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See all posts for July2016

Screw you, or do you want to get pulled?

  • July 29, 2016
  • Food & Drink Friends Love Sex
  • View all 2 Comments
Why...

Do I still prefer pulling a cork rather than unscrewing a cap? Logic has gone out the window here. No other business in the world would tolerate a (conservative) 5% failure rate, which is the figure given for 'corked' wines. That's one in twenty. We have hissy fits when one in in ten thousand IPads just blink. Can you imagine if one in twenty cars were faulty?   And yet....   That seductive pop bursts so many pent up emotions. The sound rivals the soothing tones of a $500 an hour shrink. That pop can just as easily equate to the escape of bottled up sexual tension on a first date, to the release of frustration after the week from hell (I suspect David and Sam Cameron may well have yanked a few corks after Brexit). Then there is the whole wonderful bullshit theatre of the sommelier. Firstly he thrusts the bottle under my nose, ignoring if I was in mid-sentence or even mid- joke, demanding my undivided attention in his far more important world. I can barely remember the name of what I have picked out, let alone the year but I gamely play along with the charade, putting on my specs to carefully inspect the bottle. Then, deftly using one of those tiny contraptions I can never get to work, the wine waiter swiftly extracts the cork. If he is a sommelier par excellence he might even sniff what he has removed, and with a look of supreme indifference, pocket it as he pours me a thimble full of wine to taste. Of course if he really knew what he was doing he should know instantly if a bottle is bad and simply apologize and produce another. But he has his reasons and waits as I take a sip. The moment of truth. Occasionally when the bottle is so badly corked that my tongue dials the fire brigade, I am brave enough to challenge the wine waiter and suggest the bottle of botulism he has presented me with ain't quite up to standard. However I am ashamed to admit most times I am too intimidated if I think the wine is punching me in the throat rather than caressing my taste buds.  Usually my party have drunk half the bottle before someone has the courage to say that "rather than suggesting a bouquet of raspberry with a hint of chocolate and whisper of tannins, this tastes like a bus driver's sock.” We then haul over the wine waiter. Depending on if we look like we might know what we are talking about he will inspect the glass and mutter an apology, or simply whisk the offending bottle away. I have never seen a sommelier actually taste a corked bottle. A good one that is not corked, yes. But a bottle of rancid wine juice? Never. As I said, they know from the get go, but hope your too sloshed to notice. The reason they say nothing is the staff will of course chalk up the bottle as rancid, add it to the claim of dud bottles they present each month to the supplier and open (hopefully) a decent bottle of the same vintage to enjoy once the bloody patrons have left.

..and another thing (continue to read this post)

It's an AMENDMENT dummy. It's already been altered....

  • July 21, 2016
  • Finance/Law Kids/Family/Relations Politics
  • View all 0 Comments
Why...

Do I have to  see my dear transatlantic cousins twist and turn in the wind of argument over gun control? I know this is a subject that has undone many a Brit scribbler but I am deeply perplexed at the argument that it's practically divine a right to bare arms.... or arm bears.... and then quote the second amendment. Isn't that the point? It was an AMENDMENT. The original needed altering. It wasn't right first time. Perhaps in this day and age it ain't right now? The constitution was changed to allow you Colonials to bear arms to form a militia against perfidious Albion....but we ain't coming after you anymore. And if you think even a battle-bus full of patriotic armed citizens was going to prevent a modern attack such as 911 or the Boston bombers, that's wildly optimistic? A hand gun revolver if you must, and a bolt action rifle for hunting, but Yogi and Boo-Boo don't wear Kevlar nor run at 70 miles an hour so you don't need armor piercing bullets that pop out at a zillion rounds a second to stop them. Clearly if you have a country with a gabillion guns sloshing around in it, it's a trifle tricky to ask everyone to hand them back. And I suspect the least likely to then hand them back are those that you would most like to. It's therefore tough beyond belief but you have to start somewhere. How about the manufacturing bullets for certain weapons becomes an imprisonable offence unless supplied at a shooting range? I accept there are some countries who's citizens are armed to the teeth and live a relatively peaceful existence; Switzerland for instance (I claim a little bias here as I have a Swiss passport). Every citizen is issued with a rifle to defend against invasion. It's actually pretty pointless because if Uncle Putin wanted to get in, all the passes are mined and blowing those up is far more effective than a bunch of yodeling bankers trying to take pot shots at the Russian Army. Still no one has gone on a murdering rampage as far as I know. However maybe it's because gunfire exchange is less evident in Swiss culture. Heidi was not packin' an Uzi as she wandered around the Alps, and even William Tell could only fire one arrow at a time...even if it was at his son's head! The peaceful locals are renowned for whipping up cuckoo clocks not 3D printed handguns, chocolates not 1, 000 round magazines.

..and another thing (continue to read this post)

Ryan Air, Easy Jet and Sky Blue are deep in the luxury section of travel...

  • July 14, 2016
  • Life Travel/Nature
  • View all 1 Comment
Why...

Do we accept outdated travel standards?  I am writing today's blog with the door handle to the bathroom in my cabin on an overnight ferry in one hand and the recently dropped out spindle lying on the orange nylon carpet on the other side of the locked door. The 'boom-boom-boom' of the nightclub nearby is partly blocked out by the insistent knocking on the cabin door by my wife. She is banging on it asking me to let her in. Her problem is that instead of plastic keys to insert into the electronic reader in the lock, to save money this shipping line uses cardboard ones.  It's creased so the door won't open......   A children's nursery rhyme pops into my head. "Oh dear what can the matter be, Mark Grenside is stuck in the lavatory, He was alone from Monday to Saturday, Nobody knew he was there....."   Welcome to the European ferry service that is taking my wife and our car from Spain to Malta via Italy. It's a 70's time warp where everything including the make-up and uniforms of the crew and even the carpets are super tacky....with most things on board simply not working (just like some of the crew). The TV (personally signed by John Logie Baird it's so old) is frozen on an Italian shiny floor game show. The concept of service in the restaurant is even funnier than Chris Rock on an impromptu stand-up comedy schtick and the wifi service is as intermittent as my windshield wipers in a drizzle. In fact the code to log on to the wifi is FIFTEEN digits long yet it's feeble capacity means I can only download written content, (so no Skype or image downloads)......and I can only buy for one hour at a time. No more. "You want more than an hour? Why?" asked the reception desk. "For work, " I tried to explain. But that was perhaps an alien concept. "After an hour on the Internet you have to come back for another code. Or call me." She smiles showing me the numbers written longhand on a piece of paper torn from an exercise book and hands it to me like a laundry ticket. One hour one minute later I discover I cannot call the Reception desk from the phone in the bedroom to ask for the new codes, as the phone spits out numbers completely unrelated to the digits I type in....very much like an Enigma machine from World War II. Reception is 72000 but so far the phone twice dialled 63799 and once the engine room! In a way I'm happy to be locked in the bathroom, away from vomiting  Russians out on a stag week-end and young kids who are allowed to  scream and run riot in the playroom at 1.30 AM....which is conveniently situated next to the dining room whose doors cannot close to block out the din. Other quaint customs include pre-paying for anything you want from the cafe at the till situated at the opposite end of the room. It therefore kills impulse purchases. After paying for my coffee and walking to the bar I discover they have some fancy cakes I'd like to buy. But that would mean returning to the queue at the payment desk so I don't bother. The crew all shake their heads when you suggest that possibly things might be better and point to the complaint box. It's stuffed with more letters than Santa's in tray on Christmas Eve...... Perhaps Brexit was not such a calamity! The exception to the C.E.F rule (Crappy European Ferry), is the Ferry from Sicily to Malta. It's so sleek it makes the Queen Mary look like the wreck of the Mary Deare.

..and another thing (continue to read this post)

Beware! Hair... It is not Darwinian but it's certainly Machiavellian...

  • July 7, 2016
  • Fasion Health & Beauty Kids/Family/Relations Technology
  • View all 2 Comments
Why...

Is hair growth so inconsistent? Falling out. What exactly is Nature's point in letting some men go bald? Obvious answer, I suppose, is because she's a woman and it screws with men's egos! I mean baldness is not exactly Darwinian Evolution of the Species material. As someone who is lucky enough to still have a thick mop on my head, I do sympathise with my mates who now have a shiny dome where once stood a mighty forest. Can someone explain to me why? Not the medical reason but what is the evolutionary point of baldness?

..and another thing (continue to read this post)

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