I jumped off the end of the breakwater with my board and paddled out to the line up where the waves start to break and surfers bunch together to get in the right spot to take off on a wave, although for some reason I was the only one out. There was an audience of 15 – 20 coat, scarf and hat wearing sightseers who were more interested in me than their New Years walks. It wasn’t the best surf I’ve ever had, as conditions weren’t great but there is something to be said for surfing in ice cold water with snow falling around you 500m out to sea, especially as now it can’t get any colder.

To be honest I could have been anywhere in the world last night: booze, fags,the bloke who thinks he’s gods gift, the girl throwing up in the loo, the beyonce remixes and the podium dancers. Don’t get me wrong, I had one of the best nights of my entire life, something I wasn’t expecting as a scouse berd travelling alone who normally seeks the solace of a crowd of familiar faces but It was only when I swam to the taxi queue and it only cost twenty quid to take a 30 min speed boat ride home as the sun shone high in the sky that I realised there was absolutely no where else I would rather be.

There is something bewitching about Thailand, that has made me do and say things that I’d normally be much more sensible about:

1. got another tattoo
2. rented a moped even though I have failed my driving text 5 times and crashed it after an hour, smashed my face and wrecked the entire left hand side of my tan
3. changed my plans because I got on the wrong bus
4. pretended I couldn’t speak English because I didn’t like the look of a fella
5. ignored the map and followed my nose

and I hope it stays with me.

Happy new year everyone!

So now the dining experience is made to taste even better knowing you are surrounded by masterpieces by the likes of Miro, Chagall, Matisse, Picasso, Leger and Calder. Famous names beyond artists are now also associated with La Colombe – Moore, Curtis, Niven and Loren were regularly spotted dining and looking glamorous during the Cannes Film Festival weeks of the 60’s and 70’s. The film stars still come to dine but too much summer sun causes the occasional fashion “non-non”, Jack Nicholson was papped leaving La Colombe earlier this year sporting a choice pair of blue Crocs.

Charles and Inger Eisenhour have been our fellow diners, St Paul residents, and drunken rose wine skinny dippers since the early 1990’s. So when it came to decide on a destination to celebrate the millenium the Eisenhour residence fitted the bill perfectly. As the clocks turned to January 1st 2001 the champagne was flowing, fireworks were being lit and directed in every other direction but the sky and every possible new dance form was being created. Fast-forward 10 years and we are here to do it all again, none the wiser, married with kids but still ready to get our motors started (our rose drinking toast). As a precursor to our New Years Eve celebrations Charles and Inger gathered together their guests at La Colombe for some fine dining and fine conversation… Just where did the last 10 years go?

Millenium plus ten

10 years ago today when Exposure was only seven years old we were worrying about the millenium bug, e commerce was in its infancy, TV dominated media, we didn’t google, and the fashion high street was to be dominated by boo.
How wise we are in retrospect!
No bug, no boo, google and Microsoft now dominate, great retailers are still great, internet retailers are in hyper growth but the best brands are still best. Exposure is now in its late teens, the pimples are gone and we have grown up to enjoy working with a fantastic collection of brands in Europe, Japan, the UK and the US. Brands that we now help generate their own media, tell their own stories, where consumers choose to watch and listen and who influence brand direction more than ever before.
Some things don’t change, New Year’s Eve is here again, we are worried about the recession and a world super swine bug but after a few chinks and clinks, we will stop worrying and admire the fireworks. Tomorrow we will try to predict the next ten years in the hope it will be as exciting stimulating and fun for us all.

Now, I’m no paleontologist but I’m pretty sure the ‘Tri’ part of the name refers to the fact that it has three horns. Surely a more accurate name would be Bicerotops, but as far as my research can tell, there is no such dinosaur. The closest I could find was a Centrosaurus, another of the Upper Cretaceous herbivores. However this still looks nothing like the toy that the book claims is a Tricerotops as it only has one, centrally located horn therefore making it a Uniterotops.

I know what you’re all thinking, that they’ve only made it that way to keep the extremities of the toy running along the flash line of the dinosaur, therefore only requiring a two part thermoplastic injection mould, but personally I don’t think it’s morally correct to run rough-shod over two centuries of scientific research to simply bring down the production cost of a supposedly educational toy.

The book also claims that the Tricerotops was one of the last dinosaurs to die out but this is also probably a lie.

Well I am in the Southern Highlands, two hours outside Sydney and home to some spectacular scenery, wineries and antique stores – in the POURING rain and just about to put an extra doona (Australian for duvet) on the bed.

And what’s really neat is that it matters not one bit – the kids are still playing with their presents (some already broken), the hostess is still knackered from Herculean exploits in the kitchen (and finding respite in multiple G&Ts), the meals are still excellent (some might say better than first time round) leftovers, the guys are still hitting the Chivas to warm ourselves (with hair of the dog vests).

In short, the post-Christmas glow has transcended weather, geography and cultural divides – I have traveled to the far side of the world but I could be in any English house with any English family. I have discovered, albeit at the expense of a particularly nasty bout of jetlag, that the Spirit of Christmas is a universal human truth that we build for oursleves wherever we are and whatever the weather.

Next year I might put this to the test and see what Boxing Day is like in Bali, just to prove that wherever you go, there you are.

The reason for this early departure from London was frankly, grizzly: The Morgan Turkey massacre. Allow me to explain. My father, aside from being a headmaster, rears 21 turkeys for friends and family every year. An event in which I am happy to partake (or it will cease to be); If I stop assisting, their ‘Turkey party’ (collection of said birds, and general knees up) stops ‘occurring’… so, like Dignitas, I assist.

The turkeys have a very pleasant life; being sung to daily, culminating in a jolly Christmas carol sing along. Their departure from this land is far swifter than any UK international airport. Father and son do the stretching, mother and daughter do the feathering. (Photos attached)

The next verse in this Christmas carol is a far kinder one – the Turkey Party. An international event (Wales, England and Egyptian-American)… People come from afar to collect their birds, are greeted with daddy Morgan’s mulled wine, a table full of the finest food, and a 4 mile, ice-covered, black run.

60 people, from 3 months to 83 enjoy an age-old tradition. Booze flows freely, people reflect on a year past, and have a plucking good time. This year saw the first Caroline ‘Morganised’ welsh carol recital. Beautiful renditions, with an enthusiastic crowd of Internationally renowned choristers and the most recent addition to the National Youth Choir – Rebecca Mahon. 

The evening was a snowy one, and 25 cars had been blanketed. The final few hours were interwoven with all the ‘men’ heading outside for the final uphill push (Rawke’s snow drift) – each car with a lovingly reared turkey in the boot.

The Morgans retreat to the hot tub.