The Journal of the Browncoat Cat

I have just seen a couple of photographs of Brandon Routh as the new incarnation of Clarke Kent, whilst filming in Sydney Australia, for Superman Returns, the latest movie featuring the Man of Steel. If I had not know any better, I would have sworn that these were 25 year old shots from the filming of Richard Donner’s Superman movie. It is frightening how much the new star looks like the late Christopher Reeves in this role.

One big advantage that this movie has is Kate Bosworth playing Lois Lane. Naturally I will have to see her in action before I can tell if she knocks Teri Hatcher off her throne as the ultimate live-action Lois Lane.

I used to go to the British National Science Fiction Convention, the Eastercon every year. Then I bought my house, and working on that absorbed my spare time. So this year, as I felt like a change, I decided to go to Blackpool for at least a couple of days. The fact that Jonjo was on the committee of Concourse, this year’s Eastercon helped sway my decision. Finally, Sharon and Jonjo decided to have a religious blessing on the Saturday at the convention, so that her family could enjoy the wedding celebrations, as I had been best in the Civil Ceremony, I was required at the Religious Ceremony, so I found myself Blackpool bound on Good Friday.

For a change, the convention was being held in a conference centre, not a large luxury hotel. The centre in question was the Winter Gardens in Blackpool. A lot of regular attendees were concerned that things would all go horribly wrong and that the event would be a bit of a disaster. Fortunately, as I will describe, this was not the case.

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Arrival at the Winter Gardens was a great shock to the system. I saw so many people who I know, but mostly have not seen since Easter 2000. Gods, when did we all get so old? Hair, where it still remained, was greying. Girths were considerably larger. All changes for the bad as far as I could see.

I made my way to registration, which was in the entrance to the Empress Ballroom. This was also where the nerve centre of the convention, the Operations Room, commonly known as Ops was also located. I spotted Sharon behind the Registration Desk. She had been there all day and was looking frazzled. I got my badge, after receiving a ticking off for not bringing the letter that came with the last Progress Report. I decided to have a wander around the Dealer’s Room and the Art Show. In always regard it as a good sign if I can go around the Dealers Room on my first visit without blowing all my money.

After that, it was back to Registration where I helped Sharon, and Heidi, who uses the pseudonym Pepper at conventions to pack up the desk after it closed for the night.

Blackpool
The town of Blackpool is a long thin conurbation on the coastal plain of North Lancashire between the river Ribble in the south and the river Wyre in the north. This area is known as the Fylde. The first mention of the name Blackpool was in 1602, and the name is thought to have derived from the le Pull a stream that drained Marton Mere a small lake. Development of the hamlet of Blackpool into a resort began in the 1730’s but it was not until the 1840’s and the arrival of the railways that the explosive growth of the town began.

The Winter Gardens
The Art Deco spectacular that is the Blackpool Winter Gardens was first planned in the 1870’s as a place for the tourists to go when it rained, which it does a lot in Lancashire. The major structures are the Empress Ballroom (where the political conferences are held) and the Opera House, which maintain their Victorian splendour. However, the vast majority of the building was constructed in the 1930’s following the merger of the Tower Company and the Winter Garden’s Company in 1928.

With Registration packed up for the night, thoughts turned to what to do in the evening. Jonjo and Sharon were going back to the Carlton to have a meal with the members of his family, (his mother and cousin) who had come up for the marriage blessing on Saturday night. They asked me if I would like to tag along, and I said yes. The meal was booked for 19:30, but it was unlikely that we would be there in time, so a quick phone call to the hotel put it back to 19:45, even then, we did not sit down until 19:55.

At the hotel I had a quick shower, to clean of the grime of travelling, and a shave, to get rid of the five o’clock shadow. I changed into a pair of chinos and a tartan shirt, after all, I was going to a ceilidh after my meal, so I thought I better wear something Scottish, and the tartan shirt was the closest thing I had.

Down in the reception I met up with Mrs Jones, Jonjo’s cousin Alison and her boyfriend Martin. The weather had improved to such an extent that there was a wonderful sunset over the Irish Sea as we were waiting to be seated at our table. The Chef at the hotel is a very talented individual, as none of us duplicated our choices on the menu, yet all of us had excellent food. I had Millifleue of Scallops on a cabbage and bacon base as my starter, which was a wonderful of flavours, the saltiness of the bacon adding a great deal to the flavour of the scallops. My main course was a wonderful piece of grilled salmon in a creamy sauce, with a selection of roast vegetables. Finally for desert I had an individual banoffee pie with ice cream. Jonjo was a bit disappointed with his desert, it said on the menu a selection of dairy ice cream, but when it came it was three scoops of vanilla. I pointed out jokingly that the selection Lyons Maid, Walls and Sidoli vanilla ice cream.

With hunger stated, we all headed back to the Winter Gardens.

The evening entertainment at the Eastercon on the Friday Night consisted of a traditional Ceilidh, organised by the committee of next year’s Worldcon in Glasgow. I was dragged to the dance floor a number of times, and made a complete fool of myself on each occasion. I can see now why the Scots invented malt whisky. Keeping to the Scottish theme of the evening, there was a break in the dancing were traditional Scottish food was offered. This consisted of a bowl of broth and a plate of haggis with neeps and tatties were served. At which point I was glad that I had eaten in the Hotel, as the portions supplied were far from generous.

I actually enjoyed myself, as did Jonjo’s mother and cousin. Dancing with Sharon was fun as she knows the men’s steps as well as the lady’s, and insisted on leading, causing many hilarious collisions.

The evening drew to a close, and we all piled into a taxi, to take us back to the Carlton.  A good night’s sleep was a must, as Saturday was going to be a very busy day.

First job of the morning was getting the champagne and glasses for the wedding reception from the wine merchants in Pontcanna to the Courtfield Hotel on Cathedral Road. The cab was a Skoda, I really like the new Skoda models, the days of them being an automotive joke are long gone. Once that job was done, Jonjo wanted to get some stuff from Town. It was a damp morning, but still quite pleasant, walking through Sophia Gardens into the city centre. The great thing about Cardiff is that it has more acres of greenery per square mile than any other European capital city.

According to the old superstition it is unlucky for the Bride and Groom to see each other until the wedding ceremony. This is why Jonjo’s mother had shooed Sharon and Heidi (the bridesmaid) out of her house, back to the Courtfield the previous night after the Japanese meal. So, imagine my horror, whilst Jonjo and myself were walking into town, when I spotted Sharon and her parents. Fortunately they were on the other side of Duke Street, opposite the Angel Hotel, heading out of town, whilst we were by the Animal Wall of the Castle heading in the opposite direction. I grabbed the peak of Jonjo’s baseball cap an pulled it down over his eyes.

“What the hell did you do that for?” he asked.

“Sharon is over there, with her parents.” I replied.
“Where, let me see.”
“No, keep walking.”
“Aw.”
“Keep walking.”

We went to Jessops, where Jonjo bought a memory card for his digital camera. Then to the Welsh Craft Shop, where he got a Welsh Love-spoon with the names Sharon and Jonathan and 01-04-04 burnt into it. This took forty minutes, so we hung around various shops until it was ready.

Comments

(5.4.04 19:06

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are love-spoons still handcarved or has somebody perfected a machine to do it now?

 

(5.4.04 20:35) These are all hand crafted love-spoons. Very traditonal. This shop is also home to the worlds largest love-spoon, 18ft long, it is hinged and snakes around an arch in the shop. It was carved from a single tree trunk.

A quick shower, a shave and a bite to eat at Jonjo’s Mother’s house, I got changed into my Dinner Suit. Sharon and Jonjo had bought me a dickey bow and cufflinks that matched the Grooms for me to wear at the ceremony. A nice gesture and they are such an attractive shade of yellow.It was not the best of weather when the taxi pulled up outside the house. First stop was the Courtfield, as there were a few things that needed to be dropped off there, including my suitcase. Making sure that Jonjo stayed downstairs, so that there was no way that he could see Sharon. It transpired that the hairdressers had taken substantially longer than planned, so she was far to busy getting herself ready for the taxi that was waiting for her to waist time billing and cooing with Jonjo.

So Jonjo his Mother and Myself were the first people to arrive at the Registry Office, for the only wedding of the day being held there that afternoon. No sign of my Mother, who was supposed to be meeting me there. As more and more people arrived, and she had not, I started to get worried. About five minutes before the ceremony started, she arrived flustered. She had missed the train and as a result had driven into Cardiff and had decided to park closer to the Registry Office in Cathays than in the usual Shoppers Car Park in the city centre. Finding a parking space had proven to be a bit of a hassle.

Altogether, about thirty people crowded into the Wedding Room for the Ceremony. Jonjo had a much larger family down in Cardiff than I realised.

The ceremony was pretty much the same as every other Registry Office ceremony I have been to. Heidi, the Bridesmaid read a short poem to make it a bit more personalised. At the end, Augie’s Municipal Band and End Credits from The Phantom Menace were played as everyone trooped out of the Wedding Room, which I suppose made it a bit unusual. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your point of view, everyone was out of the room by the time that Augie segued into the Star Wars theme.

At this point, my Mother decided that it would be best to go and find a parking space somewhere in the vicinity of the Courtfield. She made a wise choice, as she was soon in somewhere warm and cosy. The rest of the Wedding Party was freezing at the Temple of Peace in Cathays Park whilst the photos were taken.

So, after the photos were taken, Jonjo asked me to go and see if the taxis had arrived at the Bute Building, to ferry everyone to the reception in the Courtfield. As I reached the Bute Building, I saw a fleet of cabs arrive where the Wedding Party had assembled. So off I ran back to get a lift to the hotel. As I did, I saw all the cabs go whizzing past. Fortunately Elaine and Owen were in the last cab, and saw me stranded. There cab came back to fetch me.

And then to the Courtfield, for a very informal wedding reception. Not a lot can be said, other than it was a fun event. I made a short speech, as did Elaine. The happy couple opened their presents, and the cake was cut.

And now we do it all again, on a much larger scale in Blackpool on 10^th of this month.

I travelled down to Cardiff on Wednesday, to guarantee that I would be bright eyed an bushy tailled the following day for Sharon and Jonjo’s wedding, where I was Best Man. I was staying at Jonjo’s Mother’s house in Pentrebane. That night, myself, the Happy Couple and Sharon’s parents Elaine and Owen were all going out to the Izakaya down in Cardiff Bay, as both Sharon and Jonjo are self-confessed Sushi-Monsters and I am quite partial to the food from 日本¹. In Japan, an Izakaya is a rural tavern, and although this one is in a very modern western style building in the heart of Wales’ capital, it is laid out like a traditional Japanese bar. It is also the restaurant that is most popular with the expatriate Japanese community in South Wales. If they like it, it must be good. The staff welcome you with a cry of “Irasshaimase” the equivalent of “your very welcome” and you are either seated at a bamboo bench and table by the bar, or ushered to one of the back rooms, where shoes are removed and you sit around a floor level table. Once you order your food, the waiter takes it to the kitchen and as he reads it out, one of the staff shouts “hai” and starts preparing the food. It is one of my favourite restaurants in Cardiff. Although at the end of the month a Sushi bar is open at the bottom end of Queen Street. I should imagine that this will be more in the style of Yo! Sushi, with different interesting bowls going past you on a conveyor-belt.

One slight snag was there are a lot of prawns in Japanese cuisine and Sharon’s mother Elaine is violently allergic to all shellfish. Elaine ended up having a plate of Momonegima, which is skewered grilled chicken and leek. Jonjo’s mother had some fried salmon with a salad, whilst myself, Jonjo, Sharon and her father Owen had the top of the tree £26 per head set meal which consisted of (if memory serves me):

• Miso (clear soup)
  
• Shime Sabe (mackerel shashimi²)
  
• Mixed Tempura (vegetables and seafood deep fried in batter)
  
• Yaki Udon (pan fried noodles, vegetables and pork)
  
• Yaki Soba (pan fried noodles, vegetables and kimuchi)
  
• Maguro stake (Tuna fried in a special sauce with shiitake & shimeji mushrooms)
  
• Tebasaki (Skewered grilled chicken)
  
• San Shurui (A selection of 3 Japanese salads).
  

We then decided to have a selection of Sushi and Atsuyaki Tamago (square omelette).

There was so much food floating around the table, that everyone ended up having a little bit of everything (well everything that had not been in contact with prawns).

Much sake and Kirin (lager) was imbibed over the course of the evening. Sake is best drunk warm. You never help yourself to the flask, as that is considered terribly bad manners and unlucky, you have to ask someone to serve you enough sake to cover the bottom of your thimble-sized bowl, and then you knock it back. Now the net effect of the warmth and the speed at which it is drunk means that it makes you light headed very quickly. If it was not for the fact that the Japanese are so well mannered, they could take great delight in watching the Gaijin³ get very drunk indeed.

All in all, it was a damn good evening. Setting the scene for the following day admirably.

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