HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! BEST WISHES FOR YOUR HEALTH, SUCCESS AND HAPPINESS IN 2012. I’LL BE BACK NEXT YEAR WITH MORE BLOG POSTS.

We stayed at La Fonda de Barranco, an old merchant’s house stylishly restored by attentive, voluble host David Murray, who saw us cheerily on our way with a list of excellent recommendations for the rest of our holiday. But not before we’d taken a jasmine-scented tour of the twelfth-century Alcázar in the centre of the old town. Its solid, sun-scorched walls command impressive views over the countryside and sherry vineyards stretching out around Jerez, and shelter a calm oasis within, evocative of life in centuries gone by.

Our next stop, Tarifa, offered a complete contrast. Just 15km across the Straits of Gibraltar from Morocco, it has a pretty old town, with narrow cobbled streets hunkering behind a protective curtain of Moorish walls and opening out into unexpected squares. At night, flotillas of soundless white birds cruise across a flat sky stained with deepest blue, lending a timeless air of tranquillity. But the general vibe here is thoroughly modern. The southernmost point in Europe, Tarifa is famous for its wind and is a mecca for surfers of all kinds. When the wind blows in the right direction, a skein of kitesurfers hang from their bat-shaped kites over the bleached white sands of the South Atlantic beaches like a heavy flock of colourful prehistoric birds. They also hang on the weather forecasts, looking out for the idea 11-15 knot wind and waiting to see if it will be poniente (westerly – and likely to cause more waves) or levante (easterly – and associated with calmer seas). While it’s a major attraction for surfers from around the world, the incessant scouring of the wind reportedly explains the area’s abnormally high suicide rate. This depressing statistic notwithstanding, during our stay the town exuded a party feel, its tiny alleys teeming with revellers drinking and dancing until the early hours in Zanzibar, La Ruina and Club Mombasa.

Tarifa was intoxicating – but it was time to drag ourselves away from the seaside buzz and head for the hills. Arriving late at night in the magical white village of Vejer de la Frontera, we dined like sultans in the soft gardens of La Casa del Califa. We had breakfast on the pavement just off the main square, where we chatted with the locals and were joined at our table by a dapper gentleman, still sprightly and up for a cheeky morning sherry at the age of 96. The town is stacked on the hill in rows of stark white buildings, like a huge layer cake, and the streets are enchanting to explore and photograph. Our last stop was Sanlucar de Barrameda, a faded gem of a place with crumbling streets that give the impression of having seen better days. The home of manzanilla, a dry sherry with an intriguing salty edge, it was here that we finally managed to visit a bodega. We poked around the gloomy cellars and light-filled courtyards of Bodegas Pedro Romero, breathing in the rich, heady scent of maturing alcohol. The bodega was founded in 1860 and is still in the hands of the Romero family, so it felt as though we were drinking in history as we tasted the full range of sherries, from the crisp finos and brine-imbibed manzanillas to the heavy nectar of the pedro ximenez. Reluctantly heading home clutching our bottles of the local specialities, we felt, if not experts in sherry, at least warmly disposed to drinking more of it, especially if it can be done in an atmospheric Andalucian setting. Thank you Marie Claire!

Click to view slideshow.

WEB LINKS (see also the Spain page on the Gooster’s Travel Tips page)

http://www.marieclaire.co.uk/

www.lafondabarranco.es

www.elesconditedelviento.com

http://www.lacasadelcalifa.com

http://www.posadadepalacio.com/

http://www.pedroromero.es

http://www.charmingsmallhotels.co.uk/cgi-bin/articles.pl?id=700&section=49&action=display (For the Convento deSan Francisco, where we stayed in Vejer)

http://sanlucar-de-barrameda.salir.com/chiringuito_el_inesperado

http://www.verema.com/restaurantes/52885-albala-jerez-frontera

Shahbaz wasn’t the only ‘bonus’ I got from the British Library event. The wonderful Rasheed Ogunlaru (http://www.rasaru.com/) was one of the trainers. I really warmed to his energy, unquenchable bounce and genuine warmth. My ears also pricked up at his mentions of writing projects and I’m delighted to say that I will be publishing Rasheed’s next book in my capacity as Editor-at-Large for Kogan Page (www.koganpage.com). Other brilliant contacts I made are Alex from Business Crayon, who is taking the online world by storm by doing for small businesses what Groupon does for consumers (www.businesscrayon.com); Elaine Swift, copywriter extraordinaire (http://www.elaineswift.co.uk/); and Natalie Chalk, a press expert who specialises in helping the charity sector get the column inches they want (http://www.powerofthepress.co.uk/). The event itself was informative and helpful; the longer lasting impact for me lies in the new connections I’ve made.

So that’s the backstory: here are the details of the event, which will be held on from 9.30 to 13.00 on 3 November, at The Space Centre in central London, just across from King’s Cross station:

KICKSTART YOUR BUSINESS

Are you ready to start your new business?

Do you want to make it happen without wasting time?

Is fear holding you back when you really want to just get on with it?

The ‘Kick-start Your Business’ workshop will give you the practical tools you need to get it right first time and accelerate your start-up success

We will cover the three key ingredients you need to get your business powered-up and ready to go. Discover how to:

1. Make it work for you

2. Find more customers and win more business

3. Get the numbers right quickly and easily

Attend this seminar and you will go away equipped with concrete action points tailored to help you progress your own business, fast. You will leave with a toolkit to build a business plan that works for you. We will also give you a secret ingredient to kick-start your route to success!

SPECIAL GUEST: David Englefield, Business Manager at Metro Bank will speak about how to get funding from banks and how to make the most of your bank manager

What happened was that my ego kicked in and eclipsed any such rational considerations. I wanted to see what he’d seen about me. I was curious as to the amusing turn my online image seemed to have taken. Again, I could offer dissembling platitudes here about ‘needing to monitor my personal brand’. But the truth is I couldn’t resist peeking, for no other reason than I wanted to see what had been written about me online. I’d never have clicked through to an unknown sales link, but the lure of attention on me me me was too strong to withstand. If someone told you they’d seen you on TV, say in the background of an ad or a documentary, would you take a look? My betting is that many of us would. There’s something irresistible in seeing ourselves mirrored as others see us, and now we have the parallel world of online reality, it’s a much more common occurrence. So vanity clicked that link and in doing so, my ego unwittingly opened the door to the hackers. And judging by the involuntary DMs I’ve received from other Twitter friends, I’m not the only one whose ego represents a blind spot in online security …

On arrival at the site, Daisy and I set about putting up our tents, while Steve and Sara decided to pick a fight with theirs; it started with a stand-off, then there was a torrent of abuse followed by full-on violence. Three almost perfect erections later, we celebrated by cracking open a box of the blushful hippocrene and discussed who we were going to see that evening.

This year the choice of bands and artists was almost overwhelming, requiring the avid music fan to be in two or three places at once. I inevitably missed some of the people I had intended to see, such as Josh T Pearson, Joanna Newsom, Okkervil River, Timber Timbre, White Denim and Drum Eyes. In other instances, I only caught some of the sets and then regretted my laissez-faire attitude to punctuality (often brought about by the lovely cider and real ales on offer). I really should have seen more of Gruff Rhys, Lykke Li, Willy Mason and Wild Beasts, to name but a few.

Of the musicians I did manage to see in their entirety (twice), Bob Log III, an EOTR regular, was definitely my favourite. Dressed in a human cannonball outfit and signature motorcycle helmet with telephone/microphone attached, the one-man-band slide guitar supremo worked the crowd up into a frenzy playing his inimitable style of party music. With a repertoire including ‘Boob Scotch’ and ‘My Shit is Perfect’, the sexually-charged log man claimed ‘I only play three songs – but I play them damn well’.

Other highlights included Tinariwen, a band of Tuareg musicians from the Sahara Desert region of northern Mali; the Unthanks, who treated us to some clog dancing and whose beautiful title song from their latest album Last reduced me to tears; Beirut with their unique take on Balkan folk and impressive brass section which included a sousaphone – an instrument you wear as well as play; and the Leisure Society who did an excellent rendition of ‘Me and Julio down by the schoolyard’.

As the festival progressed it just got better and better. On Sunday night, after an impassioned performance by singer-songwriter John Grant, Daisy and I wondered off to the piano stage and found ourselves singing Bohemian Rhapsody with a clanger and two cheeky farmer boys – one wearing a romper suit and the other a wet suit. The besuited boys, minus the Clanger, mysteriously proceeded to chat us up. Why would two 20-year-olds be interested in two females who were, ahem, almost twice their age (and a bit whiffy after three days of camping at that)? Aaaaah, paid £15 to get in, sans tent and needed somewhere to spend the night – mind you, it was getting nippy so vaguely understandable I suppose. To chase away the chill we did what any self-respecting last-nighters should do –  shook our respective booties down at the forest disco while indulging in the odd nip of whisky.

Now celebrating its sixth anniversary, this year saw a few changes at the EOTR. A new stage (the Woods Stage) and a bigger capacity – rumoured to be 12,000 – double the amount of previous years. This made the campsite a bit busier but essentially it was still a great festival. The old faithfuls were there – the Somerset Cider Bus, the Chai Shop organic café (where the theme from the Muppets played as we waited for our fry-up) and the Routemaster tea bus. See you again next year EOTR.”

Crouching behind the huddle of trees in the valley bottom below us was the village of Littlington, where we’d admired the tiny church of St Michael the Archangel, bright and welcoming despite its peeling walls and pervasive whiff of damp. We’d made it to the eccentric Littlington Tea Rooms just in time – or rather, five minutes after closing, which the waiter obligingly overlooked – to have tea in the enclosed country garden, edged with cute wooden summer houses bristling with tea tables. The tea garden is rumoured to be one of the earliest inEngland, dating back to the Victorian era. It certainly retains a timeless sense of peace in its lush gardens frothy with colourful flowers. We’d passed trees drooping with tight clusters of gleaming black elderberries on our walk over, so nibbling on Victoria sponge filled with elderberry and raspberry cream felt like an appropriately seasonal treat.

Earlier we’d lumbered up Windover Hill, after skirting around the Long Man of Wilmington etched into the grass on its flank. His origins and significance continue to baffle historians and archaeologists. According to the guidebooks, there is some debate as to whether the vertical slashes at the man’s sides are walking poles or whether he is at the threshold of a doorway; my companions were more concerned with his anatomical deficiencies. As we descended from the top of the ridge towards Littlington, a strip of constant blue sea was laid out before us and our path was trimmed with hedgerows bursting with blackberries, milkwort, thistles and even a few poppies, standing out like vermilion splashes of paint. Tightly rolled bales of hay dotted the fields. It was easy to see why artists like Constable were inspired by quintessentially English landscapes like this.

Returning to Alfriston along the banks of the river, we delighted in the proud, spiky-headed teasels fringing the path and could scarcely believe the abundance of sloes, hanging in dense clusters from their spiky branches like diamonds nestling in a jeweller’s window. According to the intriguing site, www.sloebusiness.com (strapline: ‘There’s no business like sloe business’), the main use of this dusky-purple berry is in flavouring gin, though you can also use it make jam, flavour game – and should you choose, to make children pull funny faces when they taste its sharpness! It’s advised that you shouldn’t pick sloes until after the first frost, so if we decide we want to make some sloe gin (tempting!), we’ll need to go back to harvest nature’s bounty in a few month’s time.

www.sevensisters.org.uk

http://www.teaantiques.com/teaclipper/teaclipper200205.htm

www.sloe.biz

http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/artists/john-constable

The café staff scurried back and forth in the hot, saturated air, bringing cool beers and steaming coffees to the customers trapped by the rain, including us. Soon the toilets were closed due to fears of the sewage pipes overflowing in the deluge; next the electricity flickered off as the lines went down. We felt under siege, imprisoned by the unexpected ferocity of the storm. At least we had a prime spot: a window table on the upper level of Café Norden, overlooking Stroget, centralCopenhagen’s main pedestrian shopping street. Just hours earlier we’d been roaming the dusty streets of Christiana, the sunshine filtered only by the occasional plume of smoke from a local’s hand-rolled joint. Minutes before we’d been watching a pair of buskers charm the crowd next to the stork fountain. Now our plans for sushi with a view in a top-floor restaurant were washed away as we contemplated instead how to get home. During a brief respite in the downpour, we grabbed our bikes and cycled back to Frederiksburg, where Susanna’s comfortable apartment was our base for the weekend. Quite a few cars had broken down and several roads were closed due to flooding but the local children were having a ball, sloshing happily in streets that had become streams. Sluicing along on our bikes, we got back with no more than a light soaking.

Copenhagen is famous for its vibrantTivoligardens, the Carlsberg brewery, the picturesque coloured buildings squeezed along the banks of the Nyhavn canal, the unapologetically non-conformist district of Christiana. And of course, the iconic ‘Little Mermaid’ statue, which I still haven’t seen, despite two visits to the city. Over the weekend we’d had a leisurely lunch on the bleached wooden deck outside the glass-sided Royal Danish Playhouse, bantering with the waiters and glancing across the river at the modernist grandeur of the Opera House, designed by Danish architect Henning Larsen. We’d meandered our way to the top of the Round Tower in the city centre, up the winding, whitewashed Spiral Walk, a ramp built in preference to stairs so that King Christian IV could be driven to the astronomical observatory at the top in a horse and carriage. We’d relaxed into the pleasures of café society in the city’s pretty courtyards and gardens. And we’d braved the transport chaos and the mud that followed the storm to revel in the rowdy atmosphere and ear-thumpingly loud music at Roskilde,Northern Europe’s largest music festival. All great fun, all memorable. But when I think back on this weekend, my abiding image will be of a tranquil, stylish city beset by freak downpours, its streets churning with fast-flowing brown rain.

But Gorgeous George’s distinct lack of gorgeousness made a perfect foil for the other shows I saw at this year’s Edinburgh fringe festival, which were on the whole excellent (the exception being the enticingly titled ‘Looser Women’, which in the event was lazy and a little dull). ‘The Ginge, The Geordie and The Geek’ put on a highly polished and mostly very funny sketch show with loud music, lots of props and energy levels just to the right side of manic. The format of giving short slots to a variety of acts ups the odds of seeing someone who floats your boat and the Pleasance Courtyard’s ‘Showcase Show’ was an amusing case in point, although the comedians looked depressingly young (except for Fiona O’Loughlin, former heavy drinker from Alice Springs). I particularly warmed to heavy metal comedian Andrew ‘I’m not a goth’ O’Neill.

While the fringe programme is dominated by an overwhelming array of comedy bites, this year I also mixed in a few dance and theatre shows. Ricardo Garcia’s ‘Flamenco! Flamenco!’ thrummed with authentic Latin passion. From my front-row seat I could feel the draughts from the twirls of Aida Gil Garcia’s fringed shawl and the swirling flounces of her dress. Beads of sweat floated in the floodlights as Frederic Gomez pounded the stage with his heels in an ecstatic solo display, his whole body shaking, the audience holding its collective breath. At the end of this moody, intense dance, he slung his jacket cheekily over one shoulder and looked back at the audience flirtatiously as he left the stage. Flamenco-tastic.

Billed as ‘straight fromNew York’, Rasta Thomas’ Bad Boys of Dance show, ‘Rock the Ballet’, was another rousing dance performance, albeit of a very different kind. Authenticity is thrown to the wind here, as a troupe of classically-trained ballet dancers jump, wheel and pump their way through a pop-rock soundtrack. The appeal lies in watching fit, muscled, unfeasibly long-limbed dancers (all male, with the exception of one ballerina, who seemed out-of-place in this testosterone-fuelled extravaganza) bring an effortless grace to moves more familiar to a Beyonce video than toSwanLake. Thumping music, a dazzling light and visual display and the high-octane enjoyment of the dancers made this a delight to watch, though I suspect it was hardly a challenging routine for the Bad Boys. The Newbury Youth Theatre brought enough enthusiasm and creativity to an excitingly staged performance of Gogol’s ‘The Portrait’ to make me want to read it. And ‘Philippa and Will are Now in a Relationship’ was an endearing and surprisingly moving portrayal of a student relationship played out on Facebook – a sort of social media version of ‘Romeo & Juliet’.

Drinking plays a big part in many people’s experiences of the festival. When I couldn’t find the venue for the show I’d booked – ‘Danny and theDeepBlueSea’, which I believe was about two drunkards – my first port of call was the pop-up champagne bar in the imposing Signet Library. A glass of fizz (it has to be said, a stingily small one) took the edge off my wasted ticket. So ‘Thirsty’, an exploration of women’s relationship with alcohol, is an appropriateEdinburghplay. It was impeccably performed by The Paper Birds; my favourite scene was the one in which the girls downed an implausible number of ‘drinks’, progressively drenching themselves and writhing on the chequered floor of the stage in cleverly choreographed drunkenness. It was perhaps slightly over-earnest, with a faint edge of maudlin morality, but any qualms were easily quenched after the show with a stiff drink …

Always a place of grand, dour, grey stone, and often cloaked in drizzle or steeped in a heavy downpour (although my Edinburgh friend disputes this), Edinburgh during the festival is a city charmingly possessed by entertainment. The streets are thronged with tourists, performers and culture vultures buzzing between shows, whatever the weather. I can’t wait for next year.

http://www.edfringe.com/whats-on

http://www.flamencoflow.com/index.html

http://www.rastathomas.com/#/company/4522998429

http://www.thepaperbirds.com/