Planet Earth 2

Planet Earth 2 - is this an alternative universe? One where there is no Brexit and Donald Trump hasn't been elected President? One where the nightmares have ended, nobody votes for anything stupid, and everyone lives in peace and harmony and actually gives a shit about humanity?

Sadly not, it's still Planet Earth number one. It's just series number two. Still our flawed, fucked up world. But on camera, it's an achingly beautiful one. One where David Attenborough is in charge, at least of the voiceover. It's not him parachuting off mountain slopes or camping out on a rocky outcrop in a quagmire of penguin shit these days. The man is 90, after all.

All it does is serve to remind us of what is at stake if pacts to reduce carbon emissions are reneged on and countries don't work together for the greater good.

It's not really cheering me up, but it is a stunning watch. From the snake chasing the newly hatched iguanas, to the solitary snow leopards nuzzling the rocks, to the flamingos getting stuck in the ice, to the dancing grizzly bears rubbing up against a tree, to the baby ibex teetering above a vertical drop, it's compelling and breathtaking viewing, all with crystal clear photography; the film slightly slowed to enable us to appreciate it even more.

Though my husband got offended when I said the sloth swimming to find a mate reminded me of him. I don't see why. It really did. And that was one very cute sloth. He captured my husband's slightly slow, lumbering gait perfectly. I'm not saying my husband is a pygmy, or that he has three toes. He doesn't like swimming that much either. I'm not sure he would have ever crossed water to come and find me. Dancing on the revolving floor on Newcastle's Tuxedo Royale moored under the Tyne Bridge does not count. But he is a cuddly, furry beast with a sweet smile.

Many of these are places far more remote than I have ever been, but there are glimpses of the familiar - mountain goats and marmots in Glacier National Park, a waterfall tumbling into the Yellowstone River, an Arabian desert, a blowhole off the New Zealand coast.

How can anyone vote to destroy all this? Because that is essentially what happened in America last week, as a climate change denier was elected to power. How selfish we are. We are as greedy as the eagles squabbling over carrion, as snarling as the snow leopards wanting a mate, as merciless as the snakes, and ultimately as vulnerable to nature as the penguins being smashed against the cliffs in a storm.

Many years ago, I subtitled a documentary about the life of David Attenborough. He was of course quite wonderful - erudite, self-deprecating and very witty. At one point, someone asked him about God. He said he is often criticised for portraying the violent side of animal behaviour in his documentaries when God allegedly made nature so glorious. His response resonated greatly with me at the time:

"Quite frequently people say how...I never give credit to the Almighty Power that created nature... It's funny that people, when they say that this is evidence of the Almighty, always quote beautiful things... orchids and hummingbirds and butterflies and roses. But I always have to think too of a little boy sitting on the banks of a river in West Africa who has a worm boring through his eyeball, turning him blind before he's five years old. I reply and say, 'Presumably the God you speak about created the worm as well.' I find that baffling, to credit a merciful God that action. Therefore it seems to me safer to show things that I know to be truthful and factual and allow people to make up their own mind about the moralities, or indeed the theology, of this thing."

Whether or not there is a god, and personally I do not believe that there is, man must not play god with what we have.

New Zealand: Earth's Mythical Islands

This was a stunning documentary about New Zealand's wildlife - batty penguins in a quagmire, prehistoric forests, nocturnal birds, giant snails, even more giant whales, cryogenic wasps (very Fortitude) and a heck of a lot of sheep. Crill vomit, abandoned eggs containing miniature dinosaurs, and farming by helicopter: things are very different on the other side of the world. New Zealand has been separated from any other land for so long that it has evolved in a different way, but without large predators, which is why it has so many flightless birds.

More dangerous is the geothermal activity bubbling under the surface, and often exploding through it. There are geysers that erupt 20 times a day. Patches of land can vanish. The Alps are still growing taller, there are slurping, sulphurous mud pools, and the city of Christchurch is still recovering from the devastating earthquake of 2009. There is also a lot of weather in New Zealand - cyclones, typhoons, seemingly endless torrential rain. It isn't called the Land of the Long White Cloud for nothing.

Christchurch Cathedral in 2006

There was also footage of the camera crew that went to film the penguins - sailing through terrifying seas (the Roaring Forties) to a remote offshore island; a lot of people with a lot of camera equipment crammed into a boat way too small for them and lacking much in the way of facilities. There was a toilet shack built on the land, but it had been commandeered by a smelly, angry sealion who was up for a fight.

A reminder of our wonderful three weeks in New Zealand ten years ago. The never-ending bush, the tropical plans, the steaming hot pools, the towering snow-covered mountains, the glaciers and reflecting lakes.

Southern Alps from the air

Lake Matheson

As for the wildlife, a lot of the animals we saw were farmed (deer being readied for venison, cheeky lambs nibbling on sauvignon grapes) or contained (kiwis in a nocturnal hut on a bird reserve). There were a lot of dead possums on the road, and a bird bone punctured one of our tyres. A cat wandered into our motel room in Franz Josef one night. Ducks begged for food at Lake Taupo, but they just seemed so terribly English. We tried to go and see the thieving keas on the road to Mount Aspiring, but the track turned to dirt and was banned for our hire car (especially a hire car lacking a spare tyre). Judging by the film footage, it looks like the keas would have wrecked the car anyway. The wildest creatures we saw - apart from a school of dolphins swimming alongside our Wellington to Picton ferry - were the cloud of sandflies at Milford Sound, who seemed determined to eat me alive. There was no time for whalewatching at Kaikoura or to stop at the glow-worm caves south of Auckland; our schedule was too pressing. For this and for so many other reasons, we would love to go back.

Too English

Seagull at Lake Taupo, also too English

Motel visitor. The English girl had drunk too much wine.

En route between Wanaka and Mount Aspiring. Too rough.

Lewis

So it's farewell to Lewis, again. It looked like ITV might kill him off in a letter bomb explosion, but at the last minute they sent him off with lovely "I cut up dead people" Laura into the New Zealand sunset instead.  It was such a sudden change of heart that Lewis only had time to pack a baby vest with a dodo on the front. But he did get another chance to wear the Hawaiian shirt he wore in the first ever episode, which was the last time he went on holiday. Hathaway served as airport cabbie then too - turns out he has kept the sign all these years.

Auckland sunset from Achilles Point

Lewis claimed he had tried travelling but hadn't liked it, which is why he ought to stay behind in Oxford watching philandering Maths researchers get blown to smithereens and archaeologists uncover corpses in wells. But then he finally realised that academics will never stop murdering each other so he ought to just leave them to it and enjoy his retirement instead.

As for New Zealand, what's not to like? Apart from the 24 hours on a plane it takes to get there. Especially with a screaming baby for the nine-hour leg from Singapore to Auckland. (Goodness, I'd be a lot more sympathetic to that now.) And the tedious customs procedures. New Zealand is the only country where my backpack was immediately pounced on by sniffer dogs. Not because I chose it for my first ever drug smuggling attempt, you understand, but because the backpack had at some point contained sandwiches and the dogs are on the hunt for food. They aren't hungry (or at least I hope they aren't), but you can't bring in any fresh produce. Or mud, for that matter. (Traveller's Tip - for an easy way to get dirty hiking boots professionally cleaned, just walk them through the Nothing To Declare Zone of Auckland airport.)

But New Zealand is also the only country where I have sat in a hot tub overlooking banana palms and an azure bay of ocean within an hour of arriving. God, after what felt like days on a plane, that was one of the best moments of my life. Thank you to the Best. Auckland. Hosts. Ever. I hope Lewis and Laura can come and stay with you.

What else awaits our favourite copper in the Land Of The Long White Cloud? Well, probably a lot of long, white cloud - and rain, and cyclones. But between the tropical storms the sun will shine, and go round the sky a different way, which may be a little disconcerting at first.

A Maori marae in a cyclone, Rotorua

Lewis will have to learn the Haka, or at least the Hokey-Cokey in Maori, so he doesn't embarrass himself at a rugby match or a hangi concert. He may also have to learn to prefer wine over beer.

Pinot Noir on the vine, Wanaka

And he may have to develop a penchant for adventure sports. In Oxford, the only people thrown off buildings were corpses, but in New Zealand it's a national pastime.

Queenstown. Something death-defying was inevitably happening behind me.

Lewis may also find the scenery a little more enchanting than never-ending sandstone quadrangles and the buses choking up the Cowley Road. It'll be more JRR Tolkien*** than CS Lewis, but with just a touch of Lewis Carroll. (Hm, I just wondered - did Colin Dexter name Lewis after Oxford authors more famous than him?)

Lord of the Rings country

Puzzling World, Wanaka

But if Lewis does end up missing those Oxford cerebral types teetering on the spectrum, he only needs to head to The Giant Jersey in Geraldine. It's a knitting shop that not only houses the aforementioned world-record holding jumper (and thankfully no Giant Gyles Brandreth to put it in), but also a reproduction of the entire Bayeux tapestry made out of three million knitting machine cogs. It took the owner 25 years to build it, and he will take almost as long to tell you about it.

Because nearly everyone is still stuck in that shop listening to the knitting machine man, New Zealand's crime rate will be lower than Oxford's, Lewis will be relieved to hear. (Or at least it will be until he gets there. We may find Oxford's drops a bit now in return.) The only explosions he is likely to witness will be geothermal. "These used to be the basketball courts", our host in Rotorua told us during a drive round the city, "Only they erupted."

Lady Knox Geyser, Waiotapu

Blow hole at Pancake Rocks

There may be earthquakes too, something which doesn't happen very often in Oxford. One of Oxford's college namesakes, Christchurch, was thankfully still intact when we were there. Lewis won't have heard of Christchurch College though, which means he may go round asking people where the city called Wolsey is. But it's OK - they probably won't understand his Geordie accent.

Christchurch Cathedral

Ah, I jest. Just get out there and enjoy it, Lewis. All those miles and miles of amazing mountains, lagoons, beaches and bush. May there be no Maoris murdered and plenty of late-night cake. (That's not a euphemism, by the way - late-night cake is a genuine thing in New Zealand. We Brits binge-drink, they eat baked goods, and that's the main reason I wanted to emigrate.)

I left my heart in Wanaka

Milford Sound, where a storm was brewing and the sandflies munching

Okaritu

I will miss Lewis. But I look forward to Hathaway, the spin-off spin-off. (Don't deny that it's going to happen. Laurence Fox will get bored of singing eventually.)

The (Laurence) Fox Glacier

***Yes, I know Tolkien lived in Oxford too. I am referring to the films.

Kevin McCloud's Escape To The Wild

I met a German lady on The Boat who put me to shame. She was travelling alone with her three beautiful children, all aged under five, from Inverness to Dresden. The ferry to Rotterdam and a visit to friends in Muenster were her only overnight stops. Her youngest child was strapped on her back by a complicated wrap, and all three were impeccably behaved. At home they apparently ate super healthy food and had no television. They were travelling in a tiny petrol-efficient car so had hardly any luggage. They were going to be away for three whole weeks without the dad, who had stayed home to work. The woman was utterly calm and taking the whole thing in her stride.

Whereas my daughter was racing uncontrollably between the TV area and the soft play, and ignoring my requests not to (1) throw things at people, (2) squeal or (3) trip up anyone carrying bottles of Duty Free.

And we only have one of her.

And I had my husband with me.

And we had a car rammed to the hilt with stuff. Including our tablet because the caravan we were going to be staying in had no television.

And I was already feeling shattered.

Now, it's perfectly possible that at the end of the three-week trip, the woman might have looked a little less fresh and the children might have been pulling each other's hair out. But I doubt it. She just oozed capability in a way that I never shall.

So she was impressive enough, but here was Kevin McCloud off to meet a family who were even more extreme. The von Engelbrechtens (German Boris, English Karyn and their three sons) jettisoned everything from their lives and went to live on an uninhabited island in Tonga, literally the other side of the world from the UK. You can't get further away from there without starting to come home again. So why had they done it? The mother said it was something to do with having been born in Swindon.

Their island had golden sands, turquoise seas and on the surface looked like paradise. The von Engelbrechtens had built their house while living under canvas. Boris wasn't a professional builder but was more than a tad skilled at this sort of thing. Whereas my husband and I can barely hang a picture on the wall. Boris used only materials available on the island - some slabs of coral rock and a whole load of palm trees. Though I suspect the solar panels might have been imported.

For they were "off grid", generating their own electricity by sunshine in the day. Kevin was roped in to help them to erect a wind turbine to keep their fridge running at night. It turns out paradise is rather windy. Windy to the point of them needing a concrete "hurricane bunker" on higher ground at certain times of the year. Which doubles up as a tsunami shelter at others - earthquakes are a regular occurrence. The family aim to be as self-sufficient as possible - they catch fish, and have a garden where they grow bananas, sweet potatoes and pineapples. They did try broccoli but it missed the English rain and wouldn't take in the blistering heat. Though it does rain in paradise - enough to store a couple of tankers of the stuff at a time.

And of course there is definitely no television. Or internet. Does this result in a prolonging of childhood innocence or is it denying the kids a chance to learn to function in the real world?

I am all for a family beach holiday. Especially one in guaranteed sunshine. But for the rest of my life? Having to catch my own sashimi? With only my husband and daughter for company? (Much as I love them.) Admittedly this family had three kids to keep each other entertained, but can that be enough? My daughter really needs her friends, and misses them terribly when we go away. And I am so reliant on my network of local mums to retain my sanity. That friendly smile at the school gates, the music groups and swimming lessons, the odd night out on gin. And hell, that 3-hour break when my daughter is at pre-school - I really struggle without it.

Yet here this family were living away from everybody, but still having to home-school their children according to the national curriculum. Which seemed rather pointless and bizarre. Shackled by British rules when you have intended to escape all convention.

I have no idea what they did for money, apart from running the occasional whale watching trip. Or what they did when they got ill. Maybe they have a ten-year supply of Calpol stashed in their hurricane bunker. I guess not ever seeing anybody else limits their exposure to viruses, but surely some of the island insect nasties must carry a few germs between them. Or one of the kids might fall out of the palm trees they climb all day. It did occur to me as they all sailed off to collect a haul of bat poo to fertilise their garden that they might be a little too blissfully ignorant on the health front. Like about the source of Ebola, for example.

Kevin McCloud on the other hand is my kind of traveller. His journey from the UK to Tonga takes him five days owing to a volcano erupting under the sea near Fiji. All flights are cancelled and Kevin is stuck sleeping on a bench in the airport for two nights. After one night on paradise island, he is covered in mosquito bites, which he can't stop scratching as he pontificates about the meaning of the von Engelbrechtens' life beside the campfire. He likes the view, but needs his home comforts. And he is all too aware of the bacteria that breed in bat shit.

I tried to go to paradise, but it rained.
Abel Tasman National Park, New Zealand

But ultimately Escape To The Wild just show us parents that we can never win. The von Engelbrechtens have tried to create the perfect lifestyle at one with nature and the world for their children. But as soon as he can, the eldest boy buggers off to boarding school in New Zealand. "I have a need for friends", he explains. And I can't argue with that.

Auckland calling

Food and Drink

So another series of Food And Drink draws to a close. They have attempted to be topical, with shows on budget eating, using up leftovers to prevent waste, food miles and seasonality. Michel Roux was in full “I’m no longer a scary judge on Masterchef” amicable mode, sincerely welcoming - and pretending he had something to learn from - various top chefs and proper domestic goddess and national treasure Mary Berry. He would then turn away from them to whip up some incredible dish which he insisted we immediately make at home, assuring us of its great simplicity. But soufflé? Really? “Don’t be scared”, he said. And then proceeded to show us exactly why we should be.

The “drinks expert” on Food And Drink has always been the person who has provided the parody over the years.  Jilly Goolden always appeared to have tippled rather more than she needed to with her overly elaborate descriptions of the nose of her wine. (I myself have always wondered how you get to be a “drinks expert” without it being a euphemism for doing serious damage to your liver.) But after posh Jilly, it appears the producers wanted someone more down to earth, which must be why they picked northern lass Kate Goodman, who runs an offie in Didsbury. This series they at least allowed her to be more specific about her chosen bottles, naming specific wineries and prices. Last series, possibly fearing breaking BBC advertising rules, they limited her to saying things like, “Mm, lamb. You know what would be good with this – a nice Shiraz.” “White wine goes quite well with fish.” “Spanish wines are usually quite affordable. This one is very tasty” or "How about a cup of tea with this cake?” Unless that really was the extent of her knowledge, in which case they might as well have offered her job to me.

My husband and I used to rather fancy ourselves as drinks experts. When we look back on our London days, it’s actually quite shocking to think what we would consume on an average evening. Cocktails on our Crouch End roof terrace to start, followed by a bottle of wine with dinner, and then maybe a post-prandial Spanish liqueur or single malt nightcap. We had not one but three full wine racks above our kitchen cupboards. (We lacked a cellar, living in a first-floor flat.) We received deliveries from various wine merchants throughout the land. I rented my husband a row of vines in a Beaujolais vineyard. Now we have a young child and only one household income, if we drink anything at all, we will split a bottle of wine over two or three evenings, and it’s a bottle of wine that we bought half-price in a supermarket or as part of an M&S Dine In For £10 deal. The space in our house in York (still no cellar, living near to the ever flooding River Ouse) we used to store wine has been filled with toys. Probably better for our liver, but it’s a shame we hardly ever get to drink any truly good stuff now. I’ve even acquired an anticipatory wince every time I take my first sip of a newly opened bottle.

Our favourite wine – when we can afford something better - is still that of New Zealand, sauvignon blanc for white, pinot noir for red. Nothing original about that. When we went to New Zealand for a three-week trip the year after my mum died, we were determined to sample as much of the stuff in its native land as we possibly could. So in Napier on the North Island, an art deco town rebuilt after an earthquake in the 1930s which would have had a more Californian feel had the temperature been about 15 degrees warmer, we did a winery tour with a jovial chap named Vince (“Vunce”). He bundled us into the back of his minivan, asked us what sort of wines we liked to drink, then mapped out a personal tour of the whole Hawkes Bay region for us. I am so happy to see on Trip Advisor that Vince is still up and running to rave reviews, as our afternoon with him was definitely one of the big highlights of a generally amazing trip. For some reason (given his popularity), we were the only two people on his tour that day, so we really did get the personal touch. But this put quite a lot of pressure on us to try everything on offer, and buy at least one bottle at every winery we visited. By the end of the afternoon we were so drunk that we bought a bottle of wine with the words “Chris de Burgh” on the label. (It was, to be fair, on special offer.) The Hawkes Bay region is very ambitious when it comes to winemaking and they'll try their hand at any grape - we sampled Tempranillos, Viogniers  and Montepulcianos as well as the more expected Sauvignons, Chardonnays, Merlots and Cab Savs  ...(I did say we ended up off our faces)... and they were all superb. Our hire car was entirely laden down with wine as we left Napier for Wellington, but at least we had plenty of bottles to gift to any subsequent hosts, and most New Zealand restaurants do bring-your-own, so we had got rid of most of it by the time we ended our tour in Christchurch a fortnight later. The only problem came when we had to change hire cars between the North and South Islands. We had to board the Picton-bound ferry carrying several clunking plastic carrier bags brimming with bottles, which, coupled with being jetlagged and dishevelled, is never a good look.

New Zealand Pinot Noir growing on the vine

I would love to go back to New Zealand, but all that way on a plane with a three-year-old? No chance. The journey was tough enough by ourselves, listening to other people’s children screaming for nine hours at a time. So any further wine study, for the next few years at least, will have to be undertaken closer to home. One advantage of climate change is the vast improvement it is bringing to English wine in vineyards like Chapel Down and Denbies.  I do believe there’s even a vineyard somewhere in Yorkshire now.