Archives: Travel

In precisely 3 weeks’ time the 3 Peaks team will be aboard out transport and heading north to Scotland where we will begin our odyssey in the early hours of Saturday morning, aiming to reach our conclusion at the foot of Snowdon ((having been up and down it, obviously)) 24 hours later.

At times I’ve really struggled with this challenge. Sometimes physically, sometimes mentally, all based on my perception of the views and abilities of others: is it really that tough if thousands of people do it each year?

Here are a few lessons I’ve learned about myself along the way:

1. I have more will-power than I’ve ever thought – apart from anything else, it’s the first time in my life I’ve managed to push myself to go to the gym even on the mornings I’ve really wanted to stay curled up.
2. I have a far higher pain threshold than I thought – each session in the gym I push harder and harder and when it hurts… I keep going. That’s not a phrase I’d have associated with myself before.
3. It wouldn’t work without inspiration – beasting myself on a bike or treadmill (or worse now, the Stairmaster) is only possible by holding the image in my head of all those people I’ve lost and all those I’m afraid of losing. Keeping their plight in mind helps me go harder than ever.
4. Transplant is a truly remarkable thing.
5. I am truly blessed to be able to enjoy all that I do and can do.
6. I will never let this new life go to waste.

Am I confident we’ll get round the 3 Peaks? Sure. Do I know that I’m fit enough to make it? Not really. I’m fitter than I’ve ever been, but I don’t know how that compares to the level of fitness that’s needed to scale Britain’s 3 highest mountains in 24 hours.

All I really know is that I’m going to push myself harder than I’ve ever pushed, drive myself further than I’ve ever been and, most likely, sink myself to new depths of exercise-related pain that ever before.  But you know what? I’m the luckiest guy in the world to be able to do this now and however hard it is, I’ve been through worse.

The alarm wakes me at 8am, which is the latest I’ve been up all week (I figure I deserve it). I get out of bed, shower and rouse K so we can make our 9.35 train to London.

We get in to Town and K heads off to Angel to Uni, where she’s meeting her study group to polish up their joint project while I head down to Waterloo to meet up with HC, a filmmaker friend of mine. It’s good to finally see her as we live a life of constant “we must meet up” messages and rarely manage to find time that both of us are free to actually do it.

We pick each other’s brains about various work-related thing, as well as chatting about new projects we have on and our hopes and plans for 2011. The hour-and-change we spend in a lovely little South Bank café ((Earl Grey for her, green tea for me, both served in little bowls)) passes way too quickly before I’m back on a tube and headed North to Angel.

I meet K to accompany her to a meeting with her Uni that she’s organised to try to sort out arrangements for her placement this term, which goes very positively and we’re in and out inside half-an-hour.

K smuggles me in to the uni library using one of her study-mates passes and I stick my head into their room to say hello to the group and thank Sc for her card. They carry on working and I sit in the main library study area and battle (unsuccessfully) with the WiFi before giving up and settle into preparing a business plan for the new project I’m working on with CR that doesn’t require ‘net accesses.

While I’m working I get an email from a Twitter contact who was involved in Danny Lacey’s LOVE LIKE HERS offering me a Line/Co-Producer role on her new short. As it’s on my Blackberry, I can’t read the script, but I file it away to come back to later once I’ve got chance to access the ‘net and read it.

I also get an email from THE PRODUCTION OFFICE commissioning me for 12 new eps of THE LOWDOWN for them this year, which is a really nice boost. I’ve had great feedback in the past on the videos I’ve done for the show and it’s always flattering to be asked to come back and do it again. I accept without hesitation.

When K wraps up her study group, I pack up my things and we stroll back up to Angel and grab the tube to St Pancras, where we’ve just missed a train home. There’s one every half-hour, though, so it’s not the end of the world and we hit Foyles bookshop to kill some time, with me wading through the business section as a bit of market research.

We hop the train and ride some, K zoning out with tiredness while I read an eBook on her iPad for the first time. I’m impressed at how nice it is to read on it, as I’ve only used it for games and “useful” apps before. The workflow for reading PDFs is a little fiddly, but once they’re on there, it’s great.

We get home and swing by KFC for K and I whip myself up some chicken mayo sandwiches from the leftovers in the fridge ((K’s not a sandwiches kinda girl)). We watch some SIMPSONS while we eat, then head up to the movie room and the PS3 to stream the first ep of FAMOUS AND FEARLESS that we missed on Monday, which we jump through the key moments of before coming back down to tonight’s Sky+’d final. It’s such an odd show – potential to be very, very good, but the live studio format necessitates quite a lot of padding. That said, if it weren’t live it wouldn’t have the same edge to it, so it’s a bit of a conundrum for the producers. It’s great to see Chris Evans doing good TV again, though – I miss TFI FRIDAY.

It’s late once F&F is over (well done Charley Boorman) and we take ourselves off to bed where I read for all of 10 minutes before conking out.

This is going to be a short summary of how we got to where we are, but suffice it to say that the end result is WE’RE GOING TO HAWAII TOMORROW!!!

It’s been a crazy last 8 days, starting with feeling slightly odd leading right up to Saturday’s blog detailing my admission. My lovely new iPhone then decided to stop working as an internet-receptacle so I couldn’t update the blog any further.

The docs essentially said on Saturday that they a) had no idea what was wrong with me but b) that it looked pretty bad. Although the X-ray techs refused to CT me, the docs between them had come upon the summation that it was some kind of chest infection which meant that whatever happened, Hawaii was off.

When they came around Sunday they told me I was well enough to go home – they still didn’t know what it was but the 24 hours of oral antibiotics they’d had me on were seeing my infection markers dropping and things looked OK. I thanked them and they left.

Them then team leader reg for the weekend came back in and asked about Hawaii. Essentially, he said, they needed to ask themselves 3 questions as my doctors:

1) Was I well enough to go?
2) Was I a danger to other passengers on a plane (ie, through Swine ‘Flu etc)
3) Was I fully insured in case anything worsened or happened beyond what they’d observed.

The answers, as he gave them, were:

1) Yes, as far as they were concerned.
2) No, as they didn’t believe I’d had Swine ‘Flu in the first place
3) They would need me to see.

Cue a frantic rush around last night to try to find out what our insurance policy covered. What we came up with was that because the admission happened before I flew, the chest infection then counts as a pre-existing medical condition which they must be made aware of or no treatment related to it in any way will be covered while we’re away. Being a Bank Holiday weekend, this meant that we were now unable to inform them of the change until we flew, which essentially voided the policy.

Cue frantic scramble to find a company that would cover me for CF, lung transplant and a resolving chest infection – all three of which would need to be covered if I needed any treatment for an exacerbation of my current condition. After a pleasantly home-bound night’s sleep we spoke to a company this morning and – in brief – we shelled out a very large amount of money to ensure we didn’t have to claim back a slightly very larger amount of money for canceling the holiday and we were set to go.

Cue frantic running around the Bank Holiday shops today to fill my uni shopping list, my holiday shopping list and still get back in time to pack it all into boxes, bags and suitcases in time to head over to the ‘rents this evening for dinner and sleeps so they can run us to the airport at silly o’clock tomorrow morning.

It’s been a total whirlwind and both K and I are pretty overwhelmed by it all, but the bottom line is that we’re on our way to Hawaii. And when I get back I’ll have less than 12 hours in Liverpool before the start of my first ever term of uni. At the end of it all, things couldn’t really be more exciting. I just wish I’d done it all in a slightly more boring and less melodramatic way.

I really should learn to keep my mouth shut. Less than 24 hours after confidently blogging that I was on the mend I find myself on the ward at Harefield stuck in my own private episode of House.

I woke on Friday with a much chestier cough and weakness in my legs and – after chatting to my GP and after he chatted to the registrar at Harefield they decided that the best bet was for me to go to Harefield and get properly examined and worked up by the pros.

The biggest down point appeared to be that it was looking less and less like something that is fixable by the time we’re due to leave for Hawaii. We’re fully insured for it, but to be honest the money was the last of our worries.

Arriving at Harefield I was popped in a room and prodded and poked about a bit before sitting down with AP the reg to go over the options.

K and I, being big fans of Hugh Laurie in House, almost burst put laughing when AP actually said, “differential diagnosis”.

There seem to be 3 viable options did everything this week and the condition I’m in now: 1) Swine ‘flu, plain and simple, for which they can send me home with Tamiflu and let us go to Hawaii. 2) A recurrance of the CMV I was admitted with last year, for which they can send me home with a course of Valganciclovir and let us go to Hawaii. 3) A chest infection, either as a result of, independent of or additional too some kind of ‘flu or virus, which would be game over for Hawaii

So I’ve now been bled dry and X-rayed, but the blood results won’t be back until later this morning/afternoon and I’m down for a CT scan at some point today after the X-ray was inconclusive.

It’s a pretty horrible feeling sitting around waiting for test results that will dictate whether I can go on my guest holiday in 6 years or if, like May 2008, my body has conspired to stop me having ant foreign fun at all.

Keep your fingers crossed – I’ll update the blog & Twitter once I know the score. Suddenly “Smile Through It” seems ever so appropriate again.

All this rushing around doesn’t seem to suit me. No sooner had I blogged about all the necessaries for holiday and uni prep than I started feeling a little pesky with a bit of a sore throat. Monday night I woke at 4am with a roaring fever and raging headache splitting my very delicate and uni-bound cranium in two.

After fighting for more sleep, I eventually hauled my butt out of bed at 8am to spend an hour tossing my cookies in the bathroom. When I managed to stop hurling for five minutes I dragged myself to the phone to call the ‘rents and tell them I suspected ‘flu.

Funnily enough, at the time I was more concerned with not passing it on to K as having it 8 days before we’re dye at the airport for Hawaii is bad enough but if it were to gestate a little longer and hit her 5 days before we flew, our holiday could be in very real danger.

Mum and Dad thus rode to my rescue and I’ve been holed up in quarantine at Chez Parental for the last 3 days, with regular GP visits and Harefield consultations. Tuesday was the most concerning day as I kept being sick, a very bad thing when my new lungs are dependent on oral immunosuppressants to keep working properly.

One very sore injection in my left butt cheek later (still hurts, by the way) and the vomiting, though not the nausea, stopped and from there on in I’ve been improving all week.

Now all but mended, I’ll be heading home tomorrow to finish off my uni and holiday packing which I’ve so far abandoned K to. My lung function is looking good, so despite the slight cough I’ve got I’m confident there’s nothing serious going on.

It’s been a pretty rubbish week, bur with so much coming up in the next few weeks I’m kind of glad it happened now and hasn’t – touch wood – spoiled either the holiday or my first weeks at uni.

Lots to do and little time, but still enough to reflect on the marvel that it post-transplant recovery. Had I fallen I’ll a week before flying abroad pre-transplant there’s no way I’d have been fit to leave the country. Thank heavens for the gift of life – a phrase that gains more meaning and resonance each and every day.

Quietness lately has a lot to do with nothing much going on. I’m not working this summer as there’s very little about arts-wise, and I’m still trying to work out what to do with my life. Updates when I have any.

I did, however, manage a double-bill at the flicks yesterday, catching a gorgeous digital presentation of Dr No, the first Connery Bond (and the first of what we all know and love as the “James Bond Films”, although it actually followed an ill-fated adaptation of Casino Royale by other filmmakers) and The Time Traveler’s Wife[sic].

Dr No was great for being a bit crap. It’s clearly not a bad film, but very of it’s time, it’s time being 1962. It’s got some Hitchcock-rivaling rear-projection for the most unexciting car chase ever filmed, although it did have the added comedy value of screeching tyres when the were driving on gravel. It’s also astonishing to see just how much of Dr No specifically Mike Myers lifted for the first Austin Powers film – I had always reckoned it to be a generic pastiche, but it’s closer to Dr No than any other Bond.

The Time Traveler’s Wife is a book I loved and a film I didn’t want to get to excited about lest it spoil it for me, as many adaptations do (just ask people who’ve read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince). After a clunky, over-written first half-hour of some frankly stupid dialogue, the rest of the flick picked up a-pace and delivered all the emotional punch I wanted from it. It’s not beholden to the book, but manages to create almost the perfect adaptation by creating the same pitch and emotional feel of the book without being slavish to every single page.

We go away on holiday at the end of the month, so I’ve got a lot of late summer flicks to cram in before we jet off – that’s what I like to think of as using my time productively.

Up at 8.15am this morning to head into London with K to drop off her assignments. We decided to make a day of it and thought we’d meet my bro in Town for lunch while we were there.

A 9.46am train from Bletchley – after a minor myriad of parking drama in their new “multi-storey” car park at the station – got us in to Euston just after half ten and into City Uni in Islington around 11am. We did he necessary drop-offs and collection of completed and marked coursework and then repaired to the cafe downstairs to dissect the results, which weren’t what K had hoped for. That said, we subsequently met three of her coursemates who all said that they scored lower than they had hoped and/or expected to and that the piece was particularly difficult.

Didn’t help confidence massively when you see notes in the margin from the tutor marking the piece referring to “applicibility” of something – if the tutor can make up words when summarising an essay, what chance do the students have, really? But that’s just me.

After a cuppa and a quick get-to-know-you chit-chat with some of K’s classmates, she whisked me off on a quick tour of the pertinent parts of the Uni campus, including the way-cool multi-media “pods” that the lecturers use when teaching which have all kinds of awesome high-tech gadgetry in them.

After the tour we headed up to the British Library, grabbing and highly-heathy MacDonald’s lunch on the way, only to discover that the exhibition on Henry VIII we wanted to see isn’t actually open for another 10 days. That’ll teach us to read more carefully.

We wandered back up to Euston with the intention of heading in to Leiscester Square or possibly Oxford Street but a combination of recent lack-of-sleep, extensive walking and half-term foot traffic meant we opted instead just to hop a train home.

Getting back in just after 3pm, I hit the computer for some email clearage before we headed into MK to stop in at Borders. I picked up a couple of bargain DVDs (Children of Men (awesome) and The Diving Bell and The Butterfly (not seen yet)) and K grabbed some reading material. Then we headed over to Waterstones in the Centre:MK to pick up a copy of The Writer’s Tale, a book following Russel T Davies’ creation of his fourth and final season of Dr Who before handing the reins over to Steven Moffat. I’ve so far only read a few pages and I’m already addicted – it’s very open, honest and works to open up the gates on a view of how he writes, something which is hard to find experienced writers talking about. While copying another writing will never work save to make you think very much of their ideas not yours, it’s always interesting to see how someone else approaches things and to realise that you might not be totally barmy after all.

After the book tour and an unsuccessful scout of travel agencies, we hit the cinema for The Boat That Rocks, the best worst film ever of this post’s title.

It’s an extremely bizarre film. It’s hackneyed yet fresh, it’s funny yet corny, it’s laddy yet tender, it’s meaningful yet frivilous. Most of all it’s frustratingly inconsistant – a major plot point (which I won’t divulge save to say it’s the final-reel action beat) moves at various paces from immediate and imminent danger to pausing catastrophe for a tea-break and chat. It leave many, many dramatic beats either unexplored or not followed up, almost like Richard Curtis (he of Four Weddings…, Notting Hill and Love, Actually fame) shot so much stuff he couldn’t choose what to leave in or take out so he closed his eyes and randomly selected scenes to excise.

But despite all of this – things that for almost any other movie I would tear my hair out, shout at the screen and spend 600 words here railing against – I really enjoyed it. It’s funny. It’s emotional, although not as tear-jerking or heavily-sentimental as Love, Actually (the only other of his scripts Curtis has directed himself). And somehow it just works. Just don’t ask me how or why.

Hugest apologies for the lack of blogging – last week was completely manic, trying to squeeze in as much of my over-flowing inbox of work as I could before spending the weekend away in Bath with K’s ‘rents for their joint birthdays.

It was a totally fantastic time, but I was unable to fore-warn of a lack of blogging as it would have given the game away. The weekend, which was spent in a rented cottage just outside Bath in a lovely little village near Westbury along with three very good friends of the family, was a total surprise.

We took K’s ‘rents off to Longleat house for a tour, which her Mum believed was all that was happening, before she received instructions to pack for 3 days away. Arranging to travel in separate cars, we arrived with her best friend from the village back home in ours to surprise her. With the other friends traveling up from Devon stuck in roadworks, we frantically tried to delay the house tour for half-an-hour. Expecting to be told that it couldn’t be done, instead we were offered a private tour of the house for no extra charge – remarkable people at Longleat.

Despite the delay, we were still un-accompanied at 12.30 when our private showing of the great house began. It was a fascinating and mesmerising tour and I’d recommend it to anyone with an interest in history or historical houses – it’s gobsmacking. Half-way round, the staff were so unbelievably kind enough to bring the missing pair of our party up to join us when they arrived. Much surprise (although Mama D had guessed who the sixth and seventh of the party might turn out to be) and hugs/handshakes ensued before the very accommodating host could continue her tour.

Once we were done we all repaired to a local pub for a late lunch, after which we all waved goodbye to the each other before heading, in convoy, to Woodside Cottage to surprise them once again with their accommodation and the fact that all of us were, in fact, staying with them.

The evening was spent in a bit of a haze of trying to work out who was where (K and I being in the annex across the way), whether anyone wanted to eat anything (verdict: no, but cake will do nicely) and what we were up to the next day (eventual decision, whatever we wanted) before we all engaged in a frankly hilarious round of card games before taking ourselves to an early bed.

The next morning, to my surprise, I was awake before the house opposite, heading out on a paper run before breakfast. After a chilled out morning, K and I headed into Bath itself to catch up with a an old friend over lunch and a personalised tour of Bath, which included some very strange people reading poetry in a taxi and more gorgeous architecture than you could shake a stick at.

In the evening, after a brief afternoon nap, we all enjoyed dinner together before a dynamite game of Scattagories before crashing out.

Weirdly, I woke up on Sunday morning feeling absolutely awful. I’m not sure if I was over-heating and dehydrated or had eaten something disagreeable the previous day, but my head was pounding and I felt incredibly sick.

As the others all headed off to Lacock Village and Manor, I stayed in bed with K watching over me and ended up sleeping until gone 3pm, at which point I woke up feeling almost right-as-rain, save for a lack of energy from lack of food.

Another evening of fun-and-frolics was met with an early(ish) morning this morning, getting up to breakfast, pack and leave by 10 am. As the others began their trek home, K and I decided to take a more leisurely turn back to MK, stopping to catch up on Lacock (where I discovered they’d used the Abbey to shoot portions of the Hogwarts cloisters in the first two Harry Potter films), taking pics and enjoying tea in the oh-so-English tea-shops that abound in pretty little villages around the country.

On the road home from Lacock we got minorly lost around Cirencester before coming through the most beautiful village/town we’ve been through on all of our travels. The name escapes me, but I want to live there.

Coming through Bicester on the way home, we stopped at Bicester Village, which K had never seen. After wandering the stores deciding that we can’t afford anything there (sorry, we didn’t like the look of anything there), we jumped in the car and headed home, only stopping for the briefest of traditional post-tour stops at Borders and then a quick meal at a fantastically-valued but chronically unfriendly pub before getting home around 7pm, unpacking our things, changing the bed, showering, blogging and – now – going to bed.

It’s been a great weekend and it’s been really nice to totally remove myself from work for a few days. Now it’s back to the grindstone and on with the first of my 3 talks in 10 days.

The alarm goes off at a frankly unconscionable 5am and I drag myself up and into the shower. K and I hurriedly dress and K bolts some cereal while I head down with Dazz, scrape the car off and bring it round the front. Strangely, we’re not as overly concerned about getting parking tickets as we were when we parked here to unload last night. Wonder why?

We’re on the road by 6am, heading South as rapidly as we safely can, making good time until we have to make a stop for petrol, delaying us just a touch. We get back to Mum and Dad’s around 8.30, where I drop K as it’s closer to the M1 than our place, then pretty much turn straight around, heading again for fuel (I wasn’t going to fill my whole tank at service-station prices when I knew I could top up in MK for about 5p per litre cheaper), grabbing something for breakfast and a large cup of coffee at the same time.

I get back on the road and fly down the M1 and round the M25 to Surrey to Emily’s place for the Live Life Then Give Life meeting. To my surprise, even after turning off the wrong junction (I blame my crap-covered windscreen, not my memory), I still arrive in plenty of time.

We have a meeting, which all goes very well and we sort everything from the week out, which is a blessing, plus move forward with our planning for the next 12 months or so. I leave around 2.30, dropping Jen at the station before hitting the M1 home and getting in around 4ish after making really good time home – and not even speeding crazily.

I get to Mum and Dad’s and, since I’m earlier than I’d thought, I head upstairs and pass out on the bed for an hour. After my nap I wander downstairs and sit flicking through the paper and the book I bought at Blackwell’s yesterday, which somehow seems a very, very long time ago.

Dad rustles us up some steaks, which are lovely but still have to be disappointly over-cooked due to my strict dietary-controls post-transplant. I have them less-than-well done, which is technically against the rules, but I don’t see the point in steak if you cremate it before eating it. And it’s not blue, or even rare, so that’s OK I figure.

After dinner we head back to the flat, where we veg in front of the telly and catch up on some Sky+’d stuff before calling it a night early, where I hit the pillow and pass out completely.

We’re up unconscionably early for the morning after the night before at around 9am to grab a bacon sarnie and hot cup of much needed caffeine-delivery before jumping into the cars for a 3-hour trip into London to Twickenham, where my Godfather has a box.

Once there, we are treated to more wine (from a regular bottle, this time – if a 2001 can be called “regular”) and another fine meal before adding as many layers as we were able to carry with us to perch outside in the stadium for Harlequins vs Leicester. As a Northampton Saints fan, I’m duty-bound not to support the Tigers, but since Quins were sporting an old school friend wearing their captains armband, it stopped me having any kind of conflicted of – dare I say it – neutral feelings about the game.

Entertainingly, for a game without huge excitement, my old school buddy gets himself sin-binned 10 minutes from half-time, during which time he sees his side ship 13 points to the visitors. The second half isn’t a whole lot more entertaining, until the last 10 minutes when Quins come back from 26-16 down to draw the game with a last minute try and conversion which is all but the last kick of the game. Stunning come back that had me properly out of my seat.

After a warming glass of brandy and some good steak pies, we all pile back into the cars and head back. Wtih my eyes arguing with my brain about staying awake, I’m glad I opted to stop the extra night in Ipswich so I don’t have to do any driving this evening. As soon as we’re out of London, my body sides with my eyes and sends me to sleep before waking just short of the Dartford crossing, from where I stay awake-but-monosyllabic for the rest of the ride back.

We get back and all grab a thirst-quencher (mostly non-alcoholic) and chill in the living room, introducing my ‘rents to the glory of Outnumbered, after which K hits the hay early and I challenge Dad to a game of his newly-acquired Really Nasty Golf, a board game that’s far more interesting and entertaining that it sounds, I promise, even if you don’t like golf. Mum excuses herself to bed as we play and slowly the house quietens as people head off for kip, before we head up to follow them at the end of the game, around 11pm.