Hi campers. Naturlich I’m starting this Road Trip across Spain and France by er Air. Gatwick looks rather wrecked to be honest, escalators and lifts largely kaput, and one and a half cafes (pre Club Lounge), and ya need a Very Long Neck to spot the first floor Giraffe Restaurant. Oh 21st Century problems. (What war? What Climate Change?).

Still dear reader, it’s very busy and my flight hasn’t been cancelled. Yet. Nobody has told me to wear a gorilla suit to avoid Monkey Pox, and have a “Non EU Covid Certification Replacement” to flash at people from my watch. So I’m equipped. Thought as a treat I’d debut my denture, trial my teeth and Gnaw on my Gnashers abroad, long enough for the odd wedding pic….

Well, the flight happened. Up, Bolly vino beer and sos and mash, thence here in Málaga where it’s hot hot hot. Basking, drinking in downtown uptown and midtown establishments and WEAR THAT...

3000 metres in minutes. No, not part of a recent marathon attempt, but the rate the A350 airbus starts to drop at from 33000 feet (mixing imperial and metric the fault of BA graphics bods I’m afraid).

Yes Betwixt is back travelling and phew was this necessary..post World Cruises and flights to Spain, I was rather hoping for a spree of sunspots, a panoply of plane popping, when oh no, we were first all forced coviciously covideous, then I became an NHS Alert, ailments and operations mere commonplace to 2021 as antivaxxers are to Loonytown, Arizona, (insert your own locale)…

But back to Feb 2022…. Off I jaunt solo Club World (not a Spice Girls album) to something that so took my fancy and rightly so as it turns out. But more of that later…

Meanwhile back in Heathrow.

“Ere mate, somebody’s done a number two in there” urges my Khazi Attendant pointing out the Business Class Lounge Loo...

It’s 2022. In many ways all anybody wants is some cause for optimism and a better world. I’d like to get travelling again having been locked away in my London premises (and NHS locations) for the past two years.

So I have good news, in so many ways. Please bear with me.

Firstly, I have discovered why I generally dislike Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream products. It’s because I’m not convinced that including pieces of carpet within the comestible is ideal texturally, let alone helpful to youngsters wishing to retain a decent set of gnashers.

Secondly, I’m about to start looking at travelling again to places that will accept my credit cards and that require suntan creams galore.

Thirdly, I’m in the process of releasing into the Wild 22 songs for ‘22 in superdemo form that simply need my enterprising Publishers to remember who I am, listen and then book Taylor Swift (or buddies inc. Lara...

Video evidence click here!

So I went to the postbox. I shouldn’t really, cos yes after Cancer Surgery a Triple Heart Bypass and Arse-ache on my sofa, I FINALLY CAUGHT FLIPPING COVID. 6 days ago. Cough, splutter.

YES I DID.

Ho Ho Ho, and many of you might add, Ho.

So as a message to my adoring fans (that’s you two in the Landor Pub, oh and Samantha my ever patient South African physio, Jeremy, control yourself), and the rest of you enquirers (there’ve been loads actually, bless you)…. Here’s this Queen’s Christmas Message

*So I say Thank you for the Lemsip, the NH-essing
Gets you through when life’s distressing
Who can even bother to hear all Abba’s new stuff
I’ve had enough
Day Four of Covid and my voice is quite gruff

So I say thanks to all for helping
And EVERYONE get jabbed*

South London was quite busy before I caught this thing, and I gather the West End was heaving...

May 2021

Travel, travel, travel! That’s what the WORLD is thinking about now…I know I am…desperate to make my amber a green, and my violet a Carson! (That’s for anyone REALLY OLD). Yup after a year of pandemic (still striking fiercely everywhere) and three months of, well, personal near death experiences (summary below), I wanna get well and Portillo myself to Europe, Get Biden over to USA to catch up on my fab friends there post Trumpety Trump, and then have a nice gentle Sundowner in Catalunya overlooking a rippling wave or ten. I’d also like to return to eating the Comestibles of California, the Nibbles of New York and the Tomatoes of Tomahawk.

Thing is, having to re-learn how to eat, what with most teeth removed and a jaw transplanted from my arm (due to Oral Cancer discovered in March 2021), my current mostly liquid diet with the odd egg, scrambled, not stirred is rapidly...

Well here’s NEARLY the start of my latest traveller’s tales across Corona Centrale, via initially Aeroplane (subject to British Airways Cough Control allowing us through Terminal Priti) across the States of Trump West to East via the Musical Hubs of Los Angeles, Nashville, Chicago and New York City amongst others….

Why the USA one might ask? Well, I like it, rather love it actually. People, places, attitude (mostly), creativity, generosity and most of all the Accents. You can take yer Welsh, Emmerdale, East ‘Am and Gorbals, give me most US tongues any day.

“Beez are always at the front”, said Martine of the LNER EAST COAST AZUMA train staff. The customary pre-sedentary scrum was about to take place as despite making “reservations”, the train company likes to have fun by not naming the carriages. (Ah, Beez Seez and Deez…..I get it).

This dear Reader is an interim Betwixt bloggage before returning to major Stateside activities in 2020, thus we involve UK travels, with a snatch of Parisien Eurostar poured in (myself and colleague and buddy on A French Pont):

But back to Yorkshireford. There are some expressions in our English language that can still warm the cockles. One, of course, is: “Welcome to the Skipton Train”. This is spoken in a mid-Kensington BBC announcer kind of accent, so consequently totally incomprehensible to the Yorkshire passengers contained within said vehicle…. still we made it, and I was indeed relieved to be back...

Pepe wants to apologise. Pepe grabs my hand laughing. Pepe says it’s been “one of those Sundays”. Oh really? How so Pepe? “Well first we ran out of sweetener, then the WiFi on the card machine stopped working…..” (more laughter) “Yes? Yes?” “And then…now we have no more Cafe Nero cards to stamp for you. I’m soooooooo sorry.” More laughter and genuine sympathy as he lets go of my now rather clammy hand.

Well, dear Reader, that’s the long and the short of it. Travel Life, despite now being an infrequent flyer, still largely involves torrid interactions at Railway Stations with, albeit rather fit, young chuckling future hopefuls soon to be Brexited away across Boris Borders.

2018 saw my return to “Business Class” British Airways European flying, just as Cattle Class but with three socks more foot room and a guaranteed one übercamp BA trolley dolly intent on flogging you Issey Miyake...

“Underwear, soiled on one tray, iPads and adaptors, post 1947, another tray, Post Modernist Impressionist Art, that bin over there, everything else wrapped up in an old beach towel covered in 6 month old Factor 40, follow me please!”

So declared Claire at Terminal S, Gatwick Airport, en route to my second set of trial flights this year, to Barcelona, Spain in a far off land named Europe. The bubbles are distinctly superior to Iceland Prosecco, while the “Yorkshire Frittata” is clearly Italian for Bradford Pea Omelette.

Sara has just insisted “we have a clean one” for our next glass of Castelnau Champagne, from Reims pronounced “Reims” in France, pronounced, “France”.

Here again are we, Dear Reader, on the pre-Brexit Chrexit Sunseeking Trail via British Airways, a company which may be banned from landing on Los Runwayos Españoles after we’ve been taken to Tusk through the Barnier...

“A large Latte with one sweetener please” . Primrose of AMT Coffee replied “that WILL be £3.60, though it WILL take 10 minutes….the machine’s on the blink.”

With this, dear reader, I present my latest long overdue instalment of Betwixt The Interim, a heartwarming and searing study into the foibles of this world, particularly in ones travels around in same.

In readiness for some late summer journeys to La Belle Macron, to visit my friend and cabaret partner “there’s no running water”, followed by El Sandy Sitges, con Los Muchos Poofos, y Los Grandes Gintonicos, I find myself mid Heatwave on a rarity, namely a Southbound Train to Brighthelmstone, a seaside last resort, and location for duggery of skull, enness of drunk, and selldate departed of drag, not to mention supplier of sticks of sweetness with Birhgton written all through, as ones teeth give way during consumption.

Ones desire...