Retirement - A Year On

41 years ago today, on Monday 17th September 1984, I started work as a Graduate Computer Programmer at a large company that was based in South Manchester. It was the beginning of almost 40 years in Software Engineering, which basically means that I spent my entire working life in combat with computer software running on a variety of machines that slowly evolved and now continue to evolve to this day.

I actually loved writing software but eventually all the politics and crap that surrounds such a career got to me in the end. I guess all office based careers end up mutating into something else and that was definitely true of my job. 

In a sense I was lucky because for about thirty five of those forty years I worked in the airport industry, which meant that I got to travel to exotic places such as Russia, China, USA and South Africa as well as Europe. 

What I discovered as part of these travels is that people the world over are largely the same. When I say “people” I mean ordinary people such as myself, not politicians, celebrities and others wielding power.

For example, in Russia, I worked with a guy who was wonderful company and very helpful to me. In China I was looked after so well by the people I was working with and my attempts to speak Mandarin were met with enthusiasm but laughter as I skilfully mispronounced all manner of words, turning simple sentences into utter gibberish.

On Thursday 12th September 2025 I waved goodbye to all that and retired.

Now, on the day that career started, I thought that I would reflect on what has happened since I handed over my work laptop and said goodbye to my work colleagues. 

Do I think of work now? 

The answer is not really. I am still in touch with quite a few people I used to work with and I definitely miss some of the trips abroad, even though they were hard work in terms of the job I had to do. Thankfully, now that I am free of the chains of my career I can revisit some of these places as a tourist and enjoy them without the pressure of the job. 

The question I am now asked most is:

“What are you doing with your time, Dave?”

When I was younger, I thought that retired people just spent their time doing nothing but now that I have joined that elite group of people, I know how wrong that naïve view is. Some of the retired people I know are actually busier now than when they worked. 

From a personal point of view, my plan for retirement was to make sure that I didn’t fall into the trap of doing absolutely nothing. I wanted a routine. I wanted to keep fit. I wanted to challenge my mind. I wanted to make time for fun. 

I actually went about the task of bringing this plan to fruition in quite a methodical manner. I guess this is no surprise for somebody who designed algorithms for computer systems to follow. Here’s what I did:

First, I made a list of things that I wanted to do (hobbies if you like), and a list of things that were necessary (such as chores etc) as well as finding something to do to simply relax. That list is huge by the way and I have only really looked at a fraction of it. 

In a sense, I was lucky to retire when I did, though fellow retirees will almost certainly disagree with me. Retirees I know said that the best time to retire is at the start of summer yet, paradoxically I ignored that advice and quit my job at the start of autumn. The weather in autumn in the UK is okay but steadily gets worse as time passes inexorably towards winter. Consequently, I found myself staying at home as the weather devolved into unpleasantness. 

You may think this is a bad idea, but it wasn’t bad for me. It allowed my routine to take hold and now, a year later, I have a daily routine that absolutely works for me. 

That is a key thing (and I can’t emphasise it enough) – get yourself a routine that suits you. It doesn’t matter what it is as long as it is something that you can look forward to every day and something that is fulfilling. However, there is a caveat, which I have learned this summer. By all means stick to the routine but don’t be too hard on yourself if something more interesting comes along like a trip out, a holiday or just hanging around with friends. My life was rigid enough when I worked and, as paradoxical as it seems, I don’t want to take that into retirement even though I have a routine for less active days. 

I have a massive list of things that I would like to try and I have spent time listing those in a document for future use, but for now, I have selected a couple to fit into my routine. 

These include, teaching myself (badly) to play the piano, playing with a synthesiser, writing (including a novel, a memoir and blog posts) and learning languages (Spanish, French and German). 

The timetable includes time for daily chores, a bit of relaxation and time to be a total child with my PS5. 

As well as this, I try to walk roughly five miles a day. I do this first thing in the morning because this serves a couple of purposes. First, it wakes me up and second I find it quite mindful and relaxing. Walking also gets me out of the house and is great exercise for an old git like myself. I do this even in terrible weather (Like this morning when I was asking myself whether there was a new Noah constructing a brand new Ark). 

So, have I stuck to myroutine? 

In short, the answer is yes.

It was easier during the winter months and even into spring. 

When summer arrived it was more tricky because there was more to do. I started seriously watching cricket, for example and I have been to a lot of games. Also, the weather improved which meant that I was able to get out and about more or simply sit in the garden and read, enjoying the nice weather. For once we have had a great summer in 2025, involving four heatwaves (yes four – can you believe that in the UK?) with temperatures reaching the high twenties to the mid-thirties Celsius. I don’t think I have spent as much time in the garden as I have this summer. 

To be honest, summer has ruined my routine quite a lot but that is a good thing if you consider that going out and doing stuff is as good as settling into your routine. Summer has taught me that no matter how rigid you wanted the routine to be, it is okay to put it aside for a while and enjoy the benefits of good weather, like a cricket match or simply reading in the garden, as well as other activities and socialising with mates.

Holidays have also required me to shelve my routine a lot. I have been on holiday nine times, three of them in the UK and the rest abroad. There are a few other things going on too, notably bi-monthly get-togethers with a bunch of old retired workmates to travel around the local area via train to seek out new pubs and new breweries – to boldly drink beer where no Mancunian has drunk beer before.  

As well as that, I have become a domestic goddess. Mrs PM is still working and so while she slaves away over a hot laptop, I look after domestic chores such as washing, shopping and being a slave to our two furry overlords. 

That works well and I am (relatively) happy to take over. 

What about the future? 

I am going on another holiday at the end of next week, a cruise around the Aegean Sea with two friends, and after that I will take stock of where I am and consider changing things around a little bit as winter approaches. 

I don’t think that I will change much, if I’m honest, because I am content at the moment. I have a list of new things to try and perhaps I will find time but at the moment I am happy to continue for a while. I will of course review again as the New Year approaches, as this is the time that people traditionally review their day to day lives. 

Life is peachy at the moment and I will try to make the most of it while I am still in the go-go period of retirement. As I said above, I have learned that no matter how disciplined I am with a routine, it is absolutely fine to break that for more interesting pursuits – and in fact it should be actively encouraged. 

I expect more of the same next year and I am delighted with that. 

Bastille Day - Nice - 2016

I went on holiday to Nice to relax and extinguish residual anger.

I went on holiday to Nice because I had been there before and I loved it.

I went on holiday to Nice because I love France and I love French people.

I was delighted to discover that Bastille Day was right in the middle of my trip and that I would have a memorable day as a result.

It was memorable – but not for the reasons I expected.

The day started well. We woke up and had a stroll to a local café that served a lovely traditional French breakfast with croissants, pain aux raisins with coffee and jus d’orange.  After that we returned to the hotel and decided to have a lazy day by the beach.

Pretty soon we crossed over Promenade des Anglais and settled down on the beach, reading a book, enjoying the sun (under the shade of an umbrella in my case to protect myself from sunburn) and occasionally dipping into the sea to cool off.

That’s when the day started to go wrong.

A lifeguard on the beach saw a young man in difficulty in the sea and raced in to rescue him. Sadly by the time he had approached the man’s position, there was no sign of him. The lifeguard called the coastguard and very soon a couple of rescue boats appeared, searching for the man. After about twenty minutes, one of the divers spotted a body and dived into the water. They dragged the unconscious man to the beach.

It was too late.

Ambulances and police arrived on the beach and despite attempts to resuscitate the young man, the man was declared dead. A lot of people were upset and we saw an Italian woman consoling a French woman in their only common language – English. Neither of them knew the victim but the French woman’s grief got the better of her.

We were fairly far away from the incident but we were still pretty shaken by it.

In the evening, we stopped at a small bar to have a drink or two before following the crowds back to Promenade des Anglais to join in with the Bastille Day celebrations. The promenade was packed with people and families of all ages and although most of the people were French we saw quite a few other nationalities waiting for the festivities to begin.

At just after ten, all eyes turned towards the sea as the first of a spectacular series of fireworks lit up the night sky. I’ve always loved fireworks and the look of glee on my face matched that of the children nearby. I could hear gasps of amazement and whoops and cries of joy as the black sky became a cascading kaleidoscope of colour accompanied by distant explosions from the sea.

When the firework display stopped, there was a huge cheer from the crowd and lots of applause. Just to our right, a small stage suddenly burst into life with live music as the Prom Party started. For a moment we were tempted to stay and listen to the music and watch the people enjoying themselves. I suggested that we head back to the Old Town for a night cap and Mrs PM agreed.

We left the promenade and walked past our hotel with the crowds. A work colleague of Mrs PM’s and his wife were also in Nice that week and we had been out with them a couple of times already. We bumped into them just outside the Palais de Justice and had a quick chat about the fireworks.

Suddenly, a crowd of people came running from the direction we had been in, bumping into us and screaming as they ran past.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” said Mrs PM’s colleague,” but they are all running – so should we.”

Without thinking any further I grabbed Mrs PM’s hand and we ran into the Old Town with the crowd into the narrow streets. People in the restaurants and bars began to panic and as we ran, the proprietors began closing their doors. I looked around and there was no sign of Mrs PM’s colleague.

Eventually, after a few minutes, we stopped as people ran past shouting into their phones, some people crying, others looking terrified.

We passed some stairs that led to a main road and saw a lot of people on the steps staring down towards the promenade. Without warning, there were screams and everyone turned and ran down the steps toward us. One older man tried to leap from the steps over a wall and tripped, landing on his knees. Adrenaline must have been coursing through his body because he jumped to his feet and ran away. We followed the crowd further and stopped again trying to ask what was going on.

A young woman spoke to Mrs PM, who speaks very good French. My French is poor and while I only understood a little of what she had said, her gesture of a man shooting a gun spoke volumes. She switched to English and said “Don’t stay here! Run!”

I grabbed Mrs PM’s hand again and we found the main road and ran towards Place Garibaldi, where we had stayed on our last visit. Mrs PM rang her mum as we ran, but she wasn't in, so she left a message saying that something had happened in Nice but that we were okay – at least for now I thought!

When we reached Place Garibaldi, we noticed that the number of running and panicking people had slowed down and people were standing around, talking to each other and ringing loved ones. I looked for a policeman or somebody else in authority but all I saw were a few emergency vehicles shooting past, sirens blaring.

Mrs PM stopped a group of older people and asked once again what had happened.

The woman spoke in English and told us that a lorry had hit the crowd on Promenade des Anglais but, she thought, there was no danger. At this point we realised that we were about ten to fifteen minutes’ walk away from our hotel.  People were drifting towards the promenade area, slowly and at this point we assumed that there had been a tragic accident.

Mrs PM’s work colleague was staying very near out hotel and he sent us a message saying that they were back at their apartment.

“Come on, “ I said, “let’s hurry back.”

We walked as quickly as we could back the way we had come and thankfully there were no more hysterical crowds running towards us. We could hear sirens getting louder and eventually we reached our hotel.  On the way we saw no open bars, shops or restaurants and our hotel was in darkness. We entered the hotel and the foyer was full of terrified people who had sought shelter in the nearest refuge they could find.

We arrived at our room and saw a young woman on the corridor.

“Have you come from outside?” she asked in English.

“Yes,” we replied.

“Is it safe now? We have strangers in our room who are terrified.”

We told her what we knew and entered our room to watch the news and search the internet for any hints about what had happened. In the next hour or two the full horror of what had happened dawned on us.

A psychopath had ploughed into the Bastille Day revellers, deliberately running people over and shooting people until eventually the police had stopped him by shooting him dead. If we had decided to stay on the Promenade des Anglais and join in the party we may have been in the firing line.

We heard sirens late into the night and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

The next day, the Promenade des Anglais was closed and the police presence was very evident. We saw television correspondents giving reports from the promenade as well as soldiers walking around alert. We had seen soldiers before the tragedy so this was no surprise. To me, however, the police presence was increased slightly, particularly around the tourist areas surrounding the Old Town.

However, I was relieved to see people going about their daily business with an air of defiance tinged by a little sadness. My feelings were exactly the same, as were Mrs PM’s, and despite one or two calls for us to come home, we decided that we were going to stay and enjoy our final few days.

And we did.

We have not been put off by neither Nice nor the rest of France by this and I aim to return to both soon.

The one thing this episode has done has strengthened my resolve somewhat. While we weren’t directly affected, we were both close enough to the attack and, if we had decided to join the party or move closer to where the incident took place, things may have been different.

For three days we stood shoulder to shoulder with France.

We will continue to do so.

Coincidence?

In the UK we have a motoring organisation called The Automobile Association (or AA for short). A man who works for them had a day off and had used that time to drive to the country and go for a walk, effectively in the middle of nowhere. 

He passed a public phone box and at that moment, it started to ring. Feeling curious, the guy decided to answer it, only to find that the person on the other end of the phone was somebody he worked with at the AA. 

The caller had meant to ring the guy’s mobile phone number but had mistakenly dialled the guy’s staff number instead. And that staff number just happened to be the same number of the phone that our hero was walking past at that precise moment.

What are the chances of that happening?

I love stuff like this, however hard it is to believe. Statistically it would be nearly impossible for the phone call to happen at that precise time given all the variables and scenarios that could have happened.

It’s mind boggling.

Sadly a coincidence on that scale has never happened to me. That said, a couple of things have happened in recent years that have surprised me. Here are two of them. Names have been changed, as usual, to protect the guilty.

A couple of years ago, Mrs PM and I decided to have a long weekend in London. Mrs PM wanted to be a total tourist in our capital. We took Friday off work and checked into our hotel on the south bank of the river Thames at about lunchtime.

We strolled to Tower Bridge and mingled with other tourists taking photos of one of London’s most iconic sights before crossing it and having a late lunch in a nearby pub. After that, Mrs PM decided that she hadn’t seen the Crown Jewels so our next destination, just over the river, was the Tower of London. We spent the rest of the afternoon looking around one of our most historical buildings, culminating, at the end, in a queue to see the Queen’s jewellery box. 

After that, we were about to leave when Mrs PM told me that she just needed to answer a call of nature. I decided to try too because it was a fair walk back to the hotel. Of course, public toilet etiquette dictates that men are not supposed to talk to each other or look at each other while doing the business, so in my blinkered cave-like world I just answered the call as quickly as I could. 

On the way out, I walked behind another man and a thought entered my head: “that guy in front looks just like Ben from work.”

I was unsure so I didn’t say anything. When we left the loo, the guy walked over to his wife and kids who were waiting for him. It was Ben after all.

I had taken a day off, come to London, decided to visit one of the thousands of attractions in that city at precisely that time and decided to relieve myself at exactly the same moment as him.

I stood waiting outside the ladies toilet for Mr PM and watched Ben and his family walk towards me. I stared at him with a huge grin on my face. I don’t think I have ever seen a better double take in my entire life.

He glanced at me, glanced at his wife and then stared straight back at me, with recognition dawning on his face.

“What the PHHAAARKKK are you doing here?” he asked incredulously. Just at that moment, Mrs PM came out of the ladies and I saw my second favourite double take. Mrs PM saw Ben, looked at me and then stared at Ben and said “What the PHHAAARKK are you doing here?”

The second coincidence also involved a work colleague who I shall refer to as Walter. On our desk at work, whenever Walter goes on holiday to the sun, he makes it known to the entire desk, gloating for weeks in advance until the week before when he steadily becomes insufferable! To him, a holiday is a way to totally destress with absolutely no reminders of work. For the period of his holiday he can totally relax and cast away all of his work woes, popping them into a little box so that he can enjoy himself. 

A couple of years ago, he had just booked his holiday and walked around to my desk to gloat. 

“Guess where I’m going on 20th August?” he said with a grin. 

“Who cares?” I said. 

But then I remembered. 

“Actually, we’re going away that week too,” I said with some satisfaction. I showed him my calendar with the week clearly highlighted in yellow to indicate “Annual Leave”. 

His face dropped and he returned back from gloat mode to normal mode. 

“Going anywhere nice?” he asked. 

“Turkey,” I replied.

His face dropped further.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Turkey’s a big country,” he said. “Where exactly?”

“I think the place is a little town next to Bodrum called Gumbet,” I said. 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” he yelled. 

His face was a picture and I wish I’d had a camera.

“Don’t tell me you are going to Gumbet that week too,” I said. 

Of course he was!

I had already ruined his holiday because if he bumped into me while enjoying a relaxing time, it would remind him of work and raise his stress levels. 

What followed for the next few weeks was the best period of winding poor Walter up that the entire desk has ever enjoyed. He stupidly let slip the name of the hotel he was staying at and I pretended that we too were in that hotel. We were in a different one.

“Maybe we’ll be in the room next door,” I suggested. “We can go the beach together and enjoy the sun in our speedos!” 

What he really feared was me telling his missus all sorts of funny things about him – I had never actually met her at that point.

I think, to be  honest, he thought the entire thing was a massive wind-up and that I wasn’t going on holiday to the same place at all – that is until the day that Mrs PM and I were sitting at a table on a beach in Gumbet, enjoying an evening meal. I saw Walter walk past and shouted:

 “OY! WALTER!!”

His exact words were: “OH PHHAAAARRKKK!! Oh I mean – Hi Dave!”

Of course, I didn’t drop him in it at all and told him that we had no interest in stalking him on his holiday. That said, we did meet up a couple of times for drinks and had a good laugh.

Of course now, he refuses to tell anybody where he is going on holiday just in case. But you can’t fool fate and I am sure it will happen again, no matter how impossible he thinks it is. 

I really hope so!

Personally, the only coincidence I really want to be part of now is that the lottery balls drawn tonight match the lottery balls I have selected.

It could happen!

And now over to you, dear reader. 

Have you experienced any weird coincidences?

Dave Versus The Volcano

I have recently fulfilled a rather strange ambition; I have stood on the edge of the crater of an active volcano.

To be honest, it wasn’t really an ambition – it’s just something I have never done before – and I didn’t really plan to do it.

It was an accident.

This rare episode occurred in Santorini, a most beautiful Greek island, which was formed as the result of an enormous volcanic eruption thousands of years ago and is thought to have contributed to the demise of the Minoan civilisation on the nearby island of Crete.  Basically Santorini is what’s left of the island of Thera, a much bigger island that was devastated by the eruption.

Our initial plan was to visit the old port of Fira and take a boat trip around the small uninhabited volcanic island of Nea Kameni and then take a dip in some hot springs. Sadly, our plans went awry, when a small in a boat tried to charge us 200 Euros. In the end we went with the tourists on a packed boat, for the princely sum of 15 Euros each.

To our surprise, the boat arrived at Nea Kameni, and we were treated to a stroll up to the active crater at the top of the island. I was totally unprepared for the hike, wearing beach sandals instead of half decent trainers. Mrs PM and I also had very little water and the temperature was fairly high.

The walk was relatively easy but the temperature and the ground made it tricky for me, not because I am so unfit that I can’t climb what was effectively a small hill; my sandals were constantly filling up with tiny bits of volcanic rock, which felt the need to glue themselves to my sweating feet and irritating the skin.

I moaned to Mrs PM about my choice of footwear. As we climbed, we saw a lot of signs warning us not to take samples of the rocks.

“So will they check my feet and sandals?” I quipped. “I’ve probably acquired a couple of pounds of volcano in my sandals; my feet will look like The Thing's from the Fantastic Four - only black.

We were accompanied by a polyglot guide, who spoke in Greek, Spanish, English and Italian. Not only was his knowledge of the volcano exceptional, his command of language was terrific.

At the peak, we stood next to a still active crater, complete with smoking rocks and the distinctive smell of sulphur and enjoyed an incredible view of Santorini and the surrounding islands.

We returned to the boat, whereupon I spent half an hour chipping volcanic rock from my disgustingly sweaty feet. The boat continued to the hot springs on the smaller island of Palia Kameni and we were told that we had to swim 50 or 60 yards to reach the spring.

“It is best to jump off the boat,” said our guide. “But you can climb down the ladder if you wish.”

I read that as “you can climb down the ladder if you a GREAT BIG COWARD AND TOO SCARED TO JUMP IN THE WATER.”

The captain of the boat had a magnificent huge white beard and was also an impressive polyglot. As we queued for the ladder, he was challenging people to just leap from the side of the boat. The captain urged a Spanish guy in front of me to leap into the sea and he duly obliged. His girlfriend was less keen and under duress was persuaded by the captain, now speaking fluent Spanish, to follow her boyfriend’s lead. She reluctantly climbed over the side and clung to the captain.

“No es frio,” said her boyfriend now treading water. “It isn’t cold.”

After an eternity she finally leapt in.

The captain looked at me and smiled. “Your turn,” he said in perfect English.

I asked myself how he knew I was English, but perhaps my light hair, pale skin and general demeanour told him my nationality. Actually, bizarrely, I am usually mistaken for a German and I often find random Germans picking me out from a crowd as the obvious German. Why? I have no idea but it happens a lot. For example, last year we flew to Hong Kong on Lufthansa, and the stewardess welcomed Mrs PM on board the plane with a very friendly “Hello and welcome to our flight.” I was behind Mrs PM and the same stewardess said to me “Guten Tag und willkommen auf unserem Flug”.

Anyway, the captain looked at me as if to say “Are you going to jump – or are you CHICKEN?”

In typical Marty McFly fashion I said “Of course I’m going to jump!”

And I did. And it was fantastic.

We swam slowly to the hot springs on the rocky shoreline of the tiny island and as we approached we could feel the difference in temperature as the water became hotter and more yellow; you could see the brown and yellow particles in the water. It was wonderful.

Sadly, when I finally got back to the hotel and had a shower, I realised that I needed to take two showers to remove the residue of the hot springs. After my first shower, I towelled myself down on the pristine perfectly white fluffy hotel towels and realised with horror that I wasn’t quite clean enough – the towels where filthy , now coloured with a revolting and highly suspect browny yellow colour.

I think, for a while, I must have looked like I had a proper suntan.

I have to admit that Santorini is my favourite Greek island so far. The views over the caldera are stunning, particularly when the sun sets in the evening. It is definitely worth paying a little bit extra for a cold beer while watching wonderful sunset.

Another surprising thing about the island is the varied nationalities of tourists. On past visits to Greece, I have usually only encountered Greeks (obviously), Germans and British people. On this trip we encountered Russians, Americans, South Africans, Spaniards, French, Germans, Italians, British, Australians, Chinese and Japanese as well as a family from Venezuela and even Greek tourists from the other islands – a truly cosmopolitan tourist venue.

I’ll leave you with a few photos of this beautiful place – I hope you agree.

Fira

Beautiful sunset

Another beautiful sunset

The town of Oia

Another view of Oia

The hotel's cat trying to drink the swimming pool. We christened her "Pussaka"!

This is where Dave took on the volcano with sandals full of volcanic boulders!

View of Palia Kameni and Aspronisi from Nea Kameni.

Monte Carlo or Bust!

I recently visited a brand new country, my 31st in total. This was no ordinary country; it was The Principality of Monaco, the second smallest country in the world (behind Vatican City).

I’ve always wanted to visit Monaco.

Way back in the 1970’s I would watch James Bond films, and TV series like The Persuaders, where international jetsetters would drive around the French Riviera and pop into casinos winning vast quantities of money while watched by gorgeous women.

I woke up on the morning of our day out to Monaco having dreamt of driving along winding coastal roads high up on hills overlooking a beautiful, tranquil Mediterranean Sea, at the wheel of a flash red car with the wind blowing through my horrific hair.

Mrs PM helped to shatter that illusion: “Shall we go on the bus?”

The good news was that the bus from Nice to Monaco travelled along such a scenic road; it was regular (every fifteen minutes) and cheap (1.5 Euros). Sadly, it was packed and we had to stand up all the way there (an hour in total).

On the bus, I noticed a very strange man. He had dreadlocks that were completely matted and stretched almost all of the way down his back to his feet. What made it worse was that he was receding and had hardly any hair on the top of his head. Two young girls of about eleven actually panicked when they had to walk past him.

The first girl said “J’ai peur!” (“I’m afraid!”).

The second girl said “Ne t’inquiet pas!” (“Don’t worry!”) and they kind of sidled past him.

We left the bus at the iconic Monte Carlo Casino. It was a glorious day and the place was full of tourists all crowding around trying to get photographs. I would have liked to have stepped into the casino but wearing shorts and a T-shirt prohibited me. I saw a couple of people walking towards the place dressed up in full designer suits complete with crisp white shirt and tie. Parked outside the casino were several super cars including a bright yellow Lamborghini. People were just as interested in the cars as they were in the casino itself.

Apart from the casino, Monaco is also famous for the Monaco Formula One Grand Prix, and boasts the only circuit that is made up of public roads. I’ve never really enjoyed the Monaco Grand Prix that much because of the nature of the track which makes it very difficult to overtake. That said, however, there have been one or two interesting races in the past and the scenery is arguably the best of all the circuits. The famous hairpin bend was very close to the casino and a lot of tourists were taking photographs of this dangerous curve. We walked down past the bend and through the famous tunnel that makes up the next part of the circuit. It was loud enough with normal everyday cars travelling through it and I can only imagine the noise when several Formula One racing cars are charging through at over 200mph.

After the tunnel, we found ourselves on the marina, where we enjoyed looking at the large expensive yachts, before stopping for a quite expensive lunch.

While Monaco is small, we were a bit limited in time, so we opted to take an open top bus tour around the remainder of the principality, so that we could stop off at places of interest and explore without walking everywhere in the increasing heat.

The bus tour provided us with a lot of useful information about Monaco. I thought I knew what to expect but some things surprised me. For example, Monaco has its own language, Monégasque, and street signs are shown in both French and Monégasque. An example of the language is:

Santa Maria, maire de Diu,

prega per nùi, pecatùi

aùra e à l'ura d'a nostra morte

which is an excerpt from the Hail Mary prayer.

Also, the total area of Monaco is a mere two square kilometres. The principality has a monarchy, the current ruler being Albert II.

Monaco is also a tax haven and as such attracts extremely wealthy people from all over Europe. Imagine being a billionaire and having to pay no income tax at all?

Eventually the bus took us to the old town, called Monaco-Ville, which is located high on a rocky promontory that offers fantastic views of the principality. The area was similar to the old town in Nice with narrow streets containing shops and restaurants.

We took the time to stroll around the streets, devour a wonderfully creamy ice cream and relax enjoying the fabulous views, before catching the bus back to the casino so that we could return to Nice.

Sadly, the journey back to Nice was irritating too because once again we had to stand up all the way back and, thanks to roadworks, had to endure a much longer journey. There was one minor piece of entertainment when the driver ignored a woman who had pressed the “Please Stop the Bus” sign. This small young French lady yelled from the back of the bus, her voice reaching almost ear-shattering pitches until eventually the driver, presumably as deaf as the rest of us, pulled over finally, to let her out. The words that came out of her mouth made the remaining French passengers snigger. I understood none of them. Mrs PM, who speaks French extremely well, also sniggered and told me in no uncertain terms that the woman had poured forth a lot of expletives questioning the driver’s parentage and sexual preferences.

I’ll leave you with a few photographs showing how the other half lives.

Monte Carlo Casino - James Bond won't let me in because I am wearing shorts.
What a MEATHEAD!

My next car

Monte Carlo Casino - in a mirror

Not quite a Formula One Grand Prix

My next boat

Port Hercule - A place to park my boat when I win Euromillions

What shall I shoot?

Port de Fontvieille - an alternative place for my boat

When I win the Euromillions Lottery I will certainly consider moving to Monaco. Don’t worry, I will tell you all about driving around the Grand Prix circuit in my bright yellow Lamborghini – I owe you that much, dear reader.

Nice la Belle

I was tempted to call this post Nice is nice but to be honest I thought that would be a little corny and I wanted to express my true feelings about this fabulous French city from where I have just returned.

The city is actually called Nice La Belle, which is French for Nice the Beautiful and having just spent a week there, I am of the opinion that it is a very fitting name.

We were located in an old traditional apartment very close to Place Garibaldi, which is a central location very close to the city centre, and more importantly, to Vieux Nice (old Nice), the old town, an almost labyrinthine area of narrow streets full of tiny and extremely quaint shops, small traditional French cafés as well as restaurants and bars and even a traditional old market.

I was accompanied, of course, by Mrs PM but also my eldest son Stephen and his girlfriend.

Our apartment was ideally situated, just a short walk from a supermarket and a wonderful bakery that enabled us to buy fresh bread,  pain au chocolat and pain au raisin to enjoy for breakfast every day. I also indulged myself with French ham and, naturally, some delicious camembert.

Being based in Nice, we were able to visit a couple of other local famous locations on the Côte d'Azur, namely Cannes and Monaco, which I will dedicate a separate post to a little later.

Being with the kids, there was more emphasis on relaxing by the beach but Mrs PM and I had some influence, persuading them to explore the local area and sample the delights of southern France while at the same time allowing them to persuade us to spend time at the beach and the extremely inviting Mediterranean Sea.

Spending a day on the beach was quite expensive; we had a choice of staying on the public beach or renting a sunbed and parasol with mats to allow us easy access to the sea. SInce the beach was full of pebbles rather than golden sand, we opted for the more expensive option as it was far more comfortable and we were right next to a restaurant with waiters serving drinks to your own sunbed next to the sea. It was a temptation we simply couldn’t resist.

I did learn a valuable lesson while on the beach:

Remember to take your wallet out of your pocket when walking into the sea.

Yes I was that stupid. I walked into the Mediterranean Sea with a wallet full of Euros and Pound Sterling as well as a credit card.

Isn't it funny how you only realise your mistake when you are floating in a beautiful turquoise blue sea? Talk about shattering a peaceful moment.I had to dry out my wallet and my Euros on the sunbed for an hour having made a complete arse of myself in front of my chuckling family – and no doubt quite a few fellow sun worshippers.

And I wasn't allowed to forget my error.

The beach area we chose was adjacent to the old town, which allowed us to pop to lovely little cafés for a light lunch (that sometimes wasn’t always that light) so at least when my money had dried out, I could drown my sorrows (while suffering merciless piss-taking at the hands of people who are supposed to love me).

The old town is delightful and when we ended up visiting the area every night for our evening meal, consisting of typically delicious French cuisine accompanied by a baron of French beer and/or a glass or two of fantastic wine.

Mrs PM led the way with her command of French but by the end of the week, the rest of us had gained enough confidence to test out our own skills. The kids basically copied the words Mrs PM spoke, whereas I, claiming to know a little more French, was a little braver sometimes attempting primitive conversation (on my part at least).

I only fell foul of my lack of vocabulary a couple of times, usually when the polite French people spoke back to me at the speed of light, prompting me to shrug in the characteristic Gallic fashion with the words “Je suis désolé; je ne comprends pas” before allowing Mrs PM to bail me out.

I did okay though.

The people of Nice were extremely friendly, something stereotypical Brits do not associate with our friends from across the English Channel. Basically I have always found most French people to be extremely accommodating, with the possible exception of certain Parisians with whom I have had trouble on just about every visit. A lot of French people outside the capital also feel the same to be honest. The extremely funny taxi driver who took us back to the airport remarked upon the fact a lot of Parisian tourists who come to Nice look down their noses at the local people. So it’s not just us. In fact, given that certain Londoners are also extremely arrogant, I can sympathise with them.

One other thing I noticed about Nice was that there is quite a noticeable Italian influence. Of all the other nationalities we encountered during our week, there were a lot of Italians there; in fact some of the street names in the old town were in both French and Italian. I didn’t realise just how close the city was from the Italian border. In fact it is only around 15 miles to the border from the old town.

We certainly enjoyed more than our fair share of Italian ice cream.

On our final day, we walked to Parc de la Colline du Chateau, a park that overlooks the old town and the Baie des Anges for some breathtaking views of the city in the glorious sunshine that we had enjoyed for just about all of the week (apart from a rather spectacular thunderstorm one day which we fortunately just missed and forced us to sit in a restaurant for a little longer than we had anticipated – allowing me to enjoy an extra baron of Kronenbourg!).

Sadly, we are back now but I wonder whether we traversed a weird space vortex on our trip back to Manchester. The temperature in Nice was a very pleasant 27 °C and back in Manchester today the temperature is exactly the same. I think we must have brought back a little bit of Nice with us.
I leave you with a few photographs of the city.

Stephen and his girlfriend make a new friend in the old town

Place Garibaldi

Shopping in the old town

Like father like son (yes - we were in big trouble)

Mrs PM ordered cactus for dinner

Nice from Parc de la Colline du Chateau

Old town market

A quaint little shop

I think we might return in the future because Nice is, as the name suggests, very beautiful. I recommend it.

Taking Notes

A year or two ago, I declared war on procrastination and told the world that I would write a book.

The good news is that I am about to start and hopefully score a massive victory after years of abject failure.

Actually, what I am planning isn’t really a book as such; it is a travelogue of my recent trip to Hong Kong and Japan. It will be my third such piece of work.

There is also an added bonus. Because I travelled to the other side of the world, jet lag claimed me as a victim for a couple of nights, resulting in my lying wide awake in bed at 3am with Mrs PM, a woman who can sleep anywhere and anytime, snoring loudly next to me, leaving me no other option but to create a novel in my head.

As I lay there in the dark, soaring through my own imagination, I came up with a story that I think will work. Furthermore (and this is a definite first), I have an ending.

I am therefore going to say to you now, dear reader, that by the end of 2013 I will attempt to write not one but TWO books.

I will start work on the travelogue immediately and the novel will begin on 1^st November and will be completed on 30^th November, providing that my company doesn’t send me abroad again. That’s right – I will attempt to create a novel in National Novel Writing Month in November.

The travelogue will, of course, be easier than the novel because I will take my time over the coming five months using the copious notes, photographs and sound bites I recorded during the trip.

Real published writers have told me in the past that the notebook is perhaps the most important tool in a writer’s toolbox. I would go further and suggest that a camera is also imperative and, in case of emergency, a device for recording verbal notes.

When I travelled around China and down the east coast of Australia, I had a notebook with me all of the time. My problem is that I am quite shy and hate having attention drawn towards me and making notes in public is, to me, quite a difficult thing to do, depending on the situation.

In China, it was easier because I had Mrs PM with me and I was already the centre of attention, due to my obvious foreign appearance, exaggerated by my blonde hair and wispy ginger beard. Some of the local people openly stared at me, making me the centre of attention by default. Whipping out my notebook to write notes about the contents of the plate in front of me in a weird restaurant did nothing to make that situation worse.

Australia was trickier. We were accompanied by Mrs PM’s mum and her other half, and I was writing the travelogue as a 60^th birthday present. I had to hide the notebook whenever we were all together and make notes from memory at the end of the day or the beginning of the next day, lest she ask awkward questions like:

“Why are you writing everything down?”

Thankfully, we were in possession of a fairly decent digital camera and I could elaborate on my mental notes with decent photographs. In China we didn't have a decent camera and had to use film. We didn’t take anywhere near enough photographs. In Australia, however, I took loads of them and, on occasion, was asked questions by \mrs PM's mum like:

“Why are you taking a photo of the menu?” 

to which my reply was: 

“Just to show my mates that you can actually eat kangaroo down under.”

Japan was better in many ways, but worse in others. 

Unlike in China, we weren’t the centre of attention in Japan but because Japan is arguably the most amazing country I have ever visited, my notebook was a constant companion. 

At first, Mrs PM volunteered to carry it around in her handbag. After a while, with constant requests to “hand me the notebook”, she began to tire of it. Mrs PM’s handbag is like the TARDIS, small on the outside but seemingly huge on the inside. However, with guide books a phone, a Nexus 7 tablet, my notebook, a camera and everything that she needed to survive outside the hotel room contained within, she found on occasion that it got a little too heavy and awkward to carry.

I offered to take my rucksack, which is like an inverse TARDIS, big on the outside but seemingly tiny on the inside and even more awkward for me to carry. Besides, Mrs PM, as forgetful as she is, never ever leaves her handbag behind in restaurants and bars. Sadly, because I am not used to carrying a bag normally, I have a tendency to leave things behind. I promise that I don’t do it on purpose and have lost countless umbrellas by leaving them on buses and trains or in restaurants and pubs because I simply forget I have something with me.

I walked out of one hotel in Japan to check out and actually left the rucksack behind in the room. Thankfully, I realised before we caught the taxi to the railway station, prompting Mrs PM to demand that I leave it in the hotel room when we were out and about.

Making notes in Japan drew back vague feelings of anxiety about being the centre of attention in the middle of a bunch of strangers because I would invariably take it out and start scribbling in a restaurant or bar full of people. On more than one occasion, I noticed that the staff in particular were watching me surreptitiously, as if I were a food critic or something. On a train, one guy next to me was actually trying to read what I was writing.

Whether or not he could understand English, read my dreadful scribbling or even make sense of my terse and unintelligible notes is irrelevant; I felt self-conscious. It didn’t stop me from scribbling but the feelings were unmistakeable.

I discovered yet another tool during this trip that also had potential for embarrassment. One day, as we were strolling around, I asked Mrs PM for the notebook, only to discover that I had forgotten to put it in her handbag.

As I cursed my luck, Mrs PM made a suggestion.

“Why don’t you use the voice recorder on your phone?”

This proved to be a fabulous idea and I found myself pausing every so often to record a small sound bite or two to serve as memory stimulation for when I returned to the hotel. I could pretend that I was making a phone call, but unfortunately on at least a couple of occasions, I found myself getting carried away and talking loudly in full earshot of passers-by. While it may be fine in Japan, it may yet prove to be potentially awkward if I feel the need to use it in the UK or somewhere where English is widely spoken.

Can you imagine: 

“I’ve just walked past the weirdest meathead I have ever seen. Oh dear – I think he’s heard me. Oh no – I am now running away. Shit – he’s caught me and is about to …”

I just need to learn to be discrete and not use my normal loud phone voice when recording such messages.

Work starts on the travelogue later today (I’m currently off for the rest of the week to recover from jet lag in the comfort of my own home) and hopefully the novel will be spawned in November. While I am promising myself I will complete these tasks, the thing I can’t promise is that the two manuscripts will be appealing to anybody but me and perhaps Mrs PM.

Hopefully they will be a bit of fun and I may pop the travelogue into a brand new blog. Either way, expect a few excerpts, summaries and snapshots on this blog in the next month or two.

My ABC of Travel

Travelling is good for the soul, or so I have heard, which is great news for my soul as I have soundly bitten by the travel bug.

My job involves travelling occasionally, although these days I am less keen to jet off to another country with work because I know that when I get there I will get little chance to see the place due to the demands that are thrust upon me.

Sometimes I get lucky and get some time off; others I quite literally arrive, work, eat, sleep and then repeat that monotonous list until I have to leave again, with little or no chance to break the chains and escape for a little adventure.

Holidays are obviously the best way to travel simply because I am not constrained by the chains of employment.

Anyway – to the point of this post. I have discovered an A to Z travel meme I thought might be fun to have a go at.

So without further ado, let’s dive straight in:

A: Age you made your first international trip

I made my first trip abroad when I was 20 years old. I travelled to Holland and Germany but I was totally naïve. Such a lot happened on the trip that I could write several posts on the subject. It all started off in Amsterdam, a city I have been back to more times than I can remember, both with work and travel, and ended up at the Oktoberfest in Munich.

I will reveal all in a future post.

B: Best (foreign) beer you’ve had and where

There are so many spectacularly good Belgian beers that it is difficult to choose one. I will select De Koninck because it was always my first beer of the night when I was working in Amsterdam, which is the place I first tried it.

C: Cuisine (Favourite)

I love Chinese food, particularly in China itself. On a recent work trip to Kunming in China, every meal time was fantastic, particularly because we dined with local Chinese guys who ordered some of the most amazing dishes I have ever tasted. I had to stipulate that I would not eat insects. I don’t think that I did – but to be honest I wouldn’t have known.

D: Destinations. Favourite. Least Favourite. Why?

My favourite destination is Hong Kong. The whole city is vibrant, colourful and an amazing combination of east and west. It holds a special place in my heart because that is where Mrs PM revealed her feelings for me. With work and travel I have spent well over a year of my life in that wonderful city and I would be tempted to live there if I had the means and opportunity. In fact, next year we are going to another place I have always wanted to visit – Japan – and we are going back to spend three more days in Hong Kong on the way. I can’t wait.

My least favourite destination is probably Chongqing in China. When Mrs PM and I visited the city it was merely as the starting point of a cruise down the Yangtze River, which itself was a total hellish disaster. The city itself was crammed, dirty and polluted as well as having the worst drivers in China (which is quite a spectacular achievement in itself).

E: Event you experienced that made you say ‘Wow’

That is easy; Niagara Falls. I have been to Niagara twice and each time I have been lost for words. It is a beautiful, natural phenomenon that really did take my breath away.

F: Favourite mode of transportation

I love travelling but hate getting there. I think the train is probably the least offensive mode of transportation, particularly if you can sleep in the comfort of a bed, as we did on an overnight trip from Beijing to Shanghai. The sound and motion of the train makes it very easy to fall asleep.

G: Greatest feeling while travelling

The greatest feeling is the first day in a new place; leaving the hotel for the first time to explore a new country or city, venturing into the unknown.

H: Hottest place I’ve travelled to

Las Vegas, without a doubt. The temperature outside was 45 °C compared to inside the hotels where the air conditioning bordered on being too cold. Mrs PM and I walked down The Las Vegas Strip, seeking sanctuary in each hotel. It was too hot to walk back and we wilted while waiting for a bus. In the end we got a taxi.

I: Incredible service you’ve experienced and where

It’s tough to find better service than in nice restaurants in the United States. I know that all they want is a tip and they are not really your best friend, but it is nice all the same.

J: Journey that took you the longest

I travelled to Australia but we stopped in Hong Kong on the way there and Singapore on the way back, so I guess that doesn’t count. The longest trip in one go has to be to and from Kunming a year or two ago. I had to fly from Manchester to Amsterdam, Amsterdam to Beijing and Beijing to Kunming. The entire journey took almost 24 hours. I was absolutely shattered each time, so much so that on the way back from Amsterdam to Manchester, I only woke up when the plane touched down.

K: Keepsake from your travels

If I keep keepsakes, Mrs PM accuses me of hoarding .However, there are quite a few trinkets lying around the house in places that Mrs PM has yet to discover. I guess, the best keepsakes that will remain untouched are the photos we have.

L: Let down sight. Why and where?

Grauman’s Chinese Theater in Hollywood. I was expecting the glitz and glamour of the Los Angeles film industry and possibly the opportunity to spot a famous face or two. Instead, it is in an area that is not the best and although you can look at the pavement stars and the handprints, it was too busy with tourists and I simply didn’t get the inner reaction I expected.

M: Moment where you fell in love with travel

That would have to be that first trip to Holland and Germany. When I arrived home, I was desperate to get away again – and I did the following summer when I went travelling around Europe again.

N: Nicest hotel you’ve stayed in

It’s tough to beat the Bishop Lei Hotel in Hong Kong. Mrs PM and I lived there for three months while working in the city. We negotiated a discount on a suite that overlooked Hong Kong harbour and woke up to spectacular views every single day. We got to know the staff too and we are going to stay there again when we visit next year.

O: Obsession. What are you obsessed with taking pictures of while travelling?

I really want to be able to take pictures of the people but I am not very good at doing so, simply because I don’t want to offend anybody. I have managed to take some, but I really need to invest in a camera with a bigger zoom capability.

I do like taking pictures of famous iconic symbols too – but not with my ugly mug in them.

P: Passport stamps. How many and from where?

I used to have loads but nowadays we don’t get them when travelling in Europe. However, I do have some pretty good ones like: South Africa, Russia, China, Thailand, Canada, The United States, Hong Kong, Macau, Australia, Singapore, Barbados, The Bahamas, Trinidad and Tobago and The United Arab Emirates. There are probably more.

Q: Quirkiest attraction you’ve visited and where.

There have been some odd things I’ve seen on my travels, changing the Kremlin guards was quite amusing because of the regimented choreography involved. Also, an impromptu Dragon Dance in Beijing where Mrs PM and I captivated almost as much interest from the locals as the dragon itself.

R: Recommended sight, event, or experience

I have several that leap immediately to mind.

Niagara Falls, Sydney Harbour, Eiffel Tower, Pearl Tower in Shanghai, Grand Canyon, visit the Kremlin, St Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow, London (generally), Empire State Building in New York, A traditional jazz bar in New Orleans, a stroll round Boston, Madrid, a stroll around Rome, Pompeii, Positano and the Amalfi Coast, Amsterdam, The Great Wall of China, The Forbidden City, a river boat cruise in Bangkok, a stroll on the beach in Port Douglas Australia, a river cruise in Singapore and a meal at Café Deco on Victoria Peak in Hong Kong.

If I rack my brains I could write an entire post on this.

S: Splurge. Something you have no problem forking over for while travelling.

Everything – except Thai food which I just don’t like (making life particularly difficult on holidays to Thailand).

T: Touristy thing you’ve done

I’ve done loads of touristy things. If there is a major tourist attraction where I am I will go and see it if I can, which means that I have a massive list of things I could write about. See R above for some of them.

U: Unforgettable travel memory

A two week trip around China in 1999. If it were made into a film it would be called “Planes, Trains, Automobiles and Boats – Chinese style”. A scary but hugely rewarding backpacking experience. I am hoping that Japan next year surpasses it.

V: Visas. How many of them and for where.

I assume this means Visas I have had to have beforehand. Usually when you travel to a country, if they are friendly with the UK you get a visa on arrival. In some countries you have to get one in advance and be invited by somebody, usually a company. In which case, only two leap to mind – Russia and China. Other visas have been acquired on arrival.

W: Wine, best glass while traveling and where.

The only one that leaps to mind is a glass of Rioja in Madrid. I love Rioja. Having said that, I tasted some delightful wines on wine tasting tour in the Napa Valley, California and a similar one in Hunter Valley in Australia.

X: eXcellent view and from where

I’ll select one that I haven’t mentioned yet – Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower – if I can get over my fear of heights.

Y: Years spent traveling

I guess since the first time I travelled abroad at the age of 20, it has to be 30 years (minus the odd few when the boys were very small).

Z: Zealous sports fans and where

Amsterdam. I was working there on my own and walked out of Centraal Station on my way to the hotel and was confronted by an army of Dutch football fans ready to catch the train to see the national team play against Wales in a World Cup qualifying game. I have never seen so much orange in my life. Flags and banners were everywhere and even the people were orange, having painted their faces. And every single one of them was chanting a Dutch football song – the same song as far as I could tell. It was an absolutely unbelievable and slightly scary sight, even though there was no hint of malice at all.

And finally …

Here’s to the next 30 years of travelling, starting with Tenerife at Christmas, Hong Kong and Japan in May and, to be arranged, Hungary (a country I have never visited) and the South of France.

I can’t wait.

Introducing Captain Chaos

I have three nemeses (four if you count my hair).

I’ve introduced the first, a certain Captain Paranoia who has been with me all through my life convincing me how useless I am, how nobody likes me and how I will inevitably end up alone in a pit of misery and despair. I tend to ignore him these days.

Today I will introduce mysecond nemesis; Captain Chaos.

His aim, as his name suggests, is to make my life as chaotic and unpredictable as possible, a kind of walking version of Murphy’s Law.

Often, he is accompanied by my third nemesis, called Tonto (I will explain in a future post) and together they wreak utter havoc. And when Captain Paranoia joins in, you can imagine what happens. Apparently all three of them are planning a big get together on December 21^st of this year to bring about the end of the world.

But let’s not worry about that just yet.

I’ve just been on holiday to Spain and on the morning of our departure, Captain Chaos chose to spend the day with us.

It all started at 4:45 am.

Being a careful man, I set the alarm for this time so that we could leave the house in plenty of time to get to the airport for our flight to Spain. I’m usually fine when it comes to getting up, but on that day the influence of Captain Chaos began from the very second I awoke.

My usual sense of timing somehow failed me, and I took my time, having a leisurely shower. Mrs PM, a woman who is generally always late – unless I step in and hurry her along – waltzed around the house without a care in the world, slowly making coffee and packing last minute things. I had things to pack too and after my shower, I got dressed and I too drifted around the house like a happy little hamster.

And then I looked at the clock.

We needed to be in a cab by 5:45 am. It was 5:40.

“SHIT!” I said, as Captain Chaos watched with a grin.

“What are you doing?” I shouted to Mrs PM.

“Feeding the cats.”

“Have you called a cab?” I asked.

She didn’t respond but a voice told me she had heard me. That was the voice of Captain Chaos.

I finished packing and checked my list. I hauled our suitcases downstairs to find Mrs PM cleaning out the litter trays and leaving a note for our cat-sitter.

“Where’s your passport?” I asked.

“In my in-tray on the desk,” she replied.

I looked. It wasn’t there. I had my passport safely stashed in my rucksack.

“It’s not there,” I said. “WHERE IS IT?” I was getting a little frustrated.

“I don’t know,” she said, suddenly panicking.

“YOU DON’T KNOW??” I yelled. “WHY DIDN’T YOU LOOK FOR IT LAST NIGHT? WE’RE GONNA BE LATE!!”

We both frantically started turning the place upside down looking for her passport. Captain Chaos watched and laughed. After about ten minutes of searching, she eventually found it in one of the first places she had looked.

Captain Chaos had taken it – I’m sure of that.

“Right,” I said. “Where’s this bloody cab?”

“When did he say he would be here?” said Mrs PM.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “You rang for one.”

“I thought YOU were going to call for one,” she said.

AAAARRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!

A frantic phone call and a despairing ten minute wait later, we were finally on our way to the airport, a full twenty minutes behind schedule.  But Captain Chaos wasn’t finished yet; he had prepared the groundwork for his next surprise.

We arrived at the airport and found our way to the check-in desk, only to find an absolutely enormous queue.

AAARRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!

We had tried to check-in online (as we usually do) but the website had crashed just as we were reserving our seats. We thought we weren’t checked in, so we joined the queue.

I must have checked my watch about 300,000 times in that queue and eventually we arrived at the desk.

“Have you got your boarding cards?” asked the check-in lady.

Captain Chaos smirked.

“We couldn’t check in,” said Mrs PM. “The website crashed.”

“I need to call the supervisor,” said the woman. “There’s a problem.”

Captain Chaos laughed.

After ten more minutes (during which I felt an explosion building up inside), she returned and said “Right, it’s sorted out. I’ll just check for seats.”

“Check for seats?” I asked myself, relieved but still wary.

“There aren’t any free seats,” she said wrinkling her brow.  Captain Chaos was now on the floor rolling about laughing.

“NO SEATS???” I shouted.

“Hang on,” she said – and disappeared again.

I spent the next five minutes trying to control the raging inferno that was building within.

And then Captain Paranoia turned up, giving a high five to Captain Chaos before whispering “You’re not going ANYWHERE mate!”

The lady returned and said “I’ve freed a couple of seats.”

I was delighted and stuck two fingers up at the two Captains.

“Look at the time,” whispered Captain Paranoia. “You’ll never get through security in time.”

When we finally got our boarding passes and waved goodbye to our suitcases, we had to rush through security, where there was an inevitable queue.

AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!

We were looking forward to a leisurely breakfast airside but that went out of the window, when Mrs PM was “randomly” selected for the body scan.

We finally made it airside and I had barely five minutes to make a quick visit to the toilet.

“I’ll see you at gate,” I yelled as I rushed off.

Such was the nature of my call to Mother Nature that I had to find a cubicle. And the only one left was the one whose previous occupant had exploded.

The toilet bowl was home to the most disgusting mess I had ever seen – and it wouldn’t flush away. 

WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS?????

I had no choice. I had to use it. I was desperate.

Thankfully, I managed to flush some of it away when I had finished but as I left the cubicle I found a queue of men waiting to use it.

I just ran – I ran as quickly as I could (although I was tempted to shout “IT WASN’T ME – IT WAS THE BRUTE WHO USED IT BEFORE ME”), with the echo of a guffawing Captain Chaos ringing in my ears, accompanied by the echo of the words of the man who had entered the cubicle after me.

“MY GOD!!!!!! WHAT KIND OF MONSTER ARE YOU?” was all I heard – and I hope he didn’t think that I had done it but I am absolutely certain he is convinced that I was a disgusting feral human being with a MASSIVE bowel problem and absolutely NO IDEA about toilet etiquette. I just hope I don’t bump into him again. The sight in that cubicle is something that will stay etched on his mind forever – I know I can still see it in my nightmares.

I lost sight of Captain Chaos after that and we managed to get away with no problems apart from having to pay an exorbitant amount for a revolting cardboard breakfast and a cup of coffee that looked like it had been brewed in a cesspit.

Sadly, Captain Chaos accompanied us on our holiday; I saw Captain Paranoia waving goodbye to him as the plane took off.

He met Tonto there. I will tell you about that some other time.

I have many examples of how Captain Chaos has caused me huge problems in my life.

Have you met him too?