No.406 Of Skiing in Slovakia

I'm about to book a ski trip abroad this Christmas with Youngen (mkII) . He's never skied before and I'm badly out of practice so I don't think we'll be winning any championships between us.

Last time I skied I went looking for my first beginner's run but got on the wrong chair lift and ended up skiing down a black one with all the pros. Not only did I manage not to break a leg but I also kept up right all the way down which came as something of a shock to me and worried onlookers. The descent did require a lot of shouting ahead mind you warning people that I was approaching fast, that I couldn't stop and they'd be well advised to get out my way. I wonder how I can say all of that in Slovakian?

No.405 Of Black Ties and Red Faces

I went to a formal Black Tie dinner event last night in support of an Aids Charity in Malawi. Whenever I go to such dinners I always look out for the one person who is red faced and dressed in casual gear because he's forgotten it's a tuxedo affair or he has not been told. There's always one and I enjoy watching him squirm and try and look as inconspicuous as possible when, in amongst all those black and white suits, he sticks out like a soar thumb. The problem was, last night that Plonker was me. For I didn't know it was a formal affair and indeed, had been assured it was not.

Needing to soothe my red faced embarrassment I headed for the bar only to be advised by an also red faced male that it was dry tonight because the Presbyterian organisers of the event had deemed that it should be so. My plan had been scuppered. This was to get drunk pretty quickly so I wouldn't care that I was in my scruffs and everyone else was in their togs. Better still I thought if I could make it through the first hour everyone else would be too drunk after that to clock my state of underdress.

I don't really drink alcohol much nowadays and rarely take a tipple at these sorts of events but as soon as I knew I wasn't allowed it my throat was parched and choking for half a guinness. Once the meal was over 3 friends and I slipped round the back of the dining room unnoticed and slurped a couple of drinks at the hotel bar each feeling delightfully rebellious.

Altogether quite made the night really...

No.404 Of Leaders and some of the things they do

We've had a strange week news wise when you think about it. The world's attention has been focused on a hole in the ground in a country most of us are unlikely ever to visit. "Los 33" have all popped up out the earth's crust needing medical attention and a publicity agent. Their lives will never be the same again.

Then we've had President Armoured Dinnerjacket from Iran goading the Israelis from the Lebanese border. Sometimes you need these mavericks in the world for they make it a much more interesting place. When they might be sat on a pile of nuclear weapons however it's a little more disconcerting. At least all Colonel Caddafi was sat on was a pile of cushions when famously he let go all his flatulence when being intereviewed by John Simpson of the BBC.

Leaders hey. A load of hot air afterall..?

No.403 Of Bids & Berries

I'm off to a breakfast seminar this morning all about how to make money out of the London Olympics. "Breakfast" at these breakfast seminars invariably means one of two things. Either just a small bun which doesn't keep you from hunger at all or a full Irish heart attack breakfast which does it's best to kill you. Anticipating such an incident I came in work early this morning to have my statutory bowl of porridge with raisins, berries and a banana. The berries my nutritionist assures me, are the anti-oxidants that keep me young and in "Olympic" shape...

I'm not convinced about the Olympic games for us over here in NI. Moreover, I still haven't worked out how Legal-Island might make a few quid out of it but you never know what you'll find out and more importantly who you'll meet.

No.402 Of Best Kept Secrets

I was in Birmingham yesterday for the first time in ten years staying at what used to be the Midland Hotel now the MacDonald Burlington. I like this hotel. It has a certain majestic grand old lady feel to it and plenty of history too. It was the hotel where Enoch Powell made his famous "Rivers of Blood" speech. It also has deep connections to the railway industry being just a stone's throw from New Street Train Station.

I spent three very happy years at university in Birmingham and have fond memories of the many things I did while there, from evening classes in Japanese and Aikado to working as a barman, a waiter, a stores security guard and a night watchman at the Birmingham Mint where they used to make many coins for use in the UK or commonwealth countries.

There's something rather strange about the city though for me. When we arrived to the airport on Monday evening at about 8p.m. there was hardly anyone around and when we left at 9p.m. last night there were fewer people still. It's the UK's second biggest city and yet no-one seems to be about and when you go abroad no-one you talk to has heard about Birmingham.

They have fabulous shops, restaurants and clubs in Brum with a thriving night-life and it is claimed, more waterways then Venice. When I left I couldn't help but wonder whether the city's inhabitants are having a great time living there and wisely keep quiet about just how good the place is.

No.401 Of Churchill & Handbags

I'm reading Max Hasting's "Churchill The War Years" at the moment. Hastings claims that Churchill rather enjoyed the War in a kind of my-time-has-come sort of way. "History" he said "will be kind to me because I intend to make it".

It's easy to forget that Churchill was responsible for some really bad calls both in the early years of the War and before. He was, however, the last Prime Minister ever to have killed anyone in a war situation and was therefore a consummate soldier/warrior. His PA used to claim that whenever the Luftwaffe were overhead in London she'd stand as close to Churchill as possible because she felt so safe in his presence. I suppose that's different to a lot of leaders since. With Thatcher they used to say you always had to be at least a good handbag distance apart....

Anyway on with the week....

No.400 Of A Cat Skip and a Jump

I spent much of yesterday emptying my house into a rubbish skip. It's almost full but by no means am I almost finished. For the garage still contains stuff that needs either a new home or throwing 10 metres in the air in the direction of the hungry orange pair of jaws that awaits outside.

Today will be spent at work catching up on all the tasks I should have completed last week but couldn't because I was in London or Dublin or here but busy with other things. Cat Steven is my chosen artist to ease the pain of Sunday working along with, no doubt, many cups of peppermint tea.

Let's jump to it...