If Carlsberg scored goals, they’d probably score them like this
By Joe | June 8, 2009
That cheeky chappy is called Andres Vasquez, a Swedish Under-21 international who is currently looking to switch from Swiss side IFK Gothenburg to Premier League side Stoke.
Wonder how many times he tried THAT before popping one in?!
Topics: General musings | 1 Comment »
Looking for Clash of the Titans in Tenerife
By Joe | June 6, 2009
It was Saturday. Pancake day in the Cawley household. A day when Molly Blue and Sam gorge themselves silly on flour and water. But after the feeding frenzy, what to do?
Answer: Go and find Hollywood in Tenerife. Yip, we’d heard that the film set for the Clash of The Titans re-make was being built in the wilds of Teide National Park, so off we set to have a ganders. Joy plastered on her best lippy in hope that they’d had a casting disaster and urgently needed to pluck a complete stranger from the crowd of gawpers. Bit of a dreamer, our Joy.
Anyways, it was easy to find the set. Clearly marked by miles of Crimewatch style ticker tape, a scrum of equipment vehicles and two roadside security guards looking clearly baffled as to why they were there.
The actual set building was roped off just at a great vantage point metres from where the painters were dabbing ochre onto God-world pillars. ‘What’s a pillar?’ you can hear Molly ask in the video. I was tempted to answer the question ‘what’s a pillock?’ as there was clearly one standing in front of the set in a yellow vest, wagging a finger at anybody who dared lift a camera.
“No picture, no picture,” he barked 20 metres across the volcanic wasteland. Most people lowered their cameras and skulded off bewildered. A few, like us, waited till his back was turned then snapped away anyway.
“It’s Teide National Park, for goodness sake,” Joy rightly points out in the video. “I’ll take a *&88ing picture if I want.” The observant amongst you will spot that we didn’t use that particular take. Sky Travel is a family channel, after all.
Anyways, depite Joy mithering the life out of various members of the production crew, they all refused to be interviewed, those in postitions of authority tutting about ’something has to be done about all these people taking pictures, it’s supposed to be a closed set.”
Well don’t stage a Hollywood set in the middle of a national park then, for *&%^’s sake! Or at least build it further than 50 goddam metres from the roadside of Spain’s most visited National Park. And cover it up. A shower curtain, a pair of Ann Widdicombe’s knickers. Anything!
Anyway, here’s the Tenerife Clash of the Titans video, including Joy’s (toned down) rant. Enjoy.
Topics: Inane rants, Tenerife | No Comments »
Canary Islands under the sea
By Joe | May 18, 2009
This should attract dive and snorkel-fiends. Great video by Rafa Herrero showing the underwater world of Tenerife and the Canary Islands.
The Canary Islands under the sea from Rafa Herrero on Vimeo.
Topics: Tenerife | 1 Comment »
Rod Stewart in Tenerife - review
By Joe | May 18, 2009
What’s going on in Tenerife! We might be woefully short of tourists at the moment, but it seems that all the celebs are taking advantage of the quietness to visit our shores at the same time. Or maybe there’s a celeb party going on that only those with a spread in Hello magazine know about. Stuff ‘em. I didn’t want to go anyway.
Jenny Bond has just been. Daniel Craig is currently here. Sam Worthington, Gemma Atherton and some of the cast of Clash of the Titans are all drinking our beer (but not Liam Neeson or Ralph Fiennes - they won’t be coming to film any of their scenes here). And then there’s Rod.
Last year’s fiasco with the organising of the Elton John concert left many people worrying if Saturday night’s Rod Stewart concert in Tenerife would turn out to be the same shambolic jamboree. The organisers promised not. They assured the island that they’d employ more vigilance in actually staffing the entry points with real people instead of monkeys this time. They’d made the decision that it would be wise to let 15,000 punters in gradually rather than all at one time. And check their tickets so they don’t all stand in the same spot. And they agreed that pretty little signs pointing people where to go would be quite a neat idea. So did they deliver? And did Rod for that matter?
Firstly, the organisation. We got our first sniff of how “things were going to be different this time” at Checkpoint Charlie One. Despite packing enough bocadillos to kill a crowd of gluttons and enough beer to drown a rugby team, it had all been in vain. ‘No drinks or food allowed’ we were told. “Bring back the disorganised chaos of last year,” rang the disgruntled chants. But we did what every law-abiding Brit would do. Along with hundreds of other dismayed attendees, downed half of it in a makeshift kerbside bar and smuggled the rest in. It would have been good to have let people know on the back of the tickets or via media ads that food and drink wasn’t going to be allowed. Denying people even a bottle of water in a hot climate such as Tenerife is a little draconian to say the least.
The rest of the organisation was outstanding though, from the Wally Trolley chugging people up and down from the car park to the first barriers, to the size of the entry points. Last year you almost had to slip in one-by-one sideways, this year you could have driven a flotilla of beer lorries through the space. (Note to self - bring beer lorry for Beyonce concert).
There were very few queues, except for the usual portaloo posse. Even the bars weren’t mobbed, which was a good thing seeing as our secret stash soon ran dry. There were even guys wandering around distributing Heineken from a mobile pump, albeit at a price of €4 per beer. All-in-all the organisation this time was outstanding, so big thumbs up to the Canaries Live for listening to all the moans last time. And an even bigger thumbs up for getting acts such as Rodders to our shores in the first place. Perhaps you could also work on a few acts that don’t fall into the Rock ‘n’ Wrinkly category as well?
Back to the mullet-man himself.
Scheduled to appear at 9, the venue was looking mighty empty a few minutes before kick-off. Crowd size was estimated at anywhere between 6,000 to 10,000. The organisers claim 15,000 but I suspect they were seeing double.
Having perched ourselves high on ‘The Hill’, as soon as Rodders croaked out the first notes of Some Guys Have all the Luck, along with most of the other cheap seatsters we realised that we weren’t those lucky guys. We’d made a fundamental schoolboy error. We were too damn far away to hear much. It was like being sat in a traffic jam listening to the car in front’s music system, with the windows up. So, along with most of the other high hill dwellers, we shuffled our blankets and contraband picnic closer to the action. It was only after this mass migration south did the venue look anywhere near busy.
Rod continued to crack out hit after hit, pausing to rest after seven songs with a sit-down on a stool to sing Downtown Train. Well, he is 64 after all. Compared to Elton who stayed on stage for the whole 2 hours, Rod was on and off like strobe light, changing outfits and I suspect having a bit of a lie down.
He’s not a talker, Rod, much like Elton. The only real interaction he had with the crowd was when he told us he was having a 10-minute break and when he booted a dozen or so footballs into the crowd. Mainly to the high-spenders at the front though. No balls for the cheapsters, but I guess Rod ain’t no Ronaldo, and even he would have been stretched to fire a free-kick 50 or 60 yards.
After a quick encore of Sailing, he was off without a beg your leave, police lights twinkling off towards La Caleta leaving more than a few people dissatisfied with the ending. Was it something we said?
It was a great concert though, around two hours of Rodderick hits and some good showmanship from his three dancers and musicians. How sexy is a female saxophone player? I want one.
As I stood on The Hill, the lights of La Caleta and Costa Adeje flickering in the distance, watching a world legend singing and strutting on a purple-lit stage, I felt a strange sense of reassurance, a feeling that we weren’t completely cut off from the real world, that we were now somehow included and connected to the bright lights and glamour of the fame and pop-dom that we read about so much in the UK press. For one night at least, living in Tenerife felt almost like living in the real world.
Well done Sun Live Canarias.
Topics: General musings, Inane rants, Tenerife, Writing Clips | 11 Comments »
Tenerife time-lapse video
By Joe | May 11, 2009
Very much liking this new Tenerife video - Tenerife in a day and a bit… stunning visuals.
We need more of these great videos that show Tenerife in its Sunday best.
Topics: Tenerife | No Comments »
A real life clash of the Titans in Tenerife
By Joe | May 1, 2009
Had a bit of a clash with the Titans in Tenerife yesterday while trying to renew my residencia.
Why are the people who deal with paperwork so damn awkward? Is it because they’ve been breathing in teeny particles of paper dust? Is it because they’re sick and tired of all the paper cuts they get?
No. It’s because they’re all self-important numpties who love nothing better than to bark a stern ‘No!’ across obsessively ordered desks.
Just 20 seconds of being with this race whooshed me back in time to when we had a bar and had to battle with the paper police on an almost daily basis. No wonder my fringe fell off.
From More Ketchup than Salsa: Confessions of a Tenerife barman…
…the most aggravating thing about our paperwork quests up north was that more often than not, they were unsuccessful. We knew that as soon as we entered the police station or foreign office or department of health and social security, a frumpish bulldog would be assigned with the sole intention of barking a curt ‘no!’ even before we’d had the chance to explain our reason for being there.
And this was no normal ‘no’, delivered with a hint of pity and suggestions of alternative routes. The ‘no’s’ that we received were full-blooded, self-satisfying absolute refusals served with a strong side order of condescension. Apparently we had produced the wrong documentation, presented it in an unsatisfactory manner, at the wrong time, wearing the wrong clothes and with just the wrong inflection in our voices. The officials would not be moved, no matter that we had a business to run and couldn’t afford to return the following day and thereby lose a consecutive day’s profits. No matter that we had risen at 6.30, driven north for an hour and then spent another hour trying to find a parking space in a city that had none, driving on an interminably stupid one-way system that flung you back south if you accidentally missed the unmarked turn-off.
It might have made an inkling of difference if the capital was a pretty city. But in 1991 it wasn’t, by any stretch of the imagination. The first monument that greeted travellers from the South was a shoreline oil refinery whose odour was twice as unpleasant as the sight of its steel intestines. Once in the centre, a hotchpotch of architectural styles sullied the pedestrian Plaza de España, a place where gypsies would charge at you waving linen tablecloths and frilly pillowcases. And that was your reward for enduring a white knuckle ride along the TF-1, a testing ground for kamikaze taxi drivers and 16-year-old rally wannabes.
This time, we entered the police station with a large sigh, a foreboding sense of doom, and a bulging folder containing every piece of paper we’d collected.
Inside, all seemed calm. The only noises were the low hum of fluorescent lighting and a periodic ‘clack’ as a large bespectacled man in the background cautiously poked at his computer keyboard. Every tap was followed by an uncertain glance up, checking that every letter typed was in fact making its way from fingertip to screen. Satisfied that it was, he would then gaze around looking for someone with whom to share his accomplishment.
‘Take a number’, the sign said. I looked up at the electronic counter – ‘13’, it read. Our ticket said 112. We sat down and flicked disinterestedly through a couple of faded Hola! magazines that had been thoughtfully provided in 1987.
The minutes moved on but the numbers didn’t. Whatever problem had befallen the elderly English couple at the desk, it was not being rectified despite their exasperated insistence in front of the shoulder-shrugging assistant. They had given up struggling with the local tongue and were now remonstrating in strong Geordie accents. The girl behind the counter had suddenly lost the ability to speak English and was having none of it. She shooed them off with a wave of her hand and summoned the next in line. The Geordies sauntered off, red-faced, clutching the wad of seemingly ineffectual forms. They had my sympathy. Several times before we had failed to impress a paper shuffler, only to return the following day with a different clerk on duty who would then process our paperwork with not the slightest of fuss.
Eventually, with a colossal leap from 18 to 112, the counter indicated that it was our turn. I passed over the bundle of papers.
‘Do you have the 123 and the 234?’
I lifted the top copy and there indeed they were. The girl scanned every detail, trying desperately to find a reason why they shouldn’t be accepted.
‘Residencia,’ she demanded, annoyance now creeping into her voice.
This we produced and frustrated again, she moved up a gear, converting back to Spanish to try and throw us.
‘Did you submit your double ‘O’ seven, fill in a 36C and receive a signed copy of the B52s?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you ever taken an A2B, forwarded a 4-4-2 and been given a T4-2 or a 2-4T?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Last month.’
Her face lit up as if she’d tripped over a bucketful of gold.
‘Then it’s expired.’
She sat back in the chair contented. Her smug expression and folded arms evidently insinuated that she was done with me and victory was hers, but we were not giving in this time. From our folder I slowly produced another form. Our eyes locked in a Mexican stand-off. As she saw the form, her mouth dropped and we both knew I had won. We had the notorious re-submitted, double stamped, top yellow copy of form 666. A valid extension from hell. The lights flickered, horrified heads turned to stare and the girl behind the counter shielded her eyes.
‘Sign it,’ she screamed, tossing a chewed biro onto the desk. The clock chimed twelve as we flung open the doors. The daylight streamed in, causing the clerks to wince and groan. We had won. Joy was at last going to be legal; well, almost…
From More Ketchup than Salsa: Confessions of a Tenerife barman…
Copyright Joe Cawley, 2006-2009
Topics: General musings, Inane rants, More Ketchup excerpts, More Ketchup than Salsa, Tenerife, Writing Clips | 1 Comment »
Clash of the Titans in Tenerife
By Joe | April 27, 2009
Following in the delicate footsteps of Raquel Welch in a fur bikini, seems like Warner Bros are preparing to shoot another major epic in Tenerife with a Hollywood remake of Clash of the Titans. More Tenerife films info here.
S’all good promo for the island, unlike that splash of fantasy about the forthcoming Tenerife eruption printed in The Sun recently which has now been firmly put to bed with no supper and no songs by the Tenerife Cabildo.
Topics: General musings, Tenerife | 3 Comments »
Joe is loving this new Tenerife Video by Pedro Felipe
By Joe | April 25, 2009
Canarias reductos de biodiversidad from Pedro Felipe on Vimeo.
Joe is loving this amazing Tenerife video by Pedro Felipe.
Whack up the sound, sit back and be astounded…
Topics: Tenerife | No Comments »
Counting the quakes in Spain and Tenerife
By Joe | April 20, 2009
Spain earthquake count: 7 new tremors in Spain yesterday, none in the Canary Islands. Biggest measured 1.9
And today’s weather in Tenerife south… partly sunny with a high of 24, a low of 18 - same as yesterday.
Visibility is 16 kilometres, which means you can just about make out La Gomera, if you squint (though obviously not if you’re reading this in the UK).
Topics: Tenerife | No Comments »
New Tenerife video
By Joe | April 19, 2009
Joy is talking about cucumbers, fish and cow flesh on our new Sky Travel video
We were supposed to be showing how cheap it is to shop at local markets, but half the buggers weren’t open when we got there. Twice we went to Las Galletas to try and catch the fish market fully open. Both times there were just two stalls open selling bags of whelks or something similar, and a nasty looking fish with sharp teeth, beady eyes and extremely scaly skin. Reminded me of an ex-girlfriend.
We also paid a visit to the teeny-tiny butcher’s in Guia de Isora, a dark, corner shop that has always held intrigue every time we passed. We always wondered why it looked so clean. Cause no damn bleeder ever goes in! Reason? Just like the old Monty Python cheese sketch, they don’t actually sell any meat. Well, not on Sunday, Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday anyway.
The butcher was in, his door was open, but there was no meat at home. He was ‘preparing it’ for Thursday, was the reply we got when we asked him for two slabs of fillet steak. Well why open the doors then!?*
Anyways, take a look at the video. The new Adeje farmer’s market was good. And they have a bouncy castle! Wouldn’t let me on though. Bastards.
Topics: General musings, Inane rants, Life in general, Tenerife | No Comments »