Banks and Vagabonds

I have not written anything for a while as I have been a tad busy of late.  I started doing contract work for a bank in February and the days are quite long.  I must say from the outset that it is not my intention to offend anyone with this blog nor do I wish to dismiss the plight of those who find themselves on the streets.  I just want to say how I feel and what I think as I go to and from work each day.

Banks, with justification or not, have a somewhat tarnished reputation.  One can name a range of scandals such as LIBOR rigging, Foreign exchange fraud, the poor handling of risk that led to the financial crisis of 2008, tax avoidance, PPI  and mortgage mis-selling.  And it would appear that those responsible are not being held to account.  I know from my limited time that there is a great deal of work being done to ensure that such things do not, or at least are less likely, to happen again.  The changes being applied to the financial services industry can be felt in the changing attitude to how risk is handled and the lower return on capital that can now be achieved.  In essence banks are being asked to hold sufficient liquid assets to be able to meet their obligations (with limits applied).  In simple terms to you or I it means having money in the bank to pay the bills but not necessarily enough to cover all of them, as they should never be called in at the same time.  Imagine if the bank said you must pay back your mortgage, credit card and personal loans all at once, you would effectively go bust unless you had sufficient savings or investments to cover the debt and you had quick enough access.  Net effect for banks is that they must hold more money, which is inefficient and therefore investors will go elsewhere to get a higher return, this will then lead to some aspects of the business being sold off or discontinued and banks will seek profit elsewhere such as so called free banking.  This is a simplistic example and not really the purpose of my blog!

Every morning I am delivered to the railway station by An to await my direct train into Brussels.  I buy a 3 month ticket, which is only valid on the Aarschot to Brussels route, for 399 euros.  It is good value for money and for a half hour trip into Brussels, it beats the car hands down.  When I get off at Brussels Central I have a short walk to work, it is on this short walk that I meet a moral challenge.

Upon leaving the train I go up one level to the very busy concourse, going right out of the station when I have gone up the wide stone steps with the main information board at the top.  When I first started commuting I would often go out of a different exit, the disadvantage with that is that it does not lead to a shopping arcade that provides a degree of shelter against the weather and you need to cross more roads to get on.  As I go up the steps towards the information board I cut across diagonally, which must annoy those wishing to go straight up the steps.  At the top I go right, past the coffee and waffle kiosk and under the road (which also leads to the Metro) there I  see my first moral challenge.

I am not sure what the best term is, there are so many and they all invoke an image: vagabond, tramp, hobo, urchin, beggar, homeless person.  Think about those terms and what comes to mind are people who are unwashed, unshaven, dressed in dirty and worn out clothes, people who have nothing and nothing to be happy about, people who are thin.  I am sure you can think of more, but, as I shall describe, the ones I meet have only one thing in common and that is they are all asking, begging, for money.  There are usually two people I see before I ascend the steps of the subway, the first is a young man who is clean shaven, smartly dressed in casual clothes and wearing what look like designer shoes.  He has a smart back pack and is holding a cardboard sign with French writing on it. He does not say anything but just stands and holds his sign and paper collection cup.  It is not a challenge to ignore him.  Further on, sitting on the steps is another older man, maybe in his 50s, not quite as smart but certainly not badly dressed.  He smiles and greets people as they pass, he seems much less serious about the situation.  Again I don't give anything.

There is now a longer walk before I get to the next person.  I go up the steps and then cross the road into the shopping arcade, sometimes you see some people taking shelter there but they tend to be sitting at the tables of the cafes.  The arcade is one of those places built maybe in the 30's and was probably quite grand in its time, it has long since lost it's appeal.  I climb the large curving staircase at the end, this staircase rises from both sides to meet in the middle and provide a balcony before continuing up to the road at the top.  Across the road there is a double stone staircase, very grand.  On the left hand set of steps there is another beggar, on the right it is clear.  Sometimes I consciously climb the right, he is always on the left. This man is more like the kind of stereotype that you would expect and is my greatest challenge, he looks beaten, unclean and in need.  He is, or appears to be, aggressive when he talks to you.  Also the food and other things he has been given he as used then dumped the remains around him, burger rolls, wrapping, plastic, whatever.  Again I do not give anything. Also on the same steps is a Gypsy accordion player, he never smiles and I always think of the Spanish train incident where An got upset by another accordion player.  I sometimes recognise the music but never leave anything, but at least he is providing some consideration for the change that is given.

I cross the road at the top and then make my way through the park and over the main road past the embassies, the Royal Palace and the Prime Minister's house.  The last leg is to walk the length of the street where the office is.  I meet my last person here and one day I arrived as he arrived for work, so to speak.  He is again very smartly dressed and has good hiking boots on.  He holds a sign written in French and he kneels with a travel bag in front of him.  Recently I noticed that he puts cardboard beneath his knees.  He doesn't say anything but he is clearly aiming for a certain clientele.

So I have this conversation on my way to and from work almost everyday.  Should I give anything, why and what if I do?  Will it help?  Am I the only one that feels guilty and should I feel guilty?  My brother, unfortunately, spent a bit of time on the streets and has a different perspective to me, he shares the common experience, but whilst he transited the area he was in these people seem to be permanent fixtures.  I think about if I give anything then there will be an expectation that I will always give something. Sometimes I want to stop and chat to find out why they are where they are and what they are doing about it.  I never see them when I am going home from work, so they are only working in the commuting hours in the morning.  Sometimes on my way home I do see gypsy women with children and babies in the main railway station, but their plight was slightly undermined when one of them started tapping away on a smart phone whilst holding her cup out,baby in arms.  Maybe I am cold hearted, unforgiving or dismissive of their situation?

I think of the job I am doing and I think of these people who are asking for money on the street.  I don't think I have ever given anything to a person just begging.  I have given to a street performer before.  Maybe I will change, maybe not.  In the morning I am usually too intent on getting to work on time, sometimes I feel like stopping to buy them something but then what?  What they need is work to be able to support themselves but they have to take the initiative too.

I will continue to go through the moral self examination for some time I think.

A New Start

Just over a week ago I started a new job as a contractor with a not so well known global bank.  I have joined a team of 5 who are managing a project to oversee the strengthening of Client Asset Protection in the Belgian market.  In essence this is strengthening the safeguards and controls in place following the banking crisis of 2008 and subsequent scandals that have emerged.

Had someone said to me that at the beginning of 2015 you would be working in Brussels and have set up your own company I would have said the odds were definitely not in favour.  I had viewed my lack of in depth language skills as a significant disadvantage and therefore set my sights on moving to London where I thought I could fit in better.  That was until I was presented with this opportunity in late January.

Barcelona! It Was The First Time That We Met...

Well, actually we first met at Pisa airport and An declined my offer of a sweetie, which sounds kind of freaky in hindsight.  I was with my mother at the time so she should have felt reasonably safe...  Anyway this is not the topic of this blog!

Barcelona, a secret trip that had to be revealed when some work got in the way and then rescheduled, adding more than 120 Euros to the cost of the flights.  I fancied taking An off somewhere nice and at the same time fulfilling my ambition to go to a Dali exhibition. Not much of an ambition but I have failed to see any of his work exhibited (twice in London and twice in Brugge).

So we finally got to the point where all arrangements were in place and I had re-booked the hotel and was hoping it would meet the high standards expected of my better half (I am happy to stay at rather more austere accommodation as long as the price is right).  We decided to take the car to the airport and found that for a 4 day stay it would cost a mere 45 euros.  We elected to take the car because of the convenient strike being held on the Monday and we did not want to take any chances on our return trip being disrupted.  Sadly more was to follow on this, although the disruption came from a slightly different source.  We arrived in good time despite driving through the early rush hour on Thursday to get our car parked.  It was a relatively painless process to get to the airport and we made our way to Gate A as we had checked in online already.  We both took hand luggage and got through security without a hitch, we then settled for the first of many expensive coffees at various transport hubs during our weekend.

The flight was fine apart from being one of the last to board and therefore not being able to find room for my hand baggage, which was then subsequently checked into the hold.  I was asked if there was anything I needed out of the bag before the was placed into the hold, I thought she said it with a hint of 'it'll be the last time you see it' in her voice.  My fears were misplaced and I recovered the bag quickly at the other end.  I had researched the trip and decided that we would catch one of the regular trains from the airport to the city, the hotel was a couple of blocks from there.  In the event it was much more convenient as the hotel was just a 200 metre walk across the square from the main station, Barcelona Sants.  Incidentally we had not been required to show our identification documents at any stage, which felt a bit odd.

Checking in was ok, the hotel had 24 floors including the restaurant and we were on the 21st floor.  The room was quite large by most standards and the bathroom was split into three areas, sinks and bath, shower and toilet.  As you walked in there was a glass partition separating the toilet (and bidet) from the double sink set up.  An did not need to say anything, I knew she would not feel happy either using or someone else using the toilet within earshot!  The shower was further divided by another partition and you could fit a small Welsh rugby choir in there, there was plenty of room.

The hotel was conveniently located almost a kilometre from the Magic Fountain of Mountjuic.

We did a lot of walking during the weekend as my sore feet can testify, but then it was exercise and we got to see a bit more of the city that way.  A four day metro pass is around 44 euros per person, for a single fare on the metro to any other station it is 2.15 euros, not worth getting the pass in my view.

Anyway, back to the beginning.  We had decided (my ambition) to go to Figueres to see the Dali Museum.  In order to do so we had to get up early to avoid wasting too much time.  The journey would take almost two hours on the fast train and cost 32 euros each return.  It sounds a lot but it is worth taking the time out.  The cost to get into the museum was a further 12 euros each.  We were very lucky to get there early, soon the museum was mobbed by pensioners, young kids and annoying students.  It was quite a challenge to get around once the crowds started to build up and not only that the noise was something else.  To get to the museum it is a short walk through the town and as long as you have got your spatial awareness sorted out and know roughly where it is in relation to the station and town square then you should be ok.  There are also plenty of signs too.

I cannot explain why I find Dali so fascinating, I mean if you look at his work you have to wonder what on earth was going on in his head to generate such output.  As always I live and learn with each experience.  My attraction began with his more renowned work, which I could get.  In fact we bought a picture of The Girl at the Window:

As I made my way around the galleries of sculptures, paintings and sketches I tried to understand what was going on, I couldn't.  There is so much happening that to study any of his work in detail would take quite some time, I suppose this means that if you revisit you will not necessarily see the same thing again and this is enhanced by the changes to your own perspective in the interim.  A bit deep but that is as arty as I get!  What I did notice, which worryingly may be a reflection of my own perspective, was his apparent obsession with the anus.  One image, The Tower of Eternal Well Being, shows workers spiralling up to the top as if working towards building up the tower and yet when you get to the top it shows a man, who I take to be the owner, defecating.  To me this is a commentary on the masses being abused by those in power and I viewed it in the context of the Spanish Civil War, although the picture is dated 1973.  There were plenty of other images with explicit sexual references in them and there are definite phases of his work.  I was not aware of this until I had visited the museum but he also designed jewellery as well.  I have to say that I was first attracted by the surrealism and then I discovered his jewellery which I found to be a highlight of the visit.  I am not easily impressed by jewellery but this was something that even I could appreciate.

An's highlight of the trip was viewing the image below having climbed some steps to view it through a specially mounted lens carried by a camel.  A bit much isn't it?  Anyway she said she remembered when she and her sister had visited years before and seen the same view.

On leaving the museum we paid a visit to the shop and then I wandered for a bit to take some photos of the famous tower with eggs on top, again, what was he thinking and what did it mean?

Finally, I have to add that Dali reclaimed a war damaged theatre and re-built it as a museum.  The theatre was damaged during the Spanish Civil War.  He created a shrine from its ruins.

We left around lunchtime and chose to get some food.  We had tapas, and why not?  We found a restaurant off the main square and we chose two dishes each (but ended up getting served a bit more anyway).  I chose calamari with a Roman sauce and a kind of cheese croquet.  An chose brave potatoes (spicy) and king prawns.  We also got some bread with a tomato and buttery paste.  In all it was lovely.  The sparkling water we ordered did taste a bit unusual, although An said it was fine I could not quite identify the flavour.  When we made it back to the station we were just too late to catch the fast train back and thus we had to hang around for a much slower regional train.

On the train there was a man with an accordion, who was busking, An was not impressed and decided to move to another carriage.  When I stood up to follow the train jolted and I ended up falling onto this lady opposite.  She had such a look of utter disgust, despite my apologies.  I thought to myself, surely she does not think that I enjoy hurling myself uncontrollably at random old ladies?  An did not even notice as she was off pretty quickly.  With the mood now set a number of other factors came ito play.  To begin with, almost as inevitably as night follows day, the annoying accordion player moved into our carriage.  An protested but it was to no avail, he did not understand as I said as politely as I could that she does not agree with his music.  At this point my phone vibrated and I went to check it out.  Our flight back to Brussels had been cancelled and this was less than 24 hours after leaving.  The strike on Monday had caused the airline to review its plans and they decided to cancel our flight, even though it was taking place the day before. There was nothing we could do but mull over the situation as the train made its way slowly to Barcelona.  I tried to reason through the possibilities but this was not the time to do so.

We made it back to the hotel around 17.20 and the first task was to contact the airline to see what could be done about the flight.  Eventually I got through having waited for 28 minutes on my Belgian mobile calling from Spain.  We were offered an earlier flight and we had no choice but to accept.  There is compensation available, according to their terms and conditions, but this would require an email to their customer relations department.  Problem solved, better early than late I suppose and this now left us to enjoy what was left of the weekend.  We had lost around 5 hours from Sunday as a result of the changes and if the truth be told my feet were grateful!

So the Friday evening was now kind of partially lost but we headed out anyway and up towards the Old Bullfighting arena that had now become a shopping centre.  This was pretty much like any other and after that we headed up towards the Magic fountain and the other water features up from the Plaza Espanya.

There were large numbers of people and along with the display of fountains there was also music too.  The views were impressive and if you did not feel like walking then you could go up escalators to get to the top.  These are some of the pictures I took:

We walked back to the hotel and had another meal in the restaurant in the hotel, which also has spectacular views.

The next day we aimed to hit Gaudi's Casa Batllo.  This was the highlight of the weekend for me and despite my initial baulking at the 21 euro ticket price, it was well worth it.  Again, I am not easily impressed but this building did impress me as soon as I set foot through the door.  It pains me to say that I did not take a photograph of the staircase, which I should have done.  I did take lots of other pictures, when tourists allowed me a clear shot.  I cannot do justice to the house by trying to describe it but every detail within the house has been carefully thought through from the ergonomic door handles cast from the palm of Gaudi to the innovative way light is appreciated and used throughout the house.  As an example there are two light wells that run down the middle of the house, their purpose is to allow natural light to enter from the top to the bottom of the house.  In designing these Gaudi has also used a stronger blue near the top of the well than at the bottom and this matches the strength of the light so that it appears evenly distributed.  The windows on the upper floors are smaller, again a reflection of the amount of light available in comparison with  the lower floors.  The theme is very much aquatic in nature and perhaps this also appeals to a deep affinity that I have for the sea.  I did not take any photos of the light wells either but I was conscious of taking too long on the tour.  I have given an example of some of the photos below.

Casa Batlllo Facade

The living room windows!

The living room with spiral design.

The spiral ceiling with chandelier ( not the original)

The 'back yard'

The somewhat more austere rear of the building!

The attic spaces

The serpent, or however you wish to see the roof!

More of the attic space!

After visiting the Gaudi house we then walked off towards the Gothic quarter of the city.  Our aim was to grab some lunch, which we did after wandering around bypassing most of the cafes that would have been quite suitable and then we ended up in a small square at a rather inauspicious place.  We chose more tapas, we had ham croquette, I had  goats cheese with a burger and An had a salad.  We did not want too much as we would be hitting the Hard Rock Cafe later on.  In the event we had even more after the Picasso museum! The food was very nice and I would recommend the place if only I could remember!

After missing the sign to the Picasso Museum we wandered the narrow streets, which all looked the same to me, until we basically ended up backtracking.  The Picasso pilgrimage was for An's benefit, I have no love or feeling for his work.  That said we paid our fees and went for it.  I have to say that part of the exhibition included a set of photos by an American photojournalist David Douglas Duncan, a guy who was lucky enough to befriend the artist.  So as a photographer myself, this was a bit of a bonus.  There were some interesting images, including a record of him engaged in producing his art, a diary if you like.  Picasso shows none of the eccentricity that Dali seems to do when photographed.  It was interesting to view the fact  that Picasso almost always seemed to wear a tie when working.  I got the impression that his wife tired of his work, but then there is only so much you can put up with!  what did I learn, well that Picasso did start off with traditional work and then went his own way, which is reassuring as his well known works look like a five year old produced them and, in my humble opinion, is a bit poor.  This point of view was to resurface in what must be the deepest conversation An and I have held about art, but that is later.  There was also a red and blue phase that Picasso went through and there was a fascinating photograph capturing his emotional response to the body of David's Marine friend killed in the Korean war.  Picasso, like most I suppose, reflected his experiences and the times in his work.  It was his record and commentary saved for the interpretation by others.  There were the crowds and kids as there were at Dali's museum.

I almost forgot, we paid a homage to the shoes, An managed to find some shoes that fit her.  In fact there was quite a choice so we had to take advantage.  She bought a pair and a bag (one or  the other was free as the cost was 200 euros).  One of the bags was a snip at 400 euros (we did not buy this), I was taken aback to say the least, I think it was made from the Golden Fleece...  I asked the lady in the shop if I could take some photos, some of which are below:

When we left I automatically steered towards the cathedral and when we got there we discovered a rather large market.  An did not fancy the crowds, so we made our way back round to where we had come from.  On our travels we had seen so many shops with lovely chocolate, cakes, fudge and nougat. Sadly, try as we may we could not find the same ones again.  We ended up stopping for a bit of cake, but the choice of venue was poor, the cheese cake was a frozen and did not resemble the delightful image on the menu and the coffee was overpriced.  We could afford to get some things wrong I suppose.  We decided to head back to the hotel for a break before the evening trip out.  This time we used the metro instead of walking.  It cost us 2.15 euros each, which I thought was quite reasonable.

After the briefest of rests at the hotel we headed back out.  I researched where the Hard Rock Cafe was and checked the opening times.  We caught the metro and found the cafe with little trouble.  The streets were heaving with people and the scene was very colourful.  At this point it is worth mentioning that the shops and restaurants have a siesta and open later in the evening and run on, it is like all year round late night shopping, paradise for some!

We got our table but were quite well fed from earlier so this meal was going to be pleasing my eyes and not my stomach, as my auntie used to say.  I ordered nachos, which both an and I picked at.  It was a rather large plate and too much for the two of us, considering the mains were coming too.  I had ordered chicken fajitas and An ordered a burger complete with chips.  

The two pints of beer helped me to engage in a rather deep conversation about what constitutes an artist.  I accepted after some debate that an artist differs from the average person on the street because they have: talent with materials, the technical skill to compose an image, a story to tell and they can get that across with their art.  An suggested that many modern artists lack the story element.  I have not done the debate justice in those two lines really.  It went on for about 10 minutes or so.  I suppose once an artist is established they can then do their own thing.  I saw Fleetwood Mac last year and they got across the message that basically musicians have to conform to the industry and then when they are established they can do what they really want to do, even if some of us find their 'true' work a bit less than impressive.  And so it is that my opinion of Picasso is that I am not impressed with his 'true' works of art.  He in fact has also been through a bizarre phase, where he seems to have been tormented by demons, at least that is what his sketches were telling me.  An pointed out the connection of his art with other well known pieces, including one by Diego Velazquez.  Now this raised an interesting point, a chain of connections between artists who have been influenced by others.  I have written earlier of how Henry Moore was infected by Picasso (I mean that in a derogatory sense), for years I wondered why Moore chose to produce such a style of sculpture and I found the answer in an exhibition in London.  He got his inspiration from Picasso!  Enough of the arty debate.

Back in Barcelona, we got out at the right time, the clients were piling in as we left.  I took the opportunity to get a t-shirt.  After a brief visit to Massimo Duti we headed back to the hotel.  The following day was our final curtailed day.

Despite the short time available we decided to give the Miro museum a stab, we caught the metro to the base of the hill that the museum was on and then slogged it to the top, through some rather suspect areas.  I had no idea who Miro was, but An pointed out a sculpture near the old bull ring and my comment of 'why has it got a banana on the top?' drew the response 'It's a moon!'  Of course it was, how silly of me, but then that is two different people interpreting art, one who knows and the other who is clueless, I shall leave you to guess which category I fall into.  As an added bonus, again, there was a temporary exhibition.  This one was about the first world war and contained photographs and artwork from the war years, An sat out this part reading a book.  I swept along, conscious of the time.  Miro, well, lots of colour and a bit of eccentricity, sorry to say that I did not get it and could not see the story he was trying to get across. We walked back down towards the Magic Fountain and caught the metro back to the hotel, where we had left our bags.  The plan was to catch a taxi back to the airport and as far as the onward journey went it was uneventful and nice to be back in our warm house.

On the subject of architecture and the Spanish cities, two of the most prominent features for both of us was the sheer quantity of graffiti and concrete.  On further observations An and I differed.  I find the buildings and streets quite scruffy and run down, dirty by far.  An on the other hand thinks it is a style on its own and made the comparison to any other city in the UK or Belgium.  I have to say I feel the same way about the club med countries, the buildings, apart from the special ones of course, don't appeal.  Barcelona has a lot of great buildings and architecture but by God they have built seemingly endless tenement blocks, which in my view are unsightly.  An is right though, the same can be said for London or Newcastle but it is only my opinion of course.

I would thoroughly recommend the city and the four days (3 1/2 we had) are not enough to do it justice.  I am hoping to go back again.

Manbag

For some time my wife has been keen for me to make use of a manbag in my day to day life.  Now, being a gentleman from the North East of England, the prospect of being seen with such an accessory in the windswept, if friendly metropolis that is the Newcastle conurbation, does not really bear thinking about.  However we are now talking about Belgium and London.

A manbag for those that are not acquainted, is a handbag designed to carry a laptop/ipad/convenient office stuff.  It is like it has evolved from the briefcase and is carried by lots of people these days.  My wife want me to use one so that I don't have anything in my pockets making unattractive lumps and bumps where there should be nice smooth lines.

As any woman will know, if you have a bag of any description you will generally fill it full of all sorts of useless and, in rare cases, useful stuff.  So likewise my manbag started to acquire its own assortment including: kindle, paracetamol, a book, iPad, pens, business cards, headphones, keys, wallet, hat, scarf, gloves, umbrella, security pass and tissues.

The advantage of having a manbag is that you can carry more stuff than you can in your pockets, the huge and I mean huge disadvantage is that you sometimes do not know what is in or out of the bag and thus I have left things behind on a number of occasions. Not only that but I have done a complete cavity search as well as had sniffer dogs trying to locate my wallet due to the fact that it has been placed in the bag and cannot be readily grabbed.  Now compare that with the age old tried and tested location for the wallet which is the back pocket of the trousers!  When I didn't have a manbag I knew where everything was and that I had it all, now, not so sure if I am honest.

Fasting 5/2

I have been on the 2/5 fasting diet for around 3 months now and I have come down from 90kg to around 83.5kg.  Perhaps I should expand on what the diet means in simple terms, I say that as I forget the benefits that I have read about. It is well worth getting the book and giving it a go and I will try and elaborate as to why I recommend it.

To begin with the diet involves restricting the calorie intake to 600 and 500 for men and women respectively, this equates to about a quarter of the intake you require.  The 2 refers to your choice of 2 non-consecutive days when you restrict your diet and the 5 is the rest when you can eat what you wish.  The most useful thing about this diet is that you can fit it around your social life it is not so restrictive and critical that you keep to a regime day after day for months on end.  More importantly it works, it is amazing given the lack of self control that I have exercised on my off days but the weight comes off and it stays off.

The book I read here is very interesting, in essence it is co-written by the TV presenter/doctor Michael Mosley and food journalist Mimi Spencer.  My personal opinion is that the Doc is good and the Journalist is spouting drivel, that is unkind I know but that is how I felt when I read it.  I don't want the information dressed up I just want clear and balanced information.  Don't let the suggested menus put you off, I would very much stick with practical convenient food that has a recognised calorie count.  This desire to have variety for what are two separate days in your week is fair enough but I generally stick to the same format for those days which is yogurt, black tea and 4 egg omelette.  Occasionally when I have been travelling I have popped into an M&S to get a pasta meal that falls under 400 calories, but beware this is difficult to find due to the misleading labeling that does not tell you the true calorie count for the meal.  You generally need to do some arithmetic to work out the content from the portion described on the label.  There is lots of great medical/science benefits, most of which I have forgotten so I will need to re-read the book. In essence time spent fasting allows the body to devote its resources elsewhere.

Despite the enthusiasm of the book about the effects of the diet I have not felt more alive, energetic or somehow sharper that before.  I think psychologically I have felt better because I can see the results and it works and I am much happier that this is the case.  I did think I would be less energetic or that there might be other side effects but in essence no.  If you are a healthy adult with no underlying conditions then you are fine, you can exercise and feel fine.  The most noticeable effect is that I pass water a lot more frequently when I am on the diet.  More to the point I absorb the water when I go out for a subsequent drink and do not pass water as readily as before.  Nice to talk about that eh?  Anyway, the point is that water retention can account for around 2kgs of movement in my case.  It is well not to be disheartened when the weight bounces back up as this is temporary.

The biggest challenge for me is the bit where I have to get through lunchtime without eating, by that stage my stomach is usually empty and mentally I am programmed to expect food.  It is a battle and often it is a case of, well what else do I do at lunchtime if not eat?  You can split the 600 calories into smaller portions to have a regular bite throughout the day but I think the fast is more effective the longer you leave it between meals.  Other side effects I have noticed is that I am feeling full a lot quicker on the off days, in fact if I overdo it then I feel nauseous,  I am now consciously taking smaller portions and regularly having my tea black, you get used to it.

I have to add that I still misbehave and have plenty of 'bad' things but it is open season on the off days and the weight is still coming off,  If I were better disciplined then perhaps it would go quicker!

A tip, and perhaps it is obvious really, don't have a drinking session before a planned fast day, that is too hardcore and a mistake I have made today in fact.  It is better to get the fast day out of the way first or leave it until at least a clear day after the drinking to allow a recovery.  I broke my fast today but plan to do either Friday or Saturday instead.  I have more often brought my day forward to Wednesday instead of Thursday (Monday is my other day)  I think it is more effective again when you have just one day between fasts but then that requires a little more willpower too,

One last point for now, beware the office cakes and biscuits.  It is a little anti social at times but then it is usually only a matter of holding out for a few hours extra and then you can have that cake.  I have found it easier to hold on in the evening despite the challenge of lunchtime.

I would recommend it to anyone, it is easier than you might think to stick too.

Etiquette On the Tube

During my commute I have come to observe the habits and etiquette that should be in place for commuters who are crammed like sardines into the fast moving, if jerky, epitome of modern rail transport that is the Tube.

First of all you should give up your seat for those less able to stand than yourself, this is usually the case, however, often it gets so crowded that the elderly, pregnant and disabled often can't even reach the seats, we do try to accommodate them.  You should also move into the carriage and not linger about the door, this is something that most people fail to do and on my first trip in I came to grief with someone as I brushed past them.  I made the error of not saying 'excuse me', which is of course the correct way to request that someone should let you past.  I had already descended into the frame of mind where no one will move regardless of how you plead, and this is borne out of experience.  There is an unfounded fear of not being able to get off the train unless you block the doors by crowding in front of them.  Everyone secretly dreads the pushchair or large suitcases.  It is most inconsiderate to travel on the tube with such large impediments to mobility.  Most smile, but do not make any noticeable attempt to move or help.

I recently made note of the dreaded wet umbrella phenomenon, this is where you have to fold away your damp umbrella and be very careful to avoid it leaching onto some poor commuter as you are pressed up against them.  It is important to stress that there is no such thing as personal space on a tube, although not desirable, physical contact is sometimes maintained due to the crush.  Even in these circumstances, the kindles and, yes I mean this, the newspapers come out in force.  There is always enough room to annoy a fellow commuter by flicking a newspaper in their face.  What is also taboo but all too common is that the free newspapers are brought onboard and then dumped by their 'owners'.  Sometimes this is convenient if you need something to read but otherwise it is simply rubbish that someone else will need to clear up.

As well as the books, kindles and newspapers there are a healthy number of people who are busy playing games on their phones, listening to music or composing texts and emails.  All of this is really just a bid to avoid eye contact, which is the thing most are desperate to do.  There is no desire to form a bond with the fellow commuter.  If you do happen to exchange words then the ice is truly broken and it can be a happy distraction.  More often though, nothing is said and sometimes there are angry exchanges between frustrated people who do not relish their trip.

Unlike a lift, where breaking wind is the most embarrassing possible thing, ok almost then, you can do.  In the Tube at rush hour there is safety in numbers and I have, on more than one occasion, been the subject of someone's noxious emissions.  I have not perpetrated such a deed myself, which is commendable given my record at home.  A slightly lesser annoyance is the smelly armpit by the giant that I am normally stood next to on the train, sometimes I have nowhere to run to avoid this.  I am, naturally, very aware of my own delightful aroma and considering I usually overheat when walking from house to station, I try to make a special effort to keep cool and fresh.

One of the other things I have noticed is that some passengers with back packs on seem to forget or don't care that they are now almost twice as thick (maybe in intelligence terms as well) as they usually are when not carrying them.  They may as well be carrying a long plank of wood for all the consideration they have as they turn thoughtlessly in the confined spaces of the carriage.  It is very tempting to push their pack the other way and watch as they do an impression of an upturned  tortoise.

Another habit I have noticed is passengers who evacuate the train to cross the platform opposite in a bid to get the other train, which the announcer has said will depart first.  I mean, really, does it make so much of a difference the minute or so longer that their current train will take?  It is strangely satisfying when the original train departs ahead of the other one, although this does not happen that often.

When boarding the train the passengers are asked to let other passengers off the train first before attempting to board.  This turns to something like the scramble for lifeboats on a sinking ship as the beeping of the 'closing door' signal sounds.  Using your head or other handy objects to test the door safety mechanism is not helpful or recommended.

For all that I have said there are many helpful and friendly people who make the journey more pleasant.  In fact just observing the characters is enough to bring an occasional smile to my face. Delays never dull my experience of the trip.

Passing Time

As I waited for the tube to arrive I started to look about and make a concerted effort to appreciate my surroundings a bit more.  Commuting is not the most productive of time but usually I have been behind the wheel of a car and am concentrating on assessing the ever changing threats of the traffic whilst balancing the latest grumbles about work or home.  You don't get to see much beyond about 120 degrees to you front and some rather narrow cones of vision to the rear, of course not at the same time.  I read an article recently that said you only generally see things where you are looking and that peripheral vision is only good for seeing movement.  Bearing in mind that I am travelling at times up to 128kmph.  Anyway, I digress.

Back on the Tube platform I looked around and observed parallel lines, I don't know where it started but I noticed that everywhere I looked there were objects that had parallel lines.  I then thought on and noticed, to a lesser extent that circles are also another feature that is readily observed.  Of course these things to not occur in nature, or at least not commonly.  I switched from this to noting the curves of nature all around me, the trees, people's hands, arms, legs and heads  as they read their kindles, iPads and fired their text messages off to loved and not so loved ones.

On the Tube it was as busy as usual and as I stood there, this time not reading my own kindle, I watched over the shoulder of this girl who was writing a personal email to her partner about how they had argued and that maybe it was not good if they were together.  You could tell she was thinking through what she was writing but she was not angry or upset, she seemed to be quite at ease with what she was writing.  I wondered if she was the one in control and making the break or whether it was an olive branch that she was offering.  I never did find out and I thought it was not wise to inquire.

As I was making the trip I managed to get a seat, as I did so someone to my left gave up their seat for an elderly gentleman.  Unusually, we struck up a conversation, it is not common to talk to others on the Tube.  In fact most do their best to avoid eye contact, only the innocent and very friendly people tend to form momentary bonds of recognition at any given moment.  And so the bond was formed, this particular gentleman was a veteran from the Second World War, he was attached to the 6th Airborne Division, which dropped into Normandy on the 6th June 1944.  I asked him about this and he said that he had not joined at that point but that he did take part in Operation Market Garden in September 1944. I did make a mental note that the 1st Airborne Division was the one that jumped into Arnhem but I was not one to challenge the recollection of this man.  Instead we discussed his service.  He told me of his father who had survived combat in World War One with two near death experiences.  He survived a third when his home was hit by a doodlebug in the Second World War, his wife was buried in the house,but managed to survive.  I said how lucky he was to have gotten through the period with such things happening.  I told him of my recent visit to Kasterlee Commonwealth War Cemetery, where mainly Scottish troops were buried having been part of Operation Market Garden.  I pointed out that most had died on the 16th September 1944 and that it was the same day of the month as my birthday.  I then told him that I was still serving.

He was on his way to see the poppies at the Tower of London, he was making a brave pilgrimage to see this special tribute to the fallen.  I say brave, because he was quite frail at 88 and he also had difficulty seeing.  He kept asking if it was time to get off the train and he thought that I was due to get off after him.  His stop was four on from my own and I reassured him that there would be plenty of people who would assist him if he were to ask.  I was sorely tempted to go the extra distance and escort him, I do regret not doing so.  We parted, richer for having spent the time chatting and wishing each other a pleasant day.  Humanity does exist on the Tube, people do help when pushchairs need lifting and will help a stranger in need.  The brightness you bring by taking the time to assist or expressing a friendly salutation goes some way to restoring faith in human nature and always raises a smile and a thank you.