We were 20 minutes late taking off. 5 persons had made last minute decisions not to travel which meant that 5 bags had to be retrieved from the hold. You wonder whether one of them had a premonition. The real reason is almost certainly mundane. Bad back suddenly got worse, phobia about flying returned, straightforward family argument (again!), etc etc etc. I stuck in three etc’s there but in reality I couldn’t think of any more reasons on the spur of the moment, which was almost certainly the way they decide not to travel – on the spur of the moment that is – it’s unlikely that they had taken a lot of time to think about this or they would probably not have bothered checking their bags in. I will never know their fate and tb quite h not in the least way concerned.

Whilst in “departures” at the airport I purchased a copy of the Daily Telegraph for £1.20. This was only to avail myself of the free bottle of water offer. The water itself was £1.75 had I not bought the paper. The offer would not have worked the other way round. ie free Telegraph with every bottle of water.

Now we have taken off and I am quite happily tapping away on my laptop, a few (ninety) isolated minutes away from the cares of the world. Isolated but in full control of all my senses. Quite often when I catch a plane I will have a beer or a gin and tonic to while away the time, relax, but today I’m driving when I get to Berlin so the water is it. My final destination is Dresden.

The sense of being cut off is great. I have a bit of a sore throat but that isn’t going to stop my enjoyment of the situation. The background noise of the plane in flight is also quite calming. You can hear a few things going on in the background, overhead lockers being opened and shut, items of clothing being stowed or retrieved, but it is largely quiet.

I’m glad it’s not a long flight. Los Angeles of Joburg. I have a totally different strategy for surviving long haul trips. This involves drinking copious amounts of alcohol early on and then falling asleep for the rest of the flight. Works every time except for the one occasion I was coming back from Tokyo where due to dehydration I developed a humungous hangover about 30 minutes into the flight. Nightmare.

I’ve got a few long haul flight stories. Once I was travelling in economy from Seattle to Heathrow. I had met a dutch journalist who was in first class (long story) and therefore able to avail himself of the BA First Class lounge before the flight. We boarded the plane five minutes before the doors closed and therefore just before take-off. He turned left to his palatial accommodation and I to my humble economy seat. At least my frequent flyer status had secured me an aisle seat near the front.

As I approached my place the face of a somewhat large woman in the seat next to mine dropped with visible dismay. She had been eyeing my aisle seat and with only a minute or two to go to take off thought she was home and dry.

As I settled in to my well rehearsed pre-flight survival drill (ear plugs in, cotton eyeshades on) she told me she hoped she wouldn’t disturb me too much by going to the toilet too many times during the flight. I wished her luck and proceeded to fall asleep waking up, again in a manner well drilled into my body clock, just before the breakfast was being served. She had had to climb over the rest of her family in the opposite direction. I forgot to mention we were sat in the centre row of 5 seats. Ho hum.

My other in flight sleeping story worthy of mention was from a Virgin Atlantic flight to Los Angeles. This time I was in Upper Class and my reclining leather seat was close to the cocktail bar. If you haven’t flown Upper Class you need to. The Virgin Club Lounge is a great place to spend a few hours before departure – worth turning up far too early for. You can have a pleasant lunch, haircut, massage, shave and so on.

Anyway after my pleasant lunch in the lounge, then second pleasant lunch on board I polished off my last glass of red wine/champagne/port/brandy/G&T/beer (I don’t know, I can’t remember) and fell into a deep and relaxing sleep. I woke up halfway to LA gasping for a cup of tea. Strolling over to the bar I sat at one of the bar stools at one end. The other stools quickly filled up including the comedian Billy Connolly taking up the last one at the far end of the row.

Seeing she had customers the stewardess came over and asked us what our pleasure might be. She didn’t look too pleased when I asked for a cup of tea – after all it involved some effort unlike pouring a glass of champagne. Unfortunately for her every other person sat at that bar gave the same order, including Billy Connolly who added that she had told him earlier that he wasn’t allowed a cup of team and that he would have her know that he “was a personal friend of Richard Branson”. We all laughed and tucked into our fresh cups of tea.

Those days of long haul business travel are over. Berlin is a pleasant enough distance though. The weather at the other end doesn’t seem to be that much better than in the UK mind you. It won’t matter because I will mostly be sat in a hotel meeting room talking shop and availing myself (hopefully) of the free wifi.

I trust the wifi will be free because otherwise the hotel website tells me it is knocking on E20 a day. It reminds me of the time I chose to stay at the Hyatt Regency Churchill Hotel in London. I wouldn’t normally stay in such a hotel on business (or pleasure for that matter) but this one was half price on Lastminute.com. What swayed me was the free wifi.

Of course when I got there not only was the wifi not free but it cost £25 a day – I would get TV packages bundled in.

The irony was that this hotel was a customer of the company I work for and we provided the internet connectivity. I had no magic button to press. Thereafter I got myself a data SIM that I am able to use wherever I go.

We interrupt this service to bring you news that a cabin steward has just entered the flight deck. The process for doing this was to have a second steward stand guard facing the passengers whilst the first guy opened the door and went in. I didn’t see whether the door had been opened from the flight deck. Interesting.

Anyway back to the hotel story. Not only did I not use the wifi because it was too expensive but everything else was too expensive as well. Most of the other residents appeared to be rich Arab Sheiks. I could easily spot the other Latminute.comers. I ended up nipping out for a couple of pints in a pub called the Five Barrels and then popping “down the Edgeware Road” for a kebab. Breakfast next day was at Pontis Italian restaurant off Oxford Street. It was cheaper than the hotel but tb quite h it was not good. I was served by an Eastern European waitress who did not understand the concept of a full English. Anyway I ate the food and went on my way (where to has been lost in the mists of time). I think I wrote something after that occasion which I will link to if I can find it/

That previous comment about mists could have been “lost in the London fog”. Unfortunately since the clean air act London doesn‘t get its pea-soupers any more. My dad has a story to tell there – fog was so thick he couldn’t find his way home from an Inns of Court dinner. I dare say the port also had something to do with it.

For reference, at this point of the post, I have written just under 1,500 words in around an hour. I can’t be exactly sure of the editing time as I can’t find the statistics tab that used to tell me this kind of thing. You see in January I upgraded to Office 2010 when I got my new laptop. I can’t find half the things I used to use. I’m sure the software is a big advance of previous versions but its user interface is very different to my old Office 2003.

Never mind. That’s progress. Probably the same in loads of situations. Like when you get a new bedside alarm clock having just taken years to work out how to use the old one. I’m sure there are many other analogies – just pick your own (that’s PYO – same as in strawberries and other soft fruit).

Third Law Part 10

Third Law Part 1

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He belonged in a Hovis advert really, with his flat cap firmly on his head and a look of determination on a timeworn face. I almost felt guilty driving past him. He must have come a fair old distance as there were no houses nearby and here we were in the car with just a measly bit of carpet. Did I say guilty? I think I probably meant inadequate.

We got to the tip and disposed of the carpet in the appropriate hopper. As we were leaving the dump the old man arrived at the entrance, no letup in his speed. We drove off. I wouldn’t recognise him again, unless perhaps he was pushing a handcart, with that same flat cap.

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Staring out of the window the yellow headed tulips have opened wide but the reds seem reluctant to follow. A blue painted wooden garden chair sits in splendid isolation on the lawn. The grass needs a cut but it is too wet, as is common practice during droughts and times of hosepipe ban. Thunderous Odin casts down his wrath; his energy arouses false anger.

But still the bird sings, perched in the hedge at the side of the garden. The rain brings the worms up to the surface. The noise of the rain on the roof has drowned out the birdsong. For all I know it works to the same principle of the refrigerator. When the door is shut the light is out. Is this the same for the bird when the rain gets too noisy?

I have to go now. Goodbye.

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The rain keeps them fresh, droplets roll,
soak the bedraggled soul
finding shelter under the canopy.

Drink deep, smell that forgotten smell,
wet neck warm face smiling
in harmony with a birdborn chorale.

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The harbour had met with expectations. A quay, a lighthouse that looked the part, lifeboat station with bright red barn doors and the RNLI flag flying proudly aloft. Behind it the gas tanks suited the scene and up above on the headland a hotel, now defunct, stood next to the offices and transmitter of the local radio station. Slightly lower down, on the path leading towards the lighthouse stood the camera obscura.

Our ship, the Manannan, was moored next to the larger Ben My Chree, a high sided white expanse of a ferry that plied its trade between Douglas and Heysham. Thick grey smoke emitted from the two chimney pots at its rear. These looked implausibly small at the top of the huge black and red funnel.

We were Liverpool bound.

Images of Tasmania apparently adorned the forward passenger deck – the ship was built there. I couldn’t quite understand this. Didn’t they have enough cash to put up some nice photos of the Isle of Man, or Liverpool even?

The pointer made his way through our cabin to the crew area. Safety announcements over, the ship set off with sea conditions looking favourable. It was a quiet cabin, the enthusiastic voices of a couple of women in the corner just about at an acceptable level.
The news was half watched with subtitles; famine, disaster, political intrigue, a token bland good news story then mostly adverts. It was all familiar. Not worth watching.

No other ships in sight. Is the Irish Sea not a convergence point for global shipping lanes? Clearly not.

I drank a latte. Terrible. Its only redeeming feature was a small quantity of caffeine. No enjoyment and not enough to revive the body after a night of intermittent sleep spent periodically checking the time to see if the alarm was about to go off.

I wondered what the pointer did whilst at sea. Clearly there was no point in continuing his boarding duties. Perhaps he was also the navigator? Pointing and navigating seem to be complementary roles although I imagine that navigating is a bit more involved. Maybe it isn’t, on the Isle of Man ferry at least.

It is still very much breakfast time. Most people are trying to sleep except for the woman with high stamina jaws. She isn’t loud but you know she is there.

The sea is so quiet and empty you imagine that with a bit of sunshine and with sails instead of an engine we could easily become becalmed. It would definitely need the sun. Who wants to be becalmed in overcast conditions? Totally unsuitable. We need to be able to slouch around on deck complaining about the heat and doing anything we can to catch the merest of cooling breezes, imaginary.

Downstairs, and in amazing contrast to the hushed tones of the Niarbyl Lounge (where incidentally the woman has momentarily stopped talking) the bar is heaving with drinkers on their way to Aintree for the Grand National Meeting. It is 8.50am and they have been at it since the bar opened shortly after we left port. The return ferry is at 7.30 tonight. I can’t see them keeping up the pace but good luck to them.

Through the sea haze I can now see the outline of the mountains of North Wales and the phone has a full set of bars of O2 signal. We roam no more. No data connectivity though and nothing on the Vodafone sim in the laptop yet. I am on the home run for my week offline. It hasn’t been totally offline but compared to my normal behaviour has been a decent rest.

One hour to go. Not too bad though we do have the car journey to survive. Ordinarily this would not be an ordeal but this trip we left the trailer at home so the space usually left as space in the middle of the car is full of rucksack and kitbag. Ah well.

There is sufficient room on the rear deck of this ship to have a ping pong table. Whether that is a practical proposition with the sea wind is neither here nor there. The fact is that a ping pong table would easily fit. You could probably get two in and have a tournament, like they do with the snooker, and remove one of the tables when it gets nearer to the final (thereby being able to fit in more spectators).

A snooker table would not be such a sensible idea. Although the snooker balls would be less prone to blowing about in the wind they would be susceptible to rolling out of place whenever there was the slightest movement of the ship due to the frequent swells that naturally occur here in the Irish Sea. I can also confirm that there is probably not enough room for two snooker tables which are usually bigger than ping pong tables.

This being the case we would have to run with the one table for the whole tournament which would make it longer and mean that we probably wouldn’t get through all the matches before arriving at Liverpool, especially the way I play snooker.

Mind you we would also likely lose all our ping pong balls before getting in to the Mersey estuary. The whole idea is starting to sound a bit improbable. Huh!

Land is now very much in sight. I imagine the race-goers, two hours into the voyage are well warmed up and ready for equine action. I’m expecting the pointer to return to his disembarkation position any time now, armed maybe with more of a waving action this time – more suitable for encouraging rapid exit from the ship whilst maintaining passenger safety as a priority at all times.

It’s been a smooth crossing. I wouldn’t have minded some sleep but there will be plenty of time for that when I am dead and gone. On that morbid note, farewell.

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