Blimey I’ve remembered my password!

Actually that’s not quite true. I’ve been sorting through some old paperwork and found the original set of login instructions as provided by Barry Cooke many moons ago. You never know I may even get around to posting again soon.

I must have that kind of face!

It’s happening too often for it to be coincidental!

Over the past few years I seem to have been attracting women. “Isn’t that a good thing?” I hear you asking. Well not really Readers.

These women have sussed me out as the kind of fella who will part with a cigarette and not accept any remuneration, whether it was offered feebly or not.

Two recent incidents spring to mind both involving train journeys, but in rather differing circumstances.

About 3 or 4 months ago I was forced to take the train to work (and back). On the homeward journey there was a 20p saving to be had by walking through one of the lesser known streets behind Piccadilly Station, to a bus stop on the corner of Pollard Street. So there I was, minding my own business, and having a smoke. Not paying that much attention I was startled when a woman’s voice asked if she could “buy a cigarette”. As always, I said she could just take one. Then she asked for a light and obviously I cracked the age old gag and asked her “Shall I smoke it for you too?”.

Lit up and half turning away she then asked if I fancied a “b**w j*b”.

As always I was quick as a flash with my rather pathetic answer which was “Oh no it’s too cold!”

The really sad part to that story is that she even offered to reduce the price to £5.00! At the risk of getting serious it really is sad that someone can be reduced to that for a fiver.

The thing that made me remember that story was the second incident. I had just got off the train from Schiphol to Amersfoort. Despite the fact that the great outside world was about 1 minute’s walk away I felt obliged to stop at a Rookzone for a Rook (please see previous post on Rookzones).

Just after I had lit up, a girl of about 17 or 18 came up to me and started babbling in Hurdy Gurdy. After telling her loudly and slowly that she would have to have another crack at that in the Queen’s English, it translated into something quite familiar: “Do you have a shigarette pleash?” Again I did the necessary thinking that things were the same the world over.

This time though the supplementary question was a bit different than the Pollard Street experience. “Do you alsho have one for my friend?” – Lippy these Dutch!

Anyway I enjoyed a couple of minutes chatting to them both about Big Red and then proceeded to walk the wrong way down the platform, having to do a U-turn and walk past them again (for they were still enjoying their free rook) dragging my mulberry coloured suitcase behind me. It amused them a bit but I’d prefer that to the first experience any time.

So has someone secretly tatooed “Free Fags Here!” on my forehead. What’s it all about?

Answers on a postcard please!

 

 

 

 

Jeremy van Beadle is alive and well and living in Schiphol!

The madness continues!

Not only has it been decided that my conquest of Europe should continue, I’ve actually been given a new role which will see me visiting my cheese-eating cousins more and more often.

I’m even learning German one phrase at a time and can now fluently tell people that I’m knitting a scarf, and that they are just lazy! In truth I did learn German at school many years ago but I can only remember one phrase and there are limited opportunities to practice asking someone for the quickest way to the tram stop.

Anyway back to Schiphol …

You know those moving walkway, travelator kind of things? Ever been briskly walking along on one when it suddenly stops – lurching foward as a result?

Ever been walking along one that HAS stopped only for it to suddenly spring back to life – this time throwing everybody backwards?

Ever been walking along one that HAD stopped and THEN sprung back to life, only for it to stop again – throwing everyone forward for a second time?

I have !

No-one sprang out with a microphone so I guess it was all to do with technical stuff, but there was a point where I was scanning the place for hidden cameras. I guess I’ll just have to wait to make my TV debut – think I’ll apply to go on “Who wants to be a Millionaire”.  

OK Laura I heard you the first time !

I received a text message from my colleague, Laura, whilst I was in Holland. Avid readers may understand some of the content. But it went:

“Well done with the shirts. Just hope the soap doesn’t smell of cabbage! Game not started yet, will let u know the outcome”

All fairly random stuff but, at the time, quite meaningful and a little amusing.

Imagine my surprise when, a few hours later, I received the exact same message again. Oh how I chuckled as I thought she had inadvertently sent it twice. It was even mildly amusing when it arrived for a third time. Less so on the fourth as I was beginning to realise that Vodafone like to charge me a roaming fee for receiving text messages whilst outside of Blighty.

By the 8th time it arrived I was beginning to get a bit narked.

My blood was boiling as it landed for the 13th (and final) time whilst I was eating some very nice meatballs with spaghetti at Schiphol – very spicy! You only got two meatballs but they were about the size of a small fist.

It actually made me laugh the first time it arrived but that had long since worn off. Laura’s comedic talent clearly does not have the same longevity as say, the second series of “The Office” which I watch constantly – and still laugh at.

I’m waiting for the bill now from Vodafone to see just how much that little Dutch chuckle is going to cost me. This story is going to run I think because I’m actually looking forward to having some “conversations” with them as we argue over the £4.90 or whatever it turns out to be.

I’ll let you know how I get on.

Just as a little P.S. to this story. I was driving to work one day last week and GMR were covering the story about us now sending more SMS messages in a week than we did in the whole of 1999. Eamonn O’Neal asked listeners (of which I was one) to forward the last text message from their phones. I, of course, chose Laura’s masterpiece (even though, strictly speaking, it wasn’t the last) and just forwarded it in. No names, no pack-drill!

Did they read it out?

Of course they did!

Once?

Of course not!

3 times between 7.45am and 8.15am!

Am I missing something here ?

Nice one Kenny !

Whilst on tour, big chunks of the Rugby World were happening.

I completely missed the fact that the England squad adopted Kenny Rogers’ “The Gambler” as their battle-cry – well there wasn’t that much coverage on either CNN or those interesting short-story channels I found in Hamburg.

But, as I’ve been having a bit of a “youtube” day, I stumbled across this little clip. I must admit I felt a bit uncomfortable on first opening this, and seeing the White Haired One wearing an England rugby shirt, but I warmed to him when he had a bit of a go at two of my favourite nationalities. Favourite for taking a pop at that is!

Nice one Kenny!

http://youtube.com/watch?v=3yWJsW5WN5Y

Very Rough Guide to ……………… (Part 4)

Fourth (and final) Stop

This time, after an extended visit home of 5 nights (albeit with a European Conference and bowling tournament in the middle), I found myself in Amersfoort once again.

Last time I visited (April 2007) I stayed at the Lange Jan hotel, almost directly under a chiming clock tower. This time I moved slightly upmarket to the more popular Hof Square in Amersfoort to stay for my two nights (one of them shirtless) at the Logement de Gaaper:

Now this is a nice place! Very “Hurdy Gurdy” but nice. In common with my previous two billets it really only caters for B&B travellers but is situated in a square made up almost entirely of restaurants so the “Fat Lad” was able to cope.

My “good points” are:

• Easy to get to. You can comfortably walk from the station in about 20 minutes.
• Situated right in the centre of Amersfoort so loads of places to eat, including McDonalds and KFC!
• Breakfast is good and served in the cafe which occupies the ground floor.
• Room has internet connection via cable and it’s free!
• Bathroom is a wetroom – you know you just walk straight into the shower thingy.
• Posh lighting
• de-gaaper-posh-lights.jpg
• The hotelier insisted on carrying my case up the unfeasibly steep staircase

Not so good points:

• The dreaded mini-bar (incidentally I think I forgot to pay for a Mars bar)
• Vertigo sufferers should find somewhere else to stay, particularly if on the floor I was. You have to climb a very steep spiral staircase with a bannister which seems to be on wrong side. Difficult getting down with a suitcase which was 2 shirts (and the mandatory shampoo, shower gel and shower cap) heavier than when I arrived.  Needless to say the case arrived at the bottom before I did.
• The cafe closed at 8.00pm. Might have been nice to have a beer there before retiring.

As stated earlier the location is typically Dutch. Check these out if you don’t believe me:

amersfoort1.jpg           amersfoort2.jpg

Plenty of places to eat including “The Taste of India”.

I was having a look at the menu in the window of the “TOI” when a young “Indian” boy of about 9 or 10 came up to me saying something in “Hurdy Gurdy”. I shouted loudly and slowly and explained that I was English. The young hawker then started spouting at me in English “very good food, very good food!”

Impressed for a minute I dropped my guard until he blotted his copybook by saying “It schmeckt very nice”. Having scolded the upstart for dropping a German word into an English sentence we found some common ground in “Big Red”, had a quick discussion about Wayne Rooney and I moved on to McDonalds. Pity that, I really fancied a Ruby, but standards are standards!

The rest of my trip to Amersfoort has been pretty well documented elsewhere in this blog, so would I go back? “Yes!” I really have to know what the Beef Madras is like at the “Taste of India” although they probably don’t have it as I think that’s a uniquely British take on Indian cuisine.

500 up!

I never thought this would have happened but this blog just chalked up its 500th view.

As I’ve been testing a feed from iGoogle this morning though, I think that 500th viewer was almost certainly me!

So I get the prize. Ah well look at what you could’ve won …………

My memory is playing tricks on me ……..

An acquaintance of mine “The Pearly King”, pointed out to me that some of my ramblings (earlier in this blog) about “The Great Escape” may have been factually “questionable”.

This played on my mind a bit to the extent that I blew the dust off the old DVD and had a butcher’s (“butcher’s hook” = “look” – that’s just for you Pearly as I don’t normally speak using cock-er-nee rhyming slang). I only watched the end for two reasons:

1. This is where the alleged inaccuracy occurred
2. It’s the bit that I usually miss because I’ve fallen asleep – well it’s hard to stay awake on Boxing Day afternoon sometimes.

The truth is I was getting a little confused, although I would argue not entirely.

In the film itself, both Sir Dickie and Mr ‘Udson had made it past the German Officer, largely due to the Knight’s fluent French, and were boarding a bus. Then the officer says “Good Luck” (not “Good Morning” as I stated previously). Mr ‘Udson turns around and says “Thanks”. The old phrase “never trust a Scottish butler” springs to mind here.

The other major inaccuracy was that, of course, they never did end up back in the prison camp. Johnny F. showed his nasty side by stopping the truck, letting them out for some fresh air, and then machine-gunning them along with 48 other escapees.

HOWEVER

Factually inaccurate or not, it was still Roger Bartlett (Sir Dickie) that I felt like on the Swiss Border – I can’t say that I’ve ever wanted to take on the persona of a ginger Scottish butler.

In fact when I think of the person who spotted this flaw, I’m becoming Sir Richard all over again – only this time I am not on the Swiss border, I’m in 10 Rillington Place! Only joking!

Speaking of gingerness. Look at this:

http://news.sky.com/skynews/article/0,,30200-1290255,00.html

Having been married (for more than 20 years) to someone of the “strawberry blonde” persuasion, I feel I have served my time and I’m allowed to enjoy articles like this. I’ve actually quite enjoyed telling her that it’s not her fault she’s so bad tempered, she merely forgot to mutate when the rest of humanity did. But at least she’s not Scottish!

Ah well, what’s for tea?

Very Rough Guide to ……………… (Part 3)

Third Stop

After a brief visit home I arrived in Hamburg for my third hotel stay at the Heikotel -Hotel am Stadtpark.

 

A nice enough place (short distance from airport and the German office) with a nice little bar (somewhere I became quickly familiar with). In fact on my second night there the “hotel boss woman” had virtually poured a beer before I got in through the door (nice touch that).

My room was good with a nice big flat-screen tv on the wall.

So here goes with the customary list of good things:

• Flat screen tv as mentioned
• Bar as mentioned
• 
• Great breakfast spread

… and the bad:

• Still only the usual CNN news channel in English. There were two other interesting channels featuring short films with very limited vocabulary. When I first tuned in I thought I was being attacked by one-eyed Arabs. I was soon able to pick up the plot and even my schoolboy German allowed me to keep up with the dialogue. They seemed to be saying “Ja! Ja! Ja!” mostly, Not sure what “Ich komme” means – something to do with one of them correcting the other’s grammar I think. Strange that considering that none of the ladies present was taking notes and it all seemed very informal.
• The boiled eggs at breakfast had been boiled for maybe a minute over the odds. I was just thinking that I hadn’t heard of Edwina Curry for while – she must be in Germany scaring them now.
• Still no brew up facilities
• Still an overpriced mini-bar
• No restaurant for eating at night – forcing me (on the night I arrived) to venture out for a Kebab. Opted for a “Doner in a box” – a nice idea I just didn’t realise that the box replaced the bread that normally holds it all together. Ended up with cardboard box (like a McD’s Happy Meal) full of chips, meat and sauce – with no fork! Messy but surprisingly nice

I would have expected that there was no wildlife to report, particularly as this trip didn’t include a visit to the Rieperbahn, but I actually saw a red squirrel on the doorstep of the hotel as I was sat at the bar.  Seems that the advance of the grey squirrel has not yet reached Hamburg.

Would I go back? Well I will probably have to at some stage, so I’d better say “yes”. Anyway I missed the end of that movie I was talking about earlier, you know the one with one with the informal man and his three secretaries. Need to know how that ends!

Very Rough Guide to ……………… (Part 2)

Second Stop

“Second” is the right word here. Not only was the Comfort Hotel Europa in Copenhagen the second stop of this tour, it was also the second time I had stayed there.

So having stayed there in June and enjoyed the relative luxury of this very big room…

europaroom.jpg

…. (albeit right above a strip club), I was hoping for more of the same this trip.

The room I actually got can only be described as “small but NOT perfectly formed”. It was round the back (just like Uncle Stan’s cap) so away from the strip joint but was tiny! There was no room for a bedside table of any kind as the room door passed about 2 inches (that might be a different measurement in Danish) from the edge of my bed.

I couldn’t actually take a photograph because I couldn’t stretch my elbows out wide enough to hold the camera.

Good things about this gaff – and there are a few – are listed below:

• Free coffee and cake available all day in the reception area
• Luxuriously appointed smoking facility (back yard to you and me)
• smokershaven.jpg
• Interesting neighbours. For those who don’t know the Europa is situated on the edge of Copenhagen’s Red Light District (more later).
• Bacon available at breakfast. Presumably “Danishhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”
• Very close to Copenhagen Central station. Just a short bout of “running the gauntlet” through the hoards of waiting prostitutes (actually I exaggerate – it’s not really like that during the day).

Bad things:

• Scary warning signs all over the place telling me that I would get fined 1500DKR if caught smoking anywhere other than in the backyard.
• The tiniest room in captivity
• The fiercest chamber maids – try telling them that you are ill and want to go back to bed!
• Highly overpriced mini bar – in common I have to say with virtually everywhere else.
• Only one “English” tv channel (CNN again) but I did find a football chat programme hosted by the great one himself, Peter Schmeichel, but he was speaking Danish – clever fella that one. I also found an episode of Dalziel and Pascoe (English with Danish subtitles) and that’s how I know how clever the Viking really is. The character in the epiode was in hospital and was shouting “Nurse! Nurse! Nurse!” Have you ever seen the Danish word for nurse? Well it’s “sygeplejerske”. Now I may be wrong but I think that word was made up one night by someone who’d had more than his fair share of “Probably the Best Lager in the World”. Either way you must have to be clever to be Danish.

I didn’t know whether to include the following comment in “Good” or “Bad” points. Depends on where you stand I think.

From about 11.00pm one of the cartoon channels turns into one of those pseudo porn channels, and, as Barry will testify, it doesn’t appear on the bill under the category of “watches mucky tv shows when alone just like Alan Partridge”. Just thought I’d mention that.

Apart from the neighbours there is no wildlife to report.

Venturing out at night though can be an experience, as I first learned during my June visit. As the hotel does not have a restaurant, apart from the breakfast thing, you have to brave it – or starve – or die of cake overdose.

You soon learn the art of looking the right way at people. The “wrong way” can have dire consequences as I think that may have had something to do with the way that Winnie latched onto my arm in June. For those who don’t know what happened Winnie (I don’t actually know her name but she bore more than a passing resemblence to Winnie Mandela) was a “lady of the night” who grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go until, some 50 metres later, I bought her off with a couple of cigarettes. I’m certain I saw her again on this trip (must be her manor) but remembered to look the right way this time.

So what is the right way to look when strolling past, or through, the army of “ladies”? I think it’s this ………….

the-right-way.jpg

It also works for the whistling men on street corners who seem to be trying to sell snuff.

Whilst I was out strolling, however, I did come across the curiously named “Cafe Spunk”. Now I’m sure, given the “sygeplejerske” experience, that we don’t have to read too much into that, despite the fact that the Cafe was situated quite close to Winnie’s ground, but it does make you think. I was going to ask Lars if he could translate but couldn’t seem to come up with the right way of asking the question.

My report on Copenhagen falls a bit short then, as I was struck ill and spent most of the second day in bed (you know watching “Dalziel and Pascoe”) whilst drinking Panodil Hot – a kind of Lemsip arrangement which tastes like melted down Tunes with a hint of bleach. Maybe that’s another bad point about this hotel. No brewing up facilities in the room which meant a trip down to reception every few hours to get hot water from the coffee machine – didn’t even feel like any cake then either!

Maybe that’s an English thing because, now I think about it, none of the four rooms I occupied on tour had a kettle. Ah well Johnny F. still has things to learn.

Would I go back there again? Well I have done once already so I would imagine that the answer is “yes”.

Next we move on to Hamburg.