Vitiating Briefers Dishonouring Mavens,
The heady thrust of the new working year catapulted me south. England is a foreign land of strange ways; for me, and most of Scotland, it exists only on the television and we never realise how lucky we are that this is the case.
As part of my project, I have to attend meetings of collaborators every few months, this usually involves presenting my most recent work. I have never feared oral presentations, in fact, this time, I wish I was required to give one; it would have made my time seem more worthwhile. I was only asked to present a poster summarising all past work. I did stress over the poster, printing an A0 size poster is surprisingly expensive; content, size of font, positioning of text and pictures – I deliberated over these for about a week, then I finally sent it to the printers and hoped they’d do a professional job.
We usually fly down to England, but this time, I was given a choice. I chose to take the train; the security checks at the airport are just too stressful when trying to catch a flight. Sometimes shoes have to be removed, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes a belt makes it through the metal screening apparatus, sometimes it doesn’t. I don’t even know what I have to do with a laptop, so I just leave it at home. Then once through, re-packing bags, re-filling pockets and, literally, re-dressing in under minutes is a task too difficult for the Krypton Factor, never mind an airport. Whereas on the train, a kitchen sink is not a problem. Wielding two bags and a poster, I left the wonderful Kingdom of Fife.
The journey to Nottingham was uneventful, all connections, at Embra and Sheffield, were made with time to spare. Leaving in the afternoon, I found the train to be quite empty until Leeds when we collected some teatime commuters, in this particular Virgin train, I was squashed, despite the fact that a normal sized person had chose to sit beside me. We both changed trains at Sheffield and were rid of each other. The final leg was on a desolate local service, it seemed such a waste to run the train at all. Having experienced the roads of this England place, I can’t understand why they leave their trains empty. The railroads seem a bit rickety between Embra and Newcastle but apart from this gripe, I can’t find a reason not to choose rail.
The hotel was reasonably pleasant, a coat hook fell out of the wall under the weight of my jacket, but I can’t be blamed for this brand of workmanship. For unknown reasons, I had a twin room, choosing which of the two beds to sleep could have posed a threat to my sanity had my state of mind not been soothed by the woodland-themed décor. From small acorns, squirrels gain homes.
The meeting didn’t provide a great deal of new insight, I’ve always thought that we have our own niche within the collaboration that doesn’t interfere with the rest and that can’t be interfered with the rest. Only the bolshie nature of one of the collaborations most notorious partners livened the affair, mercifully, one of the collaboration’s most productive partners showed the gumption required to scorn him.
Dinner that evening was held in a hotel bar in a village on the outskirts of the city. The meal was not to my taste, it could only be described as traditional English (pub) food, there was no safe chicken or pasta choice. Eating at such a later hour never suits me and I’ve never believed in cooked vegetables, I’m a man for fresh salad. A carrot cooked is a carrot wasted. We left dinner earlier than the bulk of the party, because we had travelled there by taxi, I had no idea where it actually was, I assumed it was in the city centre and that we could easily find a taxi rank a few hundred yards or so outside. It was soon apparent that we were lost but it then took a while for me to realise that we were actually in a neighbouring village and probably unlikely to find a taxi rank. I’m not particularly comfortable walking about at night, I’m more confident in city centres but I find smaller towns a bit distressing, this is perhaps the opposite of how it should be. I decided that I should go into another hotel bar and ask for directions, the waiter of the empty dining room said that he wasn’t from the area and it was left to a stereotypical barfly to offer some vague pointers towards a bus station. At the bus station, two taxis sat, one sped off but the driver of the other extinguished his recently lit cigarette to take us to the hotel. I asked him about the football on the radio before scampering quickly away after finishing the journey and paying the fare to watch the end of the match. Burnley couldn’t fend off Spurs, their performance was to their credit but their eventual defeat will likely lead to a more competitive final.
The next morning, I planned to walk to the train station. I knew this would take about an hour, but I also knew I would need what Sean Batty would call ‘a weather window’ ( I missed Sean and all the Scottish TV news people, the East Midlands weatherman is too disconnected from meteorology). I thought I had that window but if I did it soon closed; the poster tube began to disintegrate in the rain and decorate my jacket and bags which rubbed against it My thigh began to twinge and ache and I really began to regret my disdain for the practice of taking taxis. I made the train with 1 minute to spare and my hair didn’t go curly as it tends to do when soaked by the rain.
The train journey in daylight is more pleasant than the uneventful journey outward journey. I chose to make three changes, the chance of walk around might have come in useful, however, the walk to the first train station of the days means that such chances now became necessities rather than small pleasures. In daylight, it was possible to see some of the things that England has – swollen rivers ripe for flooding, animals traipsing around waterlogged fields, power stations and quarries. Of course, there are a few other things: the crooked spire of Chesterfield and the bridges across the Tyne. The change at Sheffield station gave me an opportunity to admire their fountains and visit Marks & Spencer; the nimrod at the checkout decided to serve me despite having no change in his till, after a bill of £5.33, I gave him £10 note, so in his haste to speed along the queue, he started dishing out random amounts of change, I received £5.21. I am now 54p happier.
Embra station is coming up shortly, there, I’ll be surrounded by people who sound just like me and I won’t seem so self-conscious anymore. I’ve been gone for two days but it seems like a week. The poster was up for 40 minutes but it feels as if it cost me 2 weeks.
As part of my project, I have to attend meetings of collaborators every few months, this usually involves presenting my most recent work. I have never feared oral presentations, in fact, this time, I wish I was required to give one; it would have made my time seem more worthwhile. I was only asked to present a poster summarising all past work. I did stress over the poster, printing an A0 size poster is surprisingly expensive; content, size of font, positioning of text and pictures – I deliberated over these for about a week, then I finally sent it to the printers and hoped they’d do a professional job.
We usually fly down to England, but this time, I was given a choice. I chose to take the train; the security checks at the airport are just too stressful when trying to catch a flight. Sometimes shoes have to be removed, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes a belt makes it through the metal screening apparatus, sometimes it doesn’t. I don’t even know what I have to do with a laptop, so I just leave it at home. Then once through, re-packing bags, re-filling pockets and, literally, re-dressing in under minutes is a task too difficult for the Krypton Factor, never mind an airport. Whereas on the train, a kitchen sink is not a problem. Wielding two bags and a poster, I left the wonderful Kingdom of Fife.
The journey to Nottingham was uneventful, all connections, at Embra and Sheffield, were made with time to spare. Leaving in the afternoon, I found the train to be quite empty until Leeds when we collected some teatime commuters, in this particular Virgin train, I was squashed, despite the fact that a normal sized person had chose to sit beside me. We both changed trains at Sheffield and were rid of each other. The final leg was on a desolate local service, it seemed such a waste to run the train at all. Having experienced the roads of this England place, I can’t understand why they leave their trains empty. The railroads seem a bit rickety between Embra and Newcastle but apart from this gripe, I can’t find a reason not to choose rail.
The hotel was reasonably pleasant, a coat hook fell out of the wall under the weight of my jacket, but I can’t be blamed for this brand of workmanship. For unknown reasons, I had a twin room, choosing which of the two beds to sleep could have posed a threat to my sanity had my state of mind not been soothed by the woodland-themed décor. From small acorns, squirrels gain homes.
The meeting didn’t provide a great deal of new insight, I’ve always thought that we have our own niche within the collaboration that doesn’t interfere with the rest and that can’t be interfered with the rest. Only the bolshie nature of one of the collaborations most notorious partners livened the affair, mercifully, one of the collaboration’s most productive partners showed the gumption required to scorn him.
Dinner that evening was held in a hotel bar in a village on the outskirts of the city. The meal was not to my taste, it could only be described as traditional English (pub) food, there was no safe chicken or pasta choice. Eating at such a later hour never suits me and I’ve never believed in cooked vegetables, I’m a man for fresh salad. A carrot cooked is a carrot wasted. We left dinner earlier than the bulk of the party, because we had travelled there by taxi, I had no idea where it actually was, I assumed it was in the city centre and that we could easily find a taxi rank a few hundred yards or so outside. It was soon apparent that we were lost but it then took a while for me to realise that we were actually in a neighbouring village and probably unlikely to find a taxi rank. I’m not particularly comfortable walking about at night, I’m more confident in city centres but I find smaller towns a bit distressing, this is perhaps the opposite of how it should be. I decided that I should go into another hotel bar and ask for directions, the waiter of the empty dining room said that he wasn’t from the area and it was left to a stereotypical barfly to offer some vague pointers towards a bus station. At the bus station, two taxis sat, one sped off but the driver of the other extinguished his recently lit cigarette to take us to the hotel. I asked him about the football on the radio before scampering quickly away after finishing the journey and paying the fare to watch the end of the match. Burnley couldn’t fend off Spurs, their performance was to their credit but their eventual defeat will likely lead to a more competitive final.
The next morning, I planned to walk to the train station. I knew this would take about an hour, but I also knew I would need what Sean Batty would call ‘a weather window’ ( I missed Sean and all the Scottish TV news people, the East Midlands weatherman is too disconnected from meteorology). I thought I had that window but if I did it soon closed; the poster tube began to disintegrate in the rain and decorate my jacket and bags which rubbed against it My thigh began to twinge and ache and I really began to regret my disdain for the practice of taking taxis. I made the train with 1 minute to spare and my hair didn’t go curly as it tends to do when soaked by the rain.
The train journey in daylight is more pleasant than the uneventful journey outward journey. I chose to make three changes, the chance of walk around might have come in useful, however, the walk to the first train station of the days means that such chances now became necessities rather than small pleasures. In daylight, it was possible to see some of the things that England has – swollen rivers ripe for flooding, animals traipsing around waterlogged fields, power stations and quarries. Of course, there are a few other things: the crooked spire of Chesterfield and the bridges across the Tyne. The change at Sheffield station gave me an opportunity to admire their fountains and visit Marks & Spencer; the nimrod at the checkout decided to serve me despite having no change in his till, after a bill of £5.33, I gave him £10 note, so in his haste to speed along the queue, he started dishing out random amounts of change, I received £5.21. I am now 54p happier.
Embra station is coming up shortly, there, I’ll be surrounded by people who sound just like me and I won’t seem so self-conscious anymore. I’ve been gone for two days but it seems like a week. The poster was up for 40 minutes but it feels as if it cost me 2 weeks.
posted by Leif at 10:33 PM
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