Standing in the garden, under a darkening but utterly clear sky and a swollen moon, thinking back over the past three weeks. We fly out in a few hours, and though there's plenty of scope for adventure at Heathrow (especially considering two huge bombs were defused in London today...) I figure I might just use this short break from packing to sum up.

-Rain. Floods. Rain.
-The absolute lush green of the country.
-Food and drink (and I just have to add here that I really didn't drink as much as it may have come across. For most of this trip I've suffered from really bad sinusitis and beer and wine set it off terribly these days)
-Becoming hooked on endless reruns of Topgear. Sad, but what can I say...
-Creatures. Foxes in the garden, birds.
-Seeing actor Bernard Hill (I remember him as Yosser, but most would know him as Theodin in Lord of the Rings) in Soho
-Catching up with family and friends.
-Polite drivers.
-The mad wonderful wedding

Wow...I was walking through the Haymarket this time yesterday, right past the place where the bomb was discovered.

I have found something that surpasses even the wonderful, delicate, sublime not-coffee I had at Hever Castle....

Satan's Devil Juice hath a name, and it is Orange Coke. Who thinks this stuff up? And what's next? Coke with banana? Coke with a hint of tomato? Coke with a delicate aftertaste of halibut?

(I do love Cherry Coke though, and they have it here in regular and diet)

Today we headed down to the beautiful county of Berkshire (which is pretty much slap in the middle of the country, level with London) for a visit to our family village of Kingsclere. It was here that my mother grew up, and that I spent a great deal of my childhood. It's about an hour and a half's drive west from Kent.

And that drive didn't start well. We hit a huge traffic jam on the M25 and were forced to head off into the country, without any maps. For about half and hour we just ambled through the country in a roughly south-western direction, then we decided to buy a map (and some snacks) at a service station. Looking at the map, I found that the cut-through road we needed to take passed through not only the village of Selborne, but also Chawton. 'So?' I hear you say. Well Chawton was the home of none other than Jane Austin, and Selborne, well...I've wanted to visit this village since I was about eight years old. It's the place where the reverent Gilbert White wrote his amazing book, The Natural History of Selborne. Let's see if I can put this into some sort of emotional context. Imagine an eight year old boy who has huge interest in nature (particularly birds) seeing a movie at school, and by movie I mean just that. An old projector film shown to us in the staff room of Balgowan primary school (which was the only room that could be properly blacked out. We'd sit on the carpet, cross-legged watching crackly old 16mm films, surrounded by the smell of the books and stale teacher coffee). The film was accompanied by the usual po-voiced BBC style commentary, but the soundtrack was Vaughan Williams. In particular, The Lark Ascending. This short film on the wildlife of Selborne (and I imagine, the life of the amazing Reverent White, though I didn't follow that at the time) was one of the building blocks of my character. And to finally visit the beautiful village in a purely coincidental manner whilst on the way to one of my special places in the world, was just wonderful.

The village of Kingsclere is only about 5 minutes from Watership Down, and as I mentioned just now, this is one of my favourite places. Had I written the blog about England vs Australia today, the result may well have been different. This place is so imprinted on my soul that coming back here is more than just a pleasant reminisce. It's an experience that pretty much overwhelms me. Richard Adams has long been one of my most beloved authors (he still lives in the area, along with Andrew Lloyd-Webber) and I've chewed through more copies of Watership Down than any other book I think.

Looking west from Watership Down through cow parsley, poppies, wheat and beech trees

I've walked the line of downs (which are gentle, rolling chalk hills), from Cottington's to Watership to Ladle to Beacon more times than I can remember, explored the old roman fort of Ladle Hill, sat drinking beer on Watership while my dog wondered if he should actually chase a rabbit...the memories are so thick I can actually drop into a fugue state remembering them all.

The path up to Watership Down

I was there only a couple of weeks before I left for Australia, walking on a still, perfect April day. If offered a chance to move back and live in the area, I really think I would.

The road through Watership

The lanes are still crowded by hawthorne hedgerow and beautiful beech hangers, still only one car wide and still sprayed with wildflowers. I narrowly avoided running over a pair of frolicking weasels that were rolling about in the road (I kid you not) and of course pheasants and rabbits (which seem much cuter than I remember). Rooks and jackdaws wheeled over the fields and clouds floated like sailing ships on a blue sea.

The village itself has changed a fair bit. Most of the old shops have reverted back into residences, and I'm not sure if this is for the better really. I don't know if they were houses before they became shops, but now the main street has a somewhat empty feel. There are still some shops, and quite a lot of new houses, but it looks a lot smaller to me. I was mulling about this on the drive home, and I think it's because I remember everything from the viewpoint of a young lad.

So, caught up some relations, then on the way home we stopped at another one of my favourite pubs, the George and Dragon at Wolverton.

This is a glorious old pub out in the country with a smashing beer garden. Not only was it a lovely long sunny English evening, but the Austin 7 car club was meeting, so the car park was just filled with history.

Another rainy day, another old pub.

We went for a drive down through Kent, just pootling really for want of something better to do.

The Grasshopper Inn at Moorhouse can trace its roots back to 1271, which when you stop to think about it, is pretty amazing. A few hundred miles to the north, Robin Hood may well have been popping arrows off at Normans...

It was restored last century using wrought iron from the Houses of Parliament and the vestry doors from the old Coventry Cathedral among other things.

Oh, and I sat under this stone fellow:

So I was sitting out in the garden with my guitar and a nice bottle of cider, trying to find lyrics to a tune that has been bugging me for ages. It was dusk, quite cold after a day of very heavy rain so the air was clear but clouds were still rolling. I looked up the back of the garden, and a fox was sitting there, quietly watching me. Neither of us moved for quite a while, then he rose and trotted away silently.

He might have to make it into the final lyrics.

My brother Mark and Lesley's wedding. The reason we came here.

I'll only do a short post about this today, as we're off into town presently so I only have a wee bit of time before I do an upload. I'll add some more photos and a proper blog later today then pop it up soon.

I'll just say it was a great, nutty wedding (classical stuff liberally interspersed with madness).

The Brothers McBrandon. (Mark is the one in the Willy Wonka Suit).

The bride wore a traditional dress complete with white cowboy boots (with a bottle of vodka, cigarettes, lighter, tissue stuffed inside) and my brother Mark was wearing something that once may have belonged to Lionel Richie.

Mark's oldest son, Dan, looking very dapper. Any resemblance to me is purely coincidental.

The reception was a great laugh.

And of course there was a lot of dancing and drinking...

And the inevitable casualties of drinking too much punch....

Anyway, I'll do a proper write-up later on.

Sitting in Starbucks in Market Square, Bromley, watching the rain and listening to the fruit sellers calling out their wares. At least I think that's what they're doing. Truth be told I can't understand a single word they say, but it's quite melodic, and if you close your eyes it's easy to imagine an Oliver Twistish environment complete with the gabled buildings. Well, except for the smell of ground House Blend coffee beans and the gurgle from the espresso machine.

Anyway, today's topic/thought.

I keep getting asked whether I'd return to England to live.

It's funny, but this isn't such an easy question for me. I left 13 years ago, and had I not met Julie (an Australian) I probably wouldn't have. In those 13 years, I've watched Brisbane mature from somewhere that thought a cappucino was instant coffee topped with hot milk to a city that has one of the best coffee roasters known to me. In those 13 years England has changed very little. Okay, it's an unfair comparison, as Brisbane is a new city in a young country and that kind of growth is to be expected, but the thing is I love history, old places. So there's a tick in the England box. I rant, but I...

Ah look this is boring. I'm going to try and do this in a basic list form. In no order.

Reasons I'd Want to Return to England.

Old things
Green things
Rain (yes, I love rain)
Seasons (Brisbane only has 2, Summer, and Not Quite Summer)
Food (the variety and freshness is now astonishing)
Entertainment (the chance of seeing a wealth of theatre and music, and not being stuck with small runs and artists not visiting Brisbane at all)
Long nights in Winter, longs days in Summer
The BBC
The Glastonbury Festival (which is on as I write this, so that may well be a romantic inclusion!)

Reasons I'd stay in Australia

My wonderful band
Night. The smell.
Cooloolah/Fraser/Mt Glorious
The laid-back people
Sunsets
Tasmania
Cost of living (although this is far far narrower between the two now)
The wonderful writer network I have


And of course family and friends stretch over both so I don't really need to list them.

I think the defining reason I'm still in Australia is that I don't think I could have the lifestyle that I enjoy in England. I imagine it would be a great deal harder to be a writer/musician in England. But who knows. I think if I was ever to return it may well not be to Kent, but rather somewhere new, like Scotland or perhaps Cornwall.

Listening to 'Peace of Iona' by The Waterboys.

It's raining again.

Actually there was a little thunder the other night, which, if truth be told, after living in Brisbane, was somewhat...girly. The rain still seems wetter though

Popped to the old parkland that I used to play as a child yesterday. It was a very odd feeling wheeling Charlotte around looking at trees that I'd climbed (and fallen out of) at the age of 10. Of course it's changed (lots more flowers and grass), but essentially it was a real spin out. I have a very good memory, and spend a lot of time remembering old places and episodes, so these little visits mean a lot to me. I guess I should leave some of these alone and not mess with memories (I'm not one for looking up old acquaintances though), but as most of them are natural places, woodlands, downs etc, they don't change all that much, and sometimes it's literally like stepping back into my head.

So, today... Another trip into town to use the wireless access point at Starbucks. How did we ever survive without wireless (or Starbucks for that matter)? I dream of the time when it's widespread and free....

The weather has cleared up today so we're off to one of my old stomping grounds, Hever Castle. I spent a great deal of my late teenage years hanging around in one of the two local pubs, the Wheatsheaf at Bough Beech (Photo below), or the Henry VIII at Hever itself. Both are old and beautiful, the Wheatsheaf dates back to 1604 and is an amazing ivy-covered inn with a garden that holds a lot of memories for me, while the Henry VIII is an oak-panelled coach house that that was due to have Morris dancers perform at 8pm tonight.


Actually I thinking I started writing my first novel in the Henry, tucked away in the corner most nights drinking cup after cup of filter coffee, scribbling away in my lucky red notebooks, then driving the 30 minutes back along one-lane roads home (that's the epic fantasy thing that never saw the light of day by the way).


We pootled around Hever castle, which has just breathtaking gardens. Hever's not really a castle in the true sense (though it does have a nice moat, a portcullis and a small drawbridge), but rather a crenelated mansion just soaked in history. I was the home of 2 of Henry VIII's wives, Anne Boleyn and oh bugger I can't remember the second one (Anne of Cleves I think)! Then, centuries later, the estate was purchased by the Astor family, (of the Waldorf hotels and going down on the Titanic fame). Anyway, my dodgy memory aside, it was a lovely afternoon.

With one exception.

I had almost the crappest coffee in the known universe. Second only to the stuff that the machine at the venue where my band records, this was just undrinkable filth.

Why oh why won't I ever learn that unless the machine can produce steam and is plumbed in, it will produce a coffee worthy of algae. I should stick to tea.

There's a small thunderstorm passing over head as I type, so more rain. Tomorrow I'm off out with my oldest friend, which should be great.

A sea sick sky, a sick boy.

I've been struggling with my nose since I arrived. I thought it was hayfever, but yesterday it exploded into a full-blown cold with a headache and some rather nasty nightfevers. You gotta love flying and 24 hours of recycled air!

So today I've been taking it easy, just mooching around drinking Marks & Spencer's Fair Trade coffee. Since I arrived, the weather has been really changeable, raining, mainly, but interspersed with enough sun to make it very pleasant. During the day, it's about the same temperature as Brisbane.

Food.

That's today's topic. And drink.

I remember when I first came to Australia I was astonished by the quality of the fresh food, well, England has very definitely caught up. The quality of the organics is just wonderful (I'm partial to a bit of cooking, to the stage where had I not become an author or a musician, I may well have tried to be a chef). I actually spent a long time just drifting around Sainsburys, gurgling at all the different produce, not to mention old favourites. One a junk note...Oh the crisps (potato chips).... Marmite flavour (and that's English Marmite, not the Aussie kind, and there's a *very* big difference), cheesy Quavers, Smoky bacon, bacon and melted cheese, caramelised onion and balsamic vinegar... I will definitely be having a few 'Shallow Hal' moments.

The Marks and Spencer food court deserves its very own blog

Then there's the real ale and the cider. Wychwood, a small independent brewer up in Oxfordshire, make some of the best beers I've tasted in years, and luckily for me, some of them, like Fiddler's Elbow and Hobgoblin, are available in Brisbane. But here, they have cider. Not just any cider, but pressed apple juice that is fermented in 100-year-old oak casks. And after many years of Tasmanian Mercury (which I am not knocking in the slightest), it's like drinking heaven. There are dozens of cider varieties, and no doubt I shall try them all. I'm not much of a drinker really, but there's just something about English beer that I love. Our local Kentish brewer, Shepherd Neame, was making beer 110 years before the first fleet landed in Botany Bay, and as usual there are a number of new and tasty beers for me to try. The only disappointment is that so far I've not managed to find Wychwood's Organic 'Circle Master' beer that I fell in love with last time. There's just something about sipping a pint at 10pm whilst sitting in a garden with the sun just dropping. Tiny bats flitting between the silhouettes of the trees, the cry of foxes, the smell of the honeysuckle.

Listening to 'The Lark Ascending' by Ralph Vaughan Williams

I'm sitting at my father's desk writing this. It's a big old metal thing, top covered in thick dark blue vinyl, far older than me and steeped in memories and the aroma of tobacco. The clock he built from scratch (including the obligatory novelty chimes, such was his sense of the ridiculous) sits on the wall, tocking away, measuring the minutes of my jetlag, or perhaps just counting out the beats of one thought to the next. I guess in a way I am looking for his ghost. From the reams of old paper (foolscap sized Croxley Script. Those words always fascinated me as a child. They sound so delicious) to the pens still in the drawer or the fetish for odd little gadgets that I seem to have inherited.

Everything here looks smaller; the rooms, the garden, the streets, but that's just time bloating my memory. I mentioned before about the greenness, and that's still surprising me. Streets are positively dripping with trees. In Brisbane, it's as if everything is spread out more, wider, stretched. Here in Kent it's all compacted in and immediate.

I spent a goodly amount of time just walking around the house, opening cupboards, looking in drawers for...I don't really know what. Well, I do, and it's tied up once again in memories of a past life. I don't mean that in a spiritual sense, but rather, literally. I was a different person when I lived here, fourteen years ago, and though I wouldn't want to turn back the clock, I do still spend an awful lot of time back here in my mind. One funny thing. A few years before I left England for Australia, I bought my Mum a Eucalyptus plant. A ghost gum I think. It was bought solely because it was an interesting metallic grey colour and that the leaves made a lovely dry sound in the wind. It was planted out in the middle of the garden, a shrub about a metre high that we really didn't expect to last very long. As you can see, it's the tallest tree in the garden now.

I caught up with my oldest friend this afternoon, and it was as if we hadn't been apart. We picked up the threads of our of old conversations and musings without any problems, even though it's been three years since we even communicated via email, let alone a face to face. Old friendships are like that.

Didn't do too much else today. I cooked up a batch of shortbread, napped, read a lot and explored. That's a good thing about this trip. Other than the wedding (and the couple of pleasantries I mentioned before), I have no real plans. Other than getting my shortbread out of the oven.

Charlotte with Nana.


Listening to 'Descrete Music' by Brian Eno.

The last leg of the flight went quite well really. Managed to watch a couple of movies and saw the sunrise over India. Buggers got kidnapped by the hostesses for a time, and I think she even may have been shown the cabin.

So, England.

I always say that it's greener here than in Brisbane, and it is, but this time, what really struck me was the lushness of it. Fields sprayed with white flowered cow parsley, the huge daisies are out, and the brambles are crusted with colour that promises a huge crop come autumn. It's grey and overcast, but I don't mind. It always surprises me that people would think that an island in the Atlantic ocean would not be cold, grey and rainy.

Anyhoo, here's a picture of Buggers with my brother Mark.

Listening to 'The Sounds of blackbirds, finches and a robin'.
Uploaded at a Starbucks Hotspot.

So I'm heading back to England for a visit, mainly to attend my brother's wedding, but also to show off my new baby daughter Charlotte (affectionately known to all as Buggers -don't ask), do a little research for the next novel and generally try and relax.

Ha.

I'm sitting on a 777 to Singapore writing this, the first leg of the 2-part, 24 hour flight that promises to be at least...eventful. Buggers has flown before (she's a chubby 8 months old and very wiggly) but that was only a from Brisbane down to Hobart. Good training, we thought. I'll let you know how she goes, but so far (3 hours into it) things are okay. She managed to fall asleep and stay asleep when Julie transferred her into the bassinet, but then we were told we had her around the wrong way (??), and of course when she moved, she woke. She's been squirming and farting ever since. But at least not crying. Or projectile vomiting.

This trip is going to interesting. The last time I was back in England was the terrible dash home when my father took sick. I'm not sure if I'm looking forward to these next three weeks or dreading them. Other than the wedding, we have three things planned: See A Midsummer Night's Dream (the outdoor Regents Park, RSC production that is my favourite), go to the Flook concert in London and eat at Jamie Oliver's Fifteen. If we can, I'd also like to get back up to the Lake District, where I used to walk and climb, but that's going to be very dependant on time and money.

Here's one quick observation. Why is there always one intriguing-looking girl travelling by herself on all international flights? I'm not talking about sexy or anything like that, just someone who looks like they have a really interesting story...

Listening to 'the most amazing version of Careless Whisper in a Singaporean bar in Changi airport I've ever heard' by George Michael (well, it bared a resemblance to it anyway).
Uploaded at a wireless hotspot in Singapore airport.