|where we live The house we've bought is more than 100 years old, and is a Victorian terraced place with a small enclosed garden out in the back. Because Weston-Super-Mare (or 'Weston' for short) is a noted drugs rehab centre with a fairly dodgy reputation for a whole lot of things, prices are about 60% of what they are in almost any other part of this region, so it means you get a lot more for your money here. We're about ten minutes' stroll from the beach, the same distance from the local train station, a five minute drive from the town centre and less than ten minutes from the main motorway north to Bristol. Pretty convenient all round. There are neighbourhood pubs, small supermarkets and a profusion of Indian and Chinese takeaways a short stroll away too, not that we use the pubs as - wait for it - I've been completely off alcohol for the last year! Yep, I have developed an intolerance to booze, potatoes, tomatoes and chillis etc so no more of that for me unless I want my face to fall off again. (To remind yourself of that nasty little episode, go here).|
|another radio stint I've been commuting on Saturdays to Newbury, a small town close to London where I present a Saturday lunchtime show from a big complex of radio studios delivering custom in-house radio programmes via satellite to franchises of banks, pharmacies, retail outlets and garage forecourt shops across the country. It's called Immedia, and is a much bigger version of the In-House service I helped establish back in South Africa in the mid-90s. It is definitely a bit of a drive (about one and a half CD albums' worth each way) but it's fun to do while we wait for our own local radio project, BCFM, to get its broadcast licence in Bristol sometime soon.|
|just horsing around - or should that be donkeying? Love them or loathe them, English beaches are in a class of their own. Unlike the wide open swathes of bleached, white, surf-pounded sand we're used to back in South Africa, the ones here are generally more like mud flats. They make up for it by packing carnival-type activities onto the sands which will occasionally stretch out beyond the water line atop vintage funfair-packed piers. And then there are the donkey rides without which no English beach can be complete. Here, Laetitia and her brother Phil watch his wife Joanne get all chummy with one of the local beasts on the main beach just up from where we live. One day we might even bring swimming gear...|
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