April ended with a trot in Regent's Park - the Run Through 10k. Daughter No.2 buzzed round in 52 minutes without extending herself; I followed on in 1 hour 6 minutes, which is not bad for an old boy, and unlike with last year's London Landmarks Half Marathon, I didn't finish with barely 10cc of fuel in the tank (for the uninitiated, it's all about powering over the last 100 metres and making people think that this is how you have run all the way round).
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Parking apps: I read that a fifth of UK drivers are over 65 but that only 69% use a smartphone. If that is the case, the 31% will find it increasingly difficult to park in London. Parking meters are disappearing, even those that can be served with credit or debit cards (how awfully 20th century to even conceive of putting coins in a slot). The parking restriction sign will give you a telephone number and the code for your parking area. Ok, you can pay for your time via your trusty Nokia, but much quicker and easier would be to have the appropriate app as indicated by the parking sign. Your credit card details are pre-loaded, and you simply confirm the parking area and select your time. Even better, you can extend your time on the app or even close the session off early - no agonising over how much time needed for that visit to the shops and a swift latte to follow.
But of course Nokia person here is out of the game, as no app without a smartphone. As for those still resisting a mobile phone - nuff said. The brutal truth is that the elderly (who may have greater need of car use) are seeing technology slowly marginalising them out of existence of any value (big subject) unless their determination and/or support of family/friends helps them to hang on to the coat tails of change.
The Abbey Bash
I began the celebration early with a Coronation Chicken sandwich a couple of weeks before. Delicious.
Nearer the time, old voices emerge from the shadows. Gyles Brandreth is on to his 15th rendition of the story of bestriding his father's shoulders on the Mall with his periscope extended to be able to see the Queen (the real one) at her Coronation. St Nicholas of Witchell has been released temporarily from his monastic cell.
In the venue, what's the news? At the Great West Door, the Welby meter: how many seconds of hello does any main guest get? Prince Harry? Not enough time to register. General faffing around in the supporting Royal pews to ensure that Anne's red plume totally obscures Harry's face.
As to the main performers, the boy Charles looks knackered. No surprise if you have been waiting that long for the show to begin. His bird is trying to look regal, hoping that the Stepford Camillas in attendance will bolster her gravitas.
One person who does not have gravitas is Welby.
The real Queen today is Mordaunt. Out in the shires, the chaps are salivating: 'Fine figure of a woman, that Penny. Decent filly with a good seat'.
What you feel about the show will depend upon how far you are a traditionalist. A conservative writer complained about the amount of attention lavished on sword woman. He explained in utter seriousness that there would not have been such fuss if the page boys had been kitted out in breeches with small swords. I would love to know what was in Prince George's head: maybe 'OMG is this what I will have to go through eventually?! Maybe we'll be abolished by then.'
By the time the top team had hit the balcony, Charles looked much more relaxed. He is here to serve and not to be served......so what a perfect setting as thousands adored him from a safe distance of 100 metres or so.
And no talk of pens.
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Postcard from (rain sodden) Tuscany
12/12 days. Not rain all day every day, but every day rain at some point, from thunderstorm to light drizzle. As ever we Brits would not complain - 150 miles or so north-west in Emilia Romagna there was flooding. Mama mia.
Montalcino
I cannot sum up why it is wonderful. Sure it has its churches, its architecture, its mountain top position, its historical status as beaten up in successive internecine conflicts pre-Reunification. But it has no knockout top sight - which facilitates the wonder, as the small town is not overridden by tourists. Montalcino's knockout feature is its wine, and if you are a person for the meaty red, as in 13 percent plus, you would already knew this courtesy of the eponymous Brunello.
So the brilliant experience was the wine-tasting at the Franci winery, Franci being the same family as owned the excellent B&B where we stayed. A fascinating two hours, with an erudite presenter interested to hear what group members wanted to cover. Of course an order followed, but with no preceding pressure.
Also while in the area there was a chance to tour around. Siena a must, inevitably mobbed, but I still like to stare at the Campo and imagine the twice-yearly Palio horse race, where teams from local districts (Contrade) compete with each other over a both improbable and terrifying course. Only a matter of time before animal rights activists appear, but I would not fancy their chances against a partisan local crowd.
Another highlight: visit to the Monte Oliveto Maggiore Benedictine Monastery. It being Sunday, there was Mass. Congregation a mixture of visitors and locals. I thought my faith was non-existent, but I found myself in the queue for Communion, and almost having a moment as I walked back. How strange.
(En route to Lucca). San Gimigniano. Reputedly over-touristed, but on this day not oppressively so. The fun was finding an off-main drag place for lunch. A quirky waitress was about to launch into her restaurant English, but when responded to by this pale-faced bloke in his restaurant Italian. she grinned and played along. Many Brits still subscribe to the theory that if you talk loudly in your mother-tongue then the natives will understand you. My experience is that if you are sufficiently brave to utter a few words in the lingo then the natives will indulge you, and further will be pleased.
Lucca
Small as a City, but beautifully formed. Oddly the highlight is the walls, 4 kilometres of rampart wide enough to allow walkers, runners and cyclists to co-exist. Wide choice of restaurants, and great (despite the rain) to be able to stroll the streets in the evening. At a bar that became a useful spot for a digestivo, 20 somethings came out to play later in the week...but barely drank anything and got off on conversation alone. Very unBritish.
A day trip to Pisa demonstrated first, how difficult it is to find anywhere to park and secondly, how the area around the World Heritage Site (Tower etc) is resoundingly trashy. Escape into the back streets as soon as you have ticked the boxes.
More positively Montecarlo, a few miles east of Lucca, worth going to for the name alone. On a Saturday afternoon, a wine festival in progress, jolly but appalling singing coursing through the pedestrianised main street from a wedding reception, and distinct Italian humour in some decorative plates eg (in translation) directed to the chaps: "If you want a flat stomach. lie on your back.'
The carnage of Pisa airport on return. Thunderstorms in the area, and the inevitable French air traffic controllers' industrial action, which makes the longevity of the bore you rigid RMT/ASLEF action seem like a pathetic little wave of dissatisfaction. There were darkly amusing moments, but the totality was so depressing that I can't be arsed to write about them. One piece of advice, especially with BA's penchant for rescheduling a late afternoon flight to an evening flight: unless you are on a long weekend, book a morning flight home.
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An Employment Tribunal has ruled that when an HS2 manager said that the organisation was not 'whiter than white', in the presence of a black employee, she was trying to make the point that HS2 was not above reproach, and that there was no racial slur attached to the remark. I will lift my bald bonce one centimetre above the parapet and venture to suggest that common sense has prevailed.
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Having waded into consideration of Dominic Raab's character, I am now contemplating an article on why we should not trust anything said by a politician as a promise or pledge or some other statement of commitment. In UK life we do not lack for material, so for a change let's turn to France, as there is an air travel theme towards the end here.
President Macron's government stridently announced that it has banned flights between French cities where the journey can be done by train in under 2.5 hours. Travel journalist Simon Calder has exposed this as a lie. In his excellent blog he writes that a few routes between Paris Orly and major French cities have been blocked, but flights to and from Paris Charles de Gaulle remain intact.
'Pourquoi?' you ask. So that, explains Calder. the routes can remain as feeders to Air France's international service, otherwise - zut alors - Berenice from Bordeaux might choose to travel via Heathrow or Frankfurt or Amsterdam. Ha ha.
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My new passport is a nasty dark blue thing saying 'British'. It only has one redeeming virtue: the technology is up to date so that for the first time I can approach an e-passport gate with confidence........when of course the gates are working.
They say it might be nice in Skegness this summer...
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Something lighter on which to finish. There is a LinkedIn advert for a 'Casual Exam Invigilator'. The vision: 'Unlimited toilet breaks; cheat if you want; finish when convenient to you'. Add your own.
As I am known to be grumpy, I have to inject these items periodically in an attempt to portray that I do have a sense of humour.
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The author is a writer, speaker, historian, occasional tour guide, and former Managing Partner of a City law firm.