I've come over all Malory Towers

In the grand tradition of English boarding schools, I have been sent a tuck box - and as is normally required in these circumstances, (along with heaps of common-sense, a good head for heights, and a brother who sends you new tricks to play on gullible French mistresses on Tuesdays and Saturdays) I shared with the other members of my 'dorm' the goodies sent from home - lashings of raspberry liquorice bullets, schoc chocolate, and mint toffee pops. Very much appreciated Mumsie!

We are heading into autumn here, with the first outing of the winter coat already, and these is a sense of things getting just a little more traditional - it may be the fashionable rise of tweed in the magazines, or a shift towards more hearty food on the menu, but it just feels like things are going to get that little bit more English around here.

Glad you found your toffeepop hunk

Special good wishes to Caroline and Brett on their wedding day - may your long walk have just enough steep bits to keep it interesting, the path in front of you be wide enough to walk side by side, and may you have no problems that cannot be solved over a nice cup of tea. Sorry I can't be there with you.

No wonder Cat Stevens converted

Allah's Apostle said, "A woman was tortured and was put in Hell because of a cat which she had kept locked until it died of hunger." Allah's Apostle further said, "Allah knows better - Allah said to the woman, "You neither fed it nor watered it when you locked it up, nor did you set it free to eat the insects of the earth.""

In the Islamic world, cats are respected and protected. There is a story that Mohammed's cat Muezza once fell asleep on the sleeve of his master's robe - instead of disturbing his beloved cat when he had to leave, Mohammed cut off the sleeve of his robe.

Some of the best experiences I had in Turkey involved cats - they are everywhere, well treated and friendly. Things like helping a shopkeeper round up street kittens for their evening meal; dinners under the stars with furry guests; and a shared smile with a homeless man as he opened his jacket to show me the sleeping cat at his side.

But Miriam, we've only just met

I thought I would visit one of the local hamams for a proper Turkish bath - there are several around the Old City that are more than 300 years old, and I thought it would be an excellent way to 'soak' up some culture (groan).

After signing up for the full wash, polish and turtle wax at Cagaloglu Hamam, Miriam Margolyes gave me a very small towel, instructed me to strip off and escorted me into the giant marble hall fitted out with ancient columns and fountains where she mimed that I should splash myself with water to rinse off, and that she would be right back. Unsure of just what to do, I took a surreptitious look to see what the others were doing, and found they were...basically splashing themselves with water. OK, not that complicated!

30 minutes later, I was still sitting naked and wet in Miriam Margoyles bathroom, and with only the ability to order tea in Turkish, I was acutely aware that my negotiating skills were very much restricted. Luckily she finally returned, took me by the hand, and led me to the large heated marble platform in the centre of the room.

There she proceeded to scrub the top layer of my skin off, then roughly kneaded my flesh, whilst I, all soapy slid over the marble dais like a ouija board pointer. At certain points she grabbed my arm and held it close to her to stop me moving, which left me very much at risk of feeling her up. The indignity not complete, she then sat me at her feet and proceeded to roughly wash my hair like I was 3 years old, with suds pouring down my face.

Oh yes, needless to say, I giggled the whole way through. And emerged very clean indeed.

Lines to the fallen

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end, against odds uncountered:
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning
We will remember them.

Nothing funny to say today, I think everyone should go to Gallipoli at some point.

It's a small world after all

Istanbul is a city split between 2 continents; the Old and New cities sit on the European side, and Asia begins just across the narrow gap of the Bosphorus river, which leads down from the Black Sea. Perhaps influenced perhaps by too many Agatha Christie novels, I was expecting a city of exotic mysticism and faded fin-de-cicle elegance. Instead I found a very modern, friendly city, of course proud of it's heritage, but very much looking forward to the future.

I met Dad at the airport on Sunday afternoon, before we headed off to find our hotel. I had this fantasy of waking up on my birthday to breakfast looking over the Blue Mosque - and the photo above is taken from the hotel terrace! Just perfect.

The next couple of days were spent wandering the city visiting the various mosques and palaces, dodging carpet sellers in the grand bazzar, cat-spotting and eating a lot of pudding.

Oh, and I'm not the only one seeing the similarity - as we were sitting in front of the Blue Mosque, a van drove past and a person yelled out, "Hey! It's Disneyland!"

So why didn't anyone tell me there was an election on?

A passing comment from Fabiano about postal voting forms made me check the NZ Herald website to be surprised with the news that there is an election on this week. Yes, unbelievable, but I had absolutely no idea at all. It's amazing that something so significant back home can have been so totally ignored in the media here, and for the first time I realised how isolated New Zealand really is, other than when it comes to sport.

I've always felt it was important to exercise my right to vote considering that there are still places in the world where women don't get an equal say, so god bless the Internet (small g, big I, you can see which religion I follow), this morning I was able to check I was registered on the electoral role and download voting papers which have been posted out, and yes, my vote will count this year.

Dogs and Mad Englishmen

Go out in the mid-day sun?

Never bet on it in England. While sunny at 9 when I met Dom at Epsom station before heading out to Blenheim for day 2 of the European Eventing Championships, by the time we had arrived the weather was glowering at us, and my idle thought that I might perhaps pick up some gumboots had turned into a critical mission. But then again, when was it that shoe shopping was ever anything else for me?

Saturday is given over to cross-country, which sees riders following a course around the estate and jumping over um... jumps, some of which involve water. Luckily Dom knew the more technical points of the event, otherwise I think I would have been a little lost!

The event also had a retail village which follows the course, allowing you to take time out from watching the event to purchase anything and everything needed for your horse or hound. Did I mention they had shoes? So a lot of time spent wandering the shops, but luckily, like the tube, there was always the guarantee of another horse in 3 minutes time, so we still got to see a lot of the action.

We are fairly sure we saw Zara Phillips, although by that time we were a little distracted defending our fish and chips against the downpour. We did later see the reigning European champion Nicolas Touzaint falling into the lake. Like motor racing it seems that the crashes are the best bit.

Just about everyone had brought their dogs, who all went totally nuts with excitement when they got out of the cars, then were perfectly behaved, until it began raining, when they all began to stare reproachfully at their owners.

But yay, I had finally bought my new baby blue Hunter gummies and so was nice and dry and had a lot of fun jumping in puddles and squishing mud. Now who was I was calling 'mad' again?

Apocaplyse now: rebugs

London... bugger; I'm still only in London.... Every time I think I'm gonna wake up back in the jungle. When I was home after my first tour, it was worse. I'd wake up and there'd be nothing. When I was here, I wanted to be there; when I was there, all I could think of was getting back into the jungle. I'm here a week now... waiting for a mission.... getting softer; every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker, and every minute Charlie squats in the bush, he gets stronger. Each time I looked around, the walls moved in a little tighter.

So arrived home from work yesterday to find Designer Bug Guy napalming the lounge; having come back to check the bed bug situation, he'd discovered that apparently the invaders have spread to every bedroom in the house - except mine luckily. So the whole house has now been liberally soaked in Agent Orange, and we are all busy scratching imaginary itches brought on by the power of suggestion.

Designer Bug Guy - currently writing the bug section of the Backpacker's Ultimate Guide (or B.U.G. - coincidence?) is in high demand around the better-heeled streets of London. Drawing deeply from a fag, he assembled us in the garden to give us our military-style briefing. In marketing-speak I am a 'early adopter' of bed bugs, a trend which will be sweeping the world over the next 12 months - apparenly soon everyone will want them (gotten rid of).

Something I read recently

After the crash of Pan Am 103, the women of Lockerbie set up a laundry project to wash the 11,000 articles of clothing belonging to the victims that were found in the plane’s wreckage. Once the clothes were washed, the women packed and shipped them to the victims’ families around the world.