelict amphitheatre with the marble front at the start of our morning explorations had been the old bullring. We also discovered there was a launch pad style lift and bought tickets to go down in it. Most people come up that way and walk down through the ruins.

That evening we discovered another amazing restaurant, this one serving local dishes, but to gourmet standards. Even so it was no more expensive than last nights Italian. We started with a cold garlic and monkfish soup, served in a glass with a sliver of cheese toast and a manufactured olive globule to burst on the tongue. I know it sounds bizarre, but in fact it tempted me to run my finger round inside the glass to extract every last morsel. I resisted, but it was a close run thing. Next we shared a thick steak, fried on the bone, and chips. Then John had chocolate brownie and I demolished a gooey chocolate fondant. We were both very full, and are now spoilt for choice as to where to take Lara on Thursday.

 

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