"Feckless twatter cum-shedders" and Other Fun Stories
I despair. Two academics who I have admired for many years (one in part because he has long, flowing white hair like Prof Lloyd's) this week have shown me that, actually, they are complete and utter money-grabbing, hypocritical, spineless dickwanks. I revoke my membership to your fanclub organisation and I tearfully take your limited edition books down to the charity shop (because burning books is morally wrong). I would be angry, like people here but I just don't have the energy for it. I can take (sort of) politicians doing this shit because they are politicians and therefore predisposed to lying (I stick with this assertion, formed when I was studying GCSE history. I might have got a massive red question mark on my exam paper for it, but I still believe it's true), but this just destroys any faith I ever had in humanity. /angst
On a happier note, let me share some photos from Cyprus with you all, because I had a great time and revelled in many, many ancient sites with my Mum in tow. She has no actual interest in history, but she enjoys exercise, and in this way we were both able to enjoy tramping about ruins for a week.
We arrived to the news that the villa we had booked had a leaking roof. Therefore, we'd been upgraded to a near-by villa for six people. Just for the two of us. We had a floor each. I had a choice of four beds and two balconies to myself.
On the first day we visited the Tombs of the Kings which, shockingly, were lots of tombs. They were actually more for rich citizens than kings, but everyone loves a bit of exaggeration.
Generally, they were made up of tombs grouped around an open central courtyard down lots of steps. I went up and down lots of steps.
The nearest town to our in-the-middle-of-nowhere villa was Paphos. It had a castle and boats. Here are the boats from the castle.
The second day was my day of forcing my mum to drive me places. Like Kourion, which is an ancient ruined settlement on a cliff edge.
It had an early Basillica...
And lots of mosaics...
And a huge amphitheatre. (The figure is my mum.)
As we were already almost there I convinced my wonderful free taxi driver to take us to Kolossi too, which is a castle from the Middle Ages.
The next day it was back to Paphos to explore Kato Paphos, the ancient remains of the old city.
This place was filled with the remains of luxury villas and mosaics...
But also had its own amphitheatre and moorish castle ruins. More stairs. Which I was unable to resist descending, even if they did lead to bad smelling underground rubble.
For some reason, the following day, we went to the other side of the island to see Aphrodite's bath, so something, which wasn't terribly exciting. But did have exciting signs.
After an exciting trip back, getting lost somewhere in the mountains whilst looking for the textile museum (which was closed), the theme of exciting signs was followed up the next day at Agios Georgios church.
Inside, people were kissing the ikons, which can't be good for the paint, but is apparently the done thing. Sadly, no photos were allowed inside do I have no picture evidence of this saint/Jesus/angel molestation.
Now, my mum wanted to go up into the Troodos Mountains the day after that. I was fine with this, because I had a secret plan to trick her into visiting things. As I've mentioned, my dear mother has no interest in cultural things. She won't go into churches or buildings like that which require you to cover your arms and legs because she doesn't see why she has to. For myself, I'm always wearing ten thousand layers anyway because my deathly pale skin burns at the meerest hint of sunlight so this is not a problem. Anyway, secret plan.
Up in the mountains it's beautiful. We walked around a bit and then, subtly- for I am subtly- I mentioned that only a few kilometres away there was a church I'd really love to see. Yes, it was only a few kilometres, but it was a few kilometres around twisty mountain roads and then down into a tiny village and through its narrow, steep streets to the Archangel Michael church in some village I'm not sure even had a name. I'm actually shocked we found it. Anyway, it's a UNESCO world heritage site, and it looked like this:
My mum's reaction to the tininess of it was pretty funny.
Inside, there are some awesome angel paintings.
It was a beautiful place, and we were the only people there or, apparently, in the entire village from what I could tell. I wish there'd been more time to hang around, but it was time to move on to part two of my secret plan.
Just a few more kilometres away is the monestary of Kykkos, the richest and largest in Cyprus. Now how am I supposed to resist that? Well, I couldn't, and having successfully convinced my mum to take me we traversed the windiest road I have ever had the displeasure of travelling along to get there.
Then I spent a happy hour or so wandering around enjoying the old, bearded monks and the angels.
It was off-season, so the place was pretty empty with just a few tourists and some Russian pilgrims. And the monks of course. Mmmm the monks.
They made wine, and I couldn't resist stopping at their monk wine shop to buy some holy wine.
Pretty much every inside wall was painted, some of them with blingy gold, like this scene of the angels invited to dinner:
And this painting of the Cutest Demon Ever:
There was the obligatory freaky six-winged angels:
And the obligatory gay old man/young man painting:
Followed, of course, by the obligatory Loch Ness picture:
Which includes the obligatory tentacles:
Pretty much everything after this point was just a let-down, though in the last couple of days we went walking in some random gorge...
Took artistic photos of my shoes on a beach...
And went to an actual beach with sand. For ten minutes. To look at the turtle hatchery. Because I hate beaches. Beaches are too sandy. And hot. And sandy.
However, EGGS!
Sadly, the holiday went too fast and it was soon back to England for us. I did, however, manage to convince my mum to go to a museum on the last day which was something of a miracle. I learnt that the ancient Greeks has hot water bottles specifically shaped for all parts of the body. I love the ancient Greeks. They really thought things through. I just wish I had money for more travel this summer, but sadly I am now skint in the extreme. Back to Lidl for me.
On a happier note, let me share some photos from Cyprus with you all, because I had a great time and revelled in many, many ancient sites with my Mum in tow. She has no actual interest in history, but she enjoys exercise, and in this way we were both able to enjoy tramping about ruins for a week.
We arrived to the news that the villa we had booked had a leaking roof. Therefore, we'd been upgraded to a near-by villa for six people. Just for the two of us. We had a floor each. I had a choice of four beds and two balconies to myself.
On the first day we visited the Tombs of the Kings which, shockingly, were lots of tombs. They were actually more for rich citizens than kings, but everyone loves a bit of exaggeration.
Generally, they were made up of tombs grouped around an open central courtyard down lots of steps. I went up and down lots of steps.
The nearest town to our in-the-middle-of-nowhere villa was Paphos. It had a castle and boats. Here are the boats from the castle.
The second day was my day of forcing my mum to drive me places. Like Kourion, which is an ancient ruined settlement on a cliff edge.
It had an early Basillica...
And lots of mosaics...
And a huge amphitheatre. (The figure is my mum.)
As we were already almost there I convinced my wonderful free taxi driver to take us to Kolossi too, which is a castle from the Middle Ages.
The next day it was back to Paphos to explore Kato Paphos, the ancient remains of the old city.
This place was filled with the remains of luxury villas and mosaics...
But also had its own amphitheatre and moorish castle ruins. More stairs. Which I was unable to resist descending, even if they did lead to bad smelling underground rubble.
For some reason, the following day, we went to the other side of the island to see Aphrodite's bath, so something, which wasn't terribly exciting. But did have exciting signs.
After an exciting trip back, getting lost somewhere in the mountains whilst looking for the textile museum (which was closed), the theme of exciting signs was followed up the next day at Agios Georgios church.
Inside, people were kissing the ikons, which can't be good for the paint, but is apparently the done thing. Sadly, no photos were allowed inside do I have no picture evidence of this saint/Jesus/angel molestation.
Now, my mum wanted to go up into the Troodos Mountains the day after that. I was fine with this, because I had a secret plan to trick her into visiting things. As I've mentioned, my dear mother has no interest in cultural things. She won't go into churches or buildings like that which require you to cover your arms and legs because she doesn't see why she has to. For myself, I'm always wearing ten thousand layers anyway because my deathly pale skin burns at the meerest hint of sunlight so this is not a problem. Anyway, secret plan.
Up in the mountains it's beautiful. We walked around a bit and then, subtly- for I am subtly- I mentioned that only a few kilometres away there was a church I'd really love to see. Yes, it was only a few kilometres, but it was a few kilometres around twisty mountain roads and then down into a tiny village and through its narrow, steep streets to the Archangel Michael church in some village I'm not sure even had a name. I'm actually shocked we found it. Anyway, it's a UNESCO world heritage site, and it looked like this:
My mum's reaction to the tininess of it was pretty funny.
Inside, there are some awesome angel paintings.
It was a beautiful place, and we were the only people there or, apparently, in the entire village from what I could tell. I wish there'd been more time to hang around, but it was time to move on to part two of my secret plan.
Just a few more kilometres away is the monestary of Kykkos, the richest and largest in Cyprus. Now how am I supposed to resist that? Well, I couldn't, and having successfully convinced my mum to take me we traversed the windiest road I have ever had the displeasure of travelling along to get there.
Then I spent a happy hour or so wandering around enjoying the old, bearded monks and the angels.
It was off-season, so the place was pretty empty with just a few tourists and some Russian pilgrims. And the monks of course. Mmmm the monks.
They made wine, and I couldn't resist stopping at their monk wine shop to buy some holy wine.
Pretty much every inside wall was painted, some of them with blingy gold, like this scene of the angels invited to dinner:
And this painting of the Cutest Demon Ever:
There was the obligatory freaky six-winged angels:
And the obligatory gay old man/young man painting:
Followed, of course, by the obligatory Loch Ness picture:
Which includes the obligatory tentacles:
Pretty much everything after this point was just a let-down, though in the last couple of days we went walking in some random gorge...
Took artistic photos of my shoes on a beach...
And went to an actual beach with sand. For ten minutes. To look at the turtle hatchery. Because I hate beaches. Beaches are too sandy. And hot. And sandy.
However, EGGS!
Sadly, the holiday went too fast and it was soon back to England for us. I did, however, manage to convince my mum to go to a museum on the last day which was something of a miracle. I learnt that the ancient Greeks has hot water bottles specifically shaped for all parts of the body. I love the ancient Greeks. They really thought things through. I just wish I had money for more travel this summer, but sadly I am now skint in the extreme. Back to Lidl for me.