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.

Hong Kong - not so bad

As someone summarised for me recently "I'm more of a second city kind of guy". And mostly it's true; Chicago over New York, Cologne or Munich over Berlin, Sinapore over Hong Kong - if you allow me a certain latitude. I think there are bold exceptions: Rome, Paris, London - but hey, who said we were logical beings.

But Singapore would have my vote time and time again over HK.
That was - until my last trip.

I just got back from a chilly yet beautifully azure Hong Kong, where I spent a delightful weekend. I was lucky enough to stay at the W Hotel in Kowloon and amazing it was too. Funky yet stylish; bold yet warm; quirky yet functional the entire hotel exuded sophistication and luxury. Swimming on the 73rd floor in the open air (and luckily warmed up) pool was a real treat; vista views of the city before me and enticingly warm water to do my pseudo-exercising in. The room was over-sized - think they upgraded me - ha - and tastefully kitted out in greys and earthy tones. The main thing that did annoy me was the iPod docking station didn't support my player - which is surprising since it's once of the new generation ones; I must confess this didn't matter too much as the in-room Wonderlust CD provided by the hotel was more than jumping for me - great tracks by Madonna, Kylie, Dame Shirley and other such funkettes.

On Saturday I met up with a couple of old C&W colleagues who treated me to one of the nicest afternoons I've had in HK for a long time. We ate dim sum in Sheung Wan - not a gwai loh in sight - and gorged ourselves on won ton, shrimp stuffed vegetables, ha kau, char siew bao and greens. We then wandered to a small adjacent alleyway to find "snake house"; an establishment that's been serving meals, pastries and coffee for over 60 years to those in the know. We had warm cola with ginger and lemon - now there's a combination for you. Apparently good for colds - but it tasted, even to the non-flu-afflicted, rather delicious. My good friend offered salted lemon with Sprite - which didn't sound as appealing; I passed on that concoction. Meandering the streets of Central afterwards in the yellow rays was a joy.

There were many such little episodes that really made this trip to HK memorable: getting lost on the dark roads of Stanely, dinner at Lucy's, yoga in Dragon I, Chinese art in the gallery, the luxury malls, the sophistication of the Hong Kongers' dress sense, protests outside Citibank, picking up my newly tailored shirts and much much more.

As we change, perhaps cities change too, or perhaps we just see them differently.
Either way, I'm glad HK is my friend again.