Travel on A Geek's Life

Spring Notes

Sat, 01 Apr 2023 15:54:00 +0000

As though in the blink of an eye, winter out here has somehow slipped away, the halcyon days of pleasant twenty-five degree mid-day weather and leisurely late evening walks replaced by mid day temperatures in the low thirties. Whilst not truly hot enough to be unpleasant yet, the days leave one with a sense of borrowed time, a fleeting, finite block of time to be enjoyed before harsh reality hits. To make the most of it, and prepare myself for the long slog ahead, I pack the lightest bag I have and catch a flight back to London. Heathrow seems the same way it has always been - functional, frenetic, and increasingly arranged around minimising human contact. Trying to get cash from the ATMs for my taxi raises the spectre of having to pay a withdrawal fee for my UK debit card. A rude shock, and a first for me, if my memory serves me right. A mix-up with the telephone number they have on file for me means we spend the better part of twenty minutes trying to find each other, the blasts of cold, wet air a reminder of the stark difference between here and there. Several phone calls to the taxi company later, he gets my correct number and we find ourselves for the twenty minute ride home via the M25.

Under the Surrey Sun

Fri, 12 Aug 2022 10:32:14 +0000

Time as a trickster of sorts is a theme I find myself coming back to again and again, the key motif being how in the moment life and time can seem like drudgery, but when viewed from the vantage point of hindsight it can seem compressed, like a video watched at 2x speed. My thoughts as I packed up my bags and began to prepare for the short hop back were very much in that vein, not helped I suspect by the long hard year I had had. Between L, her boundless energy and various work related niggles, I was running on empty for the final few weeks before I left. Awaiting me on the other side - in addition to reintegrating myself back - were a big house move, and the mother of all Nigerian parties on the other side of town. If there was any anticipation, it was hope that I would finally get to sink my teeth into a juicy burger, indulge in all the bacon and sausages I could manage, and hop along to the odd Parkrun. As it turns out, all of my fears - and none of the things I was looking forward to - materialized.As is its wont, Reality and expectation never quite matched up.

Theories, Tea and (Future) 10ks

Sat, 14 Aug 2021 16:58:00 +0000

Image Source: Tara’s Multicultural Table

The difference a few degrees makes never ceases to amaze me, a small mercy I have recently found to my advantage as the morning temperatures, dipping as they have below 30 degrees for the first time since April, have allowed me go for short runs and brisk runs again. Between stress eating in South Yorkshire and not being able to rack up those 10k steps, my weight has ballooned by a cringe worthy amount. In a sudden fit of resolve, I downloaded the NHS Couch to 5k app and have now completed one week. Hopefully, that along with some portion control, gets me back headed in the right direction. Frankly though, I would settle for being able to complete a sub 24 minute 5k again, seeing as the chap who ran Parkruns for fun in the ‘Deen seems like a whole different person now.

The Diary: Jacqueville By The Sea

Wed, 15 Jul 2020 20:31:19 +0000

This has been sitting in my drafts for several months, so I thought I’d try to finish it off and post it here as a means to making use of the time I have on my hands.

If there is a silver lining to being a terrible sleeper it is that I usually manage to wake up in time for things, typically before my alarm rings. The blips on that record are increasingly regular - and spectacular - like this past weekend when I slept through multiple alarms. When I finally woke up (having failed to do so to the alarm on my phone and on my watch), it was ten minutes before my taxi was due, cue half-brained rushing about to splash some water on my face, brush my teeth and grab my travel bags. By the time that was done, there were already two missed calls from the taxi driver and the company on my phone. There was, I thought, a hint of irritation on the driver’s face when I finally emerged. All of that disappeared once we were on the way, and speeding, to the airport. The usual chit-chat revealed he had passed through the corner of West Africa I was headed for many years ago, and that he was Latvian, not that anyone could have guessed from his near-perfect Aberdonian accent. Scrambling for change at the airport, he waived the additional £1.20, helped me with getting my bags out of the car trunk and then promptly disappeared for the next gig. Bag drop and security took ten minutes at that time of the morning, by which time I was barely lucid and grateful for the cup of black coffee I poured myself once I was into the lounge. I was the first of my work party to arrive, which gave me some time to settle in and breathe a little, before the incessant chit-chat and mindless prattle began. It was a good thing I managed to catch my breath because the chit-chat, when it began, focused on the prospect of my leaving for greener pastures - being a traitor to the cause was the good-natured accusation thrown about. In those days before the oil price tanked, there were stirrings of growth and opportunities and I was only the latest in a long line of folk who had either left or were in the process of leaving. To cut costs, we had somehow engineered a tight connection at Charles de Gaulle, our turn around time being a grand total of ninety minutes plane to plane which left us hands full, running almost full pelt through the airport. We made it with some time to spare in the end and were delayed by a further hour for reasons unknown to us, all of which left me internally cursing the necessity of the awfully early start. We found out in the end that the delay was due to a deportation order being served on someone, cue police and immigration and all the malarkey that comes with those.

The Diary: Malta

Mon, 13 Jan 2020 18:29:52 +0000

\\\* 4 am on a weekend is far too early to wake up, particularly when it is the next day after a late-night flight, but given my flight the next day is a 7.30am one I have to suck it up. The next day, having rushed through a shower, completed final bag checks and double-checked I have my passport, we find ourselves in a taxi speeding away on the A3 a little after 5am, barely lucid but glad I don’t have to do the driving. At Gatwick, we find lengthy lines bent double on themselves with baggage handlers thin on the ground. That EasyJet, that famously lean airline, deigns to apologise over the state of affairs is perhaps all one needs to know about just how dire the situation is. Thankfully, we make it through baggage drop and security just before 7am; just enough time to grab a Shake Shack breakfast bun and start frantically eyeing the departure boards for signs of our flight. It ends up delayed, no surprise there.

Thankful Thursdays 2019: Week 41

Thu, 10 Oct 2019 05:43:45 +0000

Came through what could have been a tricky presentation at work. The reward of good work is more work as they say, so more work is on the horizon.
Great news from an interview I attended in early August, an offer has been extended I now need to make a decision!

Thankful Thursday: 2019 Week 40

Thu, 03 Oct 2019 11:42:51 +0000

\\\*

A lot has happened over the last week: travelling for work in West Africa, juggling tight deadlines at work and interviewing for a new role I’d really like to get. All told, it’s a week I have survived, specific things I’m grateful for include:

Returning safely to firm land following my four or so days offshore in the Ivory Coast.
Resolution of a minor snafu at entry in which I failed to turn in my passport for a new visa stamp but managed to do so on my way out without any issues
For pepper, and how it makes everything taste great again, especially fried plantains which are a staple out here.
For friendly faces: people I’ve worked with in a different office who it was great to meet and get help settling in from.
For good early opportunities: I spent a day sat next to a guy who had spent time working in Nigeria as an expat for the company I started off with. Being able to swap stories of that was great!
The opportunity to interview at a much bigger company than mine across town.Apparently mine was one of four CVs selected from 60+ applicants. Good to know my CV was of interest in what was a competitive field. I hope I get the job, but if not some constructive feedback would be great!

Thankful Thursdays: 2019 Week 39

Thu, 26 Sep 2019 20:42:28 +0000

\\\*

This week I am thankful for:

The opportunity to travel for work, the starting point of which was a 3.00am wake up, final bag checks and then dragging myself into a taxi by 4.00am. For what it’s worth, taxi’s out here can be a bit hit or miss, thankfully this one was a big hit; a Sri Lankan national who had lived and worked in most of West Africa in the early 2,000s and had an opinion on the Jollof rice wars. All of that made for a very pleasurable, if slightly woozy 20 minute ride to the airport. Bliss.
The flight itself - business class via work - reminded me of all the delights of not travelling cattle class. All told - from leaving my house and arriving at my hotel at the other side - it was the better part of 16 hours, including a lengthy wait in Bamako for the President of Mali to fly off. The relative ease in which I travelled was something to be grateful for, as was what appeared to be a deportation, a reminder that just over 10 years ago, I arrived in my current country as an intrepid student but now have the luxury of belonging to another country.
Friendly faces on one of the assets I stopped over at which made my easing into that work day the easiest it could be, given the circumstances
Although my room on the first FPSO was iffy, I am thankful for the comparatively plush lodgings I ended up in, on day 3.

Riding shotgun, old things and a return to the reality of life

Sun, 13 Jan 2019 11:37:01 +0000

Between a dull headache, rheumy eyes, a rasping cough and my –at the best of times – dodgy night time vision, I suppose it was inevitable that I would ride shotgun for most of our time in Benidorm. Inevitable or not, that did little to settle the simmering discontent that gnawed at my insides each time we had to hop into the car and go somewhere. To compensate I offered directions, commented on lane switches and approaches to roundabouts and generally made myself as obnoxious as possible, particularly when other road users came close enough to see me sat in the other, non-driving seat. In my mind, that (ultimately useless endeavour) made it seem to others that I was in control, orchestrating things from behind the scene rather than being the mere passenger I was. Patriarchal tropes and stereotypes aside, it offered a front row seat from which to observe first-hand all the little discourtesies female drivers endure on the roads. Away from the immediacy of the moment, memories of Adam Gopnik’s New Yorker piece on the subject of learning to drive came to mind. Not that the fact that other men, far more intelligent than I, have struggled with this absolves me of blame here.

Christmas...

Tue, 25 Dec 2018 11:29:02 +0000

Snowed in on my first Aberdeen Christmas…

\\\*

As I write this I am slouched in a chair, head banging and eyes sore from the remnant of a cold, the only hint of Christmas out here being the podcast I am listening to, profering explanations for the Star of Bethlehem. In my head though, I am back to my first proper Aberdeen Christmas from which this picture comes, the enduring image being one of snow, bitter cold and loads of time for introspection. Many years ago, when I still was in children’s Sunday School in the University Chapel my family attended, the carol service and reeling off lengthy passages committed to memory were most looked forward to, alongside rice and plentiful chicken. At one of those, I played the Magi with Myrrh, in addition to the scripture memory. Since then, the story of the Magi who bearing gifts has always intrigued me, particularly as it relates to the moving star.

Pula Notes

Tue, 12 Jun 2018 12:04:35 +0000

There is something infinitely fascinating about a gaggle of Brits suddenly transposed from their dour, grey climes into warm, sunny 24- degree weather. Once the coats and jackets begin to lift, the noise levels increase. I suppose nothing says ’ your holiday begins now’ more succinctly than being hit by a wall of hot air. On this occasion though, before the holiday properly begins, we have to navigate the small matter of customs and passport control at Pula Airport. Thankfully, it is a lot less painful than before, thanks to new passports, and good timing - just before the rush of traditional holiday season.

Liquid

Fri, 18 May 2018 19:11:16 +0000

Rovinj, Croatia. For the WordPress photo challenge prompt, Liquid

#4 - Variations...

Thu, 25 Jan 2018 18:29:16 +0000

Hanging out with iron man, a few years ago in Manchester and then most recently in Marrakech.

For the prompt, Variations On A Theme.

Marrakesh

Tue, 23 Jan 2018 18:20:30 +0000

Marrakesh, with its ochre-coloured buildings, towering minarets and bustling souks is quickly becoming a distant memory, the joys and delights of roaming its streets being progressively replaced by a sense of having returned to drudgery. Although the three weeks of work I have gotten under my belt since my return have provided fertile ground for that feeling to fester, the seeds were sown in Marrakesh, everything from passport control and its lengthy queues, an hour and a half spent waiting for a bag to turn up and even more queues at the body scanner as we waited to exit the airport all setting the tone for what seemed like running a gauntlet. Once through all of that bedlam and outside the airport, the smell of smoke - somewhat like the linger of the remains of a thousand spit roasting fires - was a warm welcome of sorts.

The Diary: The Paphos Files

Tue, 14 Nov 2017 11:02:08 +0000

The first bits of Cyprus we glimpsed as our flight began the descent towards Paphos were wind turbines slowly turning in what must have been a slight evening breeze, and houses which from the height looked like small, matchboxes pressed into the sides of the hilly terrain below us. Although it was only 5.20pm local time, it was quickly growing dark, which at first seemed odd until I realised just how much closer to the equator we were here than in England from where we were arriving. This trip to Cyprus was at the instance of S, ten days in Paphos being her idea of a honeymoon. The hope was to get the chance to catch our breaths after what had been a whirlwind three weeks in which we had managed to get hitched without losing our minds; the pressure of a large Nigerian wedding notwithstanding.

Weekly Photo Challenge - Waiting

Thu, 07 Sep 2017 05:35:17 +0000

The downside - or some might say it is an upside - of having family on three continents is I spend quite a bit of time in airports waiting; to board, for baggage, to be picked up or sometimes to catch my breath after what can sometimes be a battle to get through immigration and customs, no thanks to the power of my passport.

The interplay between costs, stopover lengths and distance sometimes mean that only the very earliest of flights are workable for me, which is how I ended up at the airport at about 6.00am on this day. All in a day’s worth of waiting, I guess.

Weekly Photo Challenge - Bridge

Thu, 06 Jul 2017 17:42:42 +0000

A reminder of transitioning from full time study to full time employment at the back end of 2009, the Forth Road Bridge a symbol of hope of sorts on the journey from Newcastle in the North East of England to Aberdeen in the North East of Scotland for interviews.

In the end there would be a fair few trips but in the end with December came the set of interviews that led to a permanent move up North. The rest as they say is history.

Weekly Photo Challenge - Wanderlust

Mon, 01 May 2017 17:07:22 +0000

For the Wordpress Photo Challenge, Wanderlust. St John’s, Newfoundland.

Nine Fridays of Summer: Notes from Vienna

Tue, 30 Aug 2016 11:30:29 +0000

As far as first impressions go, my first ones of Vienna - shaped as they were by images seen from my window seat as my flight in from London drew to a close - were largely pleasant ones; green fields and the Danube snaking away into the distance being evocative of chilled weekends and evenings filled with coffee and cheese cake, not hard work. I suppose those who have to live and work out here must necessarily see the city differently, their perspectives being rightly more functional and less head-in-the-sand r omantic than mine. Over the course of the weekend, I would gain a more nuanced view of the city, the good significantly outweighing the bad and the ugly to such an extent that if a role worth which was worth my while came up, I wouldn’t think twice about upping sticks and moving permanently.

Nine Fridays of Summer: Of Heat Waves, Vienna and A Perfect Month of Sorts

Fri, 26 Aug 2016 19:45:40 +0000

In what can only be incontrovertible evidence of Sod’s law, the air-conditioning at work chooses the worst week possible to break down in; a week of unseasonably warm August weather. Loads of meetings to attend, lunchtime walks and endless cups of water help ensure that I don’t end up too listless; not that broken air-conditioning ranks high on the list of life-threatening things humans have to deal with, or should be an excuse for reduced productivity.

Nine Fridays of Summer

Fri, 22 Jul 2016 21:59:45 +0000

For the first time in a very long time, I have four day work weeks to look forward to. The theory behind getting these nine Fridays off is that they have been earned by working an extra thirty minutes each work day. How productive those extra minutes have been remains to be seen, but I suspect their value to our employer lies more in promoting a sense of being cared for in us than anything more tangible. The first of these was spent down south, catching up with friends and reacquainting myself with Stratford and the Olympic park.

Nine Fridays of Summer: Sleepers, Stratford and basking in Sunshine

Tue, 19 Jul 2016 19:39:06 +0000

She is wolfing down a doughnut, cup of coffee in hand when I appear, trying to find my assigned seat. I feel like I have startled her somewhat, given how quickly she begins to organise the stuff she has all over the place. The sense of having intruded on a private, unguarded moment is made worse by finding my assigned seat is across from her, in seats so tight our feet play that dance of hide and seek beneath the table until we find a system that works.

A Comedy of Errors

Thu, 16 Jun 2016 22:21:18 +0000

Image Source

Two weeks ago on a whim, I decided I would book a short trip away from the ‘Deen, to London. The plan was simple — fly out on Friday night after work, catch up with a few friends, particularly S, and then head back on Sunday night, with no one the wiser at work. At such short notice, British Airways to Heathrow was a non-starter, as was Flybe to London City. This left EasyJet to Luton or Gatwick as the only viable options. In the end, I settled for Luton, the weekend of the 10th of June being the best fit with friends and family. On the day, having packed my go to travel bag and done work, I hopped on to the 727 from the bus station next to work, arriving just past 6.00pm for what was meant to be a 7.35pm flight.

Of Weddings, Cheesecake and Paper Planes

Tue, 10 May 2016 20:58:31 +0000

The somewhat impromptu trip to Lagos was designed around three main objectives; making an appearance at a (self-proclaimed) protege’s wedding, dinner with the Lagos based elements of my old work crew and appeasing my father, who as early as New Year’s Day had begun to sound his dissatisfaction at my conspiring to avoid making what used to be an annual trip to Nigeria last year. For the wedding, the plan was to arrive at 10.00 am, 9.00 am invitation notwithstanding. That decision was one I rationalised away by assuming that as with all things Nigerian, a certain element of tardiness was expected. By the time I arrived at 10.30 am - sweating profusely following my ill thought out attempt to walk till I found a yellow cab - I was as undressed as I could be, my tie slackened to let what precious little fresh air there was get to my skin and my suit dispensed with. That meant I had to find somewhere to cool off for a few extra minutes and get my outfit put together again before popping into the venue. In the end I had to settle for the wing mirror on a parked car, studiously avoiding the gaze of the soldiers sat on the bench only a few feet away. Once in the building proper, I managed to find a seat next to a rotating fan to ease my pain.

On Lagos

Tue, 26 Apr 2016 12:19:27 +0000

That my relationship with Nigeria is somewhere between strained and non-existent is something I have made no bones about time and time again. That sense of lostness rather than easing with time has only become stronger, the key events in my life over the last few years - Newcastle, the bookend to a horrendous year of work and the somewhat forced decision to not return to the bedlam and then H - all chipping away at what bonds are left, leaving them increasingly tenuous.

#83 - Untitled

Fri, 25 Mar 2016 18:10:07 +0000

Harrow bound…. The view whilst I wait

#ConversationsWithMyself

#39 - Mayfair

Wed, 10 Feb 2016 21:22:48 +0000

Mayfair, 28th November 2015.

I feel like the travel bug is rearing its head again..

Letter from St John's - The wrap

Sat, 03 Oct 2015 11:30:31 +0000

The view from 26F as we descended towards St John’s International was great, not particularly dissimilar to what one might see at a similar stage of the journey towards Aberdeen, the West Coast of Scotland or Ireland; which must now be a travel objective for me over the next few years.

Once safely parked and disembarked - to 19°C weather - my first impressions of the airport were of how hastily put together it all seemed, with construction continuing in various parts. That lent a rustic, uncomplicated - perhaps even idyllic - air to everything, the sort of chilled, back water one might go to escape the lures of technology. Before travelling I had searched extensively for a duty free shop at YYT, walking the short distance to the arrivals terminal made the reasons for my futile googling apparent.

Letter from St John's

Sun, 27 Sep 2015 10:49:23 +0000

If all goes well, by the time you read this, I will have spent just over 18 hours in St John’s, North America’s oldest city, depending on who you listen to. As I type away in Evernote on my laptop, my view is considerably less fascinating than what I have been looking forward to; the 3 day ginger stubble of the fellow in seat 26D, my notes and the tepid remains of coffee in a Styrofoam cup occupying the full extent of my vision. The map on the entertainment console in front of me indicates that I am now half way across the expanse of the Atlantic stretching between the western edge of the Republic of Ireland and St John’s, not entirely a comforting thought to be surrounded by all that water.

The Weekend Diary - Of Trains and Stolen Things

Fri, 31 Jul 2015 11:30:21 +0000

I realise the reservation ‘gods’ have dealt me a dubious hand within five minutes of coming aboard the 11.03 to Edinburgh Waverley. That is all the time it takes for me to spot the trio of old geezers parked in the pair of seats immediately to my right and be swarmed by the posse of loud, giggling women who breeze past on their way to the seats they have reserved a few seats behind me. Between them, they kick up a racket whilst the train loads up, from which I overhear that the men are offshore workers returning home - somewhere beyond Edinburgh - after three weeks offshore, and the women are headed to Edinburgh for a hen do.

3-5 go

Fri, 10 Jul 2015 11:30:39 +0000

Amara U, Flickr

It is perhaps indicative of just how activity-starved my life has been lately that all it takes is a week’s notice for me to drag myself across the 397 odd miles down south to join K, family and parents in celebrating 35 years of staying married. In fairness to her, Royal Mail had a hand in the late invitation; when she texted me frantically that Friday afternoon, it was with a mind to chide me for my legendary tardiness. Only my strenuous denials backed up by the fact that I had moved houses recently saved me in the end. Long story short, I ended up on Friday night in the comparatively upscale setting of South Harrow, the hub around which we all converged - from every nook and cranny of the world it seemed, Scotland ably represented by yours truly.

Of trains... And being curious

Thu, 12 Mar 2015 20:30:00 +0000

[ Source]

They clamber aboard at Upminster - they being man, boy and girl - eventually ending up on the seat opposite us. We are on the C2C service from Ockendon towards London Fenchurch Street, the first leg of what we hope will be an uneventful train ride into town; towards Tottenham Court Road for a pitstop at Dominion Theatre for Hillsong. Of the trio who disrupt what peace we’ve had so far, the girl ends up by the window, the man by the aisle and the boy - who can’t have been more than 2 or 3 - in between them. The most noticeable thing about the man is his rather tight shirt, one which his stomach strains at ever so slightly and his flip flops. If I were a betting man, I’d place him as some sort of suburb dwelling city slicker, kicking about with the family on a weekend, slightly overdoing casual in the process, perhaps as his way to compensate for being cooped up in a suit and tie all week.

About Town : On (yet another) return to the middle of nowhere

Tue, 08 Apr 2014 19:17:08 +0000

Wide awake, with not even a lingering hint of sleep to becloud my eyes, I pause to ponder the day that lies ahead of me. Difficult as it may be to wrap my head around them, the facts are what they are. It is very nearly six months since I last made the journey that lies ahead of me. Back then, LK was the developing conundrum, one that those days spent in the middle of nowhere ended up resolving, ultimately to my pain - not that I knew that at the time. My alarm snaps me out of my little reverie - I have a 6.00am check-in at the other end of town to contend with, and a 15 minute walk to catch the bus that will haul me across town - small margins for error given it is already 4.05am.

Chaos and Nostalgia.. Postscript

Fri, 27 Dec 2013 20:14:21 +0000

In the end this trip - all ten days of it - was about absolution for sins yet to be committed. Unbeknownst to everyone I strove to meet up with, if I had my way, Nigeria would not feature on the holiday destination list for the next three years at least. So this was the last guilty splurge - the second time this year - where I sought to inhale as much of Nigeria and family as I could, like a free-diver does with oxygen before submerging.

In pictures.. Bits and Bobs...

Fri, 20 Dec 2013 22:14:30 +0000

Chaos and Nostalgia... 2

Sat, 14 Dec 2013 17:08:42 +0000

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Source

Nightfall….It is very nearly half past seven when we begin our final descent into Lagos. From the window, all that is visible is a thick, dense darkness, interrupted by clusters of lights here and there.

I’m surprised it’s not totally dark out there, my seat mate ventures. I shrug. Maybe generators I say. He seems unconvinced. Over the course of the last 6 hours, and some, he and I have conversed intermittently – first about the busyness that engulfs travel hubs like Schiphol and Heathrow, and La Guardia where the first leg of his flight originated. Then a moan about the delays in the cabin crew delivering head phones to use – from which it transpires that on his La Guardia – Schiphol leg he had to ask for them before he got them. The antics of our dear Bini granny also provide fodder for our intermittent, light hearted chatting. Descending into Lagos changes the bent of our conversation into something decidedly more Nigeria focused – mainly how in a few short minutes our motley of people who queued almost impeccably at Schiphol would disintegrate into a seething, boiling mass of one-uppers and corner cutters.

Chaos and Nostalgia...

Fri, 13 Dec 2013 13:32:03 +0000

I

Wheeling my suitcase – out of breath and breaking a small sweat – I arrive at the check- in counter a mere ten minutes before boarding is scheduled to commence. I am Lagos bound, via Amsterdam, thanks to a few extra holidays earned from being stuck in the middle of nowhere by the vagaries of the weather in October. Even though I have had over a month to plan, and pack, I have ended up facing the very real conundrum of having to decide between a pair of blue Levi’s jeans and blue Lee Cooper’s- difficult choice mind, and pondering if a phone and tablet might meet my computing needs this trip; enabling me to dispense with a laptop for the next ten days..

6. The Return

Sat, 30 Jun 2012 16:55:49 +0000

MMA International

On a clear, cloudless day, Amsterdam from above looks like a patch work quilt, its greenery criss-crossed by a network of canals, an endlessly repeating pattern; broken only by the shore line, and a little further out the silhouettes of oil rigs, an enduring monument to the Dutch pride of place in the scavenging of North Sea Oil.

On the morning of my return to cold, wet and windy Aberdeen, I find myself half asleep, mentally pulling myself up by my very own bootstraps to remain awake as my City Hopper makes the hour forty five minute hop from Amsterdam to Aberdeen. Ever since an ever so slight snore embarrassed me a few years ago, I have tried to minimise future risks by limiting how often I fall asleep in public places. There were mitigating circumstances then - EJ might be best placed to tell if I indeed snore as a matter of course - I had stayed up all night studying just before a class test and I was very very knackered.

Nigeria Bound...

Thu, 07 Jun 2012 13:07:49 +0000

A few weeks ago when I sat down to identify the five or six things that would make 2012 the perfect year, one of the things that eventually came to the fore was carrying over zero holidays in to next year. That by itself shouldn’t have been significant, but between hoarding my holidays for what I thought would be quarterly jaunts westward and my eventual withdrawal into my time honoured silo, I ended up needing a flurry of trips late in the year to claw back what was a huge holiday backlog. Even that was not enough, I ended up losing four days having carried over the maximum seven days into the new year.

Reluctant conversations...

Sat, 14 Jan 2012 18:40:16 +0000

The flight into London was uneventful, the only thing breaking my ear-phones-plugged-in-music-playing routine being an exceptionally friendly gentleman and his wife who I had the misfortune of sitting next to, on one of three adjoining seats. After tossing my knapsack into the overhead locker, I motion for them to make some space for me. He smiles, far too easily and obliges me, as I slither into the seat, somehow managing to do it without entangling my ear phone wires on the various odds and ends he has left on the seat. He is dressed simply; a North Face jacket from which a bland, grey shirt peeks through a half done zipper. I can’t help but notice that the woman on the other hand is much better dressed, the highlight being an eye catching, flowery, brown dress that stops well shy of her knees as she sits, and a full mane of blonde hair. I settle in, toss a mirthless, slit lip grin in their direction and proceed to detangle my ear phone wires.

Unfinished business

Fri, 04 Nov 2011 18:56:11 +0000

In a few days time, I shall pack my bags and head across the Atlantic one more time. The driver is some unfinished business from 2009. There was the small matter of a conundrum which developed in April of 2009. The ladies in question were F and my ’nearly girls’TheB and S.

Over the course of that year F and I would finally put ourselves out of the misery of our forced dalliance, for good. ‘S would turn to me as a husband finder, and TheB and I would drift apart for no real reason.