Ravenous sea dog bites shark
A video of a dog biting a shark in Western Australia has gone viral, with the rather excited man who shot the footage believing his masterpiece will boost tourism for his country.
The man who filmed the YouTube hit has claimed that the tourism adverts for Australia have too much cheese in them and believes that videos like his are far more likely to attract people to the country. Ok, right, so crazy dogs biting sharks and Dugong slaying is really making want to choose the land of Oz over a shark free beach elsewhere.
Actually, I'd love to go back to Australia, anything but the English summer!
Slide installed to help busy commuters
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| This is not a play park, it is in fact a station. |
A giant slide has been installed in a Dutch railway station to ease congestion at rush hour and make commuter's lives easier. This looks like an excuse for big kids to play on their way to work to me.
Utrecht-based firm HIK Ontwerpers installed the slide whilst renovating Overvecht railway station. I somehow cannot imagine health and safety allowing such a feat at a London station. I think in England we'll have to continue getting our perks on our way to work by walking up the down escalator. We could however take it one step further and install monkey bars and rings, so commuters can swing over the tracks to different platforms with ease...
Watch this space.
I've heard of pedantic, but this reaches a new level..
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| Is this a sign for the Borrowers? |
This sign was erected by Merton Council in a street in Raynes Park, south London. All I can assume from this shameful waste of metal is that under the few weeds and amongst the soil must be a thriving community of Borrowers. Either that, or this tiny patch is a scrap of grass from the hallowed old Wembley Stadium?
Too small to picnic on, too small to have a kick about on, this sign is evidently not for humans.
The Red Centre
Matt English experiences the mysterious colour changing of Ayers rock in Australia’s red centre.
“Ladies and gentlemen we are now approaching Connellan Airport. We will be landing in approximately 10 minutes but before we do, those of you on the right hand side of the plane, make sure you check your windows for an aerial view of the magical Uluru as we fly over.”
As soon as the announcement was made, the whole left side of the plane sighed with disappointed and leaned to the right in desperate hope of a glimpse of one of the natural wonders of the world. Sitting comfortably with a window seat on the right hand side of the plane, I casually peered out of the small circular window waiting patiently to see this magnificent site. I was intrigued to know as to just how ‘magical’ this big rock was. I had seen many documentaries about it before and heard many tales of its mysteriousness, but now it was time for me to see it for myself. The left side knew exactly when the point they were missing out was, when the first ‘wows’ and ‘let me sees’ came around. Having not taken my eyes off the arid, red ground for a couple of minutes, I too was trembling with excitement when the huge rocky outcrop crept into my frame of vision. Being at the back of the plane, I knew it was coming; it was just a matter of seconds. There it was, Ayers Rock from above. It seemed to come out of nowhere; a place so remote and flat suddenly produced such a large landmark.
“Well I now know why they call it the red centre”, my Dad blurted to me. “It certainly is red, now move your head and let’s get a photo of it”.
My old man was right. It was incredibly red. The colours were rich and bold and the sunlight burnt a deep crimson into the rock. It was as if we had arrived in Australia’s heartbeat and the giant rock was the country’s vital organ, penetrating up through the ground.
On arrival at Connellan Airport an Aboriginal man by the name of Sid greeted my family and me and drove us to the Emu Walk Apartments. The drive provided an insight from the ground as to how barren the region was. Red dust swirled up behind us as and a searing heat haze loomed in front. The air conditioning in the van fought furiously against the sweltering heat of the day to keep us cool but nothing prevailed. The journey from the airport to Emu Walks was filled with Sid’s fascinating tales of the outback. This was a man with ancient Aboriginal ancestors and who had lived in this area for his whole life, now a guide to enlighten tourists of his culture.
“What’s so magical about Ayers Rock then Sid?” I asked in awe.
“Well kiddo, your just going to have to wait and see. This is a spiritual place here in Uluru -Kata Tjuta, but I promise you will see the magic tonight and tomorrow morning.” Sid replied.
Sid had packed a barbeque into the back of the van and we set off from Emu Walks to spend the rest of the day at the Olgas or Kata Tjuta. When we arrived he explained to us the importance of the area.
“It is sacred under Anangu men’s law. This law means details of the stories cannot be revealed and access to some areas here is restricted.”
Sid was trying to create a sense of mystery about the place as we walked amongst the sheer domes and took in the vastness of the landscape. It was as if we had landed on mars, the ground so orange and the landscape in front of me appeared so unworldly. On top of a rock sat a Thorny Devil, rocking back and forwards, basking in the evening sun. This bizarre creature sat amongst inconspicuous and rare plants, somehow content with a strange, white human peering down on top of it. As the sun began to set the smell of the barbequed meat took over my nostrils and the sound of Crimson Chats tweeting filled my ears, aptly named due to their red heads and breasts matching the colour of the land. My eyes were presented with their own treat as the rocky domes began to change colour as the sun sank below the horizon.
To carry on the magical experience, early the next morning Sid took us to a vantage point in front of Uluru, Ayers Rock. This was what all the hype had been about, the magnificent colour changing of the sacred rock. You have to experience it to fully understand it and as the sun began to creep back up, Uluru was illuminated from the darkness. Through yellows and oranges it was slowly turning scarlet and from the distance it looked like a ruby glowing and standing out against the brilliant blue sky. I was satisfied; I now appreciated the magic of the red centre.
“Ladies and gentlemen we are now approaching Connellan Airport. We will be landing in approximately 10 minutes but before we do, those of you on the right hand side of the plane, make sure you check your windows for an aerial view of the magical Uluru as we fly over.”
As soon as the announcement was made, the whole left side of the plane sighed with disappointed and leaned to the right in desperate hope of a glimpse of one of the natural wonders of the world. Sitting comfortably with a window seat on the right hand side of the plane, I casually peered out of the small circular window waiting patiently to see this magnificent site. I was intrigued to know as to just how ‘magical’ this big rock was. I had seen many documentaries about it before and heard many tales of its mysteriousness, but now it was time for me to see it for myself. The left side knew exactly when the point they were missing out was, when the first ‘wows’ and ‘let me sees’ came around. Having not taken my eyes off the arid, red ground for a couple of minutes, I too was trembling with excitement when the huge rocky outcrop crept into my frame of vision. Being at the back of the plane, I knew it was coming; it was just a matter of seconds. There it was, Ayers Rock from above. It seemed to come out of nowhere; a place so remote and flat suddenly produced such a large landmark.
“Well I now know why they call it the red centre”, my Dad blurted to me. “It certainly is red, now move your head and let’s get a photo of it”.
My old man was right. It was incredibly red. The colours were rich and bold and the sunlight burnt a deep crimson into the rock. It was as if we had arrived in Australia’s heartbeat and the giant rock was the country’s vital organ, penetrating up through the ground.
On arrival at Connellan Airport an Aboriginal man by the name of Sid greeted my family and me and drove us to the Emu Walk Apartments. The drive provided an insight from the ground as to how barren the region was. Red dust swirled up behind us as and a searing heat haze loomed in front. The air conditioning in the van fought furiously against the sweltering heat of the day to keep us cool but nothing prevailed. The journey from the airport to Emu Walks was filled with Sid’s fascinating tales of the outback. This was a man with ancient Aboriginal ancestors and who had lived in this area for his whole life, now a guide to enlighten tourists of his culture.
“What’s so magical about Ayers Rock then Sid?” I asked in awe.
“Well kiddo, your just going to have to wait and see. This is a spiritual place here in Uluru -Kata Tjuta, but I promise you will see the magic tonight and tomorrow morning.” Sid replied.
Sid had packed a barbeque into the back of the van and we set off from Emu Walks to spend the rest of the day at the Olgas or Kata Tjuta. When we arrived he explained to us the importance of the area.
“It is sacred under Anangu men’s law. This law means details of the stories cannot be revealed and access to some areas here is restricted.”
Sid was trying to create a sense of mystery about the place as we walked amongst the sheer domes and took in the vastness of the landscape. It was as if we had landed on mars, the ground so orange and the landscape in front of me appeared so unworldly. On top of a rock sat a Thorny Devil, rocking back and forwards, basking in the evening sun. This bizarre creature sat amongst inconspicuous and rare plants, somehow content with a strange, white human peering down on top of it. As the sun began to set the smell of the barbequed meat took over my nostrils and the sound of Crimson Chats tweeting filled my ears, aptly named due to their red heads and breasts matching the colour of the land. My eyes were presented with their own treat as the rocky domes began to change colour as the sun sank below the horizon.
 |
| The amazing Ayers Rock |
To carry on the magical experience, early the next morning Sid took us to a vantage point in front of Uluru, Ayers Rock. This was what all the hype had been about, the magnificent colour changing of the sacred rock. You have to experience it to fully understand it and as the sun began to creep back up, Uluru was illuminated from the darkness. Through yellows and oranges it was slowly turning scarlet and from the distance it looked like a ruby glowing and standing out against the brilliant blue sky. I was satisfied; I now appreciated the magic of the red centre.
B-Right-On. Only In Brighton!
Nestled in the south coast, Brighton exudes a bohemian charm unlike any place in England. Matt English explains how there is so much more to the East Sussex city than just fish and chips.
I always get the feeling that Brighton is one of those places that if you tell someone you are going, there is a sense of excitement, as if it has a positive energy about it. I’d been by the seafront for 10 minutes and already I was witnessing the most remarkable scenes. I knew that Brighton is renowned for being wacky and different, but what was about to grace my eyes could not have happened anywhere else. A man sporting an aluminous green Borat thong appeared to be flagging me and my travel companion, Lee, down.
“Have you seen what’s ahead of us? He seems to be calling us”, Lee hesitantly said.
“Carry on as normal, it can’t be us he wants”, I replied confidently.
In fact it was us he wanted. The pasty, less hairy version of Borat crossed the road, holding up traffic as he stumbled towards us like Bambi on ice. We looked at each other, not knowing whether to burst out laughing or run away. The man stopped in the middle of the road, putting his hand in the air apologising to the many cars honking their horns in frustration at the solitary character. After picking up his fake moustache from underneath the car that had narrowly avoided hitting him, the stranger in the thong posed on the bonnet whilst the driver and his passenger had nothing else to do but laugh and take pictures of the event. Only in Brighton.
“Boys”, he slurred. “Have you seen where the stag’s gone, he’s done one ‘asn’t he?”
Trying to look the man in the eyes whilst his dignity was on show, we told him to try the hotel with the numerous amounts of people dressed in fancy dress outside it further up the road. Brighton’s party scene was well underway on the sunny Saturday, morning.
To many people, Brighton presents the face of an attractive seaside resort, with its famous pier full of amusements, arcades and sugared doughnuts. Like most seaside towns in England, Brighton has its front with hotels, bars and of course a plentiful supply of fish and chips, but it isn’t like most. For a start, as of 1997 Brighton and Hove were merged and given a city status by Queen Elizabeth II and in true city fashion, there are many different areas to explore.
After spending a solid hour draining away money by feeding coppers into a machine, and throwing balls at tin cans in the hope of winning a giant cuddly toy, we decided to delve deeper into Brighton’s famous streets.
Leaving the candyfloss and roller coasters behind, the seafront was promptly exchanged for small quaint streets, some so narrow you could jump from one roof to another. The Lanes area is jam-packed with character and history, alive with entertaining acts and atmospheric restaurants and pubs. Being in this area I could understand why Brighton is labelled ‘London by the sea’ with a similar aura to Covent Garden.
Only a few roads and a short walk away was Brighton’s Royal Pavilion. Its striking Indian architecture makes it the city’s most unusual and most beautiful landmark. It was as if a palace had been airlifted out of India and randomly placed in the middle of Brighton. We then discovered the true bohemian charm of the city, finding another set of small, winding streets. Many little boutiques and trinket shops selling retro second hand items and antiques, from clogs to old records lined the constricted avenues. Body art, wacky hair styling and shisha pipes were in abundance and the smell of incense sticks was prominent in the air.
By now, I was appreciating the oddities and wonders of what Brighton has to offer. A Starbucks in the distance at the bottom of the road brought a sense of normality back to the place and presented something every average town and city can associate with. However, as I pondered whether to pick up a coffee cream frappuccino, or stay local and get a cup of grass juice, I was reminded where I was. My choice of drink no longer mattered; because only in Brighton would you find a skateboarding dog. I could hardly believe my eyes as a scraggily dressed man called out to his canine friend;
“Bodhi, come on boy, bring it back and let’s go again”.
There were several street performances that had caught my eye throughout the course of the day, but this one overshadowed the rest. A small crowd had gathered in awe as the four-legged Tony Hawks ‘kick-pushed’ his way through crowds. This little act typified the charm of Brighton and we now seemed a world away from when we had first arrived in the morning at the seaside.
Brighton is like an abstract painting, with an array of different colours splashed on the canvas in random places, colours that shouldn’t be next to each other and with no organisation, just completely random. The mixture of a typical seaside resort, modern urban buildings, quaint streets and alleys, cheap boutiques and expensive shops, is quite remarkable. The city is full of weird and wonderful people, and its unique blend of culture merged together is what gives Brighton its quirky edge and bohemian like charm.
I always get the feeling that Brighton is one of those places that if you tell someone you are going, there is a sense of excitement, as if it has a positive energy about it. I’d been by the seafront for 10 minutes and already I was witnessing the most remarkable scenes. I knew that Brighton is renowned for being wacky and different, but what was about to grace my eyes could not have happened anywhere else. A man sporting an aluminous green Borat thong appeared to be flagging me and my travel companion, Lee, down.“Have you seen what’s ahead of us? He seems to be calling us”, Lee hesitantly said.
“Carry on as normal, it can’t be us he wants”, I replied confidently.
In fact it was us he wanted. The pasty, less hairy version of Borat crossed the road, holding up traffic as he stumbled towards us like Bambi on ice. We looked at each other, not knowing whether to burst out laughing or run away. The man stopped in the middle of the road, putting his hand in the air apologising to the many cars honking their horns in frustration at the solitary character. After picking up his fake moustache from underneath the car that had narrowly avoided hitting him, the stranger in the thong posed on the bonnet whilst the driver and his passenger had nothing else to do but laugh and take pictures of the event. Only in Brighton.
“Boys”, he slurred. “Have you seen where the stag’s gone, he’s done one ‘asn’t he?”
Trying to look the man in the eyes whilst his dignity was on show, we told him to try the hotel with the numerous amounts of people dressed in fancy dress outside it further up the road. Brighton’s party scene was well underway on the sunny Saturday, morning.
To many people, Brighton presents the face of an attractive seaside resort, with its famous pier full of amusements, arcades and sugared doughnuts. Like most seaside towns in England, Brighton has its front with hotels, bars and of course a plentiful supply of fish and chips, but it isn’t like most. For a start, as of 1997 Brighton and Hove were merged and given a city status by Queen Elizabeth II and in true city fashion, there are many different areas to explore.
After spending a solid hour draining away money by feeding coppers into a machine, and throwing balls at tin cans in the hope of winning a giant cuddly toy, we decided to delve deeper into Brighton’s famous streets.
Leaving the candyfloss and roller coasters behind, the seafront was promptly exchanged for small quaint streets, some so narrow you could jump from one roof to another. The Lanes area is jam-packed with character and history, alive with entertaining acts and atmospheric restaurants and pubs. Being in this area I could understand why Brighton is labelled ‘London by the sea’ with a similar aura to Covent Garden.
Only a few roads and a short walk away was Brighton’s Royal Pavilion. Its striking Indian architecture makes it the city’s most unusual and most beautiful landmark. It was as if a palace had been airlifted out of India and randomly placed in the middle of Brighton. We then discovered the true bohemian charm of the city, finding another set of small, winding streets. Many little boutiques and trinket shops selling retro second hand items and antiques, from clogs to old records lined the constricted avenues. Body art, wacky hair styling and shisha pipes were in abundance and the smell of incense sticks was prominent in the air.
By now, I was appreciating the oddities and wonders of what Brighton has to offer. A Starbucks in the distance at the bottom of the road brought a sense of normality back to the place and presented something every average town and city can associate with. However, as I pondered whether to pick up a coffee cream frappuccino, or stay local and get a cup of grass juice, I was reminded where I was. My choice of drink no longer mattered; because only in Brighton would you find a skateboarding dog. I could hardly believe my eyes as a scraggily dressed man called out to his canine friend;
“Bodhi, come on boy, bring it back and let’s go again”.
There were several street performances that had caught my eye throughout the course of the day, but this one overshadowed the rest. A small crowd had gathered in awe as the four-legged Tony Hawks ‘kick-pushed’ his way through crowds. This little act typified the charm of Brighton and we now seemed a world away from when we had first arrived in the morning at the seaside.
Brighton is like an abstract painting, with an array of different colours splashed on the canvas in random places, colours that shouldn’t be next to each other and with no organisation, just completely random. The mixture of a typical seaside resort, modern urban buildings, quaint streets and alleys, cheap boutiques and expensive shops, is quite remarkable. The city is full of weird and wonderful people, and its unique blend of culture merged together is what gives Brighton its quirky edge and bohemian like charm.
Night Train - A Thai Adventure
Matt English finds spectacular landscapes and shows an alternative way of traveling from north to south in Thailand by choosing the rails over the air.
£24.40 can get you a long way in Thailand. To be more precise, it took me
900 miles from the mountainous north of Chiang Mai, to the white sands and blue seas of Koh Samui in the south. For 1200 THB, my Thai adventure saw a gradual change in this magnificent country’s landscape. From urban night markets and temples, I was to be chugged down through the flat lands and rice paddies with the promise of paradise awaiting me.
I was travelling with two friends and my ‘Thai sister’, Meen. I had previously stayed with her and her family in Lamphun, a small, peaceful province of Chiang Mai. Meen became extremely useful on our journey as her fluency in English and Thai meant she adopted the role of translator. I told her that we wanted to explore more of Thailand and unwind on the exquisite beaches in the south. She spoke with her uncle Surawit (who happens to have connections in the right places) and arranged for us to stay in a beach resort in Samui, free of charge.
Meen presented us with two options: by air, or by rail.
“Which would be the most fun?” I asked.
“Well for you it would probably be the train if you have never done the trip before, but I’d prefer to go by plane”, she said. That should have told us something about the journey already.
The next day, unprepared and unorganised, relying heavily on Meen being Thai, we set out on our mini expedition and arrived at Chiang Mai station in style by ‘Tuk-Tuk’, only knowing that we wanted to end up in a tranquil paradise. Having almost had my life taken away from me on several occasions on the ‘Tuk-Tuk’ ride through the hustle and bustle of Thailand’s second largest city, nothing seemed better than swapping the humid, sticky city climate for the hot tropical sun of the south.
There are three classes on the train. In first you get a private air-conditioned booth with pull-down beds. Second class also had the luxury of pull down beds, however passengers bunk next to each other cooped up like sardines. Third class was the cheapest and so I decided to get comfortable amongst the locals, their chickens and the few token Aussie backpackers. A food service was offered to all classes and it wasn’t like the Great British trolley service of Quavers and Kit-Kats. I had never had chicken noodle soup, rice and fish balls on a train before. South Eastern, take note. My carriage was made up of scuffed grey-painted steel and plastic, with a strip light on the ceiling. The window offered much more pleasant viewing on the eye with breathtaking scenery of the Thai countryside streaming by.
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| Never mind sardines, tinned human springs to mind! |
Picturesque mountains were left behind and replaced by rice paddies shimmering in an orange haze left by the sinking sun.
Slumped opposite me was a small, rotund Thai man in a too-tight, olive green suit who snored and when wasn’t snoring, coughed. Persuading myself
to sleep was hard. I found that a 70cl bottle of Thai Sangsom rum helped me envisage the lapping waves and searing hot sun that was to meet us at the end of the line. On such a long journey, visiting the toilet is unavoidable. A hole in the train floor with a view of the tracks blurring past underneath, presented me with quite a tricky experience.
After changing trains at Bangkok’s busy Hua Lamphong station, we were on the last stretch of our Asian railway adventure to paradise. More dry hills soon gave way to green paddy fields and this time palm trees. The smell of tea, which had filled the carriage for the majority of the journey, was quickly being exchanged for fresh sea air as Meen slammed down a window in excitement.
“We must be close now”, she said with her head poking out of the rusting frame.
It was a journey full of bizarre scenes and incidents, one being when our train sent a cow tumbling head over hooves into a ditch. It obviously hadn’t seen the ‘THINK’ adverts on TV. At the end of the line at Surat Thani, I was woken from my rum induced coma and dragged off the train by Meen;
“Come on sleepyhead, my uncle’s here to take us to Chaweng beach where we will be staying.”
After being introduced to Meen’s uncle Surawit, we headed for Dong Sak where we would take the Raja car ferry to Koh Samui. Sitting in the open back of Surawit’s pickup truck with no protection going 80mph plus, the blasting air in my face removed all evidence of tiredness. I could just prise my eyes open enough through the wind to see the beautiful white sands and blue seas to the side of me.
Standing on the top deck of the ferry, with the cool wind stroking my sun soaked skin; I looked back on mainland Thailand and admired how beautiful this part of the world is. The 24 hours spent on a rickety old train had suddenly all seemed worth it once we had arrived in Koh Samui. The island was animated with typical Thai nightlife and markets, alive with colour and fragrant with authentic smells. As I lay on the beach sipping a tropical cocktail I raised the question; “How are we getting back then? Train or plane?”
I sunk back into the warm sand, knowing what the general consensus would be.
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