Belfast

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Long Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gamin

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

  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No more the fear of trips to the vets,

No more fear at all,

No longer running from strangers or noises,

No more pain.

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

No more nuzzling my iPad as I try to read,

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

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

No more cold winter nights in the garage,

No more being chased to bed at night,

No more crazy scratching and biting as you go mad,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Spot of Bother

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boundary Cooling

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

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

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

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

The Annual Smog Fundraising Event

I am delighted to announce that I was absent from the country when Belgium held it's annual Smog Fundraising Event.  Every year on the same day (I am making that bit up), the authorities decide that the weather conditions will be such that a nationwide restriction will apply to the motorway speed limits.  Normally the maximum speed limit is 120kph but this is reduced to 90kph in a bid to reduce the pollution (the official reason).  The real reason is to raise revenue from the numerous fixed and mobile speed cameras scattered every 15km along the main commuter routes.

Now to be fair they do announce this in advance and give plenty of warning, if you understand French and Dutch of course.  The road signs and electronic messages are set up to remind everyone of the speed limits and the announcements are made on the radio.  This year it would seem that the mobile and fixed cash machines caught a mere 14,000 motorists who, if they are lucky, will only pay a 50 Euro fine.  This is if you are doing slightly more than 10kph over the limit.  If you happen to be banging along at 120+ then you could be looking at maybe three times that much, which makes the bracket somewhere between 700,000 - 2,100,000 euros fleeced from motorists.  Of course you should not be speeding in the first place and the habits of the the commuters change dramatically when the annual event is on, the first time I got caught, yes I have been caught twice during the weather inspired tax raising exercise, I was zooming along past the rest of the unusually tame and steady commuters.  Hey presto, flashed by a small cash machine hidden on a slip road!  The second time was just plain annoying as I had held to the smog speed and had a lapse of concentration, mug!

The added bonus this year is that there is now a treaty between France, Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands by which they all pass their respective speeding tickets across the borders.  What this means is that being flashed on the way to the Eurotunnel means you can expect the French to post the ticket to you in Belgium.  Bargain, even more money from unsuspecting transient motorists.

Anyway, this year I was glad to be absent for this year's event.  One positive is that the roads seem to be safer this one time of year

Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy

When I were I young lad.... We used to play out on the street, in gangs of kids, doing quite physical and sometimes risky things.  By that I mean we used to climb onto the roofs of buildings, up trees, set the occasional fire and run away from the odd angry grown up who wanted to spoil our fun. 

Gangs of kids these days tend to spend their time doing drugs, assaulting random members of the public and vandalising property.  The adults now give them a wide berth, unless they happen to be the local psycho nutters who spent their own youth chasing people down with knives and stealing cars.  The new gangs tend to know who the nutters are and are afraid of physical pain so they in turn show 'respect' to them.  Well, that is how it goes in my mind.  I have not seen this in Belgium, where I live in a world where the crime rate appears, at least, to be a bit lower.  I may be deluded of course.

Anyway, I digress.  The point of my post is actually to talk about my recent bathroom installation course where I learnt how to, funny old thing, install a bathroom!  I turn to the title of this post, Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy, which is a slightly cleaner way of saying that something is easy to do.  In this case, once I had practised fitting a few pipes together, I gained the confidence that I was somehow competent and that I would not experience the dreaded leaks and floods.  The course I attended was very good, I learnt how to install: a shower, a radiator, a bath, a toilet, a basin and all of the associated pipework.  I did have a few minor leaks which were quickly rectified.

I now cast my 'expert' eye over pipework and heating systems and am able to identify the parts and assess how it is put together.  I already have a number of projects that I would like to undertake, being eager to try my new found skills out!  During the course we learnt about compression joints, soldering pipes and 'push fit' plastic pipes.  It really is quite straightforward.  More to the point I was shown the necessary tools for the job, what a difference that makes, having the right kit!

Going back to my childhood and days spent throwing lumps of soil at each other as we fought battles in the public spaces of the local park.  The council gardeners would come round and turn over the soil which would form 'grenades' of soil that would burst spectacularly on the footpaths and the heads of unlucky kids as we fought pitched battles.  We used to divide the gang into two teams and fight for each end of the shrubbery and planted areas.  The passing adults would give us hell for making such a mess and the battle was often halted as someone took a serious hit to the head and eye, as I did on at least one occasion.  We were lucky not to be blinded. 

Bringing me back to the phrase Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy, as kids this was more of a taunt, ie you can easily jump that gap between the garage roofs, it is easy peasy lemon squeezy, kind of a challenge that you could not back down to, not if you wanted to retain any ranking and credibility in the gang.  Usually such a taunt then led to a challenge being undertaken and either a trip to casualty or a victory lap.  Of course, once one of you had done it the rest had to follow up and heaven help you if you were the last or most reluctant to break your neck, it was usually me.  I can honestly say that I spent less time in casualty than my brother who was and still is more of a risk taker than I.

I was thinking recently about some of the games we used to play and one of them that sprang to mind was when we used to go to the baths or swimming pool as posh people would call it.  We usually went as a gang of at least 4 and often when it was raining outside, so not really great for playing out.  One of the games was to stand on the edge of the pool and see who could pretend to die in the most theatrical way, being shot, stabbed etc.  The idea was you fall into the pool as you are 'killed'.  I related this game to a friend of mine aboard a ship one day and he just had to take it a bit too far...  He started saying 'so did you douse yourself in petrol and then set fire to yourself before then leaping into the water?'  Stokers eh?  Funny old crowd.  My mind then went to rather more radical forms such as suicide bombing, but then how would you simulate that?  We did used to play tuggy, which was a kind of tag game where you would be on until you managed to brave the deep end and potential drowning to tag another player.  Often you would get out of the pool to 'run' along the side to catch up, which then meant the lifeguard would shout at you.  Occasionally we would get thrown out if he had had a bad day and was hung over...  We did feign drowning but it never worked, no matter how lifeless you floated beneath the lifeguard, years of experience at spotting fraudulent casualties no doubt.  Every now and again we would try and get into the baby's pool, which was considerably warmer than the main one, if only to defrost for a while.

Anyway, this has gone a bit random.  Nothing much to do with Belgium here this time!