Things Americans Don't Get #1 and #2 in a series of 1,000,000

For the first 24hrs of each visit to America, which ultimately I enjoy, I find myself at the wrong end of my love-hate relationship with the population at large. It is not about being British (or European) and therefore right. It is about being right, period (as they say here), about doing things better.

#1 When did Americans lose the use of their arms and hands? How CAN they stand at the supermarket till, watch the shopping going through and do absolutely f**king nothing towards packing it? They might feel I suppose that they are depriving the invariably slightly deficient packer of a role but that role is a prime example of job creation where none is needed. Quite apart from anything else shopping should be packed coherently, for example keeping the chilled items together, not just randomly hurled item by item into countless carrier bags. It is perhaps because the mental capacity of the shopper would frequently not challenge that of the packer, not to say that they have no social awareness whatsoever that they are completely oblivious to the fact that their minutes of entirely avoidable inertia keep everyone else waiting longer. The only thing that comes out of my tortured minutes in Ralphs is my Mum gets more bin liners.

#2 Elsewhere and in many shops Americans just don't get Chip and PIN. Perhaps they won't do it because they didn't invent it. They will however ID you for a crummy $30 and that is supposed to be security. They find this acceptable because there is a widespread belief even in established tourist areas that no-one in America could possibly be not American and that they therefore all carry ID and bank with American banks. So there is almost universal use still of signatures with all the risk that entails but, ironically, there is also widespread use of those electronic tablets to sign on (the kind UPS use in the UK when they don't give a shit who they're giving a parcel to). Those tablets are completely incapable of accepting anything resembling a person's actual signature thus rendering the signing process completely useless.

I'll probably calm down soon. I am severely jet-lagged and disoriented but there was so much we had to do on arrival in Palm Springs.

Autumn Holiday Day 1 - LHR-LAX

It was a uniformly grey morning but we were affected by neither weather nor traffic on a short and uncomplicated drive to Heathrow. The wind chilled us as we left the car and we were glad to reach the sanctuary of check-in or, more accurately, bag-drop. The valet parking staff were charmless and weary. It is annoying that, although one provides full details when booking this service, including, unsurprisingly, make of car and return flight, these details in full do not reach the office so one has to answer avoidable questions and spend avoidable minutes doing so. For the first time, I have made a note of the mileage so that any unreasonable addition will have to be explained. BA Bag Drop was a far more chatty affair where the agent was possibly even less kindly disposed to the US determination of our security procedures than I am. Still, some of that is about to change after this week’s meeting of Air Operators and the enlightened comments of Phillip Hammond. There were the slightest signs today of the more ridiculous rules crumbling but I might have imagined part of a more a pleasant atmosphere because, for once and miraculously, I said absolutely nothing to the strange recruits who enforce these rules. Their facial expressions spoke volumes.

We felt reassured that ESTA has finally replaced I94-W rather than running in parallel with it and I wondered how this might affect our passage through LAX. With no green stub to surrender on departure how might our exit be recorded?


T5 was bustling for the early morning but not over busy and as the European surge left, the terminal and, more importantly, the Club Lounge became less hectic. The lounge remains an oasis with welcome bacon rolls amongst a good choice of breakfast items. They have learned no lessons about the layout of the toilets though and mine cannot have been the only previous comments. It is impossible to determine whether the cubicles are engaged without trying the door or using a magnifying glass. This could so easily be rectified.


Our timing in reaching the B satellite at almost exactly the commencement of boarding was rewarded only by the longest walk possible in the terminal with our aircraft parked on Gate 548 which is just south of Northolt. On board our seats offered welcome comfort and once again reminded me that I shall no longer be trying those a little further back (certainly not on LHR-LAX). The cabin crew were numerous but inattentive to detail and cool bordering on offhand. They had the air, perhaps not unsurprisingly, of people who have been at odds with their employer for much of the year and are now rather inconvenienced by the presence of passengers. Food choice was limited and affected Greg. This was attributed to avoidance of waste (which is partially reasonable). A passenger behind me was offered an already open bottle of water and my main course was delivered to the wrong seat. It should not be difficult to remember meal assignments in a compact cabin. During the flight and for the first time ever I think, I used my laptop to draft this blog and edit my photographs. I felt good about being ahead with my tasks. I noticed there was no toothpick with my lunch and wondered if not loading 400 of these would be a significant weight saving. Perhaps it was instead a cost saving but in either case there was one with afternoon tea, curiously described by the server as 'lunch'. I actually photographed my cheese sandwich to illustrate how the cheese covered approximately half the bread. Another weight/cost saving?

The arrival process at LAX was much changed and a very mixed experience. Many stands require tow-on and our first tug broke. When we reached the immigration hall it was to find large queues. We were directed to #9 which at least has three outlets. I was surprised and pleased when a handful of us were redirected quite pleasantly to #2 when vacated by US citizens. Without I94-W processing it was quick. However, there was a big 'however'. There has always been an overlap in the US between what we would know as immigration and customs. The latter at LAX now has huge lines, much more checking and even arrival screening. After much shuffling we were treated very cheerfully by Howard and got straight on a Hertz shuttle. They did not compare favourably with Alamo. They had already annoyed me in the UK by not recognising my No 1 Club Card and by offering online check-in which did not work. The upshot today was 15 minutes at the desk and $101 extra expenditure on a 'pre-paid' rental. The amount of money they must make on their Fuel Payment Option must be phenomenal. No-one arrives back at the car rental with a tank that is actually empty.

We drive to Palm Springs early tomorrow via the inevitable Denny's.

Together In Eclectic Dreams

We don't always take a full day off before travelling but to do so has its advantages. It slows the paces, aids relaxation. Relaxing is something I don't do well. I usually approach an opportunity with some suspicion. Our forthcoming journey is a familiar one, an annual pilgrimage to late autumn sunshine in a convivial atmosphere. Today was a reminder of exactly why we go; not cold but so grey (for the most part). My photographs of HMS Albion at sea where almost monochrome before I processed them. My camera today captured the diversity of my photostream in just 3-4 hours. There was West Quay, police vehicles, urinals, pumpkins and then the Royal Navy at work before the government dismantles it.

We went to West Quay in a comfortable pre-Christmas lull to meet a friend with whom diaries have not matched in many months. It was very pleasant but kept us away a little longer than might otherwise have been the case from online check-in. To hold the boarding passes is a lift. We have the seats we want. With the ink drying on those we went into Lee for lunch and some last minute activities. Sea King activity had caught our eyes and turned out to be associated with an exercise in the Solent. There were two other ships involved but photography of even the one was a challenge.

There remained only packing and some restorative rest. This blog will guide you through our stay in Palm Springs (edited if necessary) and the Halloween party should be a highlight. If you can not comment here please do so on Facebook and if you can do neither then just enjoy my illustrated ramblings.

LAX Beckons

I could hardly be happier as the last few hours pass before my flight LHR-LAX. I have to brace myself to avoid clashes with security staff at either airport by containing my natural impatience with the moronic and futile procedures we all face when we travel. It embarrasses Greg and puts me at risk and I really should not let it happen this time.

It appears now, however, that I have two strong allies in the form of the Chairman of BA and the Chief Executive of BAA. I am delighted by their comments reported today and almost ignited with happiness when their sentiments were supported by some security experts. It is true that DfT moves exceeding slow on these issues and is motivated by politically savvy caution. It is true too, as noted by the two executives, that we are complying with draconian requirements from the US government which they do not enforce for some of their own travellers.

I would like to believe that a real movement for common-sense inspired change is now under way and that I might again be able to change the balance in my life between flights and cruises.

A Cycle

Autumn moves around us as our lives continue. It prepares us for winter. Sometimes it is cold, sometimes warmer. There is sun and cloud; rain and dry. The leaves turn but do not turn back. As it is in the seasons so it is in our lives. Autumn, itself inevitable, prepares us for winter and an end. It is not all sad but there is no turning back and, one day, ice will overcome sunshine and a single life will end. We know though that in the same moment, somehwere in the world, a sun is rising as a new life begins; a new life to make its own way to autumn.....and winter.

Supermarket Scams

Supermarket scams, like the number of decimal places in Pi, may well go on for ever but the chances of that happening are now fewer. I am delighted by the recent interest of both TV and print media in supermarket tactics. Some of these are blatant enough to interest Trading Standards and I would be more than pleased to help them or any other interested party in bringing the retailers into line.

Today I was in a supermarket and wanted mineral water. They had no multi packs and we bought four individual bottles at 34p for 2 litres according to the shelf edge ticket. At the till I was charged 35p; a small difference but jolly profitable if enough people are caught out.

At this stage I should like to differentiate between mistakes and intentional tactics. Neither is acceptable, both are widespread. Today they blamed it on their refurbishment to which they would probably also attribute the lack of multi packs. I expect the price really is 35p now but they had not changed the shelf edge ticket. This is about process. If you are going to change a price, you change it in ALL parts of your system. Whilst there is in this case an underlying error, I am sure that they are very happy if it goes unnoticed by the majority of customers.

Far more disturbing are the intentional tactics now extensively revealed in the media and, not to be immodest, previously revealed in my earlier blog versions. Some, such as the misdirection on some 'Bigger Pack, Better Value' labelling are, essentially illegal. Most are far more subtle but equally unacceptable. It is the responsibility of all shoppers to their wallets if not to society, to challenge the supermarkets and to do so at every opportunity. Have you noticed how often a 'special offer' is accompanied by a conspicuous lack of stock? Have you noticed that comparison of similar products is hindered by the use on shelf edge tickets of different units of measurement? The supermarkets will be very pleased if you have not but their psychological warfare will be coming to an end. A new era of honesty and transparency is due. At the same time that these dubious practices are curtailed they must improve in-house processes to reduce and eventually eliminate avoidable errors.

In the meantime, watch the till like a hawk, check your receipt especially for the correct processing of multi-buy offers and try not to be in such a hurry that you can not identify and rectify their mistakes. Our haste, part of the plan, is making money for the supermarkets.

Owed To Joy

For a while today in the autumn sunshine and chill air, I thought I might be able again to enjoy being in London. A part of me can; the larger part can not. There are too many pressures, too many irritations and these most often weigh against the attractions.

The hotel air-conditioning had dried my throat and it felt a little tight as I drew the curtains in our suite to view the sunshine splashing across the Houses of Parliament. I saw it immediately as a photograph, substantially unoriginal but a photograph anyway and not everyone takes theirs from the third floor of the Marriott.

Our plan was to move the car to the Trafalgar Square car park but that plan died as soon as we drove past the sign warning of today's march which had the potential to be very disruptive. We drove instead to Russell Square which would be convenient for our later plans and our eventual departure from the city. We tubed to Kings Cross and I noted cool air blowing in the passageways which would likely be missing in July when most needed. The underground concourses have been substantially upgraded but the station above is another matter. London is a city of extensive and seemingly perpetual construction offering jam tomorrow and jams today for both pedestrians and vehicles. The north London station was the first building site we came across today and here the bulk of the work is inexplicable. There is much fanfare about the installation of lifts, escalators and  a footbridge at a station which already has level access. The 45 bus from outside was a convenient way to get most of the way to Tate Modern but I soon found myself locking horns with a ticket inspector. I had a ticket of course but this pointless individual boarded the bus behind us to check tickets. I don't know how he thinks anyone on board got past the driver without one. He was in plain clothes, had an aggressive manner and was not showing his ID properly. Incredibly there was a colleague on board and when they disembarked, they joined a third. I think I could spot a few more cuts George.

At the south end of Blackfriars Bridge the protracted development of the station has created another building site and caused the diversion of the Thames Path and a longer walk to Tate Modern. From the capital's bridges every horizon is a forest of cranes. Closely observed though - and I nearly took photographs today - the key activities of the workmen appear to be, in no particular order, smoking, using their mobile phones and leaning on things.

I expected disappointment at Bankside and I was not disappointed if you follow. The removal of access to and interactivity with Ai Weiwei's 'Sunflower Seeds' has sucked the joy out of the work in the way that so much outside and around sucks the joy out of the city. An essentially monochrome work within a near-monochrome environment and one on which you can no longer sit or walk, is a work without soul. Its predecessors, Doris Salcedo's 'Shibboleth' and 'How It Is' by Miroslaw Balka, exuded joy and bound you to them through interactivity. This doomed work is dead or at least in suspended animation. To reflect this I have produced many of my photographs in b&w and my images of the explanatory placard show only fragments of its text as we now receive only fragments of the work's original intent.

Within paces of Tate is the Millennium Bridge and this was closed today for a maintenance inspection lasting and incredible four days, a period of time in which you could inspect the Grand Canyon or, perhaps, the moon. This inpsection appeared to involve a handful of men in hi-vis jackets phoning their wives in Krakow and occasionally prodding something.

Crossing Southwark Bridge takes one into one of the most architecturally dense parts of the capital and still building continues. Most notable amongst the developments is Cannon Place creating yet another buidling site of considerable proportions around Cannon Street station. It is outrageous that London Underground have used construction as an excuse to close their ticket office leaving passengers to rely on machines. The Underground is an environment which would fascinate Stephen Hawking - to whom most of the networkwould be ironically inaccessible - and Brian Cox, who has the good fortune to work in Manchester. There time stretches. Dot matrix indicators are used to presage the arrival of trains. In this subterranean parallel universe a train which is '1 min' away could be almost anywhere. A minute is used as a unit of distance rather than of time. Thus a train which is stationary - much favoured of Circle Line trains - could be '1 min' away for ever and those which follow at '3 mins' and '4 mins' might never appear. The dot matrix indicators give an impression of a service interval which simply does not exist. On the matter of accessibility my more attentive fans will recall I berated the Piccadilly Line some while ago. Today, whilst my train limped to my destination, I counted on the combined District/Circle/Metropolitan Line map 10 stepless access stations out of 55. I guess Professor Hawking won't be investigating in person. Even for the able bodied person lift and escalator service has improved not one iota. Unserviceable examples of each litter the system.

From Cox to cocks; after lunch at an adequate but unremarkable Italian restaurant near Russell Square tube, we forayed to The Horse Hospital and 'Hung' a curious low-key photographic exhibition of male nudes. It took little of our time and we were due in any case to hurry to West Drayton to collect my cousin for a lift. I should have liked however to linger longer in the unusual building.

More culture behind us, Californian sunshine ahead. For now we enjoyed the slightly chilled version of UK autumn.

Crispy Pasta, Autumn Showers and the Thrill of Live Jazz

With a busy morning with my Mum and lunch made by her inside us, we set off for London. At 82 she can still cook and our beef casserole had been filling and delicious. After a fair morning, the weather had become unsettled and rain punctuated our journey. A break in the cloud illuminated very well the joyous stag at the entrance to University of Surrey in Guildford. I had left the A3 temporarily to photograph it. At BP Ripley the rain was both heavy and protracted enough to hinder our shuffles to and from the car for coffee. No-one in their right mind would pay for fuel there. My Tesco 5p/litre voucher had helped with that earlier in the day.

Our passage through the invisible but expensive Congestion Charge boundary was remarkably smooth and we were soon settled in to our suite at the County Hall Marriott. I imagine the unobstructed views of the Houses of Parliament might excite a visitor to the UK but I was able to take them in my stride. From a third floor window I was able to observe the dusk-lit rain bombarding commuter and tourist alike. It fell too on two attractive but unfortunate Chinese wedding couples who braved the inclement conditions to have some of their photographs taken with the HoP as a background.

In the persistent but now less heavy rain, we strode briskly across Westminster Bridge to the underground to start a mildly convoluted journey we might have walked in kinder conditions. This brought us to Piccadilly Circus and the erratic streets of that area to lead us to our Dean Street destination. Jazz at Pizza Express is a bit of an event and has been now for around 40 years. At the risk of sacrilege, I would suggest the atmosphere was better than Ronnie Scott's. On my limited experience so far, I wonder if anywhere makes me happier than a jazz club. I do get similar feelings at transport events and venues but here I was transported into a world far away from the Tuesday commute above us.

I do not normally expect my pasta to be crispy - several pieces were visibly scorched - and I was about to comment as my ire was already fuelled by the downstairs prices which, we had already been informed whilst waiting, were 'different' to the upstairs prices. I will not be offering prizes for guessing the nature of the difference. However, the crispy bits added something to an already good dish of pollo pesto pasta. Whilst the garlic bread with cheese was prosaic Pizza Express fare, the salad of rocket and Grana Padano was excellent. My stomach and brain were now ready for the music.

The musicians, Janette Mason (pianist/musical director), Simon Little (bass) and Paul Robinson (drums and founder member of Art of Noise), were brilliant and that it is an inadequate adjective. Difficult to say then what that makes Lea DeLaria. Singing in her Wall2Wall series the David Bowie songbook, she had, with her collaborators, come up with unbelievably wonderful jazz arrrangements of some of Bowie's (early) best. After an instrumental intro this extraordinary woman, extraordinary I should say in so many ways, bounced and barged onto stage for a memorable performance punctuated with wit worth of Stephen Fry. We heard 'TVC15' as you could never imagine it. Then 'Let's Dance' and 'Starman' before guest Ian Shaw applied his vocal gymnastics and considerable range to 'Man Who Sold The World' with a sly couple of bars of 'Laughing Gnome' before making me cry with 'Life on Mars?'. 'Fame' and 'Suffragette City' were duets to sandwich 'Jean Genie' and 'Space Oddity'. With 'Suffragette' the closer in the main set, the pair returned to stage for a remarkable improvisation in 12 bar blues on a theme of David Bowie with little flavours of 'Heroes' and 'Ziggy'.

A first sight of Lea DeLaria is, frankly, pretty scary and I did not know what to expect. It takes little time though to warm to her personality and considerable talents. She swiftly engages an audience both vocally and verbally. Her aside on her spectacles was relevantly funny to me. After the performance I spoke to all the performers and, whilst Ian Shaw was considerably more reserved than on stage, Ms DeLaria seemed only to have begun to draw on her energy reserves. It was a great evening.

Aftermath

Night shifts, espcially when infrequent (but often enough) devastate the middle-aged body and fog the mind. They limit the appetite for food and the ability to digest it; they limit both the appetite and opportunity for sex, still unexpectedly important after 54 years. I  am writing a day late having had little of the former and definitely none of the latter unless my mind is more fogged even than it feels.

Yesterday was a day of mixed feelings and fortunes. Once I had had some small rest it would have been immoral and frustrating to waste a beautiful day. It had been 2.5 degrees C on the way home but warmed up enough to validate the sunshine. We decided to go to a Pizza Hut  for lunch and were there for under 10 seconds before wishing, on balance, that we had not. There was nothing wrong with the food or the service but the average age of customer in a near full restaurant was about 7. Shrill boys and girls, vocally indistinguishable from each other at that age and in a state of perpetual pizza fuelled motion between mouthfuls. Somewhere on a list of top ten nightmares I did not even know I had made. I was so downcast I could not face the trio of pannacotta. That is not really true. Actually I was full up but I wanted to write something as fatuously pretentious as Michael Winner.

The beauty of English which, frankly, is wasted on many of my colleagues is that that can be read two ways. 'As fatuously pretentious' as Michael Winner, the person, is or 'as fatuously pretentious' as what he writes. His quasi restaurant review in today's Sunday Times was in fact a report of his 75th birthday party at The Ritz. The guest list was possibly designed to facilitate subsequent name-dropping and the consequent article an inadvertent and ironic aid for a bulaemic. You're never going to need goose feathers or a tactically long finger when MW is around. I did not even read the centre spread in this week's Top Gear supplement simply because A A Gill is not Jeremy Clarkson. My routine, whether you are interested or not, is to buy the Sunday Times, complain if necessary about the latest price increase (the last was 10%) and then dismantle it in a predetermined order.

The supplements of interest are (in ascending order) Money, Top Gear and Travel. I save Culture for later and focus on the book reviews via any interesting theatre or exhibitions. In Money I read 'Fame and Fortune' possibly because I have achieved neither but am willing to take advice. In Top Gear I read only the centre pages and only if they are penned by the delighfully provocative if nicotine stained Jeremy. Whereas A A Gill suffers only rejection, I am tempted to shred Jay Leno, another occasional substitute,  rather than simply recycle him. In Travel I read almost everything and find myself strangely and sympathetically drawn to Readers' Rants.

Today's supplements lasted fortuitously about the same length of time as the pizza and the sun still shone which meant that the attraction of nearby Portchester Castle was all the greater. Braving a busy car park, I found my aspirations far exceeded by the photo opportunities available. To my very considerable annoyance the roof level of the keep is closed until further notice. This, it seems, is due to a recent suicide and a further attempt by a different individual within a week. As a consequence the police have imposed upon English Heritage a restriction which brands us all as potential suicides. I have to say that as our police come up with one repressive and irrational measure after another I begin to see attraction of tall buildings myself. Being fairly wealthy though I shall probably travel Club Class to Zurich for my glass of green liquid. Having quieted my anger I used my remaining reserves of patience, which tend to be lower than the national average, to wait for each of the many photographs I took. The castle, its grounds and immediate surrounds are a popular leisure area. I should not begrudge the enjoyment of them to others but I was especially grateful to the couple of people who showed some awareness of my camera.

My own pleasure impinged somewhat on potential rest but, at home, I balanced sleep with processing and my pictures are now on Facebook and Flickr. Also on Flickr, by kind permission of an enlightened management, is my contribution to the 4am Project (http://www.4amproject.org/) . It is, in itself, an unexciting image but, together with its notes, is indeed my view of the world at 4am on 17 October. It received an encouraging 32 views on the first day of posting. I would like to thank the one person who viewed it 32 times.

Culture comes to life for my days off. We travel to London tomorrow to see Lea DeLaria sing David Bowie at Pizza Express, Dean Street. Staying overnight we have the choice on Wednesday of any or all of two photographic exhibitions and the latest Turbine Hall installation at Tate Modern, the now inadvertently infamous "Sunflower Seeds" by Ai Weiwei. I feel sorry for Mr Ai; it is difficult to make political or social statements from behind a roped perimeter whether physical or metaphorical.

I shall report on my experiences later in the week to my surviving readers. Spread the word (please).

Night Shift - A Bridge Between Two Days

It is Sunday morning. The sun is shining brightly and it was very cold when I drove home. It probably still is but I am sitting next to a radiator and the central heating has been active, at least intermittently, for a few days. Yesterday was rather disappointing and today will bring only what energy levels and the prospect of second night duty allow. My first was eased by the people I work  with, my immediate colleague in particular. Unusually, I got my workload completed leaving only intentionally undone tasks for more timely completion tonight. I also took my '4am Project' photograph (now on Flickr) and felt quite excited. The picture itself is unexciting but is, indeed, my view of the world at 4am which is, when I am Watch Supervisor, the suite of Traffic Management screens. I have recently requested and received a liberalisation of the photography policy and I think the new generous approach will give rise to some exciting opportunities in winter.

The day behind me at that stage was a disappointment of missed opportunities and fragile weather. We had been to see my Mum but on that journey had seen that a return to Portsmouth could be fraught with delay. There had been a massive accident on the opposite carriageway of the M27, possibly with fatalities, and the tailback was substantial. Whilst I acknowledge that the emergency services were pretty heavily involved at the scene, I am frequently critical of the police for failing to institute and direct viable diversions. Today traffic was just allowed to join the already long queue and it seemed likely that a protracted investigation and thus continuing closure, would follow vehicle clearance. We wanted to go to a PC World for Greg and I decided we would go instead to Guildford and make a little trip of it. I am increasingly resistant to simply wasting the day ahead of my night duties. We would also be able to return on a route completely avoiding any possible accident aftermath. From this point though the weather was not kind to us with periods of darkness, spotting rain and even rather sharp showers. This meant that I saw some of the features I wanted to see in Guidlford and liked them but was not well placed to stop or photograph them. It was attractive enough to justify a return or a stop on one of our occasional journeys between home and London. The return route then was planned via the A31 with the intention of visiting Ropley as the main stock base of the Mid-Hants Railway. Two obstacles presented themselves apart from gathering tiredness and the need for some rest before my night. Firstly I remembered only fragments of the directions I was given last week to what curiously is a non-signposted destination. Secondly when we arrived in the area the weather was at its worst. It was all rather discouraging and we simply went home. There is always another day and, for the time being, that is this sunny day on which I write and admire anew my boyfriend's new hairstyle. He looks so nice.

By The Letter Of The Law

A personalised numberplate, I think, says something about your priorities if not your personality and neither message is likely to be very flattering. I have thought about this entry long and hard and decided to go ahead with restrained language. My dilemma is this; I am enraged not so much by personalised numberplates as such, which can be regarded with amused tolerance, but illegally formatted examples. These, I think, utter the message rather more loudly and less flatteringly. I know several people with (properly formatted) personalised plates and they are, undeniably, lovely people. I can only say that if I had some spare money, I would not be giving it to DVLA for the motorised equivalent of an amuse-bouche.

The illegally formatted plates are another matter. A car number plate is a functional item, not a toy or a tattoo. Number Plate Recognition is a widespread and useful tool at large in the country today. At Heathrow's T5 they have harnessed the technology via a touchscreen so that you can find your car when, inevitably after two hazy weeks in the Caribbean, you have forgotten where you put it. I doubt that I would need this assistance myself but it is a good idea. For this reason and many others of greater legal significance, the many fonts, spacings and strategic placing and colouring of rivets are completely unacceptable. They say, frankly, TOS 5 A or, more up to date, AT 05 SER. A car is a tool not an emblem and its numberplate is not a decoration. The legal position is widely known and the plates to which  I object are intentionally in breach of that. Transgressors should expect to feel the full force of the law.

A Day's Delay With No Obvious Change In The Outcome

I waited for a day, checked and I am definitely 54. To tell the truth I had so much to do yesterday, I did not have time to post a blog entry. The weather was wonderful and enhanced our driving in Hampshire. We went to see my Mum. I had decided that part of my birthday photograph portfolio should be at my childhood home.The remainder I wanted shot at Titchfield Abbey, my favourite English Heritage site. We drove to Wickham. I photographed the Type 45 simulator at Qinetiq, Portsdown Technology Park but I do not know whether I can publish it without sanction. Less controversially, I photographed a former railway bridge in Wickham. We thought a suitable route to Titchfield lay through Knowle Village but we simply got baffled and disoriented. We actually could not find any way out other than the way we had entered. Our alternative route brought me across a beautifully preserved Southdown bus in Funtley.

We had lunch at Garsons and failed to identify two beautiful trees in their autumn colours. The photoshoot at Titchfield Abbey went well although vehicle access is closed. We simply parked at the Abbey Garden Centre where Greg continued our altruistic habit of spending slightly more on bird food than we do on our own. The weather tempted further wanderings but a probable two hours of processing and the prospect of an early start today suggested that going home might be more prudent.

It was another lovely day today albeit with a marked chill in the morning air. Work was marred by an embarrassing error; I made a mistake with a Northolt inbound which ultimately I spotted in time. I am more frequently surviving without an afternoon nap and this afternoon we went for haircuts. I want mine to grow back a bit before attempting LAX immigration. With my back to Greg during work in progress, I did not notice developments in his chair. He has had a lot of head pain and, at home, problems with his laptop. He should be lifted by the arrival of a new laptop tomorrow, and today he chose a dramatic new hairstyle and it looks very good.

The Soundtrack To A Birthday

No-one can pick an all time favourite top ten. Music is about mood; mood is about the moment. These are my choices for today - tomorrow will be different:

Begin the Begin - REM

Drive - The Cars

Set The Fire to The Third Bar - Snow Patrol

First We Take Manhattan - REM Version

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

Wind Beneath My Wings - Bette Midler Version

It Was A Very Good Year - Frank Sinatra

I See A Darkness - Johnny Cash

A Child With The Ghost - Gary Numan

Elgar Cello Concerto - Jacqueline du Pre Version

Flirting With Small Disasters

I appreciated the weather provided for my last day of being 53 and set about enjoying it but not without potential setbacks. When I was born 54 years ago my Mum was there so it seemed only reasonable to ask her out for the day to mark tomorrow's anniversary. Early gloom dispersed much more quickly than in recent days and gave way to genuinely blue skies. I collected my Mum and risked protracting my back problems by pushing the wheelchair. It was worth it to get her out and we spent some time on the Lee front whilst Greg, at home, prepared lunch. At one time there were eight small hovercraft out on the Solent. Gliders were busy at the airfield and the yachts and dinghies could not be counted. A lone cormorant sat on a marker. The gulls found the car park with its tame humans a more likely source of food than the sea. Lunch for us , almost needless to say, was excellent. Greg has many talents in addition to being a much nicer person than I and cooking is certainly somewhere in his top three.

Full of sea air and pork, Mum needed her rest so we took her home before heading for the Meon Valley and beyond. It appears the A32 is much favoured by motor cyclists in spite of its many speed restrictions. It was favoured too today by a Robinson R44 which had arrived at the West Meon PH.

This is going to give some people sooooooooo much pleasure but I am waiting to see if I get a ticket after finding myself facing a speed gun at 32-33 in a 30. If so, I shall maintain my well known philosophy but I do not want my licence in the post when I need it at Hertz in Los Angeles. It seemed the afternoon was taking a further turn for the worse when it became clear that the Watercress Line is not on the A32. I had not had time to research before leaving home. Recovering my position from the A31, I then found that Ropley (station) is not signposted from the main route and hoped that Alresford would offer me something for the lens.

There I was not disappointed. Although the last round trip was departing as I arrived, there was plenty to do and see in glorious late afternoon light. Perhaps I am becoming more sentimental - I have never been moved by steam before this year - but the movements of a Stanier Black 5 and a Standard 5MT were, well, moving. The atmosphere was friendly, the locomotives in beautiful condition. I had a marvellous time and finished with photographs of the magnificent and magnificently lit Station Mill. I am sure I shall wake on my birthday happy.

Bournemouth

When the sea air had cleared from our lungs and we had shaken the chill of the evening air, we went to our local chip shop. We do so only rarely but their food is good. The advantage of a Friday night is that as trade is so brisk, all the food is fresh. It appeared to be cooked in clean fat at the correct high temperature. It was a calorie loaded thrill.

Even in ones fifties it is perhaps best to listen to ones mother's advice. I ignored her yesterday when she asked me not to lift a plant tub for her. When I did so, I felt my back go and imagined I might have set back its recovery by about a week. I was certainly in pain this morning and, for the first time ever that I recall, I walked with a stick. Old, fat and grey on the outside; old fat and grey on the inside. Nevertheless I would not be deterred from my plans for the day. We went to see my Mum first as she has not been well. Today's heaviest lift was the mug of tea she provided. We continued to Bournemouth where, as I have written, we sought Greg's Halloween costume. It should cause a stir when we publish the photographs. It's pretty much the kind of thing Madonna might have worn if her on-stage moral decline had continued indefinitely.

Bournemouth in my life is more distant even than Bedford. My memories are hazy but not all happy. I studied there from 1974-77 and always returned with great enthusiasm but also lived some of my most difficult times. There were uneasy relationsships with my peers many of whom are now stable colleagues. In those days I was disliked for many reasons, perhaps for being both brash and aloof at different times. Those around me formed an opinion of my sexuality long before I did and, apparently, promulgated it quite widely. I had never felt the need to label myself in any particular way and my coming out late in 1977 and after my cadetship, marked only the beginning of any certainty about my identity. I was the original 21 year old virgin and I can't say it bothered me a lot. In retrospect it bothered me a lot more that everyone else had decided I was gay long before I had joined the debate. Whereas I lived in Bedford for six continuous years, I lived in Bournemouth for only three and periodically. My varying roles over the years which followed took me back there infrequently. Not being a very social animal (drinker) I never formed the emotional attachment which is evident in some of my younger colleagues today, at that level with the town.

Today, I saw its buses which are interesting but did not feel the enthusiasm to photograph them. Without enthusiasm, good photographs (of any subject) are not made. Bournemouth is not a town of stunning architecture but I enjoyed the library visually and the striking car park (Avenue Road) opposite; they made it into my photostream. The police were very active - perhaps they always are there -  and some vehicles seemed to be going round and round in circles. The bus activity, however, was even more intense with 'More's' frequent services in particular, heavily patronised.

We ate lunch at Pinocchio, Poole Hill http://www.pinocchiosbournemouth.co.uk/ . The food, whilst unexceptional, was of good quality and flavour and served swiftly and accurately. We ate outside where it was warm but the persistent gloom of the morning did not even start to shift until 1pm. The skies later could not be described as blue as the afternoon sun shone through a clinging high haze.

I saw two Mitsubishi L200s today. It is a car which has absolutely no reason to exist. There is no possible use for an L200 in the UK. It is offensive to the eye in every aspect of its style and every facet of its appearance says 'gross'. You expect every driver descending from its ludicrous cab to drip tattoos and possibly be carrying a baseball bat between gold-capped teeth. Some models bear the legend 'Animal', an apt description, I am sure, of both vehicle and driver. The latest model is called 'Barbarian' at which point my vitriol, however righteous, becomes almost superfluous. The swept flatbed cover which adorns some examples makes a nasty vehicle look even nastier and anyone who fits such an unnecessary accessory to an unnecessary vehicle should be removed to a place of safety.

Redundancy does not start or end with 4WD planet killers. As a parting shot I shall ask you to reflect on todays archery in Delhi which you might have seen. Those are not BOWS. Those are pieces of machinery whose use has nothing to do with the historical makers or users of the bow. They look ridiculous and their competitive use should be outside the mainstream perhaps every ten years in Antarctica.

Please view my photostream at www.flickr.com/photos/johnoram and check out my new if somewhat niche group on Facebook. Hasta luego!

Calshot

Early evening mists clutched at the fingers of Fawley's chimneys as  we drove away from a satisfying visit to Calshot. Where Fawley can not easily be prettified, Calshot and its views are very beautiful even with the activities related developments. This evenings mists will probably be those of another autumn morning tomorrow but, with a day off, I shall not, unlike today, have to be weighing the respective merits of 38/60 and 40/60. After the rigours of a morning with LVPs albeit in the amicable company of White Watch, I showed unusual energy in spurning my recliner in favour of a photographic trip.

We went first to Southampton to see Cunard's new Queen Elizabeth. I am no fan of Cunard vessels but I wanted to be able to say I had seen her on the first day of her inaugural visit. Once berthed there is a poor view of ships at Ocean Terminal which are partially obscured by the eponymous building. She will be named by the current owner of the name on Monday and sail on Tuesday for Vigo. Two other ships were due to sail today and with beautiful sunshine promising protracted daylight, we drove to Calshot to watch the departures. There was plenty to photograph during what turned out to be a delay. We learned that Ventura would wait until tomorrow due to bad weather en-route and Saga Ruby II eventually hove out of the dusk and gathering mist to provide some worthwhile photographs. I am not much attracted to smaller cruise ships with few or no balconies but she did look very elegant as she passed Calshot.

Is A Mirror A True Reflection?

Inevitably, and whether properly or not, we do rely on first impressions and these are formed in most cases by looking at someone before we approach or speak. We are most likely to look first at the face before moving on to the things which matter to us individually such as nails, teeth, hair or perhaps other features depending on our leanings. I have noticed that a simple thing like the angle of view can change the impression one receives. Sometimes, from a particular point of view, one can appear to see someone as they might have been years ago. There is an oft repeated but nevertheless interesting experiment whereby the photograph of someone's face is viewed in two halves and seems almost to portray two different people. Similarly a photograph taken in a mirror can alter significantly the appearance of even someone you know well especially if typically they favour one profile. Possessing a certain degree of vanity, albeit significantly diluted with self-deprecation, I am amused by some of the results I have obtained.

If I am rambling it is because, bathed in contentment, I have little to say but am enormously flattered that people read my blog and do not want to leave my audience (readership?) hungry. In truth I need some form of emotion, sometimes excitement, often somewhat negative to stimulate my best writing and, as I say, I am currently calm and happy. In three weeks or so I shall travel to Palm Springs and enjoy (as much as I ever enjoy parties) our Halloween bash. The owners of Inndulge book a local restaurant and, at about 7.30pm about 30 homosexuals mince (or in my case, stride manfully) into the dining room in costumes ranging from full drag to my rather more Freudian Jason outfit. It's worth going just to see the reactions of the other diners. While I am thinking about it, would anyone like to see my machete?

The media would have us believe that food shopping is becoming disastrously expensive but this is not reflected in my current baskets. I must say that both Tesco and Asda seem to have prices under control and, having recently done both my Mum's shopping and our own, I have been astonished by how much we got in each case for only £60. I am also once again going to sing the praises of Asda (whilst not condoning WalMart's alleged working practices). Over the last few months we have had some really good food from there and they continue to come up with new things. When you get to my age - 54 next week - you can use a bit of excitement and if the excitement is edible then so much the better.

We'll be off out on my days off to get Greg's costume as we are arriving in Los Angeles a bit late this year. I look forward to posting the photographs and getting the reaction from Matt et alia. Any publicity........

Spider v Woodlouse

The downstairs cloakroom is my toilet of choice. We have four to choose from and I doubt that I shall ever tolerate fewer. I dislike competition and value exclusivity. Besides, that small room is by far the best as a reading room and I am currently engaged with Lee Child's '61 Hours', the latest Jack Reacher novel. I should be careful of reviewing books before I have completed them - I nearly got my fingers burned with 'The Lost Symbol' - but this might be the best yet. I always smile a bit at the epithet 'unputdownable' as I can not afford not to put a book down however good it is but I return to this as often as possible.

You would think then that I might not easily be distracted from this morning's pages but I was. The cloakroom, or toilet if you will, has pale coloured tile; thus anything moving across it catches the eye. The first was the larger of the two, a woodlouse. Not large for a woodlouse but much, much larger than the spider which was the second thing and perhaps 8-10 times smaller than its apparent rival for insect/arachnid lebensraum.

There ensued a combat-ballet in which the spider David appeared to challenge the Goliath crustacean. Apparently woodlice do not eat spiders or this bravado might swiftly have been concluded. Thick though the South Dakota snow (in 61 Hours) was and even as the plot thickened, I was more captivated by the battle below which the spider apparently won as the larger creature went off in a huff.

We had woken to (although not been woken by) the storm outside which subesquently dominated the day. The combination of rain and wind was wearing and demotivating especially in the context of my last day of leave. We stayed in, ate a pea risotto and I turned back to my albums of the 1980s to further enhnce my Flickr photostream. We watched our rather overdue recordings of BBCs recent 'Sherlock' and hope fevently that the three episodes will have proved a successful  pilot.