A (young) Northerner Abroad.....how it all began!

I remember my first ever trip abroad quite well, although it was some twenty years ago now. Majorca was the destination, 1987 the year and I’ll be damned if I don’t have a vague recollection of my mother in a swimsuit with shoulder pads. It was the 80s after all. My parents were in their early thirties at the time, and though they had both travelled abroad before, they were far from experienced travellers. As such, we didn’t go alone. Oh no. We were in a group that totalled at least fourteen, mostly my dad’s colleagues and their respective families and I was the youngest by a long, long way. A fact that didn’t stop my mother entrusting me with the Spanish phrase book though, well they do say it is best to start young. The holiday started at about 3am one morning when we filled our Ford Orion with suitcases and set off to meet the others at a petrol station on the outskirts of Bradford, from where we drove in convoy to Manchester Airport. Thinking about it now it seems utterly ridiculous to drive to the airport in convoy, it is about 50 miles at most, but back then it was a big thing I suppose, going to the airport probably seemed like a holiday in itself. Either that or we were counting on safety in numbers when we crossed the border into Lancashire.

Most of the holiday seemed to be spent round the pool during the daytime, playing cards in the evening (3 card brag was the only game we could play in such a big group, it meant my winnings were high though) or watching my mum embarrass herself and all who knew her the rest of the time. As I am writing this from the safety of my flat in Vienna, and I know she can’t hit me, let me tell you a couple of stories.

When we arrived, there was a bit of a cock up with our room, and with hindsight it seems fairly obvious that we were placed in a temporary room above the bar while our room was cleaned. However, this was 1987, the hotel staff weren’t used to English guests and didn’t have a great grasp of the language, and I was still on the numbers page of the phrase book, so we didn’t realise this at the time. We unpacked our bags, and went to the pool, stopping for a minute or two to let my dad complain in the way that dads do best, basically timidly explaining that we would like another room, nodding and agreeing with whatever was said to him, then getting angry with us when we asked what was going on. So, like I said, we went to the pool. And I think it is fair to suggest that my mum may have mentioned that as were on holiday it would be rude not to have a little drink, to celebrate or something. That was all the encouragement my old man needed so off he went to the bar. By the way, the shrewd among you will have already worked out that a 3am start would have us at the airport by 4.30, on the plane my 7, in the hotel by 10 and at the bar by five past. But, we were on holiday, it’s fine, really. Anyway, I was a bit worried about dehydration so I only had a shandy. I’m joking obviously, shandy wasn’t in the phrase book.

Another thing that my inexperienced mother hadn’t considered, other than the consequences of drinking at breakfast time I mean, was that in Spain they don’t really measure drinks in the same way we do at home. It is not so much volume in centilitres that is used as weight in pounds. So a Gin and Tonic in Spain is probably like three back home. She should have realised though as it was served in one of those large coca cola cups you get at McDonalds. Long story short, by the time she had finished her drink her English was about as good as the receptionist’s, and she announced, while pushing her white patio chair backwards and into the pool, that she was going to enquire politely as to whether there had been any progress regarding our accommodation. I’m doing her a favour there, her exact words, or rather word, was “I’llshhaveshawordswiththeseschStanishhpeoplesh”. Fortunately for her, and the poor “Stanish” receptionist who would have had a job understanding her had she managed to find her way back to the hotel, our new room was ready and waiting.

However, my dear mother is a great believer in not learning from your mistakes, and starting as you mean to go on. One of the nights when three-card brag was off the menu after we lost a card, we decided to watch the hotel entertainment, who happened to be a hypnotist. Thankfully my mum wasn’t required to pronounce the word hypnotist when she found herself on stage. Now, I should point out that she blames me and my dad for volunteering her, but anyone who has ever met her would know that we wouldn’t be that stupid. Anyway, he wouldn’t have heard us over her shouting. So, the long and short of it, and that comment will make more sense in a second, was that my mum was on stage under hypnosis along with a few other holidaymakers. Now, most of them managed to get away with just pretending to be a chicken, or a train or something, but somehow my mum was told that she had superpowers. To be more specific, she had x-ray vision that could see through clothes. Seriously, he couldn’t have picked a better person. There was no stopping her, in between the sound of everyone in the hotel falling off their chairs with laughter you could faintly here a Yorkshire accent saying “Ohhh, oh would you look at that…ooh, and you, oh dear, ah that’s, erm, interesting….oh I’ve never seen, oh oh”
I think my dad was unsure whether to laugh or cry really, and I was hurriedly looking up the Spanish for embarrassed in the phrase book.

It probably sounds as though my parents were being a touch irresponsible through all of this, what with the breakfast drinking, gambling and general lewd behaviour but remember who they gave the phrase book to, they knew they were in save hands with me around.

On that note, Hasta Luego….or “I’lllssheeeeyoulatershhh” in proper Stanish.

Ohhhhhh Fffffffffffffffffffffffootball!

Yesterday I made a slightly rash comment to provide something a little lighter as my next blog post. Little was I to know that the bloody English national football team were going to disgrace themselves against the mighty Croatia at the home of football. So, politics this is not, it’s far more serious than that.

So, Euro 2008 will be played in my current place of residence without the country of my birth actually taking part. In fact you could even stretch it a little and suggest that come June next year I will be one of the top English footballers in Austria. Anyway, why oh why have we failed once more? The manager? Yes he has a poor record, no pedigree to speak of, a fairly tenuous grasp of any tactics that don’t require throwing on 3 strikers in the last 15 minutes when you are already 3 goals down, and he looks a little bit like the fella who plays Ken Barlow on Coronation Street. But is it all his fault? Of course not, these are professional footballers we are talking about, paid millions a year because they are the best we have to offer. I would like to think that my mum could be in charge for a game or two and drag a performance out of them. So we can blame the players then, certainly they are the ones who are out there for 90 minutes failing to beat the opposition. And supposedly this is the best crop of players we have had for ages (I assume that whoever said that assumes we can play all three of our goalkeepers at once). So let’s blame the players then, they lack passion, they lack pride, they lack direction, and with Michael Owen displaying the qualities of porcelain china recently, they lack a goal scorer. I disagree, no matter what the press say, no matter what me and my mates say, ask anyone to pick the best 11 England players and the team would not change by much. Admittedly in my team anyone named Neville, or friends with anyone named Neville, would not be picked, but football has nothing to do with that.

So, if it ain’t the manager, and it ain’t the players, who is to blame? Rupert Bloody Murdoch, that’s who.

Ten years ago the premier league’s 20 clubs had 87 foreign born players between them, I know, I counted at the time for an essay I wrote. Today the top four teams in England have 76 foreign born players between them. Notice something?

I don’t blame the players for one second, nor am I trying to suggest that they are directly affecting the current national team. The players playing in the English National Team are good players, many of them could play for other national teams based on merit. But here is the problem.

10 years ago, and in fact way before that, successful British players often opted for a spell in a foreign league, lured no doubt by the warmer climates, the god like status afforded to them, and to a lesser degree, the cash on offer for a short contract. Glenn Hoddle, Gazza, Kevin Keegan, Ian Rush, Mark Hughes, Chris Waddle, Luther Blissett and many more all tried their hand abroad. With the notable exceptions of the four English players who have played for Real Madrid in the last 5 years, it is becoming increasingly rare for our players to leave the island. The reason is simple, the money on offer, the money that brings all the foreigners to play over here, is far better than in any other league in the world. Yes the foreign players who come to play in the premier league are taking places that English players could otherwise take, I understand and appreciate that fact, but the English players who do make it and rise through the ranks are arguably better players for it. The key is the experience of playing solely in the premier league is only beneficial to the foreigners.

Think about it. The premier league is often billed as the best league in the world. It isn’t, but it is the most exciting to watch because the game is played in a traditional, British manner. High tempo, tough tackling, very direct and lots of goals. For Spaniards and Italians who are used to more technical football, with a slower build up and more emphasis on technique, it must be quite a shock. But, if you are already blessed with great technique and tactical awareness, and then you learn to play in the Premier League, then you instantly become a more versatile and ultimately successful player. If however, you learn your trade in the youth team of an English top flight club, and stay there your entire career, every now and then you are going to get caught out and embarrassed.

The money in the premier league is astronomical, not just the wages of the players but the TV revenue, the merchandising, the ticket sales everything. And it is all down to Murdoch and BSKYB. From a fan’s point of view it is brilliant obviously, 5 or 6 games a week to watch, some of the best players in the world, but it is a case of style over substance where the national team is concerned.

So the solution? Haven’t got a clue to be honest. You could start by reducing the number of teams in the league to 18 instead of 20, introduce a quota of home grown players in the squads (The EU would stop that of course), restrict the number of games shown on TV, try imposing a lay whereby reserves teams have to be entirely composed of home grown players, or even make the Carling Cup a British Only cup, with no prospect of European football for the winner, but the prospect of some British players getting valuable first team experience.

Of course, the next problem is finding a home grown manager to manage the team….there aren’t many in the Premier League to choose from for similar reasons.

Sicko vs Sarko

Well, what can I say, it has been a while! My defence? None really, laziness maybe, lack of internet access in my new flat, too many recent trips abroad? No, think I will stick with laziness, it has got me a long way so far in a little over 25 years!

Ok, weird title this time I suppose, unless you have already worked it out of course in which case it is probably already looking a little mundane and old fashioned.

So, let’s start with Sicko, the documentary film about the US health system. I saw it a couple of weeks ago here in snowy Vienna, and on the whole I enjoyed it thoroughly. There are, however, one or two minor points I would like to make. Firstly, about an hour into the film, after the footage of the man sewing his own knee back together, and the story of the fella who lost his fingers in an accident and could only afford to have one put back on, the film heads over the water to Europe to do a little bit of compare and contrast. Now, obviously Mr Moore is allowed a little bit of artistic licence to exaggerate slightly to prove a point, I don’t have a problem with that, but to suggest that the NHS is some kind of medical Utopia is going a little bit too far in my book. Yes it is free, yes doctors do earn a pretty decent salary and yes medicines are relatively cheap when prescribed by a doctor. However, there was no mention of the waiting lists, or the waiting rooms in casualty for that matter, or the shortage of beds, the shortage of staff, or the Superbugs that seemingly render most visits to a hospital more dangerous than an auditioning to be a blind knife throwers assistant. Of course, to mention such things would somewhat take the gloss off the rosy picture he is trying to paint. And we wouldn’t want that in a documentary would we?

Then there is France, a country with a equally wonderful health system, where the staff speak better English than the fat American asking the questions, and where the state provides child care, lengthy maternity leave and someone who can cook you carrot soup of an evening should you desire. Why you would want carrot soup I’m not quite sure. Again, having lived in France I know that it is not quite as rosy as he makes out, but why let the truth get in the way of a good documentary! (Notice I haven’t even mentioned his little trip to Cuba) The problem for me is that what is obviously a very noble aim, i.e. to highlight the current problems with the Healthcare system, the whole thing lacks credibility due to his methods, and his selective use of the facts. Add to that that he doesn’t even mention the taxation levels in the UK or France which pay for the system and I left the cinema feeling a little bit let down. There wasn’t even any sensible alternative suggested. That brings me nicely onto the second part of today’s post, namely Monsieur Nicolas Sarkozy, Président de la République!

Now, I had the good/bad fortune to be in Paris last week. Good, because I love Paris. Bad, because it felt like the whole bloody country was on strike. In reality it wasn’t, only the train companies were striking (well there were some others but they didn’t really affect me at the time). The reason they are on strike is to do with pensions, and how long they will have to contribute to the state run scheme before retiring. For most people it is 40 years, but for the so-called “Special Regimes” it is 37,5 years. Sarkozy wants to make it 40.

The first thing I should point out is that one of the things I like most about France, apart from the food, the women, beaches, the wine, the pastis and the lifestyle, is the level of political engagement present in the average French person. As such, there is a very strong and deep rooted social movement that regularly leads to demonstrations, marches, and frequently strikes. I think it is brilliant that the people have so much interest and power, so much so in fact that the government is scared of the people. In the UK if the government said “right, from now on you all have to work 4 years longer, pay double the taxes and take less holiday” sure we would complain, and grumble, and threaten all sorts of things, but ultimately we would just get on with it. Not so in France. This has been going on for hundreds of years in France, and part of me hopes it will continue. At the same time, I understand that if it does continue it spells bad new for the country as a whole.

Strikes are a regular occurrence, but this one is a little bit different. Sarkozy won the election with a very clear message – France has to change in order to survive. At the time I likened the situation in France to that in the UK in the late 70s – high unemployment, social unrest, strong unions and protectionist policies that were crippling competition. Sarko said that this would stop, and he would push through the necessary reforms. So, he told us what he was going to do, and the French people said a fairly resounding “Oui”. Then he started to do it, and there was much waving of hands, a sharp intake of breath, and a fairly clear “Non”. And now, not only are the trains on strike, but every bugger else too. Judges, teachers, baggage handlers, post men, you name it, they are currently sitting at home with their feet up.

The question is how long will Sarko hold out? In 1995 Chirac lasted three weeks before giving in, if Sarkozy is serious about changing the country it could take a lot longer than that. Personally, I think he will compromise sooner rather than later, and lose a lot of credibility along the way. In the meantime, good luck to all my French friends!

Something lighter next time, I promise.

Au Revoir!

A Short History of Nearly Everything

Now, Science is not one of my strong points, I feel I need to state that at the beginning. I am never going to be found on Mastermind answering questions about Quantum Mechanics, Newtonian Physics or anything similar. No, Science to me is very much like Tequila. Something I enjoy every now and then, it always seems like a good idea at the time, but invariably I end up with my head in my hands with my brain playing its own little Keith Moon drum solo between my ears. I could put this down to many things really I suppose. I could claim that I have more artistic leanings, or that I prefer to channel my energies into expanding other areas of my (lack of) knowledge. But the real reason, in my head at least, is the fault of a Northern Irish supply teacher we had at school for three weeks during the early days of our GCSEs. At the end of the first lesson he told us to go away and read the section in the text book concerning “Paarr”, as there would be a test the following week. I am a competitive bugger by nature, so this, I thought, would be right up my alley. Now, being the studious type I spent a fair amount of time looking through the book for the right bit, however, I couldn’t find it. Days and nights I spent reading, researching, trying desperately in vain to find out something about the elusive “Paarr”. I assumed it must be some kind of law of Physics, but more than that I had no idea.

I was wrong, obviously.

The teacher meant “Power”, I had just failed to decipher his accent. I decided there and then that Physics wasn’t for me.

So, it will probably come as a bit of a surprise to see that the subject of this little Book review is Bill Bryson’s “A Short History of Nearly Everything”. Bryson, as I am sure you know, is famous for his travel writing. He has written books about Europe, the USA, the UK, Australia, Africa and a few others besides, and all are very, very good. This book, in terms of subject matter, is just about as far removed from his comfort zone as possible. Essentially, it is a history of scientific progress and achievement, detailing how we know what we know, how it is that we came to know it, and now that we know it, what else is there to know. Confused? Read the book, it is brilliant, and not at all confusing. All the major discoveries are covered obviously, but the most interesting, and indeed entertaining parts, are the stories behind the discoveries. For example Darwin, the godfather of evolution (think of him as a bookish James Brown), spent 5 years sailing the world and collecting thousands of specimens that would later contribute to his ground breaking theory. He did this on a ship called Beagle, and was chosen to accompany the captain because the captain liked the shape of his nose. Or Sir Isaac Newton, who pushed a needle normally used for mending shoe leather between his eyeball and eye socket “just to see what would happen” – amazingly, nothing! Evidently, in order to make a scientific discovery of any merit it helps to be stark raving mad. There are hundreds of anecdotes of famous and not so famous, figures from history who offer undeniable proof that the line between genius and nutter is very, very thin. And of course, this being Bryson, you will find yourself laughing regularly.

Laughter and science are not the most likely bed partners I admit, but what helps is that Bryson is no scientist. In his own words he realised that he didn’t really know much about the world around him, so he decided to do a bit of reading. Three years later it seems he has worked his way through most of the books, articles and journals of merit, and produced essentially a concise summary for us to enjoy. The most remarkable thing is that while summarising what are undoubtedly fiendishly difficult sources to understand, he has managed to make his book accessible to pretty much everyone. Of course there are some parts that delve a little deeper than others into the actual science, but even these left my head mercilessly ache free. In general it is simple, concise, and most of all riveting. This is the history of the Earth as we know it after all, if that doesn’t interest you maybe you should leave the planet!

So, my advice would be to buy it, and then read it. Obviously.

Bye for now

Let's not beat around the...

A while ago I wrote a piece about the American Electoral System, and how in my view it challenged the very principles of democracy. I also said that I was going to write something about the current President of the United States, George W Bush.

I intended to right a fairly impartial and balanced piece, because let’s be honest, taking the piss out of Bush would be too easy. The real challenge would be to find something good to say about the man. I then downgraded my ambitions slightly, as finding something good to say was proving tricky. I started to sympathise with him a bit, and this is how the article went…


Terrorism, in any form, is completely unjustifiable. Killing innocent people is an act of pure cowardice. Evidently I am not the only person who thinks like this, for the last 6 years it seems that half the world has been waging a so-called War on Terror. The comedian Mark Thomas raised an interesting point about this war, basically explaining that “terror” is a concept, and therefore not exactly the best choice as a target, rather like waging a war on time. It is a concept that is hardly new either; it is the way all civilisations have been formed. The Vikings, Romans, Spartans all conquered through the use of terror. And following the French Revolution, Maximillien Isodore de Robespierre, who not only had a ludicrous name, but also a plan to control France and the unruly masses, using his Politique de Terreur. Thankfully, like most would-be dictators, he let the power go to his head, which he ultimately lost.

Terrorism is the path of the minority, thankfully, and until recently so called acts of terrorism were restricted to certain areas in the world: Northern Ireland, the Middle East, specific parts of Africa, and occasionally a city in the UK or the USA. All that changed however following the attack on the World Trade Centre. It now seems that everywhere is fair game; Madrid, London, Bali, even my current “home” city was gripped by terrorist fears last week when what the press love to call “a suspect package” was discovered outside the parliament building (Update, I wrote that about 2 months ago, but last week a man was arrested fro entering the American Embassy with a home made bomb in his rucksack) I should point out that Austria has opted for neutrality in all conflicts in the last 60 years. Yes, before that it wasn’t quite so neutral, and it has the occasional flirtation with extreme politics, but still! The thing I am getting at though really is that in countries dominated by terrorism, the feeling of helplessness that has spread to the Western World in recent years is a way of life. In many of these countries the ruling powers are either powerless to help, or else actively encourage such acts for their own political, and economic gains….Imagine waking up each day in a country ruled by the unelected son of an oil billionaire, knowing that at any moment terror could strike. That leads me nicely on to the topic of today’s post, George W Bush.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I feel a touch sorry for Old Dubya. Less than a year after been “elected” thanks to the wonderfully undemocratic Electoral College system, he finds himself, and his country, under attack. Worse still, at the time he was reading to first school children, which given his tenuous grasp on the English language, seems quite amusing to me. Then one of his aides leant over and whispered in his ear that a plane had hit the World Trade Centre. He was heavily criticised for not reacting, but to be honest, I can hardly blame him. The simple truth is that although in name and title he is the President of the United States of America, it is the people around him who pull the strings. This was most evident at the time with the likes of Powell, Rumsfeld and Rice seemingly calling the shots, while George was left to handle the press in his own inimitable way.

Let’s be honest here, George W Bush is not an intelligent man. Nor is he a great politician. He needs people around him to prop him up, point him in the right direction, and, where necessary, take the bullet for their president (compare his cabinet of 2002 and that of 2007 and you will see what I mean). Add to this his various addictions in the past, alleged draft dodging, failure as a business man and the fact that until he became President he had never visited Europe, his election, on two separate occasions remember, is even more unbelievable. He has a famous name, and deep pockets for a campaign. And crucially, he appeals to the 25% of the US population who visit church at least once a week. This is another point that I find hard to accept as democratic, actively using religion and the church as an election tool. In my understanding of democracy, and we invented it so obviously I am right….the church and the state should be separate. Blair and Brown are both Christians, yet you wouldn’t necessarily know it.

Anyway, back to the point. Bush has presided over 7 years of incompetence, mendacity and arrogance; appointing himself as judge and jury on what is right and wrong and consequently leading his country into an illegal war, and I for one can’t wait to see the back of him. However, the problem is not Bush, the problem is America. (By this stage I was really struggling and switched my focus!!)


….Now, back to the present day (October 5th for the record). I reread this piece yesterday and decided to revive it. I didn’t post it in the first place because (a) it didn’t really go anywhere and (b) I was a little bit sick of ranting about America.

However, Mr Bush, the original topic of the article, forced my hand somewhat yesterday.

George Bush exercised his right to Veto a bill passed by congress yesterday, for only the 4th time in his 7 year presidency. The bill he vetoed was a request to increase funding for a State funded healthcare system for children. It would have increased the number of children covered by the scheme from 6.6M to 10M. The total increase in funding required was $35bn.
And the Bill proposed that this figure be covered by an increase in tax on tobacco.

With me so far? Increase tax on tobacco; give the money to sick children, simple right?

Simple, but in the eyes of a certain George W Bush, not something the government wants to do. Why? Because, apparently it is taking the healthcare system in the wrong direction. How in the world can helping sick children be the wrong direction?

Like I said, I originally wanted to be impartial, and fair, and lots of other nice sounding adjectives when writing this. But frankly, if Bush is of the opinion that increasing funding for sick children is the wrong direction for his country then he deserves all the criticism he gets, and then some. I should point out that while turning down this particular request for funding, he had no problems passing a request for a further $147bn to fund the war next year. Evidently Iraq is the right direction for his country.

There’s a book by DBC Pierre that won the booker prize a couple of years ago. The main Character is called Vernon G Little, and throughout the book the “G” becomes various different things. Gregory, Greedy, God etc. That got me thinking about George W Bush. George Wanker Bush, anyone?

Bye y'all.

MetaPost

Ok, for those of you who understand the title, please get out more.
Basically, just to say i am still here, i will be upating shortly, and apologies for the delay but I've been busy!

So, till tomorrow. or maybe the day after.
T

Forza Italia!

Two hours waiting for my bag to make its way, somewhat reluctantly it seemed, from the plane which had brought me to Rome to the carousel where I had patiently been waiting. Well, actually that is not strictly true; when it finally did arrive it was on an altogether different carousel. And this, might I add, was in Leonardo Da Vinci airport. I imagine that old Leonardo wouldn’t be too pleased to put his name to such poor service were he alive today. The reason it took so long for my bag, and indeed the bags of a handful of fellow travellers, to arrive, may go someway to explaining why Rome used to be the capital of the world, and is now just another European city. I was told, and this is as close to a direct quote as my memory will allow, that “Is Friday, busy day. August, many people travel” Call me naïve about the running of an airport, but surely travellers are expected? To be fair to the Italians though, they didn’t lose my bag – look and learn Manchester. Part of me couldn’t help but feel that Rome hadn’t progressed much over the last couple of Millennia; Viaducts and central heating to this - no wonder the empire crumbled! Anyway, moving on to the city itself. Rome, once the centre of the world, the heart of one of the world’s greatest civilisations, the home of the Pope (more or less) and the destination for my second visit to Italy.

A running theme of my various experiences of my travels is that first impressions are usually best ignored. So, airport ineptitude forgotten I checked in to my hotel and laid my weary head to rest. I will refrain from giving you a blow by blow account of my stay, it follows the well trodden tourist path of many a traveller after all (Coliseum, Forum, Palatine Hill, Pantheon, Vatican etc etc), but I will say this: I wish I could have seen it 2000 years ago. Modern day Rome was a huge disappointment to me, which I’m sure sounds ludicrous. But it was. I think living in Vienna has raised my expectations somewhat, but I expected wide, sweeping boulevards, imposing government buildings, statues on every street corner, amorous couples on scooters and Dean Martin busking in the street. What I found instead was a muddle of old roman buildings, decaying apartment blocks, litter strewn streets and seemingly the whole of France. Admittedly the last one was my fault for visiting in August, when the French (well, the loud annoying ones anyway) go on holiday. Don’t get me wrong, the Roman buildings, monuments and ruins are truly impressive, particularly the Pantheon, but somehow something was missing. It just seems as if the city thinks that because it was the centre of the world two thousand years ago it doesn’t have to do anything else ever again. It has become complacent almost.

Take the Roman ruins for example. The Roman Forum is the site of the original city centre, where all the trade took place, where the temple was, where all the important people resided. Today, save for the temple and a few pillars it is little more than a couple of square miles of ruins. Fair enough, two thousand years is a long time, but no effort has been made to explain what used to be there, no descriptions, no photographic recreations, nothing. You could just wander through and have no idea of the importance the site once held. Unless, like me, you have a decent guide book which fills in all the gaps. It’s the same at the Circus Maximus, the site of numerous chariot races at the height of the Empire. The venue could hold a quarter of a million people in the valley between two of Rome’s seven hills. Now it is little more than waste land, only the bowl like shape of the land giving any hint of its former glories. Incidentally a main road now runs parallel to the Circus Maximus, and I have a sneaky suspicion that the locals pretend they are on a chariot as they hurtle along the cobbled street. Either that, or a touch too much Grappa at lunchtime. I suppose what I’m getting at is that a lot more could be made of these historic sites, because currently, unless you are a bit of a history buff, a lot of the impact is lost as you wander around. Apparently plans are afoot to link all the ancient sites in some kind of Roman Experience, incorporating sites currently under excavation. However, these plans have been kicking around for some time, and you know, its Friday, or August, and many people travel...

Oh, I just realised I didn’t really mention the Pantheon properly. Quite an oversight really. Originally conceived and built in around 27BC the Pantheon was rebuilt in 125AD by Emperor Hadrian, the same bloke who tried in vain to keep the Scots out of England. Essentially the Pantheon is a dome shaped temple, over 40m high, with a circular opening in the roof some 9m across to allow the sunlight to illuminate the walls all day long. Words don’t really do it much justice, nor does the McDonalds opposite the entrance, but it is definitely worth a visit. While I’m feeling positive about Rome I should also mention the Fontana di Trevi, which is hidden away from most of the main sites. I’m no expert on architecture, but my trusty guidebook informs me that the fountain is in the baroque style. I won’t pretend to understand that, but it’s an impressive piece of work. It was constructed on an otherwise bland façade of the Palazzo Poli, and seems to have burst form the wall. The fountain is adorned with statues of various mythical beings, including rather predictably a statue of Neptune, the God of the Sea. There is a tale that if you throw a coin into the fountain you will guarantee your return to Rome, two coins will guarantee a marriage, and three a divorce. Despite being a Yorkshire man I managed to part with a coin, and then returned later that night to retrieve it and a few others. I’m joking of course. Though apparently each day 3000€ lands in the water, so it might not be a bad idea.

The biggest disappointment though was the general state of the buildings, streets and most notably the various squares for which Rome is famous. I appreciate that much of the city is older than my poor northern brain can fathom, and that over the years time takes its toll and nothing remains the same. However, a little bit of effort, to remove the graffiti, to render the façades of certain buildings or to improve the state of the roads, doesn’t seem too much to ask. You could even use the money from the fountain! It sounds like I’m ranting here, and maybe I am, but Rome is essentially the city that gave birth to the modern world as we know it, and I expected a little bit more. Don’t get me wrong, in many ways it is a fabulous city, but it just seems to have a lazy feel about it, a kind of air of unfounded seniority based on past glories. Or maybe my expectations were too high?

Florence on the other hand, is everything I hoped it would be. Narrow alleyways, wide open squares lined with cafés and a ridiculously large cathedral that could conceivably house the entire population of the town. I liked everything about Florence, with one exception. The Uffizi Gallery. Supposedly it houses one of the world’s finest collections of art. Hmmmmm. I for one was less than convinced. There are only so many pictures of “Madonna with Child” that you can look at, and half of the rooms were closed. I admit though that my experience may have been tainted by an argument with a stupid French woman in the queue outside the museum. She seemed to take exception to me, and I might add quite a few other people, pointing out that the long line of people randomly waiting outside the museum in an orderly fashion were queuing to get in, and had been doing so for a number of hours. She was evidently under the impression that you could just loiter near the door and walk in. Not for the first time in my life, and probably not for the last, I took it upon myself to underline my belief that I was right with a well balanced and thought provoking argument, with only minimal use of some of my favourite French words. On the other hand it might just be that I’m not much of an art lover at the best of times. Back to Florence, there’s not much to dislike about the place at all really; not too busy, most of the centre is closed to traffic (except those strange little 3-wheeled vans that look like an inside out robin reliant), plenty to do, good ice cream the list goes on. So, it was with a heavy heart, and heavier rucksack, that I made my way to the train station to board a train for Milan.
Just a little aside given my previous comments on all things transport related in mainland Europe, when I bought my ticket I had three options, ranging from the mildly expensive yet quick Eurocity Train to the cheap but slow Regionale Train. How come in England everything is slow and expensive? A three and a half hour train journey from Florence to Milan cost me about 18 quid, booked the day before I travelled. In England that would probably get me from Leeds to York.

The Italians could teach the Slovaks a thing or two about how to build a train station, and in Milan’s case, about how to close most of it down for refurbishment. The Milanese Underground though, like its Roman counterpart, is not quite so impressive. It reminded me of the many videos I saw in German classes at school about the fall of the Wall. Descending the escalators into the underground is like going back in time, and the trains themselves have a similar feel. I think it’s partly that all the seats are aligned down either side, so you sit facing your fellow travellers, and partly to do with the bars over the windows, presumably to prevent anybody from “accidentally” falling out. Altogether a rather strange experience. Cheap though, 1€ for a single journey, which puts the London Underground to shame.

I liked Milan immediately, there were the wide, sweeping boulevards I had expected in Rome, young couples on scooters everywhere I looked, a cathedral even more ridiculous in size than the one in Florence, and when I arrived on a Friday evening the streets were quiet, the town was peaceful and strolling around humming Volare to myself was an altogether pleasant experience. I realised later that most of the population were at the nearby San Siro stadium watching AC Milan take on local-ish rivals Juventus, which probably explained the quiet streets. Oh, and of course it was still August, and a Friday, so everyone else was probably waiting for their luggage in Rome.

While I remember, the toilets in Italy are worth a mention too. If you have ever been to France you will know what is coming here. It is fairly common to find what the French call “Toilettes Turcs” in many cafes and bars. In layman’s terms, a Toilette Turc is little more than a hole in the ground. No matter how long I spend abroad I think it is one thing that will always surprise and confuse me. What is wrong with a standard toilet? I can only imagine how American or Japanese tourists react (because I have never been to the toilet with them obviously). It also reminds me of a little joke a Swiss person once told me about the French. Why do the French say Les Toilettes, whereas the Swiss say La Toilette? Because in France you have to go to a few before you find a clean one!


More to come shortly…..

Ciao for now

And yet more books....

The Runaway Jury, John Grisham.

Now, obviously this is a fairly old book, and for those who have read my review of Sam Bourne’s The Righteous Men, you may be a little surprised to see it on my list. But, and it’s a fairly big but, Grisham is the original master of the thriller genre in many ways, particularly all things legal. That said however, of the dozen or so books that he has written, there are only a couple of really good ones in my opinion. The Runaway Jury in one of those, along with the first Grisham book I read, The Partner. I remember being given The Partner when I was in my teens (16ish I’d guess) and thinking that it sounded dull. Then I read a few pages and was hooked. For me that is always the acid test, particularly for a book in the “thriller” genre. Grisham is at times brilliant at setting his pace, keeping you guessing, turning the pages….but like I said I think a lot of his books are decidedly average, especially the most recent ones.
Form the books on my list it is fairly obvious I’m not a huge reader of thrillers, but I used to be, and I first read The Runaway Jury when I was about 17, then decided to reread it just after Christmas. For those who haven’t read it, or seen the horrendous film version (Though John Cusack is excellent as always) the book is about a young guy called Nicolas Easter, who is part of the jury in a landmark trial against a tobacco company. Amazingly in the film they changed this to a gun company, evidently under severe pressure from the Tobacco industry which pumps millions into Hollywood each year. Anyway, one of the most interesting things about the book is the legal detail that Grisham displays, he was a lawyer himself in a previous life. This is particularly evident during the opening chapters which concern the jury selection.
The book follows true thriller format, twisting and turning regularly, and like I said, wouldn’t normally appeal to me. But this is one of maybe three Grisham books I would recommend, along with The Partner and A Time To Kill. I don’t want to talk about the plot anymore because I don’t want to spoil it, suffice to say this will keep you turning the pages while you lie in the sun on a beach somewhere this summer.


The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini

I’m a bit torn with this one to be honest. For ages it sat on my bookcase at home and I didn’t read it, I kept telling myself it wasn’t my kind of book. Then when I moved to Vienna I brought it with me, and started reading it on the plane. In many ways I was right; it isn’t really my kind of book. I know that sentence means little and sounds frankly ridiculous, but what I’m trying to say is that my first impression was that it sounded a little bit contrived to me, a little bit too much like the blurb for a book written with the hope of becoming a Hollywood film. Don’t get me wrong, it is incredibly well written for the most part, and the imagery conjured of Afghanistan prior to the Russian invasion in the late 70s is both poignant and beautiful, but throughout I was waiting for the Hollywood moment, which duly arrives around three quarters of the way through. Again, I’m not going to say too much because ultimately it is a good book, and one I would recommend, but with a note of caution. In a nutshell it is the story of a rich Afghan boy and his childhood in Kabul, told by the adult the boy became. My problem is that we know early on that the narrator now lives in the states, which means the book is bound to shift there at one point. I would have been happier somehow had the story stayed in Afghanistan, although that would have lead to a couple of major plot changes! Like I said it all felt to contrived, leading up to a point which will look great on the big screen…..or maybe I’m just a cynic…who knows.
This is why I was reluctant to write these reviews really; maybe everyone else will love this book and think it a masterpiece? Maybe I’m alone in thinking it’s a bit formulaic and contrived? Answers on a postcard please…..


ok, enough for now!

Anymore for anymore...?

Next up, Not Fade Away, by Jim Dodge.

Jim Dodge is something of an enigma in Literary circles; the rarity of his public appearances only surpassed by the rarity of his publications. In total, over the last 30 odd years he has released two books, a novella and a collection of poetry, all have received lavish praise from critics and readers alike. Yet you have probably never heard of him. I hadn’t either until about a year ago when I bought a copy of his other book, Stone Junction. Again it’s difficult to put any kind of label on his work, which is how I like it! Not Fade Away is a road story, kind of Easy Rider with fewer hippies, no motorbikes and late 50s rock music. So not really much like Easy Rider. The main character is on a mission to drive a shining new Cadillac across the states to find the place where the Big Bopper is buried, and deliver the car as a present. On the way he picks up a variety of hitchhikers, salesmen, scientists and psychos, who each influence his journey in some way. Sounds weird, and it is a bit. But like Craig Clevenger there is something in the author’s turn of phrase, the way he makes banal words dance of the page that is fascinating. If you have to choose between Not Fade Away and Stone Junction, I’d say go for the latter. Not that this is by any means a bad book, it really isn’t, but Stone Junction is one of the best books I have ever read, from the very first page to the last.



The Underground Man, by Mick Jackson.
I have just finished this earlier this week, and it is unbelievably good. Unusual, witty, original, sad, and an almost perfect ending, which I won’t spoil. It is the story of an eccentric Duke in the early part of the 20th Century. The Duke owns a vast estate somewhere in Nottinghamshire, where he lives alone, but for his serving staff. Somewhat advanced in years, it is fair to say that the Duke’s mind is not what it once was, and over the course of the book his descent into madness gathers pace, getting funnier along the way. The title refers to one of the Duke’s many follies, namely the building of tunnels from his house to the edge of his estate, 8 in total, spreading like the spokes of a wheel, and as time passes he spends more and more time in the tunnels, exploring, hiding and mostly thinking. It is written in the style of a Journal, so the accounts we read are from the pen of the Duke himself, carefully cataloguing his own mental demise, though of course he is blissfully unaware of his failing faculties.
Apparently it was nominated for the Booker Prize about 9 years ago, but didn’t win. If anything that should encourage you, as the Booker Prize winners I have read have been terrible, most notably Vernon God Little by DBC Pierre.
So, to sum up, a brilliant book that had me laughing out loud frequently, grimacing in pain at one particular episode of the Duke’s madness, and smiling triumphantly at the end! Read it!

Books Books Books

Right, enough politics and anti-Americanism for now, though i fear there may be plenty more in the future! I have decided, with a little prompting, to write a few reviews of the books I have read this year, which are listed at the bottom of this page. It was pointed out that although jolly nice of me to share the titles of the books, it would perhaps be better to also say whether I had enjoyed them. Fair enough thought I, but at the same time I can’t help feeling a little uneasy about it. I’m a great believer in making up your own mind about something, particularly where art is concerned, and I don’t think it is really my place to pass judgement. However, it was my mother who asked, and she is a fairly formidable woman, particularly after a glass or two of wine, so I thought I had better just get on with it really.


Before we begin though I should point out that the reviews that will appear over the coming weeks and months are unlikely to be the kind you read in the Sunday papers; although prone to the occasional bout of self indulgent use of flowery prose myself, I can’t bear the pretentious nature of so called critics who write in the press. I don’t just mean literary critics, film, restaurant, music, it’s all the same. So, not for the first time, I aim to be different.

Also, the reviews will be in no particular order, although if it helps the list at the bottom is, with the title at the top being the most recent.

I shall begin with The Righteous Men, by Sam Bourne.

In a word, rubbish. Ha, this is easier than I thought.
Basically the story of a New York journalist (they seem to be the staple protagonist among crime writers, is there really so little news to report in the Big Apple?) who’s wife, or fiancé or something, is kidnapped. Unfortunately for our intrepid reporter he was away at the time, “investigating” a mysterious murder in some far flung corner of the USA. Amazingly, the mysterious murder and the kidnapping of his wife are connected. Imagine the likelihood of that! So, needless to say, our reporter begins to investigate harder, digging for the truth that can save his, yawn, wife. Now, this may not come as a surprise, but given the success of Dan Brown in recent years, Mr Bourne (Dan Brown / Sam Bourne…subtle) bases his story around religion, namely Judaism. Which is not, as I once thought, the religion of Judo black belts.
I read this book in a hotel room in Manchester earlier this year, it was raining outside (for a change) and I decided to stay in and read. In hindsight, I should have braved the weather.

Like I said, this is just my opinion. I daresay if you are planning a little spot of lying on a beach somewhere hot for a week or two this summer, this book may be right up your alley. Otherwise, avoid it.
By the way Sam Bourne is the nom de plume of a journalist. Oh, how original.


Next up, The Pilo Family Circus, by Will Elliott.

It is fairly easy to label The Righteous Men as your typical beach holiday book. A thriller by numbers offering for the masses. Nothing wrong with that by the way, and I’m sure old Mr Bourne is raking it in. This book, on the other hand, is a touch more difficult to put in a particular genre. Part macabre mystery, part social satire, part circus story, part noir fiction. Hmmmmm. I have to admit I bought this book because, and it pains me to say it, I liked the cover. I know I know, how very shallow of me. That’s like buying a Picasso because you like the frame. Not that I could afford a Picasso. Or even a decent looking frame for that matter. Anyway, I bought it, started reading it, and soon began to wonder if maybe in the future judging a book by its cover may not be such a great idea. However, the more I read the more I wanted to read. It’s the story of a guy called Jamie who is working some dead-end job in Sydney, or Melbourne I can’t remember, and one night he is walking home and he stumbles across three psychotic clowns. Well, he thinks nothing of it till he gets a little note left on his pillow inviting him to audition to join the circus. I say invite, but it’s more a threat than anything. And shortly afterwards his house is more or less destroyed by the clowns. You see this is no ordinary circus; it’s some kind of parallel world circus for lost souls, where the magic is very real. And ever so slightly dangerous, particularly for the visitors.
To say anymore would give too much away, and I really don’t want to have to explain myself to Gonko….



Seen as I am on something of a role, how about another review for luck?
Dermaphoria by Craig Clevenger. This is his second book, the other being The Contortionist’s Handbook, which I have also read.
In terms of genre I suppose this would be lumped in the noir fiction category, although that really doesn’t do it any justice. It’s hardly Chandler. Clevenger’s use of description is utterly mesmerising, he just seems to have this ability to suck you in to his story and play around with your senses somehow. It is not the kind of book you can sit and read in one session, the story is too fragmented (deliberately) and the style too jolting, but it is a brilliant book. It tells the story of a guy who awakes from a drug induced coma with little recollection of who he is, or how he got there. The police help him with the basics, but they are more interested in the bits he can’t remember. The content of the chapters flits between the present and the past he can’t remember, until at some stage the two blend to form the whole story. He seems to have a thing for people who lack identity; The Contortionists Handbook is about a guy who constantly changes his identity to stay off the social register. Both books are highly original, and definitely worth a read in my opinion. Not bad eh, two reviews for the bargain price of one there.

Fear not dear reader(s) more will follow shortly!

“I like to be in America, everything free in America!”

Not my words obviously, but I thought it was better than quoting Razorlight. That particular lyric also sums up what America stands for; The Land of Opportunity, The Land of Hope and Glory, The Land of the Free etc etc. Now the cynic within wants to add a couple of footnotes to those particular claims, but I will try to suppress the urge for now. I’ll be honest I’m not sure where this post is going really, I’ve been wanting to write something about the Good Ol’ US of A for a while, without really knowing what. So, bear with me.

Firstly, I have never been to America. Indeed, I am yet to leave Europe. However, why should that stop me sharing my opinion?! There are a few things I want to talk about really, Gun culture being one, the political system and forthcoming election, and George Bush.

Let’s start with the Gun Culture. I remember about 8 weeks ago, when the most recent University shooting took place, I really wanted to write something but never really got round to it. Initially the first reports I read and saw on the news ran the headlines about the tragedy being linked to the ever increasing gun problem within the USA. But very quickly the emphasis of the reports changed, focussing instead on alleged police incompetence for failing to evacuate the campus after the initial shooting. If you remember the Student then returned some 45 minutes later and killed a dozen or more people.

I am not here to judge the actions of the police; I have no experience of such situations to be able to comment. However, I felt at the time, and still feel now, that more should have been made about the fact that a University student was able to obtain automatic weapons. This is not the first time this has happened; it is becoming sadly a rather regular occurrence in the USA. Earlier this year an Amish community was victim to a similar tragedy. The thing that annoys me most is that each time it happens the first thing we here is that “the right to bear arms is a fundamental part of our constitution”. That, in a strictly literal sense, is true. It is the Second Amendment. However, I find it hard to believe that the founding fathers imagined it being used in this way. In the USA there are more weapons in private ownership than there are people, so although it may well be part of the constitution, something doesn’t add up. How far are we to stretch the Land of the Free mantra, free to shoot whoever you want with whatever weapon you choose?

The right to bear arms is the Second Amendment of the US Constitution. In my understanding of the English language, and maybe this is where the confusion arises in the States, the word Amendment implies it wasn’t part of the initial constitution, but was added at a later date. As such, it is hardly a fundamental part of the constitution. Secondly, it is an Amendment, so, why not amend it?!


Right, politics. This is becoming a bit of a theme to this blog really isn’t it, maybe I have too much time on my hands over here! I admit that there are aspects of the American system that confuse me, some aspects that revolt me, some that make me laugh and some I just don’t understand. So, any mistakes I make here are purely the fault of the incomplete British education system, and not my own!

The American Presidency lasts for four years, with a maximum of eight years being possible. That, for a start is a bit strange in my opinion. That means that every eight years there is bound to be some kind of major regime change, which is not great for stability. Take the example of Clinton, for all his faults he presided over 8 years of sensible economic policy, only to see Dubya come along and blow an Iraq sized hole in the treasury. That Bush was even elected is another thing I don’t understand, it is all down to the Electoral College system.
As I understand it, on election day all the Americans who are slim enough to leave their house and clever enough to tick a box (around 90million) go to vote. They “choose” the candidate they want their state to vote for. Yes, you read that right. If the majority of people in Ohio vote for the Democrat candidate for example, that means that the state appointed elector is “pledged” to vote for that candidate. By the way, the “pledge” is not legally binding! In total there are 538 state appointed electors in the country. The number of electors per state is equal to the number of elected members that state has in the House of Representatives. All of which means that votes in one state could count more than in another. That is the American version of Democracy.

To illustrate just how stupid that is, take the following example.

3 million Texans vote for the Republican candidate, 2 million vote for the Democrat. So the state of Texas votes republican. Texas has 34 votes, out of the total of 538.
Over in Maine 1 million voters vote Democrat, giving them the majority. Maine has 4 votes, out of a total of 538.

So, three times as many people vote republican, but that translates to almost ten times as many of the final votes. I understand that there may be many more Texans than there are natives of Maine, but the votes for each state do not correspond directly to the population.

So, what could happen, in theory, is that one candidate could be so unpopular in 39 states that he does not win one single vote, yet scrape home with a majority of one in 11 states and be elected president. The important states are:
CaliforniaNew YorkTexasFloridaPennsylvaniaIllinoisOhioMichiganNew JerseyNorth CarolinaGeorgiaVirginia

The question that has to be asked here is this- Is it still democracy if you can lose the popular vote and still win the election? In my opinion, no. It is also worth remembering this when you listen to pro-war propaganda justifying the invasion of various countries in the hope of introducing democracy to the people. This is particularly amusing in the case of various countries in the Middle East which used to have democratically elected leaders until the post war period where the US financially backed military coups in order to guarantee favourable oil supplies and prices!

The next election is 16 months away, but already the fight has begun to win the party nomination. The candidates from both sides have been travelling across the country canvassing for support in various key states. 16 months before the actual election, there are already candidates who are dropping out of the running, some through lack of support, and some through lack of funds. Becoming President of the USA is an expensive affair; it helps to have rich friends, or rich family. If not you have to raise the funds through private sources, usually from business men in return for favours, positions in government, or presidential pardons should they end up on the wrong side of the law. We are talking about tens of millions of dollars simply to run as a candidate. Again, not my idea of democracy. Sure anyone can raise the money in theory, but it helps to have connections. As such, you don’t necessarily need brains, policies, or political experience to become President, but rather a good campaign manager, a good tailor, a private jet and a load of cash.

Like I said, its sixteen months away, but I may as well have a little look at the candidates while I’m here. And it will be funny to look back and see how bad my predictions were!

Hilary Clinton – strong favourite to win the Democratic Candidacy, obvious advantage that Old Bill was much loved, and she is highly regarded in the Senate. On the downside, she hasn’t got Bill’s charisma, cant play the sax and I’m not sure she likes cigars. It would be a huge occasion if she became the first female president, and maybe that is what the country needs.

Barak Obama – Not too far behind Hilary at the moment, but strangely struggling in the South, where he expected to do well. His policies are taking shape, he has raised the most cash, though he is a tad opportunistic and jumps on bandwagons fairly quickly, but he is a new kind of politician in the States, young, energetic and potentially the first black president. Again, it would be a huge change.

Rudolph Giuliani – Republican front runner, strong support in Republican heartlands, but little chance anywhere else. He’s a brash New Yorker with Italian roots, hardly President material, or is he? Little opposition in the Republican Party so should gain the vote to run.

John McCain - A veteran of the Presidential race, lost the support of his campaign team, is broke, supports the war and is pushing 80. Probably has a good chance then!

There are others of course, but I think it will be a straight choice between Obama and Clinton. Personally, I’d like to see Obama win, but I think Clinton will. What odds on President Clinton and Vice President Obama I wonder? There may of course be a twist in the tale, and an independent may run and win, Michael Bloomberg has dropped hints, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see Al Gore have another pop.


Right, George Bush can wait for now, I will eventually get around to writing something about him, just not yet!

Ok, talk to you all soon!

And now for something completely different..

So, following on from three over-long posts about politics, how about something a little bit more light-hearted? As part of this website I have the option to generate a report showing how much traffic my blog is attracting. I can get a regional breakdown, which shows me which cities I have readers in (Hello whoever you are in Auckland!), or a breakdown by operating system, or by browser or any number of completely useless things. Normally I don’t use it, but I logged in this week and for the first time saw I could generate a report showing me how people had found their way to my blog. Unsurprisingly, most people use a direct link from my email or whatever, and a few people have found me from within another blog, however the most interesting, and hopefully the most amusing, are the Google searches.

Now, personally I’m a fan of Google, both the search engine and many of their other products, but every now and then I wish the search was a bit better, a bit more specific somehow. And I’m fairly sure that the poor person who typed in “Midge Ure is God” and found themselves redirected to my post about misunderstanding the lyrics to “Vienna” by Ultravox, probably feels the same! I realise by the way that the chances of this happening again have just increased, so if by any chance you are a slightly strange Ultravox fan with a firm belief that Mr Ure is indeed God, well welcome, sorry to disappoint! I should add though that although ultimately annoyed at not receiving confirmation of Midge Ure’s new status as an official deity, the misdirected reader did linger for over 10 minutes, probably searching for more Ultravox posts!

I also have a reader who typed in “Who is Flash Harry?”, so it seems that I am also providing a public service. Everyday is a school day here.

Right, I’m now going to go lay in the sunshine somewhere and bake myself in the 40 degree heat.

A New Beginning for Old Europe...Part 3

Ok, deep breath, here is the third and final part of my little piece about Europe. Apologies if anyone is mad that I've stopped being random for a minute, I do have a serious side as well! In the future though rest assured I will write about unicycling penguins, electric monks and spray paint gospel. Or something. Anyway....

As discussed, Brown is not a naturally charismatic leader in the Blair mould, and is unlikely to become Head Boy of Europe. Angela Merkel on the other hand seems to be on her way to top of the class already, her only problem is that she may not be Chancellor for much longer, depending on the stability of the German Grand Coalition. So it’s there for the taking, and you can bet your bottom Euro that Sarkozy wants it. He’s ambitious where Chirac was complacent, and has the energy and charisma to win over his doubters within Europe. On the other side of the Atlantic however, he hasn’t got a prayer.

The Americans love Blair, he’s the president they always wanted but never had. Think about it, he’s intelligent, charismatic, a genuine leader with a genuine mandate to govern, and doesn’t have a chequered past or present. And he speaks English, not some made up variation laced with a southern drawl. Brown has a chance over there too, should he wish to take it. What he lacks in charisma he can make up for with his intelligence and experience. Sarkozy on the other hand, is French. And despite his love of the US and desire to succeed over there, he will always be seen as such: the Napoleon of the 21st Century. So while he may be able to unite Europe, he will need the UK to get to the States.

And what of Angela Merkel? She’s was famously referred to, in a slightly disparaging manner, by her former boss Helmut Kohl, as “the little girl”, and many thought she would struggle to make the Grand Coalition work…but, it seems the little girl has grown up. She took a leading role at the summit on climate change, was a key factor in the EU Constitution compromise (compromise being a nice word for failure) and in many respects it seems she can do no wrong. The German economy is recovering, unemployment falling (slowly) and the general consensus seems to be positive. But, German voters are notoriously fickle, though not as bad as the French. Coalitions are a common feature of German Government, usually one of the two big parties (SPD & CDU/CSU) has to side with one of the more marginal parties in order to form a government. Currently though there is a Grand Coalition in place, and the question is really whether this will last the full term, or whether it will collapse under the weight of internal opposition. So, from a purely European point of view, despite her success, Merkel may only be a temporary player.


So what does all this mean? Well, Old Europe, as it is often called, isn’t looking quite so old anymore. At various points in history the world has been dominated by various Civilisations, Empires, or more recently, Countries. The American period of dominance is on the slide, not merely economically and militarily, but the whole ideology put forward by the States has taken a battering in recent years. The smart money is on a period of Asian dominance, China, India and to a lesser extent Japan are in a position to collaborate economically to establish a dominant trading area, although to what extent they can dominate politically is difficult to say. But, for those who know me this will come as no surprise, I don’t often go for the smart bets. Currently Europe is in no position, economically or otherwise, to become a dominant world force. But, in the future….

A New Beginning for Old Europe...Part 2

Ok, this is part two (of three), so if you haven't read part one, get cracking!

Brown has had an eventful few days since he took over, car bombs in London and suspected terrorist attacks in Glasgow, hardly the best start to a new job. On the other hand he is fortunate that for the last 10 years the Conservatives have been too busy in-fighting to come up with anything remotely resembling opposition. However, that doesn’t mean he has an easy job. Yes the economy is booming. Yes the Labour party are leading the ratings. Yes his best mate is leader of the Liberal Democrats. But, in order to be successful he has to make changes for the good of the country, not just for the sake of change, otherwise state-school educated Scotsman could lose out to Eton-educated English man. For the first time since I can remember the Conservatives have an electable leader in David Cameron. I’m not saying I would vote for him, but I could. Hague and the other bald fella were awful, plain and simple. Whether Cameron has the policies to win is another question for another day, but one thing is clear, Brown is a leftie at heart, and will lean that way whether his party likes it or not. Elections in the UK are not won on the left or the right, but in the centre, that’s where Blair was clever, and the conservatives were not. If Brown does pull away from the centre with strong social rhetoric and reform (which I believe he should), well then Cameron would be a fool to stay where he is now. Anyway, like I said, that is a topic for another day.

Let’s move now to the question of Europe, and where the UK stands. Under Blair, we were right in the thick of it, every congress, summit, meeting or dinner produced a picture of Blair surrounded by the other European leaders. Brown, although a strong personality in his own right, is not that kind of leader. Does this mean we will move away from Europe? NO. In many respects we are fortunate that despite our size and reluctance to call ourselves European, the EU needs us, both financially and politically.

Gordon Brown also has the advantage that his previous post was that of Chancellor, and it is he who for the last 10 years has kept the question of Euro entry at bay. A different leader, with a different background could easily be seduced by the thought of joining the Euro Club, not so Mr Brown. Another thing in Brown’s favour is that he is not the only new kid in class. European politics has been dominated for the last decade by Blair, Chirac, Schröder and, thankfully to a lesser extent, Berlusconi. Europe now has a new look; Merkel, Sarkozy and Brown, for the next couple of years at least, will dominate. The one to keep an eye on in that list is obviously Nicolas Sarkozy, the new French President. I’ll be honest, I’m not a fan and never have been. I lived in France when he first started to get some attention, mainly for his hardline policies on crime and justice, and took an instant dislike to him. It’s not the policies I dislike specifically, it’s his “I’m right and you’re wrong” attitude. Nevertheless, I strongly believe he is the right man for the France at the moment (that is not a veiled attempt at insulting Mlle. Royal); he has recognised that unless he can reform, and reform quickly, France is in trouble. The reforms will be painful, but they need to be, in many respects France is in a similar position to the UK in the late 70s: high unemployment, social unrest (the French national sport), strong unions and a stagnant economy. However, despite this reformist zeal Sarkozy has protectionist tendencies, and if left unchecked could cause more problems than he solves. Within Europe he will look to take over Blair’s role, both as unofficial leader of the EU and the link with the USA. The first of these he will probably manage, the second will be a lot more difficult.

A New Beginning for Old Europe...Part 1

I said the other day, or week, that I was intending to share my views on the UK’s new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown. I started that, and it was an interesting read let me tell you, but I think I was been a touch narrow in my scope really. The UK is not the only country to have a new leader, and to be fair I don’t even live their anymore, so I thought I would take a more continental approach and look at Europe as a whole. By the way I heard it said recently that in Britain we view ourselves as the Continent, and the rest of Europe as the Island, can’t really argue with that! Anyway, for now I WILL write about Brown and the UK, but that, as they say, is just the beginning….

Tony Blair has been the Prime Minister of the UK for all of my adult life. I remember him being elected, I remember watching that old guy on the news with really bright shirts getting excited playing with his “swingometer”, and I remember becoming vaguely interested in politics for the first time. I am not crediting Blair with this; I think it was just coincidental timing. And now he has gone. It’s very difficult for me to judge him really, as I have nothing to compare him to. I remember John Major, I remember Margaret Thatcher, but I couldn’t tell you anything about a decision or policy or speech either of them ever made. So Blair has left the building, heading for the Middle East (and he hopes the Nobel Peace Prize) and we now have the robust figure of Gordon Brown standing outside Number 10. I think it is fair to say that we will see a number of changes over the coming years; a concentration on domestic policy, an improvement of the public services and health system, less spin and PR opportunities, and hopefully some genuine opposition from the Conservatives.

Blair’s period of office was dominated by the American lead War on Terror. I won’t criticise him for that, in many respects he had no choice but to participate, and participate fully. But his stubbornness and reluctance to listen to the people ultimately lead to his departure from office. Personally I didn’t agree with the invasion, and subsequent occupation of Iraq, but what is done is done, it is what we do now that counts. Brown, I imagine, will slowly begin to pull the troops out, despite his recent trips to Iraq and Afghanistan as part of his quest to become leader, I don’t think the climate in the Middle East suits his Scottish skin. Domestic policy, as Brown is acutely aware, is what makes or breaks a leader. This is where he will concentrate, and rightly so. The UK is economically strong, the pound is booming, and internal investment high, but socially we are in the dark ages. Our hospitals and public transport systems are a joke (unless you go private or live in London), the education system is a one-size-fits-all solution to a thousand different problems, and needs urgent overall, and both culturally and morally there is room for serious improvement. In my opinion Blair has papered over the crack somewhat on most of these points, announcing ambitious plans for city academies, and new hospitals, and then losing interest as soon as Bush called on the Bat Phone. But, if we were to believe everything he told us, we would think the UK was something close to Utopia. With Brown, I hope, we will hear the truth. For all the negative press he has received regarding his Scottish roots and dour personality, I look at it this way: I would rather have the leader of my country tell me the truth, albeit in a dry, boring manner, than be lied to by a smiling public schoolboy. I like Blair, don’t get me wrong, but after 10 years of teeth and arm waving I’m ready for a change. And I’m sure the same applies to you too, so for now, that is that. Part two will follow shortly….

If I ruled the world....

I really should avoid the supermarket….it’s becoming my muse or something!

So, following on in my egotistical reverie, here are a couple of other things I’ve noticed that I would change, given half a chance…

So you walk into a supermarket and what is the first aisle you come across? Bingo, fruit and veg. Fine, I have nothing against fruit or indeed veg, my point is this. You put your bananas and tomatoes and whatever else in your trolley or basket, happy that you at least shop healthily, even if you don’t necessarily eat the same way. Then you move on, and for the rest of the shopping trip are trying not to squash all the delicate fruit and veg with less delicate items, like tins, washing powder, wine or whatever. Why not turn the aisles round, have the heavy, ugly stuff first, and the glamorous, fragile fruit and veg at the end?! Come on you know i’m right!

Secondly, imagine you’re a bloke (hopefully for some of you that’s fairly easy) and you are out shopping with the missus. She’s off to try something on that will probably look fine but she needs at least half an hour of flattery first, so you are waiting outside the changing rooms, among all the underwear, belts and god know what other accessories women seem to buy. Why don’t shops put the men’s section near the women’s changing rooms, so that we can have a look at clothes while we wait? No matter how long I’m waiting outside the changing room the chances of me buying a bra are slim. Put some men’s shoes, or wallets, or shirts or anything, and I reckon I’d give in and buy something. Surely someone must have done this somewhere?

Or maybe it’s just me….

Right, time to go again….hasta luego

If I ruled the world...

This is the first of a new series of posts. I began with the "My thoughts on..." a while ago, and i will pick that up again shortly, either with a piece about Gordon Brown or America, haven't decided yet; and obviously there's also the series of posts about my travels, but I think for now that needs a little rest!

So, if I ruled the world...

I'm sure I'm not alone in this, but every now and then I think to myself "If I ruled the world, I would change...."

I'm not for one minute staking a claim to become king of the world or whatever (cool as it may sound), but I thought I would share a few of my random thoughts on a regularish basis with you, now that I officially have over 30 readers (according to Mr Google!)....

So, I was in the hairdresser earlier. Not literally obviously, that would be plain wrong, I only wanted a haircut, and I know for a fact that my mum reads this, so moving swiftly on.
So, I walked in, the place looked nice enough, if a tad quiet, and within a minute I was reclining into one of those seats where they wash your hair at the most unnatural angle known to man, with water that is never the right temperature even though you always say it is. Anyway, this wasn't an ordinary chair, it was a massage chair, and after a minute I ignored the cold water and long nails of the person washing my hair and started to relax.

When I awoke, I was asked to move across to the chair by the mirror, and the haircut began. Now, it was at about this time that I was asked if I want coffee. Fine, yes please, I like coffee. But I couldn’t help thinking that as far as timing goes, it could have been better. If someone is standing behind you with either scissors or a set of clippers in hand, the last thing you really want to do is lean forward and drink coffee. Particularly while wearing one of those short sleeved straight jacket numbers that hairdressers love. Also, they always put the cup just out of reach, so you can’t even subtly have a mouthful (sorry mum) on the sly. So, if I ruled the world.....hairdressers would stop to let you drink, or simply serve coffee at a better time!

Second thing I noticed, and its hardly groundbreaking, is that hairdressers the world over, well Western Europe anyway, talk like their mouths will seize up if they don't. My hairdresser today was no different, even when I told her I didn't understand her (I did, I just didn’t want to encourage her), that just set her off talking about England, and foreigners, and elephants, and nuclear fission, and the sex life of amoebas and...Well to be honest I wasn't listening so I can’t be sure what she said. But, my point is, they always ask the same questions, so if I ruled the world, everyone would be equipped with a sign for use in the hairdressers,

"No I am not going anywhere nice on holiday.
No I do not watch Big Brother.
No I do not give a shit about Paris Hilton.
No I do not want to buy any of your over priced products."

And, in my particular case today, "No, I do not want to look like a cross between Dolph Lundgren and 80s pop star Limahl, so get the scissors back out of the drawer and start again"

Bis bald....

Earth, Wind & Fire....

Not a tribute piece about the 70s funksters unfortunately, but rather an update on my rather random ability to attract freak weather/natural disasters. Admittedly that is a rather bold statement, so..... allow me to elucidate with reference to specifics....(by the way you have no idea how long i have been waiting to use that particular line!)

When i was but a wee boy of 18 I worked in France on a campsite for a summer. It was about an hour south of Bordeaux, in a village called Gastes, half a hour inland from the Atlantic coast. Now, the camp site was in the middle of Europe's biggest pine forest, near Europe's biggest Sand Dunes....in most people's minds the words "tinder box" and "fire" will be coming forth. However, being slightly naive i didn't ever consider the possibility that the camp would somehow catch fire in the middle of summer. But, rather predictably, it did. And, as i was an employee blessed with the requisite language skills, it was my job to help evacuate the camp. No problem, except it was my night off (a Sunday i think) and its fair to say that my alcohol intake that night had rendered me a fire hazard too. Anyway, long story short, not something I'm good at i know, i "survived" a forest fire.

Then, less than a year later, while living in Cologne, I was rudely awaken one morning by my wardrobe door slamming shut. Strange enough in itself, i then realised the room was shaking. And i was pretty sure i hadn't had a drink the night before. Anyway, half asleep i thought nothing of it until later that day i heard that an earthquake had hit in Holland about 70miles away, measuring about 4 on the old Richter scale. So, that's "earthquake" added to the list.

All of which, in a rather round about way brings me to the purpose of today's post, namely to tell you that recently Vienna has been hit by what the locals call "unwetter" or basically a rather severe storm, with winds of 120km/h, 2 deaths, floods and, slightly worryingly, a minor lack of a roof on the building next to mine! So, "storm" can also be added to the list.

T

A Northerner Abroad...Part 5

Like I said, I will get to talking about Vienna in a bit; first let me say a few things about the Slovak people. Saša aside, I didn’t know anyone when I arrived, and although a couple of weeks later I can’t exactly claim to now possess a large number of Slovak friends, I have at least met a few of her friends and observed a few locals while enjoying a cheeky afternoon beer in the sun. From a personal point of view, being completely unable to speak the language makes it incredibly difficult to get a handle on the people here. As someone who speaks a couple of languages this is incredibly frustrating, as I feel both completely ignorant and utterly useless, incapable of even introducing myself properly, or arguing that my change is wrong. The one word I knew when I arrived was Ahoj, which predictably means Hello. I remember this word because a friend and I took great delight in doing camp sailor impressions while shouting AHOJ one night after a couple of beers.

Not knowing the language is a huge stumbling block; no matter how hard I listen I just can’t pick up tone or emotion or anything apart from my own name and Ahoj! So, understanding the people is difficult, particularly in a few short days, but I will say this, the Slovaks know how to laugh. On my second evening we went for a drink with Saša’s parents and some of their friends at the local canoe club on the Danube, and despite not understanding anything for about two hours my sides hurt from laughing. Saša translated as much as possible, but most of the time she was bent double herself. Now, the egocentric part of me would like to think that this whole performance was for my benefit, but I know that this is not the case, especially not the story about the Communist crisps, which genuinely tasted like 5 day old crisps that had been re-bagged! For all I understood that may actually be true. Just so I don’t disappoint you, let me reassure you that I have added to my ridiculously limited Slovak. For instance I can say please, thank you, cheese, mushrooms, ham, beer, cheers, and I learnt that Ahoj also means goodbye. If I can learn the word for Jack Daniels I may even stay longer.


One thing I will say though, the locals are not scared to make a few quid from tourists. I was sitting enjoying a beer and a sandwich in a little bar just of the main square, by now I was comfortable enough with the lingo to point at the menu and say please and thank you. When I got the bill though, which incidentally came in a little wooden box, the kind of thing you might put your Uncle Bill’s ashes in or something, I noticed that all is not as innocent as it first appears in Bratislava. The bill was all in Slovak naturally, form the address at the top down to the price at the bottom; numbers are universal so no worries there. Then right at the bottom I noticed they had sneakily added a little sentence in English, “The final price doesn’t include the tip, thank you”. Now, aside from the bare faced cheek, a couple of things struck me about this little additional sentence. 1 – The English was perfect, this wasn’t the kind of translation you usually get, normally done by the owner’s cousin’s neighbour who loves Bond films and can thus speak English, or so he claims. No, this was a professional translation. Why not do the whole bill then? 2 – The word “tip”. Not service charge, but tip. As a Yorkshire man I find it hard to tip at the best of times, but there’s not a prayer when it’s that blatant. On a slightly more serious note, I don’t really begrudge the local bar owners and the like making a bit extra out of tourists, heaven knows we do it in Britain, not just foreign tourists either, the woman on the door at York Minster (makes it sound like a Christian nightclub doesn’t it?) tried to charge me over five pounds to get in. I explained that a couple of years ago when I last visited it was free, with a donation box for those from the south, but she didn’t budge. Then again she was a fairly rotund woman so budging probably doesn’t come naturally.

Before you get all comfy thinking I’m ready to move on, bad news, this isn’t the only example of blatant exploitation of foreigners I experienced. And it happened on the same day! On my way back from the bar to the flat I went via the train station to check the times for the trains to Vienna, and to be honest I don’t mind admitting I was perspiring ever so slightly. I don’t normally say perspiring, I was just reminded of a story my mum told me about when she first started working back in the early 70s (or was it late 60s!). Apparently she went into work one summer morning and complained, as only my mother could, that she was sweating from the heat. One of the older ladies in the office kindly pointed out to my straight talking mother that “Horses sweat Mary, ladies perspire”. I can imagine my mum’s reply. So anyway, I was a bit sweaty when I arrived; it was in the low 30s, which is about 3 degrees below death for most northerners, so I went to buy a bottle of water. Unfortunately, I only had a 500SK note, and the drink was about 28SK. I gave my note to the woman in the kiosk, who tutted at me audibly for burdening her with such a vast amount of money, before proceeding to short change me by 100SK. I counted my change, looked at the sign with the price, and did a little bit of open mouthed waving of my arms, and she didn’t even look at me. So I said, in my angriest German (I’d been advised that the Slovaks prefer Germans to Brits, although I found out later they had lost 2-1 to the Germans in a Euro 2008 qualifier the night before), that she owed me money. Again, she didn’t even acknowledge me. I had to admit, while I was holding the best cards she was bluffing like a champ. What could I do? Cause a scene for the sake of a couple of quid? I didn’t want to, there’s nothing us Brits hate more than causing a scene, but it was the principle. So I did what I’m sure my mother would have done, I swore very audibly in German and turned on my heel and left. Quickly, for there were a few big blokes looking my way who obviously spoke a bit of German.

By the way, I’m aware that I should have written “we Brits” before, but I don’t say “we Brits”, I say “us Brits”, so there.

When I told Saša she was suitably horrified at what had happened, but I think she was just humouring me really. Anyway, if memory serves the main idea here was to talk about Vienna…

Just a quickie....

Given the length of my latest posts I've had to juggle the site layout a bit, so to read previous posts just click on the archive bit on the right. No, your right stupid.

A Northerner Abroad....Part 4

Like the rest of continental Europe (well, the bits I’ve seen), the Slovaks also get certain things right that we Brits will never enjoy. The first of these I have already mentioned, but I will go through it in detail because it’s an alien concept in the UK. Basically, imagine you want to get the bus. You go to the bus stop, and there you find a ticket machine. You put a few coins in, take your ticket, and wait for the bus. When it comes, it is one of those long, bendy busses with about 3 sets of doors. You let people get off, then climb aboard and put your ticket into a machine by the door, where it is stamped. Then you sit down and enjoy the ride. All of which means that the bus takes a few seconds at each stop meaning that they generally arrive and leave on time. In fact, on the bus timetables it tells you how many minutes it will take to get to each stop, and I’ll be buggered if they are ever late. Right, so now you are thinking, “Ah yes, but it’s too easy to just not buy a ticket and ride for free.” And indeed it is, but only if you are British, or just generally not the kind of law abiding person the Slovaks are. It’s a cultural difference maybe, but take the metro in Barcelona, the U-Bahn in Cologne, or the tram in Vienna and rarely do you see someone who hasn’t paid. When I lived in Newcastle we used to say that the Metro was a free service with the occasional £10 donation; here nobody would ever think of not paying. I remember once being stood on a platform waiting for a tram in Cologne, it was late at night and there was only a punk on the platform to keep me company, so needless to say I was doing my best to not attract his attention. He started coming towards me and I tensed a little, natural really I’m sure you’ll agree. Then he asked if I could change a 5€ note so he could buy a ticket! Didn’t punks in England used to go around ripping the upholstery of busses and trains with their Swiss army knives in the hope of bringing down the government? Not in Germany.

It’s not just bus tickets that impress me though, thankfully. The trains are always on time, and by that I don’t mean vaguely on time like in the UK, but to the minute. This never ceases to amaze me, along with the fact that never once in a European county other than the Britain have I heard a tannoy announcement apologising for the delay/slow running/general crapness of the service, it just doesn’t happen. Granted, if it were in Slovak I would be none the wiser given my vocabulary of one solitary word. We will come back to this point shortly, but just to keep you on tenterhooks a little longer, the word I know is Ahoj, any guesses?

The next think I appreciate in many a fine European city is the idea of having a central square, where people can meet, have a coffee in the sun, dangle their feet in a fountain or merely admire the passing Slovak girls. Now, obviously every city in Britain has a square of some sort, but they are generally bordered by a post office or similar, and taken over by market traders for most of the day. Also, I admit that the weather in Britain isn’t always conducive to al fresco living. London has a few nice little squares like this to be fair, as do other cities I’m sure. Bratislava, as I have already suggested, has a beautiful central square, Vienna has an abundance of tranquil little hideaways, Paris too. My favourite though has to be Barcelona, and a place called Plaça Reial. If you get there early enough it is simply charming, an enclosed courtyard about the size of half a football pitch, surrounded by cafes and bars and a brilliant restaurant called Els Quinze Nits where you can eat like a king for a fiver. But at night it really comes alive, people sit on the fountains, the floor, the many walls and benches, in little groups usually where they have brought their own beer and music, or else they buy a few cold ones form one of the many Asians who walk around with coolers full of drinks. At night it is not quite as pretty as by day, there is a continual police presence too, presumably to keep an eye on the drink sellers who do a little sideline in hashish, but I absolutely love the place, and spent many a summer night there relaxing, having a couple of beers, or even on occasion when the police had been called away, having an impromptu game of football, much to the dismay of the bar owners! Bradford has a central square, and recently they have developed it a bit to add a few bars and restaurants opposite the town hall. It’s nice enough, but the town hall itself is surrounded by roads on all sides, so it’s hardly the nicest place to sit and relax. An architect by the name of Will Allsop drew up plans to redevelop the north of England along the M62 corridor, from Hull to Liverpool, ranging from creating Tuscan style housing in the hills of Barnsley to flooding the entire central square of Bradford to make a lake. Not sure what the flat caps of Barnsley thought of his plans, but many a head nodded in agreement in Bradford.

We come now to one of my personal favourites, fashion. Being a modern metrosexual who owns a jacket or two from Zara, I consider myself at least moderately aware of fashion. Not saying I’m fashionable myself per sé (up north there will be thousands of people currently saying “who’s Percy?”), but I have a rough idea what is and isn’t. I remember having a conversation with a hairdresser in Cologne (and yes, they all talk bollocks there too) about why the British seemed to always where jeans and a t-shirt, regardless of the weather. I didn’t really have an answer, particularly as I was wearing just that. Since then I have started to pay a bit more attention and it’s true, it’s like a uniform or something. I’m not suggesting that we have a monopoly on t-shirts and jeans, but we certainly seem to wear them an awful lot more than the rest of Europe. The people in Bratislava seem fairly fashionable to me, the shops certainly suggest this, and a couple of afternoons spent with a beer and a notebook in the centre have backed this up. But then again, like I have already said, Bratislava is rich by Slovak standards, the cars on the road are certainly not the cars of the poor, BMW, Mercedes, Audi, and I even saw a Bentley. Although, I have noticed with immense satisfaction a number of Skodas and Ladas on the streets too, no Trabis yet, but I’ll keep my eyes peeled. But you still don’t see people in tracksuit bottoms, or leggings, or anything that shouts PINK across the street at you. And personally, that is how I like things. However, that being said I did spy a man walking through Bratislava clad head to toe in white; white linen trousers, white vest, white shirt (open, naturally), white espadrilles, and the bit that made me laugh the most, a white flat cap. Not the kind of cloth cap I see at home, obviously some kind of designer number, but no matter the name it was still a flat cap in my eyes. I guess a male model on the catwalks of Milan could have pulled the ensemble off, but a middle aged man with a beer belly is a different matter altogether. I should point out here that the first thought that when through my head was “how does he eat without spilling something?”

Which brings me nicely onto my next little subtopic; namely food. Now, I will keep this short, because it will come up again and again. I had asked Saša what the local dish was, with the intention of trying it before I left. I did so one evening alone in town. I love going to restaurants alone, some people think it’s sad and lonely but I think its brilliant, like going to the cinema alone too. So, I went to a restaurant just outside the old town, a place called Apetit. The place was dead except for me and the waiters, and there was a slightly disconcerting smell or stale cigarettes and old people about the place. I didn’t let it put me off though, for I had already eaten here the previous week and knew the food was good. I ordered a starter of deep fried cheese with salad, a main course of the local speciality and a beer. The cheese dish I had tried and liked the week before with Saša, but the main course was a mystery really. Even the description I had been given was a tad ambiguous, “it’s a bit like gnocchi, but not really, and with sour cream”. When it came I did my best to look enthused, but it was difficult. I looked very much like a plate of cottage cheese with some grated cheese and bacon on top. That may sound appealing to some, but personally I have always grouped cottage cheese together with skydiving and bomb disposal, basically things I would rather leave well alone. But, and I mean this, it was very nice. A bit on the stodgy side maybe and probably best eaten in winter, but it was tasty, filling and generally pretty good. I finished it all, ordered a coffee and then gasped in disbelief at the bill, £4 for everything. I think I like Bratislava.

It is not all good news though; there are a couple of little things that grate slightly with me. Firstly, the currency. There are about 50SK to the pound, which is fine by me, nice and easy to work out. But they have notes for 20SK, or about 40p. This means that buying a bottle of water with a 200Sk note, which I did one morning, has left me with a hernia from trying to lift my wallet and manoeuvre it into my pocket. This isn’t just a Slovak thing though; when the Euro was introduced I would have thought it was a perfect opportunity to get rid of all the small coins. Think about it, what do you do with anything below 10p other than collect it in a jar and take it to the fancy counting machine at Asda? You can get Euro coins for 1 cent or about 0.7pence in old money. What is the point of that? Why not round all the prices to the nearest 10 cent and get rid of all the silly little coins? It’s trivial I know, but if i were in charge.....