Of One Cheeky Chappy

About a week ago I was in the car park of the local leisure centre. It was about 6.30a.m..I was too early for the pool  so I decided to sit in the car and listen to a Russian language CD. As I did so, I looked out and saw an animal nonchalantly making its way across the top of the car park towards the river. Not believing what I was seeing I hopped out to take a look but by the time I had fumbled for my camera it was gone. For a good few days I wondered whether I'd seen a badger, a large fox or a badly deformed cat. There were moments too when I doubted whether I had in fact seen anything at all. Russian lessons at dawn can do funny things to the head.
And then this morning this cheeky chappy made an appearance. At first he hid under a car but I managed to flush him out with a few animal like noises and capture him on camera.

Of Triathlons and Times

I'm in a race at the moment. Not against anyone else but myself. You see I'm in training for my next triathlon. The training plan is as follows. First I swim a timed 30 lengths. Then I aim to shave a decent time off this. Then I swim 30 lengths quickly plus another 10 at my own pace. Then I swim 40 timed. Then I keeping swimming 40 with the aim to do it quicker each time as I approach the next triathlon. Today I swam my first timed 30 lengths in 16 minutes 27 seconds. By  the end of next week the aim is to do it in 16 minutes or less. Then I go for the 30 + 10.
Stages two and three on the bike and in the jogging suit come later. For now it's all about the water and the stop watch.

Of Not Rushing the Russian

I'm learning Russian at the moment and it's tough going. But I'm refusing to give in and am throwing everything I have at it right now. I'm currently using the Idiots Guide to Russian, Michelle Tomas's Russian Language Course and Pimsleur's Russian Language Programme. The trick, I've decided, is not to rush to where I want to get to but to maintain a keen steady pace of learning.
The wife laughs at the prices in the audio examples which clearly belong to the old Soviet times and laments that she can no longer stay in a good Moscow hotel for 40 kopecks or buy a train ticket Moscow to SPB for 30 kopeks.
I was never very good at languages at school. In fact, if the truth were told I was rubbish. But I always had discipline and if I decided I wanted to do something I'd do it. That's why now I'm doing an hour of Russian every day and if I run short I have to make it up the next. Вынесите эй?

Of a Diesel of a Dilemma

We were having a great weekend. We had been to see the fabulous Red Arrows in Portrush, Argory House in Moy and the Bluegrass Music Festival in Omagh. And then between us (for the exact culprit shall not be revealed) we threw 6 litres of diesel into our car, which of course runs on petrol.

So what would you do if this happened to you? In fact I'd like you to tell me either by adding a comment below or by emailing me on barryphillips@myfastmail.com and then I'll tell you what we did and whether or not it got us out of a major hole or just dropped us straight into a deeper one.

So here's what I did next. I phoned a family member and retired mechanic. He advised me to drain the fuel tank and under no circumstances start the engine. I called the AA because we're members. They advised that we weren't covered because we had caused the incident ourselves (they clearly took a dim view of those who "self harm"). They could assist but it would cost £240 plus extras including proper disposal of contaminated fuel.

I went into the petrol station to see if they knew a local company that specialised in misfueling. She didn't but very helpfully directed me to her dad who was working in the bar attached to the station. Clearly a family descended from the Good Samaritan himself dad left the bar to go inspect the situation with me. Noting that I'd only put in 6 litres he asked me if the tank was almost empty before pulling into the station and I confirmed it was. He said that it should be ok if I simply filled the tank with petrol and carried on driving. he said he would phone his mate who is a mechanic to check. He did and his advice didn't change.
I then got on the Net to see what the great font of knowledge Google himself was advising. Most of the relevant online chat talked about emptying the fuel tank although one guy did advise it would be alright to drive away after filling up with petrol as long as there was no more than 5% of diesel in the tank compared to petrol.

So there was my dilemma. Do I pay the AA £240+ and not risk it or take a chance and gamble on saving a wad of cash but ruining an engine which might cost £4,000+ to replace? The tank it transpired holds 40 litres. Your suggestions on the modern day equivalent of a postcard please...

Of A Good Few Orangemen

My weekend I owe to a few Orangemen. That is a couple of Indian guys at the Belfast International Mela festival who entertained brilliantly hundreds of people with some really alternative acrobatics. And also a guy at the Ballycastle Lamas yesterday who patiently appeared to hover of air while countless around him just stood and starred trying to work out what their eyes were seeing. Great stuff and well done to the men in organge!

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.