There’s a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and the one you need is at the bottom. Directly pulling it out means disrupting the balance. They’ll fall and potentially break. Instead you need to rinse each one starting from the top and load the dishwasher. Or at the very least, put them in a […] The post Indirect change appeared first on Herbert Lui.

Walking the England Coast Path Birchington → Reculver (5 miles) 2014 I'd got no further east than Reculver and in 2019 no further west than Birchington so in 2026 I've connected them together. I actually walked all the way from Birchington to Herne Bay because the intervening miles are marshy nomansland with no stations, but today I'll just blog about the gap. Thankfully all the fog had cleared by the time my train reached Gravesend so it was a glorious coastal stroll. [10 photos] Beresford Gap, a cut in the chalk where housing makes way for cliff-edge greensward. They're hardly the highest of cliffs but sufficient for a panorama encompassing Margate tower blocks, distant ships and (because it was low tide) a vast wave-cut platform scattered with rockpools and seaweed. Several tile-topped shelters have been provided, each recently painted in that special shade of light blue only coastal local authorities use. Motor caravans must not be parked on Cliff Road between the hours of 6pm and 6am. Where the chalk stops the streets dip back towards sea level, one astutely called Canute Road. This is Minnis Bay, a gently shelving rocky beach that morphs into an extensive sandy sweep, plus a semi-circular tide-lapped pool by the promenade for paddlers feeling brave. This is also dog-walking central, at least now September's passed and mutts are allowed on the beach again, also the regular recipient of an Environment Agency 'Excellent' award for bathing quality. Two dozen characterless beach huts provide minor shelter and two beachfront bars offer refreshment for the silver-haired and members of the local sailing club. The grassy embankment that leads to the town's beacon is lined by numerous benches, their backs all seemingly carved by the same carpenter, one of which commemorates a death just four months ago and another which remembers Audrey & Archie Love You Lots Like Jelly Tots. Northern Sea Wall, a three mile concrete sea defence built in the 1950s to protect the farmland behind from unwanted inundation. It wasn't quite finished when the great flood of 1953 hit, hence the tidal surge covered 5000 acres and spread inland beyond the railway line. The sea has every right to be here because this used to be the Wantsum Channel, a (very) broad band of water that once separated the Isle of Thanet from the rest of Kent. The Romans used it as a shipping route and the Normans established what would now be inland ports up navigable creeks. But between the 12th and 15th centuries the channel gradually silted up, partly from slower flow and partly from an ecclesiastical landgrab, so by the reign of Elizabeth I Thanet was an island no more. A broad swathe of almost-uninhabited farmland now stretches from coast to coast, several miles wide, and the remainder of the walk is thus a straight hike across the mouth of the former marine channel. The sea wall is only slightly raised and also had to be vehicle-width so is quite broad. A parallel footpath runs immediately behind for anyone who prefers to walk three miles without ever seeing the sea (or perhaps to escape the worst of the weather should it be stormy). The farmland here is flat ploughed fields interspersed with drainage channels, plus the occasional interconnecting track for farmers only. After a mile comes a channel a tad wider than the others which it turns out is what remains of the Wantsum, now draining south to meet the River Stour before flowing east towards Sandwich. A public footpath here is the only escape from the seafront for a good three miles, and equally remote as it heads inland across the floodplain so best not follow it in the hope of heading somewhere less lonely. And so the wall ploughs on, shingle banks to the right and two tiny towers in the distance growing inexorably closer. I did pass three people out walking, also a tiny handful of joggers, but the majority of those passing were on bikes because this flat coastline is absolutely perfect for it. Often they were in pairs so I heard a brief snatch of conversation as they passed, one gabbling about nuclear power stations and another about a mystery man ("was that the wedding at Quex? ...the one whose wife was hanging from a lamppost? ...isn't he dead now?"). Otherwise my sole company was a robin on a bush, a cormorant on a groyne and scores of gulls at the water's edge as the tide quietly splashed back in. Civilisation gradually re-encroaches, this because there's a car park at Reculver so visitors are slightly more willing to walk a short distance along the wall. Eventually the two Norman towers take centre stage, perched loftily on a sandstone outcrop at the most strategic point for miles. You can't climb up direct, you have to deviate via a sloping lawn where once a large square Roman fort overlooked the mouth of the Wantsum. Only a few foundations of that survive, the two enormous towers instead being all that remains of a Anglo-Saxon monastery's 12th century extension. The remainder of St Mary's church was destroyed by gunpowder in 1809, having been deemed unsafe, but Trinity House insisted on keeping the twin towers and hanging beacons from them as an aid to navigation. Feel free to wander down the nave, head out through what used to be the porch and onwards to the outline of a Roman bathhouse, reflecting on an amazing history far more varied than most. It gets much Kentier on the far side - a pub, a visitor centre and an adventure playground. This is Reculver Country Park, the non-English Heritage zone, reached by driving up a long dead end lane and paying for parking beneath the towers. Perhaps grab a pint from The King Ethelbert Inn, alternatively a coffee from local baristas HatsHats, and if you do partake rest assured there are also public toilets, the sole conveniences for miles. Yesterday the team from Bird Wise had turned up in their van to celebrate all thing seabird, but mainly to educate visitors on how not to disturb them. And best not wait for the bus, it only comes twice a day, so if you've come on foot I'm afraid it's a hike of over an hour to the nearest station. Cabin FM played out on the stumpy pier, a charity singer prepared to entertain diners in the bandstand and ageing bikers sunned themselves by the clocktower while passers-by admired their gaudy steeds. This second half of my walk is part of the Oyster Bay Trail, an eight mile seafront connection linking Whitstable to Reculver, thus previously blogged. Just know that from whichever direction you choose to approach Reculver it's both impressive and impressively remote, and I'm very pleased to have finally plugged the gap. Now walked... (27 miles) (gap - 11 miles) (19 miles)

Apple finally announced a thing: HomeView. Immediately I was surprised at the pricing, given that Apple is now charging the same for a streaming box. I have an old iPad in the kitchen, as well as a HomePod, so slamming them into each other makes sense. More space-efficient and better looking. But then I thought about it. For us, the two primary uses for the old iPad in the kitchen are cooking and FaceTime. Cooking primarily means a third-party app (Paprika in our case). HomeView certainly will not support Paprika anytime soon. Two of our kids no longer live at home full time. When that FaceTime call comes, it’s awfully convenient to take the old iPad in the kitchen next to the stove over to the kitchen table. HomeView is tethered to its spot. Who is going to stand next to their stove for a thirty-minute FaceTime call? On the surface HomeView feels like a perfect match. For now, though, it really doesn’t beat an old iPad in the kitchen. Oh, and I’ve been delaying years to replace our Apple TVs. We’re still on the first-generation 4K. Yes, the one from 2017 with that remote. I just missed replacing them with 2022 third-generation versions under the old pricing. Now with a new, ‘spensive version out, you’d think I’d plug my nose and order one. But, no, since I could never imagine asking my Apple TV to “play that TV show Stephanie texted me,” and it’s quite unlikely that I’ll be gaming on an Apple TV, I instead plugged my nose and ordered the 2022 version. Reply by email

Lunch this particular Saturday started on a bit of a sad note. To get to the restaurant from Shaftesbury Avenue requires walking past the site of 10 Greek Street, once one of the most reliable restaurants in Soho, now sadly empty and forlorn. I know, it's 2026, lots of places are struggling and restaurants open and close all the time but I though 10 Greek Street would be there forever, a kind of Soho stalwart bistro like Duck Soup or Antidote Wine Bar or Noble Rot, always available for a glass of something natural and some reasonably-priced small plates. Anyway, life goes on, and after welcoming the lovely Impala into the Soho fold we also have Osteria Vibrato, a buzzy, already-popular little spot aiming to do for Italian food what Impala did for, well, whatever the cuisine at Impala is. After squeezing onto our table (the food may be Italian but the distance between the tables is very Parisian Bistro) I was presented with an ice-cold martini in a pretty little frozen glass, so on the martini front at least they're doing everything right. Decent sourdough, crispbreads and olives were also very nice - a surprising amount of flavour from the bread/crackers, and the miniature olives were little flavour bombs. These were all unordered, but weren't free - a cover charge of £3pp appeared on the bill later, which is either fine or a minor irritant depending on your point of view. Would an experience at Osteria Vibrato be measurably worse if guests were allowed to skip the bread and olives? It's hard to imagine it would. Sicilian red prawns were the first menu item to arrive. Drizzled in excellent olive oil (you really do notice the quality of some of the ingredients at Osteria Vibrato), they were sweet and salty and although perhaps not the very best prawns I've ever had in my life, could certainly have a shot at the top 10. They were also £4 each (£16 for 4) for these fairly small beasties so I made absolutely sure there was no head juice left un-snaffled to get my money's worth. Sardines stuffed with pine nuts and raisins felt like the kind of dish the ancient Romans would have enjoyed, although from what I can gather from my ancient Roman food history they would have eaten the whole fish - bones, tails and all - which we didn't do. Still a fun little dish though. If this doesn't look like a lot of sage and butter agnolotti for £28 then it's because they let us split two portions between the four of us, which was nice. I mean there's still a debate as to whether 6 agnolotti are worth £14 either, but they were certainly very well made and incredibly moreish. Whole grilled sole was absolutely beautiful, and at £39 for a whole fish, actually noticeably better value than a lot of the other dishes. Simply cooked, drizzled with olive oil and capers and seasoned well, the meat lifted off the bone in satisfying meaty chunks, and in fact I've just noticed on the bill they only actually charged us £35 for this so it was even better value than I thought. If you go to Osteria Vibrato, if they have the sole, you should order it. The mixed grill was, I'm told, nicely done too - chunks of lamb and veal (I think - I didn't try this one) cooked pink piled on top of roast potatoes. And yes £95 is a lot for a T-bone steak but it was expertly cooked with a good, dark, crunchy char and lovely strong, smoky beef flavour. Sides were enjoyable too - a pommes boulangère affair (sorry, patate al forno) with a nice crunchy top above rich, beef-stock soaked layered potato, and even a green salad was noticeable for a good sharp dressing and bold seasoning. Or maybe by that point we were just desperate for something that wasn't a giant slab of meat. I have heard the Osteria Vibrato amaretti described variously as "a must-order" and "the best you'll ever have". So maybe they were having an off day or accidentally missed an ingredient because despite clearly being straight out of the oven they were distressingly dry, to the extent they were actually quite difficult to swallow. Or maybe real fresh Italian amaretti are supposed to taste like hot bags of sand. Either way, I'm not sure I can recommend them. Very odd. Buckwheat, fig and almond cake was better though, as were a selection of house gelato and sorbets I forgot to take photos of. And credit where credit's due, staff were lovely and helpful and attentive, which more than made up for the occasional niggle I had with the food. It's clearly a very slick little operation and has definitely already got a fanbase - tables are quite hard to come by and the place was full this particular Saturday lunchtime. Maybe I've just been spoiled recently with some literally flawless meals, and my standards were unreasonably high. It's perhaps just unfortunate timing on behalf of Osteria Vibrato and that, objectively, the place has a lot going for it. Don't get me wrong, it is very good, but I think at these prices (£136pp which included a rather cheeky 14% service charge) it should be something approaching great, and really only the sole reached that level. Still, they seem to be doing something right, as I say, as the place seems to be running almost full occupancy, so well done them. If I was going to spend that amount of money again, I'd go to Impala. But as my Grandma used to say, it wouldn't do if we were all the same, would it? 7/10