A slight hitch but I continue hiking

The bad news is that my equipment has let me down once again! I think it was telling me lies. Because according to the pedometer I had done nearly 16,000 steps at close of play Friday evening. Serves me right I guess for trusting a piece of equipment given away cheap by the Daily Nail (name changed to protect the guilty and me from a libel case), that purveyor of right wing filthy lies.

No wonder I have been led astray by this little Judas in my midst. It would have continued to lie to me although the journey, it’s little digital numbers blinking away trustingly, the little comforting click click click of its pendulum, but all the time plotting and scheming behind my back. OH YES, I knew what it was up to right from the off, trying to lead me down the wrong path, so I would humiliate myself in front of my trusting readers and the watching world (including you, you lurkers) let me pause for a minute for my eyes to flash, my brows to furrow and to wipe the foamy spittle from my rabid lips.

Since nothing had dropped through my door on Saturday Morning from the huge pedometer corporations across the world (notably China and Taiwan) I resolved to buy a new one. One that I could trust, one that would become my friend, guide me yea through those dark valleys of the shadows, to climb every mountain and ford every stream, and comfort me on those dark nights away from home.

I searched the high streets and the low streets until in that wonderland of dreams we called Argos I finally found my friend, £9.99 cruelly reduced to £7.99 but all electric with seven, yes seven functions, with a good heart and a wet nose ready and willing to count steps in a truthful and honourable way.

I called him ‘Steppy’ and he has been strapped to my hip ever since, we are inseparable. (Except for when I am in bed, I am sorry but I make it a strict rule never to mix beds or baths with electrical implements, not since that fateful day when I was having a bath and fancied some toast! I can’t speak (yet) about the bed incident)

To the journey then:

Steps on Sunday 10,000, distance covered about 5.3 miles

I am now over the Tamar Bridge and into Cornwall striding out towards Bude and the Atlantic Ocean!

Onward into Cornwall


Even the signs attempt to humiliate

Best Laid Plans

Damn, who spotted the 'deliberate' mistake? Yes, I know, I've headed in the wrong direction, lets put it down to enthusiasm and my mojo not being 100%, I should be walking not into Dartmoor, but towards the broad Atlantic Ocean and Bude, which is where I will start walking on water.

The Road That Should Be Travelled

The Walk is on....

Like many famous adventurers before me, Dr Livingstone, Robert Falcon Scot, Eddy ‘the Eagle’ Edwards, ‘giving up’ are not words that easily come to mind when I have set myself a task. So like Ellen Macarthur I have found away to get back on track, and I didn’t even have to listen to any Dido to do it, although for the life of me I don’t understand, why with all the millions pumped into her projects, she can’t buy a boat that works, so she doesn’t have to keep shinning up the mast every time she crosses the southern ocean and then gurning into the cameras snivelling about it.

Yes last night I set about fixing the pedometer! How could I have faced the blogging world if I had fallen at the first hurdle (and as of yet none of the huge pedometer conglomerates have offered me the use of one, not even with the sweetner of me advertising their product for free, unless, of course, the offers are ‘in the post’).

After hours of poking about in the intricate workings of the machine, I found that a piece of plastic on the bit of plastic which holds down the battery had broken and thus the battery was not snug in its socket. This was swiftly repaired with a handy piece of cardboard and voila said pedometer was pedometering again. I had fixed the equipment and had thus saved the day, in the glorious tradition of adventurers every where, Royal Society please take note.

I have also spent this spare time doing some calculations for those anoraks who are so mathematically minded that they will follow the stats rather than the brave adventures.

It is 3130 miles from Plymouth to Plymouth, that’s 198316800 inches.
1 mile is 63,360 inches
My pedometer is set at 34 inches per step
That is 5832847 steps to Plymouth, Mass
At the recommended 10,000 steps per day that would take 583 days or 1.6 years.

Here is a map of the journey so far: 6000 steps and over 3 miles done!

Dr Rob's Walk, The Start Time 13:00 distance walked 3.2 miles


Journal Notes;

Phew it’s been all up hill so far, but me and mojo are coping well with the heat. Mutley Plain was difficult as it is well known for its abundance, of pubs, cafes and fast food joints, but we managed to avoid the worst of them, we are now striding out and headed for the wilds of Dartmoor. Our resolve is strong and we pray that the god of weather, Micheal Fish is on our side.

We leave you in good heart taking these true and mighty words as our motto, we won’t look back in anger, only forwards, ever forwards.

(Note: all apostrophe disasters are the work of the author, so please get on with your own work, you know who you are, and where were you when I needed someone to proof my Phd eh?)

Dr Robs Walk of his Life - The beginning

So the hippy Doctor has told me that I am too fat, too unfit and probably too old, and me and my mojo are on the scrap heap! As I have related below the darn doc refused steadfastly to give me any sort of body or mind altering drugs, going instead for the alternative therapy of shameing me into action, by metaphorically pointing at my waistline and lifestyle and going Ha!

But dear friends I am not put off or shamed that easily, as you know I am a researcher of (probably) international repute, indeed some people in America and even Ukraine know me and of course I am well known by the Portuguese intelligentsia and glitterati and here at home other brain boxes (like me) hang on my every word. I was sure that somewhere on the internet I would find the drugs that would see me and my mojo back on the road to full health and vitality.

You just would not believe what you can get on the internet, I was gob smacked! Everything from ‘erbal Viagra, to Chinese dried weeds that cure everything including that greatest symptom –Death! You can get stuff for Breast Enhancement (not needed thanks), Cellulite, Depression, (me depressed nah), Hair, (Lots thanks) Immune boosting, (maybe this is my mojo?), Menopause, (Not me!) Sexual (Female), Sexual (Male), (NOT ME RIGHT, OKAY, GOT THAT!), Weight Loss (Hmm maybe) and so on.

This one is for SELF SWEATING??? It contains: Cornus, Dioscorea, Rehammania dried and prepared, Poria Coco, Schisandra, Oyster Testa, Mantidis Octeca, Gardenia, Phellodendron, Anemarrhena. It helps stop the night sweating or self sweating without costly suegery (sic) What sort of mad Chinese suegery stops self sweating I might ask? And secondly do Oysters really have balls?

For a moment I was stymied, I’m not suffering from self sweating, well not at the moment, even though it is a bit close here in sunny Plymouth and I am not blooming likely to take ANYTHING which includes Oyster Testa and Rehammania which is Chinese Belladonna! So I had to search deeper and this is what I came up with a website called The Fat Man Walking http://www.thefatmanwalking.com/. No, hands of that mouse, no surfing there until I've finished thank you very much!

Precis: American Guy so Fat he can hardly walk to the nearest burger store with out puffing decides to take 6 months off to walk Route 66 (about 2,800 miles) to quote: ‘to lose weight and regain my life!’ (and get rich and famous in the process through book deals, selling tee shirts and other media things – I added this bit). Steve tells us that : ‘Being fat is physically and emotionally painful’ so he is ‘going to take six months out of my life and walk across the United States from San Diego to NYC.’ (Dr Rob empathises)

What a GREAT idea! I thought when I read about this mans epic journey to fitness and a 30 inch waist. I could do that I thought. So first thing last night I found my wife’s pedometer, gathering dust on a shelf somewhere and inputted the relevant data so I was ready to start Dr Robs Walk of his Life.

Dr Robs Walk of his Life: The Plan

The plan is for me and my mojo to walk from Plymouth, United Kingdom to Plymouth, Massachusetts, United States of Americky where the Pilgrim Fathers first landed to found the United States and become colonists forever. This is a distance of 3130 miles according to an online distance calculator. So yah boo sucks Fat Man!

Now before the comments box fills up I know that there is a slight problem here in that between the two Plymouths there is nothing but Ocean and as I haven’t, as of yet, been declared the new Messiah, I can’t walk on water. What I can do is metaphorically walk on water by plotting my journey on a map and adding up the miles I do on my pedometer.

So this morning I was ready, I had the pedometer strapped on, locked and loaded, I’d had a healthy breakfast of two apples and with a flippant wave over my shoulder to my wife and family set off on this great adventure. It was a bit humid, but I started of at a great pace with my mojo trotting at my heels.

By the time I had reached the office, my equipment had let me down, the pedometer wasn’t pedometering, and so I need to re-organise and search out a better pedometer that wasn’t £2.99 if you bought a particular Daily Newspaper that I would never in a million years have bought otherwise because of its right wing views.

ADVERTISING OPPORTUNITY. If there are any manufacturers of very good pedometers out there who would like to send me one to borrow for the duration of my quest I will gladly put a link to you on my blog and mention you every time I gave an update. Or if you are an individual who would like to donate your expensive but working (but unused) pedometer please contact me via the comments box – thank you very much. P.s. If its got an intregal MP3 player so much the better!

So Dr Rob’s Walk of his Life has stalled at the first hurdle. But stay tuned for the next exciting instalments of this great adventure.

The proposed route of my walk

I blame the 1960's - me

Dr - Who???? No prizes for guessing

I went to the Doctors yesterday, ‘hello Dr. Rob’ he said, ‘I’m a Dr too you know’ ‘I know’ I said ‘That’s why I’ve come here to talk to you about my health’ ‘O’ he said and got all professional by putting his stethoscope around his neck, unclipping the blood pressure thing, fiddling with his computer, like he knew what he was doing and putting a spaniel like look on his face, ‘So’ he said in the sympathetic voice they had taught him at medical school ‘what’s the problem?’

So I told him, I am afraid that you, dear reader, will have to imagine my symptoms as I still believe in the fact that what I tell my doctor is between him and me, and my wife, of course, and the receptionist as she can pull up my file on the computer, and the nurse who can do the same and probably the cleaner, and the student on work placement whose job it is to rinse out the sample bottles. Yes I believe in full confidentiality.

Anyway basically, and I blame the 1960’s, he told me that I was too fat, too unfit and probably too old! I blame the 1960’s because of the untold damage that some of the ideas that came out of that dull decade have done to our society. I believe that I have, for example, cited before the problems foisted upon us by Feminism which grew out of the 1960’s. Feminism for example has poisoned the relationships between men and women. It has placed barriers between us that are difficult to pull down and created situations where men and women have stopped communicating upon many basic levels, and often the most basic is sex, but I digress.

Once, when you went to the Doctors, it was pretty much a safe bet that you would probably come away with a nice hefty prescription for some heavy weight drugs. Overweight? Try these amphetamines! Depressed, try this mind altering substance for a while. Nowadays they just tell you that you are overweight and that you need more exercise. That you need to ‘balance’ your diet, get your mojo working again (And yes folks the Doctor actually did say that to me) so take more exercise, lose some weight and hey ho all will be fine again. ‘But I wanted DRUGS’ I moaned in the winging voice of a 9 year old child wanting Smarties.

He leaned back in his chair and tried the psychological tactic of putting his hands behind his head to show how superior he was, but all I could see was the damp sweaty bits and the stains from his deodorant. ‘You know Dr Rob’, he said ‘we no longer prescribe drugs for everything under the sun, it makes more sense to find a balance in your life and once you have sorted out your mojo everything else will fall into place’. I nodded and gave into to his impenetrable logic and the fact he wasn’t listening to me anymore. He twiddled with his computer.

‘I’ve booked you in for some blood tests’ he told me and I was dismissed by the overqualified hippy.

I visited the nurse this morning for the blood test having spent the earlier part of the day practising the blood donor routine al la Tony Hancock. As I sat there girding my loins, practising ancient meditative routines to ward of the pain and anguish, and thinking nice thoughts, she was rattling around in the needle drawer looking for the sharpest straightest needle, I think. She looked up and said ‘Have you fasted’ I said 'pardon' thinking she said farted, (I hadn’t not even in fear) ‘Fasted’ she said again, ‘eaten any thing this morning’. ‘OH’ I said, ‘Should I have?’ ‘No’ she said. Testing a needle in an old orange. ‘Well I’ve only had two apples, some cake and two coffees this morning’ I said. ‘Does that count?’ ‘No’ she said gritting her teeth as she forced the best needle through the soft flesh of the Orange, ‘you shouldn’t have eaten anything this morning’ ‘Well the Doctor didn’t say’ I said, ‘Snaffenrassen fassen mumph’ I thought she said with a hint of disappointment in her mumble as she chucked the needle point first into one of those stainless steel kidney shaped bowls with a loud clang!.

Suffice it to say I have to go again on Friday morning for the Blood test, so that means more girding of loins and nothing, not so much as even a Full English Breakfast is to pass my lips after Midnight on Thursday.

All the fault of the 1960’s I say, as apparently all my ailments are the fault of my 'mojo' whatever that is* and the Doctor so laid back he ‘forgot’ to mention that I had to fast, probably because that was part of his hippy routine, fast until lunch then two pieces of Broccoli for lunch, a herb sandwich for tea, then hit the cupboard where all the old pharmaceuticals that they don’t use any more are stored for a hit on something to mellow out for the evening (if not on call that is).

Who’d be a Dr hey?

* according to the online dictionary http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=Mojo

a 'mojo is: a Cuban seasoning of garlic, olive oil, and sour (Seville) oranges used as a dip, marinade, or sauce so what the *&%"*& is the Doc on about? How DO I get ma mojo working maaaan?

Bonfire Bonanza

Isn’t having a bonfire fun! There’s something inherently primeval about lugging bits of wood around the garden and burning them. And people seem to be drawn to them like moths to a flame, standing there glassy eyed, slowly getting smoked like a kipper, gazing into the flames like something possessed, clothes getting lightly singed and eyebrows disappearing.

Yes we started to tidy up our garden last night and we had a quantity of boughs off the trees that had to be got rid of and I didn’t fancy filling the back of my car for a trip to the recycling place with my ‘green’ waste. So a fire was on the cards from the off.

Just the thought of helping with a fire was enough to unglue the teenage boys from their computer screens and they staggered into the daylight wincing as the sun burnt their reddened eyes, coughing as oxygen coursed through their lungs replacing the fetid carbon dioxide of their bedrooms. But they were keen to help (god forbid).

So soon the newspaper had been crinkled, the kindling arranged and the lighter flicked into life. Soon we had a roaring conflagration upon which the garden rubbish was piled with no mercy (note that we were on constant alert for errant hedgehogs). The heat was such that like ground zero the plants and shrubs within feet of the fire were soon blackened ashes, I comforted the wife telling that fire was good for plants, that is was cleansing and regenerative, take the proteas of South Africa for example. However, my wife was of the opinion that dahlias were not of the same hardy stock as the protea and stomped off in a huff!

The boughs burnt and the crap crackled and we were finding it harder and harder to find fuel for the fire. The garden was being scoured for anything and everything flammable. Isn’t it the case that once you start burning things then its difficult to stop, I even think this was used as an excuse by those Nazi’s who were burning books in the 1940’s. ‘Ya vell ve started viz zer porno and then once ve run out ve had to keep ze fire going, zo we burnt all ze other books too, it vas great, huge flames ya!

I think there is a little arsonist in all of us, that’s why we stand around the fire throwing stuff on, just to watch it burn, no other reason, except just to watch it burn. Pretty soon the garden was pristine, nothing flammable left and even some overhanging branches from the live trees had been cut off and added to the fire. These additional branches then give off really satisfying gouts of white smoke as the greenery boils and burns. Its then, and only then, that you wish you’d watched those old cowboy films a bit closer and learnt how to make smoke signals – how useful would that be.

Smoke signals




Then later there’s the pleasure of sitting down with a cup of tea, watching the embers glow and hiss, the slight flare of flame as you kick another half burnt twig on the fire, the charcoaly taste of the burnt potato, the roast hedgehog (no only joking!) the smell of wood smoke in the air and in your hair and clothes. Yes one can kick back relax and enjoy the soothing heat and the feeling of a job well done.

Yes there’s nothing quite as good as a bonfire, roll on November 5th.

Moi - A Capitain of Industry

Now I am a captain of industry, what with my promotion and all, I have decided that I had better live up to the trust that my employer has seen fit to bestow up on me. To that end I have decided that changes must be made both in my personal life and my business life.

Here’s what I have decided.

1. No longer attend work in clothes that have not been ironed, this is the sign of a slovenly worker, and thus a slovenly intellect. How will I be taken seriously by the higher ups if I am all crumpled? I will talk to the wife about this later!

2. Get one of those notepads with the Orange covers that all the other managers seem to carry around with them, jotting down every thing the higher ups have to say, including the jokes which I will be able to pass on as my own in other forums and maybe make the wife laugh too (especially while she is ironing).

3. Wear my pass around my neck on a necklace thing, that seems to make people look important, and to be even more important is to stick it in the breast pocket of my shirt – I guess it’s a sort of ironic statement about hidden identity.

4. Try to remember everybody’s name, this didn’t seem important before, but now I am a manager I have to make the little people think that I care and how can I do that if I don’t know their names, and squinting at their name tags dangling down makes it look like I’m looking at their breasts – which is not on.

5. There seems to be a competition going on amongst the senior managers to see who can wear the silliest or most revolting tie. As of the moment I am not a ‘tie’ person, I am more ‘smart business casual, open neck, but slightly crumpled’ sort of person, the question is should I enter the game at this earlier stage or should I ease myself into it as I become more accustomed to the culture of higher management? I would welcome some guidance here. Or is there capital in being the maverick outsider who is known more for his intellect than his fashion sense?

6. Make sure that when I go to meetings I take my palm pilot with me as this shows how au fait I am with technology; I must also remember that when people are speaking in meetings to spend some time tapping something into the palm pilot in an important manner or setting the alarm so I have to fiddle with it when it goes off so people will look at me and see how important I am.

7. I’ll need to upgrade my mobile phone to one of those silver flippy open types as this seems to be the fashion, also I’ll need a specially irritating, but upper management, type of ring tone, like the theme from Inspector Morse or a snatch of classical music, perhaps you’ll send me some ideas, of course the Crazy Frog is out!

8. I’ll need to put in an order for a nice set of things to put on my desk, desk tidy’s, somewhere to put all my pens and pencils rather than the old Coke can I currently use. I don’t think that sends the right message. Also my desk needs to be tidier, clean, and emptier, so that it looks like I am on the ball and ahead of the game. Where I’ll put all the papers, questionnaires and lists etc that currently clutter my desk is a worry, as I am not high up enough to have a secretary or PR who would do the tidying for me.

9. I’ll have to put in for a car park pass as well, I thought it was quite outrageous that I didn’t get one automatically with my promotion, I mean riding in on the bus is so…so downmarket!

10. I will also have to foster an air of ‘knowitallness’ and authority as I wander around the corridors of power, it wouldn’t do for anyone to get an inkling of my poor working class roots, my Birmingham birth (fortunately losing the accent en route to my great successes -phew I never be a manager else.) the years festering away in factory work, noooo these skeletons will be safely locked away in my Punchline 4 drawer lockable steel cabinet!

The things we have to do to make a living hey?

Hi ho, Silver, away

So whats new. As you may have noticed I have been a little bit preoccupied over the past week and have neglected my blog. Why is that you ask? Well it seems that I have been promoted at work (in my absence) and now I have more work to do, so my blogging time is limited and has been for the past week or so as I have had to ‘hit the floor running’ as they say to catch up on the new things that I should be doing.

Now I say ‘new’ things that I should be doing, but if we apply that old saw ‘what goes around comes around’ to the work I am now doing, having been ‘promoted’ we would find that I am now doing exactly the same as what I was doing 6 years ago when they first employed me! i.e. both the quantitative and the qualitative research. But the managers, in their wisdom, after a while saw fit to employ others to do the quant work and it drifted away from me to such an extent that this past two years the work had been subbed out to a contractor.

So hey ho, I asked for extra responsibility (as the only way to be up-graded) and they gave me back my original job, but with a new title, so that’s OK then.

You will have noticed below how manly I was on my holidays, playing with guns and shooting stuff, well isn’t it spooky how synchronicity happens, because I had not shot a gun for many a year, not even at the fair, until visiting Ukraine this summer and found myself blasting away with the ubiquitous Kalashnikov and then this Bank Holiday weekend I find myself on a range at a gun club blasting away at targets once more.

How did this happen is even stranger, at a loose end on Saturday as my wife was meeting with the local coven of Ukrainian Wives here in sunny Plymouth, I visited some old friends, who unbeknownst to me, even though I had known them for years were members of a gun club and when I arrived Dave was cleaning his 4 rifles as a prelude to the next days open day at the range. Consequently I was invited and had quite a fun time blasting various paper targets with various weapons.

Now I know you think firearms are banned in this country but the stupid thing about this law is that while you cannot own a handgun, you can own as many rifles as you want including Kalashnikovs (single shot). How ridiculous is that?

Now I know that shooting is a sport and I know that we were firing at paper targets but why is it that when you wander down the range to look at your group, if its nice and tight (like mine were!) people start commenting about how the good shooting equates to ‘well he’d be dead then’ or ‘yep nice group, right in the middle of the chest’ as if the targets were somehow substitutes for some unknown assailant that I wanted to take out.

I was only trying to get the shot close to the centre of the target that’s where my head was at, not virtually trying to take someone out. I think it comes down to that old question, do guns kill people, or is it the people who hold the guns that kill people? I personally think it’s the people who pull the triggers that kill people, guns are just inanimate objects, machines that can only work with a person present.

Oh and I would be really interested to hear the American point of view here.

O I’m not a gun nut and I don’t think I’ll ever be, but there is something quite satisfying in the big bangs they make, and in using a Winchester rifle, like what the cowboys used to in all those cowboy and indian films.

"Hi ho, Silver, away!"

My 6 year old daughter

Hello I’ve just had another three days holiday, now don’t get jealous, I know I’ve just had a month off, but these last three days have been about ‘parental responsibility’. I’ve been looking after my 6 year old daughter while her mum has been gallivanting off somewhere.

To look after ones 6 year old daughter for a while, when you usually see her over a weekend every other week, is bliss. There is nothing better or sweeter on earth than a 6 year old daughter, how could one get tired of the constant chatter, the wriggling about trying to get comfortable on your lap whilst you watch 3 hours of constant repetition on children’s TV, the sudden need to go to the loo when you are out, the pleading Daaaadddy! And so on and so on.

Oh I know that the single mums out there who look after our 6 year old daughters will say, ‘Well to you it might be bliss, but when you have to cope with it 24/7 then it would be a different story!’ It probably is, but I have often offered to have my daughter full time, an offer which is never taken up, so it can’t be that bad can it?

‘Parental responsibility’ is a funny thing, I don’t have it apparently, in the legal sense, because we were not married, so my daughters mum has total control over how she brings up the child, she does not have to consult with me over any issue, which could include changing their religion to become Jehovah’s Witnesses and then refusing life saving medical intervention because of their new religion. I would just have to stand by and could not do anything.

And yet, it seems I am responsible enough a parent to financially contribute to the upbringing of my child and the Government involves itself, through the Child Support Agency to make sure that I am financially supporting my child. The situation as it stands is that because my former partner has two children, one by another man, she actually has a larger disposable income than I have. The fact that she also works part-time does not seem to impact upon the amount of money I have to give her.

I am in no way suggesting that I should not financially support my child, all I am arguing is that if I am responsible enough to support her financially, why then am I not allowed to have some legal responsibility for my child? I know I could go to court and get an order making me a ‘responsible parent, but at what cost to my current relationship with the mother, which is often rocky due to her ongoing mental illness.

Anyway despite that we had a great time, seeing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory which was good, going to the beach, riding on donkey’s and all the fun things one does with one’s 6 year old daughter, including all the things her mother doesn’t let her do, like eat too many sweets, ice cream, crisps and junk food!

Aren’t I a great dad?!

Ukrainian Holiday

Given what I have written about Ukraine in the preceding few posts one might want to beg the question, as Mike da Hat did, why would I (or you) want to go to Ukraine if its full of bad service, bad food, alcoholics and fag smokers? Ok I admit that this might have seemed a bit negative on my part to mention these things but even though there is some slow or bad service, I was writing about the food from my perspective as a vegetarian, where even here in the UK most of what’s offered in pubs and restaurants can’t be better described than gloopy slop!

At least in Ukraine one doesn’t get offered gloopy slop masquerading as a. Veggie curry, b. some sort of pasta dish covered in some form of cheese flavoured elastic, c. the ubiquitous mushroom risotto, no there is a dearth of vegetarian cuisine in Ukraine, but not I might hasten to add a dearth of vegetable based dishes of which Borsch is the most notable. Plus the food on the whole for the meat eaters looked excellent, especially the Shaslik and the chicken, plus a lot of fish dishes, from both fresh and sea water and the plus side of this it is cheap to eat, I paid for a huge meal for all my family as it was the mother in laws birthday and it cost me only about £50 for 10 of us including drinks and about 4 or 5 courses. (we didn't eat in for the whole of the holiday - my wife refused to cook!)

My problem with the vegetable cuisine on offer in Ukraine was I just didn’t like it; they use some herb (Dill I believe) on quite a lot of their food that I just found unpalatable. I just couldn’t eat it and consequently given that trying to explain that while I wanted the dish I didn’t want the said herb was just too difficult so I usually ended up with chips or omelette and chips or pizza or Borsch as long as it wasn’t made with meat of course, the fact that it also suspiciously looked like the stock had been made from chicken stock I just closed my eyes and taste buds to.

Anyway Ukraine is a wonderful place, lots to see and do. The people are very friendly and welcoming and all this rot about the Mafia and men in black is rubbish. The beer is cheap and the women are extremely beautiful, it’s worth writing that again just for emphasis: The beer is cheap and the women are extremely beautiful – what more can a man ask for?

mmm beer


During the first part of our holiday we went to Lviv which is in the western part of the country and entails an overnight train ride to get there from where our flat is. Lvov is a beautiful Old City in what is known to be the ‘cultural’ part of Ukraine, Lvov used to be the Capital before Kiev became transcendent. We stayed in really nice apartments for I think it was 20 Euro a night and spent two days wandering around seeing the sites etc.

The Opera House Lviv


Old Geezers at Chess


shadows


Later in the month we went to Sevastopol in Crimea. Once again this entailed another overnight train journey enjoying the couchettes. But Sevastopol is a great destination, hot, on the warm black sea. We stayed in what one might call Ukrainian accommodation, $5 per person per night, we had rooms in a Babushkas house looking out onto the garden full of tomatoes and other organic vegetables, and we sat under the grapevines, eating figs off the tree next to us – bliss.

outside our rooms


There is a beach just away from the main part of town called blue lagoon, you can see from the pictures posted that it is beautiful, not too overcrowded with a small bar where you can buy snacks and beer. Plus we went to the aquapark to swim or just promenaded around Sevastopol town enjoying the sites, sitting in cafes, the usual holiday stuff.

Blue Lagoon - Sevastopol


Blue Lagoon



sunset in Sevastopol


We visited the secret nuclear submarine docks in Balaclava and watched a huge sea parade commemorating the Navy, lots of weapons firing, big bangs, smoke, jets, tanks – it was fantastic, then later sitting in a dockside café surrounded by former Soviet sailors singing about how they would never let one foot of the enemy soil the ground of Sevastopol, over their dead bodies – I hesitated to tell them I was English!

Soviet Saliors with the 'enemy' in their midst!



Then later back in Vinnitsa I was taken shooting by a friend. We met up with a Major from the Cobra’s – the anti- terrorist police and taken to their training ground where I fired the Makarov 9mm pistol, another fully automatic Russian pistol and both the 7.62mm Kalashnikov and the 5mm Kalashnikov on their range, I could have fired a Bazooka but we didn’t have the time!

shooting the Makarov


AK47


If you really want an off the beaten track holiday I would recommend Ukraine. Yes there are frustrating and difficult bits about being there, but it’s a wonderful place and I’m not just saying that because I am married to a Ukrainian woman (which I heartily recommend) I’d be happy to help anyone who would wish to travel to Ukraine with all the tips and advice you would need – have a look at my website www.ukraine-4u.com

Ukraine

MIstaken Identity

'Cherry' Cake 


As I mentioned briefly yesterday it is something of a tradition at work that if you go on holiday it is expected that you will bring back some local cakes, biscuits, sweets etc to put in the kitchen. I duly fulfilled my task, but it wasn't until later yesterday that someone in the office pointed out to me that I had indavertantly had bought cherry cakes called 'fuckbum'! I'll have to ask the wife what the actual cyrillic scrip is as my russian doesn't stretch that far. Although I am sure that to me and you dear reader that these cakes will always be 'fuckbums'.

More tomorrow.

Help I'm back at work, what happened?

Its seems like it was all a dream, here I am sat back at my office desk. Have I really been on holiday, did I actually have one month off? Am I going mental? Its only the fact that I am sitting here eating one of the biscuits that I bought back from Ukraine to put in the office kitchen (long established tradition) that convinces me that I actually have been on holiday! It all seems so abrupt! Yesterday I was in a foreign country now Im sat at my desk.

It wasn't that abrupt I suppose because we had to get up at 4:30 in the morning (or 2:30 in UK time as Ukraine is 2 hours ahead of the UK) and didn't get home until Midnight last night, so that was about 22 hours of traveling.

Anyway as this is my first day back at work I can't spend all day bloggiing, that will have to wait for tomorrow as I have to spend the rest of today deleting the 2 million emails I have waiting for me, and saying hello to all my collegues and telling them all about my holiday so I have a busy day ahead and its gone 11 already.

I will regale you with my holiday stories and pics from tomorrow.

Ukraine the culture

I just thought that while I have a minute that I would jot down a few of my impressions of Ukraine and its people.

That big old monster Capitalism has surely got its grips into the popular culture of this country if the TV ads are anything to go by. In the most part they seem to be for cigarettes and alcohol. Generally most of the adverts feature semi naked women so clearly sex still sells. That these adverts are paying off is evident by the numbers of people smoking. It is remarkable, that after coming from what is nearly a smoke free country, how irritating it is to be in resturants, bars, the street! where people are smoking in quite substantial numbers.

Alcohol seems to be a problem here too and no wonder when you see kids of 13 and 14 (and younger) walking along swigging from bottles of beer in between puffing on their fags, in the internet cafe where I am now, its just gone 9:30 in the morning and some of the kids are on their first bottle, and some seem terribly bleary eyed! (But Hurrah theres no smoking here)Adult drunkeness is much more familiar on the streets.

Thhis all seems a bit negative, but its not as negative as it sounds, these are the things that catch you eye, 99% of the time Ukraine and Crimea is a great place, the people are friendly and helpful. I have no problems shopping on my own and getting what I want despite my russian not being so great. There are lots of myths and untruths about Ukraine about 'Men in Black' and the Mafia, but in the 6 times I have been here I have never been worried or scared about my safety.

I saw a great TV ad last night.

A woman was at home, all dressed in white, she had her little white pet mouse with her. She goes off to do something and the little mouse climbs up a flower vase and falls in - O you god you think the poor mouse will drown...the woman runs over but can't get her hand down the thin neck of the vase( Got the picture yet?) the mousey is treaing water for its life. Then the woman has a bright idea, she runs for her handbag and out she takes a tampon. Which she drops into the vase and said mouse is lifted safely out of the water.

Great hey, so women for those days of the month when you need to save a mouses life always carry a tampon with you, at least its better than having to cycle everywhere or rollerblade your life away going between stores to buy even more white trousers!

PS I am having a great holiday another 3 days here in Sevastopol and then the overnight train back to Vinnitsa until the 15th August but Im not thinking about that.

Bye bye the beach is calling...

Still Sunny

But I think that i have recieved a little too much sun. The last day or so I have been feeling a little off, a slight discomfort in the tummy not so much Stalins revenge, more like a touch of the Lenin revolutions. I have spent some time and effort yesterday trying to increase my liquids, and not beer I might add, to try and get my urine from being a slight squirt of dark orange stuff to the flood of nicely coloured wee that it is now, but the amount of liquid I had to consume was remarkable.

On of the most irritating thing about Ukraine is the total lack of customer focus. To get anything you generally have to queue and that can take forever, because it seems that Ukrainians need to discuss every aspect of their purchase. So for example when we arrived here and got to the railway station in Kiev we had to queue for TWO, yes 2 hours to get tickets. And no there wasn't just one ticket counter there were loads.

The other evening, in the search for food (my Ukrainian diet is progressing well, yesterday I had a plate of chips (of which more later) and three bananas -who would be a vegetarian eh!) we went to an italian franchise sort of place for a pizza, it took one hour of queueing to get our order, the way it works is you find a table, then one of the party queues, after an hour she came back with the drinks and the salad, we then had to wait for the pizzas to be cooked - blimey Gordon Ramsey could have a field day here.

Now you might say that having to wait proves that they are actually cooking the food, but thats no guarrentee of quality. I mentioned that yesterday I had a plate of chips, well thats only half of the story, we ordered the meal in a very nice waterside cafe on the harbourside, waited the prerequisite 45 minutes before the food came, by then I had drunk the beer and a coke and eaten all the bread, when the chips arrived they were smothered in tomato sauce and cold - which in another resturant I was told it was normal. So I sent them back. Then waited for a new plateful, they came covered in some grassy herb stuff they like here but to me tastes foul, I picked it off and eat them - I was hungry.

Later we dropped into another waterside cafe for some ice cream, we ordered fruit salad and ice cream, while we were waiting we were entertained by a whole bunch of former Soviet Saliors getting progressivly drunker in the corner (remember yesterday was a big memorial day) I have a picture of them I want to post but can't till I get home, but they were singing good old Soviet Saliors songs and my wife pointed out that the one they were singing was about how sacred Sevastopol was to them and that the enemies feet would never touch the sacred ground. I hesitated about introducing myself as an Englishman! Andway the ice cream turned up and it was simple a melted mass with a few soggy fruits floating in it. I, of course, sent it back and refused to pay. Which is an unbeliviable act in Ukraine. The waiters can't belive that you are turning down the gastronomic delights that they are placing before you. They need a culture of complaint here, and I'm the guy to teach them - lack of food makes me irritable.

Anyway its getting late 9:45am and I must be off to the beach again, its getting a bit tedious but I have some serious research to carry out - there are an enourmous number of good looking women here, so thank god for the inventor of the thong and I just hope that I don't go blind, or my wife cathes me peeking!

Still sunny in Ukraine

Having been rudely interupted yesterdaywhilst blogging, hence the quick sign off, I have given up a portion of my beach time to come back and continue to blog.

How quickly a holiday goes, I've been here two weeks now and it only seems like a few days, but I'll put that down to the hectic round of visiting the in-laws and the rest of the family.

Tomorrow, theres going to be a huge celebration in Sevastopol, part of their rememberances for the end of the "Great Patriotic War' as they call it. The harbour in Sevastopol is filling up with great warships which will form the centre of a huge water borne parade, again I will be taking loads of pictures, something which would have been totally impossible ten years ago.

Yesterday I mentioned Balaclava, upto about 1996, this was a closed town, not even people from Sevastopol, the next city were allowed to enter. If you had to enter you had to have special passes, because of the secret sub bases.

Sevastopol was also a main naval base for the soviet navy and of course is still very 'Russian' rather than Ukrainian.

I have mentioned before in this blog how ironic it is that only ten plus years ago, these lovely people, my wife and family, were our 'enemies' and our leaders were ready to obliterate them in a nuclear holocaust! How ridiculous that sounds when one is sat relaxing in a beach bar enjoying the local Piva!

well I suppose I must get off to the beach, its just gone 10am here and the locals are probably on their second bottle of beer, i've some catching up to do!

Hello from Crimea

Well here I am in Sunny Crimea, where for the last three days I have been sizziling like a chip on the beaches at Sevestopol.

Yesterday in best Angliski spion tradition I visited the 'secret' submarine bases in Balaclava (and no jokes about wooly headgear your mum used to make either!). I took enough photos to make James Bond envious and was extremely worried when we were in a dark underground vault and the guide told us that this was where they made the nuclear torpedos, I worry that I might glow in the dark, but its more likely that the asbestosis will get me from the amount of corrugated asbestos board that had been used to build the place with.

Yes One might have been saved from the initial nuclear strike but the shoddy workmanship would get you in the end. No doubt the problems occuring because probably the place was built by inmates from the Gulag.

well must be off
b

Hello From Ukraine

Drastvocha

Hello all from Ukraine.

Do you think I look like a 'mastermind'? Well according to Special Branch I must do. There I was minding my own business in the departure lounge at Bristol airport. They called our flight and we sped to the gate to be first on the plane and myself and my family were pulled by Scotland Yard Plod or special branch. They told me it was just routine, but wanted to look at my passport, ask me where I worked, my date of birth and where I was going and why. Just routine they said. Then he wandered off and spoke to his partner. Came back and was very polite and let us get on the bus for the plane - phew. But I watched him and he didn't stop anyone else on our flight. So all I can think is that i fitted the profile of the London Bombing mastermind - spooky hey, but at least we can sleep safe in our bed knowing that special branch is on the ball stopping people in loud shirts.

I have been enjoying Ukrainian hospitality which includes imbibing loads of vodka and chips. Chips simply becuase the idea of vegetarianism hasn't really hit Ukraine yet and vodka, well simply because its there and if you are thinking its something similar to smirnoff you are very wrong. Why its just gone midday and I've had to partake in a number of toast already (hic). Well the suns over the yardarm somewhere in the world!

Tomorrow we are off to Sevastopol on the sleeper train, I have taken loads of photos, some of which I will post when I get back.

If you want to travel to Ukraine look at my website www.ukraine-4u.com and I can arrainge a great holiday with you with the friendliestpeople.

I'm of to a cafe now for more chips and vodka, so stay cool dudes!

Dosvidanya!

Bye Bye Baby Bye Bye

Postcard from Ukraine

So dear readers, it has come this, my last post in England before I set out across the channel to the land of Johnny Foreigner, those lands where, unless I’m very lucky I will not see a civilised toilet for at least 4 weeks and I don’t think I can hold it that long.

To the lands where time forgot, or at least something was forgotten, perhaps it was building regulations or how to cook palatable food or how to mix concrete properly. I don’t know but in some quarters Stalin is still the man, apparently quite popular with some of the old guard, obviously the ones that didn’t go to the Gulags, like my wife’s grandfather, who was never seen again.

For those who are wondering what I am wibbling on about, I am off to sunny Ukraine today and flying tomorrow. You will notice that I did not write ‘The’ Ukraine, because saying ‘The Ukraine’ really gets up their noses and is incorrect. I mean we don’t say Oh we’re off to The Devon, or The France (maybe ‘the’ USA works, there’s always an exception to the rule and we always have to make exceptions for those Yanks and anyway Bruce Springsteen would have had a problem with his song titles!) or The Germany, so there’s no need for us to say ‘The’ Ukraine, its just Ukraine.

Despite my first two paragraphs, written for humorous effect and of course no hint of truth in them (clears throat surreptitiously), I do enjoy going to Ukraine, it is a wonderful country and cheap too, I would recommend it to anyone who wants a different holiday. Get down to Crimea (not ‘the’ Crimea) and enjoy the Black Sea (yes ‘The’ Black Sea is correct don’t get pedantic with me) and the wonderful places to visit.

Of course you also get a flavour of what it was like during the Soviet times as its only 10 years since independence so many things remain the same. The people are very friendly and of course if you want a wife, like I did, its cherry picking time (er I’m not sure if that’s a good analogy) anyway it is a lovely place with lovely people and its all just lovely, am I gushing now?

Of course if any of you dear readers would like a postcard from the edge or even Ukraine from Dr. Rob please go to my website at www.ukraine-4u.com and contact me (with your address of course) via the contact email address given there and I will attempt to find you the most boringest soviet style postcard I can, unless of course you want a nice one.


Now I have to go and see if I can fit any stuff in the overflowing suitcase.

Hasta La Vista

‘I’ll be back’, as someone famous once said

I will try and Blog from Ukraine – honest! - Before Withdrawal, Cold Turkey and the Shakes set in ....

My Two Minutes Silence


This is my two minutes silence to remember and honour those who lost their lives and who were injured in the London Bombing, as we should also remember their families too. We should also remember the families of these misguided boys who caused such distaster, they need our thoughts and support right now.

Give Peace a Chance!

Love Peace and Happiness

Dr. Rob.

My bags are packed and I'm ready to go

Packing for a holiday is fun isn’t it? It draws upon all the laws of physics and bends them just a little, like how does one take 30 kilo’s of clothes and stuff them into a suitcase so that the combined weight is only 20 kilos? This is what my wife has been struggling with over the past few days.

We think we will be OK because as there are 4 of us in the family the total baggage allowance will be 80 kilos plus the 40 kilos allowed as hand baggage, but as more and more things are dragged out of the wardrobes and other hidey holes, I start to worry. I worry because I know my mother has another suitcase waiting for us at her house of unwanted clothing which we will take to Ukraine to dole out amongst the family. She tells me that this is another 11 kilos. I worry because the excess baggage payment could eat severely into our spending money.

My wife wants us to dump the three sets of snorkelling equipment from the boys suitcases to enable her to fill it with more stuff and clothes, as she has to have an item of clothing for every eventuality including the sudden onset of the ice age – this in a country where the temperatures are currently in the 30s. The boys and I will be allowed, it seems a pair of shorts, a pair of trousers and a few t shirts, maybe a more formal shortsleeve shirt for me (for meeting the parents as if they have never seen me in a t shirt!), plus our swimming things and some pants. (I have secretly put my books under the clothes she has already packed – snigger)

Talking about pants (undergarments for our American friends) I am currently wearing my holiest (or should that be holeyest) pair as all my clean pairs are packed ready for the big day. That’s the thing about going away; one doesn’t want to dirty the clothes set aside for the hols and have to wash stuff when one’s away. Really someone should re-invent paper pants for holidays, so every night one could just throw them away, use them to light the barbecue or what ever and next morning just tear a new pair off the roll. Isn’t that a great idea, remember paper pant manufacturers you heard it here first – I want my cut!

Last night I experienced severe stomach pains, the immediate urgent need to rush to the loo before I soiled myself, sweating, dizziness and uncontrollable swearing!

Yes I had lost the airplane tickets.

Well not so much lost as misplaced. I always keep the tickets in the envelope they came in (Purchased off the net - O and if you do need to purchase airplane tickets please do so through the links on my website www.ukraine-4u.com you will find the cheapest deals there and in that way I will receive a little bit of money off the airlines/agents, at no extra cost to you, and it helps me keep this informative site up and running – thanks) Yes, I always keep the tickets in the envelope on top of some books in the bookcase, I know they are there, I can see them on a regular basis. So last night I took the envelope down and IT WAS EMPTY!!!!!

Panic ensued!

I experienced all the symptoms listed above and probably some more, in fact I did notice that my hair had got greyer this morning when I looked in the mirror, as I frantically started searching for the tickets, which after about 10 minutes of frantic looking my wife found, on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, under my daughters crayon box. – How did they get there? I quizzed the family – dumb insolence was the response – no one knew.

Well I hadn’t put them there, the rest of the family denied it, and so the only explanation is that someone or other crept into our house with the sole purpose of moving the airline tickets from their usual place to somewhere more unusual.

And if you were that person or something or other – STAY OUTTA MY HOUSE.

I need a holiday

Holiday Expenses....

Holi Holiday

Going on holiday is expensive, we all know that. There’s the transport costs, the hotel costs, the ‘having enough in one’s pockets to enjoy one’s self’ costs, they all mount up. So most of us try to save up and save up until we leave that state of Holiday limbo we entered into about 4 days before leaving work on that particular afternoon and enter holiday Nirvana.

I am currently in holiday limbo. The clock is counting down. I currently have, by my estimate 10 hours left at what we might want to laughingly call ‘work’. All my projects have been finished, reports written, ‘clients’ mollified and told to get back to me sometime in mid-august. My desk is now clear of cake crumbs, chocolate wrappers, crisp packets, coffee stains and assorted bits of paper that might or might not have had something to do with my job. They are now all filed in the bin as ‘outgoing’. All my pens are lined up like soldiers, my stapler and hole punch are lined up next to the sellotape dispenser like Concords after their last flight, they have been mothballed for the duration.

As I have been in holiday limbo, my lunch breaks have naturally had to be extended in order to get down town to buy all those things I will really need* and have forgotten to get on the normal shopping days of Saturday and Sunday.

Now I know I said going on holiday is expensive, but there is always a hidden cost that we forget when we are adding up how much our holidays cost us. This hidden cost is what the wife will spend on essentials for the holiday. Such as at least two new outfits, two new swimming costumes (despite there being 3 or 4 perfectly good ones in the drawer – I know I looked), new shoes, new bag, new cosmetics, new hat, presents for all and sundry (we will be visiting the family in Ukraine), about 20 packs of tea (don’t ask me why), new tee shirts for her and the boys, new swimsuits for the boys, new sunglasses, about 6 different factors of suncream, new undies, (a failed attempt at a new camera), the list goes on, I can’t as I would have to crawl under my desk and slit my wrists.

By the way I had a haircut as my contribution to the holiday spending extravaganza, O and I bought some more shaving oil, but I would have had to buy that anyway, and come to think of it ditto the haircut!

I am not looking forward to the 2 hour stop over at Schipol Airport either – have you seen how many shops they have got there….

* This is what I really need for my holiday

Books - Three for the price of two at Waterstones, the rest of the books I’m taking have been bought over time at car boot sales for 20-50p each – I hope to take at least 10 books with me.

Afore mentioned shaving oil

Mosquito repellent

Ear phones for my MP3 player

Daktarin for those prickly heat moments

New Hat as I left my bestest one on a train in Portugal a few years ago and have been hatless ever since

The rest of the stuff I have at home, why buy new stuff when the odds are KLM will send it to the Dutch Antibes instead of Kiev!

Time for a hard earned cup of tea I think!

(PS. America that’s irony!)

Teenage Bombers in London

So apparently we now have our own home grown terrorists all hardly out of short trousers, but big and misguided enough to blow themselves and about 50 other innocent people to kingdom come! But, of course, they won’t have been blown to ‘kingdom come’, these poor misguided fools, no, they will not be supping at the cup of Heaven whilst numerous dusky virgins await their every command. They are now quite simply rotting hunks of meat being pecked at by the pigeons of London – a fitting end.

So these boys decided to bite the hand that feeds them, however poorly that might be. Although it seems that these guys are not the alienated unemployed Asian youth the TV will no doubt focus on, but generally from good families (not that the unemployed boys are not good) and by good I mean hard working, industrious, small business people, the very sort that get maligned by their not so bright and not so industrious white neighbours, who moan about the ‘Paki’s’ taking our jobs, except for when they need a packet of fags at 10:30 on a Sunday night and the only shop open is the shop on the corner.

What these boys seem to have forgotten to take out of the equation (or they may well have considered this) is the aftermath of their actions, not on the people of London or Britain in general, because as we have seen it is simply ‘business as usual’ in London, these toe rags have not changed one thing. But within their own communities things will get tough. Not only will the Police presence and undoubtedly the security services be increased in their communities but their innocent Muslim, Asian, Black brothers and sisters will be tarred with the same brush and innocent kids will get the shit kicked out of them by the bully boys of the National Front and BNP.

These rightwing thicko’s have enough of a toehold in these northern city’s and towns without these misguided idiots giving this sick bunch of psychos some sort of reason to start parading around the streets of Leeds and Bradford like Mosley’s Blackshirts threatening and terrorising the Black and Asian Community.

The TV has already poured some fuel on this debate as only this morning the news team interviewed some blonde doxie in Leeds with a horde of kids around her feet who was mouthing off about ‘them people who come into our country’. Ding Dong lady these kids are born and bred here, they are as English as you are, even if you don’t like the colour of their skin, their customs and their religion, they belong here you mongrel.

Clearly these kids have been manipulated into carrying out this gruesome attack and I feel for their families, their mums and dads, brothers and sisters, who will have to continue to live with their neighbours, white, asian and black with this weight upon their shoulders. The Police and security services need to apprehend the people who are twisting these boys minds.

There are evil people abroad, with evil thoughts that poison the minds of our youth, both Al Qaeda or the rightwing groups such as the NF or BNP.

Enoch Powell once wrote: ‘As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding; like the Roman, I seem to see "the River Tiber foaming with much blood."’ I would hate to see his predictions come to some awful fruition. We must ALL stand with our Muslim, and Asian friends, neighbours, brothers, sisters, and comrades and not allow this evil to continue.

Sorry to be repetative but this guy was in the tube in Russel Sq

when the bomb went off!

RESPECT IS DUE

This is what these damn terrorists don't understand, they can bomb the fuck out of us Brits but we'll have a cup of tea and get on with life!

See the links below!

Promenading down the prom prom prom

Living near the sea is a pleasant experience, especially when it is hot as it has been for the past couple of days. My wife and I have taken to meandering along the Hoe, here in Sunny Plymouth, enjoying the cooling sea breezes, an ice cream or iced coffee and the sight of the local chavs and chavettes throwing themselves off the sea wall into the sea, like lemmings (one would hope).

Now, despite the overwhelming urge to provided encouragement and indeed practical help (like a good shove in the back) to these shivering youngsters who stand teetering on the wall summing up the courage to leap out past the back breaking rocks into the sea a good twenty or thirty feet below, I am at a bit of a loss to understand their fashion sense.

Most of these kids, mostly male I might add, are wearing wetsuits (apart from the few who are brave or just too poor to own a wetsuit) but they are also wearing shorts over the wetsuit! What is that about? Are these boys so self conscious that they have to cover their groins, that are already encased in about one eight of an inch in neoprene, with a pair of shorts. Maybe they are scared that the girls, who they are clearly trying to impress, as there is always a group of be-tattooed blonde bimbettes hanging over the wall screaming epithets at their hero’s as they surface once again, blowing the briny ocean out of their lungs, scared that the girls will notice a slight bulge in their suits and presume that they, god forbid, have cocks?

Maybe they are worried that the fear and the impact of the cold water on their genitals would actually mean that there isn’t even a bulge to show off, maybe that’s an even greater fear for a pubescent teenager intent on showing off his prowess and bravery by leaping into the sea. And no doubt if they used a sock or two balled up to provide a suitable bulge, they would, no doubt after a few leaps and dowsings make their way down the wetsuit leg to hang flapping like a slightly off white flag of shame for all to see and rag upon.

I can also understand the need to wear trainers for the great leap, as they have to scramble up rocks to get back onto the wall, but socks as well? I am sure that if these kids actually knew how stupid they looked, they would all throw themselves off the wall without a second thought whilst holding the concrete block they had chained around their necks, never to surface again. But I guess if they all do it then they’re not stupid, because it’s the done thing.

And I, of course, never ever looked stupid on the beach in the hand knitted costume my mum knitted for me!

Still Not Scared

Not scared



And Have a look here too for more great messages

www.we'reNOTafraid.com

Im not afraid


Here's the link as I couldn't find the HTML.

Good Morning America How Are You?

Hello all you Americans out there, I have a little dilemma that maybe you could help me with.

In a week I will be off to Ukraine for a month with my wife to visit her mum and dad and family. While we are there we will be meeting up with an America (Glenn - do you know him? From Georgia?) who I 'met' earlier this year online when he rented our flat in Vinnitsa, Ukraine (see my webiste www.ukraine-4u.com) for a few days. He has returned to Ukraine this summer on a mission with his church and will meet up with us for a trip to Lvov before returning to the US of A.

My little dilemma (and I am not really this unimaginative) is what gifts from the UK should I take to give him and his 14 year old daughter who is with him? He tells me that he's not much of a drinker, so the tradition bottle of scotch is out. And what would be like kewl for a 14 year old Southern girl? A Tee Shirt with Plymouth UK? on it? Or a list of the pilgrim fathers?

Anyway thats the task for today as I am all presented out having to think of what to take for the Ukrainian contingent and still have some room in my suitcase for some clean undies!

The Complaints start here!

Hello, It’s me, I’m back ejected from the Big Blogger house like a ping pong ball in a Thai night club!

What fun that was, I enjoyed my self and at the same time seemed to alienate about a third of the readers, well the voters anyway! But hey, you guys, you who have found your way here from the House, who enjoy a good wibble, now know where it is. Welcome to Dr. Robs Day – the home of the wibble. I’ll have to try and keep the standard up!

During my time in the house, my alter ego, the real Dr. Rob, had to continue his normal job of careering around the countryside, visiting schools, doing research on behalf of the large educational institution that he works for. Sorry drifted into the third person again there – back to first person please Dr Rob!

And of course I have to eat out. And I want to moan on for a minute about bad service in restaurants. Is it only me as I seem to be jinxed. Whenever I go into the restaurant, there always seems to be a problem in the kitchen, they have employed waiters with amnesia, I become strangely invisible as I enter the doorway so they ignore me and serve the 20 people who come in behind me.

A number of examples, and I do have hundreds.

On Sunday I was in Wales, I had to drive up in the afternoon as I had a 9 am appointment the next day. I got there about 7:30 ish and decided that instead of sitting in my hotel room I would go to see ‘War of the Worlds’. Fortunately next to the Cinema was a Pizza Hut. Great I could buy my ticket for the 8:30 show and get a bite to eat!

So ticket purchased, into Pizza Hut. Made my order, Pizza and side salad, nothing too complicated. First I had to pint out there was no soap in the Gents toilets, then had to point out that the bowl I had been given for my salad was dirty. Got my salad, sat and eat it. Then I waited, the film remember started at 8:30. At 8:31 I asked where my Pizza was. ‘O’ said the girl, there’s a problem in the kitchen, ‘THEY RAN OUT OF PIZZA’S!’ ‘ Great’ I said, why didn’t you tell me? My film started a minute ago ( it didn’t really , well the adverts did). So no food that evening and I didn’t pay for the salad and coke!

Then a while ago we visited the Barbican, in Plymouth to sit in the sun. We decided to have some food, sitting outside a restaurant that had been recommended to us. We ordered coffee and some starters as all we wanted was a light snack. My started was hummus and toast (basically) my daughter wanted chips (well she is 6) and my wife was having a prawn cocktail. Nothing too difficult there then. We sat, drank the coffee, ate the bread that came, my wife took Matilda for a walk because she was getting bored and after half an hour I had to beckon the waiter over and say what’s the problem? He went away, came back and said ‘O’ there’s a problem in the kitchen! (i..e. they forgot us!). ‘It would be here in a few minutes’, I told him ‘I assumed that they would not be charging us for the food’. He offered us the drinks for free. 10 minutes later the food still hadn’t arrived, so we got up and walked off.

My point is, we all work hard for our money and if these sladdash restaurants want our money then they had better work hard for it too. I don’t give me money away.

That’s why I enjoy Gordon Ramsey’s TV programmes where he shows Restaurant owners just how bad they really are.

Start complaining, you know it makes sense!

LIve8

I was wondering.

I spent most of my day watching the Live8 concert on a big screen in Plymouth City Centre.

Am I a wus? Because I spent most of the time with a huge lump in my throat and tears coursing down my face.

It’s a tremendous time for us all in the world and in particular those people in Africa at the moment and so much depends on it. How in a democracy can everything simple depend on 8 individual men – politicians at that!

Children are dying every three seconds, how can I not look at my 6 year old daughter and not feel torn. I would be totally distraught if she died and I couldn’t do anything about it. How often do we hear people in the West say ‘O I’d die for my kids’ but we sort of know that’s never going to be the case. IN Africa parents, men and women are losing their children even as I write - there goes another one…. It’s an unfortunate case here in the UK if a child is harmed or God forbid, killed. How many kids in the UK have died of starvation? Maybe a few through the neglect of their parents who are probably unsuitable anyway but never one every three seconds. My god there would be an almighty uproar if that was ever the case here in the UK.

Our kids here in the West are religiously protected, they have become SACRED objects. One can hardly look at them without incurring some sort of record as a bad parent or paedophile. God forbid that we should force them to do something that might in some way or other put the little darlings at risk, like go on a school trip or feed them greens!

I am not a great charity giver, I, like most people, need to protect my family first and foremost. But if Governments or more precisely these 8 unfortunate men can sort this out, if they need a shove, a push, a big poke in the eye to make them see then we need to be poking and shoving every minute of every day!

I hope that these Concerts have done this, I hope they have listened and seen the ground swell of opinion that has turned against them.

If they do not, then let’s follow Trotsky. His advice, still valid today, is One Solution – Revolution!

Not in the sense of over turning the democratic process but over turning the negative, protectionist thinking of these protectionist males. If they will not listen to today, then things MUST escalate until they listen and change the world.

Meanwhile I’ll continue crying for the adults and children dying right now in Africa which is a fucking fantastic place and I know because I have lived there!.

WOW G8 concert and The WHO!!!!!

It may be the stella and the whiskey talking but wern't THE WHO fucking totally fantastic in HYde Park tonight?. Their set finished about 1 minute ago and I had to come and praise them here. Roger Daltrey's vocals were totally excellent and Pete Townsends guitar playing astounding! Two fucking fantastic songs. These guys can rock I only hope they are gonna tour, I wanna see them live again!

I saw THE WHO many many years ago at the NEC but these two songs really blew my mind tonight, weren't they the best?

ME STRESSED - NAH! wibble.....

OK so I haven’t been servicing this blog as I ought to have, but a combination of things have been drawing my attention away from the blogging task. Of course I have been contributing to Big Blogger 2005 and seemingly staying in there by default, hanging on by the skin of my teeth. I have technically lost yet another vote, but remain in the house on a technicality, i.e. two other have bailed out on their own and thus leaving me there by default.

I admit that I had fallen on my own sword as I didn’t think that I would have time to blog as I am in the middle of a project at work which means being not only away from my desk, but being away from home, so I thought I would not have time to blog, or post a final blog, so I thought that I could get beamed out and have some fun. But best laid plans and all that….

Anyway I am back in and no doubt will have to face a third vote. Maybe some of those anonymous bloggers who vote against me, could actually break their silence and tell me what is the problem – Its Big Blogger and I blog, the rules do not disallow it. Come on lurkers I dare you to tell me, I won’t be upset or anything, honest. It’s a game right?

What gets me more annoyed is people not doing what they both say they will do and are actually paid to do.

Over the last few days I have been driving here and there across the country doing my job. On Wednesday I drove for 4 hours, did my work, drove back, picked up a colleague in Sunny Plymouth and then had to drive to Chelmsford another 6 hour drive, so that we could attend an event there at 9 am the next morning. Spent a night in a hotel, got to the event on time and raring to go, only to be told by the organiser that we did not have permission to be there and that we could not do what we wanted to do (a spot of market research). So we had to turn around and drive the 6 hours back to sunny Plymouth.

Were we pissed, (emotionally not alcoholically) of course, the person whose responsibility it was to get that permission, had told us, everything was OK! And when we phoned her, she just said, O well come home’.

I had been driving and sat in my car for over 15 hours the previous day and now we had at least a nother 6 hours drive home, in the event it was 8 hours, we had to use the M25!.

There’s a good old adage which really does work, If you want something doing well, do it yourself!

And when I ask for more money, they always say well you’re at the top of your scale and you’d need more responsibility before we can pay you more – WELL GIVE ME THE RESPONSIBILITY OF DOING ALL THE THINGS I HAVE TO DO BECAUSE THE OTHER MANAGERS ALWAYS SEEM TO FUCK IT UP AND IT ALWAYS IMPACTS UPON WHAT I AM TRYING TO DO!

Phew got that off my chest didn’t I.

Stressed me nah – where’s the vallium!