Jklljaayavik

You learn something new everyday.

It is 10am in the morning and already I have learned loads. The WIFI on ICE602 Basel – Dortmund high speed train is not switched on, the Kasabian album I purposely loaded onto my i-pod for the trip doesn't work and that Scipio and Hannibal actually met each other and had a discussion before they readied their respective armies for battle, just before the fall of Carthage.
Random knowledge and, unless you are reading this before getting on the 602 from Basel expecting to do some work or quietly going about your business in Carthage in 146BC, is most probably useless knowledge.

In 2006 during the World Cup I learned that someone from the Ivory Coast is called Ivorian and last Thursday I learned that people who study volcanoes are called Volcanologist. The first time I heard this on the news I looked up expecting to see a man with a bird of prey on his arm. Of course the Icelandic volcano debris which has caused so much chaos over Europe is the reason these people are having their day in the sun. Unfortunately Vulcanology I would imagine is a very particular career. Not one I would assume young/cool people aspire to and that is the reason we have been subjected to the disturbing images of beardy men & women on prime time news talking to us in squeaky voices about the infinately unpronouncable Eyjafjallajoekull glacier in Iceland.

How the hell did a glacier end up with a name like that by the way? Is there any sort of sane naming convention up there? My bet is there is none and no-one actually named this Glacier. Someone rested his/her arm on the keyboard and the output somehow made it onto the Glacier Naming Form (GNF) in the same screwed up way an out of office in Welsh made it onto a road sign. Another theory could be that it didnt have a name until it started erupting last week and then the Icelanders, still pissed from the banking meltdown last year, decided to make life very, very, difficult for our news reporters.

No problem for our beardy types though. I reckon somewhere in the world there is a good looking, Geoff Goldblum type. In his slightly eccentric way he has been running around for the past month trying to warn the great & the good about this eruption. He tried time and again to warn the world’s leaders about the impending doom but they were too busy with minor political matters to listen. Only now they are turning to him for advice but it is too late, he is too busy dodging lava flows with his cutesy children in Iceland and doing live reports exclusively for Fox News.

This is why we are left with Mr Turbot, leading Volcanologist from Hull Polytechnic to grace our SKY, BBC and ITV screens. He is a busy man, even the birds who were nesting on his face have migrated to a nearby Tsunami expert in the hope of some peace and quiet

Imagine a world where only birds were the masters of the sky.
A world where we take our time to get from A-B. A trip from Southern Europe to, say, the UK would take a day or two. A visit to the USA would be a week and Australasia would be a couple of weeks. The food on our plate would be locally grown and sourced. The great shipyards of the world would once again churn out floating leviathans and all our electronics would be manufactured from either the country it is sold in or very nearby. Most evenings would be spent with the family around the dinner table telling stories. Family values would return and crime would decrease. The art of reading would once again become important, the ozone would be intact and white rhinos would once again be safe to gore things at will.
The skies would be peaceful, birds would sing and bees would buzz and the pace of life would slow down.

There are at least a couple of problems with this Utopia:

1. I just made it up

2. Have you ever used a TV made in the UK? If you have you will be like me and want your i-pods designed in California and made in China and want to eat fresh lettuce/papaya/something exotic in January.

So Mr Turbot, you have had your 15mins of fame and a very interesting “what if” exercise it has been too. Yes we now realize how powerful nature is and how easily it can bring us into check. Now that that has been agreed can you please pop up to Iceland, earn your money and do whatever it is you do to shut the fucking thing up.

Whilst you are at it please set the timer for 200years until the next occurrence please. This should give us enough time to invent an instant transportation machine and allow us to blow raspberries in Mother Nature’s direction again next time she decides to have a go.

Thank you.

Thieving Gypsy Bastards

Cocktails by the jug - a very British thing.

I have never seen Margaritas, Mojitos or Pina Coladas served in the 2 ltr measures anywhere else. Now I am sure the UK doesn't have a monopoly on such things but whenever I see them, I think of Britain.

Other than the obvious things like Pounds Stirling, shitty weather and the Queen there are a lot of other little things which remind me of home. My version of the UK is not a London, Eastenders version of Britain, it’s now not even a North of Scotland version, it's the Southern Scotland version and, given this is a personal thing, presumably mine and mine only.

My version has wrinkly old people, in walking gear fit for an Arctic expedition doddering through the park in search of a nice scone and a flavoured tea.

My version has the family Neanderthal dragging their knuckles as they sport the latest fashion direct from Ibrox. Father Neanderthal doesn't see the irony in having the word Carling stretched thin over his jellied torso. The kids, always boys, are shaven headed monsters and mum brings up the rear, perma-fag stuck to her lightly bearded lip.

My UK is outdoor heaters, fag butt piles, Bank of Scotland cash points (not ATMs), tracksuits everywhere, all day breakfasts, white trainers, sports bars done badly, stripy pole barber shops, great music, history, three cheese sandwiches and Regal King Size.

Last weekend I had the pleasure of spending 3 hours at Prestwick airport.

The low price gateway to Scotland and reciprocally the world, or at least an airport about 2 hours bus ride from the world. As I waited for check in to open I enjoyed a drink in the Yates bar and was pleasantly surprised to find all aspects of my version of Britain present. Cocktails were consumed by the jug, family Neanderthal ran riot next to the plasma screen, lager and sugar loaded drinks fuelling their anarchy.

The poor old couple were there, drinking tea and trying very hard to ignore the hen party going full throttle next to them but the Pièce de résistance was the outdoor smoking area - at an Airport.

You can tell you are at a low cost airline hub as you have to pay through the nose for everything and the sight of people emptying their suitcases to reduce the weight at check in is common place.

All airlines have weight and hand luggage policies but only Ryanair police it with vigour of an Israeli counter terrorist cell - they even have weighing scales as you board the plane for your hand luggage.

On board and on our way the warm experience continues. Being happy is optional for Ryanair staff and judging from my experience all had decided to opt out. They remind me of gypsies at a travelling fair - pissed off and looking for every opportunity to squeeze, steal or rip money off you. I sat rigid, in my wipe-clean plastic seat, with my hand firmly gripping my wallet for the duration.

We arrived on time, a fact which was proudly and very loudly announced throughout the cabin.

It was very, very, cheap, safe, on time and did exactly as advertised. They don't claim anywhere to offer an enjoyable flight so it really is my own fault for being disappointed when I didn't receive one.

I truly hope when people visit Scotland and decide to use Ryanair as their method of getting there they don't think that the airline or airport is representative of the country.

My advice – get as far away from the airport as possible, find a bar, drink 2 liters worth of Margaritas, smoke a fist full of Regal King Size and eat a three cheese sandwich.

Trust me if you do, Ryanair will fade away and Scotland will morph into the wonderful destination that it really is.