Everyone is told these days not to let kids watch too much TV, that they should be outside, playing; of course they should.  But early in the morning when none of your friends are out, or you’re just home from school waiting on tea, or it’s a cold winters day, there is no harm in plonking yourself in front of the TV – I turned out pretty normal…..!  Although it can be quite scary to see how quiet and entranced kids become when they are watching something on the box.  My nephew was quite in awe of Dr No (his mum was not happy…), he loves the Simpsons and Shawn the Sheep and he actually fell out with me because I told him I didn’t like Tots TV (it’s just plain weird), and this from a toddler of two who is only allowed to watch so many minutes of Television a day. 

I am still shocked to find that Saturday morning Kids TV no longer exists on BBC1.  Growing up I had my Saturday routine –creep down stairs about 8 before anyone was up to watch Captain America, followed by the Raccoons (I have the song on my ipod – what a classic 80s tune) and then Going Live!  What a show – 3 and a half hours of pure fun, starting with the Muppet Babies.  Philip Schofield was a childhood hero of mine; I loved him in the Broom Cupboard, and even saw him as Joseph with his Technicolour Dreamcoat.  And who could forget Gordon the Gopher?  Bog off, Edd the Duck, you were no match for Gordon, with his little leather coats and trainers.  What a cool dude.  I once drew a picture of Gordon and his girlfriend Glenda and sent it into Going Live; I watched every minute of every show for 5 weeks in the hope that they would show it, but to my dismay they never did.  I still wonder if he ever got it…. 

My brother and I appeared on a kid’s TV show once.  Well, not really, but sort of.  Those of you from outside Scotland will not have experienced the delightful Glen Michael’s Cavalcade, a Sunday show with an old guy in a bomber jacket and some sort of space ship, which showed various cartoons such as the Fantastic Four.  Our big sis made a birthday card, with the bodies of He-man and She-ra and photographs of our faces and sent it in to Glen, who read it out on national TV!  I asked all my friends the next day if they had seen it, I was so proud.   

Some of my favourites were Dogtanian (one for all an all for one) – my brother and I even had a picture of him up in our room which our sister had drawn for us; the Rescue Rangers (which I hardly got to watch as mum would make us go to church slap bang in the middle of the Disney Club) – we even named our fish Chip and Dale;  Willy Fogg; Gummi Bears; Dungeons and Dragons – how depressing was it that they NEVER got home; She-Ra; the Real Ghostbusters (why were they ‘Real’?);  and Thundercats (are GO!!!). 

Despite all the great shows there were also bad ones: I HATED Worzel Gummidge and TerraHawks – how scary were they??  And what the heck was Pob all about?  Even at a young age I though he was a bit nuts…..  

So come on, reminisce about your childhoods, and remind me of all the fab, or not so fab shows that I’ve forgotten to mention here!

Don’t get me wrong – I’ve had some fantastic times – scuba-diving in the Great Barrier Reef, travelling around Germany during the 2006 World Cup, watching a Mozart concert in Vienna – and visited some wonderful Cities – New York, Sydney, Krakow, (too many to mention!). 

But does anyone really realise what they are getting into when they decide to take off with a backpack and a budget? I look back on my trip around Europe in the summer of 2006 with fondness and cherished memories, and as time goes by those awful things that come with backpacking seem to be a distant memory: closets for four people, smelly feet, lack of sleep, cold showers, no proper food, walking for miles and miles, dirty clothes, nine hour train journeys with no air-con’, climbing mountains, the list goes on.  However, all of these things come rushing back like a bad dream when I dream about taking off again.   

But what happened in Budapest will always be at the forefront of my mind; I think it will always stay with me. 

My backpacking buddy and I had already experienced some small disasters in Croatia (it’s too painful to go into here), so our spirits were pretty low – things could surely only get better?  Wrong.  The, what I like to call, ‘quirkiness’ of Budapest (I could call it much worse, but I don’t want anyone to think I don’t like the place….) started during the train journey from Zagreb where, (after travelling through Slovenia having recently watched ‘Hostel) we had to share one of those quaint little train compartments with two strange boys, who had lain down on our seats – one of them actually rested his head on my friend, who was too scared to move.  The other one didn’t even attempt it with me after I shot him one of my ‘looks’.  I’m pretty sure they were on ‘something’, which I think they tried to offer us, but our grasp of Hungarian stretched only to the important phrases such as ‘Egy hideg sort Kerek’ (a cold beer please) and ‘Nem ertem’ (I don’t understand), so we were able to feign confusion and innocence.   

Four hours later, on arrival, my friend (who has the worst sense of direction EVER – she once took us a mile the wrong way after turning left instead of right on leaving the metro station in Berlin), who had booked the hostel, tried to get us there.  Not very easy considering the hostel had given us directions which consisted of ‘cross the bridge and turn left’ (maybe they didn’t realise they are located in a rather large city…), and they hadn’t provided us with a telephone number.  We wandered around the Buda side (we’d made it over the bridge) for about an hour and a half, well after midnight, in the pouring rain (disguising my tears, sniff) with huge, heavy backpacks until we found the hostel, which was a grotty student residence, with smelly sheets and miles away from anywhere. 

The next day, we got over it (what a couple of troopers!) and decided to walk up the Gellert Mountain, where the Cave Chapel is situated.  A pretty tiring walk so we decided to sit down on a bench and admire the view over the Danube.  The view was lovely and peaceful and we sat for a while until I happened to notice a man creeping up behind us with his…. well, you get the idea.  After clocking that, yes, I had actually seen what I thought I had seen, we ran off down the hillside screaming.  After fear and disgust turned to laughter (it took a while), we bucked up our spirits and set off on some more sightseeing. 

Throughout the day my camera broke (after my friend had dropped it), losing a number of photographs, my friend almost got ran over, we fell out over food (i.e. I wanted to eat, she didn’t) and after sitting on a bus for ages to get to Heroes Square we didn’t have enough money for the return fare so had to walk for miles. 

That night (yes – even more was to come!)  We decided to go and check out a club by the river, where we proceeded to get very drunk (we really, really needed to by this point) and lose each other.  After stumbling about the jam-packed club looking for my friend I decided to walk home.  After walking for quite some time I suddenly realised that on leaving the club I had walked in the wrong direction and was completely lost.  I wandered the streets of Budapest for what seemed like two hours (but was probably only about half an hour) until I saw a taxi and hurled myself in front of it.  Fortunately the kind taxi driver took pity on me and got me back to my hostel, where I found my friend waiting on me and we hugged and cried, and then, because we just had to, laughed.   

After all that had happened to us in the past 24 hours, I was ready to leave, but we had another day and night to go, and I ‘m happy to tell you that it was lovely, although it did rain constantly for the rest of our time there (maybe Budapest was trying to tell us something?).  But I would definitely recommend the city for a break as it is rightly regarded as one of the most beautiful cities in the world and there is lots to see, such as the Matyas Church, the gorgeous Fisherman’s Bastion, the parliament building, Buda Castle and the Szechenyi Chain Bridge – but definitely do it in style! 

So I reckon that those 24 hours were probably the worst I’ve experienced whilst travelling (my trip to the Australian Outback, aka my ‘Trip to Hell’ was probably worse, but that went on for an agonising NINE days, and there’s not enough space to go into it here), and so I guess my question for this week is, what are your worst (but at the same time, funny!) travel/holiday tales? 

The Academy Awards, known affectionately as the Oscars, are the, oldest, most well known and most influential of the film awards. With Oscars night almost upon us the fashonistas will be out in force hoping to be wearing THE dress of the night; Jessica Alba, Charlize Theron and Nicole Kidman have impressed us in the past. 

But who can forget the dead swan that draped Bjork, Celine Dion’s back to front suit, and Cher’s almost non-existent outfit which left little to the imagination?  And Gwyneth Paltrow committed this sin TWICE – going from pretty awful in pink to resembling a Goth-tastic groupie for the Sisters of Mercy. 

But the (other!) most important aspect of the night are the winners themselves.  Previous Oscars have awarded the undeserving, including Gwyneth Paltrow, Al Pacino (for Scent of a Woman) and Chicago, and missed out those who should rightly have won, such as Julianne Moore, LA Confidential and Bill Murray. 

They have also got it completely right, such as the multiple wins for the English Patient, best foreign film for The Lives of Others, and best supporting actor for Kevin Spacey. 

The Academy has also had some tough choices to make, between Adrien Brody, Michael Caine and Daniel Day Lewis all up for Best Actor in 2002, and between Frances McDormand, Kirstin Scott Thomas and Brenda Blethyn in the best actress category in 1996. 

But what I believe is the worst travesty of the Oscars – the fact that Harrison Ford has only been nominated once (for Witness), and has NEVER won an Oscar –shocking!!!  Perhaps Indy IV will change all that….. 

Anyway, I believe the Oscars should be awarded as follows: 

Best Film: Atonement.

Best Director: Paul Thomas Anderson for ‘There Will Be Blood’.

Best Actor: Viggo Mortenson for ‘Eastern Promise’.

Best Supporting Actor: Javier Bardem for ‘No Country for Old Men’.

Best Actress: Julie Christie for ‘Away From Her’.

Best Supporting Actress: Cate Blanchett for ‘I’m Not there’ (just for playing a man so well).

We’ll find out soon – but what do you all think about the nominations and possible winners??

But I did have something to look forward to after my holiday – pancake day, YUMMY!! 

With Easter falling really early this year, a lot of people didn’t even realise that Shrove Tuesday (or known to most of us as Pancake day) fell yesterday.  A whole day dedicated to the Pancake!  My colleague Zoe definitely celebrated the day by delicately chowing down (aka ‘scoffing’) savoury pancakes for lunch followed by more pancakes with lemon and sugar for dessert, and then even more pancakes after dinner!

For British, Australian and Canadian Christians, Shrove Tuesday, or Pancake Day, marks the day before Ash Wednesday which is the beginning of Lent.  This is traditionally a forty day period which is marked by fasting, both from foods and festivities, and by other acts of penance, which is probably why so many people stuff their faces with pancakes and sweet toppings – forty days is a long time….. 

The traditional pancake is slightly thicker than the French Crepe, but if yours turn out anything like mine, then they’re probably slightly thinner, a bit more on the brown and crispy side, and really not as tasty as a crepe ( particularly if they’ve stuck to the ceiling before hand).  However, those who can make a good pancake (or cheat slightly by buying ready made pancakes) enjoy them with all kinds of toppings.  Many prefer the traditional lemon and sugar, but I myself like to pile on the clotted cream and jam (helps to cover up that burnt taste). 

Interestingly, in Sweden ‘Fat Tuesday’ (Fettisdagen) is celebrated by eating a traditional pastry, called semla or fastlagsbulle, which is a sweet bun filled with almond paste and whipped cream; and that Poles eat Pączki and Faworki to celebrate ‘Fat Thursday’ (Tłusty Czwartek).  Perhaps those forty days of fasting are a useful way to get back in shape after all that indulgence! 

What are your suggestions for your favourite toppings?  How about plain old syrup or butter?  Or something a bit fancier like Cinnamon pancakes with praline cream and chocolate sauce?  Or how about trying a Scandinavian recipe – warm potato pancakes with smoked eel?  Mmmmm? 

Robert Burns (January 25 1759– July 21 1796), also known as Rabbie Burns, Scotland’s favourite son, the Ploughman’s Poet, the Bard of Ayrshire and in Scotland as simply The Bard, was a poet and a lyricist.  He is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland, and is celebrated worldwide.  Auld Lang Syne is perhaps his most famous work outside of Scotland, and indeed, one of the most well known songs throughout the world.  He is the best-known of the poets who have written in the Scots language, although much of his writing is also a ‘light’ Scots dialect and in English, accessible to an audience beyond Scotland.  It has been since his death, however, that Burns has grown to become a national icon revered the world over, influencing the founders of liberalism and socialism. The Bard’s most sustained legacy, however, is the Burns Supper, which begins with Burn’s ‘Ode to a Haggis’.  This is a chance for Scots across the world to delight in devouring the lungs of a sheep and listen to poems which a fair few of us don’t, in all honesty, understand!  I myself am looking forward to attending a Burns supper this weekend (my first ever, and in England!). 

I’m sure many would agree that he is worthy of a celebration and it got me to thinking – is there another person with a day dedicated to celebrating their memory?  Why is there no William Shakespeare day celebrated in England and throughout the world?  Is there anyone else who deserves a day of celebration?  Perhaps Dickens, or Austen, David Beckham?   For the Welsh what about Dylan Thomas or Tom Jones?!  James Joyce could be a suitable choice for the Irish, or I’m sure Bono would love a day in honour of himself!