London - 6 - 9 Jun 14

We had planned a trip to London now for, well a good few months at least, we were going with An's cousin, Eric and his wife, Isabelle.  The trip really began with the planning phase where Eric, who is a bit of food connoisseur, examined a range of restaurants and pubs where he suggested would be good to visit.  It was, as usual, going to be a feat of endurance as we squeezed as much as possible from the four days we were there.

Day 1 - 6 June 14

As if somehow connected to the D-Day landings 70 years ago, the alarm clock went off at the ridiculous time 04.45, which gave us 40 minutes to get ready, load the car and get across to Eric and Isabelle's place.  The reason for such a start time was to avoid the rush hour traffic of a Friday morning and get to London with at least half a day to make use of.  If you leave our house at any later than 06.30 then you will hit traffic and we would have to drive through the busiest stretch past the airport.  The Eurotunnel was booked for an 08.20 departure so it would be tight.  The drive was uneventful and we made it to the Eurotunnel check-in in good time.  However, we had not accounted for French border checks, which were unusually stringent this particular morning.  There were only two check points open both for the French and the UK and these would have been enough had they been processing the travellers at their normal pace.  we ended up driving straight onto the train and were one of only 8 cars embarked.

On the other side we were also lucky and did not get held up at all, although I did decide to stop for coffee not long after we got across.  An recommended a MacDonald's coffee, which I was surprised at but then I did not know any better.  Apparently she had tasted a fine MacDonald's coffee in Germany and thought, quite reasonably, that the same would be available in the UK.  It was awful apparently and Eric was also unimpressed with it!  I had an Egg McMuffin meal, breakfast in a bap!

We got to the Premier Inn hotel in Ealing and had a rather bizarre encounter with the lady behind reception.  We arrived maybe around 10.00, which was way too early to check in.  The receptionist told me that I could check in early for a cost of £25, I have never come across anything like this before, so I declined.  She then said that this 'fee' was in fact a contribution to a charity they were collecting for, even stranger I thought.  Anyway we did arrange a sort of check in which did not attract a strange charity fee and I paid the bill, including the parking, accommodation and half of the breakfasts (she had misheard me and not charged me for Eric and Isabelle).  I was relieved that we were able to leave the car parked up in the secure hotel car park, I had a fear that we would not be allowed in until 14.00, not good!  We departed the hotel for our first foray into the city.

First stop was acquiring the Oyster cards for the trip.  If you go to London then this is the best way to make sure that you do not pay too much for your travel on the Underground and buses.  You buy a card leaving a £5 deposit and then you top the card up and pay as you go.  In short it will cap the costs as the cheaper of the actual trips made or the cost of a travel card for the day.  The only thing you must do is ensure that you properly scan in and out of each station otherwise you will pay the full standard price.  I give it a good rub against the sensor and wait for the beep before going through.

I was burdened by my camera, complete with excessive heavy equipment, which I would come to regret.  Our target was Camden Town Market followed by the British Museum.  I had set out in my own mind to visit two particular places at Camden Town and as for the rest I was happy to go with the flow.  You can spend so much time going around the shops and markets that less than a day seems insufficient to take it all in.  There is the usual range of clothing and shoe shops, but there are also specialist shops that have Gothic and punk clothing and paraphernalia.  There is art of varying types and also there is a range of food outlets with a huge variety or world foods that you can sample and enjoy.  Here is a handy link that gives you a better description: Camden Town Market.

My aim was to buy a pair of Dr Martin's boots and although I did not have a particular kind in mind I was determined to get a pair.  As you leave the Camden Town Underground station you turn left and come to The British Boot Company, it is easy to miss and is maybe 30 metres from the station entrance.  The shop is small but has some interesting designs.  The staff will give you the background to DM boots and the heritage of the company and brand.  There are boots that have been signed by bands, notably Madness, but there are others.  The pair I got were of a light brown swede ankle length type.  I consulted with my specialist fashion advisor to make sure they were right for me, An approved!  It was a typically male purchase, efficient, quick and to the point.  They were selected, fitted and purchased maybe in under 5 minutes.  With this additional burden to carry for the rest of the day, we left to head towards the main market.

I must warn you, and I am being utterly serious for a moment, the link I am about to share contains somewhat disturbing material.  Be prepared for a shock and genuinely I feel it is not suitable for children.  I do not normally take such a strong view of art but this is one I feel I must express.  In one of the markets there is an American artist called Jeff Michalik.  Jeff is responsible for what I can best describe as the shocking and thought provoking art he brands under Killer Bunny.  His website is KillerBunny.co.uk.  So having had a quick look at the site, you can see what I mean.

I decided to buy a bit of his work, now, this raises a number of questions.  You can take a view on the artist, the buyer and of course the art itself.  What does his art say about him?  Well, if you stand by his stall for any length of time you will hear the comments from passers by about the mental state of the artist.  Then you turn to the buyer, who in their right mind would buy something like this?  Is it something dark within or is it a curiosity?  Is it a message that I want someone to see?  I can tell you this that I am apprehensive about displaying the artwork I have bought and I have no intention of gifting it to anyone.  My view is that it is radically different and thought provoking and this is coming from someone who is not quick to appreciate the finer points of art.  People often have a morbid fascination with gruesome things and maybe there is a bit of this involved here.  Anyway, after a further peruse it was time for food!!!!

There is a wide range of foods available and it is worth having a sweep past all of the stalls and not just diving into the first one you see.  Incidentally, Eric brought my attention to Churros, which is a deep fried batter based sweet.  We both got a portion during one of our many rest periods during the wander around Camden.  However, I digress, we settled for some food in the hot afternoon sun.  I had a duck wrap with some sangria, An had a Mediterranean vegetable salad and some water, Eric and Isabelle ended up with another exotic dish, whose name escapes me and they also had a glass of cava too.

I was trying to take pictures on the move and I was messing about with a range of settings and light conditions but here is a sample from Camden:

 From Camden we decided to head off, by foot, to the British Museum.  This was not a wise idea due to the heat and distance involved but we set out regardless.  During this walk I acquired my blisters, which was to make the rest of the visit a tad uncomfortable to say the least.  I thought I had chosen sensible shoes and socks but clearly not!  I think it was the poor socks that did it but I was not sure and now it was too late.

When we arrived at the British Museum it was very busy and we were both hot and thirsty.  The Museum is definitely worth a visit but I could not help but think of whether or not some of its treasures should be back in the countries from which they have been removed.  What is impressive is the covered courtyard.  Again you need a fair bit of time to do the place justice.  I took a few photos in the museum, the first of which was the Totem pole was in the covered courtyard.

Once we had finished up there the plan was to get back and freshen up at the hotel, in my case it would involve airing and nursing my feet too!  We were staying approximately 600 metres from Ealing Broadway Underground station and the plan was to eat at Wagamama and then go to a wine bar called Crispin's.  Wagamama is a chain of Japanese restaurants, of which there is one in Antwerp.  The food is of a high standard, although the main utensils for eating are chopsticks, which require a certain level of dexterity.

We ended the evening in Crispin's and after having established which wines on the menu were not available we made our selection.  By the way we also bought some Adobe, having tried some at my Brother-in-law's place and found it to be quite nice.  Sadly the version in Crispin's was not so pleasant.  Still it was a nice way to round off our first, long, day.

Day 2 - 7 Jun 14

Day 2 started with breakfast, this was when we noticed that we had not been charged for 4, but just 2.  I tried to bring this to the attention of the staff but they were busy with the large influx of teenage One Direction fans milling about in their pyjamas and other inappropriate clothing.  We had been told the day before that the hotel had stopped serving continental breakfasts but that the all inclusive price had gone up!  When we got there we found that what we had been told was what can be technically referred to as bollocks.  There was the full range of cooked and continental that we had had before.  You could eat as much as you liked for £8.75, realistically I don't think you can eat that much so I am not sure it is value for money.  Mind you with London prices it probably is.  Breakfast was not a peaceful and pleasurable experience due to the volume of other customers and their desire to let everyone else know they were there.

As best we could, we planned our day.  Not long after, we set out.

We struck out for the far side of London towards Brick Lane.  We took the tube through from Ealing Broadway to Liverpool Street station and then walked towards Brick Lane.  There was  a route marked out on a tour map, which was supposed to take us past some points of interest.  In essence for my feet it was another feat (forgive the pun) of endurance.  My blisters would end up with blisters as I walked like I had a small Christmas tree inserted into my bottom, just far enough that it would not quite dislodge itself.  The rest of the group were not fully aware of my discomfort.  Our first real stop was Spitalfields market, where Isabelle bought a man bag for Eric, for his birthday and An and I had a cup of tea.  Spitalfields is a covered market that has some interesting, mainly fashion type stalls and it is not so well known for its food.  This was not really a planned stop as we moved on towards Brick Lane.

As we progressed to Brick Lane we came across an 'event', in essence a group of home owners had opened up five of their gardens to the public for a small fee.  Perhaps what was more interesting is that the houses dated from around the 1750s and therefore their interiors were of more interest than their gardens in some cases.  Both An and Eric are keen gardeners and thus we had a look around.  I can best describe them as peaceful and very well designed.  Considering the location and the limited space, they are places I could easily relax in and read a book.  There was also plenty of shade too.  One particular feature was a mirror that someone had placed into a wall, it looked like another garden as the mirror was the size of a door and crystal clear.  It was very effective and I only stopped when I noticed my reflection.  Again this was unplanned but then the interior of the houses was also very interesting.  The buildings are grade II listed, which means the owners require special permission to make changes.  A lot of effort is also put into keeping the exteriors authentic, even with the application of special paints.  My feet were complaining and the Christmas tree was more than irritating...

Onwards to Brick Lane!  We found it and started to walk the length of it.  The last time An and I were here we missed the Old Truman Brewery, despite the large sign and buildings.  Perhaps it was the distraction of trying to find shoe shops the last time?  An and Isabelle were doing their best not to go into every fashion boutique, although it was tough.  In the Old Truman Brewery there is the Old Boiler House, which has a range of stalls that sell what I can best describe as world foods.  It is a bit of a treat to the pallet to be able to try some of these things, but we decided to wait until lunchtime before eating.  I was genuinely not hungry so I could wait.  It is worth a visit though.  Getting back onto Brick Lane we started to carry on walking the route with the aim of eventually getting to the White Cube Gallery in Mason's Yard, sadly it was closed by the time we got there.  Anyway I am ahead of myself!  Before then we came across The Blues Kitchen where we decided to have lunch.  I was a bit cautious about having lunch here as we were due to go to the Red Fort restaurant later on and I was not sure if we could cope with the volume of food!  The Blues kitchen, apart from having nice food and probably nice music, if you hit it at the right time, also has interesting décor.  The restaurant has a theme that can be best described as auto mobile in nature.  The waiting staff are very friendly and the service is good.  An was impressed with the quality of the fries/chips and the rest of the food was also very good.

When we had finished and were suitably refreshed there was an idea to go to a pub, but by this stage we needed to get to the Box Park, which was on our list and then start to head back towards the hotel.  The idea was to refresh ourselves ready for the evening, but this would add at least an hour to the timings, to go to a pub was therefore inviting disaster...

In the end we didn't, we just got on with the forced march and found the Box Park.  In essence the box park is lots of boutique type shops that are comprised of shipping containers that have been put together and fitted out.  You are kind of limited in size but then it does make use of these containers.  One particular shop stood out,Tusch Und Egon.  I particularly liked their fire extinguishers, which you can see directly at the link.  I also bought a small rubber Clown Fish, so I could do some Finding Nemo photographs such as these:

Time was pressing and so we could not spend too long looking around here, the trek continued (the pine needles were beginning to sting a bit).

We managed to get back in good time and I contacted my mate Sam to see if he could make it into Ealing to meet up.  Sam would make a great Belgian as his timekeeping is loose to say the least.  We managed to get to Ealing by about 17.35 with the aim of starting the inbound trip to Soho at around 19.00.  After a quick squoosh and change of clothing we headed to a place called Bill's just along the road from the hotel.  Sam made it just in time for a quick drink and a brief chat, this was fortuitous as he had a few recommendations on where to go and what to do.  We took notes and consulted the map.  We left a little after 19.00, fashionably late.  I have to add that I was the acting guide for the trip and I brought along the ultra modern and technologically advanced A-Z of London, which used to belong to my Grandad I think.  I was forever checking and double checking where we were.

It was not a bad ride in but the place was heaving and it was starting to look lively.  We managed to get there pretty much on time for our 20.00 reservation.  The Red Fort is a pleasant typical Indian restaurant, apart from the excessively priced drinks menu, which is par for the course.  We chose (I was swept along) to go for the set menu.  We were presented with a range of dishes and starters which we worked our way through.  There was a degree of choice on the set menu but all said it was a great variety and the quality was also very good.  The biggest shock, and this went for all of the main restaurants that we visited, was the standard 12% service charge.  I did stress that we did not have to pay the service charge but what we thought was a suitable tip.  When you are spending upwards of £270 per meal for the four of us the service charge ends up costing almost as much as a meal in a 'normal' restaurant.  Even Eric thought that this was a bit too much.  We did the full Monty and I noted that at the end they did not have the hot towels to clean your hands and face, not so posh after all...

Just to make sure that my feet were not overly rested and the tree fully bedded in, we proceeded to try and find a Blues Bar to get some live music.  This entailed going from Soho to Carnaby Street, just a short trot.  We did find the bar and indeed another interesting place on the way, Kingly Court, this is somewhere we could have wiled away the hours and was lively.  In the end we did not go into the Blues Bar as there was a queue and we did not fancy hanging around until late.  We reluctantly headed back to the hotel for a drink there.  We made it back and settled down for a pint in the bar.  There was a football game on the TV which I think was warm up match with England playing.  I forget who the opposition was, not that it matters.  Once again it was a late finish and at last I could remove the tree and tend my feet.

Day 3 - 8 Jun 14

The hotel staff finally realised we had not paid for the additional breakfasts and so we paid for those.  I think that although her badge indicates that she speaks English, this must be pretty basic, hence the confusion over continental breakfasts not being provided, it is easier to say no that to commit to saying yes and having to go back on it later!

The third day was meant to be a trip to the Victoria and Albert and Natural History Museums, but, having discussed the options with Sam, we elected to go to Portobello Road Market.  How can I best describe this place?  Well it is a row of shops, but quite a long row and there are some interesting antique and art shops, I use these terms loosely.  The first one we came across contained lots of metal signs as an example there was one, which I did consider buying, that said "Parking for Jaguars Only"  or words to that effect.  An thought that the neighbours would not appreciate that.  There were a range of other signs.  There was a shop entirely dedicated to fittings for doors and cabinets.  If you want something special for your set of drawers then this was the place to get them.  We stopped at an antiques shop and bought a brass aeroplane for the father-in-law.  it was a decent price and he even gave a slight discount.  The shop was full of interesting articles including aircraft propellers, telescopes, old leather suitcases and trunks, pictures, brass fittings and, well, too much to list here.  Further on there was a good photo/art shop, it was good inspiration if you are a photographer.  Many of the images looked like they were taken down the street.  Oh we also passed a house where George Orwell used to live too.  The houses themselves make for an attractive setting to the market, you can feel the wealth in the area.

One of the treats was The Humming Bird Bakery.  We bought some rather nice cup cakes and a couple of drinks.  We did intend to have them there and then but Eric had patrolled ahead and we needed to catch up.  This market was more difficult for An and Isabelle to get through without some serious browsing.  Towards the end of the market we came across The Spice Shop, which you could smell before you could see.  Once you entered it was almost an orchestra of senses for the nose, it is worth it just to walk in and spend a minute of or two taking in the aromas.  Of course An and Eric took the opportunity to stock up on some of the rarer spices.  I also spotted a branch of Whittards and took the chance to show Eric and Isabelle the coffee they sell (despite being a tea shop).  The staff were extremely helpful and even made up a sample of Oolong tea, which I had never tasted before.  I asked the assistant what her favourite tea was and if we could try some.  Oolong smells very creamy and it is just slightly bitter, not as strong as regular tea and you drink it without adding milk.  I had made a discovery and I was very pleased too.  Eric had also discovered a new type of coffee, I forget the name, but he was chuffed.

It was time to get on and so we caught the tube on the way in to Oxford Circus, the next stop was going to be afternoon tea at Fortnum and Mason's.  Opulent, that is the best description I can give to Fortnum and Mason.  The staff are very friendly and when we turned up for tea they made the effort to squeeze us in and we are grateful that they did.  The staff all wear traditional uniforms and are very knowledgeable about the product.  If you have any questions that they cannot answer then they find someone who can help.  You have a choice of menus with sweet and savoury items, we elected to go for the set menu, which comprised of finger sandwiches of salmon, coronation chicken, beef, cucumber and egg (I think).  We also had scones with jam and clotted cream and then the most exquisite and rich cakes you could imagine.  It really was an experience and it did not end there.  We were offered more sandwiches, cakes and scones and if we wanted, cakes from the trolley.  I opted to have a piece of Battenberg, but  was struggling to find the room.  We did not have a second round, we just didn't need to.  It was also interesting to observe the other customers and the staff, it is another world that we had a short glimpse of.  The cost of the menu was between £40-45 each, worth it though.  The store itself is also a place to behold and is worth visiting.  We ended up buying some additional tea, in our case Russian Caravan, so named because that is how it was transported to the Tsars of Russia.

There now came a trek to the next destination, Harrods.  It was a long walk down past Green Park towards Hyde Park.  We took this route to look at some artwork that artists display by the side of the road.  We had greater expectations of this so either that day was a bad day to see it or there is not a great deal to be seen there.  It was the right weather for a beer in the park though.

I have to say I have mixed feelings about Harrods, it struck me as being a bit bling and the staff seemed disinterested and lacking in knowledge, almost shallow.  The store is of course full of luxury but I felt that the character of the décor and staff reflected the owner, not unreasonable I suppose.  The highlight, and it was a highlight, is the Halcyon gallery.  I am not an art guru or can I express a passion for it either, but I saw pieces here that I would genuinely buy, the problem is, of course, that I do not have the money for such things.  To give an example the least expensive piece was about £21,000 and the most expensive, that I saw, was £410,000.  They were nice, very nice, but I probably would not have the right sort of place to put them!

We again made the trip back to the hotel to freshen up before heading out for Rules, which is the oldest restaurant in London.  We were pushing the limits in terms of time to get there, but we made it okay.  We booked a table on-line for 20.00 and again the décor and atmosphere was something special.  The food was very traditional, especially the desserts.  I had the steamed steak and kidney pudding, An and Eric had the Lamb chops and Isabelle had fish.  The starters were equally as good, Eric and I had duck, Isabelle had herring and An had oysters.  We shared a dessert and I recommended Summer Fruit Pudding and I shared a Lemon Polenta, both were very nice.  We were stuffed and I would also recommend that you check out the toilets too, they are worth a look.  There are pictures and items of interest surrounding you, including stained glass windows.

After Rules we decided we definitely needed to go to a pub, so we headed to Covent Garden and the Punch and Judy.  Now either I had seen this in better days or someone had just had a pub fight and devastated the place.  It was a bit of a mess and in hindsight I would not go back.  We left after 1 drink and elected to go to The Harp, a recommended pub.  We got there and they helpfully told us they had stopped serving.  Homeward bound then.  There was the option of taking in a bar on the way back but I think we were all seriously flagging by then so the hotel seemed the best bet.

Day 4 - 9 Jun 14

This was always going to be a tough day for me, as the driver I would not get much rest.  The aim of the game today was to get to the Tate Modern, have a quick look around and then skidaddle back to Belgium.  I wanted to be on the road by about 15.00 and so I was keen to push along.  The trip in was not too bad but we did have to cross the Thames over the Millennium bridge.  Cue the first unusual obstacle.  We selected a route which took us towards the riverbank, the problem was it was not suitable in any sense for pedestrians and in fact it was part of a dual carriageway.  There was nowhere to cross, but that did not stop us.  We were not alone, there were several other sheep with us, bloody tourists.  We crossed the dangerous road and came to a low wall, well it was low on our side but a bit of a drop on the other side, it was like being part of a well, if inappropriately dressed, gang of kids.  Isabelle did well to maintain her dignity as she sort of got over and down off the wall.  I did try and guide them to a more manageable section but they just fancied the challenge and the prospect of a visit to casualty.

Once we had done our assault course and yes my feet were still hurting, we crossed the bridge and made it to the Tate.  Now, most will know that I am not really a fan of art unless it is truly stunning and meaningful.  An and I split off from Eric and Isabelle as we worked our way through the gallery.   An and I started at the top and I think Eric and Isa started from the bottom.  There were shedloads of kids around and some were quite young, a bit noisy but then that's kids for you.  I was perusing the fine pieces of junk on the top floor when I noticed some grills in the floor, I spent some time carefully studying them and wondering what the artist was thinking of when it dawned on me that these were ventilation grills!  Funnily enough I saw a few more of them.  To be brutally honest, how on earth can you tell?  There was a 'sculpture' which consisted of two flat plates of steel balanced one on top of the other to form a T, that was it, rusting, dangerous scrap metal.  There was another piece that was just a mirror, you, the viewer were the art!  I mean what?  How on earth does that qualify as anything?  Did he or she (I could not be bothered to check) just get up in the morning, look in the mirror before farting and think ah haaaaaaaaaa!

I did come across many other pieces of worthless art including a set of three ventilation trunks, people have been paid for this and received awards.  I have to say that I was not inspired at all, but then I am hard to please when it comes to art.  We chose not to visit the Matisse exhibition.  I did try and expand my horizons and I will continue to make the sacrifice of visiting in a bid to become a little more cultured in my outlook.  The highlight of the visit for me was waving to some kids on the first floor, I always remember it being nice when people waved back when I was a kid.  

We set off for what was to be the last trek, thankfully it was not too long.  We were aiming to find a pub called the Gladstone, which featured in the guide books.  Here we had pies and it was relatively cheap compared to where we had eaten during the week.  I had a moo pie (beef) and An and Isa had a Heidi pie (goats cheese).  Eric I think choose venison pie but I cannot remember.  We all had mushy peas, if only to see the look of disgust on An's face.  It is a real spit and sawdust pub, which was pretty basic and full of character.  Apparently they have live music and the staff were very friendly.  I recommend a visit, it is easy to miss though as it is slightly off the beaten track.

Time to make our way back to the car.  We had been allowed to leave the car at the hotel and so it was a trip back over to Ealing Broadway to get on our way.  Incidentally, we had bough the Oyster cards and we ran out of money on them, this was in part due to not swiping in and out correctly.  we had to get the cards corrected.  If you use these you really do need to make sure that the barriers record you entering and leaving.  An incomplete journey results in the maximum charge, not good.  You can check the history of the card and see where you have been.

Anyway, home!  We got to the tunnel in good time but could not catch an earlier train, the net effect was that we were held up and entertaining ourselves in the terminal building for a while.  We scoffed the Humming Bird cup cakes, which were divine.  When we did get across and started out for home it was a fairly routine drive, except that at one point all of my passengers were asleep!  We eventually made it back to Aarschot for around midnight and An and I did not get to sleep until about 01.00.  I elected to drive into work at 07.00, knowing full well the traffic delays likely.  They met all of my expectations and I took 2 hours to get into work.

I did go and see the nurse about my feet after I noticed a particularly foul smelling puss oozing from my blister.  I was a bit worried about infection but she said it was fine.

That was our trip to London.

The Somme

One of the benefits about work is that you occasionally get to do something that is a bit different, in this case we visited the battlefield site at Thiepval in France, where part of the Somme offensive was fought in July 1916.  We were taking part in a conference which had delegates coming in from around Europe to discuss the business and how we can go about improving things, part of this was a team away day, the reason we were visiting the battlefield site.

The trip involved a visit to the Memorial to the Missing, a giant brick structure that has the names of around 72,000 service personnel who are still missing.  Sadly, on a regular basis, the remains of men from the First World War are found on the sites of the old battlefields and the memorial has to be adjusted, the names removed and a full ceremonial funeral held.  During our visit we held a brief service and laid a wreath.  It is easy when walking within the monument to find your own surname engraved in huge walls, the impact cannot truly be felt in my view.

Imagine if you will, a football stadium's worth of people missing or more than twice the current strength of the Royal Navy.  It is hard to understand the impact, then you have to think that these were the husbands, boyfriends, brothers, sons and uncles of so many more people from across the world.  I have not mentioned the women or other civilians that have paid the price but not out of disrespect for them, it is just that when at the monument you tend to focus on the Army, the mud and the trenches.

Although the monument is very impressive you can find such structures all along what was the Westen Front at the time.  The Canadian monument at Vimy Ridge is also a sight to behold, as is the Menin Gate at Ypres.  If I could encourage people to do one thing in their lives it would be to pay a visit to memorials such as these, I include former concentration camps as well, even though that is from a different period.  It is so very important to understand and remember what the human race has endured and to try not to make the same mistakes again.

Returning to our visit, three of our team were told to produce a brief on subjects relevant to our visit.  They were: what were the lessons/improvements in tactics, what is the importance of discipline and how has the casualty reporting changed from what it was then to what it is now?  All of these are relevant, there are a lot of preconceived ideas about the First World War and what a slaughter it was.  I have to be honest I am not well read on the subject but I would encourage anyone who wants to find out more to question the stereotypes and seek out an alternative view.

In terms of lessons learnt a lot of this was concerning the quality and use of artillery, in the main it was the creeping barrage, whereby the soldiers advanced just behind the fall of artillery rounds.  The idea was that the enemy does not have the time to come up from the deep bunkers and man their defences before the attacking forces are on top of them.

The importance of discipline is so obvious that it almost seems odd to question it.  You need to rely and trust your team to do what is asked, part of that is having the discipline both self and imposed to keep order within the ranks.  If you can imagine the breakdown of discipline, which did occur in other armies across the Eastern and Western front, then the ability to defend or attack simply fails leaving the rest of the front vulnerable.  It is inevitable that you will get desertion, cowardice and mutiny within a force when they are put under such pressure, and I do not downplay the effects of shell shock or post traumatic stress disorder.  Discipline and leadership are needed to manage the situation and maintain order.  It is a hugely challenging leadership issue and it is too simplistically described above, suffice to say that it is still relevant today as it was then.  As a modern example you need only look to HMS Nottingham and when she hit a rock off Australia, the ship should have sunk such was the damage.  It did not because the crew, as a whole, had the discipline, trust and leadership to save the ship.  If you look up on Google for HMS Nottingham, you will see the flooding.  Just imagine an 18 year old diving into that, not knowing if the the ship will remain afloat or not, but they do it to effect a repair.  You will have some idea of the courage required and the self discipline to do the job.

In terms of casualty reporting, it was and still is of paramount importance to inform the next of kin as soon as possible and before the media does this for you.  The only difference now is that with the advent of things like Facebook and the desire of the media to report casualties, this is extremely challenging to achieve.

I return to our visit.  After the visit to the Monument to the Missing we were taken up to Thiepval Woods where we were given a tour by an Irish gentleman who, I understand, was 78 years old.  He was extremely knowledgeable about the area and the battlefield and he showed us some trench systems as he told us of events.  You certainly had the impression of what it was like to be there, although it was difficult to orientate yourself on the landscape.  The connection here was that the 36th Ulster division fought in the area and advanced to such an extent, comparatively speaking, that they created a salient, which is not great for defensive purposes.

Following the visit to the woods we then paid a visit to the Ulster Tower, which was erected to commemorate the contribution of the 36th Ulster division, it is this tower that I saw in murals in Belfast only the week before.  The tower is a peaceful and impressive monument and one that I would recommend visiting.  In fact I wish to return in order to spend a bit more time there.

The Ulster Tower

Inside the Ulster Tower

The guide mentioned a book, A Brass Hat in No Man's Land, that was written just after the end of the conflict by a Brigadier General Crozier.  The book is interesting because he describes not only the patriotic side of the conflict but is also critical of some of the leaders found in the trenches and of the business leaders profiting from the war.  He still believed that the war was both inevitable and just, but he had quite clear ideas on how it should be run.  He also talks about the excessive drinking and prostitution that was prevalent in the rear areas.  It is worth a read, if anything, to get an idea about the attitudes to the war and the experiences they had.

This blog has been written piecemeal so I apologize if it is a bit fragmented.  

Belfast

A friend of mine recently asked if I would like to attend a dinner in Belfast, the thought of attending raised two immediate prospects, firstly that security would be an issue and secondly that some of the people I was likely to meet would have some really quite interesting stories to tell.

I, like many others, viewed Northern Ireland through the media and in my case a handful of books that I had read on the troubles.  I did not, and arguably still do not, understand why there is such a strength of feeling about whether or not Northern Ireland should unite with the Republic or remain in the Union.  This is an interesting question given the impending Scottish vote on independence in September.  It had not occurred to me that a 'yes' vote would have far reaching implications in Ulster, this was pointed out by my hosts when I visited last week.  What was abundantly clear from my visit is that there remains a very strong feeling within both the Republican and Unionist camps.

This blog is not intended to examine the rights or wrongs of the troubles nor the extremely complex and diverse range of political and paramilitary dynamics of the situation.  I think is is safe to say that most would like there to be a solution that satisfies all but it is difficult to see at what point in time that will genuinely be achieved.  This blog is, in fact, just about my visit so that is to where I shall return.

What did Belfast mean to me?  Well apart from the media, I have heard of the songs such as Boney M 's Belfast and Spandau Ballet's Through The Barricades and Katie Melua's Penguins and Cats.  Some were just a bit too subtle for me to get and quite frankly, along with many other such inspired songs, I was really just enjoying the tune.  I will view these slightly differently from now on, having been enriched by the experience of my visit.

Due to my work I was required to do a few checks before I visited the region, in short this was to confirm that it was safe for me to visit and also to be briefed on the areas of the region and Belfast that were dangerous and safe.  In essence if you can imagine wearing a Sunderland football shirt in a crowd of Newcastle fans when their team has just been thrashed at a local derby match, it is not a wise place to be and like Belfast, there are affiliated pubs and clubs that you would do well to avoid.  On a different scale imagine the Israeli/Arab division and you get the picture.  I obtained permission to go, I therefore booked my flight.

In terms of personal security, the best form under such circumstances is to be inconspicuous and as such this involves being careful about what you wear, what you say and any other possible indications that could put you at risk.  In my case I sanitised by wallet and carefully checked my clothing to make sure that there was nothing provocative.  As for speech, well I cannot disguise my accent and I am not going to try some dodgy impersonation of a local, as amusing as that might be.  No, the decision on what can or cannot be said depends upon the environment, if in doubt then avoid certain subjects.  Despite the obvious interest and desire to explore the polictical situation, this is clearly an area that can get you into trouble.  In any event I took my lead from my hosts.

When I arrived I was a little apprehensive and I viewed everyone around me with suspicion, irrational maybe?  Well how would I know?  I did end up chatting to a couple who sat next to me on the plane, they were quite pleasant but I was very aware of what I was saying and what they were asking of me.  When I landed there was truly nothing remarkable about the airport and the collection of baggage.  In fact they had a dog which was sniffing the bags as they came through.  I am not sure whether it was weapons, drugs, explosives or some other illicit material that they were after but it was entertaining to watch them at work.  I just hoped that my bag would not arouse any suspicion, there was of course nothing illegal in my bag...as far as I was aware.

My mate had flown over earlier and he was waiting with our hosts on the other side of arrivals.  We started off by getting a short tour and I was doing my best to listen to the commentary and banter that was flying about.  We dropped by on the Northern Ireland Parliament building at Stormont, it is quite impressive as can be seen from the photo.

I was particularly impressed by the wide tree lined boulevard and how open it felt.  The pink ribbon around the lamp posts indicated the forthcoming cycling race that was due to be held.  Our hosts graciously took us around the city and, after some debate this included seeing some of the murals for which the city is well known.

Whilst being driven around I was offered the opportunity to take some photos I, initially being concerned that being seen taking photos might attract some unwanted attention, was told that the Loyalist areas were 'safe' but that we would not stop when transiting through the Republican areas. Helpfully enough you can tell the affiliation of each area as the Republican areas have Irish Tricolours and the Loyalist areas have Union Flags, this seems obvious really but to an outsider it is a novel sight.  It must be a bit like LA gangs with their tags marking out the territory, it is quite helpful to the outsider.  I took a number of photos as shown below but none of the Republican areas, in fact I was told to hide my camera in case we were being 'dicked', which is identified and targeted by Republican sympathisers.

 A memorial to those who gave their lives during The Great War, this appears in a regular residential area, is in pristine condition and shows the Ulster Tower built on the site where the 36th Ulster Division participated in the battle of the Somme in July 1916.  It was purely coincidental that I would visit this same tower in France the following week.

 This is one of a series of murals on bungalows that run along this street, I did not note the name but I was told that it is on the border of a Republican/Loyalist area, renown for shootings.  The mural marks the formation of the Ulster Defence Association, a loyalist paramilitary organisation that aims to protect the protestant community from Republican violence.  There are a range of different groups on both sides and with varying degrees of extremism, most have signed up to the Peace Accord, but it remains fragile.

 This is a memorial to the 36th Ulster Division raised to fight during the 1st World War.  It is impressive not only in terms of what it is commemorating but also with the vibrant colours, quality of detail and the fact that it has not been defaced in any way.

 This mural marks the evacuation of refugees trying to escape the violence in 1971, it also recognises the part that the city of Liverpool played in housing those who moved.

There were equally impressive murals on the Republican side, although I did not have the opportunity to view them in as much detail.  It is interesting that a new one was being painted of Gerry Adams, who had recently been arrested and was being held in connection with an investigation into the disappearance of Mrs Jean McConville.  We drove past this as it was being painted.  Gerry Adams was released later on without charge.  It is possible to write an entire blog on the complexities of that arrest alone, the context, the moral and ethical aspects and the inevitable political aspects that cannot be separated from them.  During our visit we anticipated a spot of bother and were cognisant of the implications.

I might add that the reason the murals were all so well presented and not defaced probably has a lot to do with the repercussions should anyone be stupid enough to attack them.  If they value their knees and or testicles then they would do best to leave them alone.

Whilst driving about I remarked that it seems like any other street in the UK, to which my hosts responded 'apart from the Tricolour and Union flags, barricades, armoured Landrovers and police stations that are literally built like fortresses?'  Although I felt a bit silly, the fact remains that if you are not looking for these things then you could easily forget about where you are and the dangers that are present.  During the visit the ongoing protest about flying the Union flag at Belfast City Hall was in evidence as we were detoured away from the building and past about 40 white armoured Landrovers waiting to be called into action should the crowd become more volatile.  I wished I had taken some photos of them, but we did not stop.

During the weekend there were three other highlights, the dinner,  the visit to the Titanic Experience museum and the visit to a band competition.  

The first of these was a dinner, which was pleasant.  I cannot say too much about this other than that there were many interesting people there from all sorts of backgrounds and I did not have the opportunity to chat further about their experiences.  I am always seeking to improve my understanding of history and things in general so I was keen to listen to them.

The visit to the Titanic Experience was something I would strongly recommend to anyone who is visiting the region.  The museum is built at the head of the slipway upon which the Titanic was built.  In fact one of the exhibits is a video of the ship being launched, which is projected onto a window and that in turn fades to show the actual view of the slipway outside.  The museum covers a lot of the history of Belfast and it's prominence in the industrial revolution and at the turn of the 20th Century.  You can learn not only about the ship itself but the people, the socio economic situation and the technical challenges of the day to construct such an impressive ship.  An interesting moment was an exhibit that is effectively a three sided room with walls that are giant TV screens.  On the screens is a projection of the interior of the Titanic, starting at the bottom of the ship and moving vertically through the decks until you get to the bridge of the ship.  The only snag is that this projection does not just move vertically but it also rotates as well.  It is not, therefore, a great experience for several men who are recovering from a heavy drinking session the night before, we did well not to throw up.  The other very impressive exhibits were a movie, which showed the exploration of the wreck and a glass floor which you could then view the wreck as a video sweeping from aft to forward.  Apparently there is a unique micro-organism that is eating the rust of the ship and therefore eventually it will disappear, save for a few odd bits.  The environment is reclaiming the ship, which is helpful given the number of wrecks out there.

If you do get the chance to visit Belfast then check out the website here first and see if you fancy going to the museum The Titanic Experience.

The last experience I had was the opportunity to view around 30 marching bands, which were competing for prizes.  Now normally this would not get a lot of people excited, especially given the stereotypical view held of such competitions, a bit geeky to say the least.  Anyway, this is Northern Ireland so naturally things were different.  What I was witness to could best be described as a military parade except that there were no platoons of sailors, soldiers and airmen following the bands.  It was one band after another.  It was extremely popular judging by the crowds and also a bit of a social event having seen the volume of alcohol being consumed.  The bands had a colour party, wore very expensive and military style uniforms, had a bass drum and a contingent of other musicians.  The ages ranged from children as young as 5 to adults, although none were beyond the age of maybe 35 or so, from what I noticed.  The marching was very smart and would put some regular military platoons to shame, the bass drummer was a massive, usually bald headed, slightly overweight individual and they were banging this drum like it was going out of fashion.  I noticed that it was not used to keep the parade in step, as they usually are and the reason for this, I was told, is that there are points to be scored for the loudest drummer in the parade.  Whenever the bands came into close proximity (usually when marching in opposite directions) they would play even louder to try and outdo each other.  The bands were deliberately spaced out (not with drugs I might add, although they were high on adrenaline) when marching in the same direction.

My hosts told me that it was not a political parade as there were no Orangemen in the parade and it was not associated with the other marches that take place.  That said there is no doubt that the bands came from similar communities and were extremely proud of their heritage and some even had fake rifles.  To an outsider, it was a demonstration of solidarity and an indoctrination of the youth into the beliefs and principles that the should live by.  You would not find a similar event in the UK, although a comparison was drawn to the miner's bands that used to compete across the UK.  

In terms of indoctrination, this can be a rather sensitive thing.  In simple terms it is instilling a set of values into someone so that they grow and live to a set of standards.  If I were to say that some believe that traditional family values are those that we should adopt then it can be argued that we indoctrinate our children to follow those values.  I was certainly brought up to respect such values as a child and now as an adult.  However, change that to the values and beliefs of the Nazi party and things do not seem quite so straightforward.  I am not, I might stress, comparing the competition parades with either family or Nazi values.  My point is that those values that are being instilled can be harmful as well as helpful.  If such beliefs and values are being reinforced as strongly on the Republican side as they are on the Loyalist side then I feel it will still be some time before we can see a lasting peace.  You could equally apply that to a range of conflicts and troubles across the globe and I am not professing to holding the key to solving these problems.

This blog has got rather serious in parts so I will move to my parting experience and an error of judgement on my part.  As I was passing through security at the airport the lady behind the conveyor belt asked me to remove my jacket, to which I replied, 'it is a cardigan'.  She still insisted that I remove it and asked if I was cold, I said that I just wore it for convenience instead of carrying it.  To my utter surprise, I was stopped for a random search when I passed through the metal detector.  I clearly linked the two together and thought it rather petty of her but I did not and would never create a fuss over such a thing.  I endured a rather odd search, mainly of my hand baggage, where a different lady would pick up various items and give them the most cursory of glances before x-raying them.  The only effect this had was to distract them from perhaps more pressing clients that required their attention, maybe I had inadvertently helped someone slip through the net?  I have to admit I was relieved to be aboard the aeroplane with knees and testicles intact.  It had been a pleasant and educating experience for me and I would definitely return if the opportunity arose, incidentally not for the purpose of being frisked at the airport!

My next post will be about the visit to the Somme battlefield, where the 36th Ulster Division fought.

A Long Day

It all began with a programmed meeting over in the UK.  I was issued a pool car, a Ford Mondeo, which I was to take with me instead of my own.  It was quite a well equipped car but a little unfamiliar.  I also obtained a Tom Tom as it had no inbuilt navigation.  I left my car at the Motor Transport section and carried out the necessary checks and paperwork before getting on the road, it was just after lunchtime when I left and I had about 2 hours to get to the tunnel.

The journey was pretty routine and I managed to get to the tunnel and through check in on time, but no time to stop for a comfort break, straight onto the train and off.  This was good, I was making quick progress.  That was about to change.

On getting through the tunnel I got on to the M20 and started towards London, I needed to be round to the North and I could choose either direction on the M25, normally.  Unknown to me there had been an accident, a five vehicle pile up that had two fatalities.  The anti-clockwise route was therefore blocked and I was stuck in queues going in the opposite direction.  The added problem was that this traffic would eventually try and join the M25 later on, most of it going West but some going East and this was compounded by the bottleneck that is the Dartford Crossing.  In all I was delayed maybe by an extra 1 ½ hours.  I had arrived in England at around 15.20 and got to my destination at 19.00 (after stopping once).

The accommodation I had, provided by the Service, was pretty sparse.  I had forgotten to bring a towel, which used to be supplied in the good old days, added to that was the fact that the bed had not been made, there were no tea/coffee facilities and no phone signal.  Maybe I expect too much…

My meeting was the following day and I was up early at 06.30 to get ready (I had bought a rather poor towel from a nearby shop).  I was at breakfast around 07.00 and then off to work around 08.30.  The meeting was useful and we finished about 12.30, time for a quick lunch and off on the road.  A bit later than planned but plenty of time to catch the 17.06 Eurotunnel.

I listened to the radio and saw the electronic warning signs but to be frank, there was no useful information.  I could have called friends and remained in the London area had I known what I was about to endure.  As I approached the Eurotunnel terminal, the exit was closed.  I carried on past this, along with all of the other traffic, to the following exit, which allowed an alternative means of access.  I need say no more than this; it took two hours to get from the slip road to the check in and that was just the start.  The screens indicated an unspecified problem and that the likely delay was up to 5 hours, from check in!  I got some food and took a comfort break before then investigating the possibility of travelling the following day.  On the screens the offer was made to travel the following day complimentary and have a refund for the journey today.  I joined the long queue for customer service, with my own plan to get into a hotel.  In short this was not possible and by the time I got to the desk the offer of ferry tickets had dried up, there was no choice but to sit it out.  The time in the queue was enlivened by the attempted queue jumping and my robust responses to these pointless efforts.  A Polish man attempted to pretend the woman in front was holding his place, but she reacted furiously to this, she was clearly feeling quite upset about the whole thing.  I was irritable but resigned to the fact that there was nothing much to be done, I told him to get back in the queue properly.  He did try and ask if I would keep his place, which drew protests from behind.  I told him just to queue up or go and do something else.

I felt for those who were embarking on their holidays and had young kids, despite the overwhelming noise and annoyance of people in general in these circumstances, I tried to remain calm.  There was a point where a boy of about 10, who looked like he had some form of physical disability, he had a rather elongated forehead and it was one of those things where you felt quite self-concious that you may be staring and that you shouldn't.  Anyway, he kept wanting to get his dad's attention by repeatedly saying 'dad' and , with the tiredness the irritability, this was accentuated beyond reasonable levels and I was so very close to shouting out 'FFS pay attention to your son!'  I didn't, I just moved around the terminal to find another annoying human being that I felt was worthy of punching.  Amazingly enough the Eurotunnel team thought that it would be a great idea to have one of their staff dressed as the Easter Bunny during this utter chaos, I mean when were the cheerleaders coming on?  I was surprised that the bunny did not get decked or become road kill...

The queue jumping was also rife in the car park by the time I got to the border control point.  I had arrived at the slip road at around 15.46 and I boarded the train at about 22.50.  With the shift in hour I was across and off the other side after midnight.  I had to drive to work to drop the pool car off and pick up my own car.  I was on auto pilot and I did not stop for the 1hr 50min journey, trying to focus on the speed limits in force as I drove.  Normally when you return the pool car you must refuel it, I did so on site and just to make life that bit more testing, there was a fine mist like rain with a stiff cold breeze.  I did not have a jacket and so was trying to dip my head into this irritating mini-storm as I refuelled the car.  It was not over yet…

On taking the car back to the Motor Transport section I quickly transferred the kit over to my car got myself established and began the homeward leg of about an hour, it was maybe 1.20 ish.  As I drove off I had not gone far when I noticed a note on my car windscreen.  I stopped to remove it and it said 'Check your tyre pressure?'  A quick inspection of the tyres revealed my offside rear was completely flat, I was too tired to swear.  In the rain and wind I shifted the gear from the boot to the rear seats, got the jack and space saving tyre out.  I efficiently changed this tyre in about 5 minutes and after a quick inspection of the damaged tyre I quickly found the screw, protruding from the tread, at least it was repairable!  I threw the tyre in the back and got under-way.  The only snag now was that I was limited to 80kph on my trip back.  Almost double the time I would otherwise take and having to be very wary of the idiots who would be approaching my rear at speed and not realising until the last moment that they needed to change lanes, that included large lorries.  More than a few came close but I was going so slowly I could have done the Times crossword and kept a decent watch, good job I was not tired after a 7 hour delayed journey to get home…

To make matters a bit more interesting there was an accident that straddled both carriageways, thankfully I managed to drive through it and no traffic had built up.  I believe the driver of the Audi had run into some motorway maintenance men and thankfully they looked ok.  I finally pulled in at 03.50 around 21 hours after I had risen that morning.  Sunrise was not far away and I could not sleep through.  It is like having jet lag.

As I drove back I was thinking about the fatalities the previous day and I kept thinking that, although this was a very long an inconvenient day, at least I was alive and heading home.  They do say that worse things happen at sea and given the recent tragedy with the Korean ferry, this does seem to have an element of truth to it.

Gamin

Gamin, when I met you in October 2005 I thought to myself ‘ah, the cat, I always get on with cats’.  An and I met at the beginning of October and I came across to see her later that same month and there you were.  You were a very cautious, grumpy looking cat.  You clearly didn’t trust me and I decided early on that I would try and win you over, it took some time but we got there in the end.

  

You must have had a bad experience at some point because your instinctive reaction was to lash out at anyone who tried to touch you, I could not stroke you, rub your tummy or gently scratch behind your ears.  Sitting on my lap or anywhere near me was a big no no!  Noise was your enemy and your domain was the garage, garden and occasionally you would venture upstairs.  That was all to change.  The driving force was the purchase of our house by An and I in October 2007 and the move of Rene out of the old house, there was no alternative, you had to move in with us.  It was the best thing that could happen to you and things were definitely on the up.

I don’t really remember when you changed, it was probably gradual but I can never really think back to the time when you were a stranger in your own home.  I think it really started when I came back from Iraq and I ended up with time off work for a couple of months, then you really had the chance to get to know me.  You started to trust me and I was able to begin stroking you, although it seemed with strict timelines and there were no go areas.  I had a limited time before you would lash out and I could not touch your tummy or your sides, I was not to know how sensitive you were there because of your bladder problem.  Now, of course, I understand.  You had stones and bladder problems which meant you had a very stretched and bald pink tummy, very sensitive no matter how much you licked it.  You had a couple of close calls where we thought we were going to lose you and eventually you had your operation to remove the stones, what a difference that made.  Your fur grew back and An and I resolved to feed you proper cat food and not the dry stuff, boy did you like the wet cat food.  Your energy and health improved to the point where you could jump the gate at the back of the garden, much to the disbelief of An, Rene and I.  I bore witness, you did it Gamin, I saw you!

You were definitely a territorial cat and, given the chance, you were a night stalker.  A few times you went off for a couple of days, An was really worried but I know cats and I knew you would be back after you had patrolled the area.  The local cats were a bit taken aback, I am sure of that.  You never ceased to surprise us, you caught a robin, he probably deserved it.  You caught another bird, clever cat!  You watched me put the food out for the birds and then rolled around in it just to taunt them.  Watching them come in was like watching TV and occasionally you would go into hunting mode, thankfully you didn’t succeed more often.  There was the time when An and I came back from a concert to find a Blackbird fledgling stuck in the nets of one of our fruit bushes, I called to An not to let you out.  You were out like a shot as I tried to stop you getting to the bird.  I managed but you must have thought ‘why can’t I have him?’.  It was a bit of a comedy as I got that bird up onto the neighbour's garage roof for safety only for them to hurl themselves off the other side.  Unbeknown to me the parents of the birds (there were three) were watching me and their chicks!  It was like the great escape, one was off along the footpath and the other was on the wrong side of our house.  The parents must have been cursing me for making their job harder!

The garden was definitely your territory and I felt honoured when you would come up to me and rub yourself against my legs.  I used to deliberately walk about the garden and wait for you to follow, where I went you wanted to be.  I had won you over my friend.  I would sit on the grass and wait for you to come and sit with me and it was never long before you came out and stretched yourself next to me.  It was not just the garden, you would follow me into the toilet, a strange cat if ever I knew one.

We quickly identified that you liked the furry blanket and that became your blanket.  Then I tried putting the blanket across my lap and you eventually would sit half on and half off my lap.  More time would pass and then you would stretch your considerable length out along my legs, you were as close as you wanted to get.  In time whenever I lay down and had the blanket, opening my legs to form a ‘basket’ for you to curl up in, you were there without hesitation.  In fact I could almost say that you were impatiently waiting for me to ‘make your bed’.  You used to pummel my balls as you made yourself comfortable, much to An’s amusement.  I would, naturally, take the opportunity to pet you, which would get you purring loudly, again something that you had not really done a lot of when we first met, in fact at all as far as I could remember.  You also found your voice, a bit of a mixed blessing, but we used to talk about all sorts of things.

Do you remember the cat flap and the hesitancy about that?  I fitted a normal cat flap but then we discovered an intruder was coming in and that made you a bit uncomfortable.  We resolved that by giving you a magnetic cat flap, but then you used to walk around with spoons and other bits of metal hanging from your neck.  You stopped nuzzling the wall with the metal embedded in it as you kept sticking to the wall!  After a while you got used to the cat flap, in fact once when we had to keep you in your broke it down, bad boy!  As with any other cat you sat and waited to be let in and out despite your own ability to go through the cat flap, no point in having slaves unless you use them eh?

Other cats were not permitted into your garden and you must have been a bit aggrieved that we allowed a kitten to come and play.  You tolerated it but were quick to put her in her place when she tried to go too far.  I think she still comes round, but now she is also very cautious.  An seemed to make the garden to your liking, your favourite routine was to use the hedge as cover to move around the garden and get closer to the birds.  You had a favourite corner and you would stubbornly sit on guard growling at any unwanted visitors as they tried to trespass.  You would return with scars from your encounters, I somehow don’t think they would have beaten you.  You did not like the garden hose and the lawnmower, but then that’s normal for a cat.  You used to spend time sat on your mat by the door just watching your garden.  The number of times you stropped your claws on the mat when I had opened the door for you, it was almost like saying ‘yes I want to be in, but I am going to make you hold the door until I am ready!’  Sometimes my patience would run out and the door would be closed in your face, my what a picture that was when I did that!

Visitors to the house always seemed to be a threat and only for certain ones or at certain times would you emerge from the garage or upstairs to sit with us in the living room.  The way you sat sometimes, it was like you were at the ready to run off, in some cases I think you were.  Then again, because of your left hind leg, you used to sit with it outstretched, it was more comfortable for you to do that.  Climbing onto the sofa, and I do mean climbing, it seemed like it was a real effort to get up there.  You used your full set of claws to heave yourself up, no light springy jump for you.  You would not even climb up at the lowest point, you always went from the side.  You used to avoid the red carpet, you mustn’t have liked the feel of the thing.  Although you were quite sick all over it, to An’s utter dismay.  It used to interest me that when you were sitting on the back of the sofa your tail would whip back and forth as something irritated you as you watched.  Sometimes I would deliberately put my hand near your tail so it would hit my hand, you knew but did not seem to mind that.

I would be annoyed by your constant desire to be in and out of our second kitchen, especially on a Saturday or Sunday morning when both An and I were trying to have breakfast.  Was this a desire on your part to reinforce your control over us?  Occasionally when you had one of your moments and lashed out, I gave you a smack and showed you who was really the boss.  Your look of disgust was something else, but you always forgave me soon afterwards.  Even administering the flea and worm liquid to the back of your neck, it was always that look of ‘why?  I thought we were mates?’

One of my favourite times was when I used to see you lying curled up on the spare bed.  I would come in lie curled around you and stroke your neck and ears to get you to purr, it never took long.  I would then be off again on my way downstairs.  I would repeat this every time I transited from the loft to the kitchen, dropping by to make you purr then leaving again.  Sometimes during the day I would take a nap and you would join me on the bed, I would end up feeling like I was in a straight jacket as I tried to avoid disturbing you as I moved about.  Of course, as soon as my legs were apart, you nestled yourself in there with the usual two or three turns on the spot and then a ‘plonk’ as you dropped yourself into place.  There was never any doubt that you were there with your weight and presence.  Both An and I experienced you deliberately stretching out and pressing yourself against us, you wanted to let us know that you were there, if only for the attention.  An did not like you sleeping overnight with us as you inevitably wanted to get up and leave during the night, which necessitated one of us going downstairs to let you out.  We would not get much sleep then.  When An chased you either from the bed before sleeping or from the living room, you occasionally hissed as you made your feelings known about your nightly banishment to the garage.

Trips to the vet for your annual check up and the opportunity for the vet to make some money...  Well I have never seen a cat be so helpless as you when you were put into your box, you looked so pitiful as your paw poked through the bars at the front of your box.  You became very quiet and limp.  That changed when you got to the vet, the deep rumbling growl just for being in the building.  Hearing the noises and smelling the smells of the surgery were enough to get you at the peak of fighting capability.  I wore leather gloves once, which must have been another strange smell.  The vets were scared of you and rightly so with claws like that, you were a very strong and aggressive cat.  I did suggest a sedative, which they did give every now and again, it was so much easier to examine you when you were knocked out!  I know you hated the vets and I disliked their insistence that you should be on very expensive and unnecessary diet food, despite the tests showing that the food was not the cause of your stones.  We ignored them with regard to that and they had to find other ways to charge us for things.  I was always glad to be taking you home and you never held it against me even though I put you through it so many times.  There were a couple of times where An and I thought we had lost you, you were in such a bad way and I almost refused to accept that you might be dying.  Then came that call I was dreading.

You had your check up in February and the vet said that everything was ok, only the small issue of you being sick, which I thought was down to the food.  We had noticed that you were having trouble breathing and An was worried.  Was it a hair ball or just some kind of cold?  The crunch came when I was stroking your head and I noticed a lump behind your ear and then another under your throat.  The first one we thought might be a result of fighting and an infection but to have two was not right.  I immediately said to An we must take you to the vet, sorry but we needed to get it checked out.  It was Saturday 28^th March 2014 and after trying to examine you the vet then had to sedate you to give you a proper examination.  You had the works, the x-rays, the blood test, the sample from the lump and the five or six injections.  It must have been uncomfortable for you.  The lumps were not seen to be a problem but the x-rays showed up water around the lungs, which the vet said could be an infection.  Cue more antibiotics and expense and I, to my shame, was more concerned with that than your health.  We had to try and give you these tablets in your food, but of course you were not eating.  That night, we let you sleep on the bed, I thought you would be ok but I wanted you to be near us and I am glad you were.  You still did not take your food and quite frankly you seemed to be starving yourself, you even allowed another cat to venture into your garden unchallenged.  Something was wrong.

An called me whilst I was waiting to go into my Dutch lesson, she was at the vets and explained that you were in a really bad way and she needed me to be with her.  I thought to myself, this is it, but I did not get emotional as I drove back.  I expected the worst and was desperate to get to the vets, traffic was heavy and although I was upset I did not get angry, patience I thought, I will be there soon.  I arrived to find you in your box and an oxygen tube stuck inside.  There was cling film around the box and you were growling at the vet.  I was relieved to see that as I had expected far worse.  Then came the discussion, the vet was as certain as she could be that you had a tumour, which is fatal, but that there was a very remote chance that it was an infection.  We talked about what could be done and the vet suggested leaving you in the surgery to try the antibiotics or even giving us some to inject you at home, but her face told us that there was little hope.  I did not want to leave you in the surgery, the emotions started to come through, I just wanted to take you home, I wanted to cuddle you even though you had never really been cuddled, I wanted to protect you, I did not want to lose you.  I was frustrated that the box was closed and you were unable to escape and I was not able to touch you.  I tried to soothe you, I think it helped.  The vet left An and I alone, we hugged and cried as we accepted the only decision to make was to have you put to sleep.  I asked An to call the vet in and we gave her our decision, An then asked if you could be put to sleep at home and the vet said that given the condition you were in when you arrived it would be a very uncomfortable night and day for you.  I did not want you to die in the surgery all frightened and in a strange place, but I felt that I had nowhere to go.

We took the top off the box and you continued to growl at the vet whenever she got near, I managed to stroke your head and made you purr, it meant so much to me to hear that.  I wanted to take you away, somewhere better than this, keep you safe and have just one more day with you.  I was crying, I wanted to explain why, comfort you and tell you how much I loved you and how much I would miss you.  I don’t know if you understood or not, I hoped, my God I hoped.

The vet administered the sedative and I kept stroking you and talking to you, I could not control the tears and that started An off too.  It was really a case of waiting for me to give the approval and the lethal injection would be administered, I eventually got up the courage to give the vet the nod and she gave you that injection.  I was so desperately sad and I hoped that you could not feel anything and that you were no longer distressed.  I watched your breathing get shallower as I continued to caress your ears.  You seemed so strong, so much so that the vet came in with another injection to the heart.  I felt helpless, I wanted to be angry at the callous nature of the second injection but I did not have the strength to utter a word. It was not long after and then that was it, you were at peace.

No more the fear of trips to the vets,

No more fear at all,

No longer running from strangers or noises,

No more pain.

No more waiting by the door when I come down to feed you,

No more nuzzling my iPad as I try to read,

No more summers in the garden, chewing the plants and scaring the birds,

No more tip tapping along the floor as you follow me about.

No more cold winter nights in the garage,

No more being chased to bed at night,

No more crazy scratching and biting as you go mad,

No more jumping as I sneeze and when An blows her nose.

You are at peace, where the sun shines all day and you can hunt among the grass,

Our love for you will never die, you can never be replaced.

There is a scar across my heart from when you were torn from it by this disease,

The scar will heal but will forever be there to remind me of you and how much I loved you.

You know the thing is, both An and I will change now that you have gone and I wonder if you are watching us and still following me around.  You might wonder what all the fuss is about.  The first day after your death and I was off to work.  I went into the second kitchen to get my breakfast and I could barely stand to be in the room, everywhere I looked I expected to see your little face, waiting to be fed.  The windowsill was empty, you were not waiting to be let in and I took deep breaths as I closed the fridge door and went to leave to go to work.  On my way in I was fighting the tears as I drove, hoping I would be able to concentrate on the road.  I had grown up with cats but never had I experienced such a strong emotional tie as I had with you and you spoke Dutch too!

This is my tribute to you Gamin, you could be a grumpy cat at times, but you were so very special and I would give anything to have you back.

A Spot of Bother

The time has come or rather had come for me to put my new car through it's first service.  I contacted a garage in Antwerp, a Jaguar garage and made the requisite appointment.  I drive a 2.2L XF, which is rather a nice car to drive and, having put in the kms, I needed to get it serviced at quite an early stage.

Whilst up in Antwerp I took full advantage and took the opportunity to take some photos with Kris.  Near the garage is a flyover and underneath is an area that has been covered in graffiti as part of a project.  I will post these photos to the photo blog, which I have not updated for some time now, much to my shame.

Anyway, following the photos and a spot of lunch with our mother-in-law, Kris kindly dropped me back at the garage.  The service was relatively expensive, but then I do not have a benchmark to which I could compare it.  Being diligent I checked the bill and the items on it, grumpily noting that I had been charged almost 6 euros for screen wash, annoying as it did not require filling and I have gallons of the stuff at home.  I did not contest the bill. As I walked to the car I continued to examine the invoice and noted that I had been charged for 7 litres of oil, I thought that this was rather a lot and I resolved to check it in the handbook.  Unwisely I tried to check the handbook whilst waiting at traffic lights and sod's law meant that I never really got the chance.  Anyway, when I was home I looked it up and to my surprise and concern it said that a 2.2L engine required 5.86 litres of oil.

I did  not get round to checking the oil until Saturday, after having taken the cat to the vet (another story).  Anyway to check the oil it needs to be warm and the car is to have stood for at least 10 minutes on a level surface.  When I checked, the indication, which is electronic, informed me that the car had been overfilled and was not to be driven, this was after driving approximately 66kms in this condition.  I was not impressed as a) they garage had potentially damaged my car and b) they had charged me extra for the privilage of doing so!  I got on to Jaguar Assist and they swung into action, it was not long before a flatbed came along to tow my car back to the garage in Antwerp, it is rather sad and embarrassing to watch your car being taken away...  I was in a spot of bother, no car!

Jaguar Assist then arranged for me to pick up a hire car to cover the absence of my own.  An duly took me to the airport where I was told to report to the Europcar desk, to my immediate disappointment I was given the keys to an Astra.  I was further told that the car would be in row 5 of the parking area, there was no row 5 and in fact it was in row 1 as I eventually discovered.  My trial had only just begun...

I tried to check the car for damage but being a brown car and in the poor light of the parking area I could not see any other damage.  More to the point I had not been given a pen either and I did not have one so if I had wanted to record any further details of damage I would have had to have written it in my blood having first gouged a strip out of my arm and fashioning a scribe from a rusty nail embedded in the concrete of the car park.  Maybe I go too far with this description?  Thankfully I could find no other damage and now I had only to work out how to start the car.

The car was a manual and, quaintly, there was a keyhole ignition, dated or what?  I could not start the car and soon noticed that an orange light illuminated to indicate that I must press the pedal.  Now there are only three pedals to choose from and being as I drive an automatic I assumed I should press the brake.  Nope.  I after several attempts and chanting a special incantation I had still not succeeded in bringing the machine into life.  Finally I pressed the clutch down and woof, well, purr really and the engine came to life.

I managed to manoeuvre out of the concrete jungle that was the car park and made the rendezvous with my wife at the nearby Shell garage so that we could go in convoy back to the house, this, it turns out, was an utterly pointless exercise.  I quickly realised that the car had the acceleration properties of a fully loaded supertanker that has been welded to the sea bed and then weighted down for good measure by some old battleships tied to the back end.  An glided away as I apparently made little progress in keeping pace.  My main concern was how I was to negotiate the journey back past junctions and through traffic, which was akin to a toddler wandering aimlessly across the M25 at rush hour on a really bad day, when all of the worst drivers are out and the police have decided to go on a tea break.

I engaged the highly advanced navigation and sensor suite, me the driver, and drove very defensively home.  I really was not looking forward to doing battle on the trip to work the next day.  An asked me what size the engine was on the car and I replied that I was not sure it actually had an engine in it...  She had been waiting at home for me, having lost sight of me after leaving the Shell garage.

I rang Jaguar Assist to explain that I was dissatisfied with the vehicle, my only statement was that the car was not like for like, I could think of no better way to put it.  The gentleman on the phone agreed entirely and said that it is not what they would expect, he resolved to sort it out as soon as possible.

Sure enough I got a call to say that I could have either a Mercedes B Class or a Volvo XC 60, petrol and diesel respectively.  I choose the Volvo and agreed to pick it up at the airport on Monday.  In the meantime the issue with my car had been identified...

It would appear that my oil sensor, the one that indicates how much is in the sump, was faulty.  Apparently the garage had put the oil in and then the car indicated that there was not enough and so they put more in and thus overfilled.  Now I can only take this at face value but, if the handbook says that it requires 5.86 litres of oil and you have just removed all of it after a service then surely you just measure out the 5.86 and put it into the engine?  There is also the question of why I was charged for 7 litres of oil on the bill, I will of course put this to the Jaguar Assist team when they get back to me.  Cynically I am of the opinion that if the 'fault' is the sensor then the garage was not negligent and the claim would be covered under the warranty as opposed to the garage itself which made the error.  We shall see.

I turned up at the airport after work at around 19.00, I was late getting away from work again.  The rental desk did not have a reservation, helpful I thought.  I did not have a booking number and so had to get on to Jaguar Assist, who then got on to their agent.  Whilst I was waiting and the two staff were dealing with the long queue of customers, the telephone on their desk was ringing away.  One of the staff asked me if I had got through and I said they are probably trying to ring you.  They shrugged and said oh well, we are busy.  The words that entered my head cannot be written down...  Anyway, to my total lack of surprise I got a call from a lady who told me she could not get through and I explained in a very loud voice that they had not answered their telephone.  She agreed to hold on until one of them had finished dealing with their current customer.  The lady explained that she had faxed, text, emailed, carved in stone, sent smoke signals and used a few other ancient techniques of communicating her request to the company and they had not apparently responded or confirmed the booking.  When eventually the lady at the rental company had finished discussing the cultural sights of Brussels with the professor of how to occupy time, I handed her my phone.  She found the fax, buried in the cellar of the restaurant next door and after dusting it down and feigning surprise, apologised to the lady on the phone and got on with transcribing the details onto the computer and then finding the key.

Eventually I was issued with they key to the car and I made my way back to the parking area.  The car was, thankfully, where she said it would be and soon I was on the road.  I am happy to report that this car is far better equipped and powered to deal with the commute.  In fact it is rather fun to drive.  I only lost an hour in the airport picking it up!

Today is April Fool's day, so I am wondering what exciting news will come my way as to the progress of my car.

Boundary Cooling

Boundary cooling is where you attempt to halt the spread of fire by cooling the adjacent sides of a compartment (on board a ship in this case).  The three parts to the fire triangle are: heat, fuel and oxygen.  Deny any of these and there is no fire.  So boundary cooling seeks to deny the heat element of the triangle.  What am I on about and what has this to do with anything?  Well not a lot really, but I posted on Facebook recently that I was in need of boundary cooling and so this is my explanation.

I was suggesting that I personally needed boundary cooling and this was my way of saying that there was a raging fire inside me and I wanted to limit the possibility of that spreading anywhere else.  In my case I was really quite annoyed with something and in most cases it is not helpful to vent your frustrations to all and sundry, if often just inflames the situation, if you forgive the pun.

If you don't have boundary cooling in place then the chances are the fire will spread and it can become uncontrollable, a bit like an argument...  At least at work you can walk away and come back later, this is not a great idea when you are on a ship...

Anyway, I thought I would write a quick dit on boundary cooling and the benefits of having it in place!