Friday, August 25, 2006

my holidays are like buses...

...they are full of miserable-looking people and go nowhere fast? Erm, no. More in the "don't see one for ages, then three come along at once" kind of way.

For, hot on the heels of the Ireland Adventure, comes the Ibiza Experience. I am assured that this will NOT involve any tit-flashing, street vomiting or nights spent with a pillow over my head going "Ohhhhh the nooooooooise....." for we are heading to the genteel-sounding "old town". (Although it should be noted that even Feltham has an "old town", and I'm none too convinced that it is genteel - a night watching people shoot up in the toilets at the Airman pub would confim this.)

I have bought my fake tan (Nivea gradual tan - special offer at boots) and a new bikini (brown with blue "look at the pattern, not the flab" dots) and, armed with some doorstop paperbacks, am ready to hit the beach. Of course, judging by my previous beach holiday efforts, I will get bored of lying in the sun after about 35 minutes. Especially as this level of sunbathing requires me to reapply the sunblock about 15 times per day or face BURN PARANOIA. Hence the need for fake tan, since I normally return home the same milk-bottle shade as I left.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Greyness

I was going to go to one of the free Watch This Space events outside at the National Theatre tonight. However, the sky is so dark right now that it looks like winter. So I think the event (which will go ahead regardless) may turn out to be a little too english - sitting outside in the rain at cafe tables, anyone?

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Running again

Did manage to get out last night - ran to Mick and Sarah's house. I was feeling pretty upbeat about the experience until I asked how their running efforts were going. They ran 9.5 miles in 83 minutes the other day. Bah. Maybe I need some new magic trainers...

Monday, August 21, 2006

Vinopolis

Not sure how my Vinopolis experience sits on the entertainment/economy scale. It cost £20 (although I think that may be a group rate), and for this you got a book of vouchers to be exchanged at various tasting tables around the exhibition, and a DIY tour (i.e no guide, just a map and some pictures on the walls).

The benefit of the DIY tour is that it makes for a relaxed evening if you're there to catch up with friends, since you can chat and take things at your own pace.

On the downside, you don't really learn anything much. At least, I didn't. It might be because it was a Friday so "reading information" was quite a long way below "having a drink" in my personal agenda.

You do get a fair old slosh of alcohol for your money. Ok, compared to buying a 2 litre bottle of Diamond White, it's not that cheap. In fact, come to think of it, compared to buying a very nice bottle of wine, it's not cheap. So maybe I've just answered my entertainment/economy scale question.

For the money, your alternative options are:
(i) Very good bottle of wine at home - but can't fit all your friends in
(ii) 2.5 cocktails in a nice bar - very tasty, but you'll be heading home by 9pm cos you'll have run out of money
(iii) 2 bottles of overpriced wine in a pub - but smoky and the wine is unlikely to be great
(iv) 10 bottles of diamond white in the park

So it serves a purpose, and probably falls borderline on the E/E scale. Depending on how much you like Diamond White.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Running out of time

You'll have noticed a lack of posts on running recently...

Despite my best intentions, things have not been going well. Running in Ireland proved a bit tricky since we were always out and about doing things, except when we were taking disco naps (or having excessively hospitable amounts of alcohol forced on us). I did manage a bit of scamperage up a mountain-side, but really it was a poor effort. And since I've been back, well, it just hasn't gone to plan.

I should have gone out last night, but didn't get home until 9.30 and was ravenous and the stomach won (doesn't it always?). So I thought I'd go at lunchtime today (even brought my PE kit and everything), but ended up having to make the numbers up at a client lunch instead. And I can't go tonight because I'm wine-tasting at Vinopolis with people from EC4 orchestra. How delightfully full my life is. And unfortunately, therefore, my stomach too.

My friend Karina, who I am running the Nike 10k with, is delighted by my lack of recent runs, in the same way that watching other people eat cake makes you feel better about your own overindulgence. But I'll do better at the weekend, just you wait and see...

Gone. Just like your teeth.

As the Scotsman announces in an article today, the company that makes Highland Toffee and Wham bars has gone into administration.

Not being a Scot, I can't get into the same level of nostalgia over the potential loss of Highland Toffee. But I do have a lingering (bittersweet) fondness for those ludicrous luminous lumps of industrial adhesive (studded with explosive kernels of sherbet) known as Wham bars.

I say bittersweet because I was relieved of a wobbly tooth courtesy of a Wham bar at the age of 13. Chomp, chomp, ouch! And then the tooth was left stuck in the goo. Took me ages to extract it, but I wasn't going to miss out on the tooth fairy's 20p, so I persevered. I seem to remember that I ate the rest of the bar, too.

If you'd like to make an offer for the business to preserve this particular piece of early-onset-diabetes heritage, drop me a line. Jamie Oliver has a lot to answer for, I tell you.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Spitting in the Liffey

No posts for an age and then two in one day? Well, I'm catching up. Firstly on GB's news (see post below) and secondly on my mini-hol in Dublin.

I travelled over with my friend Conor and we stayed with his mum (aww!) who lived up to every expectation of Irish hospitality:

Mrs M: Will you have some more Irish Mist? [honey-flavoured liqueur]
Me: No, I'm fine thanks
Mrs M: Sure you will. I'll just pour you a little.
Me: No, honestly, I've had loads. I can't manage another.
Mrs M: Will I make you one with ice and some cream? Sure she will now, Conor. Hand me her glass.
Me: Thanksh. Thatsh very kind.

From the diplomatic bag

Of course, the diplomatic bag sounds like a description of somebody's mother, but you know what I mean. The bag, which arrives once a week from Uzbekistan, has disgorged a letter from our man in Tashkent which he wrote when he'd just arrived. For the benefit of his avid fans (well, parents), I will transcribe his letter below for your delight and edification...

Flight very pleasant. The food was very tasty - can even go so far as saying I really enjoyed it. Slightly smug feeling as I was sat there drinking my OJ, wearing the Uzbek Airways slippers and watching the hordes wander past into cattle class. The in-flight movie was Lost in Translation, which I think it literally was, since it had no sound and stopped after 15 minutes. I read the newspaper instead, and had my first glass of Uzbek wine (yes, it is sweet - I will have to retrain my palate...)

I landed in one piece in Tashkent (result!) and was led onto VIP bus to the VIP lounge. It took 45 mins for the bags to be unloaded - by this time it was 3.15am - and I went through customs and straight into a car park. There was no sign of Everol [man from the embassy], so I thought I'd head over to the main airport building to my left (up two flights of stairs), dragging my giant bags with me. Once inside, I realised this was the departure area, and tried asking some Uzbeks for the arrivals hall in a combination of English and bad phrase book Russian.

I found the arrivals area at around 03.30, but there was still no sign of Everol, and I was starting to get harrassed by taxi touts wanting to take me to the Sheraton. Even many swift "Nyet"s would not stop them. So I stood in the arrivals hall and shouted out "EVEROL WILSON". A small man came up to me and said "Are you Glenn Marriott?". When I said yes, he said, "Stay there - don't move. I'll be back soon".

This was looking promising, despite the taxi touts all starting up again. In five minutes, the little man came back and directed me to join him at the information booth, where he got the assistant to tannoy for Everol. At the same time, he explained to me that Everol had been involved in a car accident on the way. After about 10 minutes, a tall bloke came up who said his name was Gavin and I should follow him with my bags to where the car was, which I did (saying more "Nyet"s to the illegal cabbies on the way).

Along the street, there was a gathering of people (this was about 4am) around a jeep and a smashed up car in a ditch. It turned out that Everol had gone to the airport for 2am (the actual arrival time) and been told the flight had been delayed for 5 hours, so headed off again. Unfortunately, on his way out he'd had an accident with a man in a Daewoo Matiz. The police were in attendance, and a passer-by was interpreting. However, the normal technique in Uzbekistan is for the police to leave the two parties to "come to an arrangement". The Matiz man was an illegal cabbie, driving uninsured, so wanted Everol to buy him a new car in settlement, and several of the crowd were offering to be witnesses (apparently this attracts 10% of the deal value!).

Everntually, Everol insisted that the police were involved to help settle it, much to their annoyance. By this stage, another 2 police cars and an interpreter had arrived. The police started to measure out the accident site, which took about 2 hours (until 7.30am) and then the two drivers had to make statements, which we then had to go to the police station to get photocopied (about 9am).

At this stage, I finally was taken to the apartment and went straight to bed. My new boss rang me while I was sleeping, and then came to pick me up for lunch at 1.45pm, so I managed about 3 hours sleep! An eventful start to my posting.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Champagne hurrah

Just a quick one today, as I'm busy clearing my desk prior to a few days in Dublin.

I was lucky enough last night to be invited to a work event at Vertigo, the champagne bar on the 42nd floor of Tower 42 (previously this was called the NatWest tower, I think). The bar is a long skinny space wrapped around the service core of the building, so although no area is wider than an armspan, everybody gets a window seat - which is pretty much the whole point of being that high up, I guess. Our area was on the east side of the building, overlooking the Gherkin and out towards Canary Wharf. It's a good place for a client event, because even dull or shy people can find something to do (look at the view) or talk about (whether they can see their house). Less good for a non-work event, because the prices would make a grown man weep.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Aussie Rock

Random evening: I was about to leave the office when a secondee from our Brisbane office came along and offered me a free ticket to go with her to see classic Aussie rocker, Jimmy Barnes. No, I'd not heard of him either - but apparently if you mention his name to an aussie it has the same kind of nostalgic resonance as, say, an 80s Tom Jones.

Apart from the decidedly dubious pleasures of spending an evening in an enclosed space with 250 beered up Aussies, it was an unexpectedly entertaining evening. I spent most of it standing behind a guy who could double as a sight screen at Lords for the next Ashes, but fortunately he was only about 5'6", so I could comfortably look over his (ham-like) shoulder.

Jimmy Barnes looked (from my vantage point, at least) a bit like a sweaty William Shatner. Apparently he has a thing for wearing skin-tight leather trousers, but I could only see him torso up and was spared that particular trauma. His band seemed to comprise a number of minor celebrities: Vernon Kay, sporting a 118-style 'tache, on guitar; the Karate Kid (now tragically gone to seed) on drums; and Colm Meany (Irish actor, veteran of most Roddy Doyle films. Think "Elvis wasn't no fockin' Cajun: that's blasphemy!" from The Commitments), in a breton fishing sweater, on bass. Also there was a guest appearance from Roachford (yes, the real 80s one) so they could duet on a cover of I put a spell on you. My tip: Jimmy, stick to the original material.

To get a handle on the original material, think about that bit in the Lost Boys film when a man in purple spandex trousers is caterwauling away during the bonfire party. But with no saxophone. When pressed, one of the guys I went with described him as the bastard offspring of AC/DC and Joe Cocker.

Bizarrely, all of the music seemed vaguely familiar, without actually being so. Good old Jimmy belted it out with lungs of leather, and the audience joined in with the big radio hits ("Working class man" anybody?). I can't say I'll be rushing out and buying his latest CD (I suspect it would be a greatest hits, given his vintage), but it was a big shouty fun night out. And free. Can't say fairer than that. Students of the entertainment/economy matrix will be aware that this scores very highly.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

I ran home from Twickenham last night. With a backpack on, too. By my rough calculations, I was running at 11.8 minutes per mile. Which is slightly faster than an unmotivated 96 year old woman with a zimmer. But only just. (A motivated 96 year old woman would probably have left me eating dust.)

Today, to reward myself for such exertions, I went out for lunch to a Vietnamese cafe. I had a wholesome and virtuous salad that was so stuffed with flecks of raw chilli that by the end my dining companion swore that I looked like Lesley Ash.

And now to the interesting bit: I washed the napalm salad down with a cup of the cafe's much-vaunted "Weasel Coffee". The blackboard (complete with illustration of, bizarrely, a stoat - and we all know the difference* don't we, people?) claimed that the coffee beans were fed to, and then regurgitated by, Vietnamese weasels. I find this all rather implausible. How do they persuade the weasels to regurgitate the beans? And if they are so unpalatable, how do they persuade the weasels to eat them in the first place?? Perhaps it is all a euphamism, and the beans actually exit the weasels via another, even less savoury, route???

Anyway. The coffee (which was rather expensive as coffee goes) was very nice - smooth, strong and not at all bitter. But I couldn't really detect anything particularly weaselly about it. I've a sneaking suspicion they've made it all up to see how many foolish people (i.e. me) they can sucker in. I can't see anyone bothering to get it more than once, given it is twice the price of regular espresso and just tastes like a normal, if very pleasant, coffee.

*amazingly, this mistake on the part of the cafe gave me my first ever opportunity to use my favourite joke in context. But since you all know it, I'll spare you. And nobody laughed. They didn't even honour it with a groan.

Just say Nyet

In the absence of any actual updates from Our Man in Tashkent (he's being a bit reticent at the moment), I thought I'd fill you in on the back story....

The British Embassy in Uzbekistan has been closed for several months. Apparently this was done as a deterrant to all those pesky Uzbeks who kept going to the embassy to (shock! horror!) apply for a visa to visit the UK. In order to put a few of them off, the embassy was temporarily closed, and applicants were required to use the embassy in neighbouring Kazakhstan instead. Of course, when I say neighbouring, this (not terribly good) map illustrates how wonderfully convenient that must have been.

But now, with a roll of drums and splendid fanfare, the embassy in Tashkent has opened up again today. GB reports that he has 58 applications to attend to today, so I would imagine his "Nyet" stamp will be moving in a blur...
I went to Asda last night and bought the missing duvet and sheet for the spare room. The duvet cost a remarkable £8, and it wasn't even the cheapest one there. This triggered off a series of thoughts:

(i) Wasn't I foolish to buy the duvet cover from John Lewis when I could have got a much cheaper one at Asda?
(ii) But in order to charge these low prices, Asda must screw the poor little duvet-stitching peasants.
(iii) Therefore I shouldn't buy such cheap things, and don't have to feel so bad about spending more in John Lewis
(iv) But what if John Lewis also pay their suppliers almost nothing, but just have a higher cost base?

We all know that ethical living and economy rarely go hand in hand. But how can you tell if the extra money you pay in some shops actually goes to the person making the goods?

Monday, August 07, 2006

Regime change

Ah, how my life has changed now that GB is out of the country! Just before he left, he said: "I suppose this is the last time the radio will be tuned to Virgin for a while?" And how right he is.

Summary of the changes I have already observed:

(i) Radio habits
When GB's at home, the radio is tuned to Virgin and left on for most of the day, until the ridiculously limited playlist finally pushes me over the edge and I do one of those ranty middle-aged things: storming across the room, flicking the off switch with a vicious snap, and shouting "Will you just SHUT UP!". Well, anyone could be driven to that if they had to listen to that ludicrious punk-rocker/flowers in hair song played 57 times per day (and for your information, Ms Sandi Thom, the only way to stay in touch was not "a letter in the mail". They had telephones back then too, you know).

Now he's not here, listening habits are a mix of the delightful, uplifting, amusing and informative, from Radios 3, 4 and 7. Although the last of these (BBC7) I have to listen to via the internet, since GB blew up my digital radio by plugging in the wrong power lead. Anyway, let's move on to....

...(ii) Television (or the curse of the goggle box)
GB is an expert at watching tv. He can put it on as background, and then get on with other things - particularly in ad breaks. This doesn't work for me. Once it goes on, I am trapped in its tractor beam and cannot escape. Hence, now he is away, the tv stays off. I tried putting it on last night, but it failed to grab my attention and I Switched Off The TV Set And Went And Did Something Better Instead. As they used to say on Why Don't You.

(iii) Laundry
Now we come to the first change for the worse. The laundry fairy that used to magically move my scrumpled clothes from the laundry basket to the bed in the spare room, rendering them fragrant and clean in the process, appears to have deserted me in my hour of need. I have tried leaving out little dishes of sugar water to tempt it back (is that what fairies eat?), but to no avail. I will have to ask GB if he has seen her recently - I am worried that she has got trapped in GB's suitcase and inadvertantly transported to Tashkent.

(iv) Driving seat
Heh heh heh. Not only do I get to sit in the driving seat - formerly a treat reserved for when GB had taken a small libation - but also I get to leave it in the "dwarf" position without getting nagged. Still, am missing the enjoyable sight of GB getting wedged between the seat and steering wheel when I forget to put the seat back for him...

(v) Shopping
I had to buy some bedding for the spare room yesterday. And I did so in my favourite faffy style that would have left GB foaming at the mouth, rolling his eyes, and generally looking like someone in the advanced stages of some kind of fit.

First I went to John Lewis. I looked at some of the bedding there - quite nice, perhaps a bit pricey, will the pattern look ok in that room? So I went on to M&S, then Heals, then Habitat. And indulged in what GB would term "drifts into Beanyworld" (i.e. wandering around inappropriate departments or shops which I have no real intention of purchasing from: Perhaps I need some cushions to put on the bed? What about a nice side lamp for the dining room? Goodness, there's that rug I liked and it's now in the sale...! Should I possibly get that dining table while it is reduced? That bedding's nice, but have you seen the price???). Eventually, and I'm sure you could see this coming several sentences back, I ended up back in John Lewis buying the set I saw first.

And then got home and realised I'd forgotten (i) single sheets and (ii) single duvets, both of which are required before I can make up the beds.

Dear me, I do miss him.

Tashkent calling

Have finally heard from GB, who seems to have landed on his feet in Tashkent...

>>>
My accomodation is, well, what can only be described as superb!!! A permanent guard outside to let me in, leading to a carport, which leads onto my tiny back garden. Up some steps into my hall way, on this floor (as you can gather several floors) there is my kitchen about as big as our lounge and dining area with 2 big upright fridge/freezers and table and 6 chairs, oh yes and a door leading to a small balcony over looking my back garden. Back into the hallway/ reception area takes me into my dining/lounge area, which comprises of tv & video (only Uzbek channels) 3 piece suite and dining table and chairs (seats 8), all without being cramped. Upstairs onto first floor, there are 4 bedrooms, all en suite, and a balcony off the reception area again overlooking my back garden. The top floor has another bedroom, also en suite. Every room has aircon (set to 18!).

OK, back down to the ground floor. There is a floor below, in the basement, which contains my plunge pool and sauna. Although why I need a sauna when it is over 40 degrees? Unfortunately, the pool needs a clean, so whether I get to use it is debatable. As you can gather it is very nice.

Went for a walk round last night to get my bearings and even went for a jog (have you been?). The guard on my house must think I am mad!!

Quiet day today. The full visa service will kick in tomorrow we think, so good day to get settled in. Chance later to get some local currency which is used in the cafes/bars and supermarkets. Only problem being need to carry round fat wads of notes!! £1 is roughly 2000 Sum and the highest denomonation is a 1000 Sum note. No wallets: just huge rolls in pocket!

Staff here seem ok and friendly enough and there is even five a side football played by the other Embassies. Will try to get a game.

Saturday, August 05, 2006

Shameful neglect and fresh leaf

I know, it's been an age, hasn't it? You're looking well. How's the leg?

I've got a "must do better" school report vis-a-vis blog frequency. And (let's be honest here) blog quality, too. But I must now hoist my anklewear, put my most exemplary foot forward (and all those other jolly chivvyings) and deliver a marked improvement in both areas of bloggery, in order to keep the newly-exported fella in touch with my day-to-day shenanigans.

For the day has finally arrived. Well, the day after the day, actually. GB was supposed to fly to Uzbekistan yesterday, but his flight was cancelled a few hours beforehand. Presumably they couldn't find a puncture repair kit for the plane or something. So he actually left today at lunchtime, and this is my inaugural "keep him up to date with my goings on" blog. Of course, it is a little premature, since I would not normally appraise him of my day in detail after an absence of just (let me check....) 9 1/2 hours. But still, I am tapping into the current well-spring of enthusiasm.

From dropping him off, I managed to find my way out of Heathrow and onto the correct exit road - well, the A4 rather than the perimeter road that I was looking for, but still a legitimate exit route. This is not a minor achievement, believe me. Let's not dwell on missing the down-ramp in the multi-storey carpark, which necessitated another quick circuit that would have had GB rolling his eyes and making increasingly high-pitched noises of exasperation had he not been sitting in the airport lounge at the time.

On arriving home, I celebrated my newfound freedom by cleaning the kitchen. And I mean cleaning. Including such delights as scraping out the joins in the worktop with a knife, and washing the grease filters in the cooker hood. This was all very satisfying. I kept finding random bits of broken glass everywhere (cupboards, dishwasher filter etc) which means that either (a) the glass I smashed this morning was actually soaked in gelignite and managed to project its shards through some seemingly solid barriers or (b) lots of other glasses have been broken in our kitchen. Nothing to do with me, guvnor.

After my enthusiastic kitchen-scrubbing (and starting to make pickled cabbage a la Mrs Beeton - needs soaking overnight so nothing to report yet), I then (lordy lor!) went out for a run. The only thing that got me out of my chair and into my running kit was the thought of being able to boast about it in the blog. Well, that and not wanting my belly to look like I've got it on loan from Buddha.

My post-torture stretching in the back garden was cut short when a bat flittered overhead and I rushed inside for my glasses and bat-eavesdropper. It only did another couple of fly-pasts, so I was able to get on with the stretching and watering the plants. Which can be done simultaneously - take my word for it.

Now I'm sitting around in slightly odiferous running kit waiting for Her Brittanic Majesty's representative of the Diplomatic Service in Uzbekistan to call...