jacqui's blog

2011-11-23T13:24:00.000-08:00

Have a look at this beautiful new magazine...

OVERLAND magazine

OVERLAND magazine - 18 Nov 2011 - Public

Issue 2 of Overland magazine is now available to order online (the digital version will become available next week)....

OVERLAND magazine Issue 2 : Adventure Motorcycle Travel

Issue 2 contains words and images from Ted Simon, Jacqui Furneaux, Simon Gandolfi and others, traversing areas as diverse as Mexico and Morocco, Iceland and

2011-11-02T13:21:00.000-07:00

At the launch of THE TED SIMON FOUNDATION in October 2011, I was honoured to be made a JUPITER'S TRAVELLER.

This means that I will be mentored by Ted Simon himself whilst I do a bit of writing about my travels. This is just the encouragement I needed to get going. So here I go.

"Once upon a time...."

What happened in the Pyrenees? Read on...

2011-07-03T10:53:00.000-07:00

‘TAKEN FOR A RIDE’.

What sort of fool stops a motorbike in the middle of the road on the sharpest, steepest bit of a Pyrenean hairpin bend?

Erm…the one on the Enfield!

It wasn’t just the knockout view that stopped me in my tracks. I was missing gears. Enfields often have neutral in between gears but this was different. I suspect it was more to do with my new boots being a different distance to the gear-change lever than anything untoward in the gearbox or clutch. But there I was, with an eyeful of tarmac seemingly inches before me, facing steeply uphill on a right-handed bend desperately pulling in on the front brake lever and trying to stay upright. The rider behind me had nimbly avoided crashing into me when I had been unable to locate first gear. Gingerly letting out the clutch, I’d engaged it, thus avoiding a backwards hurtle down the mountain.

It’s been a while since the bike and I were travelling in the Karakorams, Himalayas or Andes and I’d lost the knack of mountain riding. But soon we were in that glorious rhythm of swinging round the turns and doing the sort of riding you just don’t get in the UK.

More used to solo travel, I thought it would be a different experience to go ‘on a tour’. I didn’t know what to expect but imagined it would be regimented with early starts, prearranged routes and organised stops; I’m more used stopping on a whim and having lazy mornings and late departures after exploring where I ended up the evening before. I took a friend with me, allowing ten days to enjoy meandering southwards through France to join the other guests at Pyrenees Motorcycle Tours for a week.

Neil bought his smart 2000 Bullet 500cc for a song on EBay. My Bullet, also a 2000 model is scruffy and dented, has been through Indian and Australian rivers, up and down deep Pakistani valleys, across rickety Cambodian bridges and has a variety of botched repairs. He’d had his for just ten weeks. I’d had mine for ten years and had ridden 50,000 miles since buying it new in India and riding it home to Bristol. With only 9000 miles on the clock, his looked new but had obviously not had such an exciting life. Of the two, mine looked like a prospective heap of trouble and I wondered what would snap, wear out or fall off this time. Every journey has a generous sprinkling of mechanical mishaps with which to enhance the experience.

Whether it was because it didn’t like the name Neil had chosen for it or because he’d added an ugly fairing, is unknown but ‘Sheila’ was not happy about something.

She made a fuss about starting and stalled at every drop in revs. I was sympathetic as I knew that at any moment it might be my turn to be exasperated at the roadside with the toolkit spread out before me.

As long as we didn’t miss the ferry, it didn’t matter. We had plenty of time to get it sorted whilst meandering through France in the soft September sun. We just about made it to Portsmouth and I heaved a sigh of relief as the bikes were tied down on the car deck.

“Jac! The carburettor’s fallen off!” Neil cried outside a restaurant in Cherbourg where our antics at trying to get Sheila started were entertaining the diners, meals abandoned and necks craning. My nail scissors and sellotape enabled a temporary repair to the crumbling manifold to get us back to the campsite. At least now there was an explanation for the stalling and difficult starting.

Cherbourg is a nice town. We got to know it very well over three days whilst searching firstly for any sort of manifold which could be adapted to fit, then when that led nowhere, for car radiator hose which I’d used when my manifold perished in Colombia to good effect and is there even until this day. On the third day we returned to the original car-parts shop where the assistant had previously said “Non”. This time he said “Oui”. So with no air-leak into the engine and many enjoyable plates of seafood later, we fought our way through the throngs of strikers who had turned out to protest about the proposed increased retirement age. We rode down one-way cobbled streets and along pavements to get out of Cherbourg.

Confident the problem was now solved, after a while I noticed Sheila was not behind me and turned back. There was Neil, helmet off and sweating, jumping up and down on the kick start, surrounded by his tools amid a sea of demonstrators. Eventually she got going and we made it twenty kms down the road when we decided to stop for lunch. Sheila decided to stop for good.

After a light meal of sea-bass and rhubarb tart we decided there was nothing else for it. We needed help. Some local bikers phoned a mechanic who fetched Neil and his bike whilst I followed. After some Gallic head scratching, Neil rang Hitchcock’s, (the answer to all Enfield-owners’ prayers) for advice. An instant diagnosis and sale were made and we, with a new town to explore, left Sheila and went to find a campsite. The French certainly know how to camp. Towns usually have a charming municipal campsite and Valogne’s was in a beautiful walled garden at the end of an avenue of trees. Three days, a circus, two museums, a tour round an 18^th century townhouse which was for sale and lots of Calvados later, the ‘power pack’ to replace the regulator and rectifier was sent and fitted. I was beginning to worry that we wouldn’t get to the Pyrenees in time as there was no margin of error left for either bike. The rest of the journey was at a more jaunty speed but we still managed to enjoy French life at Enfield pace and frankly, I wondered as we rode on south, what could be better. The country roads were practically empty. The fresh yellow sunflowers which I had seen earlier in the year lifting their yellow faces upwards to the sun, now brownly peered down at their feet, as if looking for their fallen petals on the ground. The rush of spring and summer had settled into a long deep green sigh. And then there’s the food! If the aroma wafting in the open-face helmet doesn’t tempt you, there’s no better appetiser than seeing people sitting outside at tables in pretty town squares with waiters laden with plates and bottles manoeuvring amongst the diners. Not a traffic warden or double yellow line in sight.

Swimming at the end of the day’s ride in a river or lake in the late afternoon sun was delicious and it seemed summer was slowing to a standstill and would stay like this forever. We ate fresh mackerel cooked by the fisherman in a seaside beach-hut. We camped amongst the ruins of a chateau at spectacular medieval Vitres. Near Bordeaux we were just about to unload the tent when a man who’d followed us into the campsite asked if we would like to dine and stay with him and his family at their nearby house. Pastis and beer were served in the garden whilst we talked with Bernard who had travelled extensively, and Nadine who told us about her job as a cockerel castrator! This, we learned, is what makes them fatten up to become capons! There’s more to being on the road than getting from A to B!

Our last campsite before joining the tour had a pool and a view of the beckoning Pyrenees. Despite Sheila’s capricious ways, we’d made it.

It was easy to find Phil and Belinda’s lovely home in picturesque Vielle Adour. Making an initial good impression by delivering the 240 teabags I’d been asked to bring, I started to relax in the spacious modern kitchen with them and Harry the retriever. Belinda explained that they’d come to France three years ago for a change of lifestyle and to run motorcycle tours. They chose this location after much poring over the map; near the mountains but not so buried in them that riding routes are restricted to a few local rides. Rather than spending time getting out of a tight valley or remote mountain-top first, you can set off in any direction from here. Spain and Andorra, through the National Pyrenees Park to the south is an exciting day’s ride and the French coast and Basque region are to the west. It wouldn’t take long going eastwards to get on a ferry for Morocco from the Mediterranean coast either and Bordeaux is to the north. The charming town of Bagneres-de-Bigorre is 15 minutes away and for city requirements there is Tarbes.

Meanwhile, the little L’Alaric stream runs right outside their courtyarded home. They have restored this 180 year-old house themselves even learning to do the roofing and flooring. The décor, whilst completely up to date blends sympathetically with the age of the house. The garage expands into the outbuildings as more motorbikes arrive and my Enfield must have been pleasantly surprised to be under cover for the first time since it was kept in a hotel kitchen in Morocco earlier in the year. Phil has always been an enthusiastic mechanic and he couldn’t keep his hands or spanners off it. After its first wash since last year’s Bristol Bike Show, it was wheeled onto a hydraulic bike lift to raise it to eye level. Phil wanted to solve the missing gear enigma and I wanted to change the oil in my clutch case. I told Phil how wary I still am of over-tightening instead of loosening nuts since ruining the oil-plug thread on someone else’s Enfield. “Aha!” he said. “Just remember ‘Righty-tighty, lefty loosey’ and you’ll never go wrong!” He adjusted the front twin leading drum brake so it worked better than it ever had done. The workshop is immaculate and there is a bike wash area, drying room for wet m/c gear as well as a laundry and storage area for helmets and bulky clothing.

The farm yard opposite with chickens, rabbits, pigs, quacking ducks and occasional passing tractors remind you that you are in rural France. The bread-lady brings fresh croissants each morning and the village postman shouts a cheery “Bonjour” as he delivers the post. If you are not a motorcyclist, a holiday walking, cycling, skiing, painting or reading in the garden would be just as ideal. There is even a separate private little house in the garden.

That evening we had a superb dinner of roast peppers and anchovies followed by beef in wine with cinnamon and cloves, and lots of local wine and cheese. Over a glass of Armagnac, the enthusiasm of other guests who, arriving before us, had already had some days of riding in the area was catching. The local mountains had been treated to the sounds of a Triumph T120 Bonneville, a 1956 Norton model 19, a BSA B44, and a BSA A10 Road Rocket. They had opted to do unaccompanied daily trips out and I was pleasantly surprised to find that I wouldn’t have rise at the crack of dawn after all. My initial concept of this bike tour was completely wrong, although should I want an all-day tour led by Phil, I could have just that. Flexibility is the word here and if you find yourself in the area, all Phil needs is an hour’s notice and he’ll arrange a ride for you. Everyone is catered for… couples; solo riders; and groups of lads who want to go as fast and as far as possible, roaring round the traffic-free bends on sports bikes. There are riders who want to make their own routes or ask Phil for recommendations. Some want just to ride the roads and aren’t concerned with the views. Others want to stop frequently to admire the mountains. Some want a bit of off-road riding and others don’t but end up having a go unexpectedly! But Phil is proud that he’s not lost anyone yet! For those who come with non-riding friends, buses stop frequently nearby with all the local towns within easy reach. All sorts of bikes and their riders come for a holiday. Girls on Harleys; Suzuki Gladius and BMW GSs (of course), classics and sports bikes. Many photos of happy customers are pinned up in the workshop. Just make your own package. If you come at the right time of year, you may even be invited to take your shoes and socks off to tread the grapes at the local vineyard as Belinda did last year.

I fell immediately for Harry, the bilingual golden retriever so after my first night in my elegant room awoken by the soft cooing of collar doves in the garden, I took him out for a walk alongside the little river. This joyous dog needed no lead even if he did taunt the dogs behind gates with his freedom. Then, with Phil and Belinda leading the way on a Triumph Tiger 955i, we set off in the sunshine. I’d asked for a short tootle to start with and spent a lovely day going not very fast through sweet French villages with markets and mountain roads with lovely views. We stopped for a picnic at a viewpoint with a 360 degree vista and further on watched a hilarious sheepdog demonstration in a park where the sheepdog (a scruffy, brown, yappy thing) managed to scatter the sheep all over the flowerbeds instead of herding them neatly into a pen. It was a wonderful day and my fears about being led at breakneck speed all day disappeared.

The next morning it was miserable and wet with no mountain views so I went to nearby Lourdes instead. It was like Las Vegas with wheelchairs. Brightly lit shops with flashing neon Jesus signs sell religious trinkets to hopeful people. Expecting to see cast-aside walking frames, the only evidence of a cure I saw was a discarded sticking plaster. On leaving, I still had the tinnitus I’d arrived with despite being prayed for by a man in a tourist information kiosk from whom I’d only asked directions.

The mountains beckoned on the third day so with a variety of bikes ranging from a Yamaha TDM 900 to my Enfield Bullet off we went for the day. Belinda has a Honda CB200 and she came with us. Phil led us on his Triumph, leaving the Honda VFR in the garage. It was a day of spectacular views, blue sky, stops for coffee, lunch and afternoon pancakes, lovely winding roads and very little traffic. In fact Phil noted that we rode 70 of the 150 miles round trip with no other traffic on our side of the road. At the top of one peak, we watched griffon vultures circling. Perhaps they were attracted by my sudden stop on the hairpin and thought dinner was ready.

At the end of the run, some of the group had to make emergency repairs before heading off for home the following day. A tyre on the KTM 990 SMT was down to the canvas and another KTM’s clutch slave cylinder failed and he just limped home. Phil to the rescue with spares and spanners! My bike performed magnificently although I’ve been warned it’s on borrowed time regarding the big end.

Neil had to go home and I later heard that he and Sheila went back on a breakdown truck. The engine had exploded when the con rod snapped. The EBay ‘snip’ was not such a bargain after all. My rather smug Enfield didn’t miss any gears or even a beat for the rest of the trip.

I did enjoy being able to choose my own pace, destination and departure time. It seemed strange to have a day out riding and end up where I started 150 miles and eight hours before. Some days I chose to stay and explore the local towns. So it wasn’t the regimented expedition, nose to tail procession I thought it might be. It was a real break for me to have someone else decide where to go and find the way whilst I enjoyed the view and the ride. I was impressed.

http://www.pyreneesmotorcycletours.com/

www.jacquifurneaux.com

I just can't keep away...

2010-09-03T14:58:00.000-07:00

Back to France for an end of summer jaunt to the Pyrenees to see what it's like on an organised motorcycle tour. I'll let you know how I get on. It will be strange as I usually prefer to travel alone and choose where and when I go.
Oh! And by the way...If you want to read the full account of the last trip to Spain, Morocco and France earlier in the year, get your hands on a copy of The Rider's Digest at the end of September 2010. Au revoir!

France. Ah! France!

2010-06-23T04:26:00.000-07:00

The nicest things happen to me when I’m travelling. I meet interesting people, see sights at their best and even things that go wrong turn out for the best. (Breaking my leg in Pakistan led to the experience of living with a Pakistani family and working at an English language school in Islamabad. Both turned out to be hilarious as the family were puppeteers and actors of satire; and the school led to amusing happenings such as being given a class of consular officials from Azerbaijan on my, and their, first day).

I was waiting at the Tangier ferry port to go to Sete in the south of France when a group of French people arrived with several Landrovers to embark on the same three-day voyage. One of them was Liz from Ireland who had married a Frenchman. Together they own and run the truly luxurious hotel barge “Emma” on the Canal du Midi. As a result of meeting Liz and Rene, I was invited to stay the night.

You know those people you see setting the tables and putting out the deck chairs on posh boats and outdoor restaurants on the Continent? Well that was me! I left them three weeks later, having helped to paint the boat and do skivvy-type catering work whilst a group of American ‘personal chefs’ were cruised and pampered along the Canal. Apart from enjoying the best Cordon Bleu meals and (I’ll never buy cheap plonk again) really good wine, I was having yet another ‘time of my life’.

Onward and northward bound, I left the Languedoc. Ever since the puncture episode in Morocco, I had noticed a problem with the steering on the Enfield. One day, I left a hotel and took a sharp left turn onto the road and fell off. This lack of steering precision became steadily worse and I knew exactly what it was. A good friend had suggested getting a new steering head bearing before the trip and so I'd asked my favourite mechanic to replace it. He didn’t, saying that it was not necessary. On the same day, I took the bike for its annual MOT and the tester passed it but warned me about the bearing. I couldn’t detect anything amiss at the time but I did now. It was like steering jelly. (I'd also asked the mechanic to change all the cables. He said that wasn’t necessary either, and my clutch cable snapped at the top of a mountain miles from anywhere.) An internet search showed an Enfield dealer/mechanic in Lyon so I made my way there. Parts having to be sent for from Paris meant staying locally for a few days and I was well looked after by the owner of the business and his girlfriend. The journey to their home was the scariest I have ever had in my life. They are sidecar racers and I was in the sidecar, millimetres from the road surface, staring up the exhaust pipe of the car in front, in sheer terror going at a million kms an hour for over an hour. He dodged through Lyon’s inner city dual carriageway system suddenly overtaking, weaving in and out of the traffic and didn’t hear my cries of, “I’m a grandmother, slow down, pleeeeeese!”

All went well after I left Lyon except for a sudden return to winter and some wrong turnings. I’m sure Nantes is a lovely city but I never want to see it again having gone over that enormously high bridge umpteen times already.

A week or so staying with my friend Catherine, another long-term motorcycle traveller, was fun in Brittany, involving canoeing and learning to tango. Then an unplanned stop in Morlaix on my way to the ferry at Roscoff where I stayed with friendly Sarah and enjoyed being shown the area, eating Breton crepes and drinking cider! Meanwhile Spring in the UK had started and I had a new home to move into. So after a typical farewell from France, a short strike by the ferry staff delaying me and some other two-wheeled travellers long enough to get rather merry on someone’s stash of wine, we set off for Plymouth and home. It’s going to be strange living somewhere at last that I can call ‘home’. Oh, and I now have a new favourite mechanic!

Sahara at Sixty

2010-06-22T14:35:00.000-07:00

No, I don't mean mph!
I'd finished the last of the sherry from Spain, it was coming up to my birthday and I wanted to celebrate with something stronger than orange juice, delicious as it is. The Romans were making wine in Morocco centuries ago and desite being an Islamic country, the tradition carries on. Wine is available even if it is a little difficult to find. However, a very well-stocked supermarket in Marrakech had a good choice in addition to European cheese (and I'm not talking just "The Laughing Cow" here!)
So, armed with a bottle of red and some Brie, I set off for what I thought would be a tacky, touristy camel ride in the Sahara desert, but which turned out to be absolutely magical.
It was the lullaby-singing of the Moroccan woman who was carrying her baby on the camel in front of me as dusk fell on the dunes that did it. And the moon was full and the camels were plodding rhythmically as their keepers cooed at them soothingly. This 'just for a lark' tour became something else as the silence transformed into serenity. My wine went down a treat with freshly cooked campfire taggine. And the stars!... well, they were as bright as they could be from all up there on this clear night. The family I was with in the bedouin tent sang "Happy Birthday" to me in the morning as we slowly and majestically rode the five kilometres back to Merzouga, our starting point the previous evening.

From the desert, which doesn't creep up on the surrounding landscape so much as plonk itself with a definite "I'm here", I went to Sidi Ifni on the Atlantic coast where I played about in the surf on a body board and slept in an unusual but strangely homely dormitory-tent construction on top of a hotel roof ("I made it myself" said the hotel owner proudly.)
Deciding that it was possible that Spring might be starting in the South of France as it was now nearly April, I made my way north, still negotiating flooded roads and plenty of lovely mud. I wasn't concentrating on the road on the last day and fell off the bike arriving at the Tangier ferry port with both me and the bike looking total wrecks. However, it's an ill wind etc. and perhaps because of the sorry state we were in, a party of French Landrover enthusiasts just back from frollicking around Morocco noticed us and so another adventure began even before we landed in France!

It gets warmer and sunnier the further south you go doesn't it?

2010-03-14T06:38:00.000-07:00

My flamenco-mad daughter invited me to join her at the annual flamenco festival in Jerez, Andalucia, Southern Spain at the end of February. Imagining riding off the ferry on my Enfield in warm sunshine, if not sweltering heat, I readily agreed. Allowing myself ten days for the journey down through Spain, I was wrong on both counts. Firstly, the bike wouldn't start on arrival in Santander and a kind Geordie had to do it for me when he saw me flagging, and with a "I'll help you, Pet", he got the Enfield going. Neither was it warm and sunny, but 'Hey, it'll warm up the further south I go'.
It didn't and not heeding advice to avoid mountains, over the Cantbrians I went and encountered snow.
The rain in Spain fell mostly on me all the way to Jerez and I saw Puentenansa, Medina de Rioseco, Salamanca, Merida, Seville and finally Jerez at their wettest for decades. Just to make matters worse, I was struggling with an undiagnosed problem with the bike. After much help and advice from friends via the internet I had a new ignition coil fitted in Jerez and it has done the trick. No more screaming, unhappy engine at the end of the day.
The days spent with my daughter at the flamenco festival were outstanding. Much dancing, tapas and sherry enjoyed, she flew home and I met up with Archie, my fellow motorcycling friend on his way back to the UK after a tour of Africa on his Trans Alp. More rain.
Surely in Morocco it will be warm and dry?
Not so and I got soaked daily but the day I got a puncture thanks to the sharp end of a discarded screwdriver was the worst. It was bucketing down and my luggage was all but floating away at the side of the road during the fitting of a new tube. Had it not been for the help of some lovely Moroccan chaps, I think I would have burst into tears and gone home without the bike! But I stayed in a village, dried out and cheered up due to the warmth of the people there and am now in Marrakech. The sun came out yesterday and I took one of my three jumpers off. I am happy to report that at the moment the only pouring going on is delicious fresh orange juice and mint tea as I laze on the roof terrace of a very smart cafe.

Off to the Sahara next!

www.HorizonsUnlimited.com

2010-01-31T12:38:00.000-08:00

There were several occasions when the Horizons Unlimited website made life easier for me with information about necessary documentation, border-crossings etc. I got a severe case of the colliwobbles too for a couple of weeks when I arrived in Ecuador after leaving New Zealand. I found support from several people via the website who encouraged me to carry on and some even directed me to people they knew there. Once I'd learned a few words of Spanish and plucked up courage to ride away from the hotel, I was fine! As always, I met people only too keen to help everywhere I went. The website helped me to find local fellow motorcyclists through the 'Community' section and I blessed Horizons Unlimited many times. If you are contemplating a two-wheel trip, scan the website. Someone, somewhere will know the answer to your query. Or if you find something out that will help someone else, you can put the information on the website for others to read. It makes great reading even if you have no trip planned yet. Be careful, though... you might just end up packing in your job and hitting the road!

I'M RIDING TO SPAIN!

2010-01-23T08:33:00.000-08:00

On 14th Feb 2010, I am taking the Enfield for a trip to Spain. We are going on the ferry to Santander...
Today I took my Bullet to Henry's for a bit of a service and for him to see if anything needs doing. I've had the same rear tyre on since Panama so it probably needs changing! I took Tharikh with me so he could see what Henry does to make petrol Enfileds into diesels.

Talks and Articles

2010-01-23T07:56:00.000-08:00

The life I had with my Enfield was so exciting and pleasurable that I want to share the experience. So I do talks and write articles about it, hoping that it may at least be entertaining but at best be a kick-start for others.

MOTORCYCLE ARTICLES
If you want to read about some of the adventures I’ve had with my Enfield, here is a list of publications I have written for:-

Motorcycle Marketplace. (New Zealand) Issue 95

The Classic Bike Guide. January 2008. Issue 201

Himalaya by Bike. Laura Stone 2008

The Rider’s Digest. July 2009 Issue140 The Enfield Diaries "Life Begins".
The Rider’s Digest. Oct 2009 Issue 142 The Enfield Diaries "Have Crutches, Will Travel".
The Rider’s Digest. Jan 09/Dec 10 Issue 144 The Enfield Diaries Part Three.
The Rider's Digest Mar 2010 Issue 146 The Enfield Diaries "Festivals, Farewell and FEAR"
The Rider's Digest April 2010 Issue 147 Review on heated waistcoat.
The Rider's Digest Oct 2010 Issue 153 Enfield trip to Spain, Morocco and France Part 1
The Rider's Digest Nov 2010 Issue 154 " " " " " " " " " Part 2
The Rider's Digest. Jan/Feb 2010 Issue 156 Pyrenees Tour "Taken for a Ride"
The Rider's Digest April 2011 Issue 158 Wear Earplugs to Avoid deafness and TINNITUS
The Rider's Digest June 2011 Issue 160 My Enfield in the "Our Bikes" section.
The Rider's Digest July 2011 Issue 161 Tilting trikes then and now "Attack of the Tripods"

www.theridersdigest.co.uk

The Old Bike Mart. December 2009 Issue 294
The Old Bike Mart. Article about the Ariel 3 Museum in Bristol.October 2010

An amusing Malaysian anecdote was published in the Baptist Times Issue 8296

ACE The Official Newsletter of the ACE CAFE CLUB. Issue 48 Winter 09/10.

And one of the better ones written about the Enfield and me!
http://www.express.co.uk/posts/view/191584/Senior-citizens-Just-don-t-call-us-grannies.

And most recently...www.womentalking.co.uk

NURSING ARTICLES
I haven’t stopped being a nurse and have had a few articles published in nursing/health magazines over the years!…

A nursing care study for The Nursing Mirror July 1973

The joys of being a health visitor in the Potteries for the West Midlands Journal of Primary Care Summer 1999

The Nursing Standard. Being a flu jab nurse. Jan/Feb 2009 Vol. 23/Issue 21
The Nursing Standard. Hospice nursing in New Zealand. May 2009 Vol.23/Issue 35
The Nursing Standard. Importance of Health Visiting. June/July 2010 Vol.24/Issue 43

My website

2009-09-20T12:57:00.002-07:00

This is the place where I will write about new events.

This was taken in Windorah, Queensland, Australia