Of Queue Queue Blimey a Queue

I returned home last week from a few days in Geneva. I love going abroad but I always enjoy returning to the UK. Call me a home bird if you like. This time it was different however. For the first thing that confronted me a Gatwick Airport was a queue for passport control that zigzagged its way left then right then left and right some more from the officials to where I stood and promised me at least a half hour wait.
They say that the Americans have such a good standard of service because they complain when they're not happy. My experience of the British in queues is that they moan like hell to the person in front and behind but say nothing when they finally get served. So I did a deal with myself.
I promised myself not to stress or get angry as I stood hot and tired in more or less the same place for 30 minutes on the understanding that I complained when presented with the opportunity. That is complained properly, not moaned, and to a person responsible for the debacle not Joe Blogs in front of me.
When at last I was given the opportunity to present my passport I asked the official whether he thought things were going well this evening. He replied with some honesty that he didn't think they were. I said that I felt it was a poor service and he agreed but suggested I talked to the people in charge pointing to a raised platform behind him manned by two officials.
The conversation went like this :
"Excuse me Sir but that over there is disgraceful" (they both looked at the now even longer zigzagging line)
" What is?"
"That queue. I've waited 30 minutes just to show someone my passport. This is the first experience many get of the UK and all they see is British inefficiency"
" I'm sorry Sir but we have all the people available to us at their posts. It really is the best we can do"
"I run a company and if I said to customers who complained about our shoddy service that it was the best we could do - they'd laugh at me".
They both cowered away peering at the queue as if to convince themselves that it wasn't that bad and I had overreacted.
So I ask myself did it change things? Probably No. Did it stress me out complaining and send my blood pressure sky high? Well, actually No. In fact quite the reverse. It felt very therapeutic. And indeed when queuing I didn't feel stressed or at all angry because somehow I knew I'd make someone account for the discomfort they were putting me through and that helped.
Would I do the same again? Yes. And every time.

Of Wedding No.2

And so it happened; Wedding No.2. This time for the English relatives in Branscombe, Devon.
The weather was perfect. It was not too warm for the likes of me in a heavy wedding suit and it was sunny enough to bathe Branscombe in beautiful sunlight - as if nature had been dressed for the Blessing too.
If the weather delivered then so did the vicar, Reverend Hilary. She was just outstanding. She told me when we first met that she used to be a teacher and it showed during the service. She had beautiful exposition and it was clear to me that she knew how to "prep a lesson" and address and engage those in front of her. Her smile and energy was just infectious and I don't think anyone I've spoken to since has failed to comment on just how good she was.
The church is straight off the front of a chocolate box and is as charming as it is English. As I boy I once camped in a field to the rear of the church and somehow thought that one day the church would feature in my life and some thirty five years later I proved myself right.

Because the ceremony was a Blessing as opposed to a wedding we had the flexibility to include our own vows. Anna started with her seven and then I followed with mine. It was a bad mistake. I should have gone first for when the woman you love stands in front of you and tells you how she plans to love and take care of you for the rest of your life it's difficult not to choke.
We left the church to the best of what the choir, organist and bell ringers had to offer and it was good. Very good. As we made our way out the grounds I couldn't help but notice two doves perched high up on the church wall. I winked at Bertha and Harry and wondered if Anna had named them in her own mind Alexander and Alexey after her own grandparents now also long passed away.

What followed was a small but lovely reception. Every relative seemed to chip in something. There was singing, dancing, speeches, quizzes, art and craft, party games.

In the evening Anna and I reflected on what had happened. In Moscow we had enjoyed a terrific and very Russian wedding. In England we'd enjoyed a very English one.
Two lucky people in a great place in a wonderful world.

Of Bikes and Ballintoy

 Just when you think Northern Ireland can't get any prettier you discover something else that simply blows you away.
On Saturday Mrs P and I re-discovered Castlewellan Park and Tullymore Forest Park. We cycled through both. Two memorable trips both for their beauty and the latter because that's where I came off my mountain bike - in some style too : straight over the handlebars somersaulting unceremoniously onto my back. I had had the back luck to hit a major rock in the pathway while my attention was drawn to people playing in the river.

On Sunday we headed to Ballintoy which is in between the two great NI tourist attractions of The Giant's Causeway and Carrick-a-rede rope bridge.

 This small harbour has to be one of the quaintest places I've seen in NI. It has a tiny coffee shop, a small sandy beach and some fantastic rocks that just ordered Anna and I to come back soon with our snorkeling gear.
The weather was kind to us too. We arrived and the sun shone bright and hard until it dropped over the horizon. We hopped into the car and it rained pretty much all the way home.
Not such an unlucky weekend I guess.

Of The Best Man's Speech

I was Best Man yesterday to my old school friend Andy Owen. It's a great role. You get to see the wedding form the inside. You're right up close when the Groom and Bride are exchanging vows. You can hear the tremors in their voices You're first to see the tears welling up. You're first to congratulate both on their new lives together.
And then there's the Best Man's Speech. For many men this is a terrifying experience but yesterday was my third go and I have to say I really enjoyed it. There's something rather wonderful about making people laugh on a special day and wrapping up leaving everyone feeling on high - especially the married couple.
Here's a tip for anyone having to do a Best Man's Speech in the near future. Think you'll goof up and the chances are you will. Visualise success beforehand and chances are you'll really deliver. It's such a mental thing public speaking and the mental game you have to be on top of more than anything else.

Of One Glorious Week

Mrs P and I are just off the back of a really great week. On Wednesday evening last, we completed our first tri-athlon. We ran in last but didn't come away with the wooden spoon really because at least 10 competitors failed to finish the 750 metre sea swim, the 22km bike ride or the 5km run. The Glenarm tri-athlon, we found out afterwards, is avoided by many because most of the bike ride is up hill. In fact about 10km is up hill and quite a gradient at that.

On Friday we took off in the Legal-Island hot air balloon. Anna loved the flight. I suffered it I guess.
Saturday was more relaxing with a trip to the Ballymena Steam Engine Rally.
Loved it!

Of Using our Heads Off Torr Head

Mrs P and I took the kayak out yesterday and went for a paddle near Torr Head. It was sunny. It was beautiful. It was also a close run thing. As we paddled along the coast with Scotland in full view just 12 miles away I noted the pattern in an otherwise tranquil sea, change. I noted too a buoy chained to the ocean floor appear to go whizzing by us. I told me clearly we were in a outward current and a strong one at that.
I turned the boat around and tried to paddle back the way we had come. Despite paddling full out for a good two minutes we appeared to make no progress back. Mrs P then tried herself with the emergency paddle and, when timed with me at the back, we slowly edged our way further from Scotland and back to port. Phew! Close run thing!

Of MG @ MOT = AA

I took the MG for it's MOT on Saturday evening along with Mrs P for good luck. As we approached the test centre I could see the needle on the temperature gauge threatening to dip into the red. I was pleased we were early with time to switch off the engine and let the old girl cool down a bit -- or so I thought. As soon as we arrived we were beckoned forward into Lane 3 asked for the mileage and then told to turn on the headlights. As the wheels were tested the assistant was pointing out something to me on the screen which suggested that rear wheel left was underinflated. But I was watching the temperature needle which was firmly in the red zone and the car bonnet for signs of smoke. Mercifully, we moved forward onto the ramp when I was asked to exit and the engine was finally turned off.
Remarkably, the MG passed! We hopped into the car and burned off into the sunny evening with a real sense we'd been lucky. Really lucky. 5 minutes later we broke down and had to call the AA to get us home. As my ex brother-in-law said to me on Facebook MOT certify your car is safe, not reliable. The two we discovered are not always the twain.