Been in New York for almost 2 days now, there has been much walking, from the Empire State Building to the Chrysler Building, trying to head north to Times Square but actually walking several miles south and ending up at the World Trade Center smash n crash site.
At the cinema, ridiculously sized people buy bags or buckets of popcorn large enough to drown a small dog in, cover their nachos in liquid butter and cheese siphoned out of industrial vats. i challenge you not to feel sick if you see, let alone eat, that combination.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
classic chimney action
I was driving through Kent and drove past a sign that said "no chimney, no problem", is that a middle class version of "no woman, no cry"?
Sunday, July 22, 2007
lift etiquette
I was in a lift full of people this morning, made entirely of immaculately reflective services. Nobody wanted to make eye-contact but there was nowhere we could look apart from the floor.
Blood, Sweat and Tears, ok then just Sweat, maybe some blood
Once again, names removed to protect the innocent and guilty alike.
The past two days have been relatively uneventful save a few choice moments of hilarity. I've cabled an entire office listening to a variety of 90s pop hits from a laptop in a blissfully empty office. After work the first evening we went for sushi then i was dropped off at my b&b. On realising I hadn't been given a key to the front gate, I had to vault the wall like a middle class ninja, complete with laptop-laden rucksack, retrieving the gin and vodka I had muled through customs for my contact at the office.
The second night we got a cab to the mall of the emirates, the largest shopping mall in the world complete with the only indoor ski slope, possibly in the world but definitely in the middle east. We spotted the other company types who had made also made the trip over from Brighton sitting in a restaurant, unceremoniously sat down and started eating the remains of their rice, humous and flatbreads. It was only halfway through devouring their leftovers (in a style that many of my friends will recognise) that they 'let slip' that they all had a painful stomach bug which necessitated worryingly frequent trips to the toilet. One person disappeared, returning only to regail us with tails of no less than 3 visits to the porcelain parapet in the brief time she had been away from the table, much to the surprise of two arab ladies who watched her wash her hands, look sheepish and head straight back into the cubicle.
The evening ended in a cocktail bar overlooking the ski slope. We drank lemon & elderflower (sounds healthy but it was loaded with vodka) and watched children falling off their mats as they scraped down a fake toboggan run, expert skiiers tackling the black-run and a variety of snowboarding videos including the crashes at the end. Interspersed with sips of cocktails were various jokes about gastroenteritis, ski runs and exploding bowels, subtlety was not an issue.
At work on the third day, the office was suddenly full of people. As we know in the IT world, people = problems. While trying to fix a laptop and just get the damn thing working, I was bombarded with questions and issues, ranging in severity from "i can't email this person" to "desktop background has changed". Skipping lunch to plough through the problems, I eventually emerged victorious with only a few items left on the agenda for the next day.
Sloping off to a shopping center in search of tacky fridge magnets and vulgar baseball caps, we decided that (although tacky) none of it was tacky enough to warrant spending 300 dhirams (£4.20) on a wooden carving of the sheikh looking like GI Joe, resplendant with beard and desert head-wrap) surveying his estate. Over dramatasising it now, I wish i'd bought it but it really was absolute crap.
Walking through what seemed like a tight moroccan market place (but was actually a manufactured tourist bilge sale) we passed numerous tourist trophy families, with their immaculate tans and peroxide blonde hair, the head of the family always sporting a white linen suit, obviously in an attempt to emulate the man from del monté. We walked around by the river, passing by boats carrying residents of the two hotel complexes, and took pictures. We eventually settled on some bean bags by the river and ordered drinks. I freaked the waiter out by ordering strongbow with lime juice, which my colleague took an immediate liking to. Pint of cider & lime (slime) anyone?
We discussed the gold standard but grew tired of the heavy stuff and reverted to the venerable subjects of comedy & religion, two infinitely combinable subjects. As we chatted away, groups of extremely rich tourists sauntered past with their sullen teenage children stumbling around in high heels, morosely texting their mates, their faces lit only by the dim glow of their nokia bitchface 300, with the extra un-flattering lens specifically to produce bad photographs ready for FaceBook.
Eventually it was time to leave and now, after middle-class ninjerring the wall again, i'm in bed ready for my last day as IT monkey on the 15th floor of an unfinished tower block in the unfinished media city district of Dubai. Hopefully I'll get all my work done and won't be bothered by people who don't understand "I'll get to you once I've stopped the server from vomiting all over the internet"
The past two days have been relatively uneventful save a few choice moments of hilarity. I've cabled an entire office listening to a variety of 90s pop hits from a laptop in a blissfully empty office. After work the first evening we went for sushi then i was dropped off at my b&b. On realising I hadn't been given a key to the front gate, I had to vault the wall like a middle class ninja, complete with laptop-laden rucksack, retrieving the gin and vodka I had muled through customs for my contact at the office.
The second night we got a cab to the mall of the emirates, the largest shopping mall in the world complete with the only indoor ski slope, possibly in the world but definitely in the middle east. We spotted the other company types who had made also made the trip over from Brighton sitting in a restaurant, unceremoniously sat down and started eating the remains of their rice, humous and flatbreads. It was only halfway through devouring their leftovers (in a style that many of my friends will recognise) that they 'let slip' that they all had a painful stomach bug which necessitated worryingly frequent trips to the toilet. One person disappeared, returning only to regail us with tails of no less than 3 visits to the porcelain parapet in the brief time she had been away from the table, much to the surprise of two arab ladies who watched her wash her hands, look sheepish and head straight back into the cubicle.
The evening ended in a cocktail bar overlooking the ski slope. We drank lemon & elderflower (sounds healthy but it was loaded with vodka) and watched children falling off their mats as they scraped down a fake toboggan run, expert skiiers tackling the black-run and a variety of snowboarding videos including the crashes at the end. Interspersed with sips of cocktails were various jokes about gastroenteritis, ski runs and exploding bowels, subtlety was not an issue.
At work on the third day, the office was suddenly full of people. As we know in the IT world, people = problems. While trying to fix a laptop and just get the damn thing working, I was bombarded with questions and issues, ranging in severity from "i can't email this person" to "desktop background has changed". Skipping lunch to plough through the problems, I eventually emerged victorious with only a few items left on the agenda for the next day.
Sloping off to a shopping center in search of tacky fridge magnets and vulgar baseball caps, we decided that (although tacky) none of it was tacky enough to warrant spending 300 dhirams (£4.20) on a wooden carving of the sheikh looking like GI Joe, resplendant with beard and desert head-wrap) surveying his estate. Over dramatasising it now, I wish i'd bought it but it really was absolute crap.
Walking through what seemed like a tight moroccan market place (but was actually a manufactured tourist bilge sale) we passed numerous tourist trophy families, with their immaculate tans and peroxide blonde hair, the head of the family always sporting a white linen suit, obviously in an attempt to emulate the man from del monté. We walked around by the river, passing by boats carrying residents of the two hotel complexes, and took pictures. We eventually settled on some bean bags by the river and ordered drinks. I freaked the waiter out by ordering strongbow with lime juice, which my colleague took an immediate liking to. Pint of cider & lime (slime) anyone?
We discussed the gold standard but grew tired of the heavy stuff and reverted to the venerable subjects of comedy & religion, two infinitely combinable subjects. As we chatted away, groups of extremely rich tourists sauntered past with their sullen teenage children stumbling around in high heels, morosely texting their mates, their faces lit only by the dim glow of their nokia bitchface 300, with the extra un-flattering lens specifically to produce bad photographs ready for FaceBook.
Eventually it was time to leave and now, after middle-class ninjerring the wall again, i'm in bed ready for my last day as IT monkey on the 15th floor of an unfinished tower block in the unfinished media city district of Dubai. Hopefully I'll get all my work done and won't be bothered by people who don't understand "I'll get to you once I've stopped the server from vomiting all over the internet"
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Off to Dubai!
Next time I get that feeling that I've forgotten something I'll really take time out to fully explore the experience and get right down to the root cause, that you've generally forgotten something. I had just such a nagging feeling in the taxi at 2:30am, all the way to the coach station, that something was indeed absent from my assortment of bags. I felt just like Columbo when he's got something at the back of his mind that compels him to stalk a wealthy cinema owner whose wife has just been tragically murdered after seeing subliminal imagery in the film to make her go to the foyer and get a drink, where her killer was conveniently poised.
Upon reaching the coach station I realised that it was the power adapter for my laptop that was giving me visions of a stubbed out cigar and a tattered brown mac. Faced with the prospect of listening to children screaming for 8 hours while jetting off to Dubai, I made a fervent attempt at getting home and back in 17 minutes. Aided by a taxi driver bursting with knowledge of the middle east ("it's just a theifdom, the emirates all are, £4.80 please mate"), I arrived back at the bus station fully equipped to fend off the annoyances of being trapped in a flying metal tube with 200 other people for 8 hours.
After a 2 hour coach ride, during which I watched the sunset, thought it was nice, then thought being at home in bed would've been nicer, i reached Heathrow and checked in to the flight. Checkin wasn't even due to start for another 40 minutes but all the window seats had gone apart from the "emergency seat", meaning you're the first person to get sucked out into the atmosphere in the event of the door breaking. I sat and read while the departure lounge filled slowly with little trickles of bleary eyed tourists. At 6am I decided that it was late enough to warrant breakfast and bought a "classic" new york style bagel, a "sumptuous feast of salmon, dill, phildelphia cream cheese and cracked black pepper". I was confused to find a lethargically wrapped stale bagel filled with some shiney salmon and smeared cheese with not even a hint of dill.
In front of me several american teenagers complained that it was costing them twice as much as it would back home. i chuckled on the inside, the way that only irritating teenagers in various states of distress and inconvenience can make you chuckle.
Boarding the plane I was already falling asleep, having been unable to sleep the night before in anticipation of getting on the plance and unable to sleep that night as I had to actually get to said aeromobile. 8 hours of interrupted sleep and nodding off, I arrived in Dubai. I bought a few litres of booze for my colleague, who as yet doesn't have a license to buy alcohol. Perhaps she has not passed her alcohol test, during which you have to reverse round a corner, spin round twelve times with your head touching a pole on the ground, then run back to your base, performing an emergency stop then vomiting into a gutter while your friend holds your hair back and reassures you that gary wasn't worth it. Maybe she got too many minor faults and failed at the last hurdle for thinking that gary was indeed worth it.
Arriving at the B&B that had been arranged for me, I was shown to my room, kitted out with white tiled floor (more on that later), king sized bed, satelite TV, wireless broadband, black tiled bathroom with moulded transparent glass sink. I was invited out into the front garden where we were due to have a barbeque party with many many guests, past and present.
Names have been witheld to protect all, both the innocent and the guilty. Among the crowd were some lovely people, kind and interesting. There were also a few intensely conceited and vacuous people, so drunk that they appeared unable to acknowledge your presence unless you, like them, barked continuously about your turnover and how many acquisitions you'd made this year. As one woman's consciousness began to fade, unable to make any form of eye contact except to molest her immaculately chiselled, equally insipid australian boyfriend, she was taken home. The party wound down with only the genuinely positive and engaging people left.
I realised that I had to be up for work the next day so made my way to bed, had a shower and lay down. It was only a few hours later that i woke up in a pool of my own sweat and realised that the air conditioning was completely dead and I was being cooked alive. After fumbling around in the dark unsuccessfully for an hour I relented and switched the light on to better see why the air conditioning was rebelling against its life of servitude. As I stood on the metre wide wooden shelf around the bed, pointing the remote control at the plastic carcass stuck to the wall, I stepped backwards onto the floor and sliipped on the surface still wet from walking out of the shower. I remember thinkging that I should probably lose some weight as my elbow and knee were slamming down onto the refreshingly cool tiled floor. I lay there for several minutes, frustrated at the remote control's inability to wake the air conditioning, refreshed at the cool floor but also annoyed at the pain in my arm and leg.
After another hour of being unable to work out why the machine just wouldn't work, I gave up and went to bed. Lying spread out on my back, nursing my elbow, I tried not to breathe or move in any way. Eventually the sun came up and I shuffled off to breakfast, eager to find someone to fix such a vital piece of equipment. After a heart-felt apology from the owners and a slap-up breakfast I headed off with another colleague to the office to begin my first day of work.
Upon reaching the coach station I realised that it was the power adapter for my laptop that was giving me visions of a stubbed out cigar and a tattered brown mac. Faced with the prospect of listening to children screaming for 8 hours while jetting off to Dubai, I made a fervent attempt at getting home and back in 17 minutes. Aided by a taxi driver bursting with knowledge of the middle east ("it's just a theifdom, the emirates all are, £4.80 please mate"), I arrived back at the bus station fully equipped to fend off the annoyances of being trapped in a flying metal tube with 200 other people for 8 hours.
After a 2 hour coach ride, during which I watched the sunset, thought it was nice, then thought being at home in bed would've been nicer, i reached Heathrow and checked in to the flight. Checkin wasn't even due to start for another 40 minutes but all the window seats had gone apart from the "emergency seat", meaning you're the first person to get sucked out into the atmosphere in the event of the door breaking. I sat and read while the departure lounge filled slowly with little trickles of bleary eyed tourists. At 6am I decided that it was late enough to warrant breakfast and bought a "classic" new york style bagel, a "sumptuous feast of salmon, dill, phildelphia cream cheese and cracked black pepper". I was confused to find a lethargically wrapped stale bagel filled with some shiney salmon and smeared cheese with not even a hint of dill.
In front of me several american teenagers complained that it was costing them twice as much as it would back home. i chuckled on the inside, the way that only irritating teenagers in various states of distress and inconvenience can make you chuckle.
Boarding the plane I was already falling asleep, having been unable to sleep the night before in anticipation of getting on the plance and unable to sleep that night as I had to actually get to said aeromobile. 8 hours of interrupted sleep and nodding off, I arrived in Dubai. I bought a few litres of booze for my colleague, who as yet doesn't have a license to buy alcohol. Perhaps she has not passed her alcohol test, during which you have to reverse round a corner, spin round twelve times with your head touching a pole on the ground, then run back to your base, performing an emergency stop then vomiting into a gutter while your friend holds your hair back and reassures you that gary wasn't worth it. Maybe she got too many minor faults and failed at the last hurdle for thinking that gary was indeed worth it.
Arriving at the B&B that had been arranged for me, I was shown to my room, kitted out with white tiled floor (more on that later), king sized bed, satelite TV, wireless broadband, black tiled bathroom with moulded transparent glass sink. I was invited out into the front garden where we were due to have a barbeque party with many many guests, past and present.
Names have been witheld to protect all, both the innocent and the guilty. Among the crowd were some lovely people, kind and interesting. There were also a few intensely conceited and vacuous people, so drunk that they appeared unable to acknowledge your presence unless you, like them, barked continuously about your turnover and how many acquisitions you'd made this year. As one woman's consciousness began to fade, unable to make any form of eye contact except to molest her immaculately chiselled, equally insipid australian boyfriend, she was taken home. The party wound down with only the genuinely positive and engaging people left.
I realised that I had to be up for work the next day so made my way to bed, had a shower and lay down. It was only a few hours later that i woke up in a pool of my own sweat and realised that the air conditioning was completely dead and I was being cooked alive. After fumbling around in the dark unsuccessfully for an hour I relented and switched the light on to better see why the air conditioning was rebelling against its life of servitude. As I stood on the metre wide wooden shelf around the bed, pointing the remote control at the plastic carcass stuck to the wall, I stepped backwards onto the floor and sliipped on the surface still wet from walking out of the shower. I remember thinkging that I should probably lose some weight as my elbow and knee were slamming down onto the refreshingly cool tiled floor. I lay there for several minutes, frustrated at the remote control's inability to wake the air conditioning, refreshed at the cool floor but also annoyed at the pain in my arm and leg.
After another hour of being unable to work out why the machine just wouldn't work, I gave up and went to bed. Lying spread out on my back, nursing my elbow, I tried not to breathe or move in any way. Eventually the sun came up and I shuffled off to breakfast, eager to find someone to fix such a vital piece of equipment. After a heart-felt apology from the owners and a slap-up breakfast I headed off with another colleague to the office to begin my first day of work.
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