JJ calls the helpdesk:
HD: Hello caller how are you today?
JJ : pretty hacked off as it goes, how are you?
HD : good, I am also very well thank you. How may help you today?
JJ : some muppet posted a spice girls song in my comments, two people have already seen it but I need it taken off pronto
HD : what is a "muppet" caller?
JJ : Goth's a f***ing muppet, can you delete his comment?
HD : of course, but what do you mean "Goth"?
JJ : you don't even wanna go there honey
HD : how are you spelling Goth?
JJ : here we go, Golf Oscar Tango Hotel
HD : which hotel is that caller?
JJ : it's not a hotel, i'm just telling you the spelling, H for Hotel
HD : yes but i don't know which hotel you are talking about
JJ : it's not a hotel, Goth ends with Hotel
HD : why? Doesn't it have a place to live?
JJ : yes it does but that's not the point, just look at the comments
HD : there are no comments, you haven't posted this yet
JJ : not this one! the previous one you tit!
HD : oooohh! Look who's uppity? Not getting any?
JJ : you're the second person to ask me that today, what is it? Is it me?
HD : no caller, it's not you it's me, you're a really beautiful person but I need my space (he he hee)
JJ : I don't believe this, are you going to help me or not?
HD : sure i'll help you, there'll be a parcel in the post, plain brown wrapping, har har haaar
JJ : oh you're cracking me up now, you don't really give a monkey's do you?
HD : awwww, ish sho unfair the nashtee liddle lay-dee ish makin' fun o' the biiiig maaan
JJ : piss off, i'll just twat the c**t next time I see him
HD : thank's for calling! Have a nice day!
JJ : bollocks
Click
JJ
Wednesday, 13 June 2007
Empires Fall
I went to one of those past life regression thingo's to figure out why I care about the Labour Leadership so much, some past association perhaps? They run hypnotic regression in the commune building after the population services desk closes at lunch time. For seven euro fifty and two passport pictures you can see one previous life. I don't know what they use the pictures for but I don't think I've had a single visit to the population services that didn't require two passport size pictures.
Even that time I went to complain about the old woman who waits in front of my appartment building every night, "why don't you recognise me petit Pierre? my beautiful grandson?" she's obviously as mad a badger and there's no point even trying to talk to her, she scares me a bit.
Anyway, the past life regression was completely weird. At first I thought I was ill but quickly realised I was some kind of small animal. The eyesight wasn't so good you see, but smell! woah, the place reeked with six or seven big animals and one slightly shorter one, but it seemed I was accustomed to them and they were quite accepting of me. Sometimes they'd just scoop me up off the floor and push their big ugly faces into mine, awful, can't they see how disorienting that is? It was just noise at the time but now I can tell they were calling me Winny, or Wenig Winston.
They were pushing these little props around on a table with lots of lines and colours on it, but when I tried to have a go they snarled and shouted at me. Why do they do that? I know they won't hurt me, so I just back off for a minute and do it again later. The second time I tried it I managed to knock a couple of props off the bottom corner and the shorter animal smacked me on the back of the head with a stick, he's mean. That was over stepping the mark I thought, so I made a mental note to have morning toilet break in his shoes tomorrow.
Then another slightly smaller animal came in and by the way the others all perked up and started nudging each other, I guessed she was female. The whiff was a bit of give away as well. Seemed she was bringing refreshments, for them anyway. But I though my luck was in, a mouse raced across the floor I jumped on it in a flash but it turned out to be horrid stuffed cloth thing that keeps appearing everywhere. I'm sure the people are making it move somehow, if only I could figure it out then I could stop chasing the disgusting thing.
I needed a drink to get rid of the taste but I couldn't have got my face into that narrow glass so I did the obvious thing and knocked it over. Just as I was about to lap up the water, the place erupted, four of the bigger people were grabbing at all the little props and pushing the water onto the floor, while the others put the hands on the their heads and paced about. This was much more fun, then the little guy with the paintbrush moustache came at me screaming, I shot under the table and he knocked the whole thing over. Now they were all waving their arms in the air and running around screaming. That was the most fun we had in there, I ran out of the door and up the stairs but they didn't chase. Odd, they seemed to be enjoying it a minute ago, still very noisy behind the door but I decided not to go back. I was hungry, I get grumpy when I'm hungry and don't want to keep playing.
I went back a few days later, there were only two of them and the female left, it looked as though they'd been cooped up in there all that time. Scratching their heads and still moving the little props around the map, then the little moustache guy saw me and started throwing things at me "diese Bastardkatze töten" he screamed. I made a hasty exit again. The last thing I heard sounded like gunshots so I made a mental note not to go back there.
Well I never did figure out why I feel the need to run my own poll* about the Labour Leadership but at least I learned that Hitler had a cat, who knew? I felt a bit guilty about wrecking his battle plan though, not a very dignified way to lose your status as would-be world conqueror and leader of the Reich. Not my fault though, frankly I wish I'd gone back and pissed in his boots.
JJ
*the poll will be removed from the site at the end of June 2007
Even that time I went to complain about the old woman who waits in front of my appartment building every night, "why don't you recognise me petit Pierre? my beautiful grandson?" she's obviously as mad a badger and there's no point even trying to talk to her, she scares me a bit.
Anyway, the past life regression was completely weird. At first I thought I was ill but quickly realised I was some kind of small animal. The eyesight wasn't so good you see, but smell! woah, the place reeked with six or seven big animals and one slightly shorter one, but it seemed I was accustomed to them and they were quite accepting of me. Sometimes they'd just scoop me up off the floor and push their big ugly faces into mine, awful, can't they see how disorienting that is? It was just noise at the time but now I can tell they were calling me Winny, or Wenig Winston.
They were pushing these little props around on a table with lots of lines and colours on it, but when I tried to have a go they snarled and shouted at me. Why do they do that? I know they won't hurt me, so I just back off for a minute and do it again later. The second time I tried it I managed to knock a couple of props off the bottom corner and the shorter animal smacked me on the back of the head with a stick, he's mean. That was over stepping the mark I thought, so I made a mental note to have morning toilet break in his shoes tomorrow.
Then another slightly smaller animal came in and by the way the others all perked up and started nudging each other, I guessed she was female. The whiff was a bit of give away as well. Seemed she was bringing refreshments, for them anyway. But I though my luck was in, a mouse raced across the floor I jumped on it in a flash but it turned out to be horrid stuffed cloth thing that keeps appearing everywhere. I'm sure the people are making it move somehow, if only I could figure it out then I could stop chasing the disgusting thing.
I needed a drink to get rid of the taste but I couldn't have got my face into that narrow glass so I did the obvious thing and knocked it over. Just as I was about to lap up the water, the place erupted, four of the bigger people were grabbing at all the little props and pushing the water onto the floor, while the others put the hands on the their heads and paced about. This was much more fun, then the little guy with the paintbrush moustache came at me screaming, I shot under the table and he knocked the whole thing over. Now they were all waving their arms in the air and running around screaming. That was the most fun we had in there, I ran out of the door and up the stairs but they didn't chase. Odd, they seemed to be enjoying it a minute ago, still very noisy behind the door but I decided not to go back. I was hungry, I get grumpy when I'm hungry and don't want to keep playing.
I went back a few days later, there were only two of them and the female left, it looked as though they'd been cooped up in there all that time. Scratching their heads and still moving the little props around the map, then the little moustache guy saw me and started throwing things at me "diese Bastardkatze töten" he screamed. I made a hasty exit again. The last thing I heard sounded like gunshots so I made a mental note not to go back there.
Well I never did figure out why I feel the need to run my own poll* about the Labour Leadership but at least I learned that Hitler had a cat, who knew? I felt a bit guilty about wrecking his battle plan though, not a very dignified way to lose your status as would-be world conqueror and leader of the Reich. Not my fault though, frankly I wish I'd gone back and pissed in his boots.
JJ
*the poll will be removed from the site at the end of June 2007
Friday, 8 June 2007
Jake's Razor
When they told us about Ockham’s razor at school I was slightly annoyed. It doesn’t make sense, why not Ockham’s Theory, or Ockham’s Hypothesis or Premise or even Ockham’s Quite Smart Idea? Why Razor? It’s completely arbitrary. And why aren’t there anymore Razor’s about different things? This has been festering in the back of my mind for twenty two years now so I’ve decided it’s high time to re-dress the balance and propose my own Razor. In fact I’d like to see a lot more people proposing their own Razor’s, no more theory’s or premises there’s too many already, we need more Razor’s now.
So, here’s my Razor “you were just trying to help”. Like Ockham’s Razor it’s not exactly revolutionary or inspiring, but the good thing is it can be used in an immense number of different situations and is probably right most of the time. This Razor can be used on other people, or you can use the Razor on yourself while standing in front of the bathroom mirror talking to yourself. Which then brings in my next Razor “you’re an idiot”, I’m going to try that one now.
Another thing about Ockham’s Razor is that the guy who wrote it was called William, he lived in small town called Ockham in England in the fourteenth century (that’s thirteen something). Shortly afterwards, Walter of Chatton proposed that William had got it all backwards and so he wrote Chatton’s Anti-Razor. The anti-razor didn’t prove to be so popular.
I know what you're thinking now, "you were just trying to help" should be Etterbeek's Razor, not Jake's Razor. You're right and it is very Belgian so why not?
We're going paint-balling now, in two teams from the office, so errmmm...
The End.
Joliet of Etterbeek
So, here’s my Razor “you were just trying to help”. Like Ockham’s Razor it’s not exactly revolutionary or inspiring, but the good thing is it can be used in an immense number of different situations and is probably right most of the time. This Razor can be used on other people, or you can use the Razor on yourself while standing in front of the bathroom mirror talking to yourself. Which then brings in my next Razor “you’re an idiot”, I’m going to try that one now.
Another thing about Ockham’s Razor is that the guy who wrote it was called William, he lived in small town called Ockham in England in the fourteenth century (that’s thirteen something). Shortly afterwards, Walter of Chatton proposed that William had got it all backwards and so he wrote Chatton’s Anti-Razor. The anti-razor didn’t prove to be so popular.
I know what you're thinking now, "you were just trying to help" should be Etterbeek's Razor, not Jake's Razor. You're right and it is very Belgian so why not?
We're going paint-balling now, in two teams from the office, so errmmm...
The End.
Joliet of Etterbeek
Sunday, 3 June 2007
Alien Invasive
A few weeks ago an alien worm-hole appeared next to my appartment balcony. It looks like a 6ft (1.8m) watery disc floating in the air, it's got furry dice hanging off the top so it may be a slightly down-market model. I've been using it to pop down to Anarkali and pick up a curry every now and then. The great thing is it moves through time and space so I can have tandoori chicken for breakfast even though Anarkali doesn't open till 6.30pm.
I soon realised the thing emits a high pitched whine whenever something's about to come through (I thinks it's one of Britney Spears'). So I've "posted" (blogging pun) a shovel next to it and whenever an alien is about to step onto my balcony, thwack! Back he goes. Thus the eternal universe remains in perfect balance, they stay in their bit and we stay in ours.
The other day I was bit slow off the mark, having spent the afternoon at the Portugese accross the road, one of the blighters got through. Damn! So there I am, in the middle of the second test at Edgebaston and woosh! there's this pale lanky bugger with sunken glazed-over eyes standing on my balcone. I thought, damn he really reminds me of someone, I must remember to get those Graspop tickets later. Not really knowing what the proper etiquette would be in this situation, I asked him in and offered him a cup of tea, he graciously accepted. I also offered him a Princes Chocolate bicuit but he declined that, just as well, the sell by date on those is Feb-07. That would've been really embarassing if he'd seen it.
I couldn't believe my luck, while I was making the tea Strauss had gone with England on 38, crap. I didn't want to be rude but I couldn't switch off at that moment so I just carried on watching it. Alien then perked up with "well why don't you use the worm-hole to go to the match?", I hate smartarses so I just gave the standard response "are you going to talk all the way through the game? I can just as well watch it down the pub you know". He didn't say a word until my phone went, it was my friend asking if I'd been to the Golf club to find about lessons and then the Alien started again "Oh, it's ok for your friends to call, you can talk to them, you've got time for them", now he was getting on my tits so I said "What's your problem? If I wasn't half cut I would've just beaten you back with a shovel like all the others, count yourself lucky you got a cup of tea".
Then he got into a strop and sulked off back into the worm-hole, didn't even finish his tea so I chucked it in after him along with the chocolate biscuit, "how's that? eh? Hope you choke on it, moody twat!"
I sat down to the cricket again and thought to myself "next Sunday I'm going to turn up at his place in the middle of Eastenders Omnibus and put my Slayer CD on, that'll teach him. Being a space traveller he's probably into Hawkwind"
Just as I was dozing off, he came back and tapped on the window. I let him in, we both apologised and sat down to glass of wine. Then he told me everything. Apparently the tea and biscuit landed, along with cricket based expletives, in 14th century Italy. Because of this unexpected tea break the rennaisance had never happened. "Listen carefully", he explained "right now, you are in a world where everything stops at 4pm for tea, the world sport is cricket and no one has ever heard of pasta or nouvelle cuisine and the French language died out 500 years ago"
I thought about this for a minute and asked "Are you saying I can walk down Georges Henri and get fish and chips with vinegar and ask for it in English", he said it was true except Georges Henri is called George Henry. "What about Girlfriend?", "Yes, she speaks the Queens English, but she still doesn't understand Cricket, that's more of a man/woman thing than any cutural or language difference".
"It's up to you Jake, I can bring back the tea and biscuit and you go back to ordering dinner by pointing at the menu, or you can live in world where Crown Green Bowles is played in France instead of Pétanque". It was an interesting proposition. "But why are you calling me by my blog name?" I asked him, he said he wasn't but he'd already read my next posting by using the worm-hole so I only thought he'd called me Jake because I was writing the post retrospectively from the future. "Oh, er more wine?", "Don't mind if I do, ta"
I thought long and hard about his proposition, "No cute foriegn accent for Girlfriend?", "Nope".
"What about the Mercedes?", "Sorry, you'll be driving a Ford C230", that hurt.
"Sony LCD TV?", "Asia is mostly the same so you keep the Sony TV, but there's no soft porn on the European channels". This was getting harder to swallow.
"Opera?", "Nope, it's Pantomime", I thought I could probably live with that and I assumed I'd still have the important things like HP Sauce and baked beans. I asked him I if could just try it for a day or two but he said as soon as I made contact with someone there would be no going back, it gets too complicated. What would be the point if Girlfriend doesn't look at me blankly when I say things like "It's a bit nippy innit?". She wouldn't be the same. Reluctanly I asked the Alien to retrieve the tea and biscuit.
I poured another glass of wine and it suddenly occurred to me the wine bottle still had a French label on it. The Alien stood at the worm-hole grinning and flicking V's at me "Suckerrrr!!!". Bastard! he was stringing me along! I grabbed the shovel but he dived into the worm-hole before I could get to him.
Bonne nuit.
JJ
I soon realised the thing emits a high pitched whine whenever something's about to come through (I thinks it's one of Britney Spears'). So I've "posted" (blogging pun) a shovel next to it and whenever an alien is about to step onto my balcony, thwack! Back he goes. Thus the eternal universe remains in perfect balance, they stay in their bit and we stay in ours.
The other day I was bit slow off the mark, having spent the afternoon at the Portugese accross the road, one of the blighters got through. Damn! So there I am, in the middle of the second test at Edgebaston and woosh! there's this pale lanky bugger with sunken glazed-over eyes standing on my balcone. I thought, damn he really reminds me of someone, I must remember to get those Graspop tickets later. Not really knowing what the proper etiquette would be in this situation, I asked him in and offered him a cup of tea, he graciously accepted. I also offered him a Princes Chocolate bicuit but he declined that, just as well, the sell by date on those is Feb-07. That would've been really embarassing if he'd seen it.
I couldn't believe my luck, while I was making the tea Strauss had gone with England on 38, crap. I didn't want to be rude but I couldn't switch off at that moment so I just carried on watching it. Alien then perked up with "well why don't you use the worm-hole to go to the match?", I hate smartarses so I just gave the standard response "are you going to talk all the way through the game? I can just as well watch it down the pub you know". He didn't say a word until my phone went, it was my friend asking if I'd been to the Golf club to find about lessons and then the Alien started again "Oh, it's ok for your friends to call, you can talk to them, you've got time for them", now he was getting on my tits so I said "What's your problem? If I wasn't half cut I would've just beaten you back with a shovel like all the others, count yourself lucky you got a cup of tea".
Then he got into a strop and sulked off back into the worm-hole, didn't even finish his tea so I chucked it in after him along with the chocolate biscuit, "how's that? eh? Hope you choke on it, moody twat!"
I sat down to the cricket again and thought to myself "next Sunday I'm going to turn up at his place in the middle of Eastenders Omnibus and put my Slayer CD on, that'll teach him. Being a space traveller he's probably into Hawkwind"
Just as I was dozing off, he came back and tapped on the window. I let him in, we both apologised and sat down to glass of wine. Then he told me everything. Apparently the tea and biscuit landed, along with cricket based expletives, in 14th century Italy. Because of this unexpected tea break the rennaisance had never happened. "Listen carefully", he explained "right now, you are in a world where everything stops at 4pm for tea, the world sport is cricket and no one has ever heard of pasta or nouvelle cuisine and the French language died out 500 years ago"
I thought about this for a minute and asked "Are you saying I can walk down Georges Henri and get fish and chips with vinegar and ask for it in English", he said it was true except Georges Henri is called George Henry. "What about Girlfriend?", "Yes, she speaks the Queens English, but she still doesn't understand Cricket, that's more of a man/woman thing than any cutural or language difference".
"It's up to you Jake, I can bring back the tea and biscuit and you go back to ordering dinner by pointing at the menu, or you can live in world where Crown Green Bowles is played in France instead of Pétanque". It was an interesting proposition. "But why are you calling me by my blog name?" I asked him, he said he wasn't but he'd already read my next posting by using the worm-hole so I only thought he'd called me Jake because I was writing the post retrospectively from the future. "Oh, er more wine?", "Don't mind if I do, ta"
I thought long and hard about his proposition, "No cute foriegn accent for Girlfriend?", "Nope".
"What about the Mercedes?", "Sorry, you'll be driving a Ford C230", that hurt.
"Sony LCD TV?", "Asia is mostly the same so you keep the Sony TV, but there's no soft porn on the European channels". This was getting harder to swallow.
"Opera?", "Nope, it's Pantomime", I thought I could probably live with that and I assumed I'd still have the important things like HP Sauce and baked beans. I asked him I if could just try it for a day or two but he said as soon as I made contact with someone there would be no going back, it gets too complicated. What would be the point if Girlfriend doesn't look at me blankly when I say things like "It's a bit nippy innit?". She wouldn't be the same. Reluctanly I asked the Alien to retrieve the tea and biscuit.
I poured another glass of wine and it suddenly occurred to me the wine bottle still had a French label on it. The Alien stood at the worm-hole grinning and flicking V's at me "Suckerrrr!!!". Bastard! he was stringing me along! I grabbed the shovel but he dived into the worm-hole before I could get to him.
Bonne nuit.
JJ
Thursday, 31 May 2007
Travel VI, ol' big nose is back
Blois (Loire Valley Thu 17th May, Ascension Day)
It was all going swimmingly Until we were immersed into Paris traffic, then we found the "avoid traffic" feature on the GPS system. Maybe it works if you activate it before you hit the traffic. Finally we arrived in Blois, but just had time for a wander, take a few snaps, dinner and bed.
The next day started cloudy but we set off cycling anyway, not far down the road it transpired Girlfriend's bike wasn't taking up the 3rd sprocket. I did the manly thing, checked it out and set it manually. Not far down the road she put it into second again so we had to stop and re-set it, I should've warned her but we'd hit a hill so there was no choice anyway. Not a good start but all of a sudden the sun came out and the skies cleared, excellent.
Crossing the Loire on a road bridge we stopped to take pictures next to a fisherman who promptly pullet out a huge mullet, it must have been 15 inches (37cm). He was quite proud of himself and said he'd take that one home for dinner (ie. eat it, not to share a candle meal with it)
As the sun beat down my hay fever kicked in, I put up with it until we got to Amboise the next day and purchased some nasal spray, a large one, from an obliging pharmacist.
The Amboise trip was by motor, the good weather only lasted a day. Still good though, I had no idea Lenny Da Vinci had once been resident in these parts. Turns out he had a huge house near the Golden Lion Pub (Lion D'Or) where he invented the mp3 player. It was 32 choir singers (middle age version of 32 bit) on a platform with wheels which needed 4 horses to pull it along, not quite as portable as the Apple but you have to admit, Len thought of it first. Seems like that with many of his inventions, ok it was his idea to build a helicopter but the thing he drew is far cry from anything we see now. Even if they built his idea with modern materials it would be too heavy to take off under it's own steam.
Back to Blois for dinner at L'Orangerie, typical top notch French restaurant (ie well expensive) but great food; a chefs special selection of nibbles, homard ravioli, veal steak, cheese, dessert - "Les Reve du Gourmand", fantastic accompanied with a fine local white wine from Touraine. I do enjoy a good French slap-up.
Sunday was completely washed out but never mind, we had to head back anyway.
Vienna (Friday 25th May)
Well stone me it's hot in Vienna! Spent the first few hours looking for a decent pair of flip flops, found an indecent pair instead and spent the weekend hobbling with plasters on my toes. There's a huge ice cream "bar" in the town centre run entirely by Italians, it's open from 6.30am till midnight 365 days a year. In the evening we went along the riverside to the collection of bars and restaurants and enjoyed huge plates of ribs followed by cocktails at a Salsa bar.
On Saturday we had breakfast at Landtmans (The top place for breakfast in Vienna). Accross the road they were preparing for the "Live for Life" (something like that) Aids benefit where Bill Clinton would be the guest of honour along with other such luminaries as Elton John. Not for us though, we had an opera booked for the evening. The rest of the day went on a horse and carraige ride (as recommended by Spanish Goth). There are many fine palatial houses from years ago, but for me the Mozart house (where he gave his first recital aged six), one of many Beethoven houses and Schubert house were the highlights. Finished the days entertainment with shopping before we set off for the Opera.
What I didn't know about Vienna Opera house is that there's a Hot Dog stand outside! Now I can see the attraction. The show was "Andrea Chenier" by Umberto Giordano. It's set in the French Revolution features 4 acts, 5 arias and the cast took bows between each act (a bit excessive, I thought) but an excellent piece, I could easily watch it again.
Sunday, our hosts brother in law is actually from England and he invited us for breakfast sausages, scrambled eggs and beans. The perfect set up for a cycling trip along the Danube. Breakfast was late (by design) so we cycled through to early dinner in the very place were King Leopold once held Richard the Lionheart prisoner for ransom. The chicken was excellent, better than any organic or free range nonsense from the supermarket.
Monday, we had breakfast at the Blue Star, reputed haunt of Nikki Lauda but he wasn't there. So we headed off to the Château Schönbrunn, a fine and rather large old residence, modelled on Versaille but not quite as big. Followed by a trip to the suburb of Grinzing, one of the wine growing parts around Vienna with typical country pub style restaurants. Dr Karl Böhm lived there, even. We went into one of the restaurant/beer garden places and had a jolly good roast pork (with crackling) and were joined by our breakfast hosts from the previous day. Just as our host was telling us this is out of the way of the main tourist traps in Vienna we were swamped by Japanese tourists.
Tuesday, Landed in the sprout at 8.30am, just time to get home, have a kip, unpack, re-pack and set off for Milan (work trip this time). The plane's green inside (Al-Italia). Time to read Owen King's debut.
Milan (Tuesday 29th May)
Many, many moons ago I was out with Some friends for drinks when one of those rose-sellers came along, I bought one and as the gang stared at me expecting me to approach some unsuspecting young filly, I proceeded to bite it's head off and eat it in the style of a vegetarian Ozzy Osbourne.
Which brings us to the present day (well, wednesday). Driving from the Milan office to the restaurant one of the Street ladies was kind enough to flash her baps at us. A pleasant way to end the working day I thought, until our Italian colleague pointed out that most of the "street ladies" are actually Brazilian men. It was all downhill from there, l tried the local speciality "deep fried zucchini flowers", disgusting. I thought it was a figurative term but they really tasted like flowers and I had to eat three of them followed by a dish of meatballs that tasted like stale tuna. Italian cuisine? I'd have settled for a plate of egg and chips (it's a delicacy in Madrid)
This morning, we'd only been waiting about 20 minutes for a taxi with 30 other people when the concierge asked "do you know there's a taxi strike today?", obviously we didn't, so we asked him if there was any other option for transport and he dissapeared into the hotel to check. In the meantime we called someone from the office to pick us up. Then the concierge returned and advised us the best course would be to call someone from the office to pick us up. The lettuce in the canteen tasted funny too, bitter. All meetings done, we arranged a private car to the airport but almost didn't make it. A red fiat crashed into the central barrier on the highway about 200m ahead of us, no one else hit the car and the passengers seemed to be ok. As the driver pulled away all three of us put our seat belts on and laughed heartily (at the seat belt action, not the accident, tut).
Return flight was on one of those tiny Avroliners. I had Seat 4B, which is basically the back row aisle and window. You learn to keep your Seat belt on during these flights unlest you want to head-butt the reading light every time the little cutie bumps into a cloud. Then a great thing happened at Brussels airport, they sent us by bus from the plane directly to the baggage hall. No need to hike the usual 3.4 miles (5.4 kilometres) to the conveyors, and when we got there the luggage was already out!
VanHool would be a good name for a dark band but it's already taken. That's name of the bus manufacturer who made the bus that took us to the baggage hall. Then all I had to do was grab a taxi to Girlfreind's flat, get changed (having cunningly packed a changed of clothes in advance two days ago) and jump back into waiting cab speed to Vleurgat in time to meet Girlfriend at a friend's opening night of his painting exhibition. From landing to sipping red wine and admiring artwork took 1 hour and 10 minutes. Not a bad effort, I thought.
Now I just have to check my email, it's 8.30am in Sydney and they will be reading that curt email I sent them just before I left Milan. Damage limitation, finish the Chianti, then bedtime.
Goodnight,
JJ
It was all going swimmingly Until we were immersed into Paris traffic, then we found the "avoid traffic" feature on the GPS system. Maybe it works if you activate it before you hit the traffic. Finally we arrived in Blois, but just had time for a wander, take a few snaps, dinner and bed.
The next day started cloudy but we set off cycling anyway, not far down the road it transpired Girlfriend's bike wasn't taking up the 3rd sprocket. I did the manly thing, checked it out and set it manually. Not far down the road she put it into second again so we had to stop and re-set it, I should've warned her but we'd hit a hill so there was no choice anyway. Not a good start but all of a sudden the sun came out and the skies cleared, excellent.
Crossing the Loire on a road bridge we stopped to take pictures next to a fisherman who promptly pullet out a huge mullet, it must have been 15 inches (37cm). He was quite proud of himself and said he'd take that one home for dinner (ie. eat it, not to share a candle meal with it)
As the sun beat down my hay fever kicked in, I put up with it until we got to Amboise the next day and purchased some nasal spray, a large one, from an obliging pharmacist.
The Amboise trip was by motor, the good weather only lasted a day. Still good though, I had no idea Lenny Da Vinci had once been resident in these parts. Turns out he had a huge house near the Golden Lion Pub (Lion D'Or) where he invented the mp3 player. It was 32 choir singers (middle age version of 32 bit) on a platform with wheels which needed 4 horses to pull it along, not quite as portable as the Apple but you have to admit, Len thought of it first. Seems like that with many of his inventions, ok it was his idea to build a helicopter but the thing he drew is far cry from anything we see now. Even if they built his idea with modern materials it would be too heavy to take off under it's own steam.
Back to Blois for dinner at L'Orangerie, typical top notch French restaurant (ie well expensive) but great food; a chefs special selection of nibbles, homard ravioli, veal steak, cheese, dessert - "Les Reve du Gourmand", fantastic accompanied with a fine local white wine from Touraine. I do enjoy a good French slap-up.
Sunday was completely washed out but never mind, we had to head back anyway.
Vienna (Friday 25th May)
Well stone me it's hot in Vienna! Spent the first few hours looking for a decent pair of flip flops, found an indecent pair instead and spent the weekend hobbling with plasters on my toes. There's a huge ice cream "bar" in the town centre run entirely by Italians, it's open from 6.30am till midnight 365 days a year. In the evening we went along the riverside to the collection of bars and restaurants and enjoyed huge plates of ribs followed by cocktails at a Salsa bar.
On Saturday we had breakfast at Landtmans (The top place for breakfast in Vienna). Accross the road they were preparing for the "Live for Life" (something like that) Aids benefit where Bill Clinton would be the guest of honour along with other such luminaries as Elton John. Not for us though, we had an opera booked for the evening. The rest of the day went on a horse and carraige ride (as recommended by Spanish Goth). There are many fine palatial houses from years ago, but for me the Mozart house (where he gave his first recital aged six), one of many Beethoven houses and Schubert house were the highlights. Finished the days entertainment with shopping before we set off for the Opera.
What I didn't know about Vienna Opera house is that there's a Hot Dog stand outside! Now I can see the attraction. The show was "Andrea Chenier" by Umberto Giordano. It's set in the French Revolution features 4 acts, 5 arias and the cast took bows between each act (a bit excessive, I thought) but an excellent piece, I could easily watch it again.
Sunday, our hosts brother in law is actually from England and he invited us for breakfast sausages, scrambled eggs and beans. The perfect set up for a cycling trip along the Danube. Breakfast was late (by design) so we cycled through to early dinner in the very place were King Leopold once held Richard the Lionheart prisoner for ransom. The chicken was excellent, better than any organic or free range nonsense from the supermarket.
Monday, we had breakfast at the Blue Star, reputed haunt of Nikki Lauda but he wasn't there. So we headed off to the Château Schönbrunn, a fine and rather large old residence, modelled on Versaille but not quite as big. Followed by a trip to the suburb of Grinzing, one of the wine growing parts around Vienna with typical country pub style restaurants. Dr Karl Böhm lived there, even. We went into one of the restaurant/beer garden places and had a jolly good roast pork (with crackling) and were joined by our breakfast hosts from the previous day. Just as our host was telling us this is out of the way of the main tourist traps in Vienna we were swamped by Japanese tourists.
Tuesday, Landed in the sprout at 8.30am, just time to get home, have a kip, unpack, re-pack and set off for Milan (work trip this time). The plane's green inside (Al-Italia). Time to read Owen King's debut.
Milan (Tuesday 29th May)
Many, many moons ago I was out with Some friends for drinks when one of those rose-sellers came along, I bought one and as the gang stared at me expecting me to approach some unsuspecting young filly, I proceeded to bite it's head off and eat it in the style of a vegetarian Ozzy Osbourne.
Which brings us to the present day (well, wednesday). Driving from the Milan office to the restaurant one of the Street ladies was kind enough to flash her baps at us. A pleasant way to end the working day I thought, until our Italian colleague pointed out that most of the "street ladies" are actually Brazilian men. It was all downhill from there, l tried the local speciality "deep fried zucchini flowers", disgusting. I thought it was a figurative term but they really tasted like flowers and I had to eat three of them followed by a dish of meatballs that tasted like stale tuna. Italian cuisine? I'd have settled for a plate of egg and chips (it's a delicacy in Madrid)
This morning, we'd only been waiting about 20 minutes for a taxi with 30 other people when the concierge asked "do you know there's a taxi strike today?", obviously we didn't, so we asked him if there was any other option for transport and he dissapeared into the hotel to check. In the meantime we called someone from the office to pick us up. Then the concierge returned and advised us the best course would be to call someone from the office to pick us up. The lettuce in the canteen tasted funny too, bitter. All meetings done, we arranged a private car to the airport but almost didn't make it. A red fiat crashed into the central barrier on the highway about 200m ahead of us, no one else hit the car and the passengers seemed to be ok. As the driver pulled away all three of us put our seat belts on and laughed heartily (at the seat belt action, not the accident, tut).
Return flight was on one of those tiny Avroliners. I had Seat 4B, which is basically the back row aisle and window. You learn to keep your Seat belt on during these flights unlest you want to head-butt the reading light every time the little cutie bumps into a cloud. Then a great thing happened at Brussels airport, they sent us by bus from the plane directly to the baggage hall. No need to hike the usual 3.4 miles (5.4 kilometres) to the conveyors, and when we got there the luggage was already out!
VanHool would be a good name for a dark band but it's already taken. That's name of the bus manufacturer who made the bus that took us to the baggage hall. Then all I had to do was grab a taxi to Girlfreind's flat, get changed (having cunningly packed a changed of clothes in advance two days ago) and jump back into waiting cab speed to Vleurgat in time to meet Girlfriend at a friend's opening night of his painting exhibition. From landing to sipping red wine and admiring artwork took 1 hour and 10 minutes. Not a bad effort, I thought.
Now I just have to check my email, it's 8.30am in Sydney and they will be reading that curt email I sent them just before I left Milan. Damage limitation, finish the Chianti, then bedtime.
Goodnight,
JJ
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