There be strangers about these parts

Yesterday was the start of the season for all of us that live by the coast.  This is not a government mandated date or some other fixed event but a completely arbitrary occurrence . Guessing when the season will start can be the difference between a good weekends takings and a weekend of missed opportunities but, sadly, there isn’t a lot of help in making the call.

Traditionally weather was a prerequisite but now it’s rather the opposite in that a terrible forecast can postpone the season start but a good one is rarely believed and therefore doesn’t advance the season. School holidays are similarly awkward in that whilst there may be an uplift of bodies poor weather may mean they never be venture out. So how is it that I can confidently tell you that the first weekend of March is truly the opening of the 2015 season ? Allow me to share with you the tried and tested indicators.

Firstly the town is awash with shorts. There is some unwritten code for a section of the population  that mandates shorts when at the coast. This particular indication is only available in adult men, I have no idea why. So what you’re looking for is a family where mum and the kids are wrapped in winter  coats and dad is wearing shorts, find this and you are on the right track.

Next up is chips, the fried potato kind of course. It Is estimated* that for every additional family in the town an extra 2  tons of potatoes are fried. It is believed that there are no chip shops further inland or that the sight of fields of potatoes on the route to the coast triggers some primeval urge to feast on the fried delights.

Look out for people as well, not just the increase in numbers but the type. You will see examples of modern fashions far beyond what we are used to by the coast. As the tourists arrive we will see fashions that are clearly so advanced as to seem, well, a little weird to us. It is ok though because the tourists are a friendly  bunch who will take the time to speak slowly and carefully, in between obscenities, so that we can keep up. The pub will be invaded because apparently these don’t exist elsewhere in the country anymore and be prepared for incredulity that beer is so cheap here at the coast. Please remember that in a tourists eyes it is as if we have all just stood sill and waited for the next season so don’t be surprised if they don’t notice any changes it is simply because they live their life at town speed.

The final confirmation is really the result of all of the above and it is litter, or rather volumes of it. Apparently out in the real world bins are obsolete and you simply drop your garbage whereupon a laser seeks it out and vaporises it before it even hits the ground, the system also reduced the desire for feline acrobatics in early testing. Out here at the coast we don’t have such complicated things as lasers, smart phones or modern gangster language so unfortunately the garbage hits the street and remains there. We do employ an army of seagulls, we starve them all winter, to eat as much of the discarded food as they can but we just can’t tease them into diapers. All winter we run training programs trying to get what we lovingly call the flying rats to eat discarded diapers but I’m afraid that we have still not achieved more than cursory peck.

So as I wade through the empty beer cans, chips and diapers listening to the chorus of recently fed seagulls I can be confident that the season has started.

*Estimations carried out at the bar and may not pass scientific scrutiny

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Slow cooked blackberry in a blue hue

I could never be accused of being a follower of fashion and so it is that only this weekend can I say that I have joined the slow cooker revolution. The particular device that I have purchased emits a blue glow when in operation which I think is rather fitting given that it is more ornament than use. I purchased the slow cooker because everybody tells me that it is amazing, well that is what I said but in truth it’s a gadget so I could hardly resist could I. The conclusions of a beer fuelled discussion a week ago left me convinced that all I need to do is  add flour, eggs, beef and vegetables on Monday and come home on Friday to a roast dinner, what a truly amazing machine. If this doesn’t work then I will have to speak to Marc and see if he has a different model to me.

As a single man, home at the weekend only the slow cooker is probably one of the most pointless purchases that I have made. Should I choose to produce a slow cooked meal it will be ready on Saturday night when I will meet it with a take-away purchased on the way home from the pub! The one thing that I want to cook in the slow cooker is pulled pork, I am not sure why. The interesting thing is that all of the people who I speak to who have a slow cooker agree that this is on the wish list but not one of them has cooked it. My prediction is one or two meals before the machine ends up at the back of the cupboard I will, of course, report back in due course.

My slow cooker was dropped off on Saturday but when I unpackaged it I discovered a large dent. A quick call to the very helpful retailer resulted in an exchange scheduled for Sunday. Whilst scheduling the redelivery the sales agent enquired as to what the purpose of a slow cooker was since he had no idea and they were selling a lot. I explained that it was essentially a device to cook pulled pork and some other stuff but slowly so you could start it when you went to work and dinner would be ready when you got home “oh like a reverse microwave” was  the excellent summary. On Sunday the 4 hr delivery window dropped to 2 hrs as promised with my slot being 3 pm to 5 pm, here it went wrong. At 5pm there was no sign and at 5.20 I went to the pub, when 6pm passed it was clearly not going to arrive. At 6.15 I got a call from the logistics company to tell me that they were outside and there was nobody in, not bloody surprising given that they were over an hour late was my response.

I walked home in full preparation for an angry exchange with the delivery drivers, after all this was an exchange because the first part was damaged and they were late. As we walked up to my flat the driver explained that they had been delayed because a fridge freezer delivery had necessitated a door removal. When the bloke turned round and said “look at that mate” I saw a large tear in the thigh of his trousers “bloody dog went for me when I was holding the door”. Anger quickly changed to sympathy as I noted that a front door was a particularly effective weapon for dealing with nasty little dogs.

Other gadget news is not so good this weekend; I have had to send my beloved BlackBerry away for repair. Having firstly checked that the address on the returns label was indeed in England I backed up and wiped my phone before posting it into the abyss. Calls are diverted to my works cell but this doesn’t and of course you can’t divert SMS. I sent a message to recent contacts explaining my telephonic predicament before wiping my phone and when the phone restarted there were numerous messages attempting to discuss the situation. Because the phone was wiped I had no idea who these people were, they were just random numbers, who thought the logical thing to do when receiving a message that I wouldn’t have that cell for a while was to respond to it.

This morning found me travelling, not a long distance, I am swapping my Essex coast for St’Austell for a couple of days on business. My timing is typical Gav in that at the end of this week they are due to open the rail line at Dawlish. Having spent some time weighing up the torturous rail/bus route and the equally unappealing one flight a day from Gatwick I decided upon the latter option. As you all know I am a seasoned traveller and so this weekend I packed the flight bag rather than the domestic one. For some reason this morning I wasn’t entirely comfortable, something seemed wrong. Because I am away every week I have long since grown out of the silly “did I turn the gas off” and “did I lock the door” routines. A quick check of my pockets revealed the only things that you ever actually need: a passport and credit card. A further exploration revealed that the folding pocket knife that accompanies me almost everywhere was indeed safely at home, I do hate throwing them in those bins at the airport.

So what was it that had set me ever so slightly on edge this morning? Suddenly it dawned on me; there was no itinerary from the BB travel manager, no E tickets and no twitter feed confirming travel conditions. Not having the BlackBerry feels odd, like a PA has taken a week off and not sourced cover; it all just feels a bit disorganised. I know that the repair is a quick one and I am hoping that my phone reaches the top of the pile quickly. Not only do I need my Berry back to run my life but I can stop sending garbage replies to people on the irritating Samsung touch screen!

Women, fish and records

Today’s post starts with a little educational feature inspired by some recent comments received. Firstly there is no such thing as a relationship state that is single, to think that there is presumes that everyone strives for a relationship. Being single can often mean that somebody is in a transition between relationships but it can also be a concious and determined state.

It is impolite to suggest to a single person ways in which they may ‘find’ a relationship and it is also presumptuous. I am an educated man and can learn from my mistakes. As a young engineer I learnt many things about material properties, not the general properties but the more specific ones like heavy, sharp and hot. These were valuable lessons, some so much that I recorded them in scars! I have learnt which drinks and foods and particularly to avoid curry unless I wish to spend two days feeling like a pregnant woman.

At 40 years of age I have tried relationships, I have also tried skin tight jeans and dancing. None of these things are for me, you’re welcome to them but they are not for me, you probably don’t like sushi each to their own. I don’t have anything in particular against relationships I just don’t have the prerequisite skills with which to enter them. I like motorcycle racing but I don’t have the flexibility for that either. I have been told many times that “not all women are wrong’uns” and I thoroughly agree, after all some of best friends are women. But I have an inate ability to turn women into wrong’uns and, to date, I have a 100% success rate.

The lesson from this is simple, don’t threaten me with relationships and I won’t threaten you with sushi!

In other news I travelled to derby on Monday, returned home yesterday and am heading to Frankfurt then Munich today. A couple of days in Germany with a supplier and then home on Friday. There is something oddly unnerving about returning home in the week, I am that used to working away. On Monday it felt odd leaving milk in the fridge, I was only away a night, just seemed wrong. As I left today there were three people on my train and I realised, once again, how unusual my life is at least for where I live.

My twitter feed remains an inspiration, keeping me close to my beloved Isle. Sometimes it feels as if life is just racing past and I am consuming huge chunks of time, unmarked by achievements or success but at least there is a goal. It’s been nearly two years since I veered off a determined path and had to put things on hold, it may not seem like it to me or those around me but, ever so slowly, I’m moving back into position, it will happen.

Every time I see a tweet from the ferry company I feel the sun on my shoulders at Portsmouth. Stormy days have me stood at Southsea as the hovercraft comes in. I will come home to my Island, I will secure my pub and, just as a reminder, I will stay relationship free.