4. Life CAN be so simple.

My dear old cabaret partner of many years purchased a simple and welcome birthday present for my recent 61st: a pound of sausages.

I’m now thinking of getting my diabetic friend Susan a couple of Twixes for her 60th next month.

Saint Ochwell is my official residential location, a leafy building site in South West London, England (formerly, Europe). Thuswards I so choose to leave it whenever possible. Four Sainsbury’s, Two Lidl’s, Two Tesco’s, a mini Waitrose, an M&S and a Bar under a Bridge, called The Bridge, simply do not suffice. Everywhere sells Christmas trees from October onwards.

So, Dear Reader, I’m currently indulging in a Rothmans Silver in the rain under a heater to dry off the drops of occasional Sarf London Misery that has haunted me since my Blighty return. Poor moi, eh? So I’m getting in a few Travels Without My Aunt. Around the United...

Let’s face it.

Life is just a bowl of all bran (other equally emetic breakfast cereals are available). You pass through it daily and it returns the sentiment in full. I’m talking laxatively here, and, as one who has been travelling through an almost entire global circumnavigation without the need of any digestive clearance materials, eight whole weeks back in Blighty has already led your penster, Dear Reader, to the urgent necessity for both bowel and spiritual evacuation, largely due to the mass adoption in this country of

1) uber cynicism (not a defensive distrust of independent taxi services, by the way)
2) much chilli sauce soaked compressed lamb (it’s been a bit of a Doner Summer I must admit), and
3) verbal diarrhoea beyond ones wildest nightmares “there’s literally not a dry eye in the house”, oh thank you Sky Football Commentator (not to mention “The Very Best Deal For...

2. Betwixt Goes Downstream, and Upmarket

Dear Reader, having indulged you all in a fair bit of my global glory, please allow your indulgence in some continued ramblings of quasi-humorous manner, if you would. Take The Thames, for instance. It’s yours.

One has recently headed Henley way (location of my dear friends’ Harrowing Hostelry and Eton Eaterie) which is clearly beautiful in a kind of “oh yaaah, we’re massively rich, hug my Cox (aquatic person, that is)” kind of way, where everyone awaits the Big Oars arrival: Rowland, Rowena and Rowlex, all ideal if you desire a little wealthy canoedle (see what I did there? No?).

Regatta time, the lads here all OD on Prosecco, later decorating the Locale with Pavement Pizzas, particularly in The Square in fact, where the local Cathedral dates back to 1204, though the local Starbucks is even older, stately styled in Mocha Tudor. Banks...

Domestic and European (whatever that is) Entries

1. Betwixt Domestic Ahoy

Well Dear Reader, as there’s space on my vinyl front here, these WILL be the continuing logs of this Captain’s Enterprise. My timeless mission is to seek out new life and uncivilisations, boldly splitting infinitives through Haywards Heath to Worthing, without changing at Hove, where No Men have Gone Before. Or Women. Not without a barcode ticket at least.

Probably irrelevant as Southern Rail with an F hasn’t worked for a few years.

Continuing to recall ruminations from road rail and Ryanair (well who knows, but try saying that, Jonathan Ross), wherever I go I’ll be regurgitating, and hopefully you, deluded dearest, will be by my side, if not necessarily, on it.

During my worldly wandering, on Ocean Liner, budget conscious express bus, and past their bedtime Rural Railway (try saying that too, Jonathan Ross)...

This is the location for the mutterings, murmuring, musings and manicurings of the English Language, dependent on the state of the mind of yours truthfully, Chris Marshall, U.K. resident, increasingly deaf musician, almost geriatric but still up for a good journey or two.

Down below this point (by way of Introduction) is the Complete Archive of the Global Trotterings in 2017 post Chrexit, as featured in the online Bloggage “Betwixt The Interim: 50 Shades of Gravy”. The entire archive will always be available (for all you bibliophiles) as links below this point, and above and all newer articles will clearly be dated more recently than this piece here.

There may also be the occasional graphic, or image file.

For instance, here’s me in my Recording Studio

You can award an article “Kudos Points” by clicking on the Kudos Circular Avatar (coowee), you can visit my Twitter feed and “say...

FIRST POST JUNE 2017

“We’re taking these lovely pastries back to the room” said the two girls from Exeter. “We can’t get enough!”

Well now, Dearest of Readers, The End is in fact Nigh. The Players from The First Act have already stated their case for Infamous Inclusion in my Travelicious Tales. For instance, The Lovely Daniel (wine waiter, fledgling Croatian Actor, Britannia Restaurant, QM2) is pleased to re-meet myself, and for the first time my final travel companion, The Nurse. Captain Jolly Hockey Sticks Christopher is still here, and Ents Director “Each and Every” Hi-di-Hi Jo has stuck it out, and remains deliciously-ah awful-luh. Sunsets? Tick. Finest of Dining. Tick. Loads of Brits. Tick. No mentions so far of Timmy Trump and Terry May. Plenty of Line Dancing and Quoits on deck though.
Nurse loves the lemonade: “Best so far”. The Planetarium and Karaoke loom large on his...

FIRST POSTED: MAY 2017

Betwixt the Interim 5:1 (My Last Legs): West Side Stories

I sneezed, that’s what I did, I sneezed. And THREE people almost simultaneously all said “Bless You’’. Outside the Bloomingdales/Westfield Shopping Maul (sic) in Market Street, San Francisco. Because, that’s what I’ve been during this journey, blessed, privileged, soon to be broke maybe, but well and truly blessed.

Blessed means currently having spent a couple of weeks on the West Coast of The United States of Trump. I was typing this in “Phil’s Coffee” where, Dear Reader, there are no fewer than 17 types of coffee all with confusing descriptions. I plumped for "Julie’s Ultimate”, which has “slightly intense hazelnut, vanilla and chocolate undertones”, and to accompany for my breakfast, I had a “Turkey Sandwich with cooked egg in an English Muffin”. This all required speaking to FIVE people, having to...

PART ONE: FIRST POST APRIL 2017

Dear dear Reader, for those champing at the Gigabyte for another piece of Rhenal Rhetoric Re Ones Return from the Other Side eventually back to Blighty, well it starts here.

It begins with the morning after the Gin and Tonic’ed and Newcastle Brown’d debut evening aboard the gleaming modern successor to the SS Butlitz, the Shiny Sailing Ship Emerald Princess, or the SSS Bejazzle, for short.

Already it’s good to find on this Pacific Cruise a large contingent from Japan, many no doubt here to see again ‘Pearl Harbor’, who’s such a fine singer with the Bejazzle’s House Band ‘Rumors’. They’ll both soon be doing a charity performance for the ‘Restoration of the Letter U in 21st Century English’ in the ‘Colors’ Bar.

I was asked to share a Supper table with the delightful and gorgeously old Carol and Terry, a Vancouver couple who share my love of Canadian...

FIRST POSTED: APRIL 2017

Dear Reader, should you continue the perverse wish to be mollycoddled into near giggledom by the Continued Japes of A Jaded Travelling Jesterette, read on. Otherwise, there’s a rather bloodthirsty storyline in Casualty involving nitroglycerine and doughnuts that may interest you.

Recapping: Boarded The Queen Mary 2, disembarked or “Got Off” eventually in “Australia”, a former penal colony that means in the original Aboriginal “No Worries”, travelled a bit, marvelled at the geometry of certain Opera Houses and Art Galleries, then departed on the SS Butlitz Resort Ship in a Force 12 Hurricane to New Zealand, a former British Outpost that translates from the original Maori/Scottish/Dutch: “New Sea Land”. Phew.
New Zealand. Land of beauty, mystery and more coach tours than you can shear a sheep at, is now a wholly owned subsidiary of Sir Peter Jackson Ltd, and...

FIRST POSTED MARCH 2017

In which our hero cruises aimlessly in Force 64 Gales before his Final Destination

Bradley Daniels, hardly demure Semi Australian with no fixed attachments, lured me into the Interrogation Suite of a Run Down Re-Opened Synagogue in FitzRoy, a one horse Town Saloon called Vau D'Vile in the almost outer regions of Melbourne. As the makeshift stage’s twenty three million watt bulbs shone into my former eyes, five drag queens and a Literally Green DJ supplied synchronization of lips to Eartha Kitt hits whilst feeding me with ample red meat and warm wine. But I still wouldn’t crack. I had my Myki (google it).

This was the final act in a three week dramatic Production known as So Much Fun in Oz. Australia, a former penal colony, is surprisingly modern, unsurprisingly hot yet remarkably, and genuinely, friendly beautiful and recommended.

They still suffer...