The Valentine Hangover

Well, it's the day after the night before. What did you do for Valentine's Day?

I can't help thinking that this is yet another example of marketing hype over substance: a brilliant device of the greetings card industry to fill in the gap between Christmas and Mother's Day, which has been exploited to the full by the cut flower industry, chocolate manufacturers and card shops.

Now, I'm don't mean to be a kill-joy but, as with Christmas, things seem to have got out of hand. Go into a branch of Clinton Cards as I did the other day, and you are confronted with vast quantities of "teddy tat", cheap cuddly items for spur-of-the-moment purchases by pubescent teenagers. The price of cut flowers always doubles (or trebles) - although I saw that Sainsbury's was doing a nice line in conscience-salving by offering 12 Fairly-Traded Red Roses. Every restaurant around is packed full, and you just know that the quality of food and service in most of them is going to suffer as a result.

Even the mobile phone companies have got in on the act. I was sent a 'chain' text message, which asked me to forward a 'Valentine's Day Rose' to 12 people, "if you care about them". The 'rose' itself was quite clever " @>-%- " - but it just felt like I was being manipulated again. Needless to say, I didn't forward it.

That all said, my partner and I bought into the event to the extent of buying cards (although mine arrived in the evening, having been bought that day...), and we decided to eat out, but rather than a romantic little venue for two, we went after work to Masala Zone for a quick curry. This seemed to be full (very full) of everyone else escaping the Valentine's Day madness: some people there to do business, some families, tourists, work parties and just a few couples.

Masala Zone is clearly doing something right, as about a fifth of the customers were seemingly from South Asia. Our meals were fine, although my vegetarian kichdi was a little too heavy on the ghee (I've had it here before and it has been much nicer, so it was clearly something to do with being packed), but the service was fast and slick, and one thing I especially like is that everything is spotlessly clean - no greasy fingerprints on the plates and glasses.

After that, it was a case of going home and snuggling up with a glass (or two, or three) of wine, before going to bed early. That's surely what it's all about...

How about a virtual pub crawl?

I'm an avid contributor to the review website Qype, and among my contributions are, well, quite a lot of pubs. I've actually produced a guide to my favourite real-ale pubs. As the guide says, the key criteria are: decent real-ale; a friendly welcome; and pleasant surroundings.

The real-ale bit is very important: my other half and I are both members of CAMRA, the Campaign for Real Ale. Founded in 1971, it is regarded by many as the most successful single issue consumer campaign group in Britain. Prior to its formation, real ale - the traditional British pint, with centuries of history and pedigree behind it - was rapidly disappearing, being replaced by sterilised and uniform keg beers, and in danger of becoming extinct. So a group of real-ale enthusiasts got together and tried to do something about it - leading to the formation of CAMRA.

As well as campaigning for real-ale itself, CAMRA has also campaigned for greater choice in pubs, resulting in legislation to reduce the number of tied pubs and introduce the concept of guest ales. It also campaigns these days to try and keep pubs open, with events such as the Community Pubs Week; for full pints (ie without excessive heads of froth); and against high levels of duty on beer. It also, famously, organises the Great British Beer Festival every year in London, now held in Earl's Court. Local branches help to organise many smaller beer festivals around the country as well.

But I digress. One of the other Qypers suggested that we could put together a pub crawl from my reviews, although he noted that they were fairly scattered across the country. So this crawl has to be virtual, I'm afraid. (OK, I know a virtual pub crawl doesn't really work - they haven't yet developed a web-link that dispenses beer - but it's just a bit of fun!). An added advantage is that we can teleport - very up to the minute with the release of the film 'Jumper' - although that might have been much more fun if he'd 'jumped' between pubs, like we are going to do.

So, where to start? Well, Brighton is a favourite haunt. Getting off the train, you could go to the Evening Star for starters, with its fantastic selection of its own, sometimes quirky beers; and then up the hill to the Prestonville Arms, with its fierce Sunday night pub quiz, perhaps via the Shakespeare's Head for some hearty sausages and mash on the way. Then - you'd have to teleport this bit - you could go to the shabby-chic and friendly Barley Mow over in Kemp Town, bypassing the City Centre.

Then you'd have to teleport again - beats BR, this, doesn't it? - this time to the lovely Sussex town of Lewes, perhaps dipping by the little village of East Chiltington to drop into the formidable gatro-pub that is the Jolly Sportsman. (Actually, as it's a virtual crawl, we could eat here too - budget no object). In Lewes itself, there's the real-ale paradise of the Gardener's Arms, the greatly-loved Lewes Arms (now with its Harvey's beers famously restored, after a campaign that reached 'Private Eye'), and the Brewer's Arms - a nice old traditional pub on the High Street - ending up in the curiously named Snowdrop (named, incredibly, after a tragic avalanche).

Where next? Well, close to Lewes there's the Trevor Arms, just down the road from Glyndebourne. And then, it's back to teleporting to London to finish off. After nine pubs, I think we can only manage a few, but the choice is so overwhelming. So, let's go for the renowned Wenlock Arms, just south of Islington, and beloved of real-ale aficionados, and then down to Trafalgar Square for a tipple in the splendid art gallery that is the Harp. And to finish, a short amble across the Square takes us to a pub I really like, the Ship & Shovel near Charing Cross. Uniquely, this pub is in two halves, across a narrow lane.

Phew! After all that beer, teleporting may not be a good idea, so it's an easy ride home on the tube...

So, what are you giving up for Lent...?

In case it passed you by - and I guess that for most people, it will have - we are now in Lent. Tuesday was Shrove Tuesday, and yesterday was Ash Wednesday, so now begins the season of 40 days and nights running up to Easter.

Traditionally, this is the period when Christians prepare for Easter by fasting, prayer and acts of penitence, the 40 days replicating the time spent by Christ in the wilderness. (Sundays are not included in the count, as each is regarded as a celebration of the Resurrection in its own right.) In former times, the concept of fasting often reflected the lack of food around anyway at the end of winter. I remember reading that, in mediaeval times, the diet in Somerset at this time of year consisted primarily of salted herrings and conger eel, so no wonder they were happy to fast!

But these days, Lent often seems to have become watered down to simply giving up something we like - chocolate being the classic. A Jewish friend of mine once remarked that, 'when we fast, we do it properly - not just giving up the odd chocolate or two for a few days a week'. He had a point (unless you resemble Dawn French's chocoholic character in the 'Vicar of Dibley'). Shrove Tuesday has become something of a ritual in its own right - we even call it 'Pancake Day' - rather than representing the last decent calorific intake for seven weeks.

In our household, we actually went out for a pint of beer and a curry on Tuesday at the Warwick Arms in Kensington. (You really don't want to eat pancakes if I've been involved in making them, although I'm not as bad as the pancake evening a former boss recounted to me about her student flat sharing days: tossing the pancakes rather energetically, one stuck to the ceiling, and then fell to the floor. It ended up black on both sides, leaving two perfectly pancake-shaped areas of cleanliness on the ceiling and floor respectively). Anyway, my vegetarian thali was lovely - fresh and tasty, and all nice and dry - not swimming in ghee, as some can be. My partner's tandoori chicken was also excellent - freshly cooked and tender. That beats pancakes any day, in my book.

The next issue for me was where to go to church on Ash Wednesday. When in London, I normally go to St Botolph's in Aldgate, a lovely 18th century church with an inclusive worship tradition. However, working in West London meant I would not be able to make their service, which left me looking for something closer to home. My closest church is St Cuthbert's, with its beautiful Victorian arts-and-crafts interior and high Anglo-Catholic ritual. But finding out about service times was difficult - no-one in the office, and no web-site, so instead I took myself off to the grandeur of St Mary Abbots in High Street Kensington for their 7pm Sung Eucharist.

And it was wonderful. I know this may not be the most appropriate reaction to what is supposed to be a penitential service, but there's something about solemn ritual and beautiful music that makes you stop and think about higher things. The choir did an excellent job: a selection of 16th-18th Century devotional music, including 'Lord, for thy tender mercy's sake' by John Hilton, the famous 'Miserere' by Gregorio Allegri, the 'Missa de Angelis' by William Byrd, finishing, appropriately enough, with 'Lord, let me know mine end' by Maurice Greene. The service included the traditional rite of 'Ashing' where ashes made by burning the palm crosses from the previous year's Palm Sunday are mixed with oil, and daubed on your forehead in the shape of a cross. (Though mine was more of a blob, and got some strange looks from passers-by on my way home).

Perhaps most interesting element was the sermon. (Yes, that's what I said: the sermon.) Focusing on Christ's need to escape into quiet contemplation, particularly during the 40 days and nights spent in the wilderness, the Assistant Priest urged us to use Lent to making time to think and pray deeply about the purpose and direction of our lives, and any specific issues - financial, about a relationship, spiritual, or a direction in work - that were affecting us.

Now, that's got to be more to the point than giving up a few chocolates?

I'm going back to my roots...

One of the most rapidly growing hobbies in recent years has been genealogy. Inspired by the likes of the BBC programme, 'Who do you think you are?', and perhaps more so by putting UK census data on line a few years ago, this is now a burgeoning industry.

As well as finding out more about who you are (or at least who your ancestors were), it provides something of the thrill of the chase, and can easily get addictive. Of course, you have to be prepared for the odd surprise - illegitimacy and shot-gun marriages were common in the days before contraception, and the parish registers don't hold back: "Lucy, a base child, born of Jane Smith". Expect, too, lots of premature deaths and infant mortality. Parish registers can make harrowing reading in times of harsh winters, poor harvests and epidemics. Similarly, oral family history may have skated over periods spent in the work-house, suicides, and criminality.

But that's also half the fun: there's nothing more tedious than finding all your ancestors were worthy but dull peasants. If you are really lucky, and your ancestors were posh (and wealthy) enough, you may even find the odd will or tombstone. Equally, you'll find frustrating dead ends, as people moved around or changed their name, or simply because the records have been lost or mutilated. This is especially so for Ireland, where a lot of the records were destroyed in a disastrous fire at the main Archive in Dublin in the 1920s.

I have to confess at this point that I am a keen genealogist, having been inspired by my great Uncle's work, which was based initially on a few dog-eared pages from a family bible. Of course, this was all in the days before the web, so involved some hard slog around record offices, and trawling through endless census records on microfiche. But now, thanks to the web, things are much easier, at least in terms of starting off.

For a start, there are loads of web-sites. It's hard to pin it down to just a few, but a good place to begin is Ancestry.co.uk. Ancestry.co.uk has a complete and searchable database of transcriptions of the UK censuses from 1841 to 1901, and the index of Births, Marriages and Deaths (BMD), as well as other data. The former is great for identifying addresses and siblings you weren't aware of, whereas the BMD index can help narrow a search, although to get hold of a BMD certificate itself, you will need to order it from the site of the Government Register Office.

Some of the data on Ancestry.co.uk is free but, for most information, a subscription is required. Bear in mind that the transcriptions have a number of typographical errors - mostly due to mis-reading 19th century handwriting - and that spellings of surnames have always been somewhat variable, especially before 1900, when literacy rates were lower.

A free alternative to Ancestry.co.uk, at least for the index of Births, Marriages and Deaths, is the website FreeBMD. This has a searchable index and gives all the information you need to order a certificate, although not all the indexes have yet been transcribed. The site can also be rather slow, depending on the level of demand.

The census and BMD records should get you back to the 1840s, if you are lucky. Thereafter, the main source of information is the parish registers (and those of the Catholic and nonconformist churches), which in theory provide a record from the mid-1500s onwards. Some of these have been transcribed and put on-line, and the best place to find out whether this is the case is the wonderful GENUKI site. This lists every parish by county and country in the UK and Ireland, with details of all sorts of information, including the location of the parish registers - mostly in the relevant County Archives - and anything that has been placed on-line. This seems to vary hugely between Counties - Somerset and Gwent are very well covered, whereas Glamorgan and Devon are poorly represented. Genuki also lists a large number of other web-based resources, and - a real bonus - it's all free.

Another possible site is www.familysearch.org, belonging to the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints (Mormons). Their beliefs include posthumous baptism, so they have been researching data from the UK archives for a long time. Whatever you think of their beliefs, it provides an invaluable tool for tracing your family tree. The site is the main access point for the International Genealogical Index, or IGI, for short, which has been assembled by the work of individual members of their church, transcribing the entries from parish registers. Again, it is not perfectly transcribed, and coverage is very incomplete, so any details need to be double-checked from the original source, usually the relevant County Archive. But is great for finding information that can otherwise seem to be like looking for a small needle in a very large haystack.

The Parish Registers themselves are usually located at the various County Archives around the country. Much of my family came from Somerset, so the Somerset Record Office has been a regular calling spot. It is typical of many Record Offices; there is a distinctive procedure for using them which is best started by reading their web-sites thoroughly first, and then ringing up to book a space or micro-film in what is often a rather small search room. Only pencils are allowed, and there may be restrictions on taking bags etc in. You won't usually have access to the original - which is probably very fragile - but a photocopy or micro-film copy.

If it is your first visit, you will need to register for a Reader's Card, often referred to as a CARN (County Archive Research Network) card. This can be done on the spot. Take photo ID with your address - a driving licence is ideal. This is then valid for all UK Record Offices, for 4 years. The record offices have all sorts of fascinating local stuff besides the parish registers, and will usually have copies of the local census records as well.

Once you have your basic family tree, then you might want to flesh it out with details of work or military service. This can be done to some extent on-line, again through Ancestry.co.uk, but many records will require a visit to the amazing National Archive at Kew, in West London. Housed in an enormous modern building, set amongst attractive gardens and ponds, it's a very pleasant venue (and, for modern architecture, not half bad).

The contents are formidable, and include:

- Papers from the Central Courts of Law from the 12th century onwards
- Medieval records of central and local government
- An impressive collection of maps and plans
- Records of wills, naturalisation certificates and criminal records
- Service and operational records of the Armed Forces
- Foreign and Colonial Office correspondence and files
- Cabinet papers and Home Office records
- Statistics of the Board of Trade
- Other historic documents relating to a wide range of industry (mostly those which were nationalised at some point).

Using the facility is a little intimidating: you are strongly advised to look at their web-site first. (The motto here is to plan ahead, in all respects.) You have to have a National Archives Readers Ticket made up on your first visit, so you will need to bring with you various forms of ID. (This is to protect access to what is an incredibly valuable, and irreplaceable, collection of materials.)

Most people are looking for military records, and these are arranged in a separate room, and are generally easy to access. I was looking for some of these, but also the employment records of several Great and Great-Great Grandfathers who worked on the railways in the 19th and early 20th centuries. After a few hours' work, I had found them - and it was amazing - and a privilege - to handle such documents, and see their signatures. It was, I admit, an emotional moment.

So. What's stopping you? Who do you think you are?

Something for every taste...

What to do on dark, cold February nights? Well, I suppose you could always go to the pub, or a cosy restaurant, or just stay in and curl up on the sofa in front of the telly. But it's easy to forget the array of culture on your doorstep in this part of London.

High on the list has to be the Royal Albert Hall. This South Kensington landmark isn't to everyone's taste - the biscuit-tin shape and high Victorian decoration is pretty uncompromising - but there's no denying just what a fantastic venue it is for all sorts of events, from the Proms to boxing. And February's line-up is extraordinarily varied, offering something for virtually every musical taste.

It kicks off with the Cirque du Soleil production of Varekai - 'an explosive fusion of drama and acrobatics'. If you haven't seen this spectacular troupe before, then I would strongly recommend it. This is not just acrobatics (gravity-defying though these are), it's about theatre in the true sense of the word, with stunning, vividly-coloured costumes and visual effects. The programme runs until 17 February.

Striking a very different note - literally - is the Hush performance on 12 February in the intimate Elgar Room. This is part of the venue's efforts to promote new talent, and will feature Liverpool indie-popsters Hot Club de Paris and, hailing from Sheffield, the boy/girl 'anti-folk' duo Slow Club.

For those wanting to sit back and bask in something completely traditional, (and safe enough to take my Dad to) there's the Mountbatten Festival of Music, beginning on 21 February for three days. Expect military overtures, marches and fanfares, as well as popular favourites from films, shows and the odd classical favourite. All these are played by the Massed Bands of HM Royal Marines.

For those who like their entertainment for free, the Friday lunchtime ignite programme in the Cafe Consort allows you enjoy a wide variety of musical styles. On 29 February it features the Buenos Aires duo of Ianina Pietrantonio (flute) and Cecilia Zabala (guitar), otherwise known as Las Morochas perform in a unique style drawing on tango, jazz and modern classical influences.

Finally, the month finishes with a classical flourish, with Tosca. This is the acclaimed 1999 production, sung in English, directed by David Freeman, with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Peter Robinson. With prices from £21 to £58, this is affordable, accessible opera and has proved extremely popular in previous years.

With all that choice, there's no excuse for staying on the sofa...

Toast and tea

I've just realised that I'm acquiring one of the signs of old age. No, not greying hair (although a few are sprouting in my beard), but I find that, when I'm out shopping, I have to stop somewhere for a breather. It's one of those things I never understood as a child or teenager: when shopping in the 'big city' with my parents, about 3.30pm we would begin the obligatory search for a cup of tea, usually in a grand department store. Now, older, possibly wiser, but with feet that definitely want to rest up once in a while, I understand.

Maybe it is just nostalgia, but I still like nice cafes in big stores. They somehow seem less frenetic and more of a treat than Starbuck's (and, in any case, we're looking for tea, here). They are something of a dying breed, of course - both the stores, and their cafes. Many of those which have survived have become plastic and soulless, but there are some exceptions: the 'Top Floor' restaurant at Peter Jones still does an afternoon tea, with great views over this part of Chelsea as an added bonus. If you're in Piccadilly and you've money to burn, there's the Parlour Restaurant at Fortnum & Mason, serving famously sumptuous cakes and ice-creams. (If you've serious money to burn, there's always tea at the Ritz, of course, but I'm getting carried away here). If your budget is more modest, then Patisserie Valerie may be a better bet, and the cakes are still creamy and tempting.

There are also nice tea-shops still around if you know where to look. One of my favourite experiences was at The Louis Patisserie in Hampstead. This wonderful Hungarian tea-shop (such cakes!) is a real institution, and the perfect place to rest tired feet after a long winter's walk on the Heath, or after some select shopping in Hampstead's maze of lanes. We went in after looking for mushrooms on the Heath, and we entered carrying a fair collection (most of which were not edible, but it still looked impressive), much to the astonishment of some of the other patrons. I guess the sight of raw, wild mushrooms doesn't really go with pastries and Earl Grey.

If you're in Brighton, the wonderfully-named Mock Turtle comes highly recommended. It's lost a little of its old-world charm after a recent re-fit, but the quirky service, chintzy surroundings, toasted tea-cakes and all the paraphernalia of proper tea (no tea-bags) are still there, and make it a great favourite. If you're desperate for another cuppa on arrival back at Victoria, the Thistle Hotel has the Grosvenor Lounge for tea and cakes, and the adjacent Club Bar if Southern have been playing up and you need something stronger...

It's almost worth going shopping just to have an excuse...

Travelling trials again...

Time for some more travelling tales - although this time, to places less exotic. At least, I take it that you'll agree that Frome in Somerset is less exotic than Barcelona. (Except, perhaps, that 'Frome' is pronounced 'Frooome'. With a West Country accent. Hmmm - Barcelona is beginning to sound more ordinary by the second).

Anyway, to-day sees me departing underneath Brunel's great train-shed at Paddington. All the services from here are now operated by First Great Western, unhappily the UK's least punctual long-distance operator at the moment. A fortnight ago, I was unfortunate enough to try and get to South Wales, only to be stymied by some wonderfully wintry weather. First a deluge, and then snow. Having reached Swindon on time, we were then sent to Gloucester, back down towards Bristol Parkway (our next scheduled stop) - but not quite: we were then informed by the hapless guard told we'd have to go back to Gloucester, then we did indeed arrive at Bristol Parkway, to be told to leave the train and wait for a bus to take us to Wales.

We waited an hour in the perishing, draughty entrance hall of Bristol Parkway station - not my favourite place at the best of times - with snow falling outside. Some even waited in the snow. Then, once our limbs were really numb, we were told to go back to the train, and continue that way to Wales. It was not a nice surprise to find that another group of passengers was already on the train, warm and cosy, and had indeed been there for half an hour. It wasn't until Cardiff that I had thawed out, three hours late, and five hours since leaving London.

Now, I realise that FGW cannot be held accountable for the weather, and the staff on the spot were doing the best they could. (Actually, full marks to the chap in the buffet who was handing out the sandwiches for free.) But the running around did rather feel like they were operating on the hoof, as it were, rather than thinking things through. And it really isn't on - except in really extreme circumstances - to freeze passengers waiting for non-existent buses. I have, of course, done my duty and written them a letter of complaint, so I shall be interested to read their response.

So, fingers crossed on my way to Bath to-day, or there will be another blog...

Addendum: a response from First Great Western has arrived. There are some travel vouchers enclosed, which are all very welcome (so, thank-you FGW) but they haven't actually addressed the points I made, which I feel are actually more important. Indeed, the letter reads like two standard letters put together - which, I suspect, is exactly what it is. I don't blame the person putting it together - I just hope their managers are taking it in, somehow.