Well it was a beautiful but chilly day in London today and so I left GT’s to ride in to the Ace, arriving before 10am after a cobweb-blowing ride across town.
We counted them in and we counted them out again!
And talking of chilly, the Ace chilli cheesy chips went down really well with GT and I and you couldn’t tell they were veggie either.
So yesterday evening, I went to our company car park to collect my car to discover one of the large bins up against the side of my car and a nice dent on the wheel arch.
Yes, Southwark Council’s waste management operatives had managed to dent my car by wheeling one of their bins into the side of it. Great! So I’m logging a complaint with them now.
Luckily for them it hit mine and not a colleague’s Bentley…
I recently acquired another cherished numberplate to go with the ones on my car and bike as I did think about getting another vehicle soon and wanted a more memorable ‘plate.
But I’ve changed my mind about that, so I’ve advertised the plate – 8000 RM – on eBay starting on 16th April around lunchtime if anyone’s interested.
…is that the wine is hideously expensive!
So Friday found GT and I in a cab heading to St. Pancras and the Eurostar to Paris. Arriving early Friday afternoon at the Radisson Blu Le Metropolitan Hotel, Paris Eiffel thanks to our pre-booked taxi, we dumped our bags in our large room and headed off on the Metro from Trocadero to the Expo where GT was picking up her race number and pack as yes, she was due to run the Paris Marathon on the Sunday. Oh and we picked up a new running outfit at the same time…
Back to the hotel where we got some advice about one of best Italian restaurants in Paris, so off we went. Luckily, despite not having a reservation – the hotel had warned us we’d probably need one – we managed to charm our way to getting a table and enjoyed a lovely meal with one of those horrendously expensive bottles of wine … good, though!
It was important that the Friday night would bring lots of sleep with the Saturday night’s sleep likely to be fitful so we headed back to the hotel at just after 10pm … to find the door to our room and its main window open! While I poked my head inside to see if there was still an unexpected visitor in there, GT hightailed it down to reception to report it and get the police. By the time I got downstairs, the police had been called and I’d summoned the Hotel Manager back from his evening out (at the Cirque du Soleil, as it transpired). I went back up to the room to do a thorough sweep to see what had been taken and was relieved to find that my iPad and iPhones, UK wallet and passport were all still safe and sound, as was GT’s running gadgets – phew!
It was very late by the time the Manager had got back and checked what was what, so they moved us to a suite as there was no way I’d stay in the same room with someone possibly knowing what they could go back there to collect. The designer bath had a broken plug that I’d be trying to get fixed the next morning as a bath is high on the priorities list after a marathon…
Saturday morning and off we went to do mainly death-related touristy things: Jim Morrison’s and Oscar Wilde’s graves up at Père-Lachaise Cemetery in the morning followed by the incredible Catacombs in the afternoon. The latter holds the remains of roughly six million people. Yes. 6,000,000. Neatly stacked and arranged. It’s a bizarre thing to visit, running for 2km under Paris. We ate on our way back before celebrating my 51st birthday at the hotel.
Sunday saw us up bright and early to head to the start of the marathon up at the Champs-Elysèes. I’d chosen the hotel to be close to both the start and finish lines with the view of the Eiffel Tower an added bonus. It was cold, so GT was pleased to be able to wear much of her new, warmer, kit. The start corrals were sheer chaos as there was no apparent way to get in: many runners were climbing over the security fencing to get in and there were 50,000 running. So different to the efficiency of the London Marathon. After seeing GT off, I walked back to the hotel, stopping at what had become our favourite café at the Trocadero, overlooking the Eiffel Tower for coffee and croissants and juice. Lovely!
I downloaded the official app and headed back to the hotel to track GT on her run. No sign of any plug for the bath: the one they brought didn’t fit so it was back to the drawing board, sadly.
Then off to meet GT at Exit A in the finish area. Or Exit B as they’d managed to cock that up too and had swapped the exit signs and flags over so they were wrong. The pandemonium that ensued with tired and confused runners all trying to get out of the wrong exits was something to see. I stayed looking for GT until she texted me from the hotel: she’d left from the incorrectly-signed exit and found her way back. I stuffed the plughole with a flannel and ran the bath. After she’d recovered sufficiently, we walked down to the Trocadero for Kir Royales, beer and food! Then back to the hotel to celebrate her time – a few seconds over that milestone 4:00:00 she wants to beat – meeting her friend who’d managed a 3:58:10. She was off for a massage; we settled on another lovely meal over the Place at another great Italian restaurant followed by more birthday celebrations for me…
Monday and we checked out: the first night’s (upgraded) accommodation was given free by the hotel, but another guest had signed for a 52€ breakfast and a 389€ dinner on our room! That was quickly resolved, so we left our bags and headed up to Montmartre for more touristy stuff including a little roadtrain ride down to Pigalle and back up to Montmartre.
Then off to the Eurostar Business Lounge for complimentary wines and our train back to London.
The hotel’s Manager rang me today: they’ve checked the door key logs and it appears on first checking that it was one of the maids who’d left the door and window open for some reason. They’re interviewing her and getting the hallway CCTV footage to check.
So then: Berlin Marathon … and I’m running that one!
…is that it gets to you. To the extent that yes, I was back there yet again for a week over Easter with my grown-up kids.
I’d hired my usual premier garden villa at Bahiazul – a three bedroomed villa with its own heated pool, rooftop BBQ area and heated jacuzzi under the stars – for the week and so we set off after an overnight stay at Gatwick.
On arrival on the Wednesday, we checked in and I changed and headed off for a daily 5km run. I did that every day, apart from the second day – the Thursday – when I apparently broke my toe! After that, 600mg Ibuprofen tablets were my friend.
Each day was more or less the same: a large breakfast in the restaurant; a morning around the pool; a midday 5k; afternoon around the pool or the beach; evening at one of the nicer restaurants or my favourite tapas bar (most of them in Corralejo now know me and greet me as an old friend); and then the night at the awesome Rock Island Bar owned by the lovely Mandy and Gary listening to the live acoustic rock being played by mates.
Good times!
Of course, the lovely sun and warmth made such a difference especially given the snow we’d left behind in London.
Sadly, it was soon back to London, dropping Amy off at Egham and then, the following day, Jack at Stratford for his train up to Norfolk before greeting GT with a home-cooked vegetarian chilli as we were off to Paris the next day…
This is the incredible story of one woman’s battle to get compensation for being a clumsy twat and then blaming everyone else for her falling over.
Singlehandedly, she’s also managing to set back the image of women in dangerous occupations: maybe people are thinking that if poor, delicate women might sprain an ankle or break off a false fingernail, they’ll now start suing the real victims so they should be protected from harm .. by keeping them away from ‘men’s work’.
Well done PC Kelly Jones (already being referred to by the Daily Heil as “WPC Kelly Jones” to draw that distinction).
And what about the public? Now it’s not just a case of wondering whether it’s worth reporting crimes at all – the Metropolitan Police never actually bothered to come and have a look at the crime scenes either time when my motorbikes were stolen – but also whether they’ll be sued by some stupid bitch who’s not looking where she’s going and falls over. Way to go!
I think we’re far better off without her sort: she should be suspended without pay until she can be booted out. She’s in hiding – according to the Daily Heil – so I hope that she’s not being paid whilst she’s not available for work. Mind you, that probably means someone else won’t be on the receiving end of an ambulance chasing letter sent to the real victim.
And what’s that? Oh it’s another bit of respect for the police force heading out of the door (no doubt on its way to make another ridiculous claim).
…is that when they’re good, they’re very, very good and you don’t want them to be over.
Such was the case with mine.
It started on Friday evening with an early shoot from work so I could get home and changed before heading off to The Gallery on the Corner in Battersea for an exhibition of erotic art called “Sensual Seduction”, combining artwork and photography. Â So I met up with GT at the Mason’s Arms beforehand for a swift drink and off we went.
As usual, Greg Brown‘s photography in particular was excellent and I got location envy from some shots from Tim Rosier who chatted away with us for a while.
Then off over the road for a wonderful Italian meal at Metrogusto and, surprisingly, I went for a completely vegetarian option, all of which was absolutely delicious. Finally headed off to Epsom and bed.
Saturday and we went off-roading in the RX-8. OK, a slight exaggeration, but it was snowing heavily and we had to drop off GT’s daughter and friend at a Duke of Edinburgh thing at Box Hill. With the four of us in the car, epic speed humps and the last part being a track, it was grounding out and getting filthy. Then back to mine to change before heading out to Covent Garden for lunch and the obligatory visit to the Apple Store.
Still horribly cold and snowy, so we grabbed a cab over to Volupté for cocktails, champagne and afternoon tea … oh and a burlesque show which was excellent! We particularly liked Tina Turner Tea Lady…
Then we headed off to Waterloo to get GT back to Epsom. With a leetle excursion to Azzurro so we could have a quick drink. OK, a bottle of red, some olives, some bread and oil and er some liquers and coffee.
And now after a lay-in (for me, GT had a 15 mile race to run), some fettling of Blue Rex and a quick shop, I’m relaxing after a great chilli – if I say so myself – to watch zombies on the telly!
Marvellous!
…is that it’s an oxymoron, much like the old joke about “Military Intelligence”.
Transport for London, in its infinite wisdom, has decided to fix a problem that it thinks might exist (see the quote below) in the Rotherhithe Tunnel by adding more solid bollards to restrict the width of the approaches to the tunnel down to 6′ 6″, i.e. tighter than a gnat’s chuff.
What this means is that on the approaches to the tunnel, both northbound and southbound, traffic – understandably – slows to a snail’s pace at best to negotiate the width restrictions and this leads to long, long queues of traffic and not just at peak times.
“The narrowing of the width restrictions on both northbound and southbound approaches to the tunnel will significantly reduce the risk of vehicle collisions, spillage of flammable materials, and fires in the tunnel.”
So a complete lack of a quantitative analysis or justification. Are they saying that narrower vehicles don’t crash or spill flammable materials or catch fire? Evidence?
No.
And what is to become of the vehicles that cannot enter the Rotherhithe Tunnel? Well they are required to use either Tower Bridge or the Blackwall Tunnel, both of which are well-known for traffic queues, so they’re just creating more travel problems or adding to the severity of existing ones.
Utter fuckwittery!
Still, I suppose they need to justify their fake jobs by coming up with these ludicrous schemes…
I’ve written to TfL to ask them about this issue, copied to my MP, so we’ll see what, if anything, they have to say.
…is that it only shifts the problem geographically or delays what is sadly the inevitable.
“The UK is the world’s third largest donor from countries of the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), following Germany ($14.5bn) and the US ($30.7bn). But as a percentage of gross national income (GNI), British aid spending was 0.56% in 2011 – far greater than the US equivalent of 0.20%. Only five OECD countries – Sweden, Norway, Luxembourg, Denmark, and the Netherlands – have already met the 0.7% commitment.
“What does this mean for the UK taxpayer? With a population of about 62.6 million, last year’s £8.57bn spend works out at roughly £137 per head.”
Now I don’t have a problem with spending money to help others. I earn decent money. I tip. I buy the occasional Big Issue. I give to charity.
But I do wonder if all I’m doing is helping people with the best of intentions try to hold back a tsunami with a couple of bits of plywood.
The world’s population doubled between 1960 and 1999 and reached 7bn in 2012 with growth rates of around 1%. We can’t feed the world as it is.
Humanitarian aid helps solve short term issues but merely postpones the inevitable: we can’t feed the people we have now, but by keeping the babies we see on TV, breaking our hearts, alive, we are condemning them to a life of hardship and suffering, surely?
That 1% growth rate is the average: in sub-Saharan Africa it’s more than 2.5%, in the areas where the environment is less able to support its present population.
The way to feed more people is to grow more crops and to do that we need to invest in developing the ground conditions to allow sustainable agriculture. But even if we could cultivate more areas of Africa, where do all the people go? It’s just not going to work. Instead, we throw aid as a form of Band-Aid over a severed limb. Sometimes that aid gets used as a weapon by those involved in civil wars or otherwise corrupt.
But it makes us in the first world feel less guilty when we Do Something to ‘help’ the third world. And I reckon by doing so, we do more harm than good. The more people we save, the worse it gets. And it won’t end unless we have a complete rethink.
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