Ice bucket challenges

Postcard from Mallorca

Wish you were here....

We like...
Restaurant Siller - so good we went back! the best fillet steaks ever
Il Angelo - Good Italian with very good pizzas
El Posito - A new find. Beaten only by Siller.Tuna was divine....
Restaurant Tribeca - very good food well priced - lovely Salmon
Buddha Bar - strange but generous measures!!!!
Restaurant in Pollensa old town - can't remember the name but fondly recall the exquisite roast kid and generous brandies!

We think is OK ..
Bella Roma - Good no frills solid Italian
El Meson - good for snacks but disappointingly average Tapas in the evening
Swing Bar - nice draught beer (Cana)

We don't like ...
Tolos Restaurant - food was OK but the service was dreadful

Summer gathering

Ah my fine Amigos!
How was your summer?..... hopefully you have embraced the Funbus ethos and overindulged in fine libations, rich provender and joyful companionship.
Rest assured - we have!

The illustrious houses of Bishop and Smithington decamped for the summer once again to the delightful little island of Mallorca and the welcoming Puerto Pollensa.

The island is a cornucopia of influences and cultures and this inspired me to do a little research. With apologies to those fine historians and researchers who are far more knowledgeable than I,here is my potted history of the island.....

It all began back in the 8^th century BC when those devilishly clever Phoenician seafarers landed and paced the island under Carthaginian rule

The Romans kicked their asses and took over after the 2^nd Punic war around 123 BC. Interestingly the local soldiers were valued for their skill with slings and they ruled with impunity until 427, when Mr Gunderic esq. and his unruly chums, the Vandals took over only for those devious Romans to grab it back in 465

Then in 534 it was the turn of the Byzantine Empire to assume control which it did magnificently until irksome Muslim raiders made such a nuisance of themselves that Charlemagne himself was petitioned to help in 707.

Unrest continued until around 902 when no less than that illustrious Arab, Issam al-Khawlani conquered the island and put it under Moorish control under the auspices of the Emirate of Cordoba. There then ensued peace, order and prosperity. But like all good things, it had to come to an end and a decadent period started when the Taifa of Denia took over in 1015 and then the island lapsed into independence from 1087 to 1114.

It was then the turn of the Catalans to move in, led by the grandly titled Ramon Berenguer the third; Count of Barcelona. Having captured the island, Ramon had a few issues at home so had to bid adios to Mallorca and the Moors stepped back in until 1229 when it swung back to the Catalans again when King James 1^st of Aragon invaded on September 8-9^th (....he probably waited until the school holidays were over so his soldiers were back from holiday).

As with all those Royal dysfunctional dynasties, the family members fought, conspired and slaughtered each other over the ensuing centuries. Forming and breaking various alliances with other similarly dysfunctional families. During this time, such luminaries as the wonderfully named Alfonso III and Peter III of Aragon; Sancho I of Majorca and another Peter (the fourth – obviously) ruled over the land.

In the 18^th Century, the war of the Spanish Succession and the Nueva Planta decrees made the island part of the Baleares province and sanity prevailed.

All was boring until 1936 when it was time for the Spanish Civil War; the island was a Nationalist stronghold keen on Franco. August 16^th was a memorable day as the Republicans launched an amphibious landing aimed at claiming the island. Initially all went well and they managed to get off the beaches and headed in land (probably looking for restaurant Siller!) only to be directed back to the beach by a unit of Italian planes with fascist sympathies. Thereafter it stayed a true Nationalist island and no one invaded until the 1950’s when all hell broke loose as the Brits discovered package holidays.

The rest, as they say, is history!!

Rambling on trusty velocipedes

With the beautiful ones enjoying a Mum's and Daughters gathering in London the decision was made to hot foot it to the New Forest for some recreational cycling and usual fun bus pursuits.

Established by that gallic upstart William in 1079 its not really a new forest but really quite aged. Thankfully its no longer teeming with the privileged few randomly slaughtering  wild life in the name of sport.

Base camp was established at the Ashurst forestry commission campsite - a friendly but slightly officious air about the place but a safe haven for families allowing free reign to let children run free. all in all a jolly place that we would recommend

Ashurst is small. The last survivor of the Titanic disater died there aged 97. The only other thing of note is the great fire of 1989 that desdestroyed the wonderfully named pub 'The Angry Cheese' that was survived by an equally wonderfully named inn 'The Happy Cheese'. it was here that we sought succour and solace in the evening. Imbibing the local Ringwood ales and partaking in a rather tasty curry, all of which set us up well for the rigours to come.

Irate cheddar

Happy Cheese inn

Saturday dawned hot and with an early morning start, we commenced the exploration of the forest and its labyrinthine pathways and tracks. 5 hours later we were back at the bus - thank heavens for padded underwear!

Worth mentioning a delightful stop at a coffee stop in the hamlet of Brockenurst. Interesting for being the home of the Balmer Lawn Hotel - where Montgomerie and Eisenhower planned the D Day landings.

Natuarlly it was necessary to keep our liquid levels topped up and suffice to say some rather passable and refreshing vino blanc helped to maintain already high spirits.

Local inhabitants !

trusty steeds

Country pursuits - take 2

The Bish is not renowned for his patience, competiveness and sporting prowess.
So it was with some surprise I heard him waxing lyrical about the fun bus and fishing. Yes you read correctly - fishing.

With the gaunlet laid down by one of his oldest and dearest chums, Bish accepted the challenge and committed to a weekend of fun, frolics and fishing.

So the mighty Bus trundled off to the awfully nice Henley (..well near to) and Bish dutifully participated in the delights of fresh water provender capturing (..not sure that works but you get my drift).

His first catch was a humongous Perch (see pic below) within 5 minutes of casting his first line ..  his next was 6 hours later (!) but he tells me lots 'got away'.

Well done Bish.

Country pusuits

Ah ..my dear old things...A little note to record a rather top hole and spiffing afternoon in the Oxford countryside, slaughtering inanimate birds.

Instead of the Magnificent Seven it was more like the rather Splendid Four as the Fun Bus possee rode into town at high noon, a whoopin and a hollerin - well politely requesting directions to the clay Pigeon shooting range.

Any excuse to reconvene with the venerable A jefford esq. and his nobleness three fleeces Ralfy, is always an opportunity not to be missed and O what fun did we enjoy.

Hats off to Three Fleeces and his Venerableness - all those years not playing computer games has undoubtably paid dividends. Dead eyed dicks the both of them.
Suffice to say Bish and yours truly were not quite as ruthless and felt obliged to let some of them pesky varmits live to see another sunrise.

Here are Pics.

Compact and Bijou ...

As we did not receive an invitation to Worthy Farm this year, decisions were swiftly made at the turn of the year as to what alternative fields we could sunbathe in whilst enjoying foot tapping melodies. We decided that 'listening in colour' sounded positively groovy and with a mellow line up in the offing the weekend was booked and tickets sourced.

And so it was that last weekend the court of FunBus decamped to temporary quarters in an idyllic oasis of pure middle England - Glynde. A rather quaint little village in East Sussex close to the metropolis of Lewes. Not a place that readily trips of the tongue and is probably better known for the nearby stately home of Glyndbourne and its world famous opera house.

The purpose of this pilgrimage was the Love Supreme Jazz FM festival. A small but beautifully formed little shindig which coincedently is an apt description of the headliner Jamie Cullum who is without doubt a very talented hobbit on speed

As quoted in that august local journal "The Argus" ...With plenty of classic funk, soul and blues alongside modern DJs and other cutting-edge artists there was something for everyone as the music lovers basked in the sun – with only a few drops of drizzle to dampen spirits..The four stages saw a spectrum of styles ....

Friday saw us strutting grooves and cutting shapes to a rather funky orientated DJ at a discotheque on site, until the early hours which led to a slow start in the morning not helped by an inclement weather front that resulted in a squally night of wind and rain.

Saturday and Sunday were spent in normal festival mode - eating, drinking, boogying, laughing and generally doing classic funbus activities.

Just too much fun .......