Searching for Sun in Spain

Success! I can report the potential Sun sighting mentioned before to be valid and correct. I would like to confirm that over the last 10 days I have been privileged enough to have basked in the glorious presence of the divine, omniscient god of yester-year, The Sun.

That is correct. There is a part of the world in which there still remains the daily rise and fall of the giant orangey yellow ball of warmth and light which we in the UK have been so unfortunately lacking for the last few months.

The mystical place I talk of is of course the distant and wondrous land of Southern Spain.

Spain is a country in which the discerning Englishman can become easily confused and disorientated. On numerous occasions I was left bemused after attempting to converse with members of the local population. After a 20 min. conversation with a local, I was happily able to describe every inch of the leathery skinned Spaniard’s face in minute detail, from his cavernous wrinkles to his obviously cigarette smoke tinted yellow nose. But unfortunately I came away no closer to knowing the location of the nearest ATM. A kindly Shop keeper did help me however, when I entered her establishment and requested directions to the beach, to be told “¡menuda gilipollez!” which I can only take to mean…

“left down this street, right over the traffic lights, past the post office, turn ‘round back the other way past the post office again ‘cos you’ve gone the wrong way, take the next left past the Meridian Hotel, hurdle a small wall, run/hide from Policia, and your there!”

…in Spanish, because these instructions worked a charm and before I could say -The Spanish Armada 1588- I was on the beach sipping San Miguel and discussing the pros and cons of English crickets Off Spinners with some bewildered Germans.

Spain is a fantastic place, the locals lack the friendliness to be called… well... "friendly”, but the place itself is grand, 10 days of beaches, pools, lots of San Miguel, and of course the reason for my pilgrimage, the quest to discover if there remains a place in which the Sun still shines, and the answer is resoundly, Yes! As Sun Champion of Her Majesties Empires however, I feel it is my duty to travel further a field and to find out if this truly is the only remaining sunny haven. So before you all flock South let me investigate the state of play to our East and gather a fuller picture of the extent of the Suns demise.

I shall report back shortly with news of my pending departure East due for the 30th June, until then, keep smiling, there is still hope out there… I’ve seen it!

The Search for Summer

It has come to my ever perceptive attention that while I’ve been slaving away behind my desk 9 – 5, the United Kingdom has been in a state of chronic depression for it has been without one of the main ingredients of good spirit… the Sun! Not the entire UK mind, I hear bits of western Scotland are actually quite lovely at the moment. But unless all 60 million of us intend on packing up our bum bags and migrating to MacDougal Land then there is definitely a need to bring back summer to the British Isles.
Due to the nation being in crisis I have decided to undertake a series of adventures around gods green and wonderful world in search of the kind of warm, illuminating, cancer inducing light we all crave!

To make this possible and to be able to fulfil my destiny as Sun Champion of Her Majesties Empires I have been forced to resign my post with the local financial institution for whom I was previously employed. This was not an easy decision to make and not one I took lightly, but in the end I think the entrenched, dishevelled, and generally down trodden population of our ever wet country will agree that my new mission is worthy.

First on my list of places to explore in search of heat, light and lovely UV is a land where the Paella has reigned strong for centuries, cheap package holidays are a form of currency, and historically the people like to build big groups of boats and send them our way, but most importantly this place has had a recent, unconfirmed sighting of my illusive target. I must move to confirm this immediately.

After visiting Spain, my travels take me to places such as Poland, Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania, Russia, Mongolia, China, and ultimately Wales (but I don’t hold out much hope of Sun Spotting there!) So I pledge to keep all informed of my progress and lets hope that my undertaking is a success and we get a bit of Sun to enjoy instead of sitting here looking out the window at the unrelenting barrage of water heaven is intent on sending earthwards.

The Art of Queuing

It has become apparent over the past few months of entertaining the public in a service based medium that the art of queuing is fast becoming one of those lost skills that the British claim to be great and mighty at but are in fact borderline rubbish at. Like football, making cars, and drinking.

It was once considered the world’s capital of queuing finesse and revered the globe over for its ability to self-organise an efficient order of standing when patiently waiting. But the UK is quickly becoming yet another country of cajolers, pushers, whingers, and generally bad sports in the queuing environment.

Examples of this travesty over traditional values can be seen in the workplace, committed by stubborn members of the public standing at the wrong end of the queue direction pointers so as to “not have to walk all the way down, just to come back again” when they’re called over. This is an impressive bout of laziness from a nation that once marched the length of Africa simply in the name of the ruling Monarch. If asked to move to the correct end of the queuing lane, it is common practise for the offending patron to “tut” and “twitter” to a volume high enough that they believe the entire room is aware of the plight we are inflicting upon them, yet low enough that no audible verses are coherent, thus maintaining the guise of kindly aged citizens.

Further evidence of “miss-queuing” can be found when waiting for the ever controversial auto-bus carriage to transport the lingering masses back to their intended homesteads. Why is it imperative that as the vehicle approaches the gathering group simultaneously takes three steps forward? Is this the notice the driver requires to realise that the bus must stop at this, his LAST stop of the line? Or do the expectant passengers live in hope this aggressive move will help to propel them to the forefront of the collective and advance their chances of getting home before Neighbours starts?

Who knows, all I know is that this is a sorry state of affairs and between poor waiting manners and bus stop bombarding I feel less comfortable in partaking in this once grand British pastime and the art of queuing.

Bus Etiquette

Some say that I’m from the old school, and thus have a skewed view point on traditional values. However I’m yet to meet an individual who disagrees with me on these most pressing of issues.

I’m talking of cause about the decline of bus etiquette. There was a time, the Peak if you will, in which an unspoken oath was upheld by all who travelled upon gods big red carriages. This was a glorious time, full of happy commuters, cheery old people, and the token smelly (yet always smiling) drunk!

Nower days however, not only do these stagecoaches no longer support the stunning red paint of the glamorous years, but the once sacred creed of the bus patron is no where to be seen.

The number of times I’ve seen a bunch of the chronologically challenged board the bus and have to stand, or worse, because some little miscreant can’t tear themselves away from their blatantly hugely important text messaging session, and allow the aged persons to relieve their weary bones of the burden that comes with standing up in a moving vehicle for 20 minutes.

It’s a scandal, what is also a scandal is the use of so called “personal” music devices… if these devices are as the statement infers and designed to be personal, then why does the entire bus have to be participants in Amy Winehouse’s latest dabble in Rehab. I’m not opposed to people tuning into their brain rechargers to help pass the time between embarkation and disembarkation, if anything it helps to keep them off their sodding mobile phones!

Which neatly brings me to my next point. Do I, as either a sleepy pre-work zombie or a tired post-work grump care the slightest what Donna or Sharon got up to last night? (I think not!) Could the prospect of a party round “Bez’s” at the weekend interest me? (Potentially, if that party includes a round of charades, a nice cheese board, and a collection of slides portraying coastal erosion on the southern most coast of Borneo. Unlikely though, given “Bez’s” apparent affliction with “Doing gear, and hurling up chunks in the corner all night”… so the cheese boards probably out then?!?!)

My point isn’t that any of what these people are doing is actually wrong (except may-be the big intoxicated baldy who sits there picking his nose and flicking it at passers by… that’s got to be wrong!) My point is that this is a fine depiction of the demise that society has seen over recent years. It can all be brought down to a lack of one vital element that makes us who we are as human beings; there is a distinct lack of respect for our fellow man. This my friends, needs addressing with utmost urgency.

Annoying Chain E-Mails

OK, so when it comes to writing a whole bunch of random ramblings about nothing much, I'm no saint. But it fails even myself how these so called "chain e-mailings" can get started... I'm obviously referring to the ones that ask us to say weather certain items are currently residing on your desk, or weather you prefer Red or Blue. After deeply investigating the higher conscience of my inner Ian, these FBI-type emails then make the outrageous claim that if i was to commit the most heinous of crimes and not send this precious document on to 15 other people then i will suffer 5 years of totally unbearable bad look... Seriously? By not sending this email to 15 people i will never get a promotion? Never be happy in love? Never win the lottery? Never find a family of four leaf clovers growing on my compost heap? Are you saying that if i sever the centuries long dynasty this chain stands for, a chain that has survive the test of history and lasted the full length and breadth of time and space itself... if i don't resend this email, then when i finally reach the end of the rainbow there WON'T be a pot of gold!?!?!

I'm personally not a superstitious person, but i can accept other people being faithful to forces we humble humans cannot quite comprehend. However i fail to fathom how anyone can believe that a little chap sitting in a dark room somewhere in Arizona, with a can of Diet Caffeine-Free Coca Cola Zero in one hand, and a copy of the 1973 Playboy Annual in the other, can summon up the immense power to directly interfere with how my life will pan out over the next few years!

Please correct me if there's any scientific evidence to back up this threat to my well being, or if anyone has in fact had a shocking couple of years and can trace it back to the regretable day they foolishly ignored the warnings and failed to forward on one of these intrusive chain e-mails.

My Letter to a Certain Local Cinema

Ok, so I'm possibly not the most positive person in the world, and yes it has been said that at times i get a little over the top with the negativity towards the seemingly negligible issues i stumble upon. But this current irritation of mine has now become such a major thing about which i whinge that i felt compelled to write a letter to the offending parties. However, before i take the leap from moaning pessimist to complaining areshole i felt i should check with all who care (and the majority that don't) as to whether you believe my quarrel is just and that it deserves the stampage (currently an astronomical 30p, but that's for another day!) required to deliver it to it's intended recipient! So here you go:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Sir/Madam,

My name is Ian Robinson, I'm 20 years old and working in a local building society (not a bank... there are subtle differences, even if I'm still looking for them myself!) I like to attend your visual entertainment emporium on an irregular basis whenever i spy a video film which takes my fancy.

The question i pose to your good self on this fine day is thus, under which category in your "Something for Everyone" campaign does a simple 9-5 guy like my good self fit into?

To elaborate, just in case the focus and nature of the campaign has slipped your mind, being so busy and all. You promise to have something for "everyone" and the categories you assume "everyone" could slot into somewhere or other are: Senior, Kids, Newbies, and Director's Chair.
But where, i ask you, does the humble working man fit in?

Unfortunately i pay full bus fair and therefore am not a "Mature Guest" as your website describes the Seniors section. I would however appreciate the free tea and coffee on offer to these most privileged of persons, but as the showings are mid-morning i would be unable to make a caffeine pilgrimage in the middle of a working day!

The Newbies and Kids sections aren't overly relevant either unless i was able to commandeer some young person to pass off as my child. The aforementioned Kids promotion doesn't mention any specific ages, so i was wondering if i was to bring along a decidedly slow friend of mine with a dangerously low mental age could we partake in the "frolics and fun at pocket money prices"?

So the last glimpse of something i could take from this campaign of yours is the Director's Chair showings, but unless watching Anchorman and Old School over and over again makes me a "true film fanatic" then I'm not going to be feeling any vibe from your selection of art-house, independent, and foreign language cinematography!

And back to my original question, what does a fine establishment like yours offer to people like me under your outrageous claim to be able to offer "Something for Everyone"?

On behalf of all in my position (and i know of at least 3 others like me!) i excitedly await your response.

Kind Regards,

Ian Robinson Esq.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aren't buses rubbish?

I got on today and asked for my regular "Frio" pass (which in itself is depressing as it's an admission to partaking in at least another 13 journeys aboard one of Trent's finest, and that's not a euphemism!) Only to be told by the lovely, friendly and definitely not suicidal autobus pilot that the already extortionate price of 18 shiny English pounds has been raised to a nosebleed inducing 19 somewhat dull English pound coins!

So now I'm paying more for a service that rarely turns up on time (if at all!), is often full up with scary "fragrant" non-locals, and which boasts the smallest amount of leg room per seat physically possible before you would have to start inverting peoples legs into their chests. Sound fair to you? Nope, thought not! Therefore i have started a protest movement, but as i still require this mode of transportation for logistical reasons, I'm going to start my revolution from the inside out. I will continue to get the buses to and from town when required, but i won't enjoy it and to show these most heinous of highwaymen what for, i have decided that as of now i will no longer move back up the bus when requested to! Ha!

This will cause a backlog in the drivers direct "cab" area and he will develop a severe bout of claustrophobia and resign from active duty, this will in turn cause chaos as people complain about the lack of bus services. I will resume my responsibility to "shuffty" down the bus only when the company agree to level the playing field. I understand there will be a period of disruption incurred but as the saying goes, there's no pain without gain!

No but seriously, bus are pretty rubbish at the moment, they rock up when they want to and charge astronomical prices... not impressed!