Chilling with the yocals

Posted on January 9, 2016 by Steve Morgan

As the festive season draws to a close this cat reflects back on a pre-christmas trip to the depths of rural Devon. My ‘in-house DJ‘ likes to taunt me occasionally by playing Animals by Muse on the music system; a band that hails from Teignmouth on the fabulous Devon coast. So when a work trip to Bishopsteignton (just outside of Teignmouth) emerged it was time to see where all of the inspiration comes from. The Cockhaven Manor Hotel was initially an un-presupposing venue nestling into this quiet rural hamlet up on a hill overlooking the Teign valley…

But early appearances can deceive, as the interior of this 16th century inn provides an uplifting welcome after the trials of a lengthy train journey on a cramped train.

The unseasonal lack of December cold was further repelled by the roaring coal fire! More for the needs of aged locals than for intrepid touring cats…

All that was needed was some hearty old local vittles, and the Cockhaven Manor certainly excelled. With some local ales on offer the enticement of a Spanish Rioja proved too strong. It might be good weather for ducks across much of the UK in recent months, but on a relaxing evening it proved to be good duck for cats!

And if that wasn’t enough, a peaceful night’s sleep was delightfully topped off with a made-to-order breakfast that set the day up…

As for work, I’m going to leave that to others after my brief foray into the tasty south Devon countryside.

Until we speak again this Bella gives a paws up to the Cockhaven Manor.

The band members of Muse might well have migrated here from other parts of the UK, as kids, but I recommend a visit to the locality to see the source of inspiration for yourself!

[Acknowledgements to Muse for their You Tube video linked in this post].

Why go to Newport?

Posted on December 29, 2015 by Steve Morgan

If Newport is the answer I would have to be very curious as to what was the question! Well, it’s the christmas season, so how do we get to avoid all of those obsessive bargain hunters flooding a shopping centre near you, purchasing all those things they don’t need just because the marketers have substantially dropped the price? It turns out that a couple of cats in the City Arms in Cardiff decided that Newport was the best way of avoiding the strange seasonal habits of the human race.

So three Cardiff-based cats… Yours Truly, Fat Freddies and The Banker (aka India Pale, Chocolate Stout and Organic Cider) set out to investigate…

Could it be that Newport has the highest respect for preserving its history? Here’s a novel way of showcasing those spare circa 1530 inns you happen to have lying around down the road from your railway station. Ye Olde Murenger House is so old that everything around it is either closed down or falling down!

Perhaps it’s the modesty of the locals that shines through? Though when a place is often thought of as a beer desert you would be well advised to listen to local wisdom…

Is it the haute cuisine that attracts inquisitive travellers from quite simply miles (well yards) around? The antidote to turkey is probably best found elsewhere…

How about the courteous service? Though my ‘intrepid lotion-guzzler’ suggested that The Lamb has had an interesting recent makeover, providing pleasant surroundings, tasty beer, and perhaps a new innovation in the form of self-service (due to customer invisibility at a distance of a couple of yards). It was probably the desperate efforts to achieve a re-fill that got in the way of any photographic evidence of the makeover.

Or, is it the hotbed of sporting achievement that encourages mere mortals to simply look on in awe? Nuff said…

Truth be known, The Banker has been long exiled in Cardiff from somewhere mysteriously unnamed in south Devon, and has waited more than 66 years to watch the boyhood local team (Plymouth Argyle). Out of pure unadulterated respect the home team, Newport County, lost the match 2-1 not to spoil the occasion. The Banker has the truly unrivalled record of 100% success (take that Leicester City FC fans, with your altitude-induced nose-bleeds at the top of the Premier League!).

Until we speak again I intend to be Bella, content with the thought that I can employ a personal envoy to represent me when trips to places such as Newport are on the agenda! Though my ‘ignominious traveller’ claims to have had an enjoyable day in the grunge capital of Europe. Please form an orderly queue when making your unnecessary purchases for temporary pleasures at over-filled emporia near you.

Five cats in a bath

Posted on November 22, 2015 by Steve Morgan

There seems to be a strongly held belief that cats and liquids don’t go so well together. As I contemplated the wide world beyond my window a story came to mind that might just debunk such a myth. This is a tale of a rag-tag assortment of five Welsh and English cats who went on a trip to Bath. Clearly such an event would be infused with architectural and cultural highlights, as Bath is after all a UNESCO World Heritage Site. But, there was an ulterior motive driving this particular excursion, which may become more clear as the journey unfolds.
Who could possibly fail to be bowled over by the stunningly protected architectural heritage of the uniformly maintained Bath stone exteriors, including the eponymous Roman Baths. Palladian architecture purposefully integrated into urban spaces that create a unique historical urban aesthetic…

However, enough of the architectural appreciation; this was a day for testing whether cats and liquids mix! Cue the first experimental site aka The Old Green Tree:

With Welsh cats taking up the Pitchfork challenge, and English cats taking up the cider challenge, the first test was passed without incident.
For many people arriving in Bath for the first or subsequent times, a great draw is the 1499 Bath Abbey, built on the site of an 8th century church…

But, enough of the quasi-religious observation, what these cats were more intent on, was finding further evidence that liquids provide no fear to those who are determined. At 1482 the oldest building in Bath seemed to have been occupied by a Sally Lunn in 1680, but these cats had no time for stories of buns in the oven…

They had other challenges ringing in their ears, as the toll of The Bell would provide the next stopping off point in this epic trek…

Not to tax the sloshing of the brain cells too much, Welsh cats had a simple choice partly indicated by the name of the hostelry… a pint of Bellringer would provide the next source of water-based challenges. Meanwhile, our intrepid English cats were determined that apple was to be the continued source of experimentation. Be very clear, this is no Cupertino California fruit-influenced technological exploration; we are talking good old fashioned West Country apples.

Every herd needs a leader, or so they say. In this case it was Fat-Freddies Cat who chose to avail the herd of an extensive range of Bath-based water-inspired experience. Never knowingly a cat to be seen in a circus, but when the occasion demands the cat responds, and the ring-master was suddenly to be seen striding to the centre of a… circus!

When in Bath time needs to be devoted to the source of great Georgian attraction. Who would be a resident in the constant gaze of cats from all four corners of the planet? Though on close examination it would seem many residents are absent owners.

However, enough of the neo-classical appreciation society; these cats had business at hand, and the next challenge as darkness draws in, was to find a guiding light…

Best not waste a Star when it offers illumination on the challenge at hand. No shortage of Bellringer in this hostelry, but yours truly veered off in the direction of Buttcombe Bitter; perhaps mistakenly side-tracked by a name reminiscent of the pastime so much enjoyed by cats dedicated to cleaning the nether regions! As for our English cats, well, they were determinedly committed to inspection of the apple.
The attraction of cats to water was further inspired by a minor detour to a viewing platform above the Avon weir…

… a sight that suddenly inspired a thought-bubble for Gogledd Cat understandably struck by the Magic of Bath!

But enough of the mythical and mystical distractions, this ‘not so famous’ five had some staggering on to do, as the water-based consumption combined with the challenging terrain were beginning to take their toll.

Enough of the standing, where are the seats, demanded an English cat’s representative? If a cat was seen to be flagging, be sure Bath had ways of swooping down on you… cue the next port of call, The Raven would surely keep our intrepid warrior cats lively and awake. Plenty of golden and also darker coloured waters to sample here, and the Exmoor Gold was a tasty addition to the accumulating reservoir.

As the water-borne experiment kept flowing on, could we be sure our aquatic interlopers even noticed the passage of time? Religious illumination abounds in Bath when the natural light of day fades away. But this was no time for kittens, as the weight of aqualine intake rises so it’s time for lions… cue the arrival at the final lotion provider of the day, Coeur de Lion:

No shortage of Bellringer in this city, but the quantity is beginning to tell, and our intrepids need to find a way to shore before they run the risk of drowning. In this place of religious artefact and instruction there was surely one final message to be heeded. It seems that previous aquatically challenged cats found a strange way to exit the scene… when the head begins to feel fuzzy perhaps the only way is up!

Until we speak again I’m going to be Bella, a student more of cultural and architectural interests, and temporarily less of aquatic culture. The verdict from a trip to Bath is that cats and water-based refreshment are a fabulous mix… try it some time.

Chasing the bacon

Posted on November 14, 2015 by Steve Morgan

A cat can only take so much of these rocks; sold to me as food by the one who doesn’t ever eat them! I decided what I needed was a really good pig, but enough of the ‘pretend owner’ of this place… it’s time I went on a Welsh safari. I hear Carmarthen is a good place for livestock, so let’s go check out what it has to offer for the discerning cat.

After a tortuous rail journey made interesting only by sea and estuarine views after Swansea, arrival in Carmarthen station leaves little to suggest I’m on track for anything exciting. Better follow the locals I guess, as they seem to all be heading for this strangely bridge shaped footpath to who knows where.

First sight suggests the locals have built fortifications many years ago to keep the outsider pig chasers at bay. Though I’d have to say they got a little architecturally conflicted between ideas of battlements and bureaucracy; with former looking slightly less imposing than the paper-chasers fortress…

Still no sign of the elusive porkers, but perhaps this old guy has realised an elevated position gives you a vantage point to spot the critters, or maybe it’s a defence against a local custom stolen and adapted from the Pamplona… ‘the running of the pigs‘ through the streets of Carmarthen!

Too much searching takes its toll, so this looks like as good a place as any for resting up before the next exertions. But hold on a minute, is the name trying to tell me something?

Perhaps a settling of the thirst will help the concentration on the task at hand. Let’s check out the local brew from down the road close to Llanelli, what’s it called again? Oh yes, its Felinfoel with the standout pint of Double Dragon… scary stuff, eh?

Time to survey the menu to see if that pesky pig has happened by this old place; or is it just the ancient site or resting place for the head of the king boar?

Funny isn’t it, us cats can exert so much energy in the hunt for something. Then when you sit down and relax it just falls into your lap! The exalted pig arrived in the juiciest of forms, complete with the trimmings of its natural habit… the majestic fry-up!

Now that I’ve plundered Carmarthen of its best hog it’s time to make a discreet getaway. So, where did I leave that super-charged chariot of mine? Oh no, not the dreaded local conveyance! Since when did the coracle represent the height of decadent movement? Until we speak again I’m going to be perambulating Bella, but then I guess I need to exercise away the additional pig I’m carrying.

Pursuit of elegance

Posted on June 27, 2015 by Steve Morgan

Emerging from the docklands of London, and moving to the docklands of Cardiff instilled in Juno the deep rooted need to pursue something not easily equated with the streets of former industrial heartlands… the embodiment of elegance. The interpretation of indifference has often been too easily attributed to the demeanour of cats, whereas for Juno the cool cat exterior was simply her way of communicating the natural superiority she felt over the humans whose mission it was to serve her!

On my latest work trip back to the place of her origin… Newham, East London, I was determined that some of that elegant demeanour should rub off. I and my trusty companion journeyed forth through the Isle of Dog’s and Wapping’s of the former maritime powerhouse that was once the world famous London docks, in search of elegant vitals in sublime surroundings. In the depths of the memory banks reminiscence of one St. Katherine’s Dock kept re-surfacing:

A wide range of budgets and ethnic sources of restaurants and bars are available in these relaxing surroundings, but recent Turkish delights from Islington were over-powering the decision-making equipment, particularly when Kilikya’s Turkish Restaurant hove into sight, occupying a central position in one of the former dockside buildings.

The table offered a mesmerising view of water-bound tranquility…

… while the interior presented a subdued atmosphere conducive to the forthcoming art of consumption. The success of the pursuit had finally been confirmed by a casual glance at the wine menu, offering Cankaya, a Turkish white wine accurately described as dry, light
and elegant!

We had most definitely achieved that ‘mission accomplished’ vibe, and it was time to surrender to the inevitable Turkish delights on offer. A selection of succulent olives and side of flatbread set up the palate for a feast. Iskender Kebap, a mix of marinated cubed chicken & lamb delicately spiced with an addition of yoghurt, a Biber Dolma presented stuffed red peppers, and even chips to die for!

As a midsummers evening began to give up its visual splendour we had a last opportunity to take in the elegant surroundings we had enjoyed for the past couple of hours…

And all of this happened within the shadow of a true London architectural icons…

Until we speak again take Juno’s lead and bring some elegance into your life.

Turkey, anyone?

Posted on June 12, 2015 by Steve Morgan

Juno was never one to miss the lip-smackingly tasty opportunity of turkey…

But even she would have been proud, if initially confused, of what her native London has recently served up under the name of Turkey.

To begin with there was the strangely un-metropolitan surroundings offered up by a gentle stroll along the Regents Canal between Mile End and Angel. Who would think from the following view that you were in the centre of one of the world’s largest and most recognised cities?

But gradual progress was to take us into something more akin to metro-land as we approached the newly gentrified Islington…

Upper Street is widely known as one of London’s premier eatery locations, with much of the world’s cuisines represented along its mile. Yet, as with Broadway in New York, you can be well served by a glance just a few yards off the main drag, as we were to be on this occasion. From Istanbul to Beirut was a call not to be missed… conjuring up all of the culinary allure of a Turkish and Lebanese fusion.

Kilis Kitchen comes with nothing but the highest of recommendations; small but intimate at the front but with a lighter additional room to the rear.

But you need time to take in the fabulous menu (and even try the Turkish red wine).

Dolma (stuffed vine leaves) with Sucuk (spicy lamb sausage) made a tasty mix from the starter…

Then comes a shish kebab to make you forget whatever it is that those fast food take-aways churn out. Succulent tender char-grilled lamb skewers proved a truly mouth-watering taste; but I am sure Juno would have turned up her nose at the lightly grilled green chilli pepper, and the tastiest of side salads, let alone the basmati rice (to her it would have been a waste of plate space better devoted to meat and more meat!).

My vegetarian companion was equally complimentary about the char-grilled halloumi starter and pan-fried marinated sardines main course. What’s more, the evidence emerged that Turkish-Lebanese combinations have learned the art of perfect chips!

This meal left both of us feeling like Juno’s more usual post-banquet pose…

But we had to make do with another stroll along the busy boulevard of Upper Street as it teemed with the late evening diners.

Until we speak again, don’t be drawn to the main drag when some of the real jewels are often just left-field.

They do things very strange…

Posted on June 3, 2015 by Steve Morgan

Juno was always very clear… “The beach is a place for dogs, don’t bother me with all of that sand and sea stuff.” And I have to agree, I’ve seen plenty of dogs being walked on or near beaches (don’t forget those pooper scoopers dog owners!), but a cat on a lead flouncing across the dunes is something that belongs only in the strange recesses of the imagination.

On a recent visit to the infamous Barry Island in South Wales (for anyone who has seen the UK TV programme Gavin & Stacey) I was reminded of a lyric by one of my favourite bands of all time… Steely Dan… “Over there in Barrytown they do things very strange”. So, maybe a cat on a lead, blah-blah-blah…

Following on from the unseasonal wintery start to this June a couple of days ago, it was good to experience Barry Island’s ability to create a mysterious draw of that sea and sand. It has the ability to entice all living creatures (except feline’s it would appear):

But the sea here is not for the faint-hearted; my memory of childhood visits was of a hike to get to it, and that still seems to be the case. Juno would certainly not have been the slightest bit inquisitive about something so wet that was also a distance away. It seems that people only travel to it in packs these days!

However, for students of classical architecture, you might think that Barry Island has the doric column vibe going, in order to stimulate those with an interest in culture:

But close up… you begin to see the cultural vibe is more of the ‘they do things very strange’ (or even ‘Gavin & Stacey’, who are serially referenced in this arcade):

It is safe to say that many things at Barry Island have not changed since those long forgotten days of my childhood. A fading but familiar sign might have been the subject to prick up Juno’s ears, something to do with food. John’s is still going:

Though a few spare penny’s were lavished on the entrance…

… not too many are required for daily specials:

But for a true stroll down the seaside memory lane, and to prove to the Juno’s of the world that in Barry ‘they [just might] do things very strange’, just gaze at the internal decor:

So until we speak again, enjoy your memory lanes, and feel free to go ahead and do something very strange! Why not let me know about it with a comment on this blog post?

Locally sourced what?

Posted on February 15, 2015 by Steve Morgan

On my travels recently I met up with my daughter in the city of Juno’s birth, London. Where to eat? So many choices (if you can afford most of them). Avoiding the bog-standard see-them-everywhere chains isn’t a difficult decision to make; but then you are faced with the culinary equivalent of the dreaded ‘estate agent speak’, where language seems to be the vehicle for promoting more of a smoke-and-mirrors confusion than aiding your powers of decision-making. It’s a competitive world, this restaurant business, and nowhere moreso than in the centre of one of the world’s leading cities.

Modern European does what it says on the tin. Fusion conjures up visions of either some kind of scientific experiment or an industrial procedure, either of which should cause alarm if you are purely focused on eating. Brasserie keeps the industrial metal vibe going. Bistro is something now applied to so many different places that its origin as a small cheap Parisian eatery has long since been lost. You can choose by country of origin, as London seems to have more types of cuisine than there are countries on the planet these days; but then you find yourself meeting up at a railway terminus without a Masters Degree in local culinary geography, so walk the streets and take pot luck is the most likely order of the day. Then there is the question of whether you are looking at a stand alone restaurant or is it part of the expensive boutique hotel next door (and does that matter anyway)?

You can always decide on the criterion of available budget; but some external menus are either written in small font size with dim lighting, or the pricing doesn’t easily correlate to each item, and the hidden extras just might surpass the cost of the main meal.

Where is my trusted feline advisor when I need her? This is the moment where Juno would undoubtedly be referring to me as ‘indecision central’ or ‘the resident knowledge gap’. Previous experience of the area of Bloomsbury does nothing on the night to speed the decision, but at least my young companion is no car driver so the long lost art of walking is not beyond her ability. At last, we walk through the Dickensian Woburn Walk…

… and stumble across an advert for Italian-British fusion at the simply named Number Twelve. It was not clear until you search for the rest room that this is part of the Ambassadors Hotel, so be prepared for a degree of elegance in decor, layout and quality of the food. This is definitely not your basic and simple bistro, and despite being tucked away in an isolated corner the service was welcoming. The window table was next to frosted glass with seating backing up to the window, so it is not going to be a place where the passers-by get to decide on whether they try it out based on gawping at what you are eating! The fillet steak and grilled salmon main courses were very well prepared, and despite having six chips on your plate it has to be said they were large and perfectly cooked. As for the side of chilli spinach, what a delight…

Not a cheap eating option, but if you are in the mood to savour some quality this is definitely a place worth checking out. However, I am left baffled by the menu and advertising claims to locally sourced ingredients… as Juno would have most definitely reminded me, the only locally sourced ingredients in London are concrete, tarmac, glass and exhaust fumes. Whether you are in for the surf or the turf options, until we speak again don’t let your eating be put off by culinary estate agent speak!

Searching for the zeitgeist

Posted on July 5, 2014 by Steve Morgan

Why does my ‘resident renogade’ always take it upon themselves to do the opposite of what I suggest? Only the other day, and against the spirit of the age for international travel, they were lost for things to do in the spare moments during a UK coastal appreciation gig. I couldn’t resist to proffer the obvious combination of a long walk off a short pier!

Unknowingly, I was offering this advice to someone who happened to be gazing at the world’s longest. Time for a quick reappraisal of the situation, and by my calculus what was needed here was a recalculation of the ‘long to extra long’ boards to steps ratio…

And as if this wasn’t enough of an intellectual challenge for a sophisticated cat, originating from London I should have known that the neighbouring county of Essex bucks many a trend. Us cats are known for our curiosity, but I am sure you will forgive my incredulity at the evidence that the all-pervading nannie state had been well and truly driven out of town. Something distinctly American seems to be happening in a noisy corner of the land of the white stiletto, as a subtle obesity drive seems to be going down, with a distinct charge-for-walking vibe, bucking the current trends for healthy living…

Where is the zeitgeist when you most need it, I pondered?

All that was left was for me to assimilate the wisdom of a local insightful exhortation…

… which come to think of it, is precisely what I did when I decided to move to Cardiff with the ‘in-house numpty’ on their attempt at a personal homecoming and cultural re-imagining. Until we speak again I shall be a claw-sharpening Juno, intent on re-moulding my ‘resident servant’ into something more contemporary.

Dreaming of The Hamptons

Posted on April 12, 2014 by Steve Morgan

My ‘surrogate nomad‘ tends to go off on rather strange trips, and thinks it is funny to ask me where I have been immediately when they return home. Even the menacing laser look doesn’t seem to stem the flow of nonsense from the failed comedian…

So, the best I can do is curl up and dream of exotic places based on the incoherent mutterings of the ‘resident worker bee‘ with these destinations attributed to me despite the fact I haven’t left home. Forgive me on this occasion for dreaming of life in The Hamptons… the exclusive summer home of wealthy Manhattan cats amongst others. Exotic food immediately comes to mind, after all what am I supposed to do with this nouveau plastic cuisine?

Meanwhile, my ‘culinary torturer‘ is happily socialising with fabulous company in somewhere called Dangs Vietnamese Restaurant

eating sumptuous salmon complete with green stuff and a side dish of white stuff, and a decorative pineapple (which should be a feast for a more deserving cat stuck here in Guantanamo/Cardiff Bay).

I am dreaming of a dramatic and welcoming skyline…

… but then find I am engaged in a bit of the cognitive dissonance thing, as the best Cardiff can offer is the dreaming spires of the Millenium Stadium:

But this is nothing compared with the reports from the ‘lost wanderer‘ who speaks of such a warm welcome in The Hamptons, only for the dominant vision to be one of a prominent middle finger to the world!

My dream comes to an unexpected close with the realisation that the middle finger is the iconic message from middle England… I had been vaguely remembering that my primary ‘comfort provider‘ had droned on about visits to Southampton in recent months, and was now returning from Northampton… it was all a bit Hamptons-lite in the end!

Until we speak again I intend being an inquisitive Juno, wondering what Northampton has that keeps my so-called ‘intelligent one‘ returning for the last 17 years.

	David on Searching for Lebanon
	Kirt on NOLA: UK-style
	Wanda Rusiecki on Frohe Weihnachten
	Steve Morgan on Turkish delight
	Wanda Rusiecki on Turkish delight

JUNO's VIEW

Seeing Cardiff and the world through the eyes of one cool cat

Category Archives: Cats across UK