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Monday 17 September 2007

Once in this Rocker's Lifetime...

17/09/2007

Isn't life unfair sometimes? Or could we actually say it's fair? All depends how you look at it, I guess. Have been in Spain for nearly three years and, wanting all my life to see him play, have missed Bruce Springsteen come to town year after year, the radio announcing tickets have sold out yet again in a record number of hours. And I've always wondered, how do people do it? Are they stalking him? Are they bugging his phone? Intercepting his post? Just how the hell do they find out?

But this year, my friends, I'm delighted to be on the ball and know that the Boss is coming to Bilbao National Exhibition Centre on November the 26th of 2007, with the tickets going on sale October the 9th of 2006, just kidding, 2007, I'm not that competitive! So, yes, this year I'm thrilled to be actually in with a chance of living a dream (that of living out my Summer of 69 guitar fantasy at the graduation leaving dinner escaped way back in 2004!). Come midnight, Monday the 8th of October, my computer will be switched on, the Messenger sign on "Not available" and I'll be hammering on the keys in the battle for the tickets, the adrenaline pumping round my fingers!

So where's the catch? Well, guess who's reforming after 19 years for a one-night only concert in London? Here's a clue: Stairway to Heaven. Yep, that's right, Page, Plant and Jones, joined by Jason Bonham (John Bonham's son) are back together for a tribute gig to the founder of Atlantic records. And would you Adam and Eve the date of the gig? - November 26th of 2007! What is a boy to do! Opt for Jimmy Page ripping through "Black Dog", or watch Bruce whip up thousands into a frenzy with "Born to Run"?

Chances are I'd never get over to the UK for the Zep anyway. So I'll curse our friend Murphy, but I'll happily console myself with being in-the-know as to Brucie's arrival and the chance to welcome him to Bilbao. After all, if ever people should ask, "Where were you when Led Zeppelin reformed?", I'll then be able to reply "In a Bruce Springsteen concert." And it's not often you get to say that, is it?

Saturday 15 September 2007

Lucky Man

15/09/2007

Ladies and gentleman, I must confess to having been an extremely lucky man yesterday. As I dashed out for the train to Barcelona the following contents, oblivious to me, took leave of my wallet: credit card, social security card, health insurance card, Makro card plus a not-so-valuable points card. I'd like to think that everything has its logical explanation, so when I pulled out my wallet in Barcelona to find I had only the cash card I reasoned -falsely now, I admit- that they must all have been lying safely on the coffee table at home.

So you can imagine my surprise, not to mention gratitude, to receive a call at the lunch table from Caixa Catalunya savings bank, telling me they had all my cards safely stored behind the service desk, and not gathering dust on the aforementioned coffee table as I'd calmly assured myself! The bank informed me that a senior citizen had found them all lying on the pavement by the train station and handed them into the nearby chemist's, thinking they must have belonged to a customer, and that the chemist had then passed them on to the bank in the square there.

Fate had it that in this day and age of dishonesty my property fell into the right hands. So I shall be popping into the chemist's next week to express my gratitude. But as for the observant and honest senior citizen, I've not the faintest idea who it could have been, so if you're reading this, Sr, I'd just like to say a heartfelt thank you for doing me such a good turn. I just wish I could say this to you in person.

Tuesday 11 September 2007

The Transylvania Chronicles - Day Nine

9th September 2007,
Sabadell, SPAIN

Now that we have said goodbye to this delightful country, how would I describe Rumania? I would say it's a very open country, one where several languages, besides Rumanian, are understood. Yes, "open" would be the best description for me. There were very few people, even in some of the most remote places, who couldn't string together a few words in English. All the same, I'd like to return some day with some Rmanian in my head.

I hate to sound like a capitalist here, but I'd say "value for money" also springs to mind. Generally everything was much cheaper than we imagined, something which you may or may not have gathered in the course of these chronicles. Especially the food (how i love a good meal!). Rumania is definitely the kind of country you want to come to with an empty suitcase!

The scenery: picturesque. The roads are rocky, but the views of the mountains, and from there, are magnificent, the kind that make us realise we're mere mortals compared to the natural world. A feast for photographers, especially rural Romania with its painted houses and the crosses in the gardens.

How was the tour? Fabulous. I'd do it all over again. I hope to come back some day, maybe see a different part of Rumania and learn more. Besides the beautiful views and places of interest, the other thing that made it great was the company. It's a shame our paths have never crossed earlier in life, but I'm sure I'll see them again because these have been the days.

With these words I draw these chronicles of this voyage to a close. Goodbye, Rumania, and moltmesc. Maybe we'll meet again some day.

The Transylvania Chronicles - Day Eight

7th September 2007,
Bucharest, RUMANIA

The tour operators definitely saved the very best until last today with (another) bumpy ride to Lake Snagov, the historic signifance of which you'll know by now (if not, see the previous entry - and then learn it, damn it!). The lake itself surrounds the monastery housing big Vlad's tomb. Of course, whether this is his actual resting place is conjecture. I'd like to be the first to confirm it, but I can't. Doh! Below the beating sun, the priest, the only one there actually is on the island, related its history to us between mobile phone calls before letting us nose around.

Having feasted on history for the day, we all piled on the bus for Bucharest (oi, oi!), where our first stop was the "Museo de la Aldea" and the second one lunch (shame about the miserable waitress!). We were then taken to see the city's architectural masterpiece: the Palace of the Parliament, a building that the guide was evidently proud of, and with good reason. You'll see why in the photographs.

After slipping in one final church, we had free time to wander round the city, which is more beautiful than I first imagined, I confess. It's still dark though! Unfortunately, we couldn't find a novel, as is our custom of taking some literature from every country, which shows how "unpopular" the Rumanian language is. But maybe Rumanian will have its day as the country consolidates its place in Europe.

The goodbye dinner was a slightly sober affair, everyone knowing we'd come to the end of the road. Some were looking forward to going home, some wanting to stay longer (maybe that was just me!). E-mails, telephone numbers and embraces were exchanged, the sign of a successful tour and good time had by all, but always a slightly tearful affair.

We decided to make the most of a cold evening and had one final drink in the city. Much to our delight, the final waitress was Spanish-speaking, as if trying to bring us closer to home. There were some final laughs as we remembered some humourous times during the trip and spoke of equally humourous times at home.And that was where our journey came to an end.

Yours with a tear,
Peter

The Transylvania Chronicles -Days Six and Seven

6th September 2007,
Sinaia, RUMANIA

Again I must apologise for keeping you all in the dark, my friends. I'm failing in my duties as a chronicler, but in my defence the last two days have been so much fun these pages have remained buried in the bottom of my trendy rucksack.

Yesterday it was an early start to Brasov, the capital of the Brasov county and charming medieaval city. The weather threatened to ruin the occasion, but smiled kindly upon us to make it a fabulous day. We first called in at Miercurea Cruic, a delightful village where we visted a small but very interesting museum on Rumanian books and publishing (more interesting than you might have thought!).

After a not-so-tiring journey on the coach this time we made it to Brasov, where the Black Church stands (religion is everything here!), for a delicious lunch (compliments to the chef!). We popped into the Black Church and then enjoyed some free time to buy some funky souvenirs. I got my "Smile from Transylvania" T-shirt, Mari got her chessboards (something she'll soon wipe the floor with me at!) and Manel got his cakes!

From there we headed for our 4-star hotel in Sinaia, the Pearl of the Carpathians. Sinaia is a charming place, but let me tell you a little about this hotel: a shower like an old man peeing, no plug for the wash basin, no mini-bar (4-star and no mini bar??) and dry bread for breakfast...but there was more to come.

Day Seven...Now, on day six of the tour, things got off to an unpleasant start with the receptionist trying to pin some damages to the room on the brothers from Madrid. Our first and very brief visit was to the Sinaia monastery, up in the mountains. Obviously it was quiet and the monks there might not have appreciated our keysters there gawping at them, but that's life I'm afraid - I've paid my leu!

Next stop: Peles Castle, the former residence of the Rumanian royal family. I have to tell you it's most exquisite place. In fact the tourists are made to wear slippers inside, and understandably so, because everything is carpeted. The castle is a bit like a British stately home, but with more statuettes, though equally impressive decor. Such a place always makes me nervous: all those valuable objects for me to smash to pieces with my rucksack!

The chef must once again be complemented on a gorgeous meal, this time of skewered beef and cheesy potatoes, but not before spoiling with the creamiest, yummiest soup on what has been a cold day. Good work, my friend!

The Bran Castle is another fantastic piece of architecture and was our second stop - it has to be so for the movies! The fact is, though, that Vlad the Impaler never actually lived there at all in his lifetime - blame Hollywood if you thought that! It's on a slope, which makes it a bit of a trek, but one well worth making culturally speaking. My favourite part was the secret passageway to the top floor of the castle. I think it's just the idea of it being secret that gets my juices going!

Oh, by the way, our maid had an excellent way of making the beds - just slinging the duvet over the sheets without tucking it in! If that's not 4-star service... Gave me a laugh all the same!

Time to switch out the ligh. Tomorrow it's a journey to Bucharest and we'll be passing through Snagov, where Vlad the Impaler is believed to be buried by the lake. Will the truth be revealed?

Yours with anticipation,
Petrus

The Transylvania Chronicles - Days Four and Five

4th September 2007,
Bistrita, RUMANIA

Well I guess I'd better get down to brass tacks, since we've got a lot to catch up on; I left you, my dear reader, twiddling your thumbs last night, didn't I? My humble apologies for that.

So, we headed for Bistrita via Sighisoara, but not before catching up on one of the sights we missed the other day, a monastery in Medias. Then it was off to another church (by this time one of the group was thoroughly fed up of seeing churches and remained outside on the bus). Still, we got a nice calendar for next year in the office! I should also take the opportunity to thank the BBC for their brilliant weather forecast of sunny weather for the whole five days: they got it completely wrong and it chucked it down with rain for the whole morning. Nice job there, boys. Michael Fish would be proud.

Soaked to the skin almost we jumped back onto the coach for Sighisoara, where the ruins of the mediaeval old town, the watchtower and the museum of weapons lie. The place was beautiful and had some breathtaking views, but it's a bit of a hike and somewhat hazardous for pensioners, or even if you're just plain knackered. Then after lunch, which was most delicious and filling I must add, we set sail (on the coach) for Bistrita, which is where the Dracula novel opens.

The journey to our hotel in Bistrita was a long but not completely unentertaining tale, thanks to the Rumanian infrastructure. Maybe they do need those funds after all. The roads were an absolute nightmare, enough to give you the most brutal whiplash! Still, we were able to laugh it off by watching Mari try to eat her biscuit - the road wasn't having it! The crumbs went flying everywhere.

Our first destination for Day Five of these chroncicles was Hotel Dracula (it would have been lovely to stay there, but it wasn't to be), the only hotel in the world with this name. The hotel has fabulous views, and they also have the remains of Vald the Impaler preserved there ;). But then it was on to the coach for a four-hour journey to Targu Mures, at which we arrived roughly around 2.15pm for some din-dins!

So with a lovely lunch rumbling inside of us we visited an orthodox cathedral and were let loose to wander the town, which was beautiful, for unfortunately just 30 minutes. Still, it was enough time for me to but the pen with which I write these notes and which bears my name on it in Rumanian: PETRUS: "Pacific and harmonious, and representing beauty and tenderness." True or false?!

Ten-past-five and on to the bus again for a three-hour journey to the quaint little town of Odorheiu Secuiesc. Meanwhile, a surprise was being prepared for Manel's birthday, an excuse for us all to go out and get some alcohol into us! Happy birthday, seƱor!

By the way, the bar at which we had our meal was called Opium, a nice end to the day bringing back fond memories of Edinburgh and the heavy metal bar of the same name!

Time to put the pen down I'm afraid and close my eyes. I've a feeling we may have a long journey ahead tomorrow.

Godspeed,
Petrus

The Transylvania Chronicles - Day Three

2nd September 2007,
Medias, RUMANIA

It's 10.30pm here and after a long day, one of mixed emotions it has to be said, we're now in Medias. Last night we were kept up late by some raucous wedding celebrations held at the hotel in Bucharest and guess what? It's more of the same here!

This morning we were up at 7am and on the coach at 8am. But it got better: a five-hour coach journey to our first destination, Sibiel. Still, we did get a laugh on the coach at the psychopathic dogs in the garage which chased all the cars driving away from it! They even went for the bus!

When we finally arrived the first thing we did was sit down for lunch in a house in beautiful rural Transylvania (I think I'm falling in love with this country), where we served by a country girl and her young child. Unfortunately, we were forced to sit with people who only wanted to talk about nationalist politics, which made for a tense and uncomfortable meal. I was glad when everyone had sipped down their coffee.

From there we visited a small museum home to the world's oldest collection of iconographic paintings. It was nice, although I can't for one minute pretend to be an expert on Romanian art. We left the museum and headed on to Sibiu, and I have to say it was beautiful. We visited a couple of churches, in which one tombstone comically read, "This time it's me; next time it's you." Very comforting! The third church we saw was one of the finest houses of God I've ever seen, all painted inside.

Following the churches, we had some free time to wander round Sibiel. The market was lovely as were the buildings. We've got some wonderful photos (despite the gypsy who wouldn't stop hassling me while I had my photo taken) and I can't wait to show you how beautiful this land is to me. I was going to buy a statuette of a little Romanian old deer, the typical kind you'd imagine seeing in the mountains babbling away at you in the tongue of the land, but it was a touch too expensive.

Right now we've just come back from a lovely meal, a very fairly price one at that: 2 pizzas, 1 salad, 1 bowl of chips and 3 Diet Cokes - 12 euros, it doesn't get better than that! My apologies for not going Romanian culinarily speaking, but at that price sod culture!

I think it's time to go. It's nearly 11pm here, but we need to catch up on our sleep. Up till now I'm loving this fine land. Why do so many leave it?

Peter

Monday 10 September 2007

The Transylvania Chronicles - Day Two

1st September 2007,
Bucharest, RUMANIA

To my dear reader,

So, after what seemed a never-ending plane journey we've finally set foot on Romanian soil. Of course, no sooner had we taken our first steps and there was already somebody pushing their luck for money. To be fair, he did load my suitcase into the boot of the taxi from its spot two inches away on the ground - chancer!

We arrived roughly around 17:00 Rumanian time at the hotel. Our room is very nice, not the hell-hole we thought they might have booked for us. You know the one I mean, the 'special suite'. As our taxi cruised into Bucharest I took in the scenery. The pavements and some of the buildings are dirty, kind of reminds of my hometown a little, that kind of dirt. But other buildings were astoundingly beautiful, so Bucharest is kind of handsome by day, but dark and dangerous by night. And despite being a former Communist Bloc state and expecting there to be poverty on every corner - admittedly there is a lot- so far I've seen an Audi 4x4, a Porsche 911 and a Ferrari F40 parked up! In need of EU subsidies - possibly not!

Despite the dirty streets and the darkness (maybe Stoker's imagination didn't work overtime) the weather is warm and the walk has been pleasant. As interesting to look at the buildings is to look at the people and observe how different they are from us. They've looked after us well so far, and there are lots of people who speak English, which made life easier in the restaurant, where we had a lovely meal (beef ciorba - soup to you and I!- followed by a delicious steak), and it did not put me off having what turned out to be a respectable crack at the language. A hell of an investment that book.

We've also made a new friend, Manel, a decent type who runs his own travel agency but whose girlfriend works in Greece, I gather. Maybe he might be able to do us a discount some time! But, no, seriously, maybe he'll be able to do us a discount...

Tomorrow we're heading for Sibiu, the European Capital of Culture in 2007. It's an early start of 7:50am out the front of the hotel, so I guess some of the other guests could be in for a culture shock before we even get there, seeing as I can be a real barrel of laughs at that time of the day (has it even begun?) - if you know me well then you'll also realise I'm being ironic.

Anyways, I've said enough for one blog. Besides, I need to get my beauty sleep, something of which I need an exceptional amount, since we were up late last night and then early today.

From the "Peter Express" I bid you Napti buna (Goodnight).

The Transylvania Chronicles - Day One

31st August 2007,
Sabadell, SPAIN

"We are in Transylvania; and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things."*

The words of the world's most famous vampire, from the pen of the Irish writer who put Rumania on the map. And here, at 1.20am, with my case finally packed, I ask which ways the infamous count is referring to, ways which shall become known to me tomorrow evening when we touch down in the mysterious Rumania for day one of our summer break.

I've read Stoker's novel and scared the living daylights out of myself the other evening with Francis Ford Coppola's cinematic interpretation of the story (despite Keanu Reeve's put-on British accent truly grating on me, not to mention Winona Ryder's). Both raise questions: were people in Stoker's time truly much braver in the face of mortal danger? It would seems more so than they are today, I feel. Yes, the traditional literature of the English-speaking world was one of heroes.

My other question is, what is Rumania like? Is it as foreboding and dangerous as painted by Stoker and Coppola? I know not what to expect. Stoker's work has bestown such a novel kind of mystery upon the country, the prospect of a clash between fiction and reality. Will Stoker's reality, which we imagine to be fiction, have been preserved in modern Rumania and actually therefore be fact? Or will it all have changed and his work remain the fiction we've always taken it to be?

I look forward to finding out and to sharing my thoughts with you, my dear reader.

Your friend,
P

* (Stoker, Bram, "Dracula," Oxford Uni Press, Oxford, 1995, pg 21: 10-12.)

Friday 31 August 2007

A Question of Sport?

28/06/2007

"It's not the winning, it's the taking part that counts." How many times did you hear that on your school sports day? A couple of hundred I guess, if you were like me (a titan in English and language classes but a lightweight on the sports field). You know, you came last but you put up a brave fight, played the part of the valiant underdog and that's heroic.

I write this to you on the back of reading how Tim Henman has gone crashing out of Wimbledon in another five-set thriller, that still there's always next year. Admittedly, you've got to feel a little sorry for the lad and the immmense burden he has to carry on his shoulders: every year the crowds get right behind him, spurred on by the media who encourage us to pin all our hopes on him, since he's the only one of our lot for who the tournament won't be over on the first day.

Then there's our football heroes in the England squad. They battle hard (rallied by the patriotic "Great Escape" in the background), but, alas, our Achilles Hell of penalties lets us down again...and again...and again. Of course, we just pat them on the back and say, "Oh well, you tried hard but it was those damned pesky penalties again. Get us every time. Doh!"

So maybe we should be less supportive and more pessimestic towards our sporting heroes. Maybe if we were to expect nothing but the worst and react with a bit of more venom, they might just develop the killer instinct, get out there and show us what they're made of, purely for the sake of silencing the critics and the millions of down-doers. What do we care what they're reasons are? We just want to see some silverware- and have something to believe in. Wouldn't that be nice? Go on, lads surprise us!

If You Were Here, Truman...

04/07/2007

Dear Mr Capote,

Have just watched "Capote" again, a bio-pic on yourself and how you wrote "In Cold Blood," your magnum opus by all accounts. Hope to find some time to bury myself in it someday. The film itself was fabulous, the kind that has you talking about it once you exit the cinema and are in the car on the drive home, so many questions...

The main one is, what made you write it? Id like to think that it was because you were a good person, that you were not so vain as the media would have us believe, that you really felt those men had some good in them deep down instead of being the monsters we all thought. You maybe actually even loved one of them. Did you? That would be the optimist in me.

Then there's another voice, suggesting it was all fuelled by the desire to be famous, to be somebody. Was it? According to the film, you could have cleared them, saved their lives, but then in their hour of need you weren't there, didn't want to know. Is that true? Were you using them? Is the suggestion of betrayal, although they murdered and forfeited their freedom in society, justified?

Which one of the voices is right, Mr Capote? Which? How I'd love to know.

Crossing the Ocean of Time

11/07/2007

So, it's official. For my summer holidays this year I shall be visiting Romania, the land of Dracula, as you know, on a Transylvania Carpathians tour and also the supposed resting place of Vlad the Impaler by Lake Snagov. They say it's there, but have you ever read "The Historian"? In typical Da Vinci Code-style Elisabeth Kostova, the author(ess), suggests it may be...somewhere else (I won't spoil it for you!). Well whatever she believes, I have to at least go and check it out. After all, I was born in the North only an hour or so away from the fishing town of Whitby, which Bram Stoker cherished so dearly as to make it part of the setting for his famous work.

Still, you've gotta wonder what the Romanians make of it all, even if it was their own history and folklore that started it! Maybe they're a bit fed up of all this interest for a savage and sadistic ruler who took pleasure in torturing and murdering his own people: six centuries on and he's drawing crowds - though I guess it was more a case of the opposite back then- and having people yapping on about him. Perhaps I'll see it written in the faces of Romanian's today: "Here we go with the old Dracula shit again."

Which makes me wonder if I should find something else to ask about once I'm there (just need to brush up on my Romanian first!), or spice up proceedings by waving round the Hungarian flag. But then again it's a pretty long drop from the Carpathians, and the wolves must get awful hungry! So maybe I should embrace old Vlad T, just like the rest of them.

La revedere!

Go Green - In Whose Interest?

15/07/2007

I think green. I really do. All these warnings about climate change, a bid to save the planet for the future generations, I take notice of them. All the requests to recycle, I take notice of them. When the temperatures are hitting over 30ĀŗC, I sit and sweat it out in my bermuda shorts and, in the name of everything green, resort to homemade air conditioning: shirt off, window open. And since we see some pretty severe water shortages in the summer, I try to waste as little water as possible too, in consideration of the reservoirs drying up further south.

Then there's the question of other resources. So I recycle. Plastic, glass, card, paper, you name it, my flat is littered with it, ready for transportation to the nearest recycling bin. Energy these days is an issue, so I have my energy-saving light bulbs in place. This is my bit to try and keep the world turning for the future generations. What are you doing?

The thing is though, you've gotta wonder in whose interests all this is really for. I mean, why they're really telling us to do all this. Just looking in a local bookshop the other day: last year it was all Da Vinci Code rip offs; this year climate change is the subject of the literary world's preocupations. How convenient. Ex-presidential candidate Al Gore, he's especially worried about it, what with a book and a film on the matter (anybody know if the proceeds are going to charity?).

There's also the price of green products and resources. Can anyone tell me why an energy-saving light bulb is twice the price of a standard one? And why the plastic I put in the recycling bin, only for some fashion designer, if the documentary I saw is to believed, to use for making a scarf? Can I presume the benefits of this re-usage of material are being passed on to the consumer?

Maybe the climate really has changed. Now it's one in which the genuine concern behind the warnings of the tree-hugging 1990s is lost. Today, raising awareness and telling people to "Think green" seems nothing more than an opportunity for those saying so to make some of the green stuff for themselves. It's pretty sad that the world is beginning to literally revolve around money.

British Botched-Job Corporation

Just wanted to say how nice it is to see the BBC getting things wrong and receiving the due backlash and relevant fines for it.
  • First they fake the results of a Blue Peter competition - how's that for low?
  • Then they broadcast our beloved lady of the "Annus horribilis" -as opposed to the "horribilus anus"-, HM Queen Elizabeth II, apparently throwing a tantrum (we didn't know she had it in her!).
  • Now they've committed the cardinal sin of cutting out part of Metallica's performance at the Live Earth concert, which has led it to issue a frank apology (hey that makes it a hat-trick!) to us shaggy-haired rocker types. Apology begrudgingly accepted!
Amazingly, despite all the revenue from the inflated licence fee, the BBC still belts out nothing but cheap soaps and episode after episode of "classic comedy" (in the current climate of "think green" maybe it's their idea of recycling), yet the entertainment value actually comes in the form of broadcasting misdemeanours and watching them splutter and bash out apologies faster than Dad's Army re-runs, sorry, classic comedies, keep forgetting.
I say it's high time we scrapped the licence fee. Who needs a TV when we can get our movies from the internet pirates and our other viewing kicks from YouTube?
Failing that, just buy yourself a TV anyway and forget about the licence fee if you live on the top floor. Whenever the doorbell rings, simply check from on high. If they're carrying a clipboard and an apologetic look on the face, you're out!

Travel Makes Brothers in Arms

18/07/2007

Has your flight ever been delayed by a ridiculous number of hours? Has your train ever been announced as running 30 mins late mid-evening, after a hard day's work? Have you ever waited 1 hr 30 mins and had time to read the magazines in the doctor's waiting room from cover to cover?

Well I've been through all these phenomena, and I imagine you can sympathise too. Yesterday I fell foul of a train delay. Underground, with no air and in baking heat, the homebound train was announced as off for me and the rest of the mass on the platform (standing room only). Finally it arrived, followed by a good old fashioned kerfuffle with the electronic notice board, meaning we all had to jump off if we didn't want to go on a magical mystery tour (the Beatles had time on their hands!).

So praise be, our chariot arrived and it was second time lucky, we're all on our way home, neatly packed together like sardines in a tin. As the journey drew to a close, a toddler splattered me and all the other passengers in the compartment with yoghurt, just to ensure our shirts remained sticking to us.

What's so special about all this? Well, it's the feeling of complete strangers becoming long lost friends when we're all thrown into, ironically, the same boat. Some make light of the situation, some complain and some look out for the well being of the rest; and the longer we're all together waiting for the object of our inconveniences to deliver, the harder it becomes to see them walk out of my life.

It's like in the movies: they all start out with clean clothes, go through hell and back together, then part their separate ways looking dishevelled and Bruce Willis-like in the wake of another Die Hard epic.

So you never can tell. Next time you find yourself in a Planes, Trains and Automobiles moment because the public transport sector is gunning for a World Record in Incompetency, don't sigh in exasperation, blow your fringe up and ask, "So this is what I'm paying for, is it?" Instead, smile and take a look around: a potential soulmate or friend to the end may be watching how you handle the oars.

Bon voyage!

Not Enough Bad Medicine

As I sit here with my new MP3 on, Bon Jovi's "Lay Your Hands on Me" blasting into my earholes, the guys getting down and dirty with their instruments, I feel a passionate urge to set hairy-chested rocker Jon Bon Jovi, he of Slippery When Wet fame, straight on a thing or two.

I miss those guys. Yep, it's true, I really do miss them. I miss the days when they made records that sounded like they lived for rock 'n' roll ("It feels so good, it ought to be illegal" you sang). And where have all the cowboys gone?

What drives me to say this?

It would have to be the interview with Mr Jovi in The Guardian today. In it, he tells us he'd like to think his music has progressed rather than pandered to fashions or favourites. Well, I'm sorry to say that he's wrong on that score: the band has let their old-school fans down ever since Keep the Faith (their last great album IMHO).

These days - ever since the These Days album, actually- they couldn't sound more commercial if they tried, with the same tired old spiel about living one's own life, about survival, plus the sing-along-if-you-know-the-words lyrics. The Jove were very nearly "back" with Have a Nice Day, but it wasn't to be; there they were again with those lyrics!

Come on guys, rember the veterans! Don the cowboy hats -let Sambora down a bottle of whisky if he has to- and get some decent lyrics down, the type that sound as if they've been written on the road. Then blend them all with that brutal New Jersey sound.

Stop being pin-up boys and be the rock stars you once were. We'll thank you for it.You've seen a million faces and rocked them all! This is my personal plea for you to do it to us all over again - cos it was great!

National Insecurity

24/07/2007

Today a quick word on national security after a Guardian article about the arrest of two The Mirror journalists for trying to plant a fake bomb on the London underground. They'd aimed to expose serious lapses of security in the system.

It's not the first time journalists have engaged in this kind of practice. We've had reporters waltz into airports with fake weapons or explosives and breeze through "security checks" undetected before. Some years ago there was an incident -admittedly, a question of security in general rather than national security- in which a journalist "broke into" Buckingham Palace by hopping over the wall. And they do this, again, to expose lax security.

Maybe so. And maybe we're all under the threat of terrorism. But shall I tell you what scares me most? Not that journalists actually succeed in their experiments, but that they actually announce it to the nation afterwards.

All those fanatics who loathe the West and everything it stands for may, like the rest of us, be none the wiser if it were not for these scaremongers exposing our weak points, putting us even further on edge. What are they gonna tell us next? That the police don't really carry bullets in their guns?

"Ignorance is bliss" the saying goes, and in this case it may well be true. I remember when Bob Hoskins used to strut round the house for BT, back in the days when our calls were less closely monitored, and tell us, "It's good to talk." Then he'd break into a big belly laugh.

Maybe they should bring that advert back, but with the message modified to reflect the times we live in and Bob raising a finger to his lips: "It's good to talk...but it's safer to keep your mouth shut."

A Fundamental Question

06/08/2007

One magical Olympic night in Atlanta, a man going by the name of Michael Johnson hurtled round the bend and into the straight and crossed the line in a world record time of 19.32 seconds. Behind him, in the crowd, the camera flashes went off like fireworks, the people wishing to capture the memorable moment (who knows how their photos actually turned out!)and take it home to show their grandchildren, no doubt. Now the great man himself joins Big Colin Jackson and blonde Sue Barker every summer to sit and natter about athletics. Just imagine how the title of "200m World Record Holder" must have looked on his CV when he posted it off to the BBC.

Why do I mention all this? Well, the other day Spanish TV screened its own Record Breakers-style programme, in which some weightlifter trying to hurl a human being as far as he could in an attempt to break his own record, which he did in the end. No, it wasn't dwarf throwing; the sport has gone politically correct and they just chuck a 10-stone weakling instead. This guy was then followed by a woman attempting to break the world record for putting the most objects in glasses with her toes in the space of a minute whilst standing on her hands (i didn't stick around for that one). Unfortunately, the man who currently holds the world record for clipping the most pegs on his face couldn't make it.

Now take Michael Johnson's record, an outstanding achievement of which any athlete can be proud and one worth recording or having a crack at. But as for these other records, well I've one small question: why? They're not even a half-decent party trick (I met a guy once who could pick up a pint of beer and sink it in one without using his hands - that was impressive, my friends!). Did anyone know such a record exists? Do they even care to break it, and if they do, would they own up to it afterwards? Michael Johnson must feel pretty insulted to have performed a truly mind-blowing physical feat, only to be placed in the same pages as the guy with the longest fingernails in the world!

Anyways, I'm gonna hang out some washing while the sun's still out. Ah shit, has anyone seen my pegs?

Devils in Disguise

17/08/2007

Can't wait to see the Formula One kick back off, now that we have a new rising star to place our hopes and dreams in, an inspiration to boy racers everywhere: Mr Lewis Hamilton. It's fabulous to see the roar of a British driver's engine make the rest of the world stand up and listen again. After all, Coulthard and Button have put on a poor show on our behalf.

I've never liked Alonso. Dull, arrogant and stroppy have always been the things that spring to mind at the mention of his name. They still do so after his little performance in the pit lane the other day. Incidentally, a rumour has come to my attention that he ain't as squeaky clean as he'd have us believe; that, allegedly, he's never thought twice about necking some beer and doing the dirty on his other half - hijo de perra!

But what about Mr Hamilton? Isn't he a little bit on the naughty side too? Understandably, after 10 years with McLaren, he's not gonna move over for the world champion just like that. For me, that's the source of the rift between the two drivers (not that anyone would actually like to be matey with Alonso anyway- Massa's much more fun!). That's the thing causing the team strategy to go pear-shaped. Not to mention the fuel being added to the fire by the revelation that young Lewis is getting it on with the boss's daughter.
I've also been informed that the calm and collected Mr Raikonnnen is not what he seems either. Allegedly, the Finn of few words likes to live it up a little and is said to have been caught with two ladies in his hotel room, naturally following a couple of beers, cocktails or whatever the clandestine hellraiser's tipple of choice maybe.

All that glitters may not be gold. It all reminds me of the scandals involving the England players and the infamous 'Dentist's Chair', a chair unlike like the one in my dear Mr Fletcher's local practice ( How you diddlin'?). They weren't discreet about practices of theirs improper of sportsmen and it made us angry.

But maybe next time we're slagging off Alonso, we should remember that he who is without sin should cast the first stone - and that might not be Hamilton.

Pretty Vacancies

20/08/2007

Was just watching the classic "Norman Lamont incident" with Julian Clary and stumbled across another live wire: Mr John Lydon, better known to some as Johnny Rotten, of the Sex Pistols.

Loud, uncouth, ignorant, unpredictable and uncontrollable, I used to think the guy who had everyone locking up their daughters in those torrid times was a total loser. But after checking some of his interviews my opinions have changed.

Of course, the guy steamrollers over the interviewer and says what he thinks -no change there- which is why he must be given credit where it's due! As blunt as a sledgehammer, Rotten's honesty makes his interviews a scream to watch ("I've got a few words for you!" at the Q Awards).

Back in the day, everyone was against him. His music was feared by the Establishment, who didn't want the nation's youth being corrupted by Rotten's politics and anti-social behaviour. He was feared even more by parents, who didn't want young anarchists to contend with in their households ("Can you pass me the salt? - Up yours!").

The media backlash against all things Rotten was equally brutal. It gave him an excuse to dish out revenge of the most humilliating kind on live TV. Some of those unsuspecting interviewers should have really known what they were in for.

Now, in the late 20th century and early 21st, Lydon is a star again, a while back having been in "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here".

But there is one crucial difference: he hasn't sold out and probably never will.

Instead he continues to slag off his critics and generally insult all those who've been against him in the past, not to mention those who ask lousy questions or make duff comments. It all makes this interview with Richard and Judy interview pure gold (I've always said she's one stupid madam!).

Honesty is the best policy - and there's no-one more honest than Johnny Rotten. If I thought he'd appreciate it, I'd give him an award.

Nice Day for the Ducks...and for Me!

22/08/2007

In life they say there's a first time for everything. For the first time in my life I'm going to resist the temptation to whinge about the weather. Here it's been wet and windy, we've had a couple of thunderstorms -which plays merry hell with my internet connection- and the Spanish August has failed abysmally to live up to expectations.

But who cares about that when you may well have cheated a certain demise?

What am I blethering on about, you ask. Well if you've been following my blog, you'll know that my holiday destination this year is the land of a certain Mr Vlad the Impaler, a trip I shall be chronicling for your reading (dis?)pleasure. What you may not know, however, is that this was not Plan A nor even Plan B, but actually Plan C.

Thanks to the almost criminal incompetence of the internet company we booked with, Mari and I missed out on our tour of Italy in late August and then again on a sunkissed holiday for the same time in our Plan B destination: the Mayan Riviera.

At the time I turned the air bluer than the skies. But as Hurricane Dean rips through the Carribean, I now thank the company for their prizeworthy mismanagement of my booking and forcing me to pick again, even if there is the highly unlikely prospect of having to mix it up with Rumania's infamous wolves and "pikies".

I can't tell you how much more this particular Jonathan Harker is looking forward to getting away with his Mina for a while. I'm relishing the chance to sink my own fangs into real Rumanian cuisine, soak up the sights - especially to watch the modern Transylvania smash the foreboding literary one into oblivion- and even give the lingo a crack.

Might not get too far with this last one, though. C'est la vie, c'est la vie...

I'll keep you posted.

Yours in garlic,
Count Peter