Christmas cheer?

What should I do?
Customary round robin - although it's not customary for me.
Send lots of paper cards - stopped really doing that a number of years ago; and it's environmentally challenging.
Blast an email or post on facebook wishing all and sundry the same simplistic Yuletide Yahoos?

Well, I have plumped for a slightly less impersonal but easier to disseminate blog update.

Now that I've established the medium, what about the content?

Should I rant on about what a wondrous year it's been?
Reel off ad nauseum the number cities and other places I've set a tick against this year?
Tell the readers to distraction how lucky I am to be who I am and where I am and what I am doing?

No, no, no.

That would be tiresome enough for me to type, let alone for you to plough your way through.  I think I'll make myself a cup of tea and hope for inspiration.

***

I'm back, having spilled the demerara sugar all over the work counter. 

I have had a "problem" with ants all year long and only recently managed to keep them at bay with more thorough washing down of my work surfaces, using the dishwasher more and keeping a tight lid on sugar and honey containers.

Then I go and advertise my sucrose abundance for all sugar-loving insects to wiggle their antennae at.  Sigh.

Well it's cleaned up now & hopefully my mince pies will remain vermin-free.

What did I go to the kitchen for?

Ah, yes inspiration.

Not sure I found that - but the perspiration definitely started.

And this on top of leaving the flat without my keys this morning, verbal fisticuffs with my bank about verifying my identity, wine being delivered to the wrong place, and a thumping headache from indulgence the night before.

I ought to be humming Deck the Halls or something but find myself rendering Gloria Gaynor miffed hoping I Will Survive.

Now the man below has started drilling.  DRILLING on Christmas Eve - what the eff is he drilling for!?  Installing a coat hook for Santa's gown?  Putting up a hook to dangle his devilish pentacle on?  Oh, honestly I give up.

Bah humbug....I'm a Christian, get me out of here.

***

Let's start again.

I *have* had a good year.  There have been the usual tribulations and a few zeniths to counterpoint a sprinkling of nadirs.  Let's see if I can get a calendar filled:

January saw a fab New Year at Forlino's with friends and a fleeting romance.  Then a cold birthday in Montreal and New York.

February had me rush back to Maryport to visit my grandmother in hospital.

March took me back to say goodbye to her - and remember her wicked sense of humour and the love she showed me.

April roared with beasts on safari in Kruger, South Africa, we slurped wine in Franschoek, gobbled down zebra in Cape Town and basked in the wonderful sunshine of Camps Bay.

May turned pink in Singapore and I had the worst ever reaction to cat fur...yuk!

June led me to a bar and a man.

July allowed me, thanks to subsiding ash clouds, to zip to Reykjavik with a good friend: rocks, raw nature, thermal springs and a reindeer pelt.

August opened up Manila in a whole new way for me - a surprising realisation of a city with more to offer than you might initially think.

September saw birthday coffee and cake, a Filipino wedding, and a volcano through the mist in Tagaytay.

October had my parents visit Singapore - yes, the entire month - but they're so low maintenance it's unreal.  Also, managed a *weekend* in London - yes a weekend ;-)

November bestowed a work trip to Bali on me - how cool is that?!

December took me to Hong Kong and my heart on a new journey.  Christmas in Singapore, New Year planned for Sydney and spending lots of time with friends and several glasses of plonk.

Well, I've done what I set out NOT to do.  Round robin it is....!

Hope you enjoyed the 2010 - as much as I did.

Here's hoping that 2011 will be tremendous.

A few pics below (also 12 of them) which almost match the events above.

D

Wishing you a splendid Yuletide filled with love and peace.

Of puppets & boot polish

I've been holed up over the last couple of days with a relatively mild bout of flu.

And while (naturally) I've been convalescing, there is always energy to type a few search mnemonics to keep the mind occupied.

I was thus tempted and ultimately intrigued to find some delightful memories of my teenage years and before on YouTube.  Do you remember Spitting Image?  I was once again engrossed in the lampooning of everyone from Margaret Thatcher, Neil Kinnock and Emelda Marcos, to some of the perhaps less offensive faces from the 80s, including Andrew Lloyd Webber and Desmond Tutu.

I smiled to hear the Chicken Song and equally nostalgic about I've Never Met a Nice South African.  They were great skits indeed.



Another childhood memory was stirred by The Black and White Minstrels.
This was a classic BBC masterpiece that ironically had white men black themselves up and then serenade white women.  All kinds of dancing and singing had white girls fawning and ultimately (symbolically of course) fornicating with the boot-polish clad young white/black men. 

Forget the PC-vomiting middle classes' views on this - I find it great forward-ahead-of-its-time support for inter-racial relationships - or am I being a tad myopically revisionist?!  No replies needed on that - my tongue if firmly wedged in my cheek.

Will leave you with a single link and you can YouTube search the rest.  This link combines the above two memories with a splendid rendition of the Black and White Minstrels as the South African Apartheid government of PW Botha and nicely-done white on white mocking of the regime back then.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W_eSUQgLZXg

And remember only a few days left til Christmas...mine certainly won't be white - but I'm hoping it won't be too black either.  Keeping my chin up.

Keep yours up too.

Management fees? Agentic forces amok....

I have the grave misfortune to have one of my properties managed by a company called HML Hawksworth and every interaction with them is a source of lime-juice-in-an-open-wound kind of smarting.

And I correspond with them in the most ascorbic of English whit to no avail.
My latest "letter" - although it's more of a ranting vent - curses the fanciful increases in management fees and I fear the proverbial seed will fall on barren ground.

Here's what I said ( I do hope it was not only clear, but scathingly abrupt to jolt them into action) :
-----------------------


Pam,

I trust you are doing well since our last exchange.  There was one item left unanswered and now it's raised its irrepressible head again.

It was the question of email correspondence.

I asked if I must request each time a letter is sent to my parents to have that sent by email - which in all logical sense defeats the object of email communication.
But since the "papyrus" has once again thudded against the lobby mat of my parents' house, I feel compelled to ask the question a second time.

Why, oh why, in 2010 can I not have my (sometimes extortionate - and more on this anon) demands requested of me by email directly without the archaic apology for interaction that is Royal Mail being deployed so religiously?

My second intriguing question is on your increase (yet again) in charges.
Some points to answer please:

a.  What was the nature of the fire?  I did not see any other communication on this from either yourselves or my agent.  Shouldn't we sue someone?
b.  7% is abominable in these times of austerity - indeed I said this last time and my words fell upon deaf ears.  Please comment.
c.  Did no-one else complain at this Alice-in-wonderland kind of increase?  If so, what is being done to address the communal concerns about annual above-inflation increases?
d.  I find it incredulous that you "look[...] forward to receiving prompt payment" and then wish us a "Happy Christmas" when all we have to "look forward" to is more outlay.  No need to comment on this point.

I, equally and impatiently look forward to *your* prompt reply.

Disappointedly, again,

Darren

Agents and their egos

I love telling you all about my letters I write.
I recently had missed a notification of some management charges for an apartment, that Baxter and I own in the UK.

I pleaded with them to waive the charges as getting mail to Singapore can be a tad challenging and also to jolt themselves into the 21st century and perhaps adopt email as a means of notifying owners of their liabilities.

Below is the reply from the company and my answer....hope you enjoy my not-so-subtle sarcasm - I'm sure it's bloody well lost on Pam Dhillon.!!!!

__________________________________________

---

From: Pam Dhillon
To: darrenfrommaryport@yahoo.co.uk
Sent: Tue, 16 November, 2010 17:11:47
Subject: Service Charge

Good morning

Thank you for your email, I can confirm that the charges cannot be waived, I did request this to my MD.

We will send demands to the address provided by yourself.

Kind Regards   

Pam Dhillon Senior Property Manager HML Hawksworth Ltd Gillingham House 38 - 44 Gillingham Street London SW1V 1HU Tel: 020 7802 0000   Fax: 020 7802 0001 Email: info@hmlhawksworth.com   Web: www.hmlhawksworth.com

MY REPLY:

Pam, I should thank you for your email - even though I had to chase. I'm disappointed (yet again) at HML's intransigence and inflexibility towards overseas landlords who need to be made aware much more in advance than UK-residing owners. When you say "cannot", I believe your MD and HML actually mean "won't".  Thanks for not-a-lot. BIG SIGH. Anyway, I won't get anywhere with such a rules-driven, non-customer-friendly organisation - will I?!!?  Unless, you're going to prove me wrong....could you!?!? Finally, please confirm when you say "address" you mean email address as requested.  I have to ask clarification on so many points. Thank you in advance, Darren - disgruntled and deflated.   Tel: +65 6501 9808 - work / +65 98717903 mobile

Is lining up for so long really worth £80?

Leaving the UK, is always bitter sweet.

It's nice to get away - there are so many things that really are quite annoying.  Some of my betes-noires include: unfriendly underground staff, strikes, 12.5% service charge on just about everything and chip and bloody pin...!

[On an aside about service charges; it feels like you're charged a service fee for even sneezing.  When I checked out of my hotel two days ago (very nice hotel, I must admit: Ten Manchester, near Baker Street) I noticed 4 service charges for £3.56 each and queried them.  I was politely informed it was a "service charge" for each of my night's rates - calculated at 3% but I wasn't "obliged to pay" and it was completely "discretionary".  Well I was relived for the chance to opt out.  We compromised: I paid for 3 nights and since I didn't want any loose change rattling in my pocket, she took off one night's fee and kept the difference.  What a pollaver (sic)!]

And on the flip side, I know there are many things I will immediately miss.  Didn't even get to scoff down my beloved fish and chips this time.  Not to mention a good curry in the West End.  The opera (which I did manage to sample this time) is always lamented when I leave Britain and I do miss the seasons (despite the drizzle) immensely.

That said, one big advantage of living outside the EU, is being able to claim your VAT (value added tax) back - well most of it.

I had planned well in advance of this little trip to London (actually to help a good friend celebrate her 40th birthday) and knew I'd be swiping the credit card with vigour all weekend.  So when I lurched into terminal 3 at Heathrow, I headed straight for the VAT-back counter.  Dismayed by the length, yet motivated by the lure of £80 back in my pocket - as opposed in the coffers of a "needy" exchequer - I took my place in a very long line.

It amazes me every time I subject myself to this torture how many stupid people don't read the instructions, don't sign their forms, don't have all the paperwork ready, don't know the different refund methods etc. etc.  Everyone stands patiently in line with no management of types of claim, quantity or eye on accuracy of completion.  Some facile observations on my part, I think would speed up the process for most people - and even may help the morons who can't follow instructions (in FOUR key languages, I might add).

1.  I've noticed at certain airport passport control for example, and at my local mobile waiting area (intermittently) they have what I would call "checkers".  These folk scurry up and down the queue checking that all the documentation is in order.  This would save invaluable time at the actual counter and allow for one of the behind-the-counter staff to double up as a checker - no extra manpower needed.

2.  Adding a filter based on the number of claim forms would also help.  This would be like the 5 items and less checkout counters we see at supermarkets.  Again, no need for extra staff: just a dedicated "fast track" line for let's say less than 3 forms.

3.  Finally, a more radical option would be to offer a super-fast track line - where travelers could choose to forfeit, say, £5 from the total refunded to have their forms processed with priority.  We can pay for speeded up service in virtually all other walks of life - why not here?!  I actually saw at least 3 passengers either leave the queue seeing it was taking too long, or didn't even both to join it in the first place.

I've no truly validated view on how much processing time the above measures would save, but having stood in the line for 1 hour, with approximately 24 people processed before me and 4 tellers on the counters even if this managed save 25% of the average processing time (reducing from 8.25 passengers per hour to about 6.3 per hour) I would have zipped through the VAT back process in approximately 36 minutes.  Almost halving my pain-time...!

Still, at the end of the day I was queuing to get my £80 back - and that I did.

Mind you, I always thought I was worth a lot more than 80 quid and hour....!  Funny how airports are a great leveler.

Manila - a surprise or two

Manila might not be on your list of top haunts.
But perhaps you should re-consider.

I've had some hilarious and thought-provoking trips there recently.

My first way back in June was for an Expo with work and while I didn't really see anything of cultural significance I was serenaded by a Marriachi band at a 2nd rate eatery.  It was quite earie - you know, when you're the only gringo and you are just waiting for them to come to you as an unfamilar face, expecting a tip larger than the average man's daily wage.  Table by table they got closer and closer; I was getting ever more nervous of the etiquette of such a situation.

Anyway, the unavoidable materialised and they plonked themselves (a bassist, guitarist and female vocalist) in front of our table expectant and eager.  They started with some nondescript muzzak from the 50s and then to my wonderment, asked if I had any requests.  I must say I was stumped for a while.  Seeing the creasing on my perplexed brow, the female of the group trumped up with: "We can do anything you like - even Lady Gaga."  The Gaga herself, rendered humble and lowly by a itinerant troupe in a Manila buffet restaurant - well that I had to hear.  I took a long breath in and suggested they try Papparazzi to test their mettle.

I had to pause scoffing my roast pork with boiled pork on the side (with an extra dollop of fried pork for good measure on a separate plate); the effect was stunning.  Convincing they were; tuneful they were; and they startled me with an acapella version of such a digitally-laden track, that really was impressive.  Never judge a book, I suppose...and this musical book deserved the 100 peso tip they got for making me smile ear to ear.

Who'd have thougt it in such ordinary surroundings.  Not sure who should be more suitably lauded: Lady Gaga for creating such malleable music or the wandering waifs who whistled their way through a challenging club anthem with nonchalant ease.  Great stuff.....!

More Manila mania next time.

Recent complaint to the Singapore bus company SMRT

This is a copy of a complaint letter I just sent to SMRT in Singapore about their erratic and dangerous driving on one of the routes (56).  Happy reading - if they deign to respond, I will let you know ;-)

--------------------------------

Dear SMRT,

I couldn’t find a feedback page on your website so am mailing you directly.

I recently travelled on the number 56 from Thompson Road to Toa Payoh.

It was one of the most erratic driving experiences I’ve had since moving to Singapore 7 years ago.

Route: 56 between Thompson Road and Toa Payoh, Jackson Square.

Date: 16^th September

Time: 11am

Bus registration: 8397

a.       First of all, when I boarded there was a woman running to catch the bus behind me so boarded slowly and indicated to the driver someone was running to catch it.  He had already started to close the doors and they part-closed on me, hitting my shoulder.

b.      Overall the driving was jerky and inconsiderate to the passengers.

c.       He approached bus stops far too quickly and then the required braking meant passengers were flung around inside the bus.

d.      Several elderly passengers almost lost their footing.

e.      Even sitting down, the swerves and heavy braking meant one was constantly grabbing handrails to prevent one’s self from being flung to the floor.

Please pursue this with the driver concerned.

There was no point raising this with him during the journey as even when I complained about the closing door banging against my shoulder, he looked straight though me as if I’d crawled from under a stone.

Yours disappointedly – and slightly bruised.

Darren

---------------------------

Choosing family members is impossible

Normally, my rants on this blog are travel or customer service oriented, but today I'm going to let off steam about a terrible shortcoming; not of transport networks or customer experience processes, but rather of familial bonds.

We're born into something called a family; I used to think mine was different: calm, stable and honest.

How wrong could a man be?

A short two syllable word started World War III in my family; a war that is still on-going and causing pain and needless anguish.  Just the other day a "to-do" kicked off because the next of kin was denied access to his mother.

 A storm in a tea cup to some - but a matter of honour for others.

And honour was trampled on when 3 grown-ups - and I use that term incredibly loosely - set upon that same member of the so-called family to chastise him for threatening behaviour.

Oh, for goodness sake - it's like living in a school play ground.
Not knowing which name-calling or bullying will happen next.
Not knowing who's going to slap whom in the face - either verbally or physically.

It's puerile and petty.
And worse still: innocents are caught in the fray.
I won't name individuals here - or hopefully even allude to them too obviously - that would be dragging myself to their level.

Suffice to say, I'm jaded, disappointed, angered, disbelieving, frustrated and jaundiced.

Life goes on...just that my family now is a great deal smaller than when I was born.

Mind you, it's also larger.

What does he mean?  I hear you cry...how can it be simultaneously smaller and larger?

Well, they say, every cumulus nimbus has an argentine edge to it.
And my cumulus is no different.  I've discovered parts of my family that I never really knew existed and am eternally grateful for this.

What has been erased on one side of the River Ellen has been enhanced on the other.

Thank God for geography.  ;-) 

Adding stress in Singapore

Reading the title, you could be forgiven that this entry is about pain or anxiety. It's actually about pronunciation.

What on earth?  I hear you cry.

Yes, pronunciation.

This little list started to germinate as we were planning for our safari trip in South Africa earlier this year.  Packing our suitcases someone asked about taking binoculars and of course we took them.  But the stress on the BI made me smile.  Normally in the British Isles we would try to say all words as quickly and effortlessly as possible and hence, binoculars is pronounced: b-nok-u-le-s (I won't use the phonetic alphabet as their symbols are far too complicated and I'd end up explaining more about them, than the actual words I'm poking fun at...but the table might be interesting for those phoneticians among you).

The emphasis (in Singapore at least) I suspect stems from the same stressing of the first two letters (bi) comes from the pronunciation of bisexual, where obviously one stresses the bi to separate it from asexual and transsexual etc.

Then I started to listen for more examples and was quite taken aback at some of them.

Not knowing epitome should be audible as ep-it-o-mee with the stress on the final syllable is, I suppose is acceptable and getting some proper names slightly off like Clemenceau avenue being rendered as kle-men-see with the stress on the middle syllable is understandable.

But how did the underground station of Braddell end up as brad-dl and not bra-del stressing the second syllable and not the first?

Equally strange is describing a film as mem-or-able stressing the middle "o" - making it sound very close to mammary.


I will leave you with my favourite you could deploy when something is bearable:  try saying palatable by effectively splitting the word in two giving pala and table and then stress the 3rd syllable.  I heard that on the radio for goodness sake and it surely renders the word less than palatable when said that way.  Oh, the irony of it.

Low crime - really does mean no crime

Singapore is notoriously rid of crime of almost all types: except the occasional murder of the random Filipina maid or some adulterous lover.

There is a great advertising campaign extolling the virtues of being vigilant even in such a low crime environment.

And one might think complacency is a foolish by-product of such a safe living space - but it's incredible to think that personal safety and that of ones chattels is really not at risk (oh, yes not forgetting my credit card theft from my dining room table last year ;-).

But honestly, the risk of being a victim of crime is incredibly low here in Singapore.

Just the other day I saw this wonderful example.

There you have hundreds of books in a public mall covered only by a loose sheet to protect from theft ALL NIGHT LONG.  Imagine that in Oxford Circus or Time Square?!?!?

Oh, I do love living here.

Piscine wind?

Another great example of English gone a little whoopsy.

I was fascinated to read this on a recent trip to my local GNC where I get my vitamins and dietary supplements.

The fish oils capsules here are obviously differentiated in a rather unique way: they prevent "fishy burps".

Well that's that then...no more embarrassing burping - geez, thank you GNC.

Just as I like it

Intrigued by the title?
I'm talking about champagne of course.
This photo was taken a couple of weeks ago at the Hyatt during brunch.

I know it's a free-flow-event, but honestly this was total pouring perfection.

Couldn't have got another drop in the glass - admittedly the delightful Perrier-Jouet are small, but filling them to the brimmest of brims made me a very happy man.

Thank you Hyatt - but more importantly thank you Perrier-Jouet..!

Just when you thought credit-card-stolen-identity was....

Well, I am almost (and I stress almost) at a loss for words.

I have just received a call from my bank asking me if I had someone else's DBS Alitude Amex card in my wallet!
No, I cried, how could I?!
But on closer inspection, I did indeed have a certain Walter Untuk's card in my wallet (his name has been changed to protect his anonymity) - oh, how kind am I!?

I was at a gay dance party on Saturday (MUSE) at the F1 pit stop lounge centre, here in Singapore - and looking back it was mayhem - and just because of the men. It was a chaotic calamity of a bar and upon reflection I'm not surprised I got Mr Untuk's card in error.

What is even more astounding, is that he had used my card once and I had used his no less than FOUR times, before either of us noticed. In fact, I didn't even notice at all...! Duh...!

I quite fancy myself as a Mr Untuk....exotic Indonesian, no?

I agreed to let the said gentleman call me to arrange a card swap...never even noticed how handsome he was...just concerned about getting my card back.....think of all those lost airmiles - now on his account...! TSK TSK.

I wrote him a cheque for the balance of the transactions and he left.

The questions this throws up are multiple and mesmerising.

1. Why didn't I notice I had Mr Untuk's card?
2. Why didn't he notice earlier he had mine?
3. Why didn't CK Tang's notice his name perhaps couldn't be Darren Smith?
4. Why didn't Sakae Sushi, a 2nd ramen restaurant and Zara not notice that I couldn't really be Walter Untuk?

For those who follow my credit card shenanigans in Singapore closely, you may recall that about 7 months ago I was the victim of card theft which resulted in US$12 000 being fraudulently charged to my Citibank Mastercard. Well, I heard the other day that the thief (a stupid 22 year old - what a waste) was sentenced to 27 months.

Makes you think - I could have ended up in the dock myself -- and my Mr Untuk may have not come to my defence.

Hungry? Anyone?

Japan is an amazing place and the Japanese borrow words from English and other languages with surprising ease and willingness.

Usually they get it mostly right, but sometimes is goes astray. Like "grand opening" is efficiently, but awkwardly shortened to "grand open".

So I was not that wide-eyed to see a rather amusing use of English at my local Japanese supermarket, Isetan on Orchard Road. They were selling cakes and I think the photo tells it all.

After my intense weekend, I am certainly ravenous - good for soaking up the alcohol - and feeling fruity in any case.

Which reminds me of something I learned the other day about "desserts" and getting ones just deserved puddings. I had assumed that the expression "just deserts" had something to do with getting a nice sweet ending to something - but if you think about it that is strange because the terms is usually applied to someone who has done something less than generous or even something quite evil; thus nemesis will take her revenge on the offender. Also, the spelling seems wrong - two "s"s for sweets and one "s" for sandy or arid places (occasionally interspersed with the odd oasis).

But actually, although the pronunciation is the same for both "desserts" and "just deserts", the latter is correctly spelled - coming from the same route as "to deserve". QED: he will get what he just deserves.

Nice no?

Why I hate banks II

I've ranted about banks before, and I suspect this won' t be the last time.

I recently asked my RBS account lead to provide interest statements on my mortgage accounts for my UK tax return - for those that don't know, you can claim the interest paid on a mortgage loan against your tax liability.

I was quite promptly replied to advising that the policy had changed for 2010 and all such requests now carry a flat £10 charge per statement. And that since this is my first request since the changing of the policy, I would be eligible for a waiver this time; the interest certificates will be with me at the end of next week.

Apoplectic is not the adjective to describe my somewhat over-reaction.

Here is a copy of the letter I sent back to them (enjoy):

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RBS,

I find this astounding...absolutely astounding.

RBS wastes reams of paper every month by sending me TWO statements for each of my mortgages under a SEPARATE envelope, then sends a statement of account (3 separate envelopes) and nowhere (unless I'm mistaken, and that's been known previously) does it indicate the separation between interest and capital repaid. So even if I didn't mind RBS' inefficient statement process, and the unnecessary wasting of paper, I can't even calculate the interest payments myself.

So RBS' solution, is to charge me for your own lack of information.

Citibank sends this information AUTOMATICALLY for my Singapore mortgage at the end of each calendar year.
ABSA in South Africa (for goodness sake - raised eyebrows in startled kind-of-3rd-world-way look) sends me annual interest statements via email!

While I'm grudgingly appreciative of RBS waiving the charge this time, I do not expect to pay this in subsequent years.

I should be charging RBS for the extra time taken to open up all of the unnecessary envelopes every month - I charge S$750 per hour at work.

By my calculations (conservative though they be) I spend an extra 90 seconds each month on this needless task and thus chalk up 7.5 minutes each year - which at my rate converts to S$93.75 meaning RBS owes me money.

If the irony of this mail is lost on you, I'm at a loss as to what to say.

Sincerely sourly,

Darren

PS When customers pay for this "service" does it always take you TWO WEEKS to produce the said piece of paper?! I have to concede that end of next week is acceptable, having no other choice.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm sure I'm blacklisted with RBS and all partner banks and will be ineligible for all types of loan in the future....but am I misplaced in my spleen-venting? Am I unreasonable to expect a so-called 1st world bank to have information ready for its clients in advance? Am I just too demanding in a world full of "customer-centric" hypocrisy and "customer always comes first" - (except when it impacts our bottom line too much) kind of BS?

Where's the effort?

English is abused in so many ways: here's an advert just outside my apartment next to the bus stop - yes, where I catch the nunmber 5 every morning.

I'm a stickler for adverbs and using them correct - whoops I mean correctly.

How can eyes be effortless?
Were they just saving ink?

Anway, the comma is redundant whether her eyes are actually effortless or indeed, as I think was the intent, that they are beautiful without effort on her part..!

What a mess.

Is it me, or does something smell strange?

When I was flying back from Korea recently, I was flicking through the duty free magazine, as you do, and trying to resist buying any of the mostly useless gifts inside.

It's incredible the amount of tat airlines know bored passengers will be lulled and lured into purchasing when the end of the flight draws nigh and people are prised from their wallets and sanity.

Well, I was scanning the perfumes and eau de toilettes and my eye was drawn to a rather charming advert for Chanel's Allure.

I had to read the blurb underneath several time to make sure I wasn't seeing things.

The print is a bit small - but squint and you can read it.

I wonder what the "hot-cold alchemy" means and more importantly, please give me directions to the "fresh oriental" who possesses it.

Sounds like a whole lot of fun to me. ;-)

It's amazing what you get away with in Singapore...signing out!

Followers will know of my terrible experience when my credit card was stolen from my home and wasn't covered under Singapore credit law...Well that's changed and now cardholders are covered after the initial S$100 liability. So there's progress.

Well, I thought so.

Recently, I decided to put the new rules to the test.

One would think with a fundamental shift of responsibility from cardholder to merchant this would have focused the mind - after all if the card is stolen or fraudulently used and the cardholder is no longer liable, then that must assume the merchant picks up the tab, right?

One evening I thought I should try my super-hero credentials off.

I nonchalantly signed my credit card slip as Batman and waited to be challenged...well I know I kind of resemble Val Kilmer, but even then, I realised I was pushing it. I mean, Batman isn't real, is he?!?!

Not a sausage of questioning....just asinine acceptance of my new heroic identity - despite the name on the card quite clearly stated Darren S Smith.

The burden of responsibility doesn't seem to have shifted - YET....

Wait for the big court case where the merchant is shown liable and negligent - and then, perhaps then, things will change.

Bye for now -- need to go and pull my briefs over my trousers and save a vulnerable citizen somewhere.....

Fat in Korea

Sometimes you try to be healthy; you think, I shouldn’t eat too much or I should cut down on certain things and be a better person. You are what you eat, after all is said and done.

That was my thought process when I sat down yesterday evening at my hotel restaurant in Seoul (Fraser Place – for those who are tracking). I had already perused the menu outside and thought I could have a nice pasta dish – indulging in a few carbs on my business trip, wouldn’t kill me.

When I sat down at my table, I was handed a “specials” menu which forced me to reconsider. And change my mind I did. The first item on the special menu was a rather promising “roast beef salad” accompanied with tomatoes. Great, I thought, I can have a bit of protein with some very healthy green stuff.

I ordered a glass of house red and settled down into my Economist.

The wine arrived promptly and as I sipped and read the food was delivered quite quickly also.

To my utter dismay the beef was not beef at all. I know the Koreans, and their cousins over the Sea of Japan, love a bit of marbling in their beef and was somewhat prepared for a tad of fat on my beef; but two years living in Japan and a number of trips to Korea couldn’t have forewarned me for what was thrust in front of my nose.

Beef?! Where was the beef?!

I could see the fat – oozing ominously at me – but struggled to locate the beef. Each sliver of an excuse for bovine booty was at least 70% fat. I tried a couple of pieces and retched. Shall I complain? What’s the point? I yielded and proceeded to cut off all the fat on my “beef” slices to make it edible. I ended up with about 25% or even less of the original “meat” and chomped my way through the leaves.

You can see from the photo a beautiful pearl-like quality from the fatty residue left on my plate, just how sickening this was.

When the waitress came to collect my plate, I was anticipating, at very least “was your meal OK” as an enquiry – but absolutely nothing was said.

Perhaps all the white guys leave their fat; perhaps all the waitresses are dumfounded as to why; perhaps all the chefs do this on purpose to make us foreigners a tad uncomfortable about complaining – “oh, this must be a cultural thing”-syndrome.

I don’t know – had I been less tired, had I been more inclined to return, had Seoul sparkled in other ways, I might, just might have had the energy to complain. As it was I was fatigued, jaundiced, and quite honestly knackered. This lethargy saved the restaurant manager from my wrath. But then again, perhaps my word of mouth blog is more potent.

Would any of YOU dare try the “roast beef salad” at the First Floor Restaurant at Fraser Place, the next time you’re in Seoul?

Answers on a post card please and send them directly to the GM in Seoul.!

Fat-chewingly yours.

Darren

My nomination for the first Lufthansa A380

It's always good fun naming things...my first suggestion for the A380 from Lufthansa was "Big Boy" but someone had already taken that.

I had to settle for "Ueber-plane" - well it's big, right?! And I thought "Mega-plane" was a bit weak. Surely, this is the passenger plane to end all passenger planes!

Well, it will be until they build a BIGGER one. Maybe, I can call that one "Big Boy" or perhaps even "Biggest Boy".
Anyway, if you have a better / more creative names, please log onto Lufthansa and join the fun.

My nomination for the first Lufthansa A380:

"The A380 the new Lufthansa flagship, a special experience, the Lufthansa A380. Find out more about the fascination of a new era in air travel. Take part, Raffles, Downloads, Photos, Video, Gallery, First Flight in 2010."

Mother leaves us at age 87

My dear grandmother passed away during the early hours of 2nd March.

I called my maternal grandmother Mother – because my mother is my Mam and my great-grandmother was Mother Baxter (no, nothing to do with My Jolly – that’s pure coincidence) – while my paternal grandmother is Nan, not Nana, or Nanny – simply Nan. Confused? You will be!.

I’d made the trip to see Mother a couple of weeks prior to that and am so glad I trekked half way around the world.

We didn’t tell her I was going and the surprise was evident as a startled old woman glowed from her hospital bed and grasped my hand so tight I thought I’d never get it back. “I’m so glad you came”, she said. “I’m so glad to be here”, I returned. I did have to let go as my cousins arrived and we had to scramble for chairs to accommodate us all. I wish I held her hand just a little longer – but then we all wish we’d done things sooner, for longer, in more depth – but often it’s to have done it at all that counts. When I left three days later, I hugged her hard, felt her warmth and knew deep down it was my last moment with her. I still feel her warmth now as I type – at 38 000 feet heading home to Maryport for her funeral.

Right to the end, she kept her wicked dry sense of humour.

In the hospital she would terrorise her fellow patients who were being noisy, disoriented or just different. “She’s from Norway”, she barked on one occasion, as if to suggest that was a worse place than Nebraska to hail from. The Filipina nurse was kindly given the moniker “Tokyo Lill”. And when a very disoriented gentleman from the adjacent ward wandered through asking for his wife and if anyone knew where she was: “She’s run off with another fella”, came Mother’s rebuke. We, around the bed, laughed and told her to hush: embarrassed, not too much not to see the funny side.

One time, Mother was lying with her eyes closed, resting, perhaps asleep. My Mam (remember this is my mother…following still?), told me that she and her brother were discussing the terrible new trend of mixing weed-killer with BabyBio (the plant fertiliser) to create a high-inducing concoction. Unflinchingly, Mother peeled her eyes open, turned her head slightly to my Mam and Uncle and whispered: “Don’t tell anyone I’ve got weed-killer in the larder at home! They’ll be around looking for it!”

Lucid to the end was a real blessing for my Mam and her siblings – even though the end came quickly, we don’t think Mother suffered too much pain, and the last day my Mam spent hours with her, mother and daughter were conscious of each other’s presence. That’s important.

But, what did Mother mean to me?

One of my first memories I have is of Mother and Mam taking me to a wildlife park in Lowther in northern Cumbria. We saw peacocks, owls, deer and cattle. It was quite amazing to see such “exotic” creatures. I believe this help kindle an interest in me for nature – and interest that has blossomed into fascination with African beasts and a love of safari.

Some of the most beautiful things were the most mundane and routine: like going down town shopping with Mam and Mother every Saturday morning. We had a very distinct plan of action: pies from Crellin’s, groceries from Litpon’s, a salad sandwich or perhaps ham from the Townhouse café and then a treat of a cake or two from Fulton’s. Those were the days when small shops dominated the scene and one wandered from place to place making singular purchases for each item. Mother would usually give me 20p to play on the slot-machine – this could have been my road to gambling ruin, but thankfully I never got the bug. 20p was enough and two spins of the barrels sated me.

Other wondrous routines included: Boxing Day tea with cousins, uncles and aunts – 15 or more of us crammed around a table normally used to seating 8; ham, chicken, ox tongue, picked beetroot and onions, coleslaw, trifle and Christmas cake. Mother’s recipe for Christmas cake is now in the safe hands of my Mam (please see other entry on the blog for the tale of this along with the recipe).

Wednesdays, way back, saw Mam & I head to Mother’s for a cheese on toasted teacake while we watched Benny Hill. [Teacakes in Cumbria are not fancies, they’re actually balm cakes, which to all non-Notherners are flat bread rolls and if you don’t know who Benny Hill is, then be happy.]

Mother was peculiar in the sense she never left the UK – I’m not even sure she left England. I don’t even think in her 87 years she saw London. No ferries, no long motorway car journeys and no airplanes. No inoculations and no passport – how different her grandson (me) was to turn out. Since my granddad passed back in 2003 she’d never set foot over the threshold except to put the rubbish out. Yet, she “travelled the world without leaving the house”; everywhere I travelled I brought back a fridge magnet and Mother dutifully stuck it to the kitchen fridge; vicariously she’s been to Bali, New York, Tokyo, Singapore, Cape Town, Tasmania, Paris & New Orleans.

I will miss going up to Broughton Moor, the village where she lived, and seeing her each time I return home to Maryport. Her warm “Hello Son!” won’t greet me anymore, but the memories will stay with me forever.

I have been blessed to have lived with two grandmothers until almost 40 years of age: I have more memories than most of them; my Nan is battling on at 88!

I ended each phone call with my Mother with the words “I love you” and she returned the same; I’m so thankful we said it. Say it to someone today and make their reason for living just that little bit more special and may we all continue to harvest wondrous memories of those we love.

A harmless game os some evil immoral consipracy

I go for weeks and post nothing and then bombard readers (if you're still out there) with two posts in almost as many minutes.

Innocuous, innocent, educating, stimiulating, challenging, thought-provoking -- and OK, OK sometimes a little risque in the words that are allowed, but is Scrabble really worthy of being blocked by bodies deeming it unsuitable for public consumption?!

You can imagine my dismay when, being tired of facebook updates, I turned to my faithful board game for some grey-matter-gymnastics, only to find the application blocked. Why you may scream, I certainly did. I post here the explanation given:

"Doha International Airport

Your access to this URL is currently restricted due to a blocking rule.
Blocking rule: Block URLs of Lifestyle

The URL you are attempting to access has been blocked. Organization policy does not allow access to this activity. "

It's a "lifestyle" thing?! Do they, in Doha, know I'm gay already? Does increasing ones vocabulary through sparring with fellow wordsmiths endanger the state? Does a proficiency and love of the English language threaten the future of Arabic?

I'm lost - really lost as to why something as generally bland as Scrabble would be blocked. My assumption is, of course, that this is a specific block and not a general one - or how else would they know what to block or allow on facebook?! But let's give Doha International Airport the benefit of the doubt and hope it's a general block and Scrabble is just an innocent by-standing victim of cyber policing gone crazy.

I will be posting an email query to Doha Interational Airport and if I get a response will let you all know.

A thought just occurred to me: perhaps they've seen the words already on my Scrabble boards and blocked "Darren Smith" personally -- nah - can't be....when I reflect: I'm 99% certain there are no "c*nts", "f*cks" or "w*nks" on my boards at the current time...so it can't be personal - Thank God!

Qatar Airways - a truly 5-star outfit

It's not for the most pleasant reasons that I'm trekking up north to Maryport, Cumbria (CA15 8TD if you care to Google or Bing it). But more of than in a later post.

I had the good fortune, however, of finding a reasonably priced business class fare from Singapore to Manchester with Qatar Airways and the dates mostly worked, so I snapped it up. I have flown them before and was already an advocate. This latest trip is consistent with my experience hitherto and what Qatar delivers is the envy of many an airline.

Their seats in business are almost lie-flat - so I slept like a baby between Singapore and Doha. They serve champagne from the bottle at your seat - you feel like you're in a restaurant. A jump suit is offered - not many airlines do that anymore in 2nd class and disembarking one is whisked away to their dedicated business / first terminal for a relaxing transit in their luxurious lounge.

Upon arriving, I did the seasoned thing and ignored everything else and zoomed in on the shower zone. I had left my jacket and overcoat draped over my chair and rushed to get a free cubicle to freshen up. One expects in these surroundings that your belongings are safe from man-handling - so you can imagine my surprise when I returned to my seat to see someone had @tampered@ with my coat. But NOT in a bad way I hasten to add: one of the lounge attendants had hauled a wooden clothes-horse to my seat and lovingly hung both my jacket and overcoat to help prevent creasing.

While at work earlier today, we were presenting to a large agro-chemical company on the research technique commonly known as Kano analysis where one splits various product offering items into the four categories of essential, hygiene, treats and inconsequential. I expect the shower room to be available and clean; champagne of some description is essential on take-off; I would not really care if I got a hot towel or not; BUT pro-actively hanging my clothes for me was a real treat.

I was WOWed.

Thank you Qatar Airways.

First class - a real wow

I had the great fortune to travel first class recently all the way to the USA. I was excited as as dog with two proverbial appendages (as we almost say in Cumbria).

It started in line with my expectations as the taxi pulled up outside the private first class driveway for Singapore Airlines at Changi airport. This isn't a slip way or side road, it really is a private driveway with lush foliage to shield your eyes from people traveling in other classes. I was then invited to the Private Room; intriguing I thought, wasn't the first class lounge already private enough? But oh no! This inner sanctum is a room within a room within a lounge within the airport -- I was so within, I thought I'd never get out.

Table-service breakfast was brisk and efficient and what a change to sit in a lounge and consume ones food complete with white linen table cloths. The scrambled eggs and chicken sausage were delicately presented with a simple garnish and some essential ketchup. It was incredibly sumptuous and a wonderful start to my first class experience.

(I should point out at this juncture, that I didn't actually pay for my flight, and am quite glad I didn't - more on that later. But it has been hinted at, in not too subtle a way, that my constant updates on facebook about my front of the plane journey, seem a bit arrogant or elitist - well I suppose they are and I should say get used to it. But for the record, I used my SQ miles to get the flight - and honestly at 164000 return I didn't think it was a bad deal.)

Anyway, the beginning was awesome - but could the rest live up to this fabulous start?

Boarding was stress free and I was heartily welcomed on board. I was sitting in 2F and envied the passenger in B1 so close up the 747's nose, he was almost popping out the front of the aircraft. The cabin was full to the gunwales and the leading stewardess positively beamed as she told me "business is good!". The seats are the old first class and not the revamped 380 suites - but the seat is very comfortable. The blanket I was given was a little old and one felt it had been washed so many times the Givenchy hand that had designed it a very long time ago was now wrinkled and calloused.

This, I must confess, soon evaporated to a distant memory when I was served Krug and then later - well it was mid-morning by this point - Dom Perignon 2000. Sublime tones in the air of toast and almonds.

The satay we were then served was tough to say the least -- very disappointing and the traditional Japanese kaiseki was average. But service won the day and I left the plane at LAX a very happy traveler. Little did I appreciate the horror that is called customs and "homeland security" that awaited me as I transferred from terminal 8 to terminal 5 and then hacked my way through line after line to luckily catch my connecting Delta cattle-class flight to Atlanta. That wasn't too bad at all, actually - but I did arrive in the home of Coca Cola wishing I had more caffeine in my system than I did. I was knackered.

What a delight to check into the W Downtown Atlanta with it hues of purple, soothing vibes forcefully filling the lift and a bed so downy-soft I almost immediately fell asleep the moment my weary head touched the pillow.

As I dream of my W Hotel in Times Square - which was where I staying in New York on my return stop over, I shall sign off and leave you all with this thought for my next entry: the return journey on Singapore Airlines, really was a let-down...and let me tell you why...

Christmas Cakes....Secret recipes

It's flattering, it's astounding the following it has, it's a sign of tradition and progress.

What on earth am I prattling on about?
Christmas cake of course.

My grandmothers both baked fruit loafs at Christmas time for as far back as I can remember and while both were delicious they were also unique. Nan's was lighter and less dense; Mother's (my maternal grandmother) was more fruit-laden and darker - this latter trait was thanks to the gravy browning she put in it -- yes, you read it correctly: gravy browning. Nan always used brandy to lace the loaf and Mother preferred rum; me being somewhat of an alcoholic, loved them both.

As time took its tenacious toll, both grandmothers had to give up on making the cakes; after all it's all done by hand and stirring kilos of dry fruit round and round is not easy on the elbow joints. Now for those that don't know, my Mam is not known for her culinary prowess; in fact, to her credit, she once did try to boil her own beetroot. Unfortunately, she peeled the damn things and as a result we had WHITE beetroot instead of the usual PURPLE. It apparently tasted OK, but looked distinctly anaemic.

So when Mam volunteered to have a go at taking over the batton for cake baking, I was skeptical to say the least. She donned her pinny (cf pinafore) and started stirring. After several nail-biting hours in the oven, the cake was taken out and inspected. There's nothing quite like newly baked things and the aroma engulfed the kitched.

Delicious was the unanimous verdict.

It has been a tradition going back to my grandmothers' time for me to take one cake to work for my colleagues to share; what started in Paris, moved to Tokyo and is now firmly ensconced in Singapore at Synovate.

You can see a picture at: http://www.facebook.com/#/photo.php?pid=4451075&id=566862385&ref=mf

The cake gets accolades every year - and some people even put in advance orders. My matriarchs in the Smith/Martin family are deeply touched by such praise and thank all the followers of the beloved Christmas Cake.

And to spread the joy, I've decided to publish the top secret recipe; so please experiement and enjoy.

HAPPY BAKING.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ingredients:

7/8inch cake tin
4oz butter +4oz margarine
8oz caster sugar,4 eggs, 1lbs currants,8oz raisins, 4oz pkt cherry's, 6oz plain flour, 4oz ground almonds.1/2 T/spoon mixed spices.1/4 T/spoon baking powder, 1Tablewarm treacle, 1table spoon rum (dark).
grease and line tin
wash cherry's dry 1 oz,
place all fruits in colander over a basin,pour 1and a 1/2 table spoons of rum over them and leave overnight.

Method:

Butter/Margarine/Sugar and warm Treacle mix well.
Add beaten eggs and flour,then slowly add all the remainder of ingredients.
Add the rest of the rum,don't make the mix to sloppy.
spoon into tin level off.
Bake for 1/2 hr at 160 (fan oven150) then 3 to 3 1/2 hrs at145 (fan 135)
When baked leave in tin about 1 hr, pour over 1Tablespoon of rum.
Remove from tin leave overnight to cool.
Wrap in grease proof paper and tin foil place in a airtight container
Brush with rum every 2 wks

To be made 6/8 weeks before needed.