Several people have asked me to create a thread or even a site describing my journeys over the next two and a half years.

I can't think of anything more likely to make me instantly unwelcome than to post my 'vacation slides' (GAG-!!!)

However I wondered if there might be some interest in letting me tell about some of the fascinating people I am meeting along the way?

If people were interested I would write maybe once a week about someone I had met who was exceptionally interesting. If there is no feedback - then I will just close the thread. I don't know how i can do justice to some of these incredible people - but here goes.

My first charmer would be someone I met in Ireland last month. Sr Mary Doonan is a retired Nun living in Kenmare, Ireland.

Kenmare is tucked away between the Ring of Kerry and the Ring of Beara on the SW coast of Ireland. It is believed that the first Celtic finds in the Kenmare area date back to 1800-2000 b.c. "The Killaha Hoard" ( axes, a halberd and a dagger ) on display in the National Museum,
dates back to this early copper age period. Stone Circles, Ring forts, Pillar stones and
Standing stones are to be found all over Kerry. It is accepted that Christianity reached
the south-west of Ireland before the coming of St.Patrick.

Little or nothing is recorded of subsequent history until the coming of the Normans (1190 a.d.) The battle of Callan ( 1261 a.d. ) is now regarded as one of the most decisive in Irish history. From this date to up to the battle of Kinsale the McCarties and O'Sullivans
ruled a Gaelic state where the clans were self-supporting

Sr Mary is 97 years old this year. She is probably the last living survivor of the Poor Clares of Kenmare convent (Convent of St Clare).

"The convent and school were once world famous for their production of the worlds finest Irish lace. The Poor Clare nuns came to Kenmare in 1861, they were brought here to teach.
It was just after the famine and employment was badly needed. The nuns set about developing the lace making into an industry. It was taught at the school and sold at the Landsdowne arms hotel in Kenmare. Tourists could also come to Ireland and view the lace being made in the convent lace room. The industry thrived with people coming from far and near to view the work or make a purchase. Among the many distinguished customers was Queen Victoria who had 5 pieces of Kenmare Lace." - http://www.neidin.net/kenmarelace/

Kenmare Lace is now made through a communitty initative cooperative (Now a national heritage site) who are largely responsible for the revival of this almost lost art. Lace making is extremely fine work, and very time consuming. The local ladies who have revived this art are extremely talented. A Few inches of real Irish lace can add several tens of thousands of dollars to the cost of a wedding gown for example. A small piece of lace - small enough to fit on a womans brooch can cost several hundred dollars. At the museum a lace table cloth is estimated to have a current value of around 6M Euro's. There is a catalog you can get describing their pieces for sale (If you have to ask then you can't afford it)

Back to Sr Mary.

Sr Mary's parents were killed when she was 4 and she was sent to the convent by a distant relative who could not care for her, but paid for the nuns to do so, and to educate her. She spent her entire life in the convent until it closed some years ago. from the security of the convent she observed all the great events of the 20th century. She remembers the start of WW1, and the Irish Uprisings after. She remembers ocean liners being destroyed and their remains washing up on the nearby beaches. She remembers the depression of the 20's and 30's and the start of WW2 in which her last remaining cousin was killed in the fighting in France (Many Irish fought for England in both WW's - many for purely financial motives - there were no jobs at home in Ireland). Th nuns at the convent were not cloistered and were very open to the local communitty - they were very aware of what went on in the world outside. She has fascinating stories to tell about the entire history of the 20th C from the perspective of a very quiet sheltered life on the W coast of Ireland.

Sr Mary still lives on her own, she loves gardening - though she is finding that more difficult over the past couple years and says she really only keeps up her rose bush's. (She will admit to having one of the local teenagers come help her once a week for a few hours in the garden. She seems sad that she can no longer still do the entire garden herself; she quietly says that it was her favorite joy at the convent to be able to work in the gardens.

She makes the strongest cup of tea you have ever imagined drinking - it is like mollasses - served in large, old, chipped mugs.

Sr Mary still makes lace, and teaches young communitty women her art.

Rob.

Oh, I dunno. I've heard it said that you're pretty hot, so if you're in the slides... wink

But even if there isn't a lot of feedback posted it doesn't mean no one is reading it, so you should feel free to post your tales.

I was one of the people who encouraged ITJock to post his travel stories. Very well written (that is not a surprise). If people aren't interested, they can choose to not read this thread. For those of us who are reading, ITJock, please keep this up or else I'm going to expect you to e-mail me your updates every week.
Thanks for sharing your experiences with us.

C'mon, can't you appreciate ITJock's intellectual side?

I'm not going to get into the "ITJ hotness" thing, but the piece on Sister Mary was lovely--isn't it interesting that nuns tend to live such long lives? For what it's worth, I bet there's something in strong Irish tea; I drink it, too, and fully expect to reach 100.

~Adam

I am absolutely ADDICTED to 'Irish Breakfast Tea', and have been for years.

Rob

Rob - thanks for sharing -- yeah, keep the stories coming! We don't want to have to wait until you write a book since you are going to be traveling for the next couple of years.

In another thread, ITJock posted

Last month before arriving in Ireland I made a stop to the Island's on the west coast of Scotland. I love the Islands. The combination of Sea and hills sings to something deep and primitive in my soul. Lewis and Skye were breathtaking. Islay was beautiful.

In Lewis I met man at a local pub. Ian is about 6'2" and built like a highland warrior (which he turned out to be - he was on vacation leave from the SAS). Ian is in his mid to late thirties, and his father owns one of the largest liquor distributorships in Scotland which is what he was doing driving a delivery truck on Skye (His Uncle is a Laird, tower house and all). One of those occasions where things just clicked and a friendship was born. (Weell... ok I was admiring the view, our eyes caught for just a moment too long really... and my gaydar was up...)

I like single malt Scotch whisky, so the islands held a double attraction for me. As we started off discussing our trip, it became an extended talk, then dinner, and pretty soon Ian had volunteered to meet us a couple of times for tours of some of the best distilleries.

The North Highland distilleries are almost all coastal. The most northern is Pulteney, which produces a delicious, fragrant, dry whisky, long referred to as 'the Manzanilla of the north'. Then comes Clynelish at Brora (built in 1969, beside an earlier (1819) distillery) - a sophisticated and complex whisky (hyacinths, fennel, Latakia tobacco), it was once very highly regarded and deserves to be better known. It is a core malt in the super de-luxe Johnnie Walker Gold blend.

Glenmorangie, made near the ancient Royal Burgh of Tain on the Cromarty Firth, is the most popular malt in Scotland. Medium-bodied and delicately complex in its standard (10 Years Old) bottling, it is a supremely well-made whisky. The distillery pioneered the idea of re-racking from bourbon to sherry-wood for the final years of maturation, with great success. This is now much imitated.

North Highland Malts' Characteristics
North-Highland malts tend to be light bodied, delicate whiskies with complex aromas and a dryish finish sometimes spicy, sometimes with a trace of salt. Some are faintly peaty (Highland Park, Scapa, Clynelish, Balblair); in others the smoke is more like Lapsang Suchong (Pulteney, Teaninich, Dalmore). They cannot take too much sherry-wood maturation (although, the sherry-finishing technique developed at Glenmorangie suits them well).

Southward on the isle of Islay there are eight distilleries, all coastal and battered by salt-winds. Among their products are the strongest flavored of all malt whiskies. To a single malt drinker the distilleries on Islay either entrance or disgust.

The southern distilleries - Ardbeg, Laphroaig, Lagavulin, Port Ellen (the latter was closed in 1983) - are the most powerful, producing medium-bodied whiskies, saturated with peat-smoke, brine and iodine. Not only do these distilleries use heavily peated malt (50 parts per million at Ardbeg, 40 parts per million at Laphroaig), they use the island's brown water for every stage of production - until they were closed in the early 1980s, Ardbeg had its own floor maltings and used to steep the barley in the same water.

The northern Islay distilleries - Bruichladdich (the 'ch' is silent) and Bunnahabhain ('Boona-hah-ven') are, by contrast, much milder. These draw their water direct from the spring, before it has had contact with peat, and use lightly or un-peated barley. The resulting whiskies are lighter flavored, mossy (rather than peaty), with some seaweed, some nuts, but still the dry finish.

Bowmore Distillery, in the middle of the island, stands between the two extremes - peaty but not medicinal, with some toffee, some floral scents, and traces of linseed oil. Coal lla ('Cal-eela'), although close to Bunnahabhain, produces delicate, greenish malt, with some peat/iodine/salt balanced by floral notes and a peppery finish.

Islay whiskies generally reverse the characteristics of Speysides, tending to be dry and peaty; behind the smoke, however, can be gentle mossy scents, and some spice. The southern Islay distilleries produce powerfully phenolic whiskies, with aromas redolent of tar, smoke, iodine and carbolic. Bowmore, in the middle of the island, shares these characteristics but is not quite so powerful, as does Caol Ila. Bruichladdich and Bunnahabhain are lighter and much less smoky. All Islays have a dry finish, the southern ones with quite a bite.

When I started tasting at the Highland distilleries, I thought I preferred single malts. I still like them, and find the differences in taste fascinating (There are more than 100 distilleries). Primarily what all this different tasting has told me is that I really do prefer a blend - one called 'Famous Grouse' - which also happened to be my grandfathers favorite (Come to find out it's also the most popular whiskey in Scotland)

The first commercial blend - in the sense that it was offered for sale to a wider market, and thus had to be consistent - was made by Andrew Usher in 1853. Usher was the Edinburgh agent for Glenlivet, and he named his creation Old Vatted Glenlivet. By 1860 it was being advertised in London, and in 1864 he was selling it overseas, especially in India.

Others followed, spurred on by the fact that increases in tax (in 1853 and 1855) caused a slackening of demand for whisky in England, and also because there was such an over-production of grain whisky in the Lowlands that the six largest distillers agreed to divide their market to avoid a price war (1857). But these early blends were invariably relabeled for the retailer Mighty encouragement to producing large volumes of blend came with Gladstone's Spirit Act of 1860, which allowed blending in bonded warehouses before duty had to be paid.

Like so many early whisky companies, Matthew Gloag & Son Ltd., has its origins in the early 19th century, when the founder established himself as a grocer and wine merchant in Perth.

Matthew Gloag bought malt whiskies from distilleries around Scotland and built up a reputation for his cellars. When Queen Victoria visited the town in 1842, Gloag was invited to supply the wines for the royal banquet.

In 1860 his son William took over the company and began to add blended whiskies to the range of drinks offered by the firm, then in 1896 William's son, another Matthew, who had worked in the wine trade in Bordeaux, took over the running of the business. He created a blend in 1897 which was first called The Grouse Brand. This became so well known around Perth that the name was justifiably changed to the Famous Grouse.

In the 1920s small overseas markets were established, and in 1936 the company built a bottling plant and bonded warehouse in Perth, but the Famous Grouse's following remained mainly local until the 1960s, when it began to win a following in Glasgow and the Central Belt of Scotland.

The company was still entirely owned by the Gloag family, but in 1970 both Matthew Frederick Gloag (the Chairman) and his wife died, and the family was hit by punitive death duties. A friendly buyer was sought to secure the future of the company, and the obvious choice was Highland Distilleries, from whom Gloags bought many of their whiskies.

Highland had the resources to promote The Famous Grouse, and conditions favored them. Under the able leadership of John Macphail, and aiming for the top end of the market in Scotland, the brand doubled its sales within the home market during the decade (to about one million cases), and achieved the same performance overseas during the I980s. It has been the best-selling blended whisky brand in Scotland since 1980.

As for Ian, we have met twice since, and just had a great three days in London (third time). Unfortunately he is now headed back to Kuwait/Iraq - for the second time (He only recently returned from Afghanistan). He is fine with it; I am the one who is scared to death for him. My prayers go with him.

Rob

Does anyone think this report had too much alcohol and not enough Ian? wink

ITJock, I guess I must have missed something. What exactly are traveling around the world for, work, pleasure? Are you doing it alone or with a group? Inquiring minds want to know. Sounds like you're having a great time meeting the locals along the way. By the way where do you call home?

Runner:
I am having a fantastic time, Thank You. I am taking a three year hiatus from running my company. I am taking my boat around the world, hopefully to see the things I have never had a chance to see before and to visit the great natural wonders of the world before they disappear.

It is not all pleasure; I am in touch with the Internet (By Marine link Satellite), and have actually accomplished a great deal of technical work that I was unable to accomplish while bogged down in an executive office. I am also out drumming up some new international business, contacts, and doing some corporate entertaining.

I have a crew of four, and a long list of vacationing guests who join me for anything from a weekend to a month. I am usually booked months in advance.

Where do I call home? Now THAT is a REALLY good question. I suppose I think of 'Home' as my vacation and retirement home on L. Champlain in Vermont just outside of Burlington. I do have a deep fondness for Boston, where I lived for a couple of years, however.

Joe:
“…this report had too much alcohol and not enough Ian?”

You know that’s just how I felt when he got up to leave the other morning; too much alcohol and not enough Ian. Life is full of small disappointments.

Rob

I think I know where the next Outsports convention should be held....

Loved the article about Ireland. And also about Ian, although in his case you MUST poat a picture. of BOTH of you.

As for the sailing part, I am jealous. I love sailing, but due to an inner ear infection a few years ago, I get seasick at the drop of a hat.

As for the strong tea, I had a British grandmother, who used to come to Canada every year for the summer.

Her rule for making tea? One teabag per person plus one for the pot, or if it was loose tea, one teaspoon of tea per person plus one for the pot.

I think I got used to it, and still like it very strong to this day. Of the different varieties of tea, my favorite is Lapsang Souchong.

Rob, Just found this thread and say yes, by all means keep posting! Tell us a bit about your boat; I'm a bit of a sailor myself.

I liked your story about the "nuns of the Convent of St. Clare." Remember when Mrs. Danvers shows Rebecca's nightie to "the new Mrs. DeWinter" in "Rebecca?" And Irish Bkfst tea IS great, not as tart as its English cousin, but no wimp like Earl, or worse, Lady Grey. The perfect balance!

Fair winds and a following sea! :cool:

[ November 12, 2004, 07:18 AM: Message edited by: gmginsfo ]

Yes, keep on posting, keep on posting. I need my ITJock fix! wink

I'm sure Rob wouldn't mind if I direct you to Dust And Sweat and Blood, his reflective/autobiographical piece published in Discourse.

(An 84' yacht? That is one well-hung sailer!)

Rob, indeed keep posting on your journeys--and your love affairs with single malt, strong tea, and sailing (not necessarily in that order.) A three-year vacation from running a company to sail around the world? You sure know how to make a guy jealous!

~Adam

Ok - Two Posts on topic this week. Many people have told me that if you want to dress with great style in the business world that you can’t do better than an English custom made suit. Having seen several examples of people who dressed that way, I agreed with their estimates.

I went shopping yesterday and met John Dawes, A 70 year old gentleman who has been a tailor for fine Savile Row Bespoke Shops since he was apprenticed at age 16 (That’s right 54 years). Mr. Dawes is the epitome of the British Tailor. He is at the height of his profession, which means he is World Class. Mr. Dawes knows more about dressing men than the ‘queer eye’ people ever dreamt of. Mr. Dawes is at the stage where he can pick and choose his clients, and his clients rely on him for superb advice. I met him only because the tailor I was supposed to meet became ill and Mr. Dawes agreed to take me on as a favor to the gentleman who had recommended me to his shop.

In his cubicle my nicest shirt, HSM tailored suit and Florsheims looked like a rumpled pair of faded jeans, T shirt and old Nikes. Mr. Dawes is a head tailor with his own fitting room and three assistants. (I should note that I was warned ahead of time that it is customary to unobtrusively slip a small envelope to your tailor BEFORE he takes care of you. This is apparently to assure that you get his attention and decent advice. I was told £1000 (gulp!) would not be inappropriate the first time.)

According to Mr. Dawes, let’s set the record straight; a gentleman needs two distinct wardrobes, one for business and the other for casual wear. These include two different types of suits: Something more conservative for the office and to conduct business; something a little sportier and with a touch more current styling for the evening or weekend. Your relationship with your tailor is at least as important as a ladies relationship with her hairdresser, perhaps more so.

Since I have about as much style sense as Tom Arnold – somehow I missed out on that twist of the gay gene , and my idea of fashion and comfort is usually a pair of jeans, polo shirt and a ragg sweater; I put myself totally into Mr. Dawes more capable hands .

‘Since the price of a suit constitutes most men's single largest clothing outlay, unless you are confident of your ability to select the best one, I recommend that you prepare accordingly, Wearing something that is reasonably representative of what you are shopping for provides the salesman with a starting point and the fitter with a tailoring guide. If you are considering a different take on your usual habiliments, this same garment can also provide a basis for comparison.

Should you go to the store intending to make a purchase, you should bring a dress shirt whose fit satisfies you. The dress shirt is a key element in the suit-fitting process; its collar height and sleeve length inform the tailor how you expect those components of the jacket to fit. You should also bring along all the items you normally pack into your suit. If you wear a pocket square or an eyeglass case in your jacket, or keep a wallet in your back trouser pocket, your suit should be fitted to accommodate these items. The time invested in this preparation will minimize the probability that you will have to return to the store for an additional fitting after discovering that you bulging billfold makes your coat's chest gap.

If shopping in a large store that offers a variety of suit styles - such as London's Harrods or New York City's Saks Fifth Avenue - and you do not have a relationship with any of its salespeople, spend a few minutes looking for one whose dressing style impresses you. Do not automatically accept the first sales associate to engage you unless you know exactly what you want and need him to act merely as an expediter. If you are looking for a high-fashion designer suit, the classically attired salesperson would not be my first choice to explain the nuances that distinguish an Armani three-button crepe suit from the latest Vestment confection.

Compared to a decade ago, most men wear their clothes fuller in scale and lighter in weight. This means that today's average suit jacket has slightly broader shoulders and a bit more length. Its pleated trousers are worn up on the natural waist with its fuller thighs tapering down to cuffed bottoms that break on the shoe. Much of this reapportionment is attributable to the high-fashion men's design community's search for a more modern yet comfortable vessel to replace the stuffy, boxlike structure of the conventional male business suit.

The classic suit is returning, but like any garment caught up in the maelstrom of high fashion, it's just not returning in quite the same form as when it left. While swinging back to its military roots, with enough shape and padding to recall its former prestige and purpose, men's tailored clothing is now influenced by the more modern, drapey cloths. Previously, the only fabrics able to maintain such defined line and proper creases were the typical four-harness worsted from England and Italy. This is still the case. However, their tighter weaves and more substantial construction have now been made to feel soft and pliable. After you squeeze the fabric, the better cloths spring back without wrinkling. At the end of the day, a top-quality worsted wool suit still only needs to be hung out for a time to regain its pressed look.

Conversely, If you like to accessorize your more English-style suits with high-class furnishings, you might want to be attended to by someone whose taste demonstrates firsthand experience in such matters. The salesman who dresses as if he is interested in clothes usually regards his profession as something more than just an opportunity to bring home a regular paycheck. He prides himself in his taste and enjoys taking the extra effort to find something special. Ideally, in the course of your dialogue, he should be able to teach you something about how to dress better while assisting you with your decision-making.

Proper fitting can do much for a less costly suit, while a poor fit can scuttle the most expensively hand-tailored creation. If a £3,000 suit's collar is bouncing off your neck as you walk, the suit's value will be severely compromised. The jacket collar that creeps up or stands away from your neck is the fault of the tailor, unless he fit it while you assumed a posture other than your normal one. When standing in front of tailor's mirror, relax; do not stand at attention unless that is your natural stance. Standing overly erect can affect the way the tailor fits the jacket collar to your neck. Collar alterations will be even more accurate if you wear a dress shirt's collar showing above the jacket; 1" should be exposed when wearing awing collar.

Since there should be the same amount of linen rising above the jacket's color as that which peeks out from under its sleeve, let's move on to sleeve length. Ninety percent of all men wear their coat sleeve too long and therefore are unable to slow that 1 1/2"+ of shirt cuff that dresses the hand of any well-attired gentleman. Since most dress shirt sleeves either shrink or are bought too short, they cannot be seen even if the jacket's sleeve have been correctly fitted. Most tailors, in an effort to cover the wrist, finish the coat sleeve where the shirt sleeve is supposed to end. The jacket sleeve should extend to where the wrist breaks with the hand. This length should reveal 1 1/2"+ of the shirt cuff. The band of linen between sleeve and hand, like that above the jacket collar, is one of the details that define the sophisticated dresser.

In less than a dozen years, vent less jackets have gone from avant-garde to mainstream. This design gives the hip a cleaner, more slimming line while lending the suit a dressier stature. Though aesthetically pleasing, vent less backs lack function, as they prevent easy access to the trouser pockets in addition to wrinkling more easily from sitting. However, as this back gives a man's torso a leaner, sexier shape, most men ignore its inconvenience.

The center vent, an American predilection, is the least aesthetic venting option, though it offers more utility than having no vent at all. While perfectly designed for spreading the two sides of a rider's jacket across the saddle of a horse, its original intention, the single vent looks awful when a man, having put his hand in his trouser or jacket pocket, pulls it open to reveal his derriere and, if the vent is cut high enough, a fringe of disordered shirt. Savile Row custom tailors avoid the center vent like the plaque unless it is imposed upon them by a visitor from the Colonies. The single vent's only saving grace is that it can be altered to better conceal a prominent hip than either the ready-made vent less or double-vented jacket.

The double vent or side slit offers the best combination of function and form. When you put your hands in your trouser pockets, the side vent's flap stays down, covering the buttocks. If you are seated, the flap moves away, thereby minimizing distortions thus created, because the side vent moves the observer's eye up from the bottom of the jacket. Since double-vented coats are costlier to manufacture and more difficult to fit than other models, you see them less frequently. However, the well-designed side-vented jacket gives its wearer a dash of style that bespeaks its English pedigree and custom-tailored tradition.

The cut of today's tailored suit trouser is much more classic in shape than its predecessor from the fitted era. Pants have recovered from the hip-hugging jeans mentality of the sixties and the tight, plain-front Continental pant of the seventies. In the late nineties and today, most men's trousers have a longer rise, deeper pleats, and full-cut thighs that taper down to the ankles - exactly the way the great tailors originally designed them - to give comfort and follow the lines of the body.

During the Second World War, when the U.S. government required manufacturers to conserve fabric, plain-front trousers became standard issue, retaining their popularity throughout the gray-flannel, Ivy League era. However, all suit trousers should have pleats, just as most custom trousers did prior to the war. Pleated pants look dressier and their fuller fronts provide greater comfort than plain-front trouser: hips widen when the wearer is seated, and with less wear to the trouser. Objects placed in a front pants pocket are better concealed within a pleated trouser than a pleatless one.

The classically designed pleated trouser has two pleats on either side of its fly - a deep one near the fly and a shallower one near the pocket to help keep the main pleat closed. This arrangement maintains the working relationship between the two pleats. The current trend for multiple pleat or some other gimmick of fancified fullness reminds ma of the recent gilding of the necktie with overwrought prints, a fad that was as fleeting as it was excessive.

While having your trousers fitted, make sure the pleats are not opening . Look down to see if each leg's front crease intersects the middle of each kneecap and finishes in the middle of each shoe. If it is off at all, the crease should err toward the inside of the trouser. A crease that falls outside the knee creates the illusion of breadth, something most men prefer to avoid.

The trouser bottom should rest with a slight break on the top of the shoe. It should be long enough to cover the hose when a man is in stride. Its width should cover about two-thirds of the shoe's length. Cuff give the trouser bottom weight, helping to define the pleat's crease while maintaining the trouser's contact with the shoe. Like any detail of classic tailoring, cuff width should be neither so narrow nor so wide that it call attention to itself. To provide the proper balance, the cuffs should be 1 5/8" for a person under five feet ten, 1 3/4 if he is taller. Cuffs of 1 1/7" or 2" reflect the erratic ness of their master: fashion. Any decently made suit whether manufactured or custom will come with two sets of trousers.’

There is a LOT more, far more than I ever wanted to know about clothing of any kind, suffice it to say that if you can afford it, then you really do need a professional eye to guide you. I usually find spending more than 20 minutes with the LL Bean and Eddie Bauer Catalogs to be my limit of tolerance (other than a once a year pilgrimage to Barney’s). I admit that Mr. Dawes and his assistants have impeccable taste, and selected undergarments, shirts, casual wear and accessories for me for reasons of style, comfort, and workmanship which I would never have considered. The Look is elegant and masculine, uniquely tailored to the individual. Even if you can afford only one good suit for that special important career making meeting with the bosses, I urge you to seek out the services offered by a good custom tailor. The difference is clearly visable.

Now if you will excuse me I have to go buy a pair of good shoes.

Should you be interested here are a couple of London contacts:

H Huntsman & Sons - www.h-huntsman.com
11 Savile Row, W1S 3PS, Tel: 020 7734 7441

Established in 1849, H Huntsman is a traditional English tailors located on London's famous Savile Row. With a number of Royal Warrants to its name, you're unlikely to be surprised at the cost of the company's bespoke suits. However, for those after 'cheaper' options, ready-to-wear suits and jackets are also available.

Kilgour French Stanbury - www.8savilerow.com
8 Savile Row, W1S 3PE, Tel: 020 7734 6905

If you have always thought that Cary Grant was the epitome of style, then this is the shop for you. They were Grant’s personal tailor for many years. Very expensive, but worth every penny if you can afford it.

Jeremy Hackett - http://www.hackett.co.uk
137-138 Sloane Street, SW1X 9AY, Tel: 020 7730 3331

A favorite of Americans because of the more youthful image, design, and not least prices. Including a great range of casual wear.

Gieves and Hawkes – www.gievesandhawkes.com
1 Savile Row, W1S 3JR, Tel: 020 7434 2001

A Savile Row tailor in the finest tradition with a range that's both large and immaculately tailored.

The London Guide to Shopping
http://www.londontourist.org/shopping.html


Rob

Chuckle - Actually she was originally a fishing trawler that I had converted into a Dive Boat. I did a lot of the work myself, including most of the carpentry, electronics, and nav equipement. She is a beauty, and can cruise at around 16 kts on her new engines.

Rob

Any post that includes the word bespoke gives me the vapors (or vapours, since we are talking about proper British style) & I have dated men solely because they use that word! As a suitwearer who demands the double vent in all suits, even if those suits do cost a bit more, (it's my sole clothing vanity) I am pleased to note this fine British tailor would approve. And the tips for getting a proper suit & help at major department stores will come in handy.

Great post Rob. Keep 'em coming!

~Adam

ITJock, After reading your post on minute details of suit making, I really thought that you were the British tailor you spoke about. I think you could have your own program called "Everything you've ever wanted to know about fine men's apparel but were afraid to ask" wink

[ November 13, 2004, 04:52 PM: Message edited by: phillyrunner ]

So....she's well-hung?!?!? eek!

I'm sure I'll never follow the fashion advice, but it was interesting to read nonetheless.

Met a 6 year old child this weekend. My Life may never be the same.

I had been invited to visit the racing stables of a Gentleman, Donald, that I had met over cards in London. I should say right away that he did not own the stables; rather he was head of a syndicate that owns several horses that are trained there. Racing is VERY big business in the UK, much more so than in the US I think.

I rented a car the night before, then I got up while still dark to make the long trek to Barrowby, just outside Grantham in Lincolnshire to get to watch the horses exercised in the early morning(A half hour before dawn), then have an early breakfast with the Trainer, James; his wife, Kathryn and my friend Donald the owner. After breakfast we drove to Uttoexeter Racecourse north of Birmingham in Staffordshire for the Races that day. I think that unlike most American tracks, UK Tracks may only be open one or two days a month on a rotating basis around the country.

Uttoexeter is located halfway between Nottingham and Stoke on Trent. Uttoexeter is considered a ‘country’ racecourse, probably because it is - for England – what used to be out in the rural countryside. There was a seven race card comprising 3 hurdle races, 3 chases and a National Hunt flat race. This type of meet is considered the backbone – sort of the bread and butter - of the racing industry in the UK.
Uttoxeter is a fairly modern track with decent conveniences, but few of the luxuries you would find at larger fancier tracks I am told. Regardless of that I think the crowd in general was much better dressed than their American counterparts would normally be; and I think the course was well appointed and beautiful. Gentlemen wore jackets and ties, and all the ladies I saw were in dresses or skirts. Jeans, T-shirts, Rugby shirts and athletic shoes are not allowed in the main enclosure or the club.
“The track is a left-handed oval shaped course of one mile two and a half furlongs in circumference. The back ‘straight’ has a dog-leg to the right and is undulating as it rises over Clump Hill. The course continues with a downhill run around the far bend into the home straight. The home straight of four furlongs is flat and galloping ensuring fair and competitive finishes to most races including the signature staying chases. The nature of the track often enables front-running tactics to pay off.
On the chase course there are eight fences per circuit; four in the back straight and four in the home straight. The third last in the home straight is an open-ditch which is jumped at least twice in each race.
The hurdle course tends to benefit from good ground conditions throughout the season and runs to the inner of the steeple chase course. There are six flights of hurdles on each circuit with a minimum of ten flights jumped in each race.” -Uttoexeter Racecourse website

We were there to watch two of the ‘Chase’ races. It was very exciting, and absolutely fascinating learning about the racing industry. The races started at 12:30, and we were to have lunch at the club while the races began. (Roast Breast of Chicken with a White Wine & Cream Sauce, Steamed Asparagus, and Fruit and Cheese for dessert – God how do the English stay so thin?) The booze flowed, but I had to be very careful because they are absolute hell on drinking and driving over here… Everything was excellent; my host was a great conversationalist and very knowledgeable about racing, everybody was in a festive mood.

During the races you could go onto the balcony and watch the horses run, then during the breaks in between races you could wander the course and paddock to see the horses for the next race, or walk down to the end where the betting stalls were.. I put down a few £2 bets, and even won one race so that I mostly broke even for the day. Had a great day.

After the races I thanked my hosts for a sincerely interestingly great time, we made tentative arrangements for me to reciprocate the hospitality next week, and I drove back to London.

Since it was still fairly early when I got back (10ish) I decided I wanted a bit more lively evening. I wanted to try out one of the clubs in Soho or the West End. After parking my rental car, and dropping the keys in the box, I phoned for a cab to go to ‘79 CXR’ because I had heard they had a ‘Late License’ (Pubs in the UK close at 11 pm unless they have a difficult to get and expensive ‘Late License’). There was a small cover, but the cheap booze, decent music, and very good looking guys made up for that. I danced until I thought my legs would collapse. I had more Pints than I was used to; I flirted with a couple very good looking guys, I….

Have you ever woken up with a rocking hangover, with your head threatening to crack wide open every time you moved it a single fraction of an inch, finally opened your eyes, and discovered you were in bed, the sun was shining in your eyes, and you were with three good looking guys and had not a single freaking clue where in the world you were? Or who they were?

Ahhh yesss…. I haven’t done this in years. I am WAAAYYY too old for this shit.

After picking my eyeballs up from the floor, I got dressed (I think they were my clothes – everything but the shirt / could not find my own shirt or jacket– ended up with an old blue and green Rugby shirt given to me by one of my hosts (but that’s another story for another time) – I think I thanked the guy who owned the apartment, I know we traded numbers – and stumbled out onto the streets in rumpled clothes smelling of stale beer, stale cigarettes, and …. Had absolutely no idea where I was or which way to turn. Also not a nice neighborhood at all, definitely not a tourist area.

After several blocks I found a corner coffee shop and purchased a large black coffee to go and begged directions – God, yes – I still had my wallet (Money and Credit cards; No condoms, this is a VERY good sign). After getting my bearings correct, I set off to go home.

Here I am barely able to keep vertical without stumbling, pausing every once and a while to sip weak black coffee (The Brits are great at a lot of stuff, but they are genetically incapable of making a decent cup of coffee); and all of a sudden I here a little voice asking me if I want to buy a puppy sir.

I turn around doing a 360 looking for the voice – absolutely sure I am hallucinating, all the while thinking I have GOT to stop drinking like this, and then look down to see this little 6/7 year old kid holding a puppy out to me with both hands. Puppy was half as big as she was.

Be fair to me, I had a hangover, I was not thinking at my best, I said ‘NO’ twice.

She had the mother right there and she had brushed her coat until it shone enough for the Westminster Kennel Club dog show. The dogs were adorable. The kid was adorable. Her mother told her they could not keep all of the dogs. If they kept a puppy the mother had to go. If they kept the mother, the puppies had to go. She had finally agreed to sell the puppies, and had apparently been sitting on her doorstep selling them on the street. There was one puppy left. Hit me when I’m low kid.

So now I’m walking down the street with a cup of coffee in one hand, and a puppy in the other. Puppy decides its time to go… all over me. Puppy decides it likes me and starts licking my face and squirming all around.

I finally get to a cab stand – the drivers take one look at me, and all of a sudden they are on break and unavailable. Costs me £50 to finally get back to the docks. Then I have to explain to the Port Authority where the puppy comes from. All the while I just want to crawl into a very dark place and sleep for a decade. An hour later I finally get aboard my boat. I figure I will shut the puppy up in the head for a little while – give it some water, and catch some z’s. I strip, I crash, I close my eyes…blessed cool darkness… I keep hearing this whimpering and scratching at the door…

I am way too old for this shit.

Rob

[ November 15, 2004, 09:59 AM: Message edited by: ITJock ]

Rob, Great posts and thanks for the deets on the refit of your "dragger." Just one question: Is that L1000 you give the tailor considered a deposit or - God forbid! - an advance gratuity?

Keep the stories coming - and "don't go home with stangers!" wink

PS - Thanks to RSB for turning me on to "Discourse" - nice literate site! :cool:

Since sea dog is a synonym for an experienced sailor (or a privateer) it's nice you have added an actual sea dog to your travels. Clearly, you have a heart as vast as the ocean.

~Adam

Believe it or not it is considered a 'favor' - supposedly in order to encourage the tailor to do his absolute best for you - sort of a gratuity in advance; but you are still expectef to pay 10-15% after... I am told that on subsequent visits £200-500 or so should be adequate as a 'favor'... aparently most customers have a couple fittings a year for summer and winter wardrobes; some I am told go in for fittings 4 times a year as the seasons change...the benefit is though that they keep your records and will make up something and ship it to you if you request. It really is very personalized service. I think I am definately in the wrong business...

An interesting side note - they do military uniforms too, including American ones right down to insignia and medals! Not just the stuff you might expect like dress mess, but everything down to BDU's. Believe me when I say the prices are WAY above what you would pay at the PX. I have to wonder how many people in the Services can afford stuff like this?

Rob

[ November 15, 2004, 11:23 AM: Message edited by: ITJock ]

Rob:

Liked the story about the puppy. As an owner of 2 rescued dogs, you just took one HUGE leap up in my book.

So what kind of dog is it?
.
And it's not that you're too old for that shit, it just takes longer to recover.

But 3 people?

Rob, thanks for the posts, the recent ones have got me really looking forward to heading to England next week and shopping for tea, while helping to get my sis moved back to the States. Any suggestions as to tea shops in London??

after catching itj's thread, and the tailor tale specifically, i'm wondering if anyone else is feeling a smidge "eliza doolittle" just now?

btw...not to say that the author is "higgins-ing" us.

great reading!

[ November 17, 2004, 06:42 AM: Message edited by: EricNC ]

I don't know why so many entries this past week, but...

I spoke with a fisherman yesterday.

I was walking along the banks of the a certain English river trying to trace the steps for a short way of one of my favorite authors – Izaak Walton - who wrote a very famous book among fisherman called “The Complete Angler” (First published in 1653) Purporting to be an account of a 5-day gentlemen's fishing idyll (‘when gentlemen were gentlemen, and the English countryside was at once bountiful and near to hand’), it is in fact a deeply engaging romantic nostalgia trip. It is also the third most popular book in the English language after the Bible and Shakespeare. It has been reprinted in over 100 editions. I had been inspired to take the hike by recently finishing “The Complete Angler: A Connecticut Yankee Follows in the Footsteps of Walton” by a Gentleman and Yale Fellow (he was only 20 when he went to England) from CT named James Prosek. ‘This is the story of a young man's pilgrimage through England, fishing the waters that are now privately held. Along with wonderful stories about good times, great fishing, and fine eating, this trip becomes an exploration of Waltonian ideals: how to live with humor, wisdom, contentment, and simplicity.’ Prosek is a prodigy – incredibly talented author, master painter, master fisherman, and a humble philosopher in his own right. His passion and compassion for his subjects is self-evident. I highly recommend his books to anyone.

Tom is probably about my age, though he looks a decade and a half older. He has the hard worn wrinkles and toughened complexion of a man who has spent his life outdoors. He has that toughened whipcord muscularity of someone who works outside with his hands at hard labor. He was sitting along the banks of this small stream (only in England could this qualify as a river) fishing with his son Mathew (A11?12?). Tom is the assistant gamekeeper for a ~1250 acre estate – staggeringly huge by English standards. Part of his contract with his employer is the right to take a certain number of fish and fowl each year. Although trout season is over, some types of fish are considered bad because they compete with trout, and these can be fished for all year.

In the UK almost all of the water frontage on lakes, streams, and rivers is privately owned, and highly protected. There are staggeringly huge penalties for poaching or trespassing; yet many / most landowners will let you cross their land if you ask permission. There are also many trail systems that have been set up for hikers, for which you need only inform the local council of your intent in advance.

Anyway, I was walking on the trail and stopped to speak to Tom and his son. His son Mathew quickly pointed out the beautiful big fish he had caught (I think it was a kind of catfish, but I can not be sure). As we continued to talk about fishing and the local trail and countryside it became very clear how proud Mathew was of his father, and how happy he was to be spending the day fishing with him (They were playing hooky). There was a serious bond of contentment and mutual love between father and son as Mathew told me all about the different parts of the river and how to find and see different fish in different places. Obviously father and son spent a great deal of time together. Mathew obviously knew every rock, branch, and bend in the river. Tom was very courteous, and very helpful; also obviously genuinely content.

Mathew is a polite, articulate, good looking, well set up kid with dirty blond hair and clear grey eyes. He is obviously destined to break a lot of hearts.

The thing is that Tom and his son were obviously very poor. Although they were clean, and they had tried to dress presentably even for a fishing trip; their clothing was very old, warn, frayed and patched in many places. Toms accent and speech was idiomatic and heavily accented (Though he was obviously aware of and trying very hard to watch his speech), and although he was very knowledgeable, he was also obviously not well (formally) educated. Their fishing Rods were obviously very old and had seen better days, even if they were now repaired and well cared for. Tom told me at one point that he had actually been very lucky to be taken on here at the estate shortly after leaving the Army.
He enlisted straight out of school. He hated it. At one point in our talks he said that Mathews mother had taken off for Canada a few years ago.

It was near lunch time so I dug out my lunch, they took out theirs, and we shared a very enjoyable time by the river. I swapped a ham sandwich and chocolate bars for a tomato, a cucumber, and some summer sausage. Tom graciously offered me one of his two beers and I accepted, while Mathew had some juice. I offered to share my horded supply of oatmeal raisin applesauce cookies.

The only time when I saw Tom raise his voice was when his son said he was going to be a gamekeeper like his father. Tom grabbed him by the neck turned him around, looked him straight in the eye and told him that he was going to University if he had to carry him there on his back; that if he ever thought about or tried to quit school he would strap his hide until he couldn’t walk for a month. Then he hugged him playfully, gave him a noogie, and said he loved him, but that he was going to stay in school. (They had a deal, they played hooky to go fishing once a month if Mathew brought home [straight A’s]). Tom stated that his parents had never completed school.

I was mildly embarrassed and touched at an intimate moment between father and son. Tom was obviously not. Mathew was, as kids that age are, only upset at being hugged.

After we finished Lunch, and I thanked them, I continued my walk. As I walked along I thought about Tom and his son. I used to do a lot of volunteer street outreach work in Boston and New York. I worked with hundreds – even thousands - of abused, battered, and broken kids. A few of them were from obviously WEALTHY backgrounds; a few from poor backgrounds; most from middle class backgrounds. Some kids whose parents just didn’t give a damn; some kids whose parents or other family was actively abusive. We called them the ‘throw aways’.

I wondered how many of those kids had ever had their dads take them fishing or play hookey with them. What was it that made the difference in attitude to have your kids prosper and succeed, even where you had not? Getting Mathew an education was obviously important to Tom, I think because he thought that he himself had not succeeded. What makes some parents care so passionately, while others do not – or rather – what is it that makes some parents not care at all?

What makes it possible for one quiet, hard working, relatively uneducated, and unassuming gentleman to find contentment in the quietude in a simple life amidst the forests, and the streams; yet want something better for his own son?

Obviously race, sex, wealth or social standing plays no part.
What kind of depth of character is required to face adversity of that kind, and not surrender his son to a lesser ideal?

I have a great respect for parents. They are the real hero’s who take on the worlds toughest challenge. I have what approaches awe and unabashed admiration for single parents who manage to do it on their own.

‘There is something mystical about fishing for trout. Living and spawning in the most beautiful places in the world, they’re very colorful creatures, very streamlined and hydrodynamic. They are part of the stream; born from stones, their eggs hatched from the gravel of the river bottom, they live in quiet wooded glens and very clear, cold streams.’ They thrive in unexpected places, yet they are very fragile and susceptible to sudden changes in their environment; and even more susceptible to predators. Of the thousands of eggs a single trout might lay, only a small handful may survive until adulthood.

What is it that makes some children thrive despite all the obstacles put in their way? As if each succeeding challenge only strengthened them? Why are not more children so resilient? Is it some factor of speciation, that differentiates, that allow some to adapt where others can not?

I look at the river that keeps flowing, much as it did in Isaak Waltons time. Every hour of every day it is a new, a different, river; and yet the river itself endures. I think of the thousands of other people who have walked here before me. I am strangely comforted by the thought that there is a cycle to all things. Walton, an adherent of the Church of England, came to think of angling as his religion.

I have hope for the future, I like to believe that in the human species there are more successes than not.

Perhaps naively, I often hope and pray for one particular success.

If his father has his way, I am pretty sure I know one young fisherman who will be going to college.

It was a beautiful day.

---------------------

If you are interested in Fishing you might like these books:

“The Complete Angler: A Connecticut Yankee Follows in the Footsteps of Walton” - James Prosek

“A River Runs through It” - Norman Maclean

“The Practical Angler” – WC Stewart

“The Longest Silence : A Life in Fishing “ - Thomas McGuane

“Dame Juliana, The Angling Treatyse and its Mysteries” - by Fred Buller and Hugh Falkus

“The LL Bean Fly Fishing Handbook” – Dave Whitlock

Rob

[ November 17, 2004, 09:21 AM: Message edited by: ITJock ]

Re your latest post.

I'm sitting here in my little cubicle, my eyes have teared up, for a number of reasons that I won't go into.

All I have to say is this.

Thank you.

Another great post, Rob. Izaak is casting peacefully in his grave.

...rich.

While you are in England, could I recommend you take your new dog to the vet and get advice

[img]http://images.google.com/images?q=tbn:tZx2eBdmvVEJ:http://www.mutleydog.com/media/vet2.jpg[/img]

on what documentation he will need if hes to set foot (paw?) on dry land in various countries. It'll be a pain if hes confined to ship all the time - and even worse if he is taken off into 6 months quarantine somewhere because his paperwork is not in order. As a British-born dog he is entitled to a pet passport but I dont know if that appropriate to your needs as its primarily designed for tourist and second-home owners taking their dog to the Med.

If you plan on revisiting Britain later on, it is important you do something about the passport now. You cant take him to France for the weekend and land him back here without it.

pet passport scheme

If you are not ever going to bring him back to Britain this scheme is obviously not the one for you. Ask the consulates of the next countries you plan to visit what you need.

Yeah, you'll probably want to make sure he's healthy and got all his shots (you never know where those British animals have been -- as in "28 Days Later").

Actually we went to the vet this am. Puppy is around 14 weeks old so got her first shots; yes - its a her.

Turns out she is not a cocker/springer spaniel mix like I first thought but something called a 'Clumber Spaniel'.

The Vet (a VERY hot guy in his mid 20's, very masculine, queer as a three dollar bill - we're EVERYWHERE!) and a Solicitor recommended by my Attorney are working on Puppy's papers.

It may take an extra couple of days... if it takes longer then she will stay with some friends here until I can get her cleared to travel.

I have no real intention of bringing her back here - especially anytime soon, but need to cross all the t's and dot all the i's so I can take her all over Europe and eventually get her into the US too. That means a LOT of paperwork!

Now I have to think up a name, I can't keep calling her 'shithead', its not very ladylike; and just continueing to call her 'puppy' is stupid.

I was thinking of calling her 'Bushmills'; but I would shorten it to 'Bush' and am afraid someone would eventually get offended...

I also have to figure out how to paper train her or something....

Rob

---------------------------------

Edited

Actually last night I think I decided to call her Skye, as in Isle of Skye.

One of the most beautiful places in the western Isles... http://www.skye.co.uk/


Rob

[ November 17, 2004, 11:24 PM: Message edited by: ITJock ]

Another lovely, evocative post, Rob. I just may have to pull my battered copy of The Compleat Angler off the shelf tonight....

~Adam

You should have a "Name My Puppy" contest. Maybe Outsports will donate a prize for the winner...or you can just fly the winner in to visit you on the boat. wink

A Clumber spaniel?

Aren't they kind of large? And on a boat?

(this should provide may different articles).

And keep her fur cut short. Their fur grows, and matts. And if the matts get big enough, it can rub the skin raw. (have had spaniels in the past).

But a Clumber is actually fairly rare, but are beautiful when they are adults. And from what I read, very loyal.

But hell Rob: You'll have her spoiled rotten by the 30th.

Blue Rugger

Last weekend I went out and partied – oh so heavily. Haven’t done that kind of thing in years. I admit though, its kind of fun to kick up your heels once in a while. Something almost primitively sensual in the experience of just letting yourself go with the flow. Totally letting yourself go and party in the moment, in a sort of communal thing with those around you. .

Unfortunately today that kind of behavior has gotten a bad rap because it can lead to all sorts of major problems; the least of which these days is AIDS or Hep C. I mean these days the kids are doing crystal and heroin and a dozen things I don’t want to even think about just to stay in that moment. It’s sad.

You can’t make a practice out of it, but every once in a while, just letting yourself go – just existing in the moment can be very freeing. But damn – there are a dozen better, more constructive ways to do the same kind of thing. Sports were always the big one for me for many years. Camping out in a high mountain meadow and going for a swim in a alpine lake under a star filled cloudless night. Sailing, being outpoint so that the tip of your mast is scraping the surface of the water as you cruise. The dichotomy of practicing SKA kata until you can move, flow, and react instantly, in the moment, almost without thought. But the big thrill is still to let yourself free within a group, with other people in community around you. I think that may be part of why I always loved team sports. Each of you interacting , functioning seamlessly, as a whole, as something larger than yourself. That is the ultimate experience. The real high.

I did it, just partied myself to that edge of physical and mental exhaustion. Ended up crashed at the flat of some guys I had met. Next morning I can’t find my shirt or jacket. Luckily one of the guys loaned me an old rugby shirt and I made it home without scaring too many of the Tories (Sort of like Republicans only nicer, they like Queens).

So a couple days later I have the shirt all cleaned and pressed (well except for some dog hair – everything is covered in dog hair these days; I have to brush for fifteen minutes every time I go out); I give the guy a call and offer to return his shirt. We chat, he tells me the Rugby shirt is an old one, but he has found my shirt and jacket. We chat some more. I really dig this guy – Very Hot - I think I am developing a thing for Scots. He belongs to a Rugby club called the Kings Cross Steelers. (BTW – Do NOT call them a ‘Gay Club’) He invites me to come watch the Rugby team play (way the hell out in Hempstead), and we can exchange clothes. Maybe grab a couple pints afterward (No way in Hell, not if my boat were sinking in the Thames). He explains that the KCS is a big club and they have a couple of teams. He plays on the ‘more social second string’ (my words) team.

Anyway the weekend comes along, I rent a car, stop off at Safeway just to get some bottled spring water, and ride out to Hempstead for a 16:00 match. It’s as cold as a …

“The world's first rugby club for gay and bisexual men was founded at a meeting which took place in Central Station, a gay pub in London's King's Cross district on 1 November 1995. The "Steelers" part of the name came about because many of the club's founder members were keen fans of American Football.
The Steelers' claim to the title of the "world's first gay rugby club" is based on the fact that South Africa's Jamieson Raiders (founded in 1985) are an annual invitation team, rather than a registered club playing seasonal fixtures. Additionally, the Sydney-based POOFTAs (also founded in 1985) play touch rugby rather than matches under the Union Code. [[[Rob’s Note Apparently any regularly scheduled sporting event over here is called a ‘Fixture’.]]]
Training started at the beginning of 1996 and the club joined the Surrey County Union in the summer of 1996. The first game under RFU rules took place on 21 September 1996 when we played Orleans Former Pupils at Stawberry Hill (lost 92-10), followed by London Cornish 3 a week later. “ – www.kxsrfc.com

‘From their initial half dozen members they now have a membership of over 150 players and supporters, which enables them to run a full fixtures list for both their 1st XV, mainly league games where they play in the Essex 3 league of the English County Championships, and their 2nd XV, which plays more social rugby against teams throughout the South East. The 1st XV also competes in the Powergen Junior Vase competition, whilst the 2nd XV are entering their first domestic competition this year in the shape of the Essex President's Cup.
Away from the South East, the 1st XV competes in the InterClub Challenge which is an annual competition between KCS RFC, Manchester's Village Spartans RUFC, and Edinburgh's Caledonian Thebans RFC. In another first for the 2nd XV they also get to journey away from home as they cross the Irish Sea to play Dublin's Emerald Warriors as well as welcoming Les Gaillards Parisiens to East London. ‘- www.kxsrfc.com

The first thing I should probably tell you is that Rugby players are nice normal people just like you and me – with one small difference. Put 2 or more Rugby players together and what you get is a lot of confidence, a little arrogance, cockiness, ATTITUDE. God I like that in a guy!

Rugby is played on a ‘Pitch’. It looks like a field, in fact it is a field, but they call it a pitch. Who’s going to argue with 30 big strong guys who look like they chew nails for fun?

The ‘Pitch’ is 100 meters by 70 meters. There are four important lines on a ‘Pitch’; the halfway line at midfield, the 22 meter lines, the goal lines, and the touch lines at either side.

The uniform Rugby players wear is called a Rugby ‘Kit’ consisting of a jersey, shorts, socks, cleats, and mouth guard. Apparently it is considered unmanly to wear a cup (ouch, that’s gotta hurt), so they don’t.

The game starts with a kickoff; like soccer, Rugby is a continuous play game – the clock does not stop. The game is divided into two forty minute halves. There is no stopping to set up plays. The only time play stops is for an injury or when a penalty is incurred.

There is a halftime break for exactly 10 minutes.

Substitutions are limited to seven per game, and may only take place when the ball is dead and with the permission of the Referee. If a player is substituted they can not return to the match.

A goal, or touchdown in American Football, is called a ‘TRY’. Why? Don’t ask me, I don’t know. No one I talked to knows.

Now for the tricky part: the rules – yes there are actually rules…

You can pass the ball – but only behind you or to the side, passing forward is a penalty called a forward pass (duh!)

You can kick the ball forward. You can hand off the ball to another player. You can run with the ball.

Your opponent can tackle you, or try to get possession any way he can – even ripping the ball out of your hands.

The tackle does not stop play, once a player releases the ball it is fair game to be picked up by anyone from either team. The ball is ALWAYS alive, even when it’s on the ground.
Offside – according to my friend “If you are behind the Ball then you are onside, if you are in front of the ball, then you are offside; being offside is a big NO NO”

There is a Referee whose word is final, and two judges – sort of assistant line referees. The ONLY people who are allowed to talk to the Ref are the team captains. You can get penalized for trying, or even if the ref hears you swearing.

There are several different positions you can play. Some of them are (Don’t laugh):

Prop, Hooker, Lock, Flanker, Number 8, Scrum half, Fly half, Center, Wing, and Fullback. If you want to know what they all do I recommend the following guide by the SF Fog Rugby Team - http://www.kodiaksrfc.org/sffogprimer.pdf

Ok – Don’t ask me any more questions – go read the guide. Better yet go see a Rugby game! There’s lots more stuff about Rucks and Scrums and Mauls that I still don’t really get.

The holy grail of Gay rugby is called the ‘Bingham Cup’ named after Mark Bingham the gay Cofounder of the NYC Gotham Knights RFC and the man who participated along with Tom Beamer in the ‘rescue of Flight 93’ on September 11, 2001, Mark’s flight to San Francisco, United flight 93, was taken over by terrorists. As was later reported, Mark called his mother on his cell phone and she told him about the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Mark and several of the other passengers successfully rushed the cockpit of the plane that subsequently crashed in rural Pennsylvania thereby averting a potentially devastating attack on another target in the nation’s capital. Senator John McCain thanked Mark posthumously for quite possibly saving his life and the lives of other members of Congress. (Strangely to me, although the incident is very well documented, and the target of the plane is now thought to have been either the Capital Building or the White House; President Bush has never commented on or thanked them for their self sacrifice, nor made any comment regarding Mr. Bingham’s contribution although he has spoken of Mr. Beamer’s courage)

Ok – So finally one team wins. That’s the end right? Not right. After a game they have something called the ‘Third half’ or sometimes a ‘court’ at a handy nearby pub or bar. This includes quaffing HUGE amounts of alcohol, and a fine tradition of belting out rugby tunes, offending locals, and recruiting new members far into the night. The ‘Third Half or Court’ usually far outlasts the actual game. Rugby songs seem designed to be offensive to just about everyone, and include holding pints over your head, lots of vulgar language, and sexual innuendo (Hell it’s not innuendo, it’s spelled out in black and white) that Benny Hill would be shocked speechless at. Absolutely great fun!

Let me just say in my defense that I am the proud product of the Army, a Southern Football school and a Fraternity. I have drunk my share of beer. I have drunk several peoples share of beer. I am not a teetotaler, and I am not one of those people who think moderate drinking is evil. These guys can drink me under the table in a New York minute. I think part of it is tolerance, somehow I just don’t have the ability or tolerance to do that like I used to. Somehow I don’t think though that I ever had the tolerance to keep pace with these guys. Anyway I finally made it home safely – at 2 am. (How did I survive? – By slipping the bartender £10 and drinking pint glasses of cold coffee after my third pint – no one noticed).

Go support your local Rugby team! Attend a local Match – it’s a Kick!
Check out IGRAB for a team near you. www.igrab.net

Rob


What I know about Puppies

They’re Expensive. Very Expensive.

I can not take Skye with me and hope to land her anywhere in Europe or Africa and not get her immediately quarantined for 6 mos.; the US will not even let me in – they will destroy her. The alternative is ‘Putting her in Bond’ whenever, wherever, we make port, so that she could never go off the ship again. Ever.

Just taking her from the boat to the vet the other day took a legal battle of epic proportions.

So…

Skye is going to stay here in England and go to puppy school for 90 days. They will housebreak her, box train her, train her out of her ‘submissive urination’, and train her in all the basics of running, heeling, fetching, etc. Very nice ‘Doggy Lodge’ (nicer than some places I’ve slept. and they only take 12 boarders at a time), then I come back for a couple of days and learn what they have to teach me. The vet will visit her every week (Very good looking guy in his 20’s).

In the meantime the Solicitor will be working on all the nesc international travel papers. Believe me 90 days is apparently light speed for these things – and that is only by taking advantage of a couple of EU loopholes. Not only does she need a passport, she also needs import and export licenses in some countries, If I ever decide to bring her to the UK again or Ireland or Denmark, then she has to fly; she can’t go by private ship (Don’t ask why… It’s the law.). And then there is the US Embassy getting involved with importation to and exportation from a whole different list of countries; and totally separate medical requirements. This pup is costing the equivalent of a college degree at some community colleges.

I am coming back to spend 2 weeks at Christmas in Yorkshire with friends; so I will be able to see her then. My friends have said they would love to have Skye come to Christmas too (they have seven (7) dogs themselves, and a big yard).

If you thought traveling post 9/11 was complicated for you; it’s nothing to traveling with a canine. Skye now has her own separate leather bound portfolio of official papers sanctioned by HMG. More than 80 pages so far; by the time all the papers are gathered and Skye can travel, the solicitor expects there to be over 250 pages. Each and every page sanctioned, signed, and stamped by the mindless bureaucrat in charge. The boat, personnel and passengers together don’t require that much paperwork when we dock in a new country.

There are now also a handful of countries that are totally off limits to me if I bring Skye along. C'est la vie.

It’s going to be decent weather this weekend and next week – if a bit cold (Yesterday near freezing), so I have no choice – I have to get my boat out and down South before we get trapped here with the winter storms. I don’t want to be caught in the Channel or the N Atlantic during a winter storm. Should make LeHavre by tonight.

[ November 21, 2004, 12:24 PM: Message edited by: ITJock ]

The Kings Crossing Steelers were written up previously on Outsports -- here's the link.

Skye is a nice name -- it's too bad you have to deal with all of the legal hassles.

It's a good thing Skye (great name, by the way...) will be going to puppy school in Britain (maybe it'll be like Hogwarts & he'll learn to play Qidditch.) Once trained, travels with him--as Steinbeck travelled with Charlie--will be a bit easier. Great tale on the rugby match.

Enjoy Le Havre.

~Adam

...waiting patiently for another chapter.

itj, have you sailed off with a handsome rugger? clouded your head with multi-pints? cloistered yourself in a lace-making convent?

kindly give us more, sir...

Met a couple young American guys this past week.

The First guy I met was Dave.

He was responding to an advert I placed looking for a new deckhand.

Dave is in his mid 20’s. An average looking American guy with shaggy dark hair and jeans. Decent looking, sort of a swimmers build. He is from NY and is a graduate of CUNY, taking a couple years off to bum around Europe after graduating. He had his professional marine papers and had worked a couple of boats hitch hiking his way around the Med. He had his passport, and all the right visa’s and papers in order.

He is kind of quiet, but not shy. At first I thought it was some excessive attitude or sullenness; but turns out he is just quiet.

He seemed to have all his papers in order; so I told him my Itinerary, the ships rules, and said we would give it a try. Workers – particularly those with papers and experience are difficult to find. I had not expected to fill the birth with someone as highly qualified.

Frankly, if anything, Dave has since struck me has trying to hide his intelligence. I wondered if he had the ability to stick with what is essentially a fairly boring job most times. I thought he might get bored easily and leave. Finding employees is tough though, so… I hired him on.

What few – if any – HR Managers will tell you honestly: that 9 out of 10 people interviewed for a job are capable of doing that job competently. Specialized knowledge aside, in the majority of instances, what a good HR Mgr is really looking for is someone who is conscientious and honest regarding their work, and inoffensive to the general public they might have to come in contact with. Finding that person is a craps shoot.
It’s based upon finding the best available from among the current pool of local available applicants. Sometimes that in itself is a hard trick.

The second guy I met was Jack. He was also looking for a birth, trying to work his way around the Med or home to the states.

Jack is a good looking, well set up guy in his early 20’s. Very good looking actually. (F*****g HOT!!!) He has dark hair, short on the sides, longer on top and in the back; and dark eyes you could drown in. Jack has a tight, ripped, casual muscularity of a porn star that some guys win as a gift from the gods. He could probably model professionally if he had the right guidance and management

Jack is a very friendly guy with a open smile that would let him steal the balls off a brass monkey. You instinctively like the guy and want to help him out. He was obviously poor, but looked ‘student poor’, and was obviously bright and articulate. He has that sort of aimless student vibe thing. Not too intelligent, but probably good enough looking that he didn’t have to be. He is an engaging mixture of cockiness and shyness

Jack told me he was from Florida; No relatives except for his mother. He had lived in Ft Lauderdale, Miami, and had come to Europe a couple of years ago working passage on a motor yacht. He did not have a work visa, and had been working under the table in Spain, France, and Italy. He ended up in S Spain & Portugal looking for a new ride, or a way home to the US. He had no papers except for his passport, and a couple worn letters of recommendation from previous employers.

I wasn’t really looking for anyone anymore but, since I was going to be in port a couple days and there is always cleaning to do: I told him I would give him a birth while we were in port – basically room and board in exchange for labor. Besides it usually takes me 48+ hours to run a full background check on someone. I figured at the end of three days I would give him a hundred and a decent recommendation before we left port. If he really worked his ass off, and I was still feeling charitable, then I might give him a birth until he could buy him his ticket home; WTH - I‘ve done it before. Been there, done that, couldn’t afford the damn t-shirt; besides – by now everybody knows I have a soft spot for strays.

Jacks eyes caught mine just a little too long, one too many times, and my gaydar was up.
I didn’t say a word about it then because I figured that it didn’t matter (I don’t do them THAT young anymore), and if he wasn’t and had a problem with us then he would catch on soon enough and bail on his own. My current crew is now mixed 50/50 anyway*.

It soon became apparent that Dave was a very hard worker. No matter what the job was he tackled it immediately, and worked at it tirelessly until it was completed. Usually without supervision, and beyond my general expectations. He was clean and neat, and kept his tools clean and orderly. You might have to show him what you wanted done, but you didn’t have to tell him to do it twice. Mostly when he was done work he either read or went ashore.

It soon became apparent that Jack was not a hard worker. He was slow to get started, took frequent breaks, and required frequent supervision. His work often had to be redone. His primary occupation seemed to be smoking, marijuana until I found him with it the first time and read him the riot act; and making frequent suggestive passes at me. One of my other employees told me he had seen him coming out of my cabin, he had made a ‘wrong turn’ (My Cabin and the Bridge are Off Limits to everyone unless you are expressly invited [I have guns, ammunition, papers, and a safe there. Although these things are locked up and not immediately visible unless you are looking, if you are looking, they are not hard to find… I have a separate security system, but have been out of the habit of using it.]). On his ‘free time’ he could usually be found at the local tavern, coming in very late at night loudly drunk (I have no objection to drunks, just LOUD drunks early in the morning.)

Think about this carefully, my boat is fairly small as these things go. It is not one of those super yachts you sometimes see in NY, Atlantic City, Miami, or the Bahamas.
The useable space is about the same as a modestly sized lawyer’s house in CA, maybe smaller. Onboard you have from 8 – 12 people that you have to live with politely in a small, somewhat restricted environment. It’s sort of like being assigned a dorm room back when you were in college. You had no idea who you would be assigned with, and quarters are very tight. It’s always amazed me that there aren’t a lot more mass murders on our college campuses. Under those circumstances quietude and politeness become huge virtues. Difficulties can often be magnified greatly.

Still I decided to keep both hires on at least through our next port of call even though the background checks were not yet complete.

A couple days later, the background checks – which had been delayed – began to come in. Skipping through a lot…

In Dave’s case the background check had been delayed by a mountain of public records. He was a foster child, parents’ whereabouts unknown, no known relatives. He had a couple minor brushes with the law as a kid, but nothing since. He had started work young (A16) and worked his way through HS and then College. He managed to get a job at a marina while he was still in college. He was not a natural student, twice as many ‘B’s’ as ‘A’s’ but still graduated from CUNY. About 6 mos after graduation he got a job on a boat headed to the Med for the summer. His last three employers all stated that they would be happy to rehire him.

In Jacks case background check had been delayed by a lack of paperwork and financial documents. Jack was from Brunswick, GA. Both his parents were still alive, still married. His father is a Trustee with the Port Authority and on the Vestry of their church.
His parents are members of PFLAG as well as a dozen other local social service organizations. Jack has two sisters; one a Dr. in Savannah, the other a Teacher in Athens and a brother attending Emory. Jack had been tossed from two HS’s, then from a private ‘preparatory academy’. Jack had come to the attention of the GA state patrol 11 times before his 18th birthday. Somehow he got into and then attended GA. until he was tossed out (not sure which was first or fastest – being caught dealing pot or failing grades.) He had walked away from school. His parents had contacted the police several times reporting him as missing. The last time he was found, in Ft Lauderdale, he was apparently ‘working under the table’ for an older man ‘cleaning and running errands’ in exchange for room and board. Four months later the older man reported to the police that Jack had stolen a Rolex, a Jeep Wrangler, and $8k. The Jeep was eventually returned, and charges were dropped. According to best guesses, Jack had worked his way to, and then around Europe as an escort and houseboy. His last three previously reported employers could not be contacted.

Dave seemed like a decent guy who did more than his share of work when asked. He was quiet and responsible.

I liked Jack. Maybe it was simply his personal charisma. I wanted to help the guy out.

Yesterday I found out I was missing a couple of DVD’s, and my cook informed me we were missing a couple bottles of very expensive single malt scotch (Actually she asked me if she should replace them since she assumed I had taken them). Last evening Dave reported his wallet was missing and asked if anyone found it to please return it (He had not been ashore in two days). Today my first mate told me Jack had not shown up – was late for his shift. I found him down the street trying to sell joints to some local kids.

Jack is that guy we all know who just does incredibly stupid shit because he NEVER thinks of the consequences. Why do kids who seem to have had everything handed to them on a silver platter end up such messes? Is there some part inside some of us that will not allow for the nurturing of personal happiness? Almost as if something good, when acquired, must be twisted or destroyed, bent in order to let that person function? Is there something that is absent in some people - something that makes them oblivious to the idea that there might be consequences to actions?

‘Help is giving part of yourself to somebody who comes to accept it willingly, and needs it badly.’ Why is it that those we might wish to help the most, are often those whom we find ourselves least equipped to help? To quote Norman Maclean ‘So it is that we can seldom help anybody. Either we don’t know what part to give or maybe we don’t like to give any part of ourselves. Then, more often than not the part that is needed is not wanted. Even more often we do not have the part that is needed.’ ‘We are willing to help, Lord, but what if anything is needed?’

I had Dave pack Jack’s duffle bag and bring it ashore. I gave him one full week’s wages. I reported laying off an employee to the local council.

Tonight we pulled out headed for Porto and the Douro Valley.

It’s now Four am, and I am still watching the shoreline drift by, drinking too much Blackbush.

Rob

PS - I promise the next one will be on a lighter note.

[ December 03, 2004, 09:49 PM: Message edited by: ITJock ]

It's called a "try" in rugby because in the early days of the game, you got no points for it, only the right to "try" a kick for points. Nice journal, IT.

I met a Chef last week.

Michel Boisvert is a chef at an Inn on Mont Ste Michel.

Michel took ‘Des Bacs’, and did well, but chose to become a chef like his uncle and go into the family business, rather than go to University and (law school) like his father.

His father later entered the French legislature, and rose to national importance under Mitterrand before he retired.

‘Des Bacs’ (Les Examinations des Baccalaureates) are a series of educational competency tests given to almost all French students starting roughly when they are in (7th (?) grade). The tests are very difficult and demanding. Based upon their results you are then ‘tracked’ for certain types of continuing education.

Someone who does exceptionally well on ‘Des Bacs’ might be tracked for a University preparatory program so that they would receive education they would be expected to need for entry into the professions such as law, medicine, teaching, etc.

Someone who showed only moderate ability scholastically might be tracked into a program for more technical work such as a computer technician, an auto mechanic, or a chef.

Someone with even less scholastic ability might be tracked into education that led to an apprenticeship of some kind in construction, or as a butcher.

Since even University education is free in France, the way they limit numbers is through scholastic examination and competition. If you can pass the tests, and are in the top xx percentile, then you get a free ride. If you can not pass the tests, then you may get a free ride, but not on that specific train.

At each higher level, you have to pass and compete in order to go to the next higher level.
Even if you manage to successfully complete the exam, you have to be within a certain upper percentile to progress in certain areas.

It’s not like in the US where you can study anything you want as long as you pay for it. In France the positions are open to everyone (from a butcher’s son in Aix, to a castle owning Marquis daughter in the Loire) – on a competitive basis – but are free once you have passed the exam and competition.

Students study very hard for their ‘Bacs’

It is very hard to climb the system to the top, much easier to opt out at any level. For those that do manage the climb, the sky is the limit. Educationally and socially they become the cream of French society. They are groomed for and expected to take their places as leaders of government and industry, science and engineering, education, and in the arts and sciences. It is an educational meritocracy similar in some ways to our private academies and Ivy League schools.

Make no mistake – there are inequities here too. It is obviously easier to pass des Bacs if you have the advantage to be from an upper middle class home with a lawyer father and a doctor mother surrounded by the best they can provide for you; than if you are the son of a Marseille butcher who did not compete at the upper levels and can’t teach you what you need to know. None the less, the chances are there for everyone if you have the intelligence and drive.

Michel is a wonderful chef, though probably not one of the great names of France like Eugenie Brazier, Alain Ducasse, Paul Bocuse, Helene Darroze, or Gerald Passedat. He is however a graduate of the Swiss Hoteliers School at Glion and l’Academie D’Art Culinaire de Paris. He has worked in some of the finest restaurants in Paris, Cannes, Nice, and Cap Ferrat.

Michel makes what is certainly the best omelet des herbes I have ever had.

Do you like American 3 Egg Omelets? Thick and fluffy with maybe some cheddar cheese and mushrooms stuffed inside? This ain’t it. That American invention bears as much resemblance to this as Alpo does to a NY Strip.

Michel starts with a large copper bowl in which he beats a dozen very small eggs (room temperature) for 2 minutes. Water is added – never milk (sorry – didn’t catch that part of the explanation as to why). 360 strokes of a wire wisk, constantly changing the beat so that there is no rhythm, thereby not allowing any part of the eggs to settle or for a part to miss the action of the wire wisk. Garden Fresh herbes are added in a specific order so that they meld with the egg mixture. No salt is allowed since this would ‘harden the eggs during cooking’.

A large (12+”? copper?) skillet with sloped sides, a heavy bottom, and long handle is pre heated in a wood fire, and unsalted goose fat is melted in the pan to lightly coat the bottom.

Pour in the eggs. Hold the pan above the flames cooking for 30+ seconds until
just golden, tilting pan and rolling egg toward opposite side of pan, using
a spatula to help push it and keep it together. After eggs firm, keep the pan tilted at a
slight angle, away from you, gradually flipping the pan so that the omelet
flips over onto itself.

Slide the omelet onto a platter and serve, brushing with garlic, chive and fresh herbs for garnish. A silver salt cellar is offered next to the plate. The final product is not supposed to be very thick - rather thin and light almost like an American pancake. There is really enough for two.

Sorry – I did not get all the herbes used – did catch parsley, chives, fresh ground black pepper, fresh garlic, and tarragon? Maybe sweet basil?

Great with a Muscat from Alsace, or better a fine Gewürztraminer from Germany (just don’t tell the French).

For a real treat Michel suggests adding a small splash of Armegnac to the pan just before serving, and lighting it off very briefly. It takes a (deft touch).

Michel is the most brilliant Frenchman I have ever known. A Master Artiste.
His simple ‘cuisine des provences’ was incredibly welcome after a week of heavy sauces and incredibly tiny portions of things I could not even begin to recognize.

That evening he served a clear broth soup with match stick vegetables and mushrooms that was an incredible precursor to grilled duck (I never liked duck before because I thought it was way too greasy/fatty - grilled with apple it was fantastic).

Michel’s daughter is currently studying for ‘Des Bacs’; helping her father out in the kitchen weekends, and deciding what she wants to do. She is very good at Math. She thinks she might like to be a teacher like her mother. She is hoping for a new graphing calculator for Christmas. She is probably about 12.

Peace

Rob

Is Dave still part of your crew? And you seem to be meeting the most amazing, eclectic group of people since Samuel Pickwick and Sam Weller began their travels!

~Adam

Dave is still part of my crew.

Dickens? I prefer Twain, I think he had more of a sense of humor; a way of making you look at parts of yourself and sense the absurd in a way that made people laugh at themselves. I always wanted to be on Hucks raft.

Several people have written asking how I meet such interesting people.

I think it's because I find people fascinating and I genuinely like them (for the most part). I would much rather take a short walk an meet someone new; discovering who they are and what they do, than sit at home watching a stupid reality tv show for example.

I think people find it easy to talk to me because I am an eager listener, I am genuinely interested in them.

Yeah - a lot of the people you meet are real jerks, or trying to get some advantage, some are obviously scammers.

But there are a lot of great people out there leading genuinely interesting lives doing the work they love and surrounded by loving, nurturing families. Most of these people have something interesting to say, or something to teach you if you take the time to let them.

The above sounds a little preachy to me, but I think sometimes we forget that there is a wider world out there filled with people and things beyond our humble imagining.

Rob

[ December 05, 2004, 02:08 AM: Message edited by: ITJock ]

you don't sound preachy at all. i think your point is valid. speaking for myself, too much time is consumed by personal pursuits. all the while a river of people pass by, and i may not even notice.

it's a useful reminder, rob. glad you're posting again.

This might be a stupid question, but did Dave get his wallet back? Losing a wallet in a foreign country can be very very scary.

And you have more self control that I do. I'd have been very tempted to f**k Jack senseless.

And how's the dog doing? Any news?

And you don't sound preachy at all.

One other question, does your chef know what is in Herbes des provence? And in what proportions?