Being the massive dork that I am, I felt I needed to write a post recommending some good books I’ve recently gotten through. I find that my time on the tube is better spent reading anything other than a free tabloid displaying the latest disaster Britney Spears has gone through or whether Amy Winehouse has OD’ed yet. I’m not Oliver Scott, so I won’t sound too intellectual, but I’ll try my best to sound convincing.

First up, I just finished reading Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafron. Yes, he’s Spanish, and yes, the book is based in Barcelona (my favourite European city). I received this book on my birthday from my Spanish friend Edu, proclaiming that it was his favourite book and that Spanish authors could indeed write. He was not wrong about this. The book is a thick one, but it’s worth every page. It falls into the categories of ‘mystery’, ’suspense’, ‘drama’, and ‘romance’, and was more than I could have imagined. Set after the Spanish Civil War, it also has a bit of history, which I must admit I had no previous knowledge of. This book is a MUST!

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini - if you haven’t yet heard the hype on this book, well, here’s your chance to hop on board. The book is an emotional roller coaster, and you’ll find yourself wrapped up in the characters as though you know them. I had recently read No God But God, as I felt I needed to learn about Islam, and this really helped me as a precursor to this book. Still, you can read The Kite Runner without any previous knowledge of Islam and fall in love with it all the same. If you get into it like I did, you’ll probably finish the book in a few days time. Or on a lazy Sunday in one go.

I’m sure you can find better book reviews on the Guardian or even Amazon, but I need to push that both these books were amazing. I would love to hear that I’ve changed someone’s life with this post - because these books are life changing, I swear!!

… when I’m happy and when I’m sad. Sometimes I drink it when I’m alone. When I have company I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I’m not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it - unless I’m thirsty. - Madame Lilly Bollinger.

I recently embarked on one of the most spontaneous weekends away I have ever taken, and, after initial scepticism, and writing to share my pearls of wisdom…

Relying on my friend’s ability to be late to everything, I snoozed through my alarm, and was shocked to be dragged from my flat in a mixture of panic and excitement only 20 minutes later! My eagerness to escape the autumn drizzle of London was more than enough motivation, and despite having little idea of where we were heading or how long we would be gone, I packed efficiently; bringing the essential passport, corkscrew and credit card!

As we purred through the city I was thrust a map, and told to navigate south! With surprising ease (ignoring the punctured tyre!) we arrived in Dover in little under 3 hours, and jumped straight onto the ferry! No five hour pre-departure check in here! Whilst avoiding the questionable refreshments, a quick and brisk walk around the deck saw the white cliffs of Dover disappear and before long the welcomed site of the Northern French coast arrive.

Dunkirk is often second due to the Calais ‘booze cruise’ culture, but within 20 minutes of docking we were cruising through the beautiful French countryside on our way to the Champagne region. I know few people who would critise the French highways, and I can confirm the scenery was breathtaking. Rolling farmlands and French châteaux lit up by the gradually setting sun - a million miles from London!

With “Alistair Sawday’s - Special places to stay in France” as our guide (which I would highly recommend, as it features only French owned accommodation) we found ourselves in Fisme in the heart of the Champagne region. After an incredibly good nights sleep, a beautifully presented French breakfast, we set off to explore the region. On our travels we met a host of welcoming local farmers, tried a variety of Champagnes, and even learnt a few things along the way! How do you find artisanal champagne? Look for a bottle marked “R.M.” (Recoltant-Manipulant) or “S.R.” (Societé-Manipulant). Those initials signify that the grower vinifies, bottles, and markets Champagne from grapes he grows.

After parking back at the B&B and really enjoying our recent purchases, we enjoyed an incredible home cooked three course meal for less than £10! The following day continued in a similar vein, but this time we headed into the city of Reims where we visited the Taittinger caves, and learnt about the process of producing Champagne! And yes, I admit, leaving the 4km of caves filled with the finest bubbles was almost heartbreaking!

Then we poodled back to the ferry, and made it back into central London in six hours from vineyard to bed.

I would whole heartedly recommend such an adventure to anyone who fancies getting out of the big smoke, enjoys beautiful food, or enjoys a few glasses of bubbles from time to time… I will be retuning!

Well! *insert autumnal cliché here*

My cultural runnings were AWOL last week as *insert seasonal cold cliché here* but anyway, I’m back, fresh from watching Arsenal score seven goals against Slavia Prague last night. Or rather six goals as I got there a bit late, I’m ashamed to say. I suspect the Prague fans were as delighted to see those goals as they are to see vast numbers of English people on stag weekends descend upon their city every Friday. That said, when my erudite colleague Jamie got married this year we went to Prague and were extremely civilised. Or at least I was, dragging my terribly hungover self around an art gallery on the Sunday morning. It was nice and cold and quiet in there, though being admitted to the gallery was an appropriately rather Kafka-esq experience, especially when I was feeling a bit confused already.

Talking of museums on a Sunday, Sunday afternoon found me at the Tate Britain, where I had a rather speedy look around the Millais exhibition, which opened a couple of weeks ago. Wasn’t so keen on the last couple of rooms of portraits and landscapes, but the first few rooms - amazing. My wise and patient father works at the Tate and he pointed out how wonderful some of the preparatory sketches are and in particular, how modern they look. He’s right.

As chance would have it, the old copy of John Fowles’ ‘the Ebony Tower’ I’m currently reading has a Millais painting on the cover. I’m quite the fan of Mr Fowles though I think ‘the Ebony Tower’ is perhaps the time where his shoe-horning in of a ‘big’ subject - in this case visual art - is most apparent, though this isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Goodness me, I’ve got to head off to my opticians on Befnal Gween Road now so that’s it for this week. This also enables me to leave with a joke:

“I went to the opticians today and guess who I bumped into?!”

“Everybody!”

*kaboom tish*

Last week, Al Gore, the former US vice-president was awarded the prestigious Nobel Peace Prize jointly with the UN’s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. For many years now, even prior to his presidential defeat by Bush, Al Gore has been a strong and public advocate of environmental awareness and more recently, for climate change and the dramatic effect it is having on our planet. It’s a brilliant thing that his incredible efforts have received such high recognition and I want to encourage everyone, if you haven’t already, to check out “An Inconvenient Truth” - Al Gore’s Oscar winning documentary film on climate change. Be aware and take action people!

Watch his speech here

There’s nothing worst than returning to Blighty after a couple of weeks in the exotic paradise of east Africa. For a start, the rain appeared almost on cue today to remind me that S.A.D. (the mopey disease of choice for the sun-robbed anglo) is alive and well and living the sweet life in our busy metropolis.

When my better half suggested a safari for our honeymoon, I have to say that I wasn’t entirely sure it was the best idea. Think about it – travel to Nairobi, a city famously described as a ‘haven for both petty and occasionally more ambitious crime” (Time Out), fly on a connecting flight where the plane resembles the one at the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark (complete with snake called Reggie) and spend two weeks in the middle of nowhere, stalked by all that is feral and murderous. End your stay with a trip to Zanzibar, which, in terms of true danger, is like Plymouth. On speed. With less coppers. If you’re after a shooing from a burly maritime bruiser, here’s your place. Bring it on, Cupid, this is sounding like the essence of romance.

Of course, I was proved wrong in every way. The honeymoon was a true adventure across some of the most astounding and genuinely magnificent scenery that exists today. Wide, resilient skies, some spellbinding wildlife and notably proud, welcoming people. It was truly the trip of a lifetime. With some giraffe thrown in for good measure. And a smidgeon of sunstroke.

Aside from the positive spiritual and marital benefits of such a holiday, you’ll be pleased to know that there’s a major sartorial bonus thrown in. You see, I managed to discover the perfect threads for such a epic journey. A few weeks before the trip, I ventured into a couple of ‘outdoorsy’ outfitters to see what was on offer. Aside from some Attenborough-style parchment ‘action’ slacks and a dodgy looking mesh bodysuit, things looked bleak. I knew I needed something that cut a dash. And that dash would only be delivered by a seventies-style flared powder-blue nylon safari suit, oft worn by the likes of Roger Moore. However, the quest fell at the first. Only the lowliest car boot sale in Sheffield would yield such an item of appallingly bad/good taste. No retailer in London would stock such a prize. So, I reverted back to the staple travel wear of my (middle) youth – The mighty Maharishi pant.

The brainchild of Hardy Blechman, Maharishi started life in the mid-nineties as a clothing brand that exploited the trend for recycled military garb. Now it stands as a top-notch fashion house, dealing in art, those trendy little toys and, above all, all sorts of covetable urban clothing that people like Mr Rascal and Mr Fiasco can’t get enough of. And fair enough. Hardy’s clothing is practical, comfortable and still manages to delight fashion’s fickle crowd, with its love/hate relationship with camouflage. I needlessly took a barge-sized suitcase of clothing with me on honeymoon. But I ended up wearing a couple of pairs of Maha’s for the entire fortnight, plus a couple of their natty shirts. They are the finest traveling companions anyone could wish for. So, when it comes to the great sartorial challenge of what to wear on safari, remember – Moore is less. Stick with Hardy and you’ll be alright.

There’s them that can play the pianoforte - Thelonious Monk, Victor Borge, Myleene Klass. Then there’s also those what can’t - Oliver James Scott. That isn’t to say I’ve not been trying.

My mama was a piano teacher (though she wisely outsourced and can’t take the blame for my lamentable progress, limping to grade 2 before my lessons were mercifully euthanasia-ed) and so has a variety of sheet music aimed at the beginner, which I’ve been working my way through of an evening.

While the majority of my mother’s pupils were children, she also taught a couple of adults, both the proud fathers of said children. And while these gentlemen were - and I’m sure are - high achievers and lovely fellows, no matter how hard they tried, they could never achieve the synchronisation of the left and the right hand. Something clever to do with learning curves, I’m quite sure. As for me, when I worked my way painfully through ‘Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat‘ this weekend I realised I can sight-read the right hand - as long as there aren’t too many sharps and flats (which sadly rules out the Elvis parody that Potiphar sings) but trying to do both slows the pace down from geriatric to moribund.

I’m soldiering on however as I’m convinced that I must have the residual memory but until then, it has been a painful experience for all concerned.

Another body of work I’ve been slowly kicking to death on the piano stool (what a confusing metaphor) has been that of the American satirist Tom Lehrer. Lehrer, who famously stopped making music when Henry Kissinger won the Nobel Peace Prize as it so surpassed anything a satirist could come up with that it rendered satire irrelevant, is maybe best known now for his song ‘the Elements‘ which recites a list of the chemical elements to the music of Gilbert and Sullivan’s ‘Major General’s Song’ from the Pirates of Penzance.

I’m very fond of the last lines of ‘the Elements’ - “these are the only ones of which the news has come to Harvard/and there may be many others but they haven’t been discovered” - wonderful, tortuous rhyme. I think the only thing which comes close to such an adept managing of the English language in popular song is from Mr Steve Miller’s ‘Take The Money And Run’, which manages to get away with rhyming “detective down in Texas” with “always knows exactly what the facts is”. And “El Paso” with “great big hassle”. Amazing stuff, amazing.

I spent my Sunday mainly sitting outside and then inside a pub in Islington after watching Arsenal play Sunderland. I remember moaning about the ridiculous 12pm on a Sunday kick-offs earlier this year and it was another one of those. I was still half asleep when Robin Van Persie scored a free-kick which I’ve been excited about ever since - you can see it here (not sure about that website, but I’m not asking any questions).

So there you are. More next week, unless the neighbours crack under the strain of my piano-ing and break my playing/typing hands by repeatedly closing the piano lid on them.