Shirts a go-go

Biblical Nonsense

Now, some of you may know, but certainly not in the Biblical sense (is there any sense in the Bible - King James or anything prior? - atheism ed), that I tend to wear loud shirts on a Friday.  Not loud, in the sense of MP3 player (mobile phone these days - ed) turned up beyond the maximum, but loud as in colourful, or if not colourful at least, and I use it with some trepidation, "interesting", could be collarless, could have interesting buttons, could be cut differently to your bog standard daily shirt.

(Apologies to my Alaskan reader or Data Center as I like to call him, for the spelling of colourful in the correct English was - cultural sensitivity ed) 

(BTW Why oh why are you still wearing shirts at all, we are in the 21st Century teenies, you can wear what you like, when you like. whenever you like? - ed)

"Why", I hear you say... and it would seriously help me if only one of you spoke at once, as otherwise it is a cacophony (+1 - literary ed) in here! ("Move over in there, is there room for a small one?" - sanity ed)

Short (not shirt) history lesson (or lesion as the spell checker prompted)

Many moons ago, in the early 1980's I was accused ("Yes, Mr C - j'accuse" - history ed) of being, "The Grey Man", this is even before John Major (for those who simply are not old enough to remember, or maybe are relatively new to this country - history ed), became a well-known politician let alone Prime Minister.

I was called this, vaguely insulting remark one might think, because I dressed somewhat fashionably at the time (you, fashionable, pull the other one - I Don't Believe It - ed), in grey and pink.

The list went like:

• Grey shoes (thin and pointy, but with no turn up or bells, I was not a jester - ed)
• Grey jacket (like a suit jacket - but less formal, more of a Crocket & Stubbs jacket - ed)
• Grey trousers (clung to my thin, muscle devoid legs, like drainpipes - for they were - ed)
• Grey ties (but made of wool and ever-so, ever-so thin - like me at the time - sigh ed)
• Grey underwear (not due to the lack of washing, perhaps due to too much washing - ed),
• Grey shoelaces (in my defence they came with the shoes - ed)
• Grey spectacle frames (harder to get than you might think - ed)
• Pink shirts (they looked soo pretty - ed)
• Pink socks (though only when I ran out of grey ones - ed)
• ...and everything else grey, grey, grey and some extra grey (luckily my hair still covered all of my head and was a glorious curly mouse like brown colour - no grey in it, none whatsoever - ed)

So, as you can see, there may have been some truth about me being, "The Grey Man".

Psyche a Muse by any other name?

However, this comment sunk deep into my psyche

(Is Psyche a muse?

"Caller please hold whilst I check - thank you",...

a few moments pass..

"Thank you for holding caller, but I can tell you with full certainty that no, psyche is not a muse"

"Is there anything else you want today caller?"

"Excuse me, but which sources did you check the name against?"

"Well Sir, we searched using the latest Breitbart search engine which covers , Fox News, All the Murdoch Papers, Alt-Right sites and naturally not forgetting, his most gracious Majesty, President-Elect Trump's twitter feed, is that sufficient?"

"Were you looking for a real answer, or were you just following your pre-programmed telephone script?"

"I always follow the script Sir, otherwise I will lose this most tedious minimum wage job"

"Remember Sir, we are now rushing into a Total Post Truth World (tm)!"

"The real-truth is so last year, good night Sir"

)

...and bobbed any festered in the front, back and sides of my mind(s) for decades

(I am never one to rush into anything half-cocked, let only fully cocked - [last time I did something fully cocked it all went horribly wrong; but that is yet another sad tale for another day - sub ed])

The Shirt Link

What follows is the: Shirt Link

There are more words that could follow (you know me, it is like opening the flood gates, and finding the wheel to close the gates has rather unfortunately come off in your hands - ed), but for once I shall simply stop.

....

Time passed, and then I thought, time for another episode of NCIS or more wittering, you can thank your lucky stars that it was an NCIS moment.

...

But, but what about the why's, the wherefores? The internet isn't wanting to play and so the pain of writing this evening is just not much fun. Remember if it not fun, don't do it.

Anguish In Aberdeen IV - (The Intravenous One)

We left our character heading down the stairs (For Emergency Use Only - ed) and managing not to trigger any of the various security protocols at, and with a deep masculine voice say, “ Heathrow - Terminator V”, well OK it’s Terminal 5, but it sounds more exciting my way.

Now you may recall, for those of you who cannot, go back and read Anguish In Aberdeen III, that the whole point of this narrative…

(you mean there is a point, are you sure? Are you not just having me and every other reader waste their lives wading through this drivel waiting for the story to reach Aberdeen, let alone its culmination in Inverness? I think you need to buck your ideas up and get a move on - ed)

...is to, errm, not sure, the above interruption has, you might say, interrupted my train of thought.

Watching the Detectives

The ground floor, well it isn’t exactly the ground floor, I think it is probably floor 1, as there appears to be a further downstairs, but whatever height above the ground it is, it is the Departure Lounge; and my oh my, were there a lot of people lounging around.

Before setting down and pulling out one of the many “interesting” books, to be found in my cavernous rucksack, to read whilst I wiled away the hours until the flight was called, I thought I should try and see if I could get sufficient walking in the Terminal building to hit the 10,000 steps a day that I have been doing as part of my exercise regime. (Yes it’s an Ancien Regime - tee hee ed)

10,000 Steps (nowhere near 500 miles)

Yup, no sweating for hours in a gym multiple times a week for me, I have my very simple and straightforward, “Keep Davey Ship Shape and Bristol Fashion”, (which is a real nautical term, worth reading the RIse and Fall of the Royal Navy, one of my many interesting books - Royal Navy ed) which is:

• walk 10.000 steps a day
• use stairs at every opportunity (the problems with escalators and lifts notwithstanding, see previous post for more detail on that - ed)
• eat only fruit (and a strong black coffee) for lunch (what no cake and biscuits? - ed)
• drink lots of water in the office - which given my apparently declining bladder capacity means I have to get up and got to the loo once every hour or so, and “they” (that’ll be some group of Doctors or other such health advisors - health ed), do suggest that desk jockeys should get up and move 5 minutes each hour.(gotta keep the stream that pale yellow colour otherwise you’re not drinking enough - hydration is very important, if you are dehydrated it can affect your thinking/brain activities by around 10% - well so says some study I read sometime on the interweb, so it must be true - ed)
• do some mindfulness, be that simply sitting, thinking and breathing or maybe with a light bit of lying down and gentle stretching (also known as yoga - ed), very calming, very good for the inner soul (as opposed to the insole, which is more shoe related - ed)
• keep a lid on the alcohol consumption, not on school nights is a really good start, OK, OK you are allowed the occasional drink in the week but really try and keep a lid on it, not good for your sleep all that alcohol.
• eat properly (I don’t mean just chew your food ten times before swallowing, but if you could, that would help too - Dr ed), by which I mean buy raw ingredients, herbs and spices etc and prepare your food from scratch (I really should get Bridget to do a post on this - her ability to cook three different meals at the same time, with one for now and the other two as batches for freezing for later, is simply remarkable - admiration ed).
• sleep, perchance to dream. Getting a good night's sleep is a huge benefit. Until you have had children, I don’t think you quite realise how important sleep is. I don’t remember any of the antenatal fuzzy feeling parent-to-be classes mentioning sleep deprivation or how you get small children with teeth to brush their teeth, or indeed let you do it for them. Some bits of child advice seems to go missing when they are needed most.

…. Think I had better stop on that as it has grown from a very simple, walk 10,000 steps and use the stairs into some kind of lifestyle change “thing”, remember you are all grown ups and you know what is best for your, you certainly don’t need me “going on” about it.  But as Chairman Mao said, “Power comes through the barrel of a gun”, no, no, no, the one about the Long March, something along the lines that you need to make that first step, after that the 2nd and 3rd are much easier; like the “first cut is the deepest” but without any bloody lacerations, so something  like the first step is the hardest.

The Great Victorian Explorer in Terminal V - The Departure Lounge

Not being related to a Great Victorian Explorer, but cast from the same mould…

(I do have a moustache; though I think a certain gentleman I know, who is a relative newcomer to the now fashionable hair upper lip lark, beats me hands down on the size and curliness front, as well as beating me consistently at table tennis, “Yes you back there, I’m talking about you”, he knows who he is  - ed)

….and with my Plinth Helmet (surely you mean Pith - ed) firmly on my head and my rucksack on my back (sadly I couldn’t afford the troop of bearers to carry it - finance ed), I went exploring the Departure Lounge.

Now it used to be, that all there was in a Departure Lounge was just insufficient seating for the average number of people likely to be in it at any one time; and not forgetting the one poor quality expensive cafeteria.

However, and as with many things in the last couple of decades, It appears things have moved on from those early days of flight. I am hugely saddened not to have to wear the goggles, great coat or use, “Roger Roger”, egregiously anymore. Sometimes change is not for the better.

Though the Departure Lounge I am thinking of, probably comes from a very incorrect memory of Luxembourg Airport in the mid to late 80’s (1986-89 - factual facts R us ed).

Where did all the seats go?

I believe that there would be more than sufficient seating for one and all (and the rest - ed) but only if all the available floor space was being used and had not been turned over to Airport Retail Brands (™), the reason for which has obviously escaped me, seriously I don’t get it.

I may have waxed lyrical about Retail Therapy (™) on a previous post (if a reader would like to dig it out and add a comment with the link, I would appreciate it. However, with a short reflection (I only had a small mirror - sub ed), I would imagine it would be the one about Ironing, maybe I’ll find the link and put it here later - currently in the depths of a Government building with neither WiFi or any kind of [1-4]G coverage - ed)

In my mental (ooh ‘ees right mental that one - mental health ed) model of  the World, or as I like to call it The World According to Davey (™), an airport is a communication hub allowing you to travel (and I hesitate to use the word quickly, still hesitating, and still hesitating, now is about the right time - ed), “quickly” from one airport to another airport.

I was going to say from one city to another city, but that would be dissing regional airports, and given the variable distance between an airport and its associated “city”, (London Luton anyone? - ed) I have to be careful to be correct.

I think that the reason that the Security Theatre Wonderland (™) has been much improved (they are just sooo efficient at getting you through to the Retail Containment Area (™) - ed) is so that you have more time waiting “plane side” and “through security” allowing you to spend all of your holiday money before you manage to leave the country.

I wonder, in my warped view of things, whether the staff of the Overpriced Designer Goods For The Weak Willed At Airport Stores (™) are, “high fiving”, and a, “whoopin’ and a hollerin’”, with joy when flights are delayed and cancelled, as it gives the Penned In Terminal Punters (™) more time to wile away the hours waiting by buying yet more and more stuff.

The “stuff”, which at the end of the day, will not fit into their hand luggage. I know this to be true, I have seen people getting their small children to bounce up and down on so called, “cabin luggage”, to try and force more stuff into them. Having children screaming with joy and delight at an airport is something close to Hell as far as I am concerned…

(This is in my honest opinion [or IMHOTEP as you Millennials put it - ?? ed], children somewhere else, quiet and preferably some distance away like in Neverland are absolutely fine - ed).

Sometimes these poor befuddled consumers are forced to buy more bags and/or suitcases as they have no children with them.

My one good idea of the evening (as time has now passed and I am heading backwards to Alton on a train - 17:55 to be exact and it is black as your hat outside the window - ed),  is that if only zips were elasticated in some way life would be so much richer, remember it is worth noting that it is always the zip that won’t properly shut, or worse than that (he’s dead Jim - Star Trek misquote ed) the zip breaks.

So there you have it, Elasticated Zips (™) should be the next big thing, much cheaper and less nauseous than VR (Virtual Reality - ed). But even cheaper still, and using all the tools that most of us have to handle, why not just use RR (Real Reality) (™) as it is what your eyes have evolved to do for you (for those that have sight impairment, there is a haptic feedback plugin available at this point - ed)

As a further aside, there is a very interesting (not that interesting word again, I think we should restrict the use of that word as he uses it much too much - Colonel O. Buffer EBC (retd)) TED talk about how the we perceive the world, [Click just -> A View on Reality ]

I used to never leave home (as I’m leaving on a jet plane, surreptitiously worms its way into my mind - music ed) to go on a plane trip without a large number of different size safety pins about my person, as they are just so versatile for fixing broken things.

They even fix small children, especially the larger more expensive Super Spring Childproof Safety Pins (™),  generally fixing them to the leg (through the clothing or the leg I am not too fussy - going off on one ed), of one or both of their parents, so that the little bundles of joy cannot go charging off in random directions around the departure lounge mowing down OAP’s

in great numbers. Sometimes it seems that they are just trying to recreate battles of World War I, but with less poetry.

Sadly, In recent years I have had to stop as these are now deemed to be dangerous by the Confiscate First, Questions Second (™) security staff, Coming to a Major airport NEAR YOU.

I am particularly gutted to have had my gold lame (larmay - is how you say that, just where is that cute French accent when you need it - ed) confiscated and binned. All for safety’s sake - it was a Safety Pin for Christ’s Sake, how much safer can it be (at this point Davey had been asked by the pleasant gentleman sitting in front of him to kindly, “Please stop bashing your keyboard so much as the vibrations are causing a great disturbance in the force” - calm down now ed)

Where Did The Plot Go?

There is not plot, but we have managed to navigate our character from upstairs to downstairs and into the Departure Lounge at Heathrow - Terminator V. What more could you want.

The observations on what happened and the panic stricken last few minutes after the calling of the flight are now going to appear in Anguish In Aberdeen - The Sixth, This Time It Is Personal.

Anguish in Aberdeen III - The Rise of Terminal V

Like many of my posts, this one is written over a long period of time (deep time, it was started in the Mesozoic era - archaeology ed), in that it was started, possibly in August I think (in fact it was August 9th @07:51 according to the history mechanism of this tool - well I never ed), and has sat fulminating in the great server disk cloud in the sky until last Friday (25th November 2016 - otherwise how would you know which “last Friday”, it was?)

Given today, is the Sunday (27th), after Friday (25th), is, “last Friday”, still the 25th or is it the 18th, because if today was Saturday (26th) then Friday would be yesterday, but last Friday wouldn’t be yesterday but Friday the 18th, wouldn’t it? I get so very confused.

If you are new to this particular blog and indeed this post, I would strongly suggest that you use the very helpful search bar to look for the previous earlier parts of this Neverending Anguish In Aberdeen Post (™) or I could put the links to the previous posts - suggesting that you read them in order - otherwise you might get more lost-in-th-plot than is usual.

I strongly suggest you read them in this particular order:

Anguish in Aberdeen Part 1

Anguish in Aberdeen Part Deux

Though, given my firmly founded, fully coherent, set of life principles, you can actually read it in any order you like, given that you are, finally, a fully fledged grown up (and if you are not, are your parents aware you are reading random twaddle on the web - nanny state ed)

So, after reading the above, and, my oh my, it make take some time, as these posts tend to wander and meander like the most serene of streams (streams of consciousness - Dr ed), you are allowed (as if I could stop you  - ed) to continue with the travails of our non-international traveller as he attempts to meet Bridget in Aberdeen for a fun packed weekend, partly in Aberdeen and mostly in Inverness)

So here we go:

Terminal 5 (Five for those with number blindness)

As I sit in Heathrow Terminal 5 (again), this time waiting for a flight to Glasgow, en-route to East Kilbride, I know, I know, but someone has to go. It is where there is a large HMRC call centre, some of whose staff were using some software that apparently I helped write.

The last time I was here was for the the now infamous almost but not quite long weekend in Scotland.

After various adventures I had made it to Woking on the train from Sunny Alton (™) and had a very uneventful journey from Working to Terminal 5 on a bus (not exactly a rail replacement bus - but a bus that I bought a train ticket for, yes it confused me too - travel ed).

The bus dropped me outside of Terminal 5, when I say dropped, I mean it stopped and I dismounted. I had been riding on the roof to get an extra adrenaline rush, The driver’s face was a picture as I slid down off the roof. Luckily for me it was a bright clear day and so I had not been in need of the the wet weather gear.

Airport Love

So, you may not know this, but I love airports, perhaps it is because I was perpetually next to one or another during my childhood as I was, what appears to be called, “an RAF brat”, suffice to say that is not how I see myself, perhaps a little uncouth at times …

(have you seen that 1970’s school photo, the hair, the thinness, those glasses - dork would be more appropriate than brat - ed)

... so we were generally lived in married quarters next to an airbase …

(ok ok so not a commercial airport - but an airport nevertheless - with very exciting very noisy aircraft like Lightnings and Jaguars - context ed)

so I was used to aircraft noise.

The long loping funs down the runway and the, as late as was possible, dropping prone to the ground just before the plane touched down, was enormous fun. I was an adrenaline junkie one might presume, but it was understandable.

There were only 3 Black and White TV channels and for some reason that escapes me the thing that was on most of the time was the BBC Test Card, yes this is for real. It is something that has been lost since the explosion of channels with the communication revolutions of the past few decades.

Military Policemen

Given my runway escapades, I had many a run in with the RAF MPs. I have to say that the MPs were all ever so kind to me, loads of tea and as many biscuits as I could eat - and at that age I could eat packet after packet without any problem.

Sadly, nowadays just looking at the plainest of biscuit causes dietary conniptions (and yes I did need to look that one up as I put “caniptions” initially and the great speller in the cloud told me, via underlining in red, that that was not a real word - spelling bee ed).

The Trouble with Terminal 5 (Five - do numbers have an upper case?)

I quite like Terminal V….

(for some odd reason, and you know it doesn’t take much to “send me off on one”, this brings to mind Terminator V, )

...modern, roomy, well laid out, lots of natural light ….

(don’t get me started on buildings with little or no natural light - gnashing of teeth ed),

...easy to get to from Alton (by road when the M3 and M25 are in a “green is go” state or even as I have mentioned by rail and bus, it’s almost like it’s a transport hub of some kind, who would have thought it?

Security Theatre

The trouble with it, however, is that they have really gone to town on the efficiency of the Security Theatre (™) , which  I may have mentioned in passing on a previous blog …

(I wonder if I could find it and put the link here - probably won’t bother - I mean hardly anyone reads the blog as it is - linking to another hardly read blog might or might not get a Click-Through Bonus)

...suffice to say it ended up with me spending some time having an unexpectedly thorough proctological examination, in what was initially a very pleasant quiet room. One does have to wonder what they expected to find (coprolites perhaps - archaeology ed), well they were terribly surprised to be dumped on by something significantly fresher and more malodorous, so they won’t be doing that to me in a hurry again.

I have to say that I was really quite pleased, as I am not a big fan of travelling places as part of a holiday. I tend to get very wound up (you are soooo right - Bridget ed) and my internal workings tend to get “bunged up” and it can take days after arrival at my holiday destination before I have relaxed enough to let nature take its course, so having the security personnel give me a free enema was the icing on the cake, errm if you get my drift.

Given the above, and with my special pass…

(in fact a letter, written in large font comic sans explaining why I won’t allow myself to be exposed to radiation and insist on being “patted down”.

It is so much easier handing them a letter after saying,  “No, not on your watch”, to the Irradiation Archway of Doom (™) than trying to explain rationally why I won’t go through it - as I tend to lose it, and if I wanted another free enema I would rather do it at a time and place of my choosing. I always like to think of the letter as my Trump Card (™), which for some reason makes me smile. )

… I got through in record time. Sometimes it appears that a small investment in awkwardness can generate huge time savings, who would have known?

Exploring Terminal V (plane side if that is the right terminology)

Now, I like to get to places early, just in case my reliance on public transport fails, which for some unknown reason has yet to happen to me when heading for a plane …

(just don’t get me started on trains into Waterloo on the daily commute - transport ed)

...so I had a lot (how much is a lot - well maybe a few hours or so… ed), of time to hang around and wait. I would rather wait at the airport than at home, waiting to leave to get to the airport just in time to catch a plane, just exposes one to a very stressful journey, and stress is deleterious to health (well done, what an excellent word - English ed)

So after perusing the, “upper level”, which appears to be just one huge Security Theatre Wonderland (™) (STW) and discovering lots of interesting doorways that only special people can get through. I just wish I had the bottle to walk through them behind people who have access to see what there is to be discovered.

I did go behind the scenes at Stansted Airport a couple of years ago with the Border Force, but I am bound (well I would be hog-tied and punished if I did - Official Secrets ed) not to talk about it, but I can mention in general terms that it was weird, lots of areas marked off with partitions and pretending to be rooms, but with no ceiling apart from the terminal ceiling, as I said weird.

Moving Stairway to Heaven

So after walking from one end to the other of the STW to the other, I decided to go down the stairs to the ground floor.

Now I had been putting this off, because it always seems to be a big step, but, and luckily for me, they had put on lots of little steps in the form of an escalator (stairs for those unfit or infirm enough not to be able to physically walk up or down a set of stairs - ed).

Now I prefer a proper set of stairs, which are generally more solid, wider and these day much much quieter than the other options, and most importantly have no moving parts, as moving parts can snag your clothing and drag you into Under Escalator World (™)  - but that is a whole other post (I shiver just thinking about that particular experience - ed).

But, and like many modern buildings, I could not find any stairs that weren’t behind signs that said, “For Emergency Use Only”, which put me off. I have previously tried to use stairs at an Airport (Gatwick - ed) and caused a very minor (well I thought it was minor, the armed policemen weren’t so dismissive of my actions - ed) incident.

Gatwick Aside

Explaining that you don’t like, lifts or Metal Boxes of Entrapment (™), as I prefer to call them, or for that matter escalators due to my unbridled fear of the Under Escalator World (™)  and so much prefer to walk up/down staircases which for some reason gets me a lots of very strange looks and the need for a great deal of explaining and more weirdly keep having to explain the same thing to a lot of different people.

During my very long and repetitive Gatwick chat, when we got to the third time of them asking the same question and me giving the same answer, I suggested, in a helpful tone, that they simply watch the video of my previous explanation, assuming that the camera in the corner with the red light on was recording. For some reason they didn’t seem to be particularly amused and simply said again, “Let’s start at the beginning again shall we, Mr. Collins”, they are so very formal, it is one of the pleasures of dealing them as it is one of the few times in modern life that I am called Mister.

What I particularly liked in the quiet room (safely away from all the screaming children - ed), was that there was a very large mirror on one side, and when they left me on my own, “To get my story straight”, as one of the more helpful chaps suggested, I was able to clear up a few spots, well it wasn’t my mirror and I wouldn’t have to clean it.

The lighting was brilliant so I started to clean out my nose, strangely each time I started to get a small finger knuckle deep in my nostril, you know, to get to the difficult-to-get “meaty” bits, the door would open and I would be interrupted. Luckily I was able to wipe the offending finger on the mirror, apparently no-one seemed to notice. I did think that they knew what I was doing, but I had ensured that I was blocking the ever watchful blinking red camera with my torso, but I couldn't shake off that feeling of being watched.

After I finally managed to convince them that walking down a staircase was not a potential terrorist act, these very pleasant, though repetitive chaps at Gatwick said that they would keep an eye on me, which would appear to mean I am now on some kind of Watchlist.