A Letter from England February–March 2019

Put any two Englishmen together in a room, they say, and their first topic of conversation will be the weather. With good reason: English weather is so variable. A cynical remark, often repeated, refers to four seasons in one day.

It has to be said that February's weather is worthy of mention. Extreme it was; variable it was not. Town, villages and farmland the length of the country were inundated with once-in-a-century rainfall and flooding for the second or third time in a decade. Television news bulletins showed images of rivers that had lately been streets, lakes where crops were now drowning in their fields, islands where there once had been rolling countryside. In some places emergency flood defences succeeded in holding back the floodwater—flimsy metal frames festooned with blue plastic sheeting along river banks, sandbags stacked in doorways or dedicated permanent barriers installed after recent flood events. In other places they failed. They River Severn spilled over its banks in Shrewsbury, rendering the town a virtual island. 

In south Yorkshire the River Aire encroached upon untold acres of farmland and the unfortunate villages of Snaith, East Cowick and others. Chillingly, television images from these villages told a longer story. On the far horizon the grey cooling towers of Yorkshire’s Drax coal-fired power station loomed, ominously reminding us of the cause of it all.

February gave way to March. In like a lion, in keeping with the old adage, but now there was a new worry. The corona virus was finding its way across the world from China and had reached our shores. On March 5 it took its first English life, and it was clear that it would take many more. In common with other lands around the world, special measures were put in place. Pubs, restaurants and, eventually, schools closed. The old and vulnerable were advised to stay home for safety. The advice soon became an instruction, and extended to others. I need not elaborate. It will be a familiar scenario to all. The roads and streets are now empty of floodwater: and of people too.  

A Letter from England: January 2020

So the decision is made. On January 31 Brexit happens. After year of indecision and division the country seems to have found a consensus. 

Before December’s General Election we all seemed to be evenly divided on the matter. The result of the 1916 referendum—was it really so long ago—was almost an equal split 52% for and 48% against. What kind of Brexit did that imply? ‘Hard’ Brexit or ‘Soft’ Brexit? There was no consensus, and our politicians spent three years dithering. 

The population had become impatient. We needed a decision: one way or the other. Eventually we had a general election, and Boris Johnson was the only leader with a clear plan for Brexit. Others wanted another referendum, or to remain, or to continue dithering.

Of course Boris Johnson won—massively—and it will be his ideas that go forward. Everybody is glad that the uncertainty is over—even those who wanted to remain—and accept that we must all now work together to make the best of it.  The decision is made, so we must proceed.

There is still worry about a few matters. The difficulties with the Irish border will not be solved easily, and there is increasing pressure in Scotland for secession: in Scotland there was a majority for ‘remain’.

I hope now that Britain will stay friends with Europe, and that all our leaders will work towards a sensible deal. We don’t want to see previous mistakes repeated. The common fisheries policy has been very bad for Britain. Our fishing fleet has declined whilst Spanish and French ships have plundered our waters. That must change. There is a feeling that it was also a very bad idea to allow so many people from Eastern Europe to come here. They are nice people, but they have overwhelmed our schools, living accommodation and social services, and they accept lower wages so they take jobs from the indigenous population.

There is growing confidence that these important matters will be sensibly dealt with, and there is a growing determination to make a success of our new place in the world. There are certainly challenges ahead—hardships, possibly—but the country now seems to be ready to move forward.

 

A Letter from England: December 2019

At this time of year people in England, as elsewhere, focus on preparation for Christmas. There is much to do: choosing and wrapping gifts, planning the big feast on Christmas Day and, of course, the rituals of decorating our homes in celebration of the season.

For me, arranging the Christmas tree is an annual trip down memory lane. Every bauble has its own story which it re-tells as it is hung in its place: memories of holidays; of loved ones, some of whom are no longer with us; of the special events; of the way things used to be.

There is the big red star we got in the Quincy Market in Boston, the crystal angel from New York, the cute little girl on the toboggan from Ireland, the grotesque little Yule Lads from Iceland. It has been our habit to collect souvenir Christmas baubles whenever we take a holiday, and now they make a treasure trove of happy memories.

Little figures made of beads—Angels for Africa—made by a self-help group of ladies in Africa and sent one by one over the years by friends in Germany are dotted around our tree as are other gifts from friends: tiny musical instruments made of brass, a little snow storm scene, small wooden roundels with seasonal greetings.

There are little wooden lettered cubes chosen when our children were learning to read, little red wooden apples acquired whilst they were toddlers and special baubles chosen by them as they were growing up, and by us too.

As children we would help our parents to decorate the trees. Great care was called for; in those days the baubles were made of glass, and very fragile. Expensive, too—we didn’t have many. Yet a few survive: a little silvery bell that actually rings, a spiky clear glass star, and a glittery teardrop-shape with a coloured motif on the front.

Filling a tree needed more than these. I have memories of helping my mother to make little umbrellas out of pipe cleaners, crepe paper and cotton. Very affordable, very satisfying, and very effective. Sadly, none of those survive, but we do have a collection of little Christmas parcels made of foil paper and ribbon: very simple, very durable,very cheap. They still go on the tree, even though we can easily afford much fancier ornaments now. They remind is of the times when we were not so well-off, and that our plight of yesteryear is that of many folk right now.

The memories evoked in adorning our tree echo back to childhood, through good years and bad, recalling joy as well as sadness, and remind us to be grateful for the lives we have enjoyed.

Perhaps that is partly what Christmas is all about; reflecting on our lives and our place in the world, and on our interactions with our fellow men.

With that in mind, we send best wishes to all for a happy and peaceful Christmas and, of course, a prosperous New Year.

Time for a Party

Once in a while a touch of joy or sadness steps into every homestead: a wedding or a funeral.

Both events can bring a family together, if only for an hour or two. Whenever it happens the familiar cry rings out: ‘Why can’t we sometimes get together just for the sake of it?’ The thing is, family get-togethers are delightful, and ought to need no excuse. It used to happen every Christmas when I was a kid. I remember the whole clan gathering at Grandma and Granddad’s house: seven sons and a daughter with wives, girlfriends, children, sundry cousins and honorary aunts and uncles all squeezed into one house. Thirty in three rooms, yet there was a comfy seat for everyone, food and treats aplenty, and good company at every turn.

It didn’t last of course. Llittle by little uncles and aunts found other calls on their attention, and numbers depleted. Grandma and Granddad found themselves invited to several much smaller gatherings over the festive period which for them, I am sure, had its compensations. But the big gatherings became reserved for weddings and funerals. Sadly, in our family, the latter have outnumbered the former in recent times, so get-togethers have inevitably been tinged with sadness.

We did have a couple of grand reunions around the millennium. Twice we hired a village hall and made a big party of it. We mustered numbers of over eighty on both occasions.

There are fewer of us now but, by consensus, it is time for another.

So here we go. Next May. In Ashton-under-Lyne.

Anyone descended from or related to the late Frederick Thomas Langridge and Alice Jane (née Over) is included. DM me for details.

A Letter from England - November 2019

Dear Friends,

Just now people in England are much concerned with two related matters: a forthcoming general election and Brexit—the United Kingdom’s secession from the European Union.

The outcome of the referendum held on 23 June 2016 (to decide on our continued membership) was very close: 52% in favour of leaving to 48% against, with an unusually large turnout of 72%. One might have expected general acceptance of the result, and our politicians to have set about implementing the expressed will of the people. Alas, the reality has been otherwise.

The closeness of the result was one problem. If those who voted leave had travelled in coaches to vote, only one or two on each would have needed to change their mind for the outcome to have been quite the opposite. To complicate matters, the pattern of voting was not uniform across the Kingdom. Voters in Scotland and Northern Ireland preferred the remain option, the result provoking a renewal of the Scottish National campaign for secession from the United Kingdom, and fuelling unease in the nationalist community in Northern Ireland. Since the UK and Ireland joined the EU the border between them has been so open as to be merely notional for most purposes: a great benefit to both communities following decades of ‘the Troubles.’ A new ‘hard’ border is no welcome prospect. 

A further, and perhaps more challenging, problem was in interpreting the result of the referendum: What did ‘Brexit’ actually mean?  The terms ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ Brexit were bandied about to describe the various options, such as maintaining, or not, a customs union or a single market with the EU or making a clean break and building a new relationship from scratch with the EU. Those at the extreme ‘leave’ end of the spectrum of opinion declared that anything other than a ‘hard Brexit’ was no Brexit at all, and therefore the country had clearly chosen the hard variety, whilst it was clear that Members of Parliament who, whilst accepting the result of the referendum would have for the most part preferred to remain, did not accept this interpretation, declaring it to be potantially ruinous. 

The   first deal brought back to them by new Prime Minister Theresa May after negotiations with the EU was neither a fully hard deal nor a fully soft one. It was rejected repeatedly by MPs from both ends of the spectrum, and opinions were hardening all the time. At length Mrs May left office and a new Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, replaced her, promising to get the job done. He negotiated a modified deal which, although just approved by Parliament, brought new concerns which delayed its implementation—at which Mr Johnson called a General Election in the hope of increasing his majority and forcing the deal through.

After three-and-a-half years of delay here is much exasperation with the political establishment. To a large extent the usual political party loyalties appear to have been replaced by allegiances to the ‘leave’ or ‘remain’ camps. There are growing concerns about the nature of the Irish Border and indeed the future status of Northern Ireland, the prospect of Scottish secession, the possibilities for new trade deals and the outlook for British industry after Brexit. 

In all this it is surprising that no-one has bothered to ask those one or two coach passengers whether they have changed their mind yet. Perhaps we should.

A Letter form England: October 2019

This time of year sees an annual process that tears families apart: the departure of students to University. I remember tearful and desolate journeys home, having left my own children at their respective temples of Academia. Not only for their first terms, though those were undoubtedly the worst, but through following years as well.

For many young people it is their first substantial period away from home, and without the support of old friends. It is a time of trepidation and excitement, a time for making new friendships and a time of challenge. For parents, too, it is a time of great change and uncertainty. The thought that their children have now fled the family nest, perhaps permanently, is never a comfortable one, and there is always worry about how they will manage in their new surroundings.

Studies apart, the new students have much to prove, if not to learn. Parents hope they have done a good enough job of teaching how to budget and manage money, to cook and feed wisely, to behave and and interact socially in appropriate manner. Students are anxious to prove they can live independently, manage their own affairs, and assert themselves in new peer groups. Mercifully, most succeed surprisingly well, though there is comfort in knowing that support is there for those who find it all less easy.

First-time students are the most likely to find accommodation in Halls of Residence where, it is hoped, someone will keep a caring eye on things. Later, there is generally a move towards less institutional—and cheaper—housing, which can bring its own tribulations. I recall my own experiences of months in a house where one special room was kept eternally spick and span for the sole and exclusive purpose of allowing students to entertain visiting parents. The remainder of the establishment did not bear inspection. The kitchen was was such a disgusting mess that I suspect even the bacteria shied away. Not to worry; we all survived, and I know the place was in no way unique. Of the accommodation enjoyed by my own children, I know what we were shown, and it was better not to enquire too closely.

The purpose of it all though is clear enough, At the end of the day there is great satisfaction when expectations are realised, and parents suddenly realise that their children have grown up whilst they weren’t looking.

Missed Holiday

At this moment I should have been looking back on a splendid holiday in Italy. Instead I am following a regime of regular physiotherapy. I'm sure you will work it out for yourself: our vacation was cancelled at the last minute.
I got out of bed one morning with excruciating pain in the lower back and leg, and unable to stand for more than a couple of minutes. I spent a couple of weeks more or less flat on my back, popping prescription pain killers and being dutifully waited upon be my excellent family, but as our departure date grew near it was clear I wasn't going to be fit to travel, let alone pass a pleasant week walking around in the sunshine of Sorrento. Alas, memories of last year's visit will have to suffice.
That was when I completed two items on my tick list: the Roman sites of Pompeii and Herculaneum.
Mrs did not accompany me to Pompeii. Her mobility is now very poor, and she gets around with a mobility scooter. A little research had told us that the site would not suit her, though in truth I saw that a lot of work is under way to enable wheelchair access to some of the ruins. She might well have managed it, had she not elected to consume indecent quantities of ice cream on the Corso d'Italia instead.
As it was I was able to spend a very pleasant day wandering about (after an excellent guided tour) and enjoying the experience. In a whole day I did not see everything, so I was especially disappointed not to return this year. I have to say that Mrs could not have managed the half-hour train journey from Sorrento to the station outside Pompeii's main entrance. The carriages were packed and there was nowhere to store the scooter, even if she had been able to make it onto the train.
Herculaneum was a different matter. We hired a car and driver and we both went. It is a much easier site for access, and Mrs was able to trundle around the ruins relatively easily—even venturing onto an actual Roman road surface for a little while.
On reflection, that roadway was not much worse than the current ones in the side streets of Sorrento. Mrs was able to get around OK, but it was a bit of a bone shaker.
A planned trip along the Amalfi coast did not take place; we had hoped to rectify that this year. One of the spectacular sights to greet us as we travelled the coast route from Naples Airport to our hotel was a small fleet of Canadair water-bombers landing and taking off in the bay. The reason? A forest fire which caused the closure of the Amalfi coast road for most of our stay.
Getting to Sorrento with a mobility scooter was much easier than you might imagine. We flew with Jet2 whose assistance arrangements were faultless. We were able to drop our luggage the evening before the flight (we overnighted in the Crowne Plaza at Manchester Airport—and left our car there for the week) and presented ourselves at the assistance desk. We were condusted through security and to the aircraft where we were lifted aboard with an ambulift (an elevator mounted on the back of a truck) and the scooter was taken away to the hold. The reverse procedure got us to our taxi at Naples, and the whole programme was repeated on the reverse journey. An excellent experience. It's just a pity we didn't repeat it in 2019.
Well...  perhaps 2020?

Confession

I have to confess it's been a long time since I updated my blog. The thing is, I got a different computer and had enormous difficulty logging-in. After a hundred failed attempts and weeks of my life passing by, I gave it up in frustration.
On a whim, I tried signing on today, and Bingo! Here I am.
Much has happened in the meantime, though to be honest the moment has gone for most of it. On the positive side I now have a greater fund of experience to fall back on in times of little interest. I'll try not to bore you.

A Letter from England: October 2015

Around this time of year we generally take a trip to the English Lake District to watch the leaves turn. Autumn paints the forestscape with magnificent blazes of red, yellow and gold, and even if the spectacle does not quite match the glories of New England in the Fall, it more than rewards the effort of making the journey.

A favourite spot of ours is Tarn Hows, where we have enjoyed picnic lunches amid the double vista of the canopy and its image reflected in still water, and where, at ten-years-old, our son was once inspired to describe 'leaves the colour of a dragon's flame.'

I have to say that we found this year's display somewhat disappointing. Everything is behindhand this year and the verdancy of summer lingers on with the leaves merely beginning to hint at the visions  to come. Perhaps it is churlish to complain that the climate which has treated us so gently this year has afforded the woodlands a longer growing season, though the suspicion persists that all is not well in Mother Nature's world.

In a not entirely unconnected matter another loved location in this idyllic quarter of England finds itself at the centre of some controversy. A leaftlet newly circulated by 'Friends of the Earth' bears an image of the picturesque village and lake of Grasmere alongside the injunction: 'Don't let fracking destroy all of this.'  It goes on to assert a range of dire environmental consequences arising from hydraulic fracturing and the chemicals involved in its application: contamination of ground water, atmospheric pollution and increased risk of cancer.

It was pointed out to the disseminators that the minerals beneath the County of Cumbria are for the most part volcanic in nature and therefore contain little in the way of recoverable fuel. The chances of fracking ever taking place in or near to Grasmere approximate to zero.

The defence that '...the picture is illustrative of the sorts of areas which the government is opening up for fracking' might have been a little more convincing were it not for the barrage of sanction about scientific and technical inaccuracies and errors put forth in the pamphlet, followed by several official complaints to the Advertising Standards Authority and the Fundraising Standards Board - official bodies whose functions are self-explanatory.

To discredit the leaflet is not to prove the lack of a valid case against fracking. Rather, it underlines the importance of using valid information in our arguments. Further, it reminds us of the ongoing controversy over the pros and cons of fracking: whether the associated environmental damage and continued burning of fossil fuels can be justified, or whether the risks of shortfalls in our energy supplies before greener resources can be brought to market are acceptable. Which body of opinion will prevail remains to be seen, but decisions will need to be taken soon.

Perhaps Friends of the Earth would have served their case better with a photograph of Tarn Hows, and a caption: 'Autumn is late this year; It's later than you think.'

Post script. 

In the couple of weeks since I posted this letter, the British Forestry Commission has declared that this autumn's colours are the most striking for years. Look from my window now, I am bound to agree. The reason for the spectacular show, it is suggested, is the good weather and growing conditions for trees in the summertime.

Worse than Nothing?

This is a real grumble.

You can read below about our cruise in March 2012 to the Canary Islands. The trip was marred by an ongoing outbreak of Norovirus on the ship. Many passengers were affected, and part of the remedy was to ask them to remain in their cabins for 48 hours. As an incentive, there was mention of a discount on on a further cruise for those who comply. As a precaution passengers who might not have been affected, but showed symptoms were also asked to comply. My Mrs was one such - it cost her two days of a 12-day holiday, and myself, too to some extent, although I was able to make more of the time since I was able to leave the cabin and go ashore as well as sitting and keeping her company.

The voucher for a future cruise discount had not arrived by mid-August, so I wrote to ask why not. To be fair, the reply was very prompt, and came with a voucher for £61 off a future cruise, valid until the end of 2013.

Now £61 compared with a ticket price of £1259 amounts to a discount of 5% for one person. Better than nothing I suppose, in monetary terms, at least. Worse than nothing in terms of customer relations. I doubt whether we will use it. I just negotiated a discount of more than 5% for two on our next cruise, but with a different cruise line. I don't think we will be using our Fred.Olsen voucher.

Short Stories to Read on the Bus

I belong to Panocticon, a small creative writing group in Whalley, Lancashire, UK. We meet every week at Whalley Abbey to swap ideas, consider each other's work and socialise. We have published a few things that you will find on http://www.flspanocticonshowcase.blogspot.com That's where you'll see my own book, a collection of short stories: 'Short Stories to read on the Bus'
I just thought I'd mention it, but I won't dwell on it - I have much more interesting things to say here.

Compatibility

It may be this blog will have to be discontinued soon, or switched to a new provider.  The thing is that the new Blogger interface is incompatible with Windows 7.  So far I have been able to switch back to the old interface when it has changed to the new one without asking, but I'm not getting a new computer just so I can get Windows 8 just so I can use Blogger.  What's more I am definitely NOT going to be coerced into installing Google Chrome.  Watch this space.

More On Cruising

One issue to be addressed when considering a cruise is where to start from.

Cruising from a UK port has advantages and drawbacks.

A recent cruise from Southampton to the Canary Islands took three days at sea to reach our first port of call: Funchal Madeira.  The return leg from Lisbon took two.  That's quite a chunk from a two-week holiday, and to be honest the time spent in Lisbon was disappointingly short.  Some will opine that every minute on board is part of the experience to be enjoyed and I wouldn't argue with that.  I would assert that waking up in a different port every day is an attraction, too, and the more of that the better. 
On the other hand there's effectively no luggage limit if you're not flying.  A 2-week cruise with themed and formal nights has a hefty luggage demand and flying guests will invariably be up to the limit.  And if you're bringing lots of presents back...  don't get me started on that one.
Even sailing from the UK there is still the matter of reaching your departure port - with all your luggage.  You can fly from the north of England to Southampton, which gives you the worst of both worlds, or go by the shuttle coaches arranged by cruise companies.  These rarely pick up near home so you still have the same problem on a smaller scale.  We invariably end up driving there, staying overnight and leaving our car by arrangement at the hotel.  (Hilton Hotel, Chilworth, I'll give you a plug here so long as you promise to prompt your guests to book the with-taxi-to-the-port option when they book to keep their costs down.)

There is another issue likely to cost you days from your holiday.  The ship we travelled on seems to have an endemic problem with Norovirus.  (That's winter vomiting virus to you, and an attack is very unpleasant, if short-lived.)  Not short-lived is the 48-hour quarantine period.  They'll confine you to your cabin if you get sick, even if it's just a tummy upset, so every aspect of hygiene deserves attention.  Wash hands often, use the germicidal gels and be very picky about what you eat and drink.  Use your own pen to sign the tabs and use your pen as a prodder for the elevator buttons.  They promise a voucher for discount on your next cruise is you are confined, but we haven't seen it yet.  Perhaps you have to ask.  I'll give them to the end of the month before I begin to push the issue.

The third issue which is close to my heart is that of disabled access.  Some ports put on shuttle buses if the ship is very far from the port entrance or resort: others do not.  Similarly cruise lines, who should always do so in my opinion.  Even when they are provided they might not run all the time, so beware.  And  cruise lines please remember: "Only 500 metres to the port gates.."  means exactly the same as "A full half-kilometre to the gates and them some."  Would you say that to a guest with mobility problems without offering help?

On Cruising

For anyone considering a cruise for the first time, I would offer a few pieces of advice:

1.   Go for it.  Go for the whole deal - formal dress as appropriate, and enjoy the full range of entertainment and activities.  Enjoy the food, but don't overdo it.  Enjoy the ports of call but do your research before you book any excursions, you might do better going independently. 

2.   Don’t expect the ticket price to be all you pay.

First of all there will be gratuities.  The domestic staff, you will be told (that’s waiters, cleaners, bar staff and others), rely on gratuities to bring their pay up to a reasonable level. The least we have been asked for is £2.00 per day.  For two of us on a 10-day cruise that’s only £40 which was not going to break the bank – and it was entirely voluntary.  Guests were given envelopes to hand to the cabin steward or waiter.  With another line the figure was £10 each per day and this was automatically added to your cabin bill and felt very far from voluntary.  Most cruise lines operate in this way, and the extra expense can come as an unwelcome surprise to some first-time cruisers.  I wish they would just add it all into the ticket price so you can see up-front what the cost of the cruise is.  But they don’t.  You need to find out what is expected before you book.

Second of all, as a captive audience you have no option but to pay on-board prices for extras.  Meals are included of course, and with the better lines you can get a snack or a cup of tea or coffee at any time.  Drinks at the bar are not free and it is easy to run-up a significant bill (ships are cash-free these days – everything goes on your cabin card.)  One cruise line we tried had a low ticket price and moderate gratuities, but charged top prices for everything on-board.  Not only this, there was significant periods of the day and night when snacks and tea and coffee were only available to purchase, and at €2.50 every time you want a coffee it soon adds up.  A bottle of wine with your meal started at €40.  In retrospect the business model of this cruise line becomes very clear.
What I’m saying is: ask what level of gratuities is expected and get a list of typical on-board prices before you book.  What looks like a cheap deal might not be.

Third of all: excursions.  There is little point in calling in at interesting places if you don’t see the sights, but booking excursions can run away with a lot of money and it can be infuriating to find that you have paid through the nose to be taken to and dumped in a remote tourist shop where you are expected to spend even more, whilst fellow passengers have made their own ways and had a much better deal.  In most cruise ports local operators will provide excursions.  What you need to find out about – and get in writing – is how far it will be from the ship to where you want to be and what the arrangements are for getting there.  Sometimes it is a coach ride and the fare can be pricy if it is provided by the cruise line.  There will nearly always be local taxis waiting for the liner to arrive.  You need to get as much information as you can and plan accordingly.  Do bear in mind, though, that those on booked excursions are often given priority when disembarking.  The wait can be agonising for others.

You will notice that I haven’t mentioned any names yet.  All I will say is that we found Fred.Olsen and Cunard very satisfactory.  Significantly not named are the ones who dealt least well with our special needs – mobility and special diets – as well as leaving the impression that they were trying to rip us off.

'Short Stories to Read on the Bus' (See below) is now available in print on http://www.lulu.com

Short Stories to Read on the Bus

My collection of short stories is now on Kindle.  Print version now also available on Lulu.com.

It's a mixed bag with something for every mood, I hope.  The idea is to present a set of entertaining tales suitable for reading on a short bus journey - that is around 1500 words each, though some are a little longer.  Twenty-two stories for eighty-six pence can't be bad value.

Download a free sample or buy it here:  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0060Y39AS

A detective in Manhattan thinks he’s losing his grip; another in ancient Britain definitely isn’t. 

A boy falls for the wrong girl and it’s all going horribly wrong, a girl runs from a failed relationship into more trouble than she ever bargained for, and a secretary with a crush on the boss thinks her moment has come.

A know-it-all drinks too much, a busybody gets an invitation to the ball, and a band of Irishmen buy a racehorse.  With hilarious results.

Tension and romance,  humour and mystery, and the quirkiness of human nature.  Add a few exotic locations, drop in the odd fairy, a handful of ghosts and a flying saucer and you have a set of stories with something for every mood

A ten-minute bus ride gives enough time to find a seat, exchange the odd pleasantry and read a thousand or two words.  This set of tales is chosen with that in mind. Some are a little longer, some a little shorter, but all can be enjoyed on that short bus journey into town.

Fair Fare

We flew from Manchester UK to JFK with American Airlines.  My daughter and I sat together.  That meant two special meals: I am diabetic and she is stridently vegetarian.
My meal arrived as soon as they started serving.  Only when the cabin attendant arrived to offer the choice of chilli or chicken did we realise there was a problem.  Yes: several vegetarian meals had been ordered but there were none left.  The stewardess was apologetic, but  the vegetarian meals had all been given out.
To be fair, she did rush off and arrive back within minutes with items cannibalised from several other meals.  A better than half-decent meat-free repast was provided after all, so full marks to her for that.
AJ said it happened all the time.  At University, whenever a special celebratory meal was organised in Halls of Residence, the vegetarians would order their meals in advance.  Then when the time came, some of the meat eaters decided the 'veggie option' looked the most appetising and helped themselves.  That left the vegetarians without options.
She thought that had probably just happened again. 
It seems very odd to me that diabetic meals are delivered directly to named passengers, whilst vegetarians seem to be served according to some other system.
It is a big deal for vegetarians.  If they order the meal, they should get it.  Guaranteed!

Somewhere to Lay My Head

A hotel doesn't need to do much just to be OK.  If it is clean and warm and has a comfy bed and decent ablutions, most guests will be content.  The food doesn't even have to be brilliant; in many places it's room-only anyway.   Location might be a consideration, though I'm guessing that most people check this out when choosing where to stay.  That and the price.  Get those things right and your guests should go away happy.

Most places go beyond the basics these days, so expect to find free toiletries and a tv set.  Perhaps there will be other personal appliances like hair dryers and irons too and, of course, the makings of a hot drink.  These should make guests even happier.
So here's my problem.
If you're going to go to the trouble and expense of putting multi-channel tv into your hotel rooms, why wouldn't you go to the trouble of making sure all the channels are properly tuned-in?  How often have I had conversations with fellow guests who I have been watching channels I can't get, and vice versa?  Too often!  And it shouldn't be too difficult to check the batteries in the remote control handset still have life in them.
When I arrive at your hotel I want  enjoy a coffee whist I unpack.  Then perhaps I will  go out on the town, getting back as late as I like, and have another coffee or two watching tv before turning-in, get a good night's sleep.  In the morning you can make an early pre-breakfast coffee and you're ready to face the day.  Right?
Wrong!
You get two tea bags and four tubes of coffee per guest and, here's the killer, two cartons of milk.  I have hardly ever had a room where I didn't wish there was twice as much.  The milk is generally long-life and comes in little packs that keep it fresh for weeks, so why wouldn't they leave plenty?  The desk staff are always happy to supply more on request, but I'd rather not have to put them to the trouble.
I guess it's little niggles like these that irritate everybody but are so trivial  that nobody bothers to grumble.
All I'm saying is: if you're going to do it, do it right.

Making a Start

You might have come across my reviews on TripAdvisor for example.  I always try to do a straight job, and treat both the prospective customer and the proprietor with respect and fairness.  In truth, I am easily pleased.  It takes something really off the mark to provoke me  to serious criticism, and I suspect that most folk are of the same disposition.
Having said that, I now risk contradicting myself by listing the ways in which I am often displeased.  The thing is, we are a family with some special requirements.  I am a diet-controlled diabetic, my wife is somewhat disabled, my daughter is a strict vegetarian, and my son is a health-conscious healthcare professional who will not countenance second-rate food, and at six-feet-four has legroom issues.  You can tell we can present a challenge to those who run airlines, restaurants and hotels.  The challenge is not always well-received.
It can make for interesting conversations, especially when we all travel together.
Airports have those electric buggies for disabled passengers, don't they?  You try booking one, with the airport, with the airline, or with your travel agent.  The only time we got one was when we didn't book and Qantas came up with one without asking.  Full marks to them.
Some restaurants are very helpful when it comes to special needs.  Others not.  Typical questions and answers:
'Is xxx easily accessible for disabled guests?' -  'Oh, it's only three flights up/ a five-minute walk (translates to ten minutes and twenty for a handicapped person.)/ round the corner.  Only!  How often we hear that word.
'Have you anything for vegetarians?' -  'I can do you an omelette.'
'I can't eat  fries/potatoes; can I have salad/vegetables instead?' -  'I can do you a side-order.  It'll be ---- extra.'
Things like this get my attention and get me cross.
I get especially cross with the way people are treated at airports, and I hate Heathrow with double passion: triple if we happen to be flying with BA.
On the bright side, we often get excellent service,  and I am always glad to comment on that, too.