The Brighton Marathon 2013

After another year training through the cold, winter months I completed my fifth marathon in the city of Brighton this month. After a windy, rainy day on the Saturday I was relieved to see sun on race day as I headed down to the start.

The atmosphere was amazing and the first half went by in a flash. The last 13 miles was a struggle but the route along the coast was inspiring and the crowds and my fellow runners lifed the spirits.

After hitting ‘The Wall’ I managed to keep going, and didn’t walk once (though my ‘running’ around 23 miles was possibly as fast as a toddler’s crawl:)

I came through the finish line at 4 hours 28:)

Photos from Paphos, Cyprus

A selection of highlights from Paphos…

 

Time to Unwind in Turkey

Staying on the Agean Coast it was all about the sun, sea and stunning views…

Nice to Cannes…(via a Marathon)

France is a country I’m pretty familiar with having been pretty much every year (at least once) since the age of about 7 (Eurocamp Holidays were the best…) however, other than jumping of a cruise ship for a few hours in Villefranche while filming for Sky I’d never been to the south coast – and I’d certainly never been to Cannes…

Fast-forward to November 2010 and standing in running leggings, safety pins attaching a number to my shirt and a fully charged MP3 player in my hand it was about to become a reality. Oh yes, I was about to tackle the somewhat daunting/arduous/stupid task of running the entire length of the coast from Nice to Cannes – an event known formally as the French Riviera Marathon.

I’ll admit this wasn’t exactly how I’d envisaged arriving in one of the most glamorous locations in the world however, as marathons go you can’t fault the views…although after 20 miles I’d probably not have noticed if the turquoise sea had been replaced with talcum powder as they don’t call it the ‘wall’ for nothing.

While the first 33 kilometres was a trek it was the last 10 that proved nearly impossible as my legs stiffened and even walking became an act of sheer concentration. Nevertheless after a lot of northern grit and determination (and realising that the sooner I got to the end the sooner this ordeal would be over…) I crossed the finish line. Time: 4 hours 26 minutes – and quite honestly I’m chuffed. Chuffed I didn’t have to improvise under the emergency absence of a portaloo, chuffed I managed to survive the last hour without music (curse you 3 hour battery) and chuffed that I refrained from using my best French slag as yet another well-meaning spectator shouted that ‘I was nearly there’ (when for me ‘nearly there’ meant being able to see the glint of the medals behind the finish line…not a sign proudly displaying 37km).

However, most of all I’ll remember my Cannes experience not for the glitz, glamour and luxury yachts but as the place in which I arrived windswept and sweaty, broke down in tears in a crowd at the train station and left trussed up like a turkey having been brought back to live with the best cup of tea I’ve ever tasted…you can take the girl out of England…

La Champagne: Parce que vous le valez bien!

La Champagne has long caught my imagination as a region hidden away from the tourist traps of Paris, the Alps or the Cote d’Azure. I’d imagined it to be secluded, sophisticated and frequented only by those who drove expensive cars & knew how to converse using more than ‘bonjour’, ‘merci’ and ‘bière’. I’d also imagined it to be a little stuffy. Indeed, it’s no secret that the French are an infamously proud nation and I wasn’t sure how this was going to go down with a group of four Brits celebrating a birthday (who, if we’re being totally honest probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between Cava and a Vintage Brut…)

The impressive chandelier made from champagne flutes in the Moet reception

Arriving in Calais our Megan headed north. Having lived in France for a year I’m well accustomed to the joys of French motorways but still get that incredulous sense of disbelief when I pass through that toll and am not met with wall to wall traffic. It was a decent drive up to the Champagne region but when you stare straight ahead and see no cars, look in your rear view mirror and see no cars, you know you are in motorway heaven (take note M25…) And when you do eventually turn off and drive into the Champagne valley it is definitely worth the wait.

So many grapes...

With two main roads running through the valley you are met with amazing views of the vineyards raising up onto the hill sides (for those of you who don’t know, the vines can only grow on the valley sides as the valley floor is too wet) peppered along the route were a number of white vans and clumps of people picking the grapes…every last one by hand.

Upon turning off the main road we arrived at the village of Venteuil. As in all the villages in the valley there are many champagne houses to choose from – and Champagne Bouché – Machuré was our first stop. A friendly woman beckoned us into the house, passing an array of children’s toys and a dog en route. We were then met by the owner’s daughter who showed us the cave and explained in every last detail the process of tasting champagne: Voir, Sentir, Gouter. Look, smell and (finally!) taste.

Les fameux raisins...

After drinking the best part of a bottle of champagne between us (admittedly the driver wasn’t drinking so that would be between three of us then…) we felt our immersion into the region was coming along nicely. Far from being proud and aloof the owners were warm, welcoming and fun. One could argue this was because they were working to secure a sale. Given France’s customer service reputation (of which I have had vast experience of) I am less cynical. The enthusiasm and time the champagne house devotes to its clients and indeed, visitors is down to the passion they have for their art. Trying to open a bank account took over a week of hearty negotiation – an hour spent exploring the fruits of Champagne Bouché – Machuré took nothing more than a healthy interest at the door.

With three bottles of Champagne Grande Réserve tucked away in the boot we said our goodbyes and drove to Essomes sur Marne to our internet booked accommodation – Château de la Marjolaine. Being the resident French speaker I got out the car to make my way to reception. After receiving the fright of my life as a large fury dog hurled towards me barking for all it was worth I managed to compose myself enough to introduce myself to the gentleman at the door (and convince him I wasn’t a really bad burglar).

The impressive Châteaux de la Marjolaine

Bruno was one of the owners (the other being Jean-Pierre) and he quite honestly couldn’t have been more welcoming. After showing us to our suite – two double en-suite bedrooms with adjoining living area – we met for drinks downstairs. The châteaux is beautiful and its hard to believe that it has been open only one year after being completely re-developed and decorated from scratch (the only thing that remains is the huge chandelier hanging above the staircase to the bedrooms…the previous owners couldn’t remove it as it was so heavy). The owners love their antiques and signature pieces and every last detail is taken into consideration from the china cups, crystal ornaments and black and white family pictures adoring the walls of one of the reception rooms.

Doesn't everyone have one of these in their garden?!

 The pièce de résistance however, is without doubt the gorgeous garden. Walking out over to the lake you wouldn’t feel out of place in a Jane Austin novel; a large, impressive châteaux with an elegant garden complete with vegetable patch, goats, chickens and a sleeping-beauty themed castle.

Oblivious of their stunning surroundings I think

Bruno kept busy popping out occasionally to smoke a cigarette or play with ‘Olive’ his faithful dog – always happy to chat and recommend places in the area. One of which was Champagne Belin – a champagne house run by a friend a 15 minute walk away.

Our second champagne house visit

Understandably, this proposal went down well (none more so than with the driver). Upon arrival the owner took us out to see his vineyards and we spent a happy 45 minutes asking questions and soaking up the atmosphere.

The vines at Champagne Belin

Once inside we were then treated to an hour’s tour of the whole factory – from the huge presser the grapes go into once they arrive from the fields in their crates to the warehouse in which the final products are stored.

Don't fancy falling in here!

Once again the owner could not have been nicer – happy to answer all our questions (however stupid they must have seen to him) and patiently waited while I translated his replies back in English. Needless to say we also had the best part of another bottle of champagne at the end of our tour and staggered home with a couple of boxes under our arms (paid for…!)

With some excellent local brut to our name there was only one last thing to indulge in before our return home the next day…dinner at Châteaux de la Marjolaine. And what a meal it was. Assuming we had booked a table in the restaurant we arrived at 1930h for our aperitif of champagne (what else?!) in the reception room. We were joined by another French couple who were staying that night and once escorted through to the dining area you could see one large and rather splendid table set in the middle of the room where we were all to be seated with Bruno our host at the head. As the wine and courses flowed (a cheese & beetroot starter followed by a pork and vegetable main, cheese course and coconut cake) it became apparent that Bruno was not only the host but also the chef…and couldn’t have looked more laid back if he’d tried. It was apparent the evening was a huge success but he still had one trick up his sleeve – a birthday cake (complete with all 28 candles) for our hard-working driver. Feeling full, slightly tipsy and very happy we retired to our suite – no doubt leaving poor Bruno with a lot of washing up…

Olive - Bruno's friendly dog

Upon reflection La Champagne has not only lived up to my rather idealised preconceptions but has also surpassed them. It is a region full of people passionate about what they do, and enthusiastic to the point of entertaining. Driving through Épernay down the Avenue de Champagne housing the famous champagnes of Laurent Perrier, Moët, Pol Roger and Taittinger you see tourists seduced by the pictures of Scarlet Johansson partying with a bottle of Moët in her hand, buying their overpriced slice of the-rich-and-famous lifestyle.

Marketing it for the girls?!

Visiting Champagne Bouché-Machuré and Champagne Belin I saw a family business, real-life people and a product that reflected the true essence of what I believe the Champagne region to be all about. It’s true you will need to speak a bit of French to really get the most out of a stay in the region. But the French I came across were, not as is sometimes reported, willing to speak English. They often apologised for not speaking more fluently but still gave it a shot. It is this love of their work, love of a product so quintessentially French (yes, they do admit the English did discover champagne…it was the French as they point out, that made it was it is today…fair play) and warmness that bowled me over.

Getting to grips with the grapes!

While there may not be any mountains, a beach or a tower constructed by Gustave Eiffel to climb, if it’s a romantic French getaway full of charm and character you’re after – I’ll have La Champagne over Paris any day.

Getting Hitched in Scotland!

Yes, wedding season is in full swing – and with so many places to choose from to have your special day I found myself boarding an Easy Jet flight up north to Aberdeen – to experience my first Scottish wedding…

Upon arriving the pilot did warn us the weather wasn’t great – and I can confirm the grey skies and torrential rain really weren’t doing Aberdeen any favours. A bus ride into the centre to wait for a train to Dyce and we was faced with the prospect of a 45 minute wait with nothing but a platform shelter to cower in. Apparently the nearest ‘coffee’ shop was in Asda (a bus ride away) and the only other places to hide from the weather were a chip shop or pub (both of which were closed). After some confusion about which platform the train was to arrive on we headed off, passing some fantastic stations on the way (Keith was one of my favourites – didn’t know my uncle was named after a Scottish station…)

Once in Dyce the groom was waiting with a car to take us to Elgin to grab some lunch. After ordering a cheese and pickle sandwich I then waited for a total of 50 minutes for my food to arrive. Ordinarily I would have been nothing if not annoyed, but the waitress was so unbelievably bad that the 50 minutes flew by in a haze of laughter (and free drink to settle our complaints) – a fantastic lunch (although not recommended if you are on a schedule!!!)

Once lunch finished we left the remarkably laid-back groom to deal with last-minute wedding things (picking up the suits, I think) while we checked into our hotel, The Stotfield, in Lossiemouth. I’d heard that the hotel wasn’t the most up-to-date accommodation in the area – which was true, but if you embrace the Faulty Towers feel then it’s a friendly, clean and superbly located (next to the coast) which does a cracking breakfast.

Another great place I’d reccommend is the Skerry Brae – a pub /restaurant across the road by the golf course which is a real winner for families, couples and those looking to sink a pint over a game of pool.

The day of the wedding and we headed off, suited and booted, to the Mansefield Hotel in Elgin. The hotel was a fantastic venue for a hassle free wedding, since the ceremony, meal and evening disco could all be held there. The day went seamlessly and was topped off for us upon jumping into a taxi back to Losimouth after midnight with the old-school DJ James – a living legend in the area for his somewhat eclectic style of dj’ing. It had been quite a while since I’d heard ‘a-ga-do-do-do’ and ‘The Music Man’… and never again will I hear such an enthusiastic rendition of ‘I’ve Got to Break Free’ (complete with Hoover in case you’re wandering).

After a big breakfast, Sunday morning was the perfect time to go exploring. After depositing James at his social club last night (in his words ‘to wind down from his live performance’) the taxi driver recommended we walked down to the light house. So with a blue sky and visions of Scots all breaking out their T Shirts it seemed like a good plan.

The beach along this part of the coast is beautiful. With the sun out, the turquoise sea and powder white sand wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Med (dipping your toes into the water soon reminded you exactly where you were however…) Canoeists paddled along, people walked their dogs, some unbelievably hard-core children splashed in the water and we discovered it was the perfect place to get some fresh air and walk of a fuzzy head…

Walking along the opposite side of the coast towards the harbour the following day we also discovered another hidden gem, where kite surfers and walkers come to enjoy nature’s coastal delights. Unfortunately, the weather turned a little but with a good coat you could happily wander over the bridge and along the beach before returning for a hearty meal and a warm brew in the harbour.

So, if you are looking for a place to come and say ‘I do’ Scotland has the elegant venues, welcoming atmosphere, sandy beaches and sea views… and if you’re really lucky could get to see a Scot play the bagpipes with a chair … (don’t say I didn’t warn you!)

Sunshine (well on screen at least…)

With the weather turning a little bit chilly it was definitely time to dig out some sunny pics – step forward Rhodes…

England 1 France 1

Forget the football (oh, that’s right we already have…) us Brits have more than just poor footie results to defend. And with a foreign manager coming under fire, I’m reminded of my time flying the flag for my country abroad…

Coming back to uni after a year sampling the delights of carefree living teaching English to the unsuspected in France I  found myself in an unusual position. As a bona fide Brit in Le Mans I quickly became sole representative and defendant of our great and mighty land. Until living and working abroad for a year I had never been so patriotic.

Attacks came in thick and fast (the usual suspects, poor weather, food, behaviour on a night out…) but I could not be beaten. England is indeed a fantastic country I proclaimed. Ok, the weather is not great but you get used to it. Venture out anywhere in England on a Saturday night and you will see individuals in nothing more than a thin T Shirt despite the drizzle, northerly wind and temperatures bordering on freezing, (although that may have more to do with the fact we’d rather freeze than pay the £1.50 for the cloakroom). The food is fantastic! No where else on earth can you find a proper Sunday roast, decent fish and chips or real orange squash. And as for our behaviour on a night out, let me assure you we are not the only ones to drink too much, sing loudly in the street, dress up in all our most hideous clothes at once and return home with a road sign under our arms.

Despite all this, and following determined efforts to the contrary my patriotism is currently suffering a temporary crisis. After a year of smiling politely and nodding to my French peers as they good naturedly questioned aspects of our daily life (whilst inwardly adamant that I was in fact right), I am now beginning to see they may have had a point. Yes, the weather is awful. So bad in fact that we forget what it’s like to see the sun and the whole country goes into a mad state of panic when the temperature gets above 25 degrees Celsius and it hasn’t rained for three days. Food, (apart from the above named items which remain sacred) is admittedly not that fantastic. Ask anyone to name their favourite dish and it will, nine times out of ten, be something from Italy, India or…France. And our night time shenanigans. While it’s true the French love to have a good time just as much as the rest of us they manage to do it whilst maintaining their dignity, and antics involving misplaced wheelie bins, public displays of nakedness and customary vomiting are notably absent.

Call me weak, call me a traitor. I can only say I did my best. However, there is one thing I will never back down on. While the French may claim the upper hand on weather, food and dignified nightly behaviour, it is us Brits and us Brits only who know how to form a proper queue!

Showreel

My production showreel is available to view here.

Filming with Sky in Ajaccio, Corsica

Filming in sunny LA on Venice Beach:)

Fiming the approach to Portofino

Rhodes: Sunshine, snorkelling & significant calls to fasten that seatbelt!

Well, you wouldn’t believe me if I said a destination was perfect, surely?! Manic driving aside, Rhodes was everything I’d hoped it would be and more – an ideal place to come and do exactly what I’ve been aching to do for a while: nothing. With brilliant sunshine (June is hot but not unbearably so), rugged coastlines complemented with clear blue seas (perfect for the snorkelers out there) and a satisfying amount of history sprinkled around the island, it ticked all the boxes for a fly and flop holiday. And after scouting out Nikos Bar in Lindos which serves glasses of wine for 2 Euros a pop while you sit taking in views of the Mediterranean on one side, the ancient Acropolis on the other with white washed houses tickling them from below, who said Greece was becoming financially out of reach? It certainly seemed like good value for money to me…