Every weekday, having finished work, I catch the bus home. Two stops after I have boarded, an ear-ringed man gets on. He and I travel on the same bus home, every day. Nothing remarkable so far I suppose you’re saying. How about if I tell you we get off at the same stop? Does that make it more interesting? No? Wait, there’s more!
Today, I realised that he may have noticed that I’m always on the same bus as him. I’ve known for quite a while, and I have always let him press the “stop’ button on my behalf as we approach our stop. It’s become so routine for me that I know almost exactly when he’s going to press the button. Today though, he missed his cue. The point in the journey passed and he hadn’t moved. Almost immediately, I figured out that he had realised that I was on the bus and that I was going to be alighting at the next stop. I figured that he was thinking, “that cool-looking character at the back of the bus, where I wish I was cool enough to sit, is getting off at the next stop. I’ll wait for him to press the button.” Well, he could forget that! I’ve been going weeks having not pushed that button, and I’d be damned if I was going to start now. “Game on,” I thought.
So we both sat, me confidently, him wishing he hadn’t challenged me to this game of chicken. The bus approached the last corner before the stop. We were now only less than 20 metres away and no one had hit “stop”. As the bus began to break to turn, he bottled it and hit the button. I leapt from my seat to get in front of him. He’s a slow walker. The bus turned the corner and came to a halt. I’d won this round.
Yesterday was pretty cool. Not only did I experience an earthquake for the first time, but I also had the opportunity to do some filming for the BBC.
Two weeks ago, I emailed the BBC in response to a new entertainment news programme they launched on BBC News 24. A few days after, I got a reply asking whether I would like to air my opinions on NewsWatch, a weekly programme that allows viewers/listeners/users of BBC News content to have their questions about BBC News answered. So, if they didn’t like a particular report, or they felt to much attention was given to one area of a particular story than another, they can write or phone in and a select few out of that bunch get to go on the show and have their views put to the relevant BBC News staff member.
There are various ways the public can take part. Sometimes, viewers are invited to the studio so that they can speak directly to a News editor. Others get to present their own little report from their home town. This was what I did. Wearing a radio mic, I had to speak directly to camera in various places around my town whilst the public walked past and idiots in cars beeped their horns in an effort to amuse. It was surreal, but great fun. Kevin on camera and Ian the programme producer were brilliant and remained patient and friendly throughout. They even took me to the pub afterwards by means of a thank you.
The main difficulty I had was remembering my lines. There were about 8 paragraphs I had to say, but I reckon there must have been about 30 to 40 takes just to get them right. On one of them, I inexplicably starting replacing the word ‘entertainment’ for ‘itv.’ It was stupid!
Once edited together (and I feel genuinely sorry for the video editor who gets to wade through all my outtakes), the piece is pencilled-in for next week’s showing on BBC News 24 and BBC One. If you’re one of my international readers, don’t panic. I’ll make sure a select few of you get to see it after broadcast.
If you don’t know already, I’ve set myself a bit of a challenge. The objective is simple. I have to visit every single European country in my lifetime. A visit constitutes being across the country border for longer than five minutes and has to be marked by buying a postcard (which is lucky, as I collect them). Since I only have to spend five minutes in each country, I could probably zip about like Billy Whizz for a week and get them all ticked off. But as I’d like to see as much of each country as possible, that isn’t going to happen and instead, I’m going to take my time. Earlier this year, I went to Paris (for which there are loads of articles). Having already been to France many times in the past, this made no impact on my challenge. I had to get at least one country ticked off before 2007 ended. Switzerland was the obvious choice. Having already been to all of the countries surrounding Switzerland, it was somewhat of an big empty gap in my destinations map that needed filling. So, I decided to go there. After having done some research. I knew I wanted to stay in a beautiful little town in the centre of Switzerland called Lauterbrunnen. How I would get there would turn out to be a difficult problem to solve. I had two options. I could take the Eurostar from London to Paris, stop over at Paris for one night, catch the TGV from Paris to Geneva the following day and then catch a domestic Swiss train to Lauterbrunnen. Not counting the Swiss rail fare (as this would be covered by a Swiss Rail Pass) this would come to approximately £200 (US$400). The second option would be to fly from Luton to Basel. This would come to approximately £50 (US$100). Price wise, there was no contest. I absolutely love train travel, but it was hard to argue against the difference in price. The trouble was, I had never flown before. Although up until this point, I had been fairly well travelled, I had reached destinations by car and train. I had never needed to fly before. Could I really get on a big, polluting, noisy, scary airplane?
It had taken weeks of mulling the idea around in my head for me to finally conclude, “screw it, let’s fly!” Up until the evening before the day of my flight, I felt alright. No particular worries or concerns. Even when my dad was taking me to the train station to catch the train to the airport, I felt a little bit sick, but otherwise I was fine. I was more concerned with patting the pockets of my trousers and bags to make sure I had everything, then worrying about soaring 30,000ft up through the air in a hunk of metal. Millions of people fly all the time. It’s a Sunday morning flight to Switzerland, one of the most politically neutral countries in the world. Nothing’s going to happen. I kept a diary throughout my trip so that it would be easier for me to summerise what I got up to on my blog when I got back. The first thing I wrote in it was, “I hate dealing with anxiety.” I wrote that while sitting in the departure lounge at Luton airport, sat next to a lady I’d mistakenly thought was crying because she was nervous about flying, but was actually crying because her husband had just died. A few days before, I had taken an exam, so I had already had to deal with anxiety that week. Now, three days later, I was having to deal with more. Quite frankly, I was getting a bit sick of it. That was the extent of my troubles though. I wasn’t frightened or nervous. I was just anxious. The whole experience was all very new to me. 
Having checked-in, I realised I didn’t have a clue what to do next. Did I head for security now or did I hang around a bit? I headed for security, where I discovered what appeared to be a primitive fizzy drinks shop. Trade didn’t seem particularly brisk, probably because most of the bottles were only half-full. The shop didn’t even have a name. Awful business model. Upon reaching the x-ray machines, I was made to take off everything baring my trousers and t-shirt (coat, jumper, trainers, belt). It wasn’t terribly inconvenient and I was through in about 5 minutes (2 of those minutes were spent getting re-clothed and patting all my pockets again). Past security was a plethora of shops, cafes, crying widows and others distractions to keep my mind off of the reason I was there. Walking to the gate was an unusual affair. The departure lounge at Luton is plush and modern. Polished curves of wood fittings and blue neon lighting. Passing through the double-doors towards to gates though, and things change. You’re no longer being made to feel comfortable in the hope you’ll reach for your wallet and buy some doughnuts, or a new camcorder. You’re in the forgotten basement of a 1970’s hospital, where the lights don’t really work, the paint’s peeling off of the walls and there’s peculiar smell. And it just goes on and on. I must have walked for about a third of a mile, half expecting to find the old morgue being occupied by a cackling phantom janitor. I didn’t of course. What I found was a medium-sized, bright orange room/cupboard where myself and the rest of the passengers traveling to Basel were made to stand and wait. I was in boarding group ‘B’ and had to wait huddled together with the rest of the lower-class citizens in the corner of the room behind a barrier, while boarding groups ‘AS’, ‘AA’ and “A” pointed and laughed as they hurled tomatoes at us. It was grim. I would have been just as grim without the tomatoes. Even now, while I was in what was essentially a pen, covered in tomato juice, I felt OK. I could see the plane through the window. A Boeing 737. Looked sturdy enough. Is sturdiness a good test for air-worthiness? I was eager to get on now, purely because I’d been sitting around for ages in the departure lounge and I was now standing far to close to strangers for my liking. Boarding commenced. I walked out onto the tarmac and climbed the stairs. I reached the top, a stewardess smiled and checked my ticket and I joined the scrum for seats. I was travelling with EasyJet, a budget airline where the seats aren’t allocated. I had read the best place to sit on an aircraft was by the wing, as this was where it was most stable, so I headed for that general area while being elbowed and being hit on the head by bags as they were put into the overhead lockers by their owners. The scramble for good seats seemed very uncivilised, but I wasn’t going to miss out on sitting where I wanted to sit, so delicately pushed people out of my way to get to the centre of the plane. I found a good spot just in front of the central exit doors, lobbed my bag in the locker, sat next to a tired and very grumpy man and put on my seat-belt. It was then that I realised I was on a plane. It was suddenly very real that was going to go higher in the air than I ever have before.
Taxiing takes ages. The planes rolls towards the runway at such a slow pace. As the safety information in French was played, I looked out of the window and watched as other planes took off. I would be doing that in a couple of minutes. Good grief! The plane rolled onto the runway, did a pirouette and came to a stop. The engine noise decreased slightly. I looked around at my fellow passengers. They were chatting, reading the in-flight magazine, eating crisps. One lady had her head on her lap, adopting the ‘brace’ position, seemingly having a nervous breakdown. The engines roared. This was it! Quite unexpectedly, a smile broke across my face. Surely I wasn’t actually looking forward to this!? The plane lurched forward. I was pushed back into my chair by the force of plane accelerating down the tarmac. I looked out the window, past the grumpy man who was having a nap, mouth agape, big stupid grin on my face as I hurtled towards the unexpected. The plane adopted a different angle, a more upward angle, and the ground fell away. I was airborne. It was brilliant! All thought of how much I was polluting the environment had vanished as we ripped through the cloud and emerged above it to see it as a fluffy blanket spreading to the horizon, gloriously lit by the sun and beautifully contrasted against a vivid, blue sky. This was alright! I was enjoying this. Everyone I had spoken to was right. This wasn’t a big deal at all. I gave the grumpy man some space, sat back, switched on my ipod and enjoyed the flight.
Last Friday, I experienced one of the most unlucky and brainless evenings of my entire life. Never before have I not used my brain to such a magnitude and then experienced severe bad luck at the same time. I wouldn’t consider myself an unlucky person. Unfortunately, Karma got wind of this and paid me my dues big time. Here’s my story.
We have new recruits at work. Eighteen in total and all of them needed inducting into the business. So, three hours after having left work, I returned to do just that. It was 17h30. I was meant to be there fifteen minutes earlier, but the buses weren’t running to schedule and I had to wait in the rain for 20 minutes until one arrived. Before I could start training the new guys, there were a few admin errands that needed to be sorted. I work in a secure office which is always locked. I had forgotten to bring my keys, so I had to borrow some from the manager. I let myself in and started to do a bit of paperwork. Half way through, I realised there was something outside the office that I needed. Now, there’s a trick with the door to the office that allows you to keep it ajar temporarily. The door itself has expanded slightly (since it’s made of wood) so if you shut the door slowly, it rubs against the frame and stay open. I wasn’t wearing my work trousers, so I hadn’t clipped the office keys onto my belt as I would normally. I exercised the door trick so I could quickly pop out to retrieve what I needed, stupidly leaving the keys on my desk. For the first time ever, the door trick failed on me and the door slammed shut. I was locked out. The only set of keys on the property were locked in. Brilliant!
Feeling stupid, I told my manager and offered to kick the door in. He didn’t seem to like that idea and said he’d call the supervisor in, who also has a set of keys. I didn’t like that idea since the very reason I was back at work was so that the unwell supervisor could go home early. We pondered our options and examined the door for weaknesses, but it seemed we would definitely need another set of keys. Then, the manager had a brainwave. He had spotted a bike belonging to another staff member. He suggested I ride the bike back to my house to fetch my set of keys. After a few moments thought, I put my coat on, and set off into the driving rain. It was only 4 miles or so there and back and it’d only take me half an hour. Problem solved!
The rain wasn’t heavy, but there was a fresh head-on wind blowing, so it wasn’t very pleasant. Still, I felt good about toiling away at the pedals. I felt the physical effort was a way of redeeming myself. Upon reaching the theatre, I was half way. Suddenly, there was a crunch from beneath me. The crunching continued and turned into a metallic grinding. For a moment, I thought the bike was disintegrating underneath me. It didn’t. I stayed upright. What actually happened was that peddling suddenly became very easy. I looked down and spotted the bike’s gear system dragging along the floor. I came to a stop (the brakes were still excellent) and inspected the damage. The chain was gone. I looked down the road but couldn’t see it. The entire gear system had completely sheered off of the bike’s frame. I was stranded, equidistance between work and home in pouring rain. Awesome! It was another moment to weigh up my options. It didn’t take long. I didn’t have any. My first instinct was to call someone to help me out, but obviously, I didn’t have my mobile with me. Obviously, I had left that at work so I could cycle a little more freely. I started to trudge home.
Fifteen minutes later, I arrived home, dripping wet and with a great story to tell. I dumped the bike and convinced my sister to give me a lift back to work. She kindly agreed and we laughed all the way back. She dropped me off as close as she could get and I ran the rest of the way. Upon arriving, the main doors to the building were locked and there was no one there to let me in. The ten minutes I had to wait until someone came up weren’t that much of a problem, certainly not in comparison to the horror that I experienced next.
Just as I was let in, I remembered why I had gone home in the first place. It was to get my set of keys. My keys WERE STILL AT HOME! Unbelievably, I had forgotten to pick them up before coming back with my sister! I had pushed a disabled bike in the rain for a mile FOR NOTHING! If I felt stupid before, I felt braindead now. I was genuinely worried for my own sanity. What was going on? Why was this happening to me? How can anyone be this stupid?
I went back to the offices. The manager asked if everything went OK? The look on my face answered that question for him. He spotted I no longer had the bike with me. He asked where the bike was. I told him the bike had fallen apart and so had my mind. I just wanted to curl up and make it all go away.
After we had gone through all the paperwork with the new employees, we returned to the problem at hand. The boss finally agreed to allow me to kick the door in. I tried three times, but failed. Our only remaining option was for the manager to give me a lift back in his BMW to my house to get my keys and for us then to drive back again. It has to be said, he remained very supportive and light hearted about the whole experience. If he was angry and felt inconvenienced, he didn’t show it.
You probably think that I feel embarrassed about this little episode. I don’t really. I’m more bemused and intrigued. I don’t really understand why and how I could have been so dumb. At the time, I was seriously worried about my health. Now though, it’s happened and there’s not much I can do about it other than move and learn from it, so that nothing like it happens again.
Incidentally, having checked the bike, it would seem there was little, to no lubrication in the gear mechanism, so that was definitely not my fault. That was just bad luck.
Meet Lucca, our new 8 week old Netherland Dwarf Mini Lop Cross Rabbit. I don’t often use the word cute, but I really do think it applies here, don’t you? My sister has lovingly documented his every move on her Flickr stream, so drop on by. I’m sure more will follow.
Incidently, before there are any questions over the spelling of his name, he’s named after the Tuscan city of Lucca, so the spelling’s correct. So there!
There’s one thing I really look forward to during summertime, and that’s the start of autumn. That may sound like an odd thing to you, but I’m happy to say loudly and proudly that I HATE SUMMER! And here’s why;
- It’s too hot! Right now, I’m sitting in a room that’s just over 30C. Here in Britain, if it gets hot, it’s not a dry, pleasant heat. It’s a muggy, sultry heat that makes doing almost any task (walking up stairs for example) laborious. For me, I just feel uncomfortable, and this makes me lethargic and grumpy.
- Everyone’s too noisy! For some reason, whenever the sun comes out in the summer, neighbours seem to set up camp in their gardens, take a handful of anti-social pills and make a racket all day and into the night. There’s no quiet, mature enjoyment of the weather that you get on the continent. It has to be loud and alcohol-fueled.
- There’s bugs everywhere! And they bug me. Especially at night when the windows are open and they’re attracted to light. There’s nothing worse than finally getting comfortable on a muggy night, to then have a mozzie buzzing around your ear.
- I can’t sleep! A sunny day in Britain often results in cloud cover by night, which traps in the heat. This means the first hour after turning in is often spent just trying to get comfortable. If I eventually do fall asleep, it’s only because I’m exhausted by all the fidgeting.
- There’s nothing on TV! I don’t think TV companies even try to produce good TV during the summer. All the good stuff is held back for the autumn launches, causing the schedules in the summer months to be devoid of anything watchable.
- I can’t stop sneezing! I sleep in a south-east facing window. With the sun rising at around 04h30 in the summer, I’m slowly roasted in my bed for a good 3 to 4 hours before waking up, causing my nose to block up. Upon blowing my nose, it causes irritation and I sneeze for the following hour. And if it isn’t that, then the pollen will get me. My body objects to it for some reason and shows it by leaking various fluids from my nose and eyes.
I can’t be the only one. There must be others who feel the same way, surely!?
