Spot the Difference

Previously on Cigar Stories...

Mel Gibson shoots at helicopters with his eyes closed, and I get done for a second time with fake cigars.

Now as much as I dislike every minute of all the Lethal Weapon movies, even the ones I haven't seen, it isn't the only TV slash movie production that I have a problem with when it comes to helicopters, as Magnum P.I. caught my attention earlier today.

I have fond memories of Magnum P.I., which was one of my favourite TV shows back in the 80's.  That and Manimal. 

Tom Selleck is great, but to be honest, I don't remember much past Magnum and Higgins living together, Magnum driving a Ferrari that wasn't his, and his two mates - T.C who flew helicopters, and little Rick.

In this episode, Tom and T.C fly off to catch the bad guys, who just happen to be acting out the scene on top of some cliffs, and of course everybody knows that cliffs make it easy for helicopters to sneak up on people, and so up pops the helicopter right behind the bad guys, taking them completely by surprise. 

They weren't half as surprised as I was though when I noticed T.C had been replaced with a bank robber.

And these are the photographs of what I'm talking about...

Here we have the real Magnum P.I. and his mate T.C (and no, it doesn't stand for Top Cat).

In this picture, you can clearly see that T.C. is not dressed as a bank robber, although who knows what he might be thinking.





In the next photograph, Magnum P.I. looks normal enough, he's the same colour at least, while T.C. has turned into a white guy in a balaclava.














Skipping quickly past all the obvious jokes and stereotypes, I can't believe they thought that slapping a black balaclava on a white guy would do, whatever the reason.

Anyway...

Moving onto cigars.  See if you can spot which one is fake.

 

I'll give you a clue.  It's the bottom one.

Did you know that Manimal only ran for one series of eight episodes?  I know, mad isn't it.

Those are fake cigars!

Said I.

Oh really...

Yes.  Really.

Right...and what makes you say that?

Well I'm no expert mind, but if you look at the cigars, which are all from different Cuban houses, they all look almost identical.  That and the crappy bands on the Cohiba.

So you know a lot about cigars do you?

Well, I'm no expert ha ha ha, I think you need to check with your supplier, or maybe not your supplier, but somebody else who is an expert and not your supplier because I don't think your supplier can be trusted.

Leave it with me she said, and that was the last I heard about that.

Now, the first time I came across counterfeit cigars we were in Jordan, and low and behold, that thrilling exact word for word account you've just enjoyed also happened in Jordan, only just last week.

Not surprising then, but what is surprising was that this was my hotel, which claims five stars.

Nothing was done over the next few days, so I bought one of the cigars on offer, and in the name of science, I smoked it. 

It was fake, and now I feel a bit of a rant coming on.

After my recent self appointed senior position with the grammar police I've decided to see how much I can say in one sentence without using any punctuation marks whatsoever like as if I was talking in real life and making a point about something or other without pausing for breath while my face goes all red as the air runs out but I'm still trying to speak although its now nearly impossible but if I would just used a comma everything would just be a whole lot easier!!

What brought this rant on you ask?

Well.  Recently it's come to my annoyance that people are commenting on certain social media sites on whatever rubbish they think they have an opinion on, and they badly type up their ramblings with misspellings aplenty, and not a single punctuation mark to be seen.

And another thing, as far as I know, an ellipsis has three dots.  Not two dots or five dots, but three dots.  That's why people say dot dot dot.

And I'm starting my sentence with a conjunction.  I make my own rules.

Cuban Cigars

 

I'm back

Hi everybody.

Remember me? Well, I'm back.  By popular demand no doubt.

In case you wondered, I didn't go anywhere, I've been here the whole time.

Well not here.  Not right here.  I've obviously been places.  Not many places mind.  But a few.  Nice places mostly.

Anyway, I'm going to kick off this come back special, with a with a new cigar that arrived in the post today from C.Gars Ltd, called the Inka secret blend - Azul blue Bombaso Maduro. 

A beautiful looking budget cigar, dark and squishy, that I paired with a pressed apple and beetroot juice.

Apple and what? I hear you scream.  Pressed??  What's happening here? Is this a new me?  Healthy-not-from-concentrate fruit juice instead of unhealthy-not-from-concentrate beer juice?  Might be.

I must admit, after a recent trip to Ireland (to celebrate Gillian Doyles birthday), I felt hung-over for at least two weeks, and suffered like never before, and with the belly taking a lot more effort to keep in check these days, it was time I curbed my enthusiasm.

At least on a Tuesday evening in the garden.

The Inka was nice smoke.  A bit too strong for what I wanted at the time, and it also lasted longer than I planned, but I enjoyed it, and it only needed the odd relight and touch up along the way. 

Next time I've got a shorter stumpier cigar to report on.  So until then, and I promise I won't leave it as long next time.



The Inka

The Stinka

New Edition

No, not new edition, the nineteen eighties progenitors of the boy band revolution, but a new edition to the family.  A baby boy to be exact.  Born recently at the Royal London, Whitechapel.  A little under a week early in making his appearance, but no harm done, and so everything, including his mother, is fine.

Before I carry on, I have to say that it wouldn't be fair of me to blame my blogging tardiness on this young chaps arrival, and I do have a lengthy update that's been almost ready for over a month, but I just couldn't bring myself to finish it. 

The reason for my reticence was the negativity that dominated the post, which was down to a bad experience at Casa del Habano in Berlin.  So I'll park the negativity for now, as it goes against my natural sunny positivity, and concentrate on happier, more important things, like the new edition celebration cigars that I've been enjoying for the past two weeks.

So, without going into too much detail, the baby made a surprise appearance, and with the wife in hospital, I found myself in need of a short notice emergency babysitter for our first born, so I could be were I was supposed to be.

Joe saved the day, before handing over to my mother, who flew over from Ireland the following morning.  The day after that, and we were all home from hospital, and I could get down to the serious business of enjoying my celebration cigars.

Celebration Cigars

Seeing as I now had two sons, I decided two cigars were in order.  First up was a Cohiba Siglo VI, which was a present from Gearoid last Christmas.  He must really love me because it's a cracking cigar.

I'd been keeping it for a special occasion, and as a new child is as special as they come, it was the cigar of choice.

The Siglo VI is one of my favourite cigars.  A nice big cigar, with a perfect burn and perfect construction, and a great cigar to kick off the celebrations.

Next up was a Montecristo Open Master Eagle, which is the same size as the Siglo VI, and a fine cigar too, but not quite up to the same standard as the Cohiba, in my opinion anyway.  Still a great cigar and worthy of it's status as celebration cigar number two.

With the first days celebration out of the way, and two weeks paternity leave staring me in the face, I lined up more celebration cigars, a few of which I'll cover off now...

I apologise for the lack of picture quality in these photos, but I'm happy to say that all future photographs will most likely be taken on my spanking new Canon 650D DLSR camera, which was purchased to specific reason of sprucing up the blog. 

I obviously told the wife it was for taking baby pictures, and so far, that's all it has done, but I'm sure it will be doing it's first cigar very soon.

R&J Short Churhill

Anyway, on to the cigars.

This one, which for some reason, I've photographed with a pot of uncooked potatoes in the background, is a Romeo y Julietta short Churchill. 

A fine cigar.  Another one of my favourite cigars, and one that I highly recommend. 

This was the last one of it's kind in the humidor, so I'll be looking to stock up next chance I get.

The potatoes weren't bad either.

Vegas Robaina

This fine cigar, paired with a fine French wine, was a Vegas Robaina Unicos, and another excellent smoke.

Described as a medium to full cigar, I found it rather mild, but absolutely fantastic, and totally enjoyable.

I've been told that Robaina are known to produce the best tobacco in Cuba, and Alejandro Robaina is the only tobacco farmer to have his name on a brand, so you can't argue with that.

I do have a soft spot for these cigars, especially since that nice man in Jordan handed me one, and it was he who told me all this, including the fact that they supply Cohiba with tobacco, so it must be good.

Truth is that Vegas Robaina cigars have never disappointed, never let me down, and always remind me how good cigars can be.  The wine was a little bit lacking though.

I picked up this cigar in Ibiza.  No idea what it is, only that it's not a Cuban.

I liked the look of it, and for want of a new experience, I picked up this one, and another similar cigar but with a much lighter shade wrapper.

The other cigar was pretty good, and so was this one.

Nothing magical, but a pleasant smoke which I enjoyed to it's nub.  No heat or harshness, and good value for money.

I have coffee in the background this time.  It's decaff.  Not what I usually go for.  I'm more of a ristretto man.  (That's a in-joke between myself and George Clooney btw)

This is one of the better photos taken on the phone camera, which shows a few fridge magnets, and a Ramon Allones specially selected.

The RASS is my favourite all rounder cigar.  This one had a deep old cigar smell, which I enjoyed pre-light.

I love it when I get a cigar with that particular smell, as it isn't every cigar that I can honestly say I get a smell from, whatever that smell might be, good or bad.

This RASS is from a batch the wife bought me back in February, which were described as five year olds, so there was never any doubt this cigar was going to be excellent.

I've only got two of these left and I'll be sorry when they're all gone, so I might have to get a few more of these in too.  I'll be in touch with my man in Luxembourg regarding a shipment very soon.

Last but not least, is a photo (taken on the new camera) of the bundle of joy, myself and the wife were blessed with recently.

I'm still on paternity leave, so I'll be having at least one more celebratory cigars before the week is out.  Or more probably before the night is out.

The Magnificent Seven

Over a year ago now, myself and Jim began our epic journey together, to conquer London' magnificent seven cemeteries.  A mammoth task, even for the likes of us.

Each visit would require careful research and detailed planning, such as who to say hello to, and which local pub sold the best best bitter, and had the best beer garden (cigarden henceforth).

Before I go any further, a quick historical recap if I may...

The magnificent seven cemeteries came about when Londons dead began overflowing church grounds into water supplies, and down the new sewer system.  So with the ground literally bursting at the seams, the solution was to surround Victorian London with magnificent graveyards, while putting an end to the use of church grounds for new burials.

This was done over a ten year period starting in 1832, but it wasn't for another 150 years, until after the movie was made, that the cemeteries got their name, the Magnificent seven.

Abney park was the first site we visited, and you can read all about it here...

This time we headed for the City of London Cemetery and Crematorium.

While not a member of the magnificent seven club, it certainly has as much history, character, beauty and interest as the others, probably more in fact, and as it was easy to get to, or so we thought, we selected it as our next destination.

For the record, at the time of choosing, I had no idea that it wasn't one of the M7.

Anyway, a long story short, myself and Jim met up at Liverpool street station, on a warm and sunny morning.

We had four stops on the train ahead of us, followed by a short walk.

Eight stops later, we felt something wasn't right, and wondered if we missed our stop.

Jim checked his iphone, then announcing that we should have gotten off about twenty minutes ago.

We doubled back.

Some time later, we reached the fabulous gated front of the cemetery, and were greeted by a gentleman kitted out in the city of London uniform.

Interesting factoid this.  Even though the city of London is miles away, the grounds, which is one of the largest municipal cemeteries in Europe by the way, is still part of the city of London.  That said, you don't need to live in the city to be buried here.  It takes everybody.

We arrived, but we didn't know where to go, what with 200 acres of landscaped cemetery standing in front of us.

The gentleman enquired if he could offfer some assistance.

Gentleman: Hullo
Jim & me: Hi there, howaya. 
Gentleman: So then, who have you come here to see.
Jim: (with hand on heart)  Bobby Moore
Gentleman: Ah yes, every proud Englishmans favourite footballing hero.
Gentleman: And you Sir?
Me: Michael Barrett.
Gentleman: Who?
Me: Michael Barrett.
Gentleman: I'm afraid I don't know him.  Who was he?
Me: A Fenian.
Gentleman (scratching his head): Well, we do have some Armenians somewhere, but I'm not sure exactly where...
Me: No, I said Fee...he was the last man to be publicly hanged in England.
Gentleman:  Oh yes, I think we have him, try over there...

So off we skipped, with nothing but a vague idea and a map the gentleman had given us, in search of our heroes.

We found Sir Bobbys memorial, and a stunning little plot it was too.  The great man was cremated somewhere else, but his ashes are resting here.

We found plaques belonging to two of Jack the rippers victims, Catherine Eddowes and Mary Ann Nicols, and lots of memorials to old churches and graveyards whose inhabitants were re-interred here.

These re-interments are fascinating and a story to themselves, mostly down to the union of benefices, but the real crowd pleaser was finding the plaque to the aforementioned Fenian, Michael Barrett.

This poor unfortunate was publicly hanged for killing a load of people when trying to blow a hole in the wall of Clerkenwell prison.  An accident then, but it didn't go down well with the locals at the time, and that was pretty much that for him, and for Londoners sympathy towards the Irish cause, which did exist at the time.

There was some doubt as to his guilt too, seeing as he was in Scotland at the time of the blast, but in 1868 outside Newgate prison, they hung him anyway.

Newgate prison made way for The Central Criminal Court, which we all know as the Old Bailey, and as such, the communal lime grave was relocated to the city of London cemetery.

Fifty souls were removed and placed in a hole in the ground.  End of.

After the cemetery, we retired to the pub, ordered food, and took our beers to the cigarden.   

I blazed up my Partagas Serie D No. 4, and the resulting conversation with the bloke at the table beside us went like this...

Bloke: Wow, I thought that was a barbecue starting off..
Me:  ha ha ha
Jim: ha ha ha
Bloke: Oh it's a cigar.
Bloke: But it's not a good cigar
Bloke: I know the smell of a good cigar, and that's not a good cigar.

As Jim lights up his Partagas Petit Corona Especial.

Me: Eh yeah, it's just a Partagas
Jim: yeah, they're just cheap Cubans

So, at this stage I'm feeling suitably insulted, but I mostly hate this bloke.

Bloke (after a minute of intense silence): Well, maybe they're not the worst.
Bloke:  Yeah, their starting to smell OK after all.

With that, they all got up and left.

Bloke: Cheerio
Me: Yeah, see ya.
Jim: Bye now.

Me: What a dick
Jim: Idiot.

So, as I calmed down, we began to wonder where our food was.

Twenty minutes later, the food arrives.

It was shite.

So, as we supped our beers, and smoked our cigars, an old lady shows up and asked for a light.

We have a selection of lighters, two of which are jet lighters, so I suggest she uses the normal lighter, or risk losing her eyebrows.

Old Lady:  Is that an accent I hear?
Me: Yes it is.
Old Lady: Where from?
Me:  Dublin
Old Lady (looking disappointed): Oh...

She turns away.

Old Lady (looking back):  I thought it was North of England...

After being insulted for the second time, I reply with something nonsensical, then ask Jim if she means Manchester, or Newcastle?

That was enough of that.  We finished our pints and made our way back to Liverpool street, back to civilisation, and decided to call it a day.

Myself and Jim hope to finish the magnificent seven cemetery tour by 2017.

Bobbys Memorial

Mary Ann Nichols

Catherine Eddowes

Michael Barrett and 49 others

A re-interment memorial (nice read)

The London Olympics 2012

I know, I know, it's been ages since my last blog, but truth be told, a lot has been happening in and around the streets of London recently, and I myself have been busy with all sorts of things and stuff. 

Now that the Olympic and Paralympic games have finally ended, I decided it was time to get back on the blog.

It's been a while and I'm a bit rusty, but seeing as I'm a contender in the Irish blog awards, no doubt thanks to Cigar Loving Doorman, I though I'd increase my chances ten fold, and post something brilliant for a change.

That said, this entry might have peaked already, as I rack my brains and struggle to remember what great things I was surely up to over the past month or so.  I guess though, like most people, my main focus was of course, the Olympics games.

I didn't bother with training or anything like that.  I thought I'd just rock up and ask whats the story, any chance of competing or wha'?, seeing as I didn't get any tickets an' all!  Maybe one of the athletes has pulled out or forgotten or met with an accident perhaps? No?

Surprisingly enough, that plan didn't work, so I guess I'll just have to wait another four years until Rio.  Probably a better chance of getting tickets for that one anyway.

As mentioned, in case you didn't pick up on it, was the fact that I, like millions of Londoners, got not a single ticket I applied for. 

So as I prepared myself for a few weeks of sitting on the couch and watching the games on the telly, I wasn't feeling at all bitter when Joe phoned to say he had tickets to the Victoria Park opening ceremony party, and tickets to the boxing, if we wanted them that is.

We wanted them alright (thanks very much Joe), and first off we enjoyed the brilliant atmosphere of opening ceremony, a mile or so from the Olympic park, which had a Red Arrows fly-past, and all sorts of wonderful things going on, followed a week later by a trip to the Excel where we watched Katie Taylor box her way into an Olympic final, which she thankfully went on to win.

Comon' Ireland!!

We also got to see the legend that is Damien Duff, who seemed to be walking around a lot, more than was strictly necessary I'd say.  At the time, I thought he was just playing the crowd.  But alas, as it turned out, the poor man just couldn't find his seat.

Across a row he went, across another row, then another. 
Down to the front he went, he stopped, he asked for help.
He talked, he turned, he smiled. 
He walked back up to where he came from. 
He was right in the first place. 
Eh hello, I think you're in my seat there Mrs...


The Excel arena was full of Irish supporters, and while there, I spotted one of my teachers from school.  I hadn't seen the man since 1989, so I wasn't too sure as I wandered over to say hello.

Turned out it was him, so hello again Eamonn Doyle, and Eddie O'Hara.  Very nice talking to you  both. 

I nearly introduced Eamonn to the wife as Mr. Doyle, but as I struggled, he saved me by cutting in with Eamonn. 

Thanks Sir.

I did enjoy a few cigars on both occasions of course.  At Vicky park, I had a Ramon Allones Extra and a Partagas Petite Corona Especialle.  Both excellent, and the RA Extra proved itself an excellent outdoor smoke.


Although I also enjoyed quite a few cigars over the course of the Olympics, I've only got one worth mentioning. 

This one had been sitting in the humidor for well over about 18 months, after my Dad brought it over from Dublin, after a friend of his brought it over to Dublin from Las Vegas.

When I got my hands on it, it was terribly dry, and I didn't think it would last.  So after leaving it alone in the humidor for those 18 months, I thought I'd give it a go, and I must say, it was excellent.

Maybe it absorbed some oils or whatever from nearby Cubans, or maybe it was just excellent to begin with, either way, it was very enjoyable, and burned slowly and perfectly all the way to the nub.

The cigar came from Vato Cigars, so please click on the link and check them out if you're ever in Vegas.

There's pictures below of the cigars, the Red Arrows and the results of some baking I've been doing lately.

That's another thing that kept me quiet lately, baking.  Yes baking.  Great fun baking coconut flour chocolate mouse cakes.  And gardening.  Gardening has also been keeping me busy. 

Life in the fast lane.

Next time, I've got another eagerly awaited graveyard adventure with Jim to tell you about, a visit to Casa del Habano in Berlin, and top stories from Ibiza and Formentera.  

I know I'm excited.

Vegas Cigar

Yes, I baked that cake.

RA Extra in Vicky Park

Duffer, not one of his best

Thats a better angle

Comon' Ireland!

In the Night Garden

Those of you who haven't had the pleasure of dealing with young children in recent years, might not know know what I mean when I say "In the night garden", or "Iggle Piggle", so if that's you, here's a little YouTube video to get yourself acquainted.  CLICK HERE!!


The stars of the show are Iggle Piggle, who you just met, Makka Pakka and UpsyDaisy.

These leading lights of childrens telly-vision, plus a supporting cast of other strange looking monsters, dance and sing and get about the place by way of a possessed train known as the Ninky Nonky, and a terrible flying machine called the Pinky Ponky, that's forever crashing into trees at incredibly slow speeds.

What's an Og Pog?  Why it's Makka Pakkas little three wheeler zimmerframe-a-majig of  course.

Iggle Piggle and his gang of crazies landed at the O2 recently and the wife, myself and our two year old, plus the Larkins, who have two kids, went to see the show.

After the show, we booked a meet and greet with the great Iggle Piggle himself, followed by his lover, Upsy Daisy.

The kids loved the show, but our little fella got a bit carried away when the Ninky Nonk made an appearance, and rushed the stage.

If not for my legendary lightning reflexes, it would have been curtains, literally, as I sprinted after the boy and grabbed him in the "Nink" of time.

Anyway, I could see all the other parents were mightily impressed by all this, as I strolled back with my screaming toddler tucked securely under my arm.  "He almost caught the Ninky Nonk" I laughed to a surprisingly luke warm reception.  Obviously not real fans these.

An hour later, the show was over, and it was time to meet the big blue man himself.

This is a great way of extracting more money from us poor parents, but the kids love it, so I suppose it's worth it really.  Probably not though.

The meeting with Iggle Piggle passed off peacefully enough, which is more than can be said for Upsy Daisy.

As we left Iggle Piggle, the boy tried to take him home with us.  He took Iggle Piggle by the hand and led him to the door, saying "Come, Come", and for a minute, it looked like the Big Blue fella was actually going with us, until I pointed out that we didn't have his favorite food at home.  Fluffy bunnies and cats I said.

We left Iggle Piggle and moved on.

In the next room was Upsy Daisy.  Upsy Daisy with her dread-locks and her pull string inflatable skirt, kneeling on the floor with her arms open, ready and waiting to embrace the loving kids for the obligatory photograph, payable on the way out.

Not this time sweet cheeks.  Not with these kids anyway.

The Larkin's boy got a grip of a dread and decided the only thing to do was pull, and over she went.  The situation got worse quicker than you could say Makka Pakka, with Upsy's assistant trying in vain to save her, the boys got stuck in.

Larkin's boy was water-boarding her, while ours had her around the neck.  All the rest of us could do was fall about laughing and take photos of the mayhem.  Sorry Upsy, but we paid a lot of money for this and we wanted our moneys worth.

After that good kicking, we left the O2, and drove back to ours for a few beers and some food.  The kids wrecked the place, but I managed to get a cigar in before the day was out.

As I enjoyed the cigar, I thought about the lives of Iggle Piggle and Upsy Daisy, and realized that while in those suits, nobody can hear you scream.

A terrified Upsy Daisy