Not one of the most appealing of titles to this entry but truthful none the less. On my regular commute I decided it would help pass the time a little if I was a little more observant when driving to work. I have to stress that I do keep my eyes open and pay attention to the other traffic, I mean to do otherwise is to invite disaster.
I noticed on my drive in that there are an exceptionally large number of skid marks on the route into work and I was hypothesising as to why this was the case. I noticed that most of them tended to be leading from the fast to the middle lane as they approached junctions. I surmised that these were drivers that had failed to anticipate their exit at a reasonable time and decided to make a crazy death manoeuvre across the traffic in a bid to avoid driving an extra 3km to the next junction. Some of the more worrying ones led into the trees and indeed the central reservation, one can only imagine the face of the driver when they work up and dropped their bottle of Jupiler.
The other favourite pastime is removing aggressive drivers from my arse when they decide that the 128km/h is just not fast enough for them and that a safe distance is really not required behind other cars. I mean after all my brakes must work as well as theirs because all cars have the same characteristics and maintenance levels eh? I have enjoyed many a happy hour banging on the brakes as the umpteenth emergency stop has been carried out by the driver in front of me, this ripples its way down the traffic jam until it either catches someone unawares or it gets to the end. It is a bit like a Mexican wave but without standing up.
I am sure my car has a pothole magnet fitted, no matter how often I drive the route I always seem to hit the same damn places each time, cursing loudly and gritting my teeth as my suspension takes another jarring. It is like flying a spaceship in a computer game and wondering how much longer my shields will last after the next asteroid hits it. It is much the same when I get smacked by rocks thrown up by other traffic.
Something else that is a tad annoying is when the Flemish radio stations die off as I cross into the forbidden territory that is Wallonia. Do you know that I can receive the signal well into France if I am on the coast road? No not in the case of traversing the demilitarised zone entering Wallonia. I just turn it off as to be honest I cannot be bothered to listen to the Syrupy French language.
Today I was witness to some early morning entertainment as I left the E40 to join the R0 ring road. This is a particular pinch point as there are four lanes, two going ahead and then two exiting to the right, the two exiting change to one going left and two going right. Now, the majority of the traffic usually wants to go to the right (the airport direction), but they often leave it far too late and then dive in at the last moment. What is more, they then go down the lane meant for left bound traffic to try and squeeze another place on those going right. They do this at increasing speed as to go slow is to lose out completely. I go left and so often find myself behind some monkey trying cut the traffic up.
Today was special, I got to the junction at about 6.15 ish, I was lined up for my exit with a lane to my right and two to my left, we got to the bit where the solid white line came into play (meaning it is illegal to cross it and results in a severe fine if caught). To my horror, if not surprise, a rather large lorry carrying a heavy load of concrete decided to switch to my lane at the last moment, causing me to brake heavily. Now, that was not all, there were two other cars in front of me, one of which decided he wanted to go straight on and therefore swung across the solid white line, very near to the point of no return (they made it). The second car as expected wanted to go right and duly swung right. It would have impressed the Red Arrows display team and more so in that they were all within a cars' length of each other when they made their moves. Throughout all of this I was keeping a safe distance, having re-assessed my gap between the chopper in the lorry and myself.
I think it was the adrenaline but I suddenly became that much more aware of what was going on from that point onwards.
Monday, 19 August 2013
Tuesday, 13 August 2013
A Day Trip - Kazerne Dossin The Holocaust Museum
It has been a while since I last wrote, what with work being as hectic as it is and things happening around the house. Anyway I am on a week long holiday at home and one of the things that was recommended was to visit a museum in Mechelen. I must warn you that this particular blog is somewhat more serious than my usual offerings.
The Museum that my wife and I visited is called the Kazerne Dossin, the Holocaust Museum in Mechelen. The name derives from the barracks (Kazerne) Dossin where Jewish people were sent to be processed and board transportation for the concentration camps during the 2nd World War. Before I continue I must say that the museum is very simple, if a little understated, but the impact is profound. I have read a fair bit about the holocaust and other related material but I could not help but be shocked by the scale and barbarity of what was done. The views I give here are my own and I do not intend to shock or offend anyone, I simply want to say how I felt and what I was thinking as I walked through the halls of pictures.
The museum itself is in a plain white building with five floors and a basement. The basement houses a café and the top floor houses a special exhibition area, which was not open when we went today. The entry fee is 10 Euros for a regular adult and begins with an introductory video on the ground floor. They have hand held audio devices which have the narrative in English, Dutch and French. The video goes through the persecution of the Jewish people through the ages and explains a little about why this has happened before stopping short of the main purpose of the museum, which is to mark the rise and impact of the Nazis on this unfortunate storey.
You can see before you ascend the stairs the walls covered in passport photos of the victims who were transported from Kazerne Dossin, the photos that are not greyed out are those who survived this awful time, there are not many in the sea of pictures.
The next three floors are broken down into Mass, Fear and Death. Somewhat brief explanations for discussing the subject and why things happened the way they did. In the first instance when they refer to mass they are suggesting that if a crowd or group is large enough and can be persuaded by a hard line minority then they can be swayed. The argument, often stated, is that the depression and the humiliating defeat of the Germans in the First World War created the right conditions for the masses to seek an alternative and a common 'enemy'. It was with this background that the rise of the Nazis was possible. Poor economic conditions often give rise to civil unrest and the desire to blame others for the failures is not uncommon. I say this because given the recent credit crunch and severe economic conditions nations have sought to place the blame for this at various places and indeed society has become less tolerant of those who do not contribute to the wealth of the nation. One of my thoughts was that could this ever happen again, you would think not but then we have seen similar things in other countries such as the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda.
The second section entitled Fear suggested that once in power this small group of extremists can keep control of the masses by instilling fear in them. One does not have to look far to see where that has happened more recently. In the case of the Nazis they destroyed any political opposition and established tight control over the German people. As you can imagine this created a wave of refugees as they ostracised the Jewish community with renewed vigour. It is important to point out that they did not just limit themselves to the Jewish population but also they looked at other groups such as the Roma people with the same disregard. The result of this was that there were many foreign refugees in Belgium (and in other countries) before Kazerne Dossin came into use as a transportation centre. In fact the point was made that a lot of the nations did not do a great deal to assist and that the unhealthy attitude towards the Jewish community was not a sole attribute of the German nation.
The last section, Death, was quite hard hitting as you would expect. It was about the transportation and extermination of people. I have read some quite harrowing accounts of this before and seen imagery of the atrocities as well but nothing can stop the sense of revulsion and astonishment that one human being can be so barbaric to another.
When moving through this particular museum the main thoughts I had were that what had taken place was practically on my (adopted) doorstep. Such things had not happened in the UK, although I am sure the Scots, Irish and Welsh will have examples of similar behaviour towards them, I am not sure if it ever amounted to extermination on an industrial scale. I thought too of my family and how I would feel if they were in this position, there was no quarter given, age and sex were irrelevant it was a process as cold as that was.
What was interesting in this case is the contribution of Belgium to this process, the presentation made a point of emphasising the effective Belgian Civil Service in staffing the deportation of the victims. In fact there was a suggestion that more, much more could have been done to hinder this activity. It is unfair, however to lay total blame on those who were involved in the machinery of staffing the deportation of the Jewish and other victims. As with any country at that time, individuals would be compelled to choose between what is morally correct and doing what they had to in order to survive. There were both sympathisers and those who actually believed in what they were doing was right, again any country at the time would have had such a mix of people. It was interesting to note that some key politicians at the time decided to collaborate with the Germans, but then surely a politician's aim is to remain in power and therefore this is not surprising. There were examples of those who did their best to hinder the process and indeed powerful people who resigned rather than be complicit in the activity. I did think that collaborators are just those who ended up on the wrong side at the end of the war, morally of course the 'right' side won, but no doubt there are examples of atrocities committed by the winning side (I just don't have the knowledge to talk about them).
I did wonder whether the UK would have behaved in the same manner as Belgium if confronted with the same situation. I decided that we would have behaved the same way because the same dilemmas would have presented themselves to us and people would have to make a choice.
Another of the interesting parts of the exhibition showed that the majority of the resistance came from the Wallonian part of the country. More acts of sabotage were taking place in the French speaking side than the Flemish. I am sure we could have a wide ranging debate on the reasons and moral arguments behind the statistics and I am not sure what the museum was getting at by highlighting this to the visitors.
Probably the most striking image out of the whole collection was one of a group of women and children stripped naked and being marched towards a pit, where they were about to be executed. In the sequence of photographs there was a lady hanging back, I cannot remember if she had a child as well but it was clear from the image that she was heavily pregnant. I stood for some time looking at this image before turning away. I thought of that unborn child, words failed me at this point and they still do.
When I did my equality and diversity course the instructors made a point that such discriminatory behaviour often starts at the very basic level where one person creates a perceived difference and others begin to follow. It starts with words and then escalates up to actions which get ever more extreme. People probably think it is too far fetched that calling someone names will lead to genocide but the reality is that it can and it did.
As a child at school I remember the schoolyard and the harsh reality that I grew up in, attitudes were different in the 70s and 80s but that does not excuse the behaviour. What was clear and becomes clearer every time I visit such places as Kazerne Dossin is that as a child I simply did not understand the impact of what was said or done. I was, to an extent, following the mass at the time. I was taught by my mother to stand up for my beliefs and not to be afraid to stand alone if I felt that was the right thing to do, I have done so many times. To hide within a crowd is to lack the moral courage to say and do what is right and this is what happened, in my opinion.
I would encourage anyone to take the time out to visit these places and try and understand what happened and why and then to apply that to the world they live in today to make sure we avoid such a thing happening again.
It is important that we remember and understand.
www.kazernedossin.eu
The Museum that my wife and I visited is called the Kazerne Dossin, the Holocaust Museum in Mechelen. The name derives from the barracks (Kazerne) Dossin where Jewish people were sent to be processed and board transportation for the concentration camps during the 2nd World War. Before I continue I must say that the museum is very simple, if a little understated, but the impact is profound. I have read a fair bit about the holocaust and other related material but I could not help but be shocked by the scale and barbarity of what was done. The views I give here are my own and I do not intend to shock or offend anyone, I simply want to say how I felt and what I was thinking as I walked through the halls of pictures.
The museum itself is in a plain white building with five floors and a basement. The basement houses a café and the top floor houses a special exhibition area, which was not open when we went today. The entry fee is 10 Euros for a regular adult and begins with an introductory video on the ground floor. They have hand held audio devices which have the narrative in English, Dutch and French. The video goes through the persecution of the Jewish people through the ages and explains a little about why this has happened before stopping short of the main purpose of the museum, which is to mark the rise and impact of the Nazis on this unfortunate storey.
You can see before you ascend the stairs the walls covered in passport photos of the victims who were transported from Kazerne Dossin, the photos that are not greyed out are those who survived this awful time, there are not many in the sea of pictures.
The next three floors are broken down into Mass, Fear and Death. Somewhat brief explanations for discussing the subject and why things happened the way they did. In the first instance when they refer to mass they are suggesting that if a crowd or group is large enough and can be persuaded by a hard line minority then they can be swayed. The argument, often stated, is that the depression and the humiliating defeat of the Germans in the First World War created the right conditions for the masses to seek an alternative and a common 'enemy'. It was with this background that the rise of the Nazis was possible. Poor economic conditions often give rise to civil unrest and the desire to blame others for the failures is not uncommon. I say this because given the recent credit crunch and severe economic conditions nations have sought to place the blame for this at various places and indeed society has become less tolerant of those who do not contribute to the wealth of the nation. One of my thoughts was that could this ever happen again, you would think not but then we have seen similar things in other countries such as the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda.
The second section entitled Fear suggested that once in power this small group of extremists can keep control of the masses by instilling fear in them. One does not have to look far to see where that has happened more recently. In the case of the Nazis they destroyed any political opposition and established tight control over the German people. As you can imagine this created a wave of refugees as they ostracised the Jewish community with renewed vigour. It is important to point out that they did not just limit themselves to the Jewish population but also they looked at other groups such as the Roma people with the same disregard. The result of this was that there were many foreign refugees in Belgium (and in other countries) before Kazerne Dossin came into use as a transportation centre. In fact the point was made that a lot of the nations did not do a great deal to assist and that the unhealthy attitude towards the Jewish community was not a sole attribute of the German nation.
The last section, Death, was quite hard hitting as you would expect. It was about the transportation and extermination of people. I have read some quite harrowing accounts of this before and seen imagery of the atrocities as well but nothing can stop the sense of revulsion and astonishment that one human being can be so barbaric to another.
When moving through this particular museum the main thoughts I had were that what had taken place was practically on my (adopted) doorstep. Such things had not happened in the UK, although I am sure the Scots, Irish and Welsh will have examples of similar behaviour towards them, I am not sure if it ever amounted to extermination on an industrial scale. I thought too of my family and how I would feel if they were in this position, there was no quarter given, age and sex were irrelevant it was a process as cold as that was.
What was interesting in this case is the contribution of Belgium to this process, the presentation made a point of emphasising the effective Belgian Civil Service in staffing the deportation of the victims. In fact there was a suggestion that more, much more could have been done to hinder this activity. It is unfair, however to lay total blame on those who were involved in the machinery of staffing the deportation of the Jewish and other victims. As with any country at that time, individuals would be compelled to choose between what is morally correct and doing what they had to in order to survive. There were both sympathisers and those who actually believed in what they were doing was right, again any country at the time would have had such a mix of people. It was interesting to note that some key politicians at the time decided to collaborate with the Germans, but then surely a politician's aim is to remain in power and therefore this is not surprising. There were examples of those who did their best to hinder the process and indeed powerful people who resigned rather than be complicit in the activity. I did think that collaborators are just those who ended up on the wrong side at the end of the war, morally of course the 'right' side won, but no doubt there are examples of atrocities committed by the winning side (I just don't have the knowledge to talk about them).
I did wonder whether the UK would have behaved in the same manner as Belgium if confronted with the same situation. I decided that we would have behaved the same way because the same dilemmas would have presented themselves to us and people would have to make a choice.
Another of the interesting parts of the exhibition showed that the majority of the resistance came from the Wallonian part of the country. More acts of sabotage were taking place in the French speaking side than the Flemish. I am sure we could have a wide ranging debate on the reasons and moral arguments behind the statistics and I am not sure what the museum was getting at by highlighting this to the visitors.
Probably the most striking image out of the whole collection was one of a group of women and children stripped naked and being marched towards a pit, where they were about to be executed. In the sequence of photographs there was a lady hanging back, I cannot remember if she had a child as well but it was clear from the image that she was heavily pregnant. I stood for some time looking at this image before turning away. I thought of that unborn child, words failed me at this point and they still do.
When I did my equality and diversity course the instructors made a point that such discriminatory behaviour often starts at the very basic level where one person creates a perceived difference and others begin to follow. It starts with words and then escalates up to actions which get ever more extreme. People probably think it is too far fetched that calling someone names will lead to genocide but the reality is that it can and it did.
As a child at school I remember the schoolyard and the harsh reality that I grew up in, attitudes were different in the 70s and 80s but that does not excuse the behaviour. What was clear and becomes clearer every time I visit such places as Kazerne Dossin is that as a child I simply did not understand the impact of what was said or done. I was, to an extent, following the mass at the time. I was taught by my mother to stand up for my beliefs and not to be afraid to stand alone if I felt that was the right thing to do, I have done so many times. To hide within a crowd is to lack the moral courage to say and do what is right and this is what happened, in my opinion.
I would encourage anyone to take the time out to visit these places and try and understand what happened and why and then to apply that to the world they live in today to make sure we avoid such a thing happening again.
It is important that we remember and understand.
www.kazernedossin.eu
Monday, 15 July 2013
Queues - The Rules
Being British and more to the point English, I know all about the etiquette of queues. It does not just go from the humble post office but extends to all sorts of places, the ice cream van, the bus stop even the toilet. People are often seen in many places around the British Isles having polite arguments about the other person being before them in the queue. 'No, no, I am sure you were before me', 'But really I insist you must go first, I only have a trolley full of food to buy...'
Belgium, if you so much as blink and you will find some old biddy has slipped past you, bakers, bus queues, supermarkets, everywhere. I was recently passing through Brussels airport on my way home and I happened to overhear a rather terse conversation between a French speaking Belgian and someone I can only assume was British. She was getting quite irate at the accusation that she may be trying to push in whilst stood in the queue for passport control. 'What, you think I am pushing in, do you have a problem? Eh, eh, eh?' Then cue a quick burst of French to the amused bystanders who think it is hilarious, more so because the innocent party cannot understand what is being said. Of course we are so sensitive, the British that is, that we will often not mention when someone has been rude enough to squeeze in. When we do we expect the guilty party to apologise profusely and step aside, in fact the crowd would be baying for blood and they would have to leave the area immediately. We certainly don't expect a vicious response, which I can only describe as defensive. Now at this point, having noted that two people had already jumped me in the queue, I was so tempted to turn around and say, ' well, in addition to cycling, the other national sport in Belgium is queue jumping, they are Olympic champions at this'. However, I chose to remain silent, I mean what's the point? I have not quite picked up this indifferent habit yet but people are shocked when I let them go before me as if to say 'hey, is there a trap door here or some other danger lurking?'
Now saying that of course the UK is changing and is always evolving, my first experience of to hell with queuing, the slowest gets crushed attitude was in London. My illusion of green and pleasant hills, friendly neighbours and strong communities was well and truly shattered when I caught my first tube on the London Underground. we are, however, still leagues ahead in terms of courtesy to complete strangers, some parts of the UK more so than others.
There is a strange paradox here, the Belgians do like to use ticket machines to determine who should come next in the queue. I cannot quite get my head around this, the idea that there should be an utterly fair way of dealing with people in the right order. That said, the buggers will not tell you when the ticket machine is not in use so you can stand there like a chimp holding number 5 and everyone else is just getting served because they are not using the machine today. In stark contrast you can be the last two people on earth and the buffoon behind the post office counter will still expect you to push the button and print a needless ticket. 'I say, old chap, I have just walked across this barren wasteland and yours is the first cheerful and human face I have seen in days, would you mind telling me how much it is to post this?' 'You need to take a ticket sir', 'I'm sorry, was there a queue, did I have to barge in through this throng, this heaving, sweating bunch of mail denied freaks?' 'Still have to take a ticket sir' After much chundering I then go to the machine and am faced with a choice of buttons than I cannot read and quite frankly would most likely end up triggering the launch of a nuclear missile if I get them in the wrong order. Thankfully it doesn't matter too much but you may end up getting directed to another window. It is all a test.
Oh by the way, there are no rules. It is survival of the most cunning and devious and they come in all ages and look like angels too so watch out!
Belgium, if you so much as blink and you will find some old biddy has slipped past you, bakers, bus queues, supermarkets, everywhere. I was recently passing through Brussels airport on my way home and I happened to overhear a rather terse conversation between a French speaking Belgian and someone I can only assume was British. She was getting quite irate at the accusation that she may be trying to push in whilst stood in the queue for passport control. 'What, you think I am pushing in, do you have a problem? Eh, eh, eh?' Then cue a quick burst of French to the amused bystanders who think it is hilarious, more so because the innocent party cannot understand what is being said. Of course we are so sensitive, the British that is, that we will often not mention when someone has been rude enough to squeeze in. When we do we expect the guilty party to apologise profusely and step aside, in fact the crowd would be baying for blood and they would have to leave the area immediately. We certainly don't expect a vicious response, which I can only describe as defensive. Now at this point, having noted that two people had already jumped me in the queue, I was so tempted to turn around and say, ' well, in addition to cycling, the other national sport in Belgium is queue jumping, they are Olympic champions at this'. However, I chose to remain silent, I mean what's the point? I have not quite picked up this indifferent habit yet but people are shocked when I let them go before me as if to say 'hey, is there a trap door here or some other danger lurking?'
Now saying that of course the UK is changing and is always evolving, my first experience of to hell with queuing, the slowest gets crushed attitude was in London. My illusion of green and pleasant hills, friendly neighbours and strong communities was well and truly shattered when I caught my first tube on the London Underground. we are, however, still leagues ahead in terms of courtesy to complete strangers, some parts of the UK more so than others.
There is a strange paradox here, the Belgians do like to use ticket machines to determine who should come next in the queue. I cannot quite get my head around this, the idea that there should be an utterly fair way of dealing with people in the right order. That said, the buggers will not tell you when the ticket machine is not in use so you can stand there like a chimp holding number 5 and everyone else is just getting served because they are not using the machine today. In stark contrast you can be the last two people on earth and the buffoon behind the post office counter will still expect you to push the button and print a needless ticket. 'I say, old chap, I have just walked across this barren wasteland and yours is the first cheerful and human face I have seen in days, would you mind telling me how much it is to post this?' 'You need to take a ticket sir', 'I'm sorry, was there a queue, did I have to barge in through this throng, this heaving, sweating bunch of mail denied freaks?' 'Still have to take a ticket sir' After much chundering I then go to the machine and am faced with a choice of buttons than I cannot read and quite frankly would most likely end up triggering the launch of a nuclear missile if I get them in the wrong order. Thankfully it doesn't matter too much but you may end up getting directed to another window. It is all a test.
Oh by the way, there are no rules. It is survival of the most cunning and devious and they come in all ages and look like angels too so watch out!
Sunday, 30 June 2013
Mind The Gap, Stand Clear of The Platform
On a visit to London one of the things my Sister-in-law and her husband noticed was that there seemed to be some warnings which where to all intents and purposes obvious. For example when travelling on the Tube the warning to stand clear of the closing doors, the message given before the doors close was seen as superfluous. Isn't it obvious that you need to keep out of the way of the doors as they close? Isn't the audible alarm enough to warn you? In the UK we are familiar with the culture of litigation and therefore the explosion of obvious warnings which we used to take for granted as competent adults.
In fact as a child if I were to hurt myself say on a bouncy castle then my parents would just tell me to be more careful in future, it was part of growing up. Now though, we expect to be told, have warning signs and be supervised when we use these things and God help them if they end up with someone getting injured.
There are warnings to look left and right at crossings, to stand back from platforms, to mind the steps, beware hot contents (in hot plastic cups with coffee in them), hot pies, etc etc. In Belgium it appears that the local population do not need to be warned of such things, they learn from experience that there are things out there which they need to be careful with. I do admire the country for being sensible in this respect.
Mind you, if you see how they manage road works then you must wonder how more people are not killed on a regular basis. The road works are best described as dodgy, there is a section on my commuter route which shifts two lanes towards the hard shoulder in order to bypass a bridge that they are not working on, I say not as I have never seen any workmen doing anything with it as long as I have been commuting back and forth since August last year. Anyway, the traffic 'cones' that guide you on and off the road are rather short and sharp, in fact so much so that I have seen cars in the slow lane cut straight across, ignoring the guiding lines to go right. What this means is that the car on the left crashes into the side of the car that makes the mistake, brakes hard (and possibly gets rear ended) or smashes through the cones (I have seen the wrecked cones giving evidence of a previous incident). Now imagine if there were any workmen there too, thank God they are never about!
The Brits on the other hand have absolutely shedloads of cones that guide the drivers well before any changes, along with average speed cameras and appropriate limits that people generally keep to. We even have people working on the road works too, it is so much more efficient.
What of other health and safety then? Well when the builder was working on our house the lift they used was interesting, I am not entirely sure if it was certified as fit for purpose or indeed stable. I was however going up and down all day on the thing carting bricks up and down. I suspect that a builder (a decent one) in the UK would construct a scaffold next to the house and it would be almost nuclear proof. There was a plank of wood from the roof to the lift, this would make contact with the lift as it got to the top. There were no hand rails and I would push the wheelbarrow across the gap. It is a different attitude to the whole subject. Although An tells me that she doubts whether it conformed to normal practice in Belgium. I have to say that I have noticed cranes with loads suspended above the street when they have shut down and gone for beer and frietjes. There seems to be no consideration that the load may fall or swing into things, maybe incidents do happen but no more so than anywhere else?
I won't begin to talk about playgrounds, you should see the stuff they have in these places, the kids love it but a British health and safety guru would have kittens. There are far too many high things to fall off, fast moving bits to hit people and quite frankly hard objects that can cause injury. How on earth will Belgian kids get to adulthood with such dangerous places to grow up and no one supervising them either, I fear for them. I remember having to face these challenges myself and boy was it....oh hang on, I actually survived! Maybe I was really lucky?
I will leave you with a classic phrase from my childhood relating to being picked on by much older and bigger kids. My parents used to say, 'the bigger they are, the harder they fall', complete and utter tosh. The bigger they are the more they can kick seven bells out of you if you get caught. David and Goliath is a story in the Bible and unless you are a ninja then generally speaking bigger people (when you are a kid) are best as either allies or avoided. You would not believe it now but I was a very fast runner.
In fact as a child if I were to hurt myself say on a bouncy castle then my parents would just tell me to be more careful in future, it was part of growing up. Now though, we expect to be told, have warning signs and be supervised when we use these things and God help them if they end up with someone getting injured.
There are warnings to look left and right at crossings, to stand back from platforms, to mind the steps, beware hot contents (in hot plastic cups with coffee in them), hot pies, etc etc. In Belgium it appears that the local population do not need to be warned of such things, they learn from experience that there are things out there which they need to be careful with. I do admire the country for being sensible in this respect.
Mind you, if you see how they manage road works then you must wonder how more people are not killed on a regular basis. The road works are best described as dodgy, there is a section on my commuter route which shifts two lanes towards the hard shoulder in order to bypass a bridge that they are not working on, I say not as I have never seen any workmen doing anything with it as long as I have been commuting back and forth since August last year. Anyway, the traffic 'cones' that guide you on and off the road are rather short and sharp, in fact so much so that I have seen cars in the slow lane cut straight across, ignoring the guiding lines to go right. What this means is that the car on the left crashes into the side of the car that makes the mistake, brakes hard (and possibly gets rear ended) or smashes through the cones (I have seen the wrecked cones giving evidence of a previous incident). Now imagine if there were any workmen there too, thank God they are never about!
The Brits on the other hand have absolutely shedloads of cones that guide the drivers well before any changes, along with average speed cameras and appropriate limits that people generally keep to. We even have people working on the road works too, it is so much more efficient.
What of other health and safety then? Well when the builder was working on our house the lift they used was interesting, I am not entirely sure if it was certified as fit for purpose or indeed stable. I was however going up and down all day on the thing carting bricks up and down. I suspect that a builder (a decent one) in the UK would construct a scaffold next to the house and it would be almost nuclear proof. There was a plank of wood from the roof to the lift, this would make contact with the lift as it got to the top. There were no hand rails and I would push the wheelbarrow across the gap. It is a different attitude to the whole subject. Although An tells me that she doubts whether it conformed to normal practice in Belgium. I have to say that I have noticed cranes with loads suspended above the street when they have shut down and gone for beer and frietjes. There seems to be no consideration that the load may fall or swing into things, maybe incidents do happen but no more so than anywhere else?
I won't begin to talk about playgrounds, you should see the stuff they have in these places, the kids love it but a British health and safety guru would have kittens. There are far too many high things to fall off, fast moving bits to hit people and quite frankly hard objects that can cause injury. How on earth will Belgian kids get to adulthood with such dangerous places to grow up and no one supervising them either, I fear for them. I remember having to face these challenges myself and boy was it....oh hang on, I actually survived! Maybe I was really lucky?
I will leave you with a classic phrase from my childhood relating to being picked on by much older and bigger kids. My parents used to say, 'the bigger they are, the harder they fall', complete and utter tosh. The bigger they are the more they can kick seven bells out of you if you get caught. David and Goliath is a story in the Bible and unless you are a ninja then generally speaking bigger people (when you are a kid) are best as either allies or avoided. You would not believe it now but I was a very fast runner.
Getting Married
I met An in October 2005 and after courtship that lasted a couple of years I thought it might be timely to pop the question. I had received a few combat indicators from the family and An, which meant that there was a fair chance of success.
I have always been one to get quite attached quite early in my relationships, but in this case and more recently I had acquired an attitude of taking things as they came. I wasn't really looking when An showed up, in fact we met on a horse riding holiday in Tuscany. I even had my mother with me as I wanted to show her another part of the world, not having had the chance to travel far. I said to my mam, when she said that she didn't want to cramp my style, 'oh no I have no intention of meeting anyone!' My mother checked An out and observed the flirting each day we went riding, she neglected to brief me though! An for her part had always been quite cool when in relationships, not wanting settle down, often cutting things short.
Anyway, when we came to getting married I was in the process of getting a Belgian ID card. When you live in Belgium you must register with your local town hall, this is so that they know you are here legitimately and so they can send you a tax return.
In order to get married you need to involve the town hall, in essence you can have both a civil ceremony and a church service or just a civil ceremony. You must have the civil bit, the equivalent of going to the Registry Office back in the UK. However, it is not just a case of booking the event and attending, there are forms to fill in and in my case I had three challenges to overcome before I could have the ceremony.
Now I am not talking about slaying dragons or climbing mountains, although that would have a degree of logic, no. I had to: prove I was British, prove I was not married and obtain a copy of the marriage laws of the UK in Dutch. Now I know what you are thinking, holding a British passport surely means that I am in fact British or at least I have British citizenship. Sadly this official document, which allows me to travel across borders and is recognised as my identity document in countless countries around the world was not sufficient, in a word balls. Now the second challenge really was a challenge, did I have to go round every town hall in the UK and get a declaration? I had no idea how to prove that I was not already married. The last one was the easiest but I would have to obtain the relevant laws and get them officially translated (could not be done by any normal person, but has to be properly translated).
The next hurdle was dates and timing, it would have to be a Saturday and therefore twice the cost of a weekday and I had to have a minimum period of time before they could process the paperwork. At this point in exasperation I said, forget it I'll get married in Scotland, it is both easier and quicker! They did relent and tried to be a little less obstructive at that point.
In the end I had to go to the British Embassy to get the certificate of Britishness, Laws of marriage and a declaration that I was not married. The Embassy were familiar with this process and asked me to bring along the specific document from the town hall as all of them asked for differing things. Of course it cost to have these documents provided, but then no more expensive than any other wedding stuff.
The wedding traditions are a little different over here, apparently the groom is supposed to collect the bride and then take her to the venue. I did make a point of having my last night of freedom among my closest friends and family. An was going to make her own way there having been collected by her sister. I was waiting at the local town hall for her arrival.
There are some details to fill in here, I along with my circle of trust stayed at a hotel in Leuven. We had the Last Supper and then retired to the hotel where I and my two best mates had a nightcap. I left Sam and Spider to it after a while and unfortunately they proceeded to drink one or two more beers and spirits, including the dreaded Duval. Duval in Dutch is devil and it is quite appropriate a name too! Sam can drink like a trouper and so can Spider, the difference however can be seen the following morning.
We rose and had breakfast and I was in a bit of a tense mood. I, for the first time, was quite stressed about getting things organised and being on time. Meanwhile back in Aarschot An was the exact opposite and utterly relaxed about the whole thing. When Spider turned to for breakfast he was as white as a sheet and experience told me that this condition would get worse before it got better. He was not at all well and his first words when he met my future father-in-law was; 'can you tell me where the toilet is please?' He was sick to the extent that even the cat refused to enter the toilet after he had finished. The nice touch of the spatter on his jacket rounded it off, much to the amusement of all present. I was still tense but only to get things done to timing. I was driving a small minibus carting everyone around. I was told at least once that it was not too late to escape to Las Vegas.
Once I got to the town hall I then became very calm, it was because there was nothing else I could do. From then on it was a very, very laid back and relaxed day.
Tradition dictates that the bride and groom lead the way into the town hall and everyone else follows, I wanted to do it the British way which was to have everyone seated and me up front waiting. Nope, I was alone with Sam waiting at the front whilst everyone else came in after An, it felt a bit weird but then I suppose I had not briefed everyone about what I wanted. The ceremony was all in Dutch, which I am afraid I was not up to speed with. The best bit of the ceremony was signing a blank sheet of paper, upon which they could write anything!
When the ceremony was over we left together this time and in front of the crowd as it should be! Waiting outside were the ladies of the Ladies Circle with champagne, we then had a drink in the park with the guys who turned up, it was a bit like a garden party. The sun was out and it was a really pleasant afternoon. We overran on the timing and were a little late for the reception, which was a very small do in the same restaurant that I had proposed to An in, The Gelofte.
We followed up the reception with an evening do at our place, again only small do for the close friends and family. My mate Sam and his wife Mandy had flown in from New York and were feeling the effects and Mandy was pregnant too. We had two wedding cakes, a traditional British fruit cake (brought through by air by my mother)and a Belgian sponge with fresh cream and fruit. It seemed to last for ages and eventually we got to the hotel in Leuven with the rest of the gang. We had a breakfast the following day to round things off.
The following day (Sunday 25th May, apart from being my brother's birthday), Sam and Mandy were due to fly out to the UK. There was an air crash at Brussels Airport the same day, which was a bit off-putting. There was no honeymoon as I had to get back to work in Scotland ready for my deployment to Iraq!
I have always been one to get quite attached quite early in my relationships, but in this case and more recently I had acquired an attitude of taking things as they came. I wasn't really looking when An showed up, in fact we met on a horse riding holiday in Tuscany. I even had my mother with me as I wanted to show her another part of the world, not having had the chance to travel far. I said to my mam, when she said that she didn't want to cramp my style, 'oh no I have no intention of meeting anyone!' My mother checked An out and observed the flirting each day we went riding, she neglected to brief me though! An for her part had always been quite cool when in relationships, not wanting settle down, often cutting things short.
Anyway, when we came to getting married I was in the process of getting a Belgian ID card. When you live in Belgium you must register with your local town hall, this is so that they know you are here legitimately and so they can send you a tax return.
In order to get married you need to involve the town hall, in essence you can have both a civil ceremony and a church service or just a civil ceremony. You must have the civil bit, the equivalent of going to the Registry Office back in the UK. However, it is not just a case of booking the event and attending, there are forms to fill in and in my case I had three challenges to overcome before I could have the ceremony.
Now I am not talking about slaying dragons or climbing mountains, although that would have a degree of logic, no. I had to: prove I was British, prove I was not married and obtain a copy of the marriage laws of the UK in Dutch. Now I know what you are thinking, holding a British passport surely means that I am in fact British or at least I have British citizenship. Sadly this official document, which allows me to travel across borders and is recognised as my identity document in countless countries around the world was not sufficient, in a word balls. Now the second challenge really was a challenge, did I have to go round every town hall in the UK and get a declaration? I had no idea how to prove that I was not already married. The last one was the easiest but I would have to obtain the relevant laws and get them officially translated (could not be done by any normal person, but has to be properly translated).
The next hurdle was dates and timing, it would have to be a Saturday and therefore twice the cost of a weekday and I had to have a minimum period of time before they could process the paperwork. At this point in exasperation I said, forget it I'll get married in Scotland, it is both easier and quicker! They did relent and tried to be a little less obstructive at that point.
In the end I had to go to the British Embassy to get the certificate of Britishness, Laws of marriage and a declaration that I was not married. The Embassy were familiar with this process and asked me to bring along the specific document from the town hall as all of them asked for differing things. Of course it cost to have these documents provided, but then no more expensive than any other wedding stuff.
The wedding traditions are a little different over here, apparently the groom is supposed to collect the bride and then take her to the venue. I did make a point of having my last night of freedom among my closest friends and family. An was going to make her own way there having been collected by her sister. I was waiting at the local town hall for her arrival.
There are some details to fill in here, I along with my circle of trust stayed at a hotel in Leuven. We had the Last Supper and then retired to the hotel where I and my two best mates had a nightcap. I left Sam and Spider to it after a while and unfortunately they proceeded to drink one or two more beers and spirits, including the dreaded Duval. Duval in Dutch is devil and it is quite appropriate a name too! Sam can drink like a trouper and so can Spider, the difference however can be seen the following morning.
We rose and had breakfast and I was in a bit of a tense mood. I, for the first time, was quite stressed about getting things organised and being on time. Meanwhile back in Aarschot An was the exact opposite and utterly relaxed about the whole thing. When Spider turned to for breakfast he was as white as a sheet and experience told me that this condition would get worse before it got better. He was not at all well and his first words when he met my future father-in-law was; 'can you tell me where the toilet is please?' He was sick to the extent that even the cat refused to enter the toilet after he had finished. The nice touch of the spatter on his jacket rounded it off, much to the amusement of all present. I was still tense but only to get things done to timing. I was driving a small minibus carting everyone around. I was told at least once that it was not too late to escape to Las Vegas.
Once I got to the town hall I then became very calm, it was because there was nothing else I could do. From then on it was a very, very laid back and relaxed day.
Tradition dictates that the bride and groom lead the way into the town hall and everyone else follows, I wanted to do it the British way which was to have everyone seated and me up front waiting. Nope, I was alone with Sam waiting at the front whilst everyone else came in after An, it felt a bit weird but then I suppose I had not briefed everyone about what I wanted. The ceremony was all in Dutch, which I am afraid I was not up to speed with. The best bit of the ceremony was signing a blank sheet of paper, upon which they could write anything!
When the ceremony was over we left together this time and in front of the crowd as it should be! Waiting outside were the ladies of the Ladies Circle with champagne, we then had a drink in the park with the guys who turned up, it was a bit like a garden party. The sun was out and it was a really pleasant afternoon. We overran on the timing and were a little late for the reception, which was a very small do in the same restaurant that I had proposed to An in, The Gelofte.
We followed up the reception with an evening do at our place, again only small do for the close friends and family. My mate Sam and his wife Mandy had flown in from New York and were feeling the effects and Mandy was pregnant too. We had two wedding cakes, a traditional British fruit cake (brought through by air by my mother)and a Belgian sponge with fresh cream and fruit. It seemed to last for ages and eventually we got to the hotel in Leuven with the rest of the gang. We had a breakfast the following day to round things off.
The following day (Sunday 25th May, apart from being my brother's birthday), Sam and Mandy were due to fly out to the UK. There was an air crash at Brussels Airport the same day, which was a bit off-putting. There was no honeymoon as I had to get back to work in Scotland ready for my deployment to Iraq!
Sunday, 23 June 2013
Let's Buy a Box of Bees!
An managed to find a company that sells boxes of bumble bees, the idea being that they can be placed in the garden and then cross pollinate the plants as they go about their business. They only last between 8-9 weeks and then they die off, the queen survives and goes off to make her home elsewhere. All of this for 70 euros, although you can get a smaller box. The 70 euros gets you 7-800 bees. If you are interested then the website is here www.biogroei-shop.be.
I was having lunch with my colleagues and I told them that the following day I was going to pick up these bees. This caused some amusement and curiosity. Surly it was going to be dangerous to transport 700 bees in the car? What if they were homing bees and as soon as I open the box they all bugger off back to the shop? I had to bee certain it was going to bee safe! The lady in the shop told me that I had to bee careful not to rock the box too much as there is a water/sugar solution that is the food and if it comes into contact with the cotton wool (their nest) then it will be bad. Of course I then set out over winding roads and undulating hills a bit like Postman Pat, great no chance of sloshing about there then. To make matters worse despite my exceptionally careful driving I did end up with a couple of dodgem cars in front of me that insisted on doing an extreme trial on their brakes, they worked and were very effective, thankfully so where mine. I think the bees were getting car sick by the time I got home.
I had images in my mind at one point of herding bees, but then I am not sure what the equivalent to a sheepdog would be for the bee world, a bird of some description maybe? I did see a programme recently that said Bees are positively charged and flowers are negatively charged so when a flower has been visited it then remains neutral for a while. Apparently bees are attracted to negatively charge things. As an added precaution when transporting them I thought I should positively charge myself, but then that would be a bit extreme.
Once home I set the box of bees inside a rabbit hutch, you will be pleased to hear there were no rabbits in there too, we bought the hutch to keep the box out of the sun and rain. The box can either be closed, have an entrance open that allows bees in but not out and then have one that allows both entry and exit. The idea being if you want to work in the garden you only have the one way hole open for two hours then they are all in. We had to wait until they had settled for the night and let them out the next day. There was no rush though, when we did open the door they just had a quick look outside and went back in, it was a bit damp. They stuck a leg out gave a tut and then thought naaaaahh, maybe later.
I am looking forward to seeing a bit more of them!
I was having lunch with my colleagues and I told them that the following day I was going to pick up these bees. This caused some amusement and curiosity. Surly it was going to be dangerous to transport 700 bees in the car? What if they were homing bees and as soon as I open the box they all bugger off back to the shop? I had to bee certain it was going to bee safe! The lady in the shop told me that I had to bee careful not to rock the box too much as there is a water/sugar solution that is the food and if it comes into contact with the cotton wool (their nest) then it will be bad. Of course I then set out over winding roads and undulating hills a bit like Postman Pat, great no chance of sloshing about there then. To make matters worse despite my exceptionally careful driving I did end up with a couple of dodgem cars in front of me that insisted on doing an extreme trial on their brakes, they worked and were very effective, thankfully so where mine. I think the bees were getting car sick by the time I got home.
I had images in my mind at one point of herding bees, but then I am not sure what the equivalent to a sheepdog would be for the bee world, a bird of some description maybe? I did see a programme recently that said Bees are positively charged and flowers are negatively charged so when a flower has been visited it then remains neutral for a while. Apparently bees are attracted to negatively charge things. As an added precaution when transporting them I thought I should positively charge myself, but then that would be a bit extreme.
Once home I set the box of bees inside a rabbit hutch, you will be pleased to hear there were no rabbits in there too, we bought the hutch to keep the box out of the sun and rain. The box can either be closed, have an entrance open that allows bees in but not out and then have one that allows both entry and exit. The idea being if you want to work in the garden you only have the one way hole open for two hours then they are all in. We had to wait until they had settled for the night and let them out the next day. There was no rush though, when we did open the door they just had a quick look outside and went back in, it was a bit damp. They stuck a leg out gave a tut and then thought naaaaahh, maybe later.
I am looking forward to seeing a bit more of them!
Saturday, 22 June 2013
Travelling
Firstly I must apologise for the gap between this and my last post. It has been a tad busy what with a trip to London and some time off in between.
An and I went over to London with Pia, her best friend. The trip is almost an annual event where we go over to shop for shoes and then take in a musical when we have time. I am pleased to say that after another trip I am well on the way to completing the directory of shoe shops to be found in all parts of the Greater London area. Actually our programme was quite comprehensive, which I shall now relate.
We set out at silly o'clock in the morning in a bid to miss the rush hour traffic on the Thursday morning. We had to travel down from Aarschot, past Leuven and on to the ring road, then traverse the most congested part between Zaventem and the turn off to Antwerp (we carried on to the Gent exit), after that the run down to the coast was uneventful. In fact we were quite lucky, apart from two drivers who I scared the crap out of by doing some enforced manoeuvres brought on by the erratic driving of other motorists. We made it to the Eurotunnel in plenty of time and made the crossing ahead of schedule. That was the 2 1/2 hour drive out of the way on this side, we noted the severe traffic jams on the opposite side of the road and were grateful to be heading in the other direction. As we exited the tunnel and got underway things were going just fine until we hit an unexplained traffic jam as we got up towards the M20/M25 junction, we had plenty of time though as we did not need to be at the Albert Hall until 15.00. I cannot remember when we got to the hotel in Ealing but it was around 11.30 ish. We left the hotel not long thereafter and headed into town.
For those who do not know, the Victoria and Albert museum is in South Kensington, which is not too far away from Ealing relatively speaking. We bought some Oyster cards, a very good tip, as they could be given credit which you use as and when you travel. If you happen to reach the point where a travel card would have been cheaper then it caps the cost at this level, otherwise it takes fares as you use them. The Oyster card has a deposit of £5, which can be reclaimed along with any unused credit at the end of your trip. One point of warning though, you cannot get a refund from a combined Tube/railway station, it has to be just a tube station. Don't ask why but that is the way it is. We stopped off in South Kensington for lunch at a Pain de Quoitidien, one of An's favoured hostelries. During lunch we played a game to spot those ladies who do not have to work for a living and decided that those carrying backpacks were definitely tourists.
Now I didn't know this, but the V&A is right next door to the Natural History Museum and both of these are well worth a visit. We were a bit early for the David Bowie exhibition, which was being tightly controlled by using timed access. We took the opportunity to traverse the shop, actually you could not get round this, very clever marketing. There were a large number of kids in the shop who were, along with others, barging about and getting very excited about the souvenirs available in the shop. It was not long to wait though and my feet were already protesting at the length of time I would be standing, a sad feature of my trips to London.
David Bowie is not someone who I am a particular fan of but then it is always nice to learn something new and to understand a bit about his work. I have to say the two key points I picked up on was that he had had a fight when a boy and suffered a punch to the eye which left him with a permanently dilated pupil, the other was that he is called David Jones and changed his name to differentiate between the singer from the Monkees. Both were a revelation to me and now I shall look closely to every picture of him that I look at from now on! The rest of it was an education as well but he was really before my time. We bought a platinum album which included songs from the 60s, 70s and 80s, clearly this had some dross on as far as I was concerned but I recognised quite a few of the well known ones.
When we left the museum we headed off towards Chelsea for the first of our marathon walking/shopping expeditions. It was not far to go and to cut a long story short I ended up reluctantly buying a pair of shoes for £145, these were comfortable, initially but not when worn for the entire day the following day!
We got back and had supper at the hotel, the service there was very good I have to say. I did get an odd phone call asking if I still wanted to keep both rooms, which was odd as I was standing in one of them as I took the call. It would appear that I had booked two rooms by accident, although I did not get the customary confirmation email when I did so. More importantly the man I spoke to when checking in did not think to question the double booking at the time. Thankfully I did not get charged otherwise I would have been most unimpressed.
The following day we took a trip up to Camden Town, where the girls bought no less than 5 pairs of shoes between them, including a pair of Doc Martin boots from the British Boot Company. Camden Town is an amazing place, full of market stalls and interesting shops, I would strongly recommend a visit. There is also a world foods area where you can get a whole range of different food to sit and eat either there and then or by the lock gates. It is a place where you could spend a while with a camera and get some great shots. I met an American Artist who had a tag which was called the Killer Bunny, he combined rabbits with movie and TV scenes with some quite disturbing images. Not for the kids I have to say but fascinating as an idea. He told me that he got his inspiration from Watership Down and chose to combine that with the Movies and TV. I showed An the picture he had of Smurfs being nailed to the wall, she was not impressed (Smurfs originating from Belgium). Check out the website but be prepared to be shocked! http://www.killerbunny.co.uk/egn2/
We continued our trip by heading to Spitalfields and then Brick Lane. Really it was just a shopping trip disguised as a sightseeing tour. Brick Lane was not what I was expecting but Spitalfields is worth a trip. We finished up by heading to my Aunt and Uncles place in Clapham and had a nice curry. We made our delivery of Neuhaus chocolates and caught up with the family, apart from Max who was out at the time.
Saturday was also going to be a bit of a shopping day but we also planned to take in a Salvador Dali exhibition followed by a show in the evening. There was a plan to get to Libertys and I wanted to get some photographic kit from nearby Wardour Street. It was this day, with regret, that I wore my new shoes and paid the price with my feet. I only had the whole day walking for God only knows how far. You would think after having reached the age of 40 that I would know the risks associated with buying new shoes and then breaking them in. When looking for the photographic shop on Wardour street I of course turned the wrong way down the street and walked the entire length of it before realising that the shop was in the opposite direction. I had neglected to make a note of the number and knew only too well that had I abandoned my search down one end it would have been but 10 metres further on. Anyway I did find it and it was disappointingly tiny but yet well equipped. I was after a background support, which they had. I also bought a couple of other things spending around £200 in the shop and now looking like an assassin carrying a rifle in my black elongated bag that held the stands. It was heavy and awkward, but I was willing to bear the burden. I also took in a trip to Hamley's, I could not walk by without checking it out as usual.
Once the shopping phase was done we headed off to see Rock of Ages, this is a show that takes well known Rock songs and mixes it with a typical story of hope, love and celebration. It is really very funny the 'compere', for want of a better word, was outstanding. I don't know what came first the show of the film but I just cannot imagine the movie because I cannot see how it would work. I won't spoil it for you but you will not be disappointed.
For Sunday we took in the Bluewater shopping centre on the way back and also stopped off to get some nice things from a branch of Sainsburys, this was topping up on UK stuff. Strangely enough we did this and then started the Dukan diet (a strict protein diet that lasts a while). I currently have two blocks of Wenslydale cheese, two malt loaves, some crunchy peanut butter, Hartley's blackcurrent jam, sandwich spread and Pringles. Thankfully they have a long use by date and we have some visitors in July so we will be breaking the rules then!
An and I went over to London with Pia, her best friend. The trip is almost an annual event where we go over to shop for shoes and then take in a musical when we have time. I am pleased to say that after another trip I am well on the way to completing the directory of shoe shops to be found in all parts of the Greater London area. Actually our programme was quite comprehensive, which I shall now relate.
We set out at silly o'clock in the morning in a bid to miss the rush hour traffic on the Thursday morning. We had to travel down from Aarschot, past Leuven and on to the ring road, then traverse the most congested part between Zaventem and the turn off to Antwerp (we carried on to the Gent exit), after that the run down to the coast was uneventful. In fact we were quite lucky, apart from two drivers who I scared the crap out of by doing some enforced manoeuvres brought on by the erratic driving of other motorists. We made it to the Eurotunnel in plenty of time and made the crossing ahead of schedule. That was the 2 1/2 hour drive out of the way on this side, we noted the severe traffic jams on the opposite side of the road and were grateful to be heading in the other direction. As we exited the tunnel and got underway things were going just fine until we hit an unexplained traffic jam as we got up towards the M20/M25 junction, we had plenty of time though as we did not need to be at the Albert Hall until 15.00. I cannot remember when we got to the hotel in Ealing but it was around 11.30 ish. We left the hotel not long thereafter and headed into town.
For those who do not know, the Victoria and Albert museum is in South Kensington, which is not too far away from Ealing relatively speaking. We bought some Oyster cards, a very good tip, as they could be given credit which you use as and when you travel. If you happen to reach the point where a travel card would have been cheaper then it caps the cost at this level, otherwise it takes fares as you use them. The Oyster card has a deposit of £5, which can be reclaimed along with any unused credit at the end of your trip. One point of warning though, you cannot get a refund from a combined Tube/railway station, it has to be just a tube station. Don't ask why but that is the way it is. We stopped off in South Kensington for lunch at a Pain de Quoitidien, one of An's favoured hostelries. During lunch we played a game to spot those ladies who do not have to work for a living and decided that those carrying backpacks were definitely tourists.
Now I didn't know this, but the V&A is right next door to the Natural History Museum and both of these are well worth a visit. We were a bit early for the David Bowie exhibition, which was being tightly controlled by using timed access. We took the opportunity to traverse the shop, actually you could not get round this, very clever marketing. There were a large number of kids in the shop who were, along with others, barging about and getting very excited about the souvenirs available in the shop. It was not long to wait though and my feet were already protesting at the length of time I would be standing, a sad feature of my trips to London.
David Bowie is not someone who I am a particular fan of but then it is always nice to learn something new and to understand a bit about his work. I have to say the two key points I picked up on was that he had had a fight when a boy and suffered a punch to the eye which left him with a permanently dilated pupil, the other was that he is called David Jones and changed his name to differentiate between the singer from the Monkees. Both were a revelation to me and now I shall look closely to every picture of him that I look at from now on! The rest of it was an education as well but he was really before my time. We bought a platinum album which included songs from the 60s, 70s and 80s, clearly this had some dross on as far as I was concerned but I recognised quite a few of the well known ones.
When we left the museum we headed off towards Chelsea for the first of our marathon walking/shopping expeditions. It was not far to go and to cut a long story short I ended up reluctantly buying a pair of shoes for £145, these were comfortable, initially but not when worn for the entire day the following day!
We got back and had supper at the hotel, the service there was very good I have to say. I did get an odd phone call asking if I still wanted to keep both rooms, which was odd as I was standing in one of them as I took the call. It would appear that I had booked two rooms by accident, although I did not get the customary confirmation email when I did so. More importantly the man I spoke to when checking in did not think to question the double booking at the time. Thankfully I did not get charged otherwise I would have been most unimpressed.
The following day we took a trip up to Camden Town, where the girls bought no less than 5 pairs of shoes between them, including a pair of Doc Martin boots from the British Boot Company. Camden Town is an amazing place, full of market stalls and interesting shops, I would strongly recommend a visit. There is also a world foods area where you can get a whole range of different food to sit and eat either there and then or by the lock gates. It is a place where you could spend a while with a camera and get some great shots. I met an American Artist who had a tag which was called the Killer Bunny, he combined rabbits with movie and TV scenes with some quite disturbing images. Not for the kids I have to say but fascinating as an idea. He told me that he got his inspiration from Watership Down and chose to combine that with the Movies and TV. I showed An the picture he had of Smurfs being nailed to the wall, she was not impressed (Smurfs originating from Belgium). Check out the website but be prepared to be shocked! http://www.killerbunny.co.uk/egn2/
We continued our trip by heading to Spitalfields and then Brick Lane. Really it was just a shopping trip disguised as a sightseeing tour. Brick Lane was not what I was expecting but Spitalfields is worth a trip. We finished up by heading to my Aunt and Uncles place in Clapham and had a nice curry. We made our delivery of Neuhaus chocolates and caught up with the family, apart from Max who was out at the time.
Saturday was also going to be a bit of a shopping day but we also planned to take in a Salvador Dali exhibition followed by a show in the evening. There was a plan to get to Libertys and I wanted to get some photographic kit from nearby Wardour Street. It was this day, with regret, that I wore my new shoes and paid the price with my feet. I only had the whole day walking for God only knows how far. You would think after having reached the age of 40 that I would know the risks associated with buying new shoes and then breaking them in. When looking for the photographic shop on Wardour street I of course turned the wrong way down the street and walked the entire length of it before realising that the shop was in the opposite direction. I had neglected to make a note of the number and knew only too well that had I abandoned my search down one end it would have been but 10 metres further on. Anyway I did find it and it was disappointingly tiny but yet well equipped. I was after a background support, which they had. I also bought a couple of other things spending around £200 in the shop and now looking like an assassin carrying a rifle in my black elongated bag that held the stands. It was heavy and awkward, but I was willing to bear the burden. I also took in a trip to Hamley's, I could not walk by without checking it out as usual.
Once the shopping phase was done we headed off to see Rock of Ages, this is a show that takes well known Rock songs and mixes it with a typical story of hope, love and celebration. It is really very funny the 'compere', for want of a better word, was outstanding. I don't know what came first the show of the film but I just cannot imagine the movie because I cannot see how it would work. I won't spoil it for you but you will not be disappointed.
For Sunday we took in the Bluewater shopping centre on the way back and also stopped off to get some nice things from a branch of Sainsburys, this was topping up on UK stuff. Strangely enough we did this and then started the Dukan diet (a strict protein diet that lasts a while). I currently have two blocks of Wenslydale cheese, two malt loaves, some crunchy peanut butter, Hartley's blackcurrent jam, sandwich spread and Pringles. Thankfully they have a long use by date and we have some visitors in July so we will be breaking the rules then!
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