Tourists!

"Bloody tourists!" A refrain that issues forth from my lips and those of almost everyone else I know who lives anywhere where tourists gather.

The combination of excruciatingly (unnaturally) slow walking pace, the random and unexpected stopping in the most awkward places possible to take photos and the half hour it takes them to get on the bus having checked every stop it stops at combines to send my blood-pressure skyrocketing. And that's not to mention luggage. Roller suitcases and my feet are not friends so please stop introducing them to each other. And backpacks. What is it with backpacks, bumbags and strange little shoulder pouches. Why is it people who can sensibly get around their home city on the contents of their pockets and maybe a small handbag suddenly feel the need to carry enough kit to make a para weep. Wherever you are, I can assure you that you almost certainly won't need it.

As you have probably guessed, I am a passionate advocate of pavements in big cities being divided into lanes; one for people who actually want to get somewhere and one for those that are dawdling.

It was with some trepidation therefore, that I agreed to go to portugal this weekend with my girlfriend. Having freely aired these views on tourists many times, I was determined not to act like that myself. Not only that, but I hate feeling like a tourist too. It feels so contrived. Some of the best experiences I've had abroad have been when I have been staying with locals. Although I was still far from blending in to the background, at least I was seeing local things from a local perspective.

First things first, the bare minimum was packed in an holdall with no backpack in sight. A guide book was purchased and flicked through and the loud shirts left in the cupboard. When we got there, we planned out a rough itinerary before researching the public transport system (and where everything went) and memorising a few basic phrasebook sayings. I know everyone speaks English but it, in my mind, is extremely poor form not to have a few linguistic niceties to start conversations when we are guests in other people's countries.

Most impressively of all, I managed to get my girlfriend to ration down what she took around with her on a daily basis and talk her out of taking photos every 32.5 seconds so we actually got to do some exploring and see the place.

After all that, it turned out to be a brilliant weekend. We suited ourselves exploring the city at our leisure (and travelling round it without disrupting the public transport network), saw the local sites and best of all (for me at least) tried the local food; usually by the failsafe method of opting for the most unusal-sounding thing on the menu.

All in all a thoroughly good weekend.

JR

A Desperate Plea

This is a desperate plea that goes out to everybody with young children. If you are out with them in a situation with lots of other people around and the start making a lot of noise please, PLEASE remove them from that situation.

Currently on the train back from Scotland and there is a kid making a lot of noise. If this wasn't bad enough, I'm in the quiet coach. The one where extra hoops need jumped through to get in and where everyone else had thoughtfully switched phones to vibrate, turned down the ipods and are conducting conversations in no more than whispers. (Oddly enough, the parents are freely chatting to each other at full volume too).

I get having kids isn't always easy and most of them are willfully stubborn. That still doesn't excuse you from your responsibilities to ensure no one else is inconvenienced by your offspring. You might think all your child's noises are cute... We don't. And don't pretend not to see all the exasperated looks flowing in your direction. Muffled, "Shhhhhhh" isn't doing the trick either so please take them into the vestibule or just somewhere else. Why do you specifically book seats in the quiet coach when you know you have a kid that's likely to be noisy?

Don't infer from this post that I don't like kids, the opposite is true. I love family gatherings where I gladly assume the role of entertainer for various sprogs, I enjoy helping with St. John cadets and one of my favourite summer holiday jobs was teaching English to foreign kids while showing them some of our great country. I just don't tolerate poor behaviour.

One year when teaching (the course was residential so the kids got to know us well) my kids nicknamed me Colonel because of my strict attitude to discipline. That's not to say we didn't have a laugh and a good time but they knew what was expected of them and knew I wouldn't tolerate them not living up to it. This was particularly true on city excursions (who isn't familiar with how infinitely frustrating tour groups are) where they knew to stay out of the way and walk at a decent pace. As a result of this, I had strangers coming up to me and commenting on how well behaved the kids were. I fully admit ninety percent of this was due to the kids but I like to think they responded well to me too.

Right. Think I'm going to escalate thing now by adding a passive-aggressive tut to my sharp looks. Wish me luck!

JR

On the Move

This was supposed to go up yesterday but dimwit here sent it to the wrong address!

JR

Currently I'm on the train back to Scotland. It's my mum's birthday so I'm going up for some celebrations.
Generally I like travelling by train. It doesn't have all the silly restrictions that aircraft have so I can take some beer and some sandwiches. Although the journey takes around five and a half hours; spending five and a half hours with the paper, a good (or bad) book, sandwiches and beer is time well spent. Regardless of where it is. I have also had the pleasure of meeting some really cool people on such journeys. For some reason, a lot of the afforementioned seem to be soldiers (possibly because part of the job is meeting and working with new people all the time) and for some reason, the chat starts immediately and the gentle piss-taking not long after. A side effect however is often the consumption of large amounts of alcohol leading to slight problems using the oyster card. Another thing I like about the train is that one is moving pretty much all the time. It gives the impression of actually going somewhere.
Compare that to flying where you get treated with contempt on a good day and worse on a bad. Having to turn up weeks in advance annoys me, as does having to sit around in a departure "lounge" where the seats seem designed to be as uncomfortable as physically possible and the bar prices so exorbitant as to make boojees seem reasonable. You could argue the advantage of duty free but to be honest who actually needs it? Inevitably I spend money I don't have on things I don't really need. I also hate the pervasive air of suspicion that follows everyone round an airport. The blanket ban on fluids etc to my mind is a presumption of guilt (but don't start me on the constitutional side). As an aside, the air is thick with exasperated stress.
The only advantage to air travel that I can see is that phones are banned (for now) so it's a merciful haven from some twat shouting into their i-phone to prove they have one. Admittedly that is a hollow victory since most trains have quiet coaches which are generally respected.
Give me the train any day.
On another note, I found out today that I passed my resit. I am now qualified to begin practicing law (under supervision). I wish I could say I felt jubilant but in all honesty, the course has been such a slog that all I feel is gentle relief. The more I think about it, the more I feel that I could, if not enjoy, at least be reasonably satisfied with a career in law. It's just getting a foot in the door. My dad asked if I had some sort of graduation for it. To be honest, the thought never even crossed my mind. Even if there was I don't think I will go. My biology graduation was the big one. It was the culmination of a lot of hard work, personal development and a milestone in my life. This feels nothing like that. It was a hell of a slog to get through but it is, and always has been, a stepping stone to a job and as such, I don't really think all the pomp and ceremony is necessary.
To change tack again; I'm still really enjoying the job. Office banter is beginning to build up which is always good and I still like exploring London (and defying the satnav knowing that I know best... Then getting lost). I met another lovely person today. Another volunteer. I was dropping some stuff off at her house. She was an older lady (the gentleman lurking within me prevents me from guessing an exact age) with a real spark in her eye. I saw photos of what I presume are grandchildren in pride of place on the hall table and I get the impression she's a wonderful granny.
Her air of vitality reminded me of some of my own relatives; my great grandmother who lived in an Aberdeenshire croft until well into her 70s and made up harvest parcels for "the old folks" until round about the same age. Also my grandmother who insisted on helping with the washing up at her old folks home and had the local ducks virtually tame from regular feeding (and always, but always, had a bag of my favourite sweets for when I came to visit... Always gratefully appreciated even when I was in my mid-teens and should have been far too cool - well it's ok when it's from your granny).
I can feel a wave of nostalgia gathering but the train is probably not the most appropriate place to express it. Perhaps later...
JR

Thrown Into the Pub

I was in my old Uni town today. Lots of memories were flooding back. One of the funniest (and strangest) was the time a mate and I got thrown INTO the pub.

As a bit of background; there is a blanket ban on drinking in the street in Scotland.

The incident in question took place in one of my last years. There was a parade in town which one of my friends was in. As it was a nice day, another friend and I went to the pub, procured a pint and meandered outside to watch the parade (and take the piss of our mate in a silly costume).

Although drinking in the street is illegal, many pubs have chairs and tables outside which are regarded as part of the premises. Unfortunately all these chairs and tables were taken so we just stood, in line with them, slightly to the side of the door. We thought this was reasonable enough.

A few minutes later a police officer comes along and says, "Sorry boys, you can't drink in the street. You're going to have to take your pints inside."

We explain the situation. Unfortunately this is met a response similar to the statement above.

At this point we point out to the officer that he is in fact throwing us into the pub. After a seconds thought he agrees and we have a bit of a laugh about it. Sadly he refused to put it in writing!

JR

The New Job

I have now been in the new job for a few days. So far it's quite good fun. For those that haven't been following previous posts; I am now doing logistical stuff for the British Legion Poppy Appeal. Essentially I am pootling round London in a van picking stuff up and dropping stuff off.

So far, like I say, it's good fun. Admittedly the traffic is a bit of a nightmare (I generally budget about an hour for the shortest of runs and any less is a bonus), I have yet to get out of 3rd gear or exceed 30mph. To add insult to injury, the traffic lights seem sequenced to always be at alternating colours; a legacy of Ken Livingstone I'd wager. Oh and I hate one way, it's the bane of my life especially as I have yet to be issued with a satnav so I am going off my internal compass, an a to z and some hasty print outs usually written before the current one way system was put into place. On the plus side, I have discovered that my knowledge of London is quite a bit better than I thought. Here's hoping it continues.

I have had the pleasure of meeting some really nice people who I would not otherwise have met. One person I met today sticks in my mind particularly. He essentially runs the distribution of poppies in an outlying region of North London. He does this as a volunteer and has done so for around 10 years having volunteered when he was unable to buy a poppy. We had a long chat over tea (when he offered, I almost hugged him. As I was at the end of a 2 and a half hour drive that google maps assured me would only take 44min; most of which I spent hopelessly lost and trusting my instincts). I didn't get much of his story save for the fact that he was a successful toy distributor when he was working (what a cool job!) and he did once harbour ambitions to be a lawyer. He also told me he was at boarding school during the war and hinted at a Jewish background. I would have liked to have had time to speak to him more and hear the stories he had to tell. He is one of the people you meet in life that radiates fun and kindness. Hopefully we shall meet again later in the appeal.

On another note, was very impressed at the BBC today. During their coverage of the dale farm evictions, they took a break from their usually anti-police mentality to broadcast an officer calmly telling a woman (I think) who claimed it was her job to protect the inhabitants, that she had been arrested and asking her calmly and politely to accompany him to the van. Naturally this was met by a load of abuse and condescention. To his credit, the officer repeated the request in the same manner several times. I'm not sure what the final outcome is but I take my hat off to him. If I had been in a similar situation, I can't guarantee I wouldn't have tied her up with her own dreadlocks! Well done and keep up the good work.

That's all to report so far. Will keep you updated with my adventures if and as they happen.

JR

Rant!

I dodged a bullet this weekend. I was supposed to be going out to a birthday lunch for one of my girlfriends mates. So far so good except it was to a vegetarian "restaurant". In the end we didn't go for one reason or another. A bit of a shame really as I had a rather good rant composed for here. In the spirit of the Daily Mail (never letting truth or research get in the way of a good bit of outrage) I will share a few of my thoughts.

In the interests of deciding how drunk I would need to get to make the experience tolerable, I had a look at the menu. Normally the mark of a good chef is being able to take poor ingredients and make them into something wonderful. This skill is awe-inspiring and I am jealous of it. Good cooks can take good ingredients and turn them into a nice dish that is more than the sum of it's parts. In this place, they took some decent ingredients and made them worse; an impressive feat but not one to envy. Each dish sounded like it would come out of the kitchen as a brown swill. Some meat added to the dish would inevitably lift it a bit and make it edible. Still, at least it's nice to know that people that failed their McDonalds entrance exam can get a job in the catering industry.

Apart from the food, the principle incenses me. I think vegetarians are bloody idiots but if that's the way they want to live then so be it; it's only them that's losing out. However when they start dictating to me that's another matter, especially when it deprives me of cash I don't really have for food I will not enjoy (frequent readers will know I'm a passionate cook and take a great deal of pleasure from what I eat and drink). The arrogance and ignorance displayed is breathtaking and makes them no better than the other tub-thumping zealots out there that the sensible, rightly, deride. If I could be arsed, I would put my legal hat on and look for some sort of provision that says it's unacceptable discrimination not to have some sort of meat-based course; the Human Rights Act might as well be put to some productive use rather than keeping criminals with kittens in the country.

What tickles me in a bitter way is that these self-same veggies often lust (almost sexually) after leather shoes and handbags (like other eating disorders, those that suffer are usually female).

As I say, didn't end up going although it might have been fun to deploy a pack of salami and some pork scratchings half-way through to be controversial.

Rant over!

On another note, was earning some good boyfriend points by watching Strictly Come Dancing with the girlfriend at the weekend. Is it just me or is Len Goodman under contract to say, "Seveeeeen" at least once per episode. It is getting to the stage where an episode without it is like a car without an engine; still looks the same but somehow not quite right!

JR

Duck!

Yesterday I went on a London Duck tour. These are the ex-D-day landing craft that anyone who has been in central London for more than 5 minutes will have seen cruising around. Some people think I'm crazy to so avidly do the tourist stuff in the city where I live but most of it is brilliant and this was no exception (although it won't stop me muttering, "bloody tourists" under my breath, especially on the tube). As an added bonus, this one was a James Bond themed tour.

If you have read any of my other posts, you will know I am a huge Bond fan. Because of this, I was a little concerned the tour would be nothing more than shuttling round a few of the more obvious film locations that one can see simply by taking a trip on the eye. This feeling wasn't helped when the guide turned up in a dinner suit with a red clip-on velvet bow tie looking rather like a 1970s game show host. How wrong I was. The guy was obviously a passionate Bond fan and knew the subject inside out. Not only that, but there was a perfect blend of film Bond, book Bond, Flemming biography, World War Two history and the history of espionage. It gave a wonderful insight into where Bond came from and illustrated that, though some of the plots were a bit outlandish, some of the schemes (that worked) during WWII were no less so. As an added bonus, the guy doing the tour knew how to use a microphone so spoke into it from a decent distance and didn't shout into it while deepthroating it; many brownie points for that.

In truth the river-based bit of the tour was unnecessary and the top speed of the boat (6 knots or old lady doing widths of the pool speed) meant we didn't see too much from the river. However as someone who loves being in or on water, any opportunity to float about was fun in itself and there is a certain novelty value to seeing the Palace of Westminster from the water.

The fact that the Ducks are still running amazes me and impresses me. Being on one during a landing must have been terrifying beyond belief. They are far from salubrious however the concept is brilliant. Apparently they were built to last six weeks with engines to last three days (who knew the army outsourced the building of them to Kia!) so the fact they are still running and running well is phenomenal.