During the Summer we noticed that there seemed to be quite a few wasps around our garden and although they did not pose a problem as such it was a concern. Towards the end of the Summer I noticed that there seemed to be a bit of a swarm above our bedroom window, the nest, it would appear, was between our roof and the insulation in the loft. At the time An and I were lying on the lawn looking up and we decided that the weather would soon bring a frost and that they did not seem to be doing any harm. That was to change.
As the weather got colder the wasps started to find a way into our house, which at first was not so obvious. We would regularly come home from work and find the odd one gazing, longingly out of the window. We eventually found out that they were coming through the light fitting in our bedroom. If you have ever seen The abominable Dr Phibes you can understand my slight concerns with them getting into our room at night. Enough was enough, An called the fire brigade.
In the UK you can call the local council or a pest control company and they will sort out your problem, but here in Belgium it is the fire brigade that sort out wasps. In fact the sister-in-law has called them out no less than 7 times, I think there is a pattern developing here...
Now before you get excited the fire brigade does not turn up en masse, no, they make an appointment and two of them (in our case) turn up with a flat bed truck, a ladder and some chemical spray in a dispenser. The two who showed up in our case were like chalk n' cheese, one had a face only a mother could love and the other, who was about 12, looked like he could have been a stripper part time. I was out when they eventually arrived leaving An to show them to our bedroom! They got right to work and I caught them after they had finished. It was awkward, I mean what do you say to a couple of firemen who walk out of your bedroom as you get home? All innocent I assure you! Anyway they sprayed a few of the wasps and the idea was that they would infect the rest when they went back into the nest and they should all die off in about 4 days. They also assured us that they would not have damaged the insulation or the roof and that they will not return the following year.
Roll on two weeks and we had no less than 20 or so wasps coming though the light fitting in dribs and drabs, in fact after the visit there were about 5 or so on day one. The poison was working but I was not keen that they were potentially falling onto my head as they escaped from Agent Orange.
This morning at around 6am I woke almost instantly to the feeling of something landing on my chest and rolling down my t-shirt. Faster than any Ninja and realising the possibility that a somewhat drowsy wasp was potentially about to attack my tits, I sprang up lifting my top and backing away from the area of the bed near the pillow. Now at this point I was not sure if I was imagining it but it was too late for that, An remained in slumber as I did what any sensible person would do and I switched on the bedside lamp, this was a mistake but then a blessing. The wasp saw the light and, forgive the pun, made a beeline for it! Now the thing had some energy from the warmth of the light as he began to play pinball in the lampshade. An was now rousing from her sleep as I alerted her to our intruder.
The wasp in the meantime was now quite active having had the equivalent of a defibrillator activated against its hairy ass. It flew out of the lampshade and smacked into the wall dropping behind the headboard. An helpfully said 'well, what now?' I was actually relieved as the chances of the wasp getting up of the floor were quite slim judging by the previous victims we had seen. That was not good enough though, we could not let this rest. We started to move the bed but on doing so to our horror we noticed the amount of dust that had gathered there and that the wasp was somewhat overwhelmed by it. Making a mental note to hoover at some point soon, I realised that I would require the arms of an orangutan in order to get to the wasp and kill it. Not having an orangutan handy I had to think of something and quick before he made a bid for freedom. At this point he went for it and got under the skirting board, to the protest and despair of An. It was not to last. I grabbed a towel and by that time he had come back out, presumably not finding the cramped conditions to his liking. I dropped the towel onto him and dragged it to the side of the bed, An then did the deed and killed him. Now we were awake at 6 am on a Sunday morning, bloody marvellous!
I managed, much to the annoyance of An, to get back to sleep. I drempt of being based in a WWII airfield that was being bombed, I had to man my anti-aircraft gun with my crew and I had difficulty finding them in the dark. An did eventually get to sleep and she drempt about giant wasps chewing their way through the brickwork!!!!!!! Make of that what you will.
Anyway just remember if you need to get rid of wasps then call the fire brigade, they cost about 28 euros and will come back out if they don't manage to get them the first time round. So as well as getting rid of the wasps you can get a free show too!
Sunday, 1 December 2013
Saturday, 30 November 2013
Learning Dutch
It has been some time since I last wrote on the blog, work has been somewhat busy as has life in general. Anyway I am due to change career in about a years time and as such I am exploring the possibility of seeking employment in Brussels. To further this aim I have started to take Dutch evening classes.
One can argue that it is probably better to learn French, that being the language most widely spoken in Brussels, but I also wish to hold decent conversations with my family and argue effectively with my wife (only kidding)!
The course which I signed up to back in August was for 1 evening per week from 18.15 - 21.30. The course lasts an entire academic year and ranges in levels from 1 to 8. You can take up to three evenings per week but for me that would be quite unworkable. I would only need to do 1 term to complete level 1 and thus if I had the time it would be quite handy. We were left under no illusion though, homework is a must, so clearly if you can allow the study to dominate your life then you are ok, if not then it has to be at a more reasonable pace.
The course I have enrolled in is subsidised by the Flemish Government and costs only 72 Euros, which is quite outstanding value for money.
The only drawback for me is that I have to commute from work through the hellish rush hour to get to my school in Leuven in good time to begin. Most of the time it has not been a problem but it does not take much to stop the traffic dead. I have had to miss a couple of lessons so far due to work but you are allowed to miss a given percentage and still pass the course. I am quite lucky as I have been studying Dutch for around 7 years and therefore it is relatively straightforward. I must add that I am in level 1, as my grammar and writing is not good enough for level 2. The result of that is I am way ahead of most of the class and I can understand almost everything the tutor is saying (the lesson is delivered in Dutch with occasional English explanations).
My class is quite a mixed bunch in terms of nationality and profession. There are Spanish, British, French, German, Italian, Bosnian, Russian and Ukrainian people. All of them are quite pleasant and cheerful, despite us all being tired after working during the day. Some, like myself, are quite good others struggle a bit. There is a break at around 20.00 for a coffee, chat, toilet and smoke (if that spins your props).
The format of the lessons varies with one to one with classmates, delivery by the tutor, video, written exercises, repetition and questions from the tutor. Having taken the Teaching English as a Foreign Language, it is not quite as varied as that but it is enough. As an example we recently discussed prepositions, there were no practical exercises to demonstrate these. In one lesson I had to explain to my colleague the individual components of a sentence so that he could understand what it was that he had to say as an answer. The question was 'What was the name of your first pet?' I had to explain this without the benefit of English as he did not understand that. The tutor did not feel the need to demonstrate the difference between mine and yours (which I did with the aid of a pen), what a pet (huisdier) was, what first (eerst) meant etc. To be fair he was a complete beginner but then that was level 1! Still it helped me in developing my communications skills and ability to teach too!
The problem with knowing more than what is being taught is that I end up not giving the model answer and also I am sometimes caught out with things that I simply do not know and have not taken the time to learn. I discovered recently that asking how someone is should get a specific reply for example - Hoe gaat het met jouw? Met mij gaat het goed. Most people will respond with just one word goed, prima, slecht etc. So I have learnt how I should reply even if in reality people do not use the rest of the phrase. In fact most just say Hoe gaat het? or Alles kits achter the ritz? My spelling maybe out and that latter question is basically 'how's it hanging?' and is usually just said between men.
Anyway the company that provides the course is Groep T and I would recommend it if you are in the Leuven region.
One can argue that it is probably better to learn French, that being the language most widely spoken in Brussels, but I also wish to hold decent conversations with my family and argue effectively with my wife (only kidding)!
The course which I signed up to back in August was for 1 evening per week from 18.15 - 21.30. The course lasts an entire academic year and ranges in levels from 1 to 8. You can take up to three evenings per week but for me that would be quite unworkable. I would only need to do 1 term to complete level 1 and thus if I had the time it would be quite handy. We were left under no illusion though, homework is a must, so clearly if you can allow the study to dominate your life then you are ok, if not then it has to be at a more reasonable pace.
The course I have enrolled in is subsidised by the Flemish Government and costs only 72 Euros, which is quite outstanding value for money.
The only drawback for me is that I have to commute from work through the hellish rush hour to get to my school in Leuven in good time to begin. Most of the time it has not been a problem but it does not take much to stop the traffic dead. I have had to miss a couple of lessons so far due to work but you are allowed to miss a given percentage and still pass the course. I am quite lucky as I have been studying Dutch for around 7 years and therefore it is relatively straightforward. I must add that I am in level 1, as my grammar and writing is not good enough for level 2. The result of that is I am way ahead of most of the class and I can understand almost everything the tutor is saying (the lesson is delivered in Dutch with occasional English explanations).
My class is quite a mixed bunch in terms of nationality and profession. There are Spanish, British, French, German, Italian, Bosnian, Russian and Ukrainian people. All of them are quite pleasant and cheerful, despite us all being tired after working during the day. Some, like myself, are quite good others struggle a bit. There is a break at around 20.00 for a coffee, chat, toilet and smoke (if that spins your props).
The format of the lessons varies with one to one with classmates, delivery by the tutor, video, written exercises, repetition and questions from the tutor. Having taken the Teaching English as a Foreign Language, it is not quite as varied as that but it is enough. As an example we recently discussed prepositions, there were no practical exercises to demonstrate these. In one lesson I had to explain to my colleague the individual components of a sentence so that he could understand what it was that he had to say as an answer. The question was 'What was the name of your first pet?' I had to explain this without the benefit of English as he did not understand that. The tutor did not feel the need to demonstrate the difference between mine and yours (which I did with the aid of a pen), what a pet (huisdier) was, what first (eerst) meant etc. To be fair he was a complete beginner but then that was level 1! Still it helped me in developing my communications skills and ability to teach too!
The problem with knowing more than what is being taught is that I end up not giving the model answer and also I am sometimes caught out with things that I simply do not know and have not taken the time to learn. I discovered recently that asking how someone is should get a specific reply for example - Hoe gaat het met jouw? Met mij gaat het goed. Most people will respond with just one word goed, prima, slecht etc. So I have learnt how I should reply even if in reality people do not use the rest of the phrase. In fact most just say Hoe gaat het? or Alles kits achter the ritz? My spelling maybe out and that latter question is basically 'how's it hanging?' and is usually just said between men.
Anyway the company that provides the course is Groep T and I would recommend it if you are in the Leuven region.
Thursday, 19 September 2013
Why I Work In An Effing Office!
This is a tale of proper planning and preparation and having the right tools for the job, in this case it was rather a half arse attempt on my part born out of previous experience that almost failed. The silver lining to this tale and the moral of the story is to have the determination and perseverance to fight through when all seems hopeless.
It all started with a cursory inspection of the rear brakes on my Jaguar X-Type. I only had the car for another week before I was due to hand it over to an auction house and pick up my new car. Unfortunately I was due to cover some considerable miles in that last week and I came to the conclusion that the rear brakes were no longer safe and needed to be replaced. I have changed brakes with my step-dad many times in my childhood and more recently on a number of cars that I have had since. The basic task is as follows:
Loosen wheelnuts
Put blocks on either side of the front wheels to stop it rolling off.
Select first gear
Release the handbrake
Jack car up
Remove wheel and place under the car in case the car should fall
Loosen the two nuts holding the brake calliper in place.
Remove worn pads
Inspect brake disc for damage/wear
lever back piston in the calliper to make room for the new pads (I will come back to this)
Take the replacement pads, apply anti squeal grease and place into calliper
Put it all back together and repeat on the other side.
Now this job really should not take more than about an hour to complete all told. It took me two days in the end as I shall now relate! Before I begin it is worth mentioning that there was a time critical factor that would come into play. I had an appointment in Germany on the Thursday and before departing I called into the car parts shop to acquire the brake pads, this is always fraught with danger as there are thousands of parts to choose from and they must be the correct ones otherwise you are Donald ducked, so to speak. In order to ensure I had the right parts I gave them my registration document which showed the vehicle identification number. I also took the opportunity to buy a couple of ratchet spanners, which would aid my removal of the callipers. I then drove to Germany and was back at a reasonable time to begin fitting the brakes in the afternoon.
I had the rear wheel off in no time and had the calliper removed and the brake pads out, then came the moment of truth, I compared the new pads to the old ones and to no great surprise, they were completely different! So came the second trip to the car parts shop where I was informed that they would have to order the parts in, thankfully they would be there by 09.00 the next day. I was not impressed but then what can you expect? In order to speed things up I unwisely decided to remove the pads from both sides of the car and then replace the wheels. So to summarise, my car was now without rear brakes and chocked up. I planned to quickly replace the brakes the following morning and then get on with some work.
The next morning I took my wife to work so I could then use her car during the day. I left it until 09.36 before going to pick up the parts. To put things into context I would be picking up the wife at 16.00 before going to the Ardennes
Having picked up the parts the next task was to whip off the wheels in turn, lever back the pistons and fit the pads. I started on one side and it quickly became apparent that the piston was not going to lever back, in fact it seemed stuck fast. This presented problems because if it was seized then it would mean obtaining a new calliper and then would involve messing about with brake hydraulics, of which I had little or no experience of, I was not chuffed. I tried removing the cap on the brake fluid reservoir in order to allow the pressure to be relieved, this did not work. I resolved to get the other side done and thus replaced the wheel and went to work on the other side. Having removed it I then came across the same problem. Now with both pistons refusing to budge it was highly likely that they both could not be seized and that it was just a case of me not being able to move them. So I felt compelled to obtain the correct tool for the job, something that I should have had from the outset but that my previous experience had demonstrated was not really necessary. I had in fact done my wife's brakes recently without any issue and she drives a Volvo V50.
Cue a trip to a different car parts shop (I was unhappy with the other one), this was my third visit to a shop. When I got there I was told that they had sold their last specialist tool the day before and could order it in. The pressure started to tell. The price was 44 euros for a hand powered tool and 88 for a hydraulic powered tool. I asked if they could recommend a shop that may have it, you got it they recommended the one I had already been to, cue the fourth trip back to the other shop!
It is worth mentioning that my Dutch and their English was not up to the task and so I had to resort to miming a few times, but it should have been obvious. So I went to the original shop where I got the brake pads and looked for the specialist tool, they had a hydraulic one but not the hand powered one. I had to show the staff what I was talking about and I asked if that was all he had, he said yes but then I may as well have asked him in Klingon and he would have still said yes. I had very little faith in what I was being told. Two key points from this visit, firstly the tool was 108 euros (and that was after a discount) and I specifically and clearly asked him if I needed anything else to operate the tool. He said no but what he should have said is 'have you got an air compressor?' The answer of course would have been no, I would discover this critical point in the not too distant future.
Once back at the car I then whipped the wheel off again (I had lost track of how many times I had jacked the car up and removed the wheels). I then read the instructions for the tool and got to the gem which said, 'and plug your air hose into the tool' The anger and frustration at this point is best left unwritten. I was starting to boil and get rather hacked off. I tried, in vain, to use the tool without the air and I succeeded in opening up the piston and effectively jamming the tool onto the calliper, at least it was not seized!
During the whole evolution I was sweating in the heat of the sun and at different stages wearing thick knee pads, gloves, shorts, t-shirt and sandals. I looked a bit of a twat really but I was not concerned with that!
Anyway cue the fifth trip to a different shop, Freetime, to procure an air compressor. After asking advice and obtaining an air hose at a cost of 28 euros and a compressor at 114 euros. I asked the sales assistant about the fittings and he said there were two sizes of fitting, large and small. I said I thought that the tool had a small fitting and that was just as well because the air compressor and air hose were both small fittings. I was wrong. I returned to the car, carefully read the instructions for the air compressor and then went to connect up all the parts. When I got to the bit where I connected the air hose to the tool I discovered that in fact the tool had the large fitting. To say that I was swearing under my breath is an understatement. Time was marching on and I was no closer to finishing the job. I should have added that I was nervous about using the compressor as it is in essence explosive being very high pressure, in reality it was simple to use as I would eventually discover. Anyway cue the sixth visit to the shops, Freetime again, to get an adaptor to connect the small to the large fittings on the tool.
At Freetime I found out that they did not have the required fitting and could not assist, in a word, bollocks. I asked if he knew anywhere that I could get such a fitting and he pointed me to the Iron shop. Now I had passed this inconspicuous place many times, noting the name but being oblivious to the Aladdin's cave of tools and bits that lay behind this deceptively innocent façade. I duly pulled in to the parking area on my seventh visit to a shop. The shop itself is full of tools and fixtures and fittings, clothing and all sorts of male DIY and professional things. I could, on any other day, spend an hour or so looking around. Not today though. The ladies behind the counter could not understand what I was asking for and I could not explain it, not without being rude as it involved male and female connectors. Anyway the short answer was to bring the air hose and the tool into the shop (at my dismay as the tool was jammed onto the calliper).
I decided to try Hubo before heading back just in case they had the fitting (eighth fruitless visit to a shop) they did not have the part I needed. So I returned to the car and managed to free the tool from the car and take both that and the air hose to the Iron shop, visit number nine. When I got there and presented the bits the ladies confidently said that they did not have the part and would have to order it. I could have screamed out for the mercy of God but I kept my composure, realising the desperation of my predicament I tried to think of an alternative. I resolved to try one last place before considering widening the scope of my search to other towns and cities. I went back to the original car parts shop for my tenth visit of the day.
Irately I explained to the lady in that shop (being watched by the bloke who had sold me the tool) that they said I did not need anything else but that in fact I needed an air compressor and that I had subsequently bought one. I now explained the issue with the adaptor and asked if they had anything that could help me. They duly produced a smaller male connector that could be screwed into the tool when you remove the other one and it cost 2.20 euros. At last I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. By the time I left the shop it was around 14.40 and I was now getting concerned about having to pick up my wife.
When I got to the car it had just started to rain, I laughed and thought bloody typical. I have worked on cars in some awful conditions so this rain was not going to prevent me from completing the job. I managed to complete the task in about 20 minutes after that and in my haste had forgotten to add the anti-squeal grease, which was to annoy fellow motorists and pedestrians as I drove by later on.
In the end I had spent approximately 350 euros on all tools and materials for the replacement of the rear brake pads. To do the front and rear plus discs and labour would have cost me 600 euros. Looking on the bright side, I now definitely have all of the tools required to do the job and I am now seeking to expand my collection of pneumatic tools!
The moral, stick with it and make sure you have the right gear before you start! The car has now been sold and is squealing its way around Peterborough now.
It all started with a cursory inspection of the rear brakes on my Jaguar X-Type. I only had the car for another week before I was due to hand it over to an auction house and pick up my new car. Unfortunately I was due to cover some considerable miles in that last week and I came to the conclusion that the rear brakes were no longer safe and needed to be replaced. I have changed brakes with my step-dad many times in my childhood and more recently on a number of cars that I have had since. The basic task is as follows:
Loosen wheelnuts
Put blocks on either side of the front wheels to stop it rolling off.
Select first gear
Release the handbrake
Jack car up
Remove wheel and place under the car in case the car should fall
Loosen the two nuts holding the brake calliper in place.
Remove worn pads
Inspect brake disc for damage/wear
lever back piston in the calliper to make room for the new pads (I will come back to this)
Take the replacement pads, apply anti squeal grease and place into calliper
Put it all back together and repeat on the other side.
Now this job really should not take more than about an hour to complete all told. It took me two days in the end as I shall now relate! Before I begin it is worth mentioning that there was a time critical factor that would come into play. I had an appointment in Germany on the Thursday and before departing I called into the car parts shop to acquire the brake pads, this is always fraught with danger as there are thousands of parts to choose from and they must be the correct ones otherwise you are Donald ducked, so to speak. In order to ensure I had the right parts I gave them my registration document which showed the vehicle identification number. I also took the opportunity to buy a couple of ratchet spanners, which would aid my removal of the callipers. I then drove to Germany and was back at a reasonable time to begin fitting the brakes in the afternoon.
I had the rear wheel off in no time and had the calliper removed and the brake pads out, then came the moment of truth, I compared the new pads to the old ones and to no great surprise, they were completely different! So came the second trip to the car parts shop where I was informed that they would have to order the parts in, thankfully they would be there by 09.00 the next day. I was not impressed but then what can you expect? In order to speed things up I unwisely decided to remove the pads from both sides of the car and then replace the wheels. So to summarise, my car was now without rear brakes and chocked up. I planned to quickly replace the brakes the following morning and then get on with some work.
The next morning I took my wife to work so I could then use her car during the day. I left it until 09.36 before going to pick up the parts. To put things into context I would be picking up the wife at 16.00 before going to the Ardennes
Having picked up the parts the next task was to whip off the wheels in turn, lever back the pistons and fit the pads. I started on one side and it quickly became apparent that the piston was not going to lever back, in fact it seemed stuck fast. This presented problems because if it was seized then it would mean obtaining a new calliper and then would involve messing about with brake hydraulics, of which I had little or no experience of, I was not chuffed. I tried removing the cap on the brake fluid reservoir in order to allow the pressure to be relieved, this did not work. I resolved to get the other side done and thus replaced the wheel and went to work on the other side. Having removed it I then came across the same problem. Now with both pistons refusing to budge it was highly likely that they both could not be seized and that it was just a case of me not being able to move them. So I felt compelled to obtain the correct tool for the job, something that I should have had from the outset but that my previous experience had demonstrated was not really necessary. I had in fact done my wife's brakes recently without any issue and she drives a Volvo V50.
Cue a trip to a different car parts shop (I was unhappy with the other one), this was my third visit to a shop. When I got there I was told that they had sold their last specialist tool the day before and could order it in. The pressure started to tell. The price was 44 euros for a hand powered tool and 88 for a hydraulic powered tool. I asked if they could recommend a shop that may have it, you got it they recommended the one I had already been to, cue the fourth trip back to the other shop!
It is worth mentioning that my Dutch and their English was not up to the task and so I had to resort to miming a few times, but it should have been obvious. So I went to the original shop where I got the brake pads and looked for the specialist tool, they had a hydraulic one but not the hand powered one. I had to show the staff what I was talking about and I asked if that was all he had, he said yes but then I may as well have asked him in Klingon and he would have still said yes. I had very little faith in what I was being told. Two key points from this visit, firstly the tool was 108 euros (and that was after a discount) and I specifically and clearly asked him if I needed anything else to operate the tool. He said no but what he should have said is 'have you got an air compressor?' The answer of course would have been no, I would discover this critical point in the not too distant future.
Once back at the car I then whipped the wheel off again (I had lost track of how many times I had jacked the car up and removed the wheels). I then read the instructions for the tool and got to the gem which said, 'and plug your air hose into the tool' The anger and frustration at this point is best left unwritten. I was starting to boil and get rather hacked off. I tried, in vain, to use the tool without the air and I succeeded in opening up the piston and effectively jamming the tool onto the calliper, at least it was not seized!
During the whole evolution I was sweating in the heat of the sun and at different stages wearing thick knee pads, gloves, shorts, t-shirt and sandals. I looked a bit of a twat really but I was not concerned with that!
Anyway cue the fifth trip to a different shop, Freetime, to procure an air compressor. After asking advice and obtaining an air hose at a cost of 28 euros and a compressor at 114 euros. I asked the sales assistant about the fittings and he said there were two sizes of fitting, large and small. I said I thought that the tool had a small fitting and that was just as well because the air compressor and air hose were both small fittings. I was wrong. I returned to the car, carefully read the instructions for the air compressor and then went to connect up all the parts. When I got to the bit where I connected the air hose to the tool I discovered that in fact the tool had the large fitting. To say that I was swearing under my breath is an understatement. Time was marching on and I was no closer to finishing the job. I should have added that I was nervous about using the compressor as it is in essence explosive being very high pressure, in reality it was simple to use as I would eventually discover. Anyway cue the sixth visit to the shops, Freetime again, to get an adaptor to connect the small to the large fittings on the tool.
At Freetime I found out that they did not have the required fitting and could not assist, in a word, bollocks. I asked if he knew anywhere that I could get such a fitting and he pointed me to the Iron shop. Now I had passed this inconspicuous place many times, noting the name but being oblivious to the Aladdin's cave of tools and bits that lay behind this deceptively innocent façade. I duly pulled in to the parking area on my seventh visit to a shop. The shop itself is full of tools and fixtures and fittings, clothing and all sorts of male DIY and professional things. I could, on any other day, spend an hour or so looking around. Not today though. The ladies behind the counter could not understand what I was asking for and I could not explain it, not without being rude as it involved male and female connectors. Anyway the short answer was to bring the air hose and the tool into the shop (at my dismay as the tool was jammed onto the calliper).
I decided to try Hubo before heading back just in case they had the fitting (eighth fruitless visit to a shop) they did not have the part I needed. So I returned to the car and managed to free the tool from the car and take both that and the air hose to the Iron shop, visit number nine. When I got there and presented the bits the ladies confidently said that they did not have the part and would have to order it. I could have screamed out for the mercy of God but I kept my composure, realising the desperation of my predicament I tried to think of an alternative. I resolved to try one last place before considering widening the scope of my search to other towns and cities. I went back to the original car parts shop for my tenth visit of the day.
Irately I explained to the lady in that shop (being watched by the bloke who had sold me the tool) that they said I did not need anything else but that in fact I needed an air compressor and that I had subsequently bought one. I now explained the issue with the adaptor and asked if they had anything that could help me. They duly produced a smaller male connector that could be screwed into the tool when you remove the other one and it cost 2.20 euros. At last I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. By the time I left the shop it was around 14.40 and I was now getting concerned about having to pick up my wife.
When I got to the car it had just started to rain, I laughed and thought bloody typical. I have worked on cars in some awful conditions so this rain was not going to prevent me from completing the job. I managed to complete the task in about 20 minutes after that and in my haste had forgotten to add the anti-squeal grease, which was to annoy fellow motorists and pedestrians as I drove by later on.
In the end I had spent approximately 350 euros on all tools and materials for the replacement of the rear brake pads. To do the front and rear plus discs and labour would have cost me 600 euros. Looking on the bright side, I now definitely have all of the tools required to do the job and I am now seeking to expand my collection of pneumatic tools!
The moral, stick with it and make sure you have the right gear before you start! The car has now been sold and is squealing its way around Peterborough now.
Sunday, 1 September 2013
Running
I am not the the fittest person jogging about the place but I have become accustomed to going for a jog in a bid to keep some kind of fitness level and to continue the struggle against middle aged spread. The home town affords quite a few varied routes ranging from a full 16km to a rather brisk 3km, depending upon the mood.
When I am out and about, and my breathing has stabilised, I often take the time to think things through, often going through the latest bollocks going on at work, just thinking about future plans or reflecting on the past. Sometimes, but not always, I pay attention to my surroundings and notice things that I had not on previous runs.
My runs take me along both urban and rural scenes, past rivers and through woods, I sometimes wonder what has happened here in the past, thinking about the two world wars and the bad things that happened back then. One of the longer runs follows the course of the Demer river, I run along one side and then cross a bridge and run down the other side, a giant loop.
There are hazards, for a start pedestrians are the lowest of the low, there are cycle lanes and roads and not many footpaths. Sometimes there are no cycle lanes either. I have to have my wits about me to avoid being run over by cars and more especially by bicycles. There is no quarter given and as I like to listen to music it is a bit more risky when I cannot here them coming. I do dress in brightly coloured gear, this is so that they can clearly see me when they hit me!
My pace is hardly quick, I often get myself into a breathing rhythm of four beats with the right foot hitting the ground every other beat. I try not to match the music otherwise the pace would be too much. In fact I deliberately shorten my stride if I am on a long run just to keep my endurance. There is no method in my madness, just determination to keep going. Although interval training yields better results, so I am told, I have this psychological object of not breaking out of my jog, no matter how tired I feel.
I have now run the Antwerp 10 mile run 4 times and the last was particularly difficult, I think my training plan was all wrong. I was doing a single 10 mile run each week up until the day. In previous years I had done up to three short and one long distance run per week. Part of the problem is having the time to do the work, it is so easy to break out of the habit, especially with work commitments.
I have not yet enter the run this year, but I will get it done, it has become a bit of a habit now and gives me something to motivate me. It will begin to get colder soon, with winter approaching I need to dig that bit deeper to keep going.
Monday, 19 August 2013
Counting Skidmarks
Not one of the most appealing of titles to this entry but truthful none the less. On my regular commute I decided it would help pass the time a little if I was a little more observant when driving to work. I have to stress that I do keep my eyes open and pay attention to the other traffic, I mean to do otherwise is to invite disaster.
I noticed on my drive in that there are an exceptionally large number of skid marks on the route into work and I was hypothesising as to why this was the case. I noticed that most of them tended to be leading from the fast to the middle lane as they approached junctions. I surmised that these were drivers that had failed to anticipate their exit at a reasonable time and decided to make a crazy death manoeuvre across the traffic in a bid to avoid driving an extra 3km to the next junction. Some of the more worrying ones led into the trees and indeed the central reservation, one can only imagine the face of the driver when they work up and dropped their bottle of Jupiler.
The other favourite pastime is removing aggressive drivers from my arse when they decide that the 128km/h is just not fast enough for them and that a safe distance is really not required behind other cars. I mean after all my brakes must work as well as theirs because all cars have the same characteristics and maintenance levels eh? I have enjoyed many a happy hour banging on the brakes as the umpteenth emergency stop has been carried out by the driver in front of me, this ripples its way down the traffic jam until it either catches someone unawares or it gets to the end. It is a bit like a Mexican wave but without standing up.
I am sure my car has a pothole magnet fitted, no matter how often I drive the route I always seem to hit the same damn places each time, cursing loudly and gritting my teeth as my suspension takes another jarring. It is like flying a spaceship in a computer game and wondering how much longer my shields will last after the next asteroid hits it. It is much the same when I get smacked by rocks thrown up by other traffic.
Something else that is a tad annoying is when the Flemish radio stations die off as I cross into the forbidden territory that is Wallonia. Do you know that I can receive the signal well into France if I am on the coast road? No not in the case of traversing the demilitarised zone entering Wallonia. I just turn it off as to be honest I cannot be bothered to listen to the Syrupy French language.
Today I was witness to some early morning entertainment as I left the E40 to join the R0 ring road. This is a particular pinch point as there are four lanes, two going ahead and then two exiting to the right, the two exiting change to one going left and two going right. Now, the majority of the traffic usually wants to go to the right (the airport direction), but they often leave it far too late and then dive in at the last moment. What is more, they then go down the lane meant for left bound traffic to try and squeeze another place on those going right. They do this at increasing speed as to go slow is to lose out completely. I go left and so often find myself behind some monkey trying cut the traffic up.
Today was special, I got to the junction at about 6.15 ish, I was lined up for my exit with a lane to my right and two to my left, we got to the bit where the solid white line came into play (meaning it is illegal to cross it and results in a severe fine if caught). To my horror, if not surprise, a rather large lorry carrying a heavy load of concrete decided to switch to my lane at the last moment, causing me to brake heavily. Now, that was not all, there were two other cars in front of me, one of which decided he wanted to go straight on and therefore swung across the solid white line, very near to the point of no return (they made it). The second car as expected wanted to go right and duly swung right. It would have impressed the Red Arrows display team and more so in that they were all within a cars' length of each other when they made their moves. Throughout all of this I was keeping a safe distance, having re-assessed my gap between the chopper in the lorry and myself.
I think it was the adrenaline but I suddenly became that much more aware of what was going on from that point onwards.
I noticed on my drive in that there are an exceptionally large number of skid marks on the route into work and I was hypothesising as to why this was the case. I noticed that most of them tended to be leading from the fast to the middle lane as they approached junctions. I surmised that these were drivers that had failed to anticipate their exit at a reasonable time and decided to make a crazy death manoeuvre across the traffic in a bid to avoid driving an extra 3km to the next junction. Some of the more worrying ones led into the trees and indeed the central reservation, one can only imagine the face of the driver when they work up and dropped their bottle of Jupiler.
The other favourite pastime is removing aggressive drivers from my arse when they decide that the 128km/h is just not fast enough for them and that a safe distance is really not required behind other cars. I mean after all my brakes must work as well as theirs because all cars have the same characteristics and maintenance levels eh? I have enjoyed many a happy hour banging on the brakes as the umpteenth emergency stop has been carried out by the driver in front of me, this ripples its way down the traffic jam until it either catches someone unawares or it gets to the end. It is a bit like a Mexican wave but without standing up.
I am sure my car has a pothole magnet fitted, no matter how often I drive the route I always seem to hit the same damn places each time, cursing loudly and gritting my teeth as my suspension takes another jarring. It is like flying a spaceship in a computer game and wondering how much longer my shields will last after the next asteroid hits it. It is much the same when I get smacked by rocks thrown up by other traffic.
Something else that is a tad annoying is when the Flemish radio stations die off as I cross into the forbidden territory that is Wallonia. Do you know that I can receive the signal well into France if I am on the coast road? No not in the case of traversing the demilitarised zone entering Wallonia. I just turn it off as to be honest I cannot be bothered to listen to the Syrupy French language.
Today I was witness to some early morning entertainment as I left the E40 to join the R0 ring road. This is a particular pinch point as there are four lanes, two going ahead and then two exiting to the right, the two exiting change to one going left and two going right. Now, the majority of the traffic usually wants to go to the right (the airport direction), but they often leave it far too late and then dive in at the last moment. What is more, they then go down the lane meant for left bound traffic to try and squeeze another place on those going right. They do this at increasing speed as to go slow is to lose out completely. I go left and so often find myself behind some monkey trying cut the traffic up.
Today was special, I got to the junction at about 6.15 ish, I was lined up for my exit with a lane to my right and two to my left, we got to the bit where the solid white line came into play (meaning it is illegal to cross it and results in a severe fine if caught). To my horror, if not surprise, a rather large lorry carrying a heavy load of concrete decided to switch to my lane at the last moment, causing me to brake heavily. Now, that was not all, there were two other cars in front of me, one of which decided he wanted to go straight on and therefore swung across the solid white line, very near to the point of no return (they made it). The second car as expected wanted to go right and duly swung right. It would have impressed the Red Arrows display team and more so in that they were all within a cars' length of each other when they made their moves. Throughout all of this I was keeping a safe distance, having re-assessed my gap between the chopper in the lorry and myself.
I think it was the adrenaline but I suddenly became that much more aware of what was going on from that point onwards.
Tuesday, 13 August 2013
A Day Trip - Kazerne Dossin The Holocaust Museum
It has been a while since I last wrote, what with work being as hectic as it is and things happening around the house. Anyway I am on a week long holiday at home and one of the things that was recommended was to visit a museum in Mechelen. I must warn you that this particular blog is somewhat more serious than my usual offerings.
The Museum that my wife and I visited is called the Kazerne Dossin, the Holocaust Museum in Mechelen. The name derives from the barracks (Kazerne) Dossin where Jewish people were sent to be processed and board transportation for the concentration camps during the 2nd World War. Before I continue I must say that the museum is very simple, if a little understated, but the impact is profound. I have read a fair bit about the holocaust and other related material but I could not help but be shocked by the scale and barbarity of what was done. The views I give here are my own and I do not intend to shock or offend anyone, I simply want to say how I felt and what I was thinking as I walked through the halls of pictures.
The museum itself is in a plain white building with five floors and a basement. The basement houses a café and the top floor houses a special exhibition area, which was not open when we went today. The entry fee is 10 Euros for a regular adult and begins with an introductory video on the ground floor. They have hand held audio devices which have the narrative in English, Dutch and French. The video goes through the persecution of the Jewish people through the ages and explains a little about why this has happened before stopping short of the main purpose of the museum, which is to mark the rise and impact of the Nazis on this unfortunate storey.
You can see before you ascend the stairs the walls covered in passport photos of the victims who were transported from Kazerne Dossin, the photos that are not greyed out are those who survived this awful time, there are not many in the sea of pictures.
The next three floors are broken down into Mass, Fear and Death. Somewhat brief explanations for discussing the subject and why things happened the way they did. In the first instance when they refer to mass they are suggesting that if a crowd or group is large enough and can be persuaded by a hard line minority then they can be swayed. The argument, often stated, is that the depression and the humiliating defeat of the Germans in the First World War created the right conditions for the masses to seek an alternative and a common 'enemy'. It was with this background that the rise of the Nazis was possible. Poor economic conditions often give rise to civil unrest and the desire to blame others for the failures is not uncommon. I say this because given the recent credit crunch and severe economic conditions nations have sought to place the blame for this at various places and indeed society has become less tolerant of those who do not contribute to the wealth of the nation. One of my thoughts was that could this ever happen again, you would think not but then we have seen similar things in other countries such as the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda.
The second section entitled Fear suggested that once in power this small group of extremists can keep control of the masses by instilling fear in them. One does not have to look far to see where that has happened more recently. In the case of the Nazis they destroyed any political opposition and established tight control over the German people. As you can imagine this created a wave of refugees as they ostracised the Jewish community with renewed vigour. It is important to point out that they did not just limit themselves to the Jewish population but also they looked at other groups such as the Roma people with the same disregard. The result of this was that there were many foreign refugees in Belgium (and in other countries) before Kazerne Dossin came into use as a transportation centre. In fact the point was made that a lot of the nations did not do a great deal to assist and that the unhealthy attitude towards the Jewish community was not a sole attribute of the German nation.
The last section, Death, was quite hard hitting as you would expect. It was about the transportation and extermination of people. I have read some quite harrowing accounts of this before and seen imagery of the atrocities as well but nothing can stop the sense of revulsion and astonishment that one human being can be so barbaric to another.
When moving through this particular museum the main thoughts I had were that what had taken place was practically on my (adopted) doorstep. Such things had not happened in the UK, although I am sure the Scots, Irish and Welsh will have examples of similar behaviour towards them, I am not sure if it ever amounted to extermination on an industrial scale. I thought too of my family and how I would feel if they were in this position, there was no quarter given, age and sex were irrelevant it was a process as cold as that was.
What was interesting in this case is the contribution of Belgium to this process, the presentation made a point of emphasising the effective Belgian Civil Service in staffing the deportation of the victims. In fact there was a suggestion that more, much more could have been done to hinder this activity. It is unfair, however to lay total blame on those who were involved in the machinery of staffing the deportation of the Jewish and other victims. As with any country at that time, individuals would be compelled to choose between what is morally correct and doing what they had to in order to survive. There were both sympathisers and those who actually believed in what they were doing was right, again any country at the time would have had such a mix of people. It was interesting to note that some key politicians at the time decided to collaborate with the Germans, but then surely a politician's aim is to remain in power and therefore this is not surprising. There were examples of those who did their best to hinder the process and indeed powerful people who resigned rather than be complicit in the activity. I did think that collaborators are just those who ended up on the wrong side at the end of the war, morally of course the 'right' side won, but no doubt there are examples of atrocities committed by the winning side (I just don't have the knowledge to talk about them).
I did wonder whether the UK would have behaved in the same manner as Belgium if confronted with the same situation. I decided that we would have behaved the same way because the same dilemmas would have presented themselves to us and people would have to make a choice.
Another of the interesting parts of the exhibition showed that the majority of the resistance came from the Wallonian part of the country. More acts of sabotage were taking place in the French speaking side than the Flemish. I am sure we could have a wide ranging debate on the reasons and moral arguments behind the statistics and I am not sure what the museum was getting at by highlighting this to the visitors.
Probably the most striking image out of the whole collection was one of a group of women and children stripped naked and being marched towards a pit, where they were about to be executed. In the sequence of photographs there was a lady hanging back, I cannot remember if she had a child as well but it was clear from the image that she was heavily pregnant. I stood for some time looking at this image before turning away. I thought of that unborn child, words failed me at this point and they still do.
When I did my equality and diversity course the instructors made a point that such discriminatory behaviour often starts at the very basic level where one person creates a perceived difference and others begin to follow. It starts with words and then escalates up to actions which get ever more extreme. People probably think it is too far fetched that calling someone names will lead to genocide but the reality is that it can and it did.
As a child at school I remember the schoolyard and the harsh reality that I grew up in, attitudes were different in the 70s and 80s but that does not excuse the behaviour. What was clear and becomes clearer every time I visit such places as Kazerne Dossin is that as a child I simply did not understand the impact of what was said or done. I was, to an extent, following the mass at the time. I was taught by my mother to stand up for my beliefs and not to be afraid to stand alone if I felt that was the right thing to do, I have done so many times. To hide within a crowd is to lack the moral courage to say and do what is right and this is what happened, in my opinion.
I would encourage anyone to take the time out to visit these places and try and understand what happened and why and then to apply that to the world they live in today to make sure we avoid such a thing happening again.
It is important that we remember and understand.
www.kazernedossin.eu
The Museum that my wife and I visited is called the Kazerne Dossin, the Holocaust Museum in Mechelen. The name derives from the barracks (Kazerne) Dossin where Jewish people were sent to be processed and board transportation for the concentration camps during the 2nd World War. Before I continue I must say that the museum is very simple, if a little understated, but the impact is profound. I have read a fair bit about the holocaust and other related material but I could not help but be shocked by the scale and barbarity of what was done. The views I give here are my own and I do not intend to shock or offend anyone, I simply want to say how I felt and what I was thinking as I walked through the halls of pictures.
The museum itself is in a plain white building with five floors and a basement. The basement houses a café and the top floor houses a special exhibition area, which was not open when we went today. The entry fee is 10 Euros for a regular adult and begins with an introductory video on the ground floor. They have hand held audio devices which have the narrative in English, Dutch and French. The video goes through the persecution of the Jewish people through the ages and explains a little about why this has happened before stopping short of the main purpose of the museum, which is to mark the rise and impact of the Nazis on this unfortunate storey.
You can see before you ascend the stairs the walls covered in passport photos of the victims who were transported from Kazerne Dossin, the photos that are not greyed out are those who survived this awful time, there are not many in the sea of pictures.
The next three floors are broken down into Mass, Fear and Death. Somewhat brief explanations for discussing the subject and why things happened the way they did. In the first instance when they refer to mass they are suggesting that if a crowd or group is large enough and can be persuaded by a hard line minority then they can be swayed. The argument, often stated, is that the depression and the humiliating defeat of the Germans in the First World War created the right conditions for the masses to seek an alternative and a common 'enemy'. It was with this background that the rise of the Nazis was possible. Poor economic conditions often give rise to civil unrest and the desire to blame others for the failures is not uncommon. I say this because given the recent credit crunch and severe economic conditions nations have sought to place the blame for this at various places and indeed society has become less tolerant of those who do not contribute to the wealth of the nation. One of my thoughts was that could this ever happen again, you would think not but then we have seen similar things in other countries such as the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda.
The second section entitled Fear suggested that once in power this small group of extremists can keep control of the masses by instilling fear in them. One does not have to look far to see where that has happened more recently. In the case of the Nazis they destroyed any political opposition and established tight control over the German people. As you can imagine this created a wave of refugees as they ostracised the Jewish community with renewed vigour. It is important to point out that they did not just limit themselves to the Jewish population but also they looked at other groups such as the Roma people with the same disregard. The result of this was that there were many foreign refugees in Belgium (and in other countries) before Kazerne Dossin came into use as a transportation centre. In fact the point was made that a lot of the nations did not do a great deal to assist and that the unhealthy attitude towards the Jewish community was not a sole attribute of the German nation.
The last section, Death, was quite hard hitting as you would expect. It was about the transportation and extermination of people. I have read some quite harrowing accounts of this before and seen imagery of the atrocities as well but nothing can stop the sense of revulsion and astonishment that one human being can be so barbaric to another.
When moving through this particular museum the main thoughts I had were that what had taken place was practically on my (adopted) doorstep. Such things had not happened in the UK, although I am sure the Scots, Irish and Welsh will have examples of similar behaviour towards them, I am not sure if it ever amounted to extermination on an industrial scale. I thought too of my family and how I would feel if they were in this position, there was no quarter given, age and sex were irrelevant it was a process as cold as that was.
What was interesting in this case is the contribution of Belgium to this process, the presentation made a point of emphasising the effective Belgian Civil Service in staffing the deportation of the victims. In fact there was a suggestion that more, much more could have been done to hinder this activity. It is unfair, however to lay total blame on those who were involved in the machinery of staffing the deportation of the Jewish and other victims. As with any country at that time, individuals would be compelled to choose between what is morally correct and doing what they had to in order to survive. There were both sympathisers and those who actually believed in what they were doing was right, again any country at the time would have had such a mix of people. It was interesting to note that some key politicians at the time decided to collaborate with the Germans, but then surely a politician's aim is to remain in power and therefore this is not surprising. There were examples of those who did their best to hinder the process and indeed powerful people who resigned rather than be complicit in the activity. I did think that collaborators are just those who ended up on the wrong side at the end of the war, morally of course the 'right' side won, but no doubt there are examples of atrocities committed by the winning side (I just don't have the knowledge to talk about them).
I did wonder whether the UK would have behaved in the same manner as Belgium if confronted with the same situation. I decided that we would have behaved the same way because the same dilemmas would have presented themselves to us and people would have to make a choice.
Another of the interesting parts of the exhibition showed that the majority of the resistance came from the Wallonian part of the country. More acts of sabotage were taking place in the French speaking side than the Flemish. I am sure we could have a wide ranging debate on the reasons and moral arguments behind the statistics and I am not sure what the museum was getting at by highlighting this to the visitors.
Probably the most striking image out of the whole collection was one of a group of women and children stripped naked and being marched towards a pit, where they were about to be executed. In the sequence of photographs there was a lady hanging back, I cannot remember if she had a child as well but it was clear from the image that she was heavily pregnant. I stood for some time looking at this image before turning away. I thought of that unborn child, words failed me at this point and they still do.
When I did my equality and diversity course the instructors made a point that such discriminatory behaviour often starts at the very basic level where one person creates a perceived difference and others begin to follow. It starts with words and then escalates up to actions which get ever more extreme. People probably think it is too far fetched that calling someone names will lead to genocide but the reality is that it can and it did.
As a child at school I remember the schoolyard and the harsh reality that I grew up in, attitudes were different in the 70s and 80s but that does not excuse the behaviour. What was clear and becomes clearer every time I visit such places as Kazerne Dossin is that as a child I simply did not understand the impact of what was said or done. I was, to an extent, following the mass at the time. I was taught by my mother to stand up for my beliefs and not to be afraid to stand alone if I felt that was the right thing to do, I have done so many times. To hide within a crowd is to lack the moral courage to say and do what is right and this is what happened, in my opinion.
I would encourage anyone to take the time out to visit these places and try and understand what happened and why and then to apply that to the world they live in today to make sure we avoid such a thing happening again.
It is important that we remember and understand.
www.kazernedossin.eu
Monday, 15 July 2013
Queues - The Rules
Being British and more to the point English, I know all about the etiquette of queues. It does not just go from the humble post office but extends to all sorts of places, the ice cream van, the bus stop even the toilet. People are often seen in many places around the British Isles having polite arguments about the other person being before them in the queue. 'No, no, I am sure you were before me', 'But really I insist you must go first, I only have a trolley full of food to buy...'
Belgium, if you so much as blink and you will find some old biddy has slipped past you, bakers, bus queues, supermarkets, everywhere. I was recently passing through Brussels airport on my way home and I happened to overhear a rather terse conversation between a French speaking Belgian and someone I can only assume was British. She was getting quite irate at the accusation that she may be trying to push in whilst stood in the queue for passport control. 'What, you think I am pushing in, do you have a problem? Eh, eh, eh?' Then cue a quick burst of French to the amused bystanders who think it is hilarious, more so because the innocent party cannot understand what is being said. Of course we are so sensitive, the British that is, that we will often not mention when someone has been rude enough to squeeze in. When we do we expect the guilty party to apologise profusely and step aside, in fact the crowd would be baying for blood and they would have to leave the area immediately. We certainly don't expect a vicious response, which I can only describe as defensive. Now at this point, having noted that two people had already jumped me in the queue, I was so tempted to turn around and say, ' well, in addition to cycling, the other national sport in Belgium is queue jumping, they are Olympic champions at this'. However, I chose to remain silent, I mean what's the point? I have not quite picked up this indifferent habit yet but people are shocked when I let them go before me as if to say 'hey, is there a trap door here or some other danger lurking?'
Now saying that of course the UK is changing and is always evolving, my first experience of to hell with queuing, the slowest gets crushed attitude was in London. My illusion of green and pleasant hills, friendly neighbours and strong communities was well and truly shattered when I caught my first tube on the London Underground. we are, however, still leagues ahead in terms of courtesy to complete strangers, some parts of the UK more so than others.
There is a strange paradox here, the Belgians do like to use ticket machines to determine who should come next in the queue. I cannot quite get my head around this, the idea that there should be an utterly fair way of dealing with people in the right order. That said, the buggers will not tell you when the ticket machine is not in use so you can stand there like a chimp holding number 5 and everyone else is just getting served because they are not using the machine today. In stark contrast you can be the last two people on earth and the buffoon behind the post office counter will still expect you to push the button and print a needless ticket. 'I say, old chap, I have just walked across this barren wasteland and yours is the first cheerful and human face I have seen in days, would you mind telling me how much it is to post this?' 'You need to take a ticket sir', 'I'm sorry, was there a queue, did I have to barge in through this throng, this heaving, sweating bunch of mail denied freaks?' 'Still have to take a ticket sir' After much chundering I then go to the machine and am faced with a choice of buttons than I cannot read and quite frankly would most likely end up triggering the launch of a nuclear missile if I get them in the wrong order. Thankfully it doesn't matter too much but you may end up getting directed to another window. It is all a test.
Oh by the way, there are no rules. It is survival of the most cunning and devious and they come in all ages and look like angels too so watch out!
Belgium, if you so much as blink and you will find some old biddy has slipped past you, bakers, bus queues, supermarkets, everywhere. I was recently passing through Brussels airport on my way home and I happened to overhear a rather terse conversation between a French speaking Belgian and someone I can only assume was British. She was getting quite irate at the accusation that she may be trying to push in whilst stood in the queue for passport control. 'What, you think I am pushing in, do you have a problem? Eh, eh, eh?' Then cue a quick burst of French to the amused bystanders who think it is hilarious, more so because the innocent party cannot understand what is being said. Of course we are so sensitive, the British that is, that we will often not mention when someone has been rude enough to squeeze in. When we do we expect the guilty party to apologise profusely and step aside, in fact the crowd would be baying for blood and they would have to leave the area immediately. We certainly don't expect a vicious response, which I can only describe as defensive. Now at this point, having noted that two people had already jumped me in the queue, I was so tempted to turn around and say, ' well, in addition to cycling, the other national sport in Belgium is queue jumping, they are Olympic champions at this'. However, I chose to remain silent, I mean what's the point? I have not quite picked up this indifferent habit yet but people are shocked when I let them go before me as if to say 'hey, is there a trap door here or some other danger lurking?'
Now saying that of course the UK is changing and is always evolving, my first experience of to hell with queuing, the slowest gets crushed attitude was in London. My illusion of green and pleasant hills, friendly neighbours and strong communities was well and truly shattered when I caught my first tube on the London Underground. we are, however, still leagues ahead in terms of courtesy to complete strangers, some parts of the UK more so than others.
There is a strange paradox here, the Belgians do like to use ticket machines to determine who should come next in the queue. I cannot quite get my head around this, the idea that there should be an utterly fair way of dealing with people in the right order. That said, the buggers will not tell you when the ticket machine is not in use so you can stand there like a chimp holding number 5 and everyone else is just getting served because they are not using the machine today. In stark contrast you can be the last two people on earth and the buffoon behind the post office counter will still expect you to push the button and print a needless ticket. 'I say, old chap, I have just walked across this barren wasteland and yours is the first cheerful and human face I have seen in days, would you mind telling me how much it is to post this?' 'You need to take a ticket sir', 'I'm sorry, was there a queue, did I have to barge in through this throng, this heaving, sweating bunch of mail denied freaks?' 'Still have to take a ticket sir' After much chundering I then go to the machine and am faced with a choice of buttons than I cannot read and quite frankly would most likely end up triggering the launch of a nuclear missile if I get them in the wrong order. Thankfully it doesn't matter too much but you may end up getting directed to another window. It is all a test.
Oh by the way, there are no rules. It is survival of the most cunning and devious and they come in all ages and look like angels too so watch out!
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