Archive for the ‘Travel’ Category

Sunday 24th March 2013

I’m travelling in the morning.  I have to get up at 5:30am and I hate it.  Getting a good night’s sleep is most important when you’ve got an early start with a three hour drive and a full day at work to follow.  This is precisely why I can never get a good night’s sleep when I am travelling early in the morning.

Monday 25th March 2013

It’s 12:30am and I’ve woken up for the first time.  So that’s an hour and a half (roughly speaking) of sleep that I’ve got.  Now there is plenty of time to get enough kip in, if only I could stop thinking of how tired I’ll be if I can’t get back to sleep.

Fan-fucking-tastic, that’s done it now.  Stressing about not getting enough sleep is exactly the reason I can’t get any sleep.

Now its 4:30am – I’ve woken up approximately every half hour since half-past midnight.  This is going to be a long day.  All is not lost though, if I can eat enough breakfast to force out a dump the day can still be salvaged.
Let’s face it, there’s little worse than having to stop at the motorway services for a dump, sat in a row of maybe twenty other commuter-dumpers.  The smell is only marginally worse than the sound.

I arrive my customers offices at just before 9:30am.  These guys are great to work with and are used to my grumpy ways.  We have a pretty good day of it and by lunch time it looks as though I may be going home early.

At 3pm we hit a minor problem, bollocks!  This minor problem takes two hours to resolve.  Just as I am packing my bags into the car I get called back, somebody has found another quirk.  Secretly I am fuming, on the surface I am cool, calm and collected.  At least that’s what I hope.

5:05pm, I am on the road, heading for home.  By now I am already feeling tired and there is a three hour drive ahead.  It’ll be fine.

5:15pm I’ve just hit the M5, I am in the outside lane and suddenly there’s a strange sound and the car’s dashboard display tells me the gearbox has malfunctioned.  I’m doing a touch over 70 (naughty!) in the fast lane and the car has lost all drive.  Pressing the accelerator does nothing except rev the engine loudly.  I’ve got to get over two lanes into the hard shoulder whilst the car gradually slows down.  It’s the start of rush-hour traffic but somehow I make it without incident.
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5:20pm I’m stood the other side of the barriers (safety first you know) but its bloody freezing cold.  -2 according to the weather forecast (feels like -8! – I’ll be the judge of that!).  I’m on the phone to the AA.  Apparently they know exactly where I am, I’ve given them the motorway marker numbers from a little marker post near to me.  29/1 (I think it was).  Turns out because of my location I am going to be seen as a priority.  Within one hour.  An hour in this will be bloody ages.  Nobbling.

5:45pm Now I really need the toilet.  I’ve been stood here at the top of a 30ft drop on a 2 and a half foot ledge for what feels like ages.  The wind is howling and there’s snow all over the ground.  This sucks.  Time to get to the bottom of this drop and have a piss out of the view of hundreds of commuters.  Bloody wind.

6:00pm They called, I can’t remember exactly what time, but they called.  They wanted to let me know that someone would be in touch soon to say when the driver would be over to get me.  More waiting.  It’s getting really blooming cold now.  Still, at least its not raining.  Or snowing.  But it is starting to get dark.

6:25pm I need the toilet again.  I’ll wait, they’ll be here soon.

7:00pm That’s twice I’ve been down that bank now.  The second time was just for entertainment.  It’s dark now.  The AA called again, they’ve told me that “due to extreme weather” there will be a delay, it could be an hour and a half before they get to me.  I told her it was bloody freezing so would be nice if they could hurry up.  She mentioned to me something about being at Tesco Car Park… I said, no, I am still stuck by the side of the M5.  They’ve ballsed up here.  I’m somewhere on the non-urgent list, meanwhile I am freezing my testes off.  She sounded a bit panicked and said she’d call me back soon.

7:15pm I’ve had a few frantic calls from the lady at the AA, very apologetic, I’m back in the priority queue (thank feck!) and someone will be with me in about 30 mins.  I wonder if its possible to freeze to death in 30 mins?

7:50pm He finally arrives.  Jolly man that he was.   Apparently all he’s going to do is take me to the next junction, to “get me somewhere safer” – yeh cheers like.

8:20pm I’m sat in McDonalds now awaiting another call.  Apparently a 3rd party garage will be sending a mechanic out to see if my car is broken.  It is broken.  It told me.  I don’t need a mechanic.  If the car says the gearbox is faulty, I think its pretty certain the gearbox is faulty.  Given that it won’t move, I’d say its a safe bet that the car knows best.

8:50pm The garage calls me to tell me the mechanic is looking for me.  At Junction 5 of the M42.  NO!  I am at Junction 5 of the M5 and have been the whole time!  She doesn’t think he’s going to come to me as he finishes work at 9pm.  Oh well that’s just fine then isn’t it.  Cheers y’all.

9:00pm He did come.  Nice bloke too.  Says that the car is clearly broken and the AA bloke could have seen that, what a waste of time.  I check into the hotel.  I’m feeling rough as a badgers bum hole now.  I swear the last AA man said they’d sort me out to get to the local Audi garage as it was going to set me back over £300 to get towed home.

Tuesday 26th March

Dodgy sleep again – the room was bloody freezing, despite having the temperature turned right up.  No heat was forthcoming.  Swines!

7:30am – Called the AA, the robot on the phone says its going to cost me £130 to get taken to the local garage.  I asked him if they could do anything about the price, given that they’d left me stranded for just shy of 3 hours in -2 degrees on the side of a motorway.  He says… no, the price is the price.  What a twunt.

8:10am – AA bloke turns up. A really great bloke, so friendly and helpful, he can’t do enough for me.  His name was Nick.  He was in to mountain biking.  He took me and car to the garage, made some calls about getting a hire car and eventually dropped me off at the train station.  I can’t praise this guy enough.  He must have got some sex last night.

10:32am – The train from Worcester arrives.  I get on.  It’s an eerily quiet train that goes through the Malverns.  The countryside is beautiful and hilly, covered in snow.  It doesn’t feel like I am in the UK any more.  It’s so quiet here.  I don’t quite feel myself either.  The train conductor goes by and completely misses me, but checks everybody else’s tickets.  I wonder for a moment if I am actually on the train, maybe I’m elsewhere.  I don’t believe in all that after-life bollocks, but bearing in mind what happened, and the way its portrayed in so many films and TV, maybe this is it, maybe I’m actually still at the roadside, a mere freeze-pop.

12:09pm – back in Wales now, just passed Abergavenny.  I have myself a table seat on the train.  My luck isn’t entirely out then.  The journey is going to take another two and a half hours and I’ve got 96% of my battery left on this laptop 9 hours worth apparently  I’ll believe that when I sees it.  I best get some work done.

I live in Melbourne and like a lot of new designed cites it has the grid system in abundance. Apart from it being the originator of the term grid locked it creates another problem. Pedestrians need to cross roads so we have a system of buttons and lights that assist us with this, you may be familiar with the system yourself. It is a simple system, you press the button and the lights stop the traffic. In a grid system you have a lot of intersections where people need to cross but it is also quite simple, when the cars are travelling North to South the pedestrians can cross North to South and when the cars are travelling East to West the pedestrians can cross East to West. There is a phase and a predictable order to this. When you introduce people into this system there are a number of things that really piss me off. The first one is people who press the button when there are already people at the crossing waiting for the lights to change. What this dumb fuck is really saying when he or she does this is, “ok, I have arrived at a crossing and there is a bunch of people standing there, they have evolved to the point where they have developed speech and are wearing clothes, many of them have suits on suggesting professional jobs, but I don’t think any of these bastards know what the button is for so I am going to press it and teach them an important life lesson”.

Press the button ONCE!!! IF YOU HAVE TO!

This creates the second thing that pisses me off. They never ever press it once, they always press it three times, every time this happens I feel the rage build up inside of me. All I want to do is turn round and say in utter astonishment, “fuck me is that what that button is for? We have all been stood here for fucking ages, it is a good thing you came a long when you did!” And then I would enter into a line of questioning around why you need to press it three times. There are a lot of buttons in my life and pretty much all of them only need to be pressed once in order for them to do what I want them to do, the light switch only needs to be pressed once, the TV remote only needs to be pressed once, I only have to press the key fob to my car once to unlock the doors and thank fuck I only have to press the buttons on my keyboard once otherwise this rant would take me three times as long. In fact the only button that I can think of that needed multiple and rapid pressing was the one on that arcade game Track and Field where fervent button pressing results in the little dude running faster, jumping higher, or throwing further.

Finally after they have done the three button press, they wait for about 20 or 30 seconds and they press it again. THEY ARE NOT GOING TO CHANGE QUICKER JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE ARRIVED AND PRESSED THE FUCKING BUTTON A LOT OF TIMES!!!!

Severn Bridge Rant

Posted: November 28, 2012 in general annoyances, Travel
Tags: ,

This is my first rant in quite some time and its not going to be a fun one. I am genuinely pissed off. The Severn Bridge have seen fit to pander to the idiots who can’t be bothered to make sure they have cash on them before they travel.
Since time began the Severn Bridge has required payment to cross (may require citation) and still fuckwits turn up with no cash, not enough cash, the wrong currency, whatever and expect to get across.

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So in an attempt to get more money (I guess), the bridge owners in their wisdom have introduced card payment machines… to every sodding booth! So because its available it seems that suddenly 70% (not an accurate estimation) of people crossing the bridge now use cards to pay. This takes ages and causes me (and other cash carrying geniuses) to have an even longer wait to get on with our journeys than ever before.
Between incorrect PIN entries, dirty chips, general failures, stolen cards whatever, the average time for each car to get through now seems to be around 30 seconds or more. Probably more. I should time it, but that would take time.
I humbly suggest that a couple of “fuckwit lanes” be opened, down at the slow-lane side of the bridge where all the assholes who want to pay by card can queue together creating a line of knob heads that reaches Bristol. The rest of us can continue our journeys efficiently.
Alternatives that I’d approve of could include a “fuckwit tax” so card payments could be £10 per crossing rather than £6 – maybe this way we (the intelligent cash carriers) won’t have to suffer the annual price increases as the fuckwits can subsidise us, or at the very least maybe only allow contact-less payments? That at least is quick and suitable for purpose.
Now more than ever I think I should get that Severn Bridge Tag – I can join the smug few that drive on through, merely slowing down and very rarely stopping as they pass by the fuckwits and cash-carrying plebs.

School Uniforms

Posted: December 9, 2011 in Fashion, general annoyances, Travel
Tags: , ,

A few days ago I was at the kids school (as opposed to what you may ask?) and I was getting really annoyed at just how damned scruffy they all look these days.
Most of them wearing sweatshirts, polo shirts and trainers instead of shoes.
Some of the girls wear the same as the boys, others wear frilly blouses bought from cheap shops styled like mini office workers. It’s less like a uniform and more like gang colours.

Now contrast that with what I’ve seen today in London. Posh kids dressed in blazers, shirts and ties. But the most ridiculous bit? It’s 4 degrees outside, the boy of about seven years old was wearing shorts. But it’s ok, just in case you were thinking that this wasn’t bad enough, he was wearing knee high socks.
Who are the biggest bastards? The school or his parents? Personally I blame the parents, after all, I doubt the school are responsible for his ridiculous bouffant hairdo.
Wedgies anybody?

Chilled Puke

Posted: December 8, 2011 in Food, Travel, Work
Tags:

£2.35 for a pot of cold congealed tramps vomit seems a bit steep for me. There are plenty of tramps around in London, I could surely have found one and agreed a much lower price and got it straight from source. I’m sure that despite Starbucks best efforts at Fair Trade dealing I would have given the poor sod a better deal too.

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Ok. So perhaps I would have had the additional problem of having to source my own packaging. I don’t routinely carry spare Tupperware with me on my travels, and I would have missed the frankly too warm refuge provided by this particular branch of Starbucks. But then I could have heard the latest news on the best places to procure Special Brew at discounted rates. At the very least I could have listened to my own choice of music.

Anyway, it’s 08:46 and it’s a five minute walk to the office. Time to leave out the grumping and get on to something guaranteed to make me pissed off…

Seriously. Apple pissing me off again. Within 15 minutes of taking 4S orders they have both failed to take reservations and also run out. It’s a farce.

Secondly, Pubs. Why do they insist on putting the toilets upstairs? Is it a sport to them to watch me try to negotiate the stairs when wasted?

Thirdly, blokes. Why the fuck do some blokes have to undo their belts to take a piss at a urinal? Even with my tiny beast I still manage to find and release the little fucker (no pun intended). Really though, what’s that all about?

Check out how I party courtesy of iPhone camera.

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And look at this prick…

I bet he even gets laid in these chrome effect shoes. What a twat.

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Look who we met in a pub… Ignore the red lighting… It really is a pub. No pay-as-you-go ladies.

Tonight I am slumming it.  I am staying at a Premier Inn.  This is something I am doing fairly reluctantly.  These places aren’t too bad, but they just aren’t homely.  Unless your home happens to be a prison cell.

I just hope that I don’t get a cell-mate reminiscent of Lenny Henry appearing to kick me off the top bunk.

Anyway, enough about the hotel, this isn’t about the hotel.  I am here to sleep.  To shower.  To eat breakfast.

My gripe tonight, what will be ruining my evening, what will spoil my night in a way that the Premier Inn “Good Night Guarantee” won’t cover is the piss poor customer service I am getting at the Apple Store.

Isn’t the Apple Store supposed to provide the ultimate retail experience?  Aren’t they supposed to care about their customers?  Particularly the sort of customer that is, well… me?  Here I am sat, using my 17″ Macbook Pro connected to the interweb through my iPhone’s tethering with my iPad safely nestling in my laptop bag.  At home my iMac is serving my two Apple TV’s through an Apple Airport network whilst being backed up by my Apple Time Capsule.  You get the idea.  I like Apple kit and I am heavily invested in Apple with my music, TV and Movies being served up by Apple.

So why the fuck is it that they choose to treat me with such contempt?  Have they just let things slide the minute Steve Jobs (RIP – of course) turned his back?

The problem is that I want NEED an iPhone 4S.  No really, I do.  My 3GS is now well overdue an upgrade.  It’s battery fails to last even a single day and I really do want those shiny new features.  Apple however don’t want to sell me one.  Not even at the near extortionate price of £699.  Bastards.

I can of course reserve one on-line for pickup from an Apple Store, but for some reason I can only reserve one for pickup after from 8am through 12pm.  My problem is I cannot collect it until 8pm.  No way, not at all.  So I call the Apple Store to explain to them that I will indeed come and pick it up.  I even tell them the exact time I will arrive.  But no.  I am not allowed to pick it up at my convenience.  Even with a reservation.

Well, to cut a long rant short…  FUCK YOU APPLE.  Time to try out Android!  You drove me to this.  Surely your phone isn’t even THAT good right?  I mean £699-and-you-still-won’t-let-me-buy-it-good?

There is a reason the Apple logo is missing a bite… somebody tried the apple, found it had a sour taste and left the rest behind.

Sleeper Service

Posted: September 7, 2011 in Fashion, men, Travel, Work

Travelling cattle class sucks. At £169 for a standard class return from Bristol to London it’s more than a ripoff. What makes it worse is being crammed in sat next to a fifty-something bloke who grunts constantly as if ejaculating whilst listening to his podcast.

Cheering me up however was the pinstripe suit lady who must have accessorised in the dark, pairing bright red shoes (awful) with a bright orange handbag (double-awful).

My bacon has turned to leather tougher than that used in any steel-toe-capped boot, my sausage is anaemic (I know what you’re thinking… See a doctor) and my beans have started to clot.
To top it all off I get to wash this shite down with a frozen “fresh” smoothie that’s settled into what looks like fat extracted from liposuction. Tasty.

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A good thing today though, I parked at Southampton’s Highfield House Hotel. Free of charge. Partly in thanks to my honesty (not something I am often thanked for really) and also thanks to the owners generosity. Cheers HHH!

The weather is shitty and terrible with nasty horizontal rain. I am sticking to my story, this is why my trousers are wet. It’s nothing to do with violent splashback. Seriously.

This is getting to be ridiculous. It’s not a case of “so much for global warming” but more a case of “bloody typical it affects us like this”. We seem to have a load of nice beaches so global warning could be a good thing, but no, rather than being able to benefit from it we just seem to have lost our summer altogether. The UK is the new rainforest.

I started the day in a foul mood though. After all, I just had a shower and have come out smelling like a urinal. The shower gel provided is scented by what I can only describe as “eau du toilet block”. I suppose the smell will linger too.

There is another sad sign today of the poor state of the economy as well. Having paid around £20 extra per night for this hotel room I realise they have started to cut corners to save money. One of the perks of having the “Executive Room” used to be some “free” drinks (Still Water, Fizzy Water, can of Coke and a bar of Dairy Milk) as well as free internet. Well it seems in their wisdom this particular Holiday Inn has not gone with the Free Internet and has cut down the size of the chocolate bar and even ditched the can of coke in favour of a “Just Juice”. Cheapskates.

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I just saw a piece on the news about a girl who lost her fingers as a toddler and has just received a “bionic hand”.  When I saw the thing it was a truly amazing feat of engineering, unfortunately all I could see was a fatal wanking accident waiting to happen.  But on a serious note, she looked so happy with it.  Kind of makes me wonder what I am moaning about on this blog really.

 

 

 

 

 

Ok, thats enough of that.  I need a distraction.  Ah, there we go, world mobile phone throwing competition in Finland…