Olfactory association and sparkling refreshment

We were talking about memory recently and how it is that you can remember every lyric from a song you first heard twenty years ago but haven’t got a clue what you did yesterday. Obviously the conversation moved on to association and how much easier life would be if you could associate all of your professional and educational learning with songs. Some bright spark brought up olfactory association, or how we associate things with smells. The example of, many years ago, supermarkets pumping the smell of fresh-baked bread into stores to encourage us to make the purchase was offered as the standard example.

When I closed last night I was pondering olfactory association and the smells of my trade. On Saturday night, after a fairly busy shift, I would have associated the smell of pizza (which was meant to be my dinner for the night) with the pub after close, well for a while anyway. You see when I closed I started cleaning as usual only to discover that the gents urinals were blocked, never a nice task and somehow worse at 2.30 am! So by 3 o’clock my associated smell would be uric scale, aged urine and dustbins. The dustbin was, of course, added as this was the location that the pizza ended up in after I had pretty much soaked myself in p*ss and no longer felt hungry!

Today the weather is not so great so I didn’t expect a busy start and set about cleaning the fridges. As I was crouched in front of the first fridge a bottle of wine toppled and, because it could, caused a prosecco to explode between my legs. For those gentlemen who are feeling the effects of the warm weather I can confirm that a sudden dousing of ones genitals in ice-cold prosecco is quite refreshing, briefly. Of course this means that today’s olfactory experience will be smelling like an old soak for the rest of the day added to which is a distinctly sticky feeling.

Having worked in regulated industries for most of my life it still astounds me that I am ‘allowed’ to spend most of my life smelling of alcohol. When you get into bed and the pillow smells of beer that at some point has made its way into your hair then you know that you are a publican!

Whilst we are on this subject I would also like to mention that smelling of beer does not mean that I cannot function. On Monday I had an appointment at the opticians which I dutifully attended half way through my working morning. It was only once I had arrived in the clean smelling opticians that I became conscious that I smelt of the current bitter, having changed it earlier. It seems wrong to point out why you smell of beer, almost as if you are saying exactly what a drunk would say, so instead I go into super professional mode and speak as eloquently as I can* As I sat down in the chair I discovered the run of coke syrup that had found its way to my elbows and was now sticking to everything and acting as a rather effective fly trap.

Really, if my optician is reading this, I am a normal person. All I had drunk on Monday was tea and, yes, I had a shower, I really am not some homeless bum despite appearances. This is just my life and it all seems perfectly normal and right within the confines of the pub but when you venture into normal it all goes wrong, hence I avoid it as much as I can.

 

*That will solve it

Secrets, snacks, bedsits and orbits

Today’s post is brought to you by two unconnected items both of which were incidental conversations. The first conversation was around the complexities of working away from home and the fact that corporate governance limited this to 5 years. Apparently those of us that work away, it is not for all, should be limited to 5 years in order to minimise the risk to home life. The second was a conversation with a friend that alluded to the ‘secret’ life that I lead when working away, this friend had concluded that I had some second life that was kept isolated from home.

Before I embark on this post I would like to make it clear that I do not suffer from any conditions, neuroses or incapacities, well no more than is normal anyway. I am 40 years old and have worked all of my life, the majority of it working away from home. I have had some brief spells of returning home every day but they have been coupled with a minimum of 4 hours commuting just to take the edge off it.

Lets hit the ground running, there is no secret life. Rarely are two weeks the same and even if they were the ability to operate a Monday to Friday life is far beyond my talents. I am sure that there are cases of super lotharios who have kept a weekday partner secret but it really can’t be easy. Imagine a partner that never sees you at weekends? who only experiences the ‘school nights’ of late evenings and early rises, I can’t see that as a seller to be honest. So weekdays are filled with work, the ‘advantage’ of a hotel is that one can work late, work from ‘home’ and start early in the morning, this isn’t just work its immersion.

Hotel living, as I have explained before, is not like a holiday there is no luxury to it. With rare exceptions I don’t dine in hotels, the menu is something that would result in an athlete gaining weight and I am no athlete to start with. I always depart hotels before breakfast and am no fan of that particular meal anyway, evening meals are never more than a snack. A hotel room is, in reality, little more than a badly equipped bedsit; a bed and a bathroom is not the largest environment to live in. You know when you leave your house like a tip on the way to work? I don’t, that is simply not an option. I tidy the room because one thing you don’t want is an annoyed housekeeper. Those mornings when you can’t find your wallet and just leave it to hunt down later, not for me I am on my hands and knees looking for it. In short after I leave my ‘home’ in the morning several strangers will visit before I return, there is no privacy.

When you come home and get that eerie feeling that something has moved? I don’t get that because stuff moves all the time, it moves to where the housekeeping staff thinks it looks best. A change in housekeeper midweek is given away by a new location for my toothbrush or a different arrangement of shampoo bottles. In some hotels I get a fridge but in most every meal has to be a single shot and hot food doesn’t happen, well if you exclude powdered soup that is. I enter the hotel at night and say good evening to reception, the next human interaction I get is when I say good morning to the receptionist on the way to work.

Even when I was driving the risk of a sudden flight meant that my entire life was packed into a small rucksack, I don’t do hold luggage, everything. I am not a sportsman but hobbies, clubs and associations do not suit working away from home. I actually find it very difficult to fill my time when I am not working and am always grateful when the occasional quiet periods at work come to an end. If there is not enough work to fill the day and the evening then it all becomes a bit of a struggle, there is only so long you can spend in the shower after all. Currently I have Rachel’s story and a sketch pad full of the next tattoo to keep me entertained in the evening and fill in the gaps between work.

I don’t keep up with birthdays or other occasions and rarely attend leaving parties and the like. For me the whole world is a series of transient events, if you are not in front of me or involved with me today I wont chase and nurture that relationship why would I. We are all moving in different orbits and when they coincide we interact, when they don’t that doesn’t end it simply gets paused until the next time.

There is of course one major benefit to being a single man working away from home, yes that’s right I can’t have pets and so wont suffer from mad old lady syndrome that is apparently brought on by cats!

He was there, I swear it!

I bank with a division of a bank that has had some bad press this week for allegedly limiting withdrawals. Personally I subscribe to the principle that if a bank needs several billion dollars to meet some administrative requirement then it wont make that by stopping Mrs Smith withdrawing £800 for a new sofa! This morning I stopped at the cashpoint and my card was rejected, the message was clear “your card issuer has declined this transaction” the same happened when I tried to obtain a balance.

On the walk home to call the bank my mood went from mildly annoyed to near apoplectic, how dare they restrict my access to my own funds! When I called them I got put in a queue which is unusual and elicited lots of “I bet you’re bloody busy” type grumbles from yours truly. Whilst on hold I tried to log in to my internet banking but that kicked me out, this only served to fuel the rage and then the call was answered. After recalling my late mother’s shoe size, the circumference of an average egg and the colour of the underpants that I wore in April 2007 I was through security and ready to raise hell!

Bank: “How can I help you sir?”

Me: “Well you can explain why my card was rejected for a start”

Bank: “Oh OK I will look into that sir, quite often this is nothing to do with us though?”

Me: “I can assure you that the message told me that this was your doing”

Bank: “Oh yes I can see that there has been a fraud alert raised on the account, could you confirm some transactions please?”

Me: “Of course”

Bank: “You tried to withdraw £x at the cashpoint this morning”

Me: “Yes I tried but you bloody stopped me!”

The bank reeled off a number of transactions and I confirmed them all with curt annoyance and then they hit me

Bank: “On Friday you spent £2700 on strawberries”

Me: “Did you say strawberries? like the fruit? No”

Bank: “and £2700 this morning on toys in Hong Kong, before flying home to use the cash point”

Me: “I think that you have confirmed either a fraud or that I can travel at the speed of light”

Apparently an old card number has been obtained by fraudsters so the ‘transactions’ were all declined and I didn’t actually spend £27000 on strawberries and assorted toys. Having calmed down I thanked my bank for their vigilance and they told me that they will dispatch a new card and in the meantime I can use my credit card as a debit card with no charges. I have to say that they made it all as painless as possible despite being faced with an angry customer. In the meantime I have been wracking my brain as to when the fraud could have occurred, I remember losing my card and having to have it replaced which seems like the obvious time.

The trouble is that after replacing the card I found the original under my bed, could that be where the fraud was committed? Perhaps it wasn’t a drunken fall into bed that resulted in the loss of the card, was it something more sinister? Was there a little Russian* under my bed just waiting for the opportunity to snatch my card? What else had he been up to whilst awaiting his window of opportunity? That wasn’t a hang over that I woke up with, it all made sense now the Russian had drugged me! Those nonsensical SMS messages that I sent, that wasn’t drunken typing that was Dimitri messing with my phone trying to work out my passwords. Suddenly it all made sense, this wasn’t a case of a red in the bed oh no this was worse there was a red under the bed!

Of course I’ve checked under the bed and in the closet now and there is no sign of the pesky red. He was clever though, not a trace of him was left so I warn you all to check under your beds, Dimitri won’t have gone home so he may already be lying in wait for you……

 

*Other nationalities are also involved in card fraud

Dirty sex, envy and early darts

This morning was one of those when I had ‘normal’ envy. In get this every now and again but I’m blaming this episode on a facebook chat with a friend yesterday (you know who you are). And so this morning when I arose and collected the technical papers for the next couple of days I felt a pang of jealousy for those that live in ‘normality’. I have never lived in such a world despite my aspirations but I think it must be nice.

Allow me to expand a little on the normality of which I speak. As I walked to the train station in the early hours I passed households that were normal. In these houses the occasional light was on as somebody stirred. It was a tad early but later there would be warm embraces and tender kisses to start the day. The guys in these houses would start their day happy in the knowledge of children at school and housework completed. These are the guys that return home to dinner that isn’t microwaved, that help their children with homework and discuss the day.

This world of normality doesn’t involve working long days and continuing at home. This normality is driven by a purpose, by some sketchy plan. There is a partnership behind this normality that faces it’s challenges and remains strong. This is the normal that leaves a warm bed and returns to a home rather than a place. I know that this is a normal of stereotypes and that it’s never all good behind the curtains but it’s still there.

I may still have some ‘life mobility’ issues but in general I am successful in my professional life. I have travelled the world and am lucky to enjoy my career. I’m not sure that I ever realised that the choice between career and life was mutually exclusive. Please don’t misunderstand me I am not bemoaning my lot but that doesn’t mean I can’t get a little envious occasionally does it?

I travelled to town today with the early commuter set and as always they were a revelation. The group of women that sat behind me were debating the drama of washing your hair before work. This debate occurred at 6am, what time did they have to get up to wash their hair? Unless they all had some rampant and rather filthy sex last night there was no need for that! They then went on to demonstrate one of the issues a large percentage of the working class have, complacency.

Having discussed how ‘projects will always go over budget’ they went on to discuss finish times. One woman explained that early on in her role she had asked if she could leave at 16.30 rather than the prescribed 17.00. Brilliantly the reason for this early dart was that she was a woman, go figure? Anyway, having negotiated half an hour she kept chipping away at it and is now on the 15.08 train but her boss ‘doesn’t care.

In case said person should read this post allow me to clear up her misunderstanding. Either your boss does care and you are next on the list for redundancy or he really doesn’t care and you’re both on the list! I fail to see what benefit you can bring to a company if they don’t notice that your working short days. I do look forward to hearing that she has been laid off or, preferably, sacked!

Stupidity, magic pens and subconscious warfare

I have some more public transport observations to share, spurred on by some delays this morning.  To start with can I advise everybody that modern trains are fairly quiet, some people may have missed this. Because they are quiet loud conversations will carry which, in itself, is bad. If you are stupid or otherwise ill-equipped to hold a conversation, but insist on trying anyway, then you need to lower the volume.  This morning I endured two gents who were holding a serious, and loud, conversation on the difficulties of wireless provision on the metro. One of them had obviously come across the term “leaky feeder” but stopped at this point. This small amount of knowledge led two men in their 30’s to debate the fact that the wire that they installed fell off the tunnel roof and got caught on trains. Seriously, their conclusion was that this instability of the “heavy copper wire” led to it “stretching and leaking”, they were not joking.

This was one of those horrible moments when you have to sit on your hands to stop yourself getting up and strangling the idiots whilst yelling “how stupid can you be?”. Luckily they departed the train at the first interchange, where I don’t doubt they spent the rest of the day in an office contemplating the marvel of the ball-point pen. I do wonder how people who stupid survive to adulthood, natural selection must have had a day off.

My morning train was delayed due to overrunning engineering works near London. Delays are never popular but they actually don’t happen  that often and hey sometimes stuff happens. The problem with overrunning engineering works is that morning availability is reduced and so trains have to queue while staff work around moving vehicles. The superstar on this morning’s train saw two guys standing by an equipment case as the train crawled past them and moaned “no wonder were delayed they just stand around smoking”.It wasn’t a sunny morning, it was cold and wet, did this man think that these guys enjoyed standing in the cold? I am sure that they would have preferred to hold the trains, complete their work and get back to base. Another example of a mouth that is disconnected from any form of mind.

One final thing to share is from the retiming of my train from Derby over the last few weeks. I have written before about how possessive passengers are over their space but this retiming took it to a new level. There are normally a  few of us that board the train at Derby and although the train company issue reservations they actually don’t enforce them. When I started using this train I followed commuter etiquette and found a seat that wasn’t already ‘owned’. Having used the train for a while I have now progressed to nodded greetings with my companions.

The retiming of this service meant that it headed it out in one direction and then reversed around a loop to continue the trip. In short this means that the rear becomes the all important front on arrival at London. The guys that always board the lead coach and get up before it arrives in order to be closest to the door, and therefore first to get off, havent moved. There is no rocket science involved here, the train reverses before the next stop so I simply sit at the ‘back’. I thought at first that I was wrong and that these guys were respecting their reservations, but when I checked my reservation placed me at the final front of the train.

As we arrived at London I started walking down the platform and somebody in front stopped to tie a shoelace. As I skirted around the crouched passenger I looked behind me and noticed one of my morning companions running down the platform. It would seem that the ‘ownership’ of the seat overrides the desire to be first off the train, how odd. Commuters really are a strange bunch.

In other news my battle with Ms Nature appears to have reached a new level of teasing. I know that I cannot sleep on my left shoulder, it is uncomfortable and means that I wake in pain. As much as I know this it seems to appeal to my refusal to conform and so during the night I roll onto said shoulder. I did, briefly, try sleeping on that edge of the bed but my subconscious is as stubborn as the rest of me and I simply fell out of bed.  I have now realised that as my subconscious is running its own battle with Ms Nature and I simply have to accept it. They will fight and I will suffer the pain but I have faith in my subconscious, just like my consciousness it will be victorious over the nefarious Ms Nature.

Kids, noisy crisps and spider cat

It has been a while since I have shared the joys of public transport with you, today I shall remedy this. Our starter for ten will be the lovely young couple that sat opposite me on the trip to work on Monday, Mum, Dad and a charming young daughter. I was working on some documents that included 3D models which enthralled the young girl. For those that are not familiar with 3D modelling software it uses very vibrant colours to differentiate between components and so, to a child, looks like colouring in. It transpired that Mum and Dad were also interested having seen the company logo, Dad was a train maintainer. We exchanged pleasantries as one does in these situations and I discovered that Dad worked in a depot that I had once worked at. Our conversation led me to understand that the depot was much improved from the last time that I had visited when it was almost derelict. Dad proudly declared that his wife was also ‘on the firm’ as a train dispatcher and this meant 2 pensions so by 50 they would retire to the sun.

Now to the Dad this was the peacock moment, he was supremely satisfied with the position he had attained and in short all he had to do was keep pedalling. The young mother didn’t see life the same way. I think it was subconscious since they were clearly a very happy couple but nonetheless it was clear to see. Mum pushed the conversations on people that we would have in common or locations where opportunities could occur. She was looking to progress her husband’s lot in life, trying to stoke his ambition. This is one of the differences between the sexes, as a young mum she was looking at how life could be improved for her family. The dad? Oh he had glazed over dreaming, no doubt, of thirty years’ time when his family would be on the beach.

On Tuesday I travelled to Derby. An early arrival allowed me to secure one of the unreserved ‘priority seats’ rather than taking up the seas that the random reservation generator had selected. Whilst I was congratulating myself the seats around me filled and I realised that my IPod would be getting some use. The guy that sat opposite me appeared to be a sensible and well educated individual. This image was destroyed once he set about his snack. A dog would have made less noise when eating; seriously it was like an amplification of normal eating. I think that it may have been some modern diet technique, if you never close your mouth most of the food will fall out rather than being swallowed. The sandwich was near deafening for me and probably half of North London but when the Quavers came out I knew I needed earphones.

How do seemingly normal people exist with such appalling manners? Surely at some point he must have been out to dinner with a lady who has told him he eats like a naughty 2 year old. It is not uncommon to experience such glaringly abhorrent manners but of themselves they generate another problem. In today’s PC world (see Jenny I do PC) one cannot presume that this is some absence of childhood schooling. We have to sneak surreptitious observations to determine if there is some physical deformity or excuse for the spectacle. I found myself checking both sides of this guy’s face in case he was a 20 year old stroke victim. I guess herein lies the problem, rather than just condemn his oafish behaviour we are obliged to confirm our suspicions and he sees this observation. He probably thinks that he is an interesting character!

Once lunch was dispatched I removed my earphones and was immediately assaulted by a mad woman. This was a 50 odd year old woman and a near silent, younger colleague From the conversation that I heard, I won’t say overheard because it was held at a volume that made everybody part of it. They were some sort of architectural planning consultancy and the drawings of the school that the young man produced were met with over effusive comments. She banged the table and roared “f**king fabulous darling” like a sitcom character. They debated the stupidity of architects and difficulty of planners with repeated reference to names like Allen & Allen, Brokenhurst & Glyn and Jones & James. She made calls ending in “much love, bye, loves, mwah, bye” and promptly declared “that man is an idiot”.

She was clearly ‘educating’ the young man. When the guard came through she produced a stack of some 20 tickets with a flourish and requested “oh please sort that out darling”. I give my respect to the guard for not returning the pile and saying “no you sort it, that’s your job”. Instead, to the complaints from the loud woman that the tickets “all look the same” she gave a very measured response “that’s why we recommend keeping them separate”. Half way through writing this I looked up; the loud woman was sitting diagonally opposite in the next seat bay facing me. I noticed that she had one leg up; I can’t say why I noticed, it must have been the angle. At this point I realised why her young colleague was so quiet, the angle led the foot past his leg allowing the foot to borrow intimately. I can only say that I didn’t look up again!

I would also like to share with you one of those moments that we sometimes experience in bed. Having attacked the brilliant Dream Doctor (Stephen King) with vigour I resolved to call it a night last night. Having placed the kindle on the table and killed the lights I fell back on the pillow. Immediately something fell on the pillow about an inch from my ear and started moving. I am a rational adult but an Olympic housekeeping team have nothing on the speed at which I stripped that bed! Every piece of linen was in flight as I exited stage left, hit the light and stalked the predator that disturbed me. The spider that I discovered was maybe 1” long and couldn’t have weighed more than an ounce so why was it that it landed with a thump more in keeping with a cat? Apologies to the house keeping team for the mess

that 232 was in this morning.