Joe Cawley » Life in general

A word about Istria

Joe — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 16:59:17 +0000

Red Island, Istria

One of the questions you get asked a lot when you live in a tourist destination like Tenerife is, ‘Where do you go on holiday?’ Sensible question seeing as we’re all enjoying a permanent holiday on the rock. Or so people seem to think. Usually the answer is “back to Blighty”, followed by, “but it’s not really a holiday”. Well this year, the Cawley clan decided to do it different. We went to Istria. That’s the heart-shaped bit at the top of Croatia, for all the geographically bewildered. And man, was that a good decision.

Istria is a land of simple pleasures – which is just as well, as we’re just simple folk. No scream-inducing theme parks; no mammoth beaches awash with hip-to-hip Brits; and no Olde English Pubbes baying for your trade with laminated images of egg and chips. It’s all good, clean, natural fun in Istria.

The Cawley clan in Istria

For the first week we stayed on Red Island, near the medieval ‘damn-that’s-pretty’ town of Rovinj. The whole island (all 1.5 kilometres of it) is just a big park surrounded by the clearest sea imaginable. Pines, poplars and olive trees shade grassy knolls and Mediterranean flora sprouts from almost every orifice (the island’s, not mine!). Another even smaller island was reached by rocky walkway.

We ate grilled squid and drank one too many frosty beers at the islet’s only restaurant, before adventuring off-path and gorging on wild blackberries. Suitably juice-faced, we took a quick dip in the Adriatic to shed the red, and escape the heat. The water was around 25 degrees, ideal sea temp to get refreshed without risking heart stoppage.

The result of one frosty beer too many

Daytimes were mostly spent mithering the sea life with snorkels and masks, or long lazy lunches while the Molly and Sam ran amok in a timber play park. We thought we might make use of the kids club, but our two were totally content chasing butterflies, lizards and splashing around in the pool and sea.

Rovinj

Most nights we’d venture aboard the free boat taking us 10 minutes across the bay to the mainland and the buzz of Rovinj – a town with more seafood restaurants than you can shake a knife and fork at. As you’d expect from a medieval town, the lanes are small, cobbled and lead to the most unexpected of places. We had a near miss when we trailed an alley that led to a sudden 20ft drop into the briny.

The second week was spent further north, within walking distance of the town of Porec, another historical settlement albeit on a tinier scale. All of the hotels along this stretch of coastline are cloaked in pine forests. It’s like someone moved the Lake District to the shore. Energised by the proliferation of good food, foliage and sunshine, we were even so bold as to rent bikes for half a day – though why we envisioned we had such energy is still a mystery. Cycling along the coastal path with Sam strapped to my back, was certainly a scenic way of seeing the forests and coves of Istria, and an even more certain way of shedding several kilos (and years off my life) in the process.

After two weeks, we returned to Tenerife with newfound love of creamy truffle pasta, Istrian Merlot and vows to go back and explore some more of Croatia’s 1200 islands and Istria’s green and pleasant heartland. Think I may lay off the biking next time though.

New Tenerife video

Joe — Sun, 19 Apr 2009 09:59:20 +0000

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.

Talcum powder terror and a monster sardine – all part of life in Tenerife

Joe — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 12:36:39 +0000

Tenerife is a strange place. But no stranger than the other islands when it comes to bizarre Canary Island Carnival antics. After partaking in the odd, yet pleasantly fragrant Battle of the Powder in La Palma, and watching a giant sardine being led to its cremation by a bunch of male, fishnet-wearing mourners, very little esle is going to surprise me this year.

Unless Ryanair actually do start charging for onboard toilet use on its flights to Tenerife; or Tenerife do get promoted to La Liga to battle with Real Madrid et al next season; or my cat Fugly finally realises that I would much prefer cash to the succession of lizard’s body parts that she drops at my feet every day as a ‘gift’.

Anyway, if you want to read more about the talcum battle or monster sardine escapade, click your little cursor right here.

Urgent appeal to all webmasters in Spain

Joe — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 09:02:27 +0000

As the father of two young children my heart bleeds for the family of teenager Amy Fitzpatrick who went missing over a year ago from Mijas, Spain. Perhaps we can all do our bit as webmasters to at least post the image of Amy below, in the hope that someone somewhere has a lead.

Whether you are in the mainland, Tenerife or the other Canary Islands, if you are a webmaster with the ability to help by a few simple clicks, please don’t ignore this.

Do your bit and upload the picture.

Thanks

Joe

Hi – my name is Christopher Fitzpatrick and I’m Amy’s dad.

It has been 12 months since Amy went missing in Mijas, Spain. Not a day has gone by since then that her family and friends have not suffered to know where Amy is. I know, from the many letters of support and calls I have received, that the pain of her disappearance is shared by many of you – family, friends and even people who did not know Amy but for whom the story has touched a nerve. Thank you all for your support to date but this is an appeal for more.

We know that there are people who have information which would help bring Amy back. This is a special appeal to those who, for whatever reason, have chosen to remain silent or who have not been able to share information up to now. Please, please – do the right thing and share what you know.

We have retained the services of Liam Brady to assist in reviewing the details of the case. In Ireland – information can be given to the Gardaí. In Spain, the Guardia Civil can be contacted on +34-636-079-619. If you cannot contact the relevant authorities or the family – then perhaps you can contact Liam or provide information in private.

Whether you have direct knowledge of what happened or are simply a friend who might have heard or seen something around that time which may be relevant – please take the time to send details no matter how insignificant they may appear.

We are also appealing to third parties who may have come in contact with information or people connected with the case. Perhaps you know specific details or have seen information (whether confirmed or otherwise) which may give a new direction to the search. Howsoever, you have come by information which may be relevant, you can be assured of my appreciation and blessing for any details which you can share which can help bring Amy back.

Thank you for taking the time to read this appeal and for any information which you can share.
Christopher

1st January 2009

Amy’s Dad Christopher Fitzpatrick, Aunt Christine Kenny & family and friends marked the 1st anniversary since Amy was last seen by holding a mass in Donaghmede, Dublin today to mark one year since Amy was last seen. At 12pm, 20 white doves and 52 balloons were released by friends and family. Three pink balloons where released Pink balloons where released by Amy’s Dad Christopher and one from both Amy’s brothers Dean and Alex. Personal messages where marked on balloons from friends and family before they where released. At the same time Amy’s friend Ashley Rose and friends in Spain had a one minutes silence at the dirt track in Spain. Amy’s friends who have returned to England also held one minute’s silence.

Pope Benedict in Rome

Amy’s Aunt Christine Kenny recently wrote to Pope Benedict in Rome asking for prayers for the family in the search for Amy. She was overjoyed when she received a message of encouragement in a letter addressed to her home in Donaghmede in Dublin.

The letter was signed on behalf of the pope by a Mgr Gabrielle Cassia. The letter stated: “The Holy Father has received your letter and he has asked me to thank you.”

He went on to write that the Pope will pray for her and for God’s blessings on her and Amy’s family to give them “courage and peace”.

Liam Brady can be contacted at 0035386-2566697 or Home

Official Missing Amy Fitzpatrick Website
Official Helpfind Amy Fitzpatrick

Christine Kenny: 00353857542452

Source: Tenerife News

Where the hell have you been?

Joe — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 15:51:21 +0000

Ok, I suppose the question should be ‘Where the flamin’ heck have I been?’

Well, all over the place actually, both geographically and career-wise. Since we last spoke, several major events have ocurred – I’ve become a hotel inspector (no sniggering at the back), I’m officially a cruise writer, and my cat has grown a large wart on its head.

Assuming you have little interest in the latter, I’ll explain the hotel inspector and cruise writer jobs. I’m now employed by Conde Nast Johansens to inspect and recruit hotels of repute that will look good and benefit from being part of the CNJ portfolio. What does this mean? I’m, not sure yet, but I have been given a ream of manuals, a list of contacts and a very sturdy clipboard. I’ll let you know more about the life of a hotel inspector when I know what it is I’m supposed to be doing.

As for becoming an official cruise writer, the official bit means I’ve become known in the publishing world for specialising in cruises having completed my third tour of duty this year by taking my kids, Sam and Molly Blue, on a single parent family cruise around the Med. Those who know me, particularly my partner, may be shocked to see that I’m a single parent. Well, actually I’m not. I lied. Or rather pretended to be a single parent in the name of creative journalism. It was actually quite fun, though I wasn’t swarmed by single mothers pitying a lone father who inadvertently dresses his kids like Edward Scissorhands on LSD. In fact I wasn’t swarmed by anybody, partly because it turned out that I was the only single parent onboard and also because, I like to think, I managed very well on my own. Having said that, my benchmark was to bring back the same number of kids that I left with, so I wasn’t aiming very high. Anyway, I’ll provide a link to the outcome when it’s published in the Daily Express.

Anyway, enough about me. How are you? Have you had a fun finale to summer or has the credit crunch put the proverbial clappers on your aspirations?

The Tenerife hills are alive with the sound of… just about everything

Joe — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 16:06:30 +0000

Living in the hills of Tenerife, the sights, sounds and smells seem amplified to epic proportions. Whether it’s the pungent smell of a dozen goats’ bottoms, the distant howling of my psycho neighbour, or the slap-in-the-face, poke-in-the-eye, boot-in-the-balls astonishment at the night sky, I LOVE LIVING HERE.

I used to live down there (he says pointing southwards), amidst the scrum of tourism. It was like living in a goldfish bowl. With a 20,000 watt spotlight in your face. And a million mad monkeys acting the tit 24/7.

Not good, no sir, not for me anymore. Gimme the moonlight, gimme the stars… gimme the silence of the hills any day. Well, silent except for the goats. And my crackpot neighbour. And that fucking rooster who doesn’t have any inkling of when morning actually is. And the choir of dogs across the valley who think they’re in a boy band. Apart from that it’s very peaceful here.

Taking Tenerife to task – not a hope in hell

Joe — Mon, 26 May 2008 21:24:50 +0000

There’s a lot to be said for the mañana attitude still so prevalent in Tenerife. Urgent tasks are re-classified as tomorrow’s duties, ‘priorities’ tossed into the same to-do-basket as everything else. Result – stress removed, but mission usually unaccomplished. Lists help, but are rarely accomplished.
Yesterday morning I stared apprehensively at such a list that my caring partner had thoughtfully compiled lest I get bored with the leisurely pursuits that I had planned for myself on this, my only sodding day off.
1. Go to bank
2. Pick up post
3. Buy cat food
4. Make appointment for haircut
5. Book tennis
Relatively simple tasks I know, but I had the whole day to accomplish these goals. However, I knew that any task involving that four-letter word ‘B**K’ could throw any further intentions into complete disarray, so I decided to get the worst task out of the way first.
As usual finding a parking space less than a full day’s trek to the bank proved as easy as trying to find a waiter when you need to pay the bill. My request at the bank was met, as it always is without fail, with a look of utter incomprehension, as though I was the first idiot to ever step through their doors and ask for a statement. The girl looked to her left, her right, under her chair, for a clue as to how to deal with this strange requirement before deciding that a mini interrogation was probably in order.
‘Did I have identification?’
Yes I did.
‘Was the account at this branch?’
Last time I came in it was but this doesn’t necessarily mean it still is now.
‘Was it my account?’
Mine and the handful of others with whom the bank sporadically chooses to share my damn funds.
‘What was it I wanted again?’
Eventually a torn-off piece of paper was pushed my way. It’s reassuring to know that the bank is dutifully concerned to keep costs down by whatever means; re-cycling paper, minimal staff, zero training for aforementioned imbeciles etc.
Flushed with the success of my first endeavour, I walked the three and a half kilometres back to my car with a little spring of optimism in my step. I had received notification that a document had been sent and was in urgent need of my signature and so the post office was to be my next port of call.
After another personal pop quiz, the industrially-bespectacled lady begrudgingly shuffled off in search of the letter and after lots of paper rustling, drawer banging, and what sounded like bin-emptying she returned empty-handed with her hair messed up and glasses slightly askew, looking distinctly as though she may have fallen headlong into one of the mail sacks.
“It’s not here,” she explained with a finality that suggested I was now on my own.
“Well where could it be?” I interrupted as she summonsed the next in line.
She examined the notification letter over the top girder of her glasses.
“It was sent from Santa Cruz, so you could try there.”
“I’m not going up to Santa Cruz to try and find a letter that you have lost. What was it about?”
“It looks like a final reminder for something.”
Oh great, I thought, envisaging endless weeks of eating by candlelight waiting for Unelco to deem me worthy of electricity re-connection.
“Will you ask them to send it again?” I asked, by now beginning to feel more than a little irked.
One out of two isn’t bad I thought as I headed for the pet shop. I hate going to the pet shop and having all those puppies and kittens making me feel guilty for not buying them. I find myself backing out of the shop silently apologising to each and every one.
I was after a hundred-weight of high-gloss, low-calorie, easily-digestible hard biscuits for Fugly, my insatiable but very fussy albino cat. If it was up to her she’d live on a diet of buttered toast and strawberry yoghurt but apparently this is not very good for her.
That particular food wasn’t in stock so I toyed with the idea of taking her something different but I knew if I did she would only turn her back and refuse to talk to me for several days. Toast and yoghurt it was to be then until stocks were replenished.
One out of three still wasn’t too bad but then it turned into one out of four and the day started to drag my spirits down into that all too familiar murky pit of despair. Apparently everybody and their dog, cat and pet monkey wanted a haircut over the next four weeks and I wasn’t about to trust a total stranger with the task of creating my delicately styled ‘just-got-out-of-the-washing-machine-look’ that my regular hairdresser was so adept at.
Back at my house I was so weary with disappointment that I couldn’t be bothered picking up the phone to book the tennis, never mind actually running frantically round the court like a twat. So I threw the list in the bin and made myself some strawberry yoghurt on toast. Try it! It’s an instant pick-up. My cat can back me up on that.

Tenerife’s first sitcom Re-writers

Joe — Tue, 13 May 2008 16:25:34 +0000

Well, he of the red pen, returned our sitcom efforts with a commendable amount of red scrawl, and the potential was deemed as neither yay, nor nay, but a solid maybe. Which is better than a slap in the face with a wet carp, but not quite as good as a letter from the Director General of the BBC asking if Lee and myself would like to take over the reins. Still, it’s a start.

So now what? Now we tweak, tinker and twiddle with the words until they shine like a newly polished baby’s bottom. Don’t ask. It just rolled off the keyboard.

We’ll then send our masterpiece out into the big, wide world with a prayer, a kiss and a nice packed lunch, and await its return with baited breath.

We’ve managed to acquire a few ‘ins’ thus hopefully avoid our manuscript being used to level up the creaky desk of a commissioning editor along with all the other hopefuls.

As soon as we hear anything encouraging, our excitement will be transmitted via this blog. In the event of a rejection, our grief will be able to be heard from Playa de las Americas to Santa Cruz, and all the dusty bits inbetween.

Till then, cross your bits for us…

Tenerife’s first sitcom writers?

Joe — Tue, 06 May 2008 17:44:17 +0000

Life is pretty exciting at the moment. Sometimes it can be a plain bore, a never ending succession of menial features to write, facts to check, chores to avoid and kid’s toys to mend. At the moment though, it’s EXCITING. Sorry, I shouted.

I’m currently awaiting the verdict on a sitcom that I’ve co-written with a long-standing friend and colleague, Lee Bullen. Normally more adept at scratching out witty cartoons and catchy graphics, Bully – as his friends call him (you can call him Mr. Bullen until you buy him beer) – turns out to be mighty fine at writing too!

Anyway, we knocked up the first episode of a new TV sitcom in record time, fuelled by Jack Daniels and Farley’s Rusks (not in the same glass, you freak), and have sent said sitcom to a professional script consultant in Blighty. This one.

Currently, Bully and myself are awaiting a summons to the land they call the BBC, to be awarded immediate fame and glory and a handsome commission to write more. Toothbrush and tux are at the ready. You’re all invited to the opening party, by the way.

All will be revealed this time next week apparently, when the fruits of our labour will be returned with flourishes of red pen and a yay or nay as to whether it has potential. Handily, the analyst in question is chummy with several commissioner-types and promises to insert a word in the right ear should he deem our sitcom as worthy.

But even if it doesn’t make the grade, I have several other cunning plans up my sleeve. All of which make me tingly with excitement. These will be revealed in good time.

In the meantime, watch this space.

No, not that one.

The bit above, where my next post will appear.

Have you got The Nerve?

Joe — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 11:10:27 +0000

In a bold and audacious move, I have signed up to be an executive producer at Nerve TV, the world’s first crowd-sourced media company. All sounds very grand, but what the heck does it mean?

Well, it means I can now bounce around ideas I have for TV programmes with similar like-minded people and industry insiders. It also means those ideas, if deemed worthy by the Nerve ‘suits’, will be fast-tracked straight onto the laps of the people who commission such programmes in the UK, US and OZland.

And why have I joined such a creative band of wandering miscreants?

Because I can.

And so can you.

Have a look at what The Times had to say about our band of merrymen here then head over to Nerve HQ and see what all the fuss is about.

They say we all have a book inside us, we’ve also all got an idea for the next BIG TV programme in us. Share your idea… you never know, it could be THE ONE. Bigger than Big Brother, ‘Stenders, X-Factor and Kerry Katona’s mouth all put together. And if it is, you get 50% of the spondoonies (profits, in accountancy speak).

That means if the programme idea is Simon Cowell-esque enough, your days of sitting on the floor eating other people’s leftovers with your fingers are over. Or is that just me? Tell me it’s not. Please.

Anyways, I’m not one for banging on, but this Nerve thing is really taking off big-time with the Beeb, Channel 4 and other media mogulites worldwide. Lordy, I’ve even just gone and bought a TV channel in New Zealand! Well, not me personally actually, but the organisation has. I could just about afford the remote control batteries – a vital component of media vision nonetheless.

So, in a pistachio shell, get on board while the offer is still open.

As those lottery people say, It could be you…

Or you.

(Hopefully I’m banking on it being me, though, so tough.)