Last night because of the dearth of anything to watch on TV and because my Ukrainian wife cannot understand why our TV’s are full of DIY programmes, documentaries, quizzes, cooking programmes and reality shows rather than the sorts of light entertainment programmes that went out of fashion with programme makers in the mid 1980’s and are still very popular in Ukraine we watched The Sound of Music.
It’s a very good musical in its way and I know that it has received cult status but doesn’t the main plot, boy meets girl, girl meets boy, they fall in love but boy already has lover etc jar a little on closer examination?
I mean lets examine this a little bit. The film starts with a young girl in a convent, she’s a bit ‘off her head’ indeed she is a ‘flibbertijibbet! A will-o'-the wisp! A clown! The Nuns go on to tell us that Maria is in fact : gentle! She is wild! She's a riddle! She's a child! She's a headache! She's an angel! She's a girl!
So Maria is, in the analysis of the older nuns and mother superior, an angel, a girl and a child, and I think the subtext here is that she’s also a VIRGIN (gasp – well it is the end of the 1930’s as well).
So because she hasn’t got into the habit of being a nun they send her off to be a governess in a Captains house – well we all know what sailors are (free and easy, bright and breezy etc etc). But this Navy Captain ain’t so free and easy, bright and breezy, until this bright and young bit of skirt enters his life.
Now the said Captain, like all good sailors has a girl in every port and in Vienna he is wooing a Baroness with a pot load of money (even though he seems to have potloads too) but she’s old!
Pretty soon she’s getting the cold shoulder while this old roué (who has 7 children already, one of whom is sixteen, so he would probably be pushing 40 at least (to be kind!) especially being a brave and famous Captain of a ship) is gazing cow eyed at the pretty virgin skipping about his front garden (and the double bonus is she used to be a nun! How erotic is that – or is that just me?)
So the fairly good looking and trim and stinking rich baroness is given the cold shoulder while Captain Sinbad here quickly grabs himself the Virgin, goes on a months honeymoon, possibly to give her the sacraments of her life, and then escapes from the Nazis and lives happily ever after.
Now who says art doesn’t imitate life, or is it the other way around?
Friday, September 16, 2005
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Freshers Fair
Here, at this august emporium of knowledge and learning, like migrating wildebeest, the students are returning from their long hot summers in Goa, Phuket and Rock. The new additions to the herd, the ‘fresher’, are easy to spot. They are wearing their newest/oldest funkiest clothing to make a good first impression and to stamp their new student identity on whom so ever may want to cast an envious eye over them. The tee shirt with the oh so ironic comment on it, the brand new hideously expensive trainers finangled out of grandpa, the GAP sweatshirt bought by uncle and aunty for 'passing your exams', the denim jeans showing just enough underpant or thong.
They are also being shadowed at a discreet distance, having been told not to walk ‘too close’ by their offspring so as not to damage the independent image too much, by nervous but relieved looking parents carrying twenty or so supermarket bags full of important provisions that will ensure that the fledging will not actually starve to death in the first week or spend all their money on phone in pizzas.
That the said bags contain lots of healthy food and drinks that have been specially chosen by the concerned mum and dad is immaterial to the fresher as they have already planned in their minds eye that they are going to spend the next three years eating nothing but pot noodles and baked beans in order to have enough money to drink themselves into oblivion every night.
The foods contained in the bags will probably only be consumed should the male student cop off in his first week and invite the female back to his place where she will discover all the goodies and proceed to prepare them all. The female fresher, of course will, like the good girl she is, eat everything her mum and dad bought her and then within the next week join the goth soc, lose her virginity, get a tongue piercing, dye her hair pink and dress only in black, sending all the nice clothes her aunts and uncles bought her to go to uni in to the Hunt Sabs socs jumble sale and become a committed vegetarian.
As soon as the fresher has been allocated the room and all the bags have been transferred from the back of the car the parents are with out ceremony wished goodbye and sent on their way. For the first time, the student is on their own. The poky student room feels like a New York Loft, all this space, all the walls to cover, my own bed all the fun to be had, what fun, what freedom.
Meanwhile as the car carrying mum and dad hits the motorway out of town, they wipe away the tears that had been raining down their cheeks, the tears of joy as they realised that at long last they had been relieved of the monster that had been sharing their house since puberty hit at 13 or so. No more moods, no more arguments, no more sitting up all night wondering where the monster was, till this time in the morning!!!! They now had their own house back, all this space, the walls to redecorate, their own bed, what fun, what freedom, and no more whispered orgasms!
Yes there’s a lot to be said about getting a higher education!!!
Walking and health update.
Tuesday was an average day walking, not much to report about 6,500 steps so didn’t make my goal but yesterday was worse. I was up at 4:00am having to drive to Wales to do some work, I had to be in a school at 8:45 so had to be on the road by 5:00am. This is an unhealthy life, only about 4,500 steps all day, just sat on my arse in a car. So that’s only 10,000 steps in two days! Here’s what I ate yesterday whilst driving.
2 Apples (good start)
1 grande latte and 2 croissants (at a garage for breakfast))
1 chocolate muffin and 1 medium latte (in a supermarket waiting for appointment as I was early)
1 bottle diet coke (lemon)
1 packet Cheese and Onion Crisps (whilst driving)
(By this time the amount of caffeine that I had imbibed not only had me wired but desperate to go for a wee all the time because it’s a diuretic as well! – I usually drink de-caff)
A peach
3 slices of toast when I got home
decaff tea x 1
An apple
A Boost chocolate bar
One big bowl of borsch with potatoes in it. With a bread roll.
Some vodka, about three fingers – relaxing in the bath..
It’s like I’m on that programme ‘you are what you eat’, maybe I’ll have to keep a food diary to as well as a walk diary. Because as I can clearly see in this list if I only removed a few things from it my diet would be quite healthy.
Oh well today’s another day and you don’t want to know what I ate today!!!
They are also being shadowed at a discreet distance, having been told not to walk ‘too close’ by their offspring so as not to damage the independent image too much, by nervous but relieved looking parents carrying twenty or so supermarket bags full of important provisions that will ensure that the fledging will not actually starve to death in the first week or spend all their money on phone in pizzas.
That the said bags contain lots of healthy food and drinks that have been specially chosen by the concerned mum and dad is immaterial to the fresher as they have already planned in their minds eye that they are going to spend the next three years eating nothing but pot noodles and baked beans in order to have enough money to drink themselves into oblivion every night.
The foods contained in the bags will probably only be consumed should the male student cop off in his first week and invite the female back to his place where she will discover all the goodies and proceed to prepare them all. The female fresher, of course will, like the good girl she is, eat everything her mum and dad bought her and then within the next week join the goth soc, lose her virginity, get a tongue piercing, dye her hair pink and dress only in black, sending all the nice clothes her aunts and uncles bought her to go to uni in to the Hunt Sabs socs jumble sale and become a committed vegetarian.
As soon as the fresher has been allocated the room and all the bags have been transferred from the back of the car the parents are with out ceremony wished goodbye and sent on their way. For the first time, the student is on their own. The poky student room feels like a New York Loft, all this space, all the walls to cover, my own bed all the fun to be had, what fun, what freedom.
Meanwhile as the car carrying mum and dad hits the motorway out of town, they wipe away the tears that had been raining down their cheeks, the tears of joy as they realised that at long last they had been relieved of the monster that had been sharing their house since puberty hit at 13 or so. No more moods, no more arguments, no more sitting up all night wondering where the monster was, till this time in the morning!!!! They now had their own house back, all this space, the walls to redecorate, their own bed, what fun, what freedom, and no more whispered orgasms!
Yes there’s a lot to be said about getting a higher education!!!
Walking and health update.
Tuesday was an average day walking, not much to report about 6,500 steps so didn’t make my goal but yesterday was worse. I was up at 4:00am having to drive to Wales to do some work, I had to be in a school at 8:45 so had to be on the road by 5:00am. This is an unhealthy life, only about 4,500 steps all day, just sat on my arse in a car. So that’s only 10,000 steps in two days! Here’s what I ate yesterday whilst driving.
2 Apples (good start)
1 grande latte and 2 croissants (at a garage for breakfast))
1 chocolate muffin and 1 medium latte (in a supermarket waiting for appointment as I was early)
1 bottle diet coke (lemon)
1 packet Cheese and Onion Crisps (whilst driving)
(By this time the amount of caffeine that I had imbibed not only had me wired but desperate to go for a wee all the time because it’s a diuretic as well! – I usually drink de-caff)
A peach
3 slices of toast when I got home
decaff tea x 1
An apple
A Boost chocolate bar
One big bowl of borsch with potatoes in it. With a bread roll.
Some vodka, about three fingers – relaxing in the bath..
It’s like I’m on that programme ‘you are what you eat’, maybe I’ll have to keep a food diary to as well as a walk diary. Because as I can clearly see in this list if I only removed a few things from it my diet would be quite healthy.
Oh well today’s another day and you don’t want to know what I ate today!!!
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
'Another Way' Natwest and the case of the £1 overspend
"Another way"
‘ROYAL Bank of Scotland (owners of NatWest) have announced pretax profits rose 14 per cent to £3.7 billion in the first six months of this year (2005)’
I give you this statement after just fielding a telephone call from one of NatWests (O joy, Word does not like ‘NatWests’ and the spell check has offered me ‘Nitwits’ instead, you can guess the tone of this blog right from the off) Customer Service Manager who broke the good news to me that they would not be charging me a further £56 pounds on top of the £28 that they have already charged me.
My crime, my account went £1 and 06p overdrawn. Yes that right, I’ll spell it out I went One Pound and six pence overdrawn whilst I was away on holiday in Ukraine. (For American readers that’s about $2) Heinous isn’t it. I am such a spendaholic me, spend spend spend with no thought to how the bank will cope, what with their £3.7 billion profits and all.
And pray tell me, who else is fed up of being patronised by 20 year old ‘Customer Service Officers who tell you that you shouldn’t have ‘overspent’ and that I should have ‘managed my account so that I would not have gone overdrawn’. The fact that I actually didn’t go overdrawn on purpose but the vagaries of the exchange rates and the fees charged for using your ATM card abroad actually slipped me over into the disastrous sum of £1 and 6p!
That the 20 years old financial wizard in front of me at the bank couldn’t comprehend this and just kept patronising me and repeating that ‘the banks terms and conditions states…’ like some sort of lunatic automation didn’t help my mood one iota, especially when they pointed out that the combined charges for my £1 error would in fact be £84!
Then like all good female customer service operators everywhere she upgraded her attack , from the customer is a simple imbecile from whom we can extort money just by stating terms and conditions to he’s an aggressive male whose language and behaviour has become inappropriate so we will terminate the session. (I admit that I was aggrieved and accused the female of patronising me, but I did not shout or swear or make any moves that could be construed as aggressive its just she had no where else to go with such a dead end argument and I was not going to just roll over and give her the money.)
So the Customer Service Manager marches in all smiles and conciliatory language, like the snake in the Jungle Book but without the eyes. She also attempts to patronise me by ‘just pointing out the rules and regulations of ‘un-permitted borrowing’. But it wasn’t un-permitted borrowing, it was just £1, due to me being on holiday and the exchange rate changes. Plus, as I told her as I had been banking since I was about 16 and was now quite old, I actually did understand how banks worked without her giving me the potted Janet and John version specially written for imbeciles. But my point was that a fee of £84 for a small mistake of £1 was nowhere near the realms of fair or good business practise. – She didn’t agree.
And we had to agree to disagree, because apparently, while she would have been very happy to have sold me the financial services provided by the bank, such as Mortgage’s, Insurances, Loans and so on probably up to and beyond the value of £250,000 there was nobody, yes NOBODY not even the Manager, in the Bank who could authorise stopping the said £84 charge. Isn’t that remarkable?
A special request had to be presented to some office somewhere or other up country, where probably some VERY IMPORTANT person would discuss and consider the request by the Customer Service Manager to write off the said £84 fee. Which of course they haven’t done, they still feel the need to slap me on the wrist, admonish me to the tune of £28 while at the same time pretending to have done me a favour by writing off the further £56 fee and explaining it to me again as if I am a two year old, all for the sake of me being £1 06p overdrawn. I will attempt to get my £28 back too!
Remarkable!
By way of an almost instantanious update I was so incensed at what I wrote, I called Natwets complaint line (NatWest - 0800 50 50 50) and the very nice man on the other end of the phone gave me my £28 pounds back too - isn't NatWest a wonderful bank, hey.....
(Oy who muttered hypocrite in the back there?)
Monday, September 12, 2005
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
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
Friday, September 09, 2005
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 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?)
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?)
Thursday, September 08, 2005
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!
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!
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
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
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
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?
Friday, September 02, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
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?
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?
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
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!"
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!"
Thursday, August 25, 2005
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?!
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?!
Thursday, August 18, 2005
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
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
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
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...
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...
Monday, August 01, 2005
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!
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!
Saturday, July 30, 2005
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!
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!
Friday, July 29, 2005
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
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
Monday, July 25, 2005
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!
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!
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