Travel Essentials

When I go on holiday or on a trip abroad, there are a few essentials that I have to take with me.

Don’t worry. I’m not going to talk about underwear, toiletries and a passport. That goes without saying unless you think I am the kind of person who only takes one pair of underpants, one pair of socks and sneaks into countries, spending a week or two there with a progressively stronger hum emanating from him.

Rest assured that I do take lots of underwear. Nor am I some kind of ghostly spy from a Robert Ludlum novel.

When I say "essentials" I really mean luxuries that keep me sane when I am on a totally tedious long haul flight, or stuck in a remote hotel on a business trip in a room with only a TV for company, which has three very poor channels all in a foreign language.

On a return business trip from China a few years ago, I found myself flying from Beijing to Amsterdam on China Southern airlines and while the service and environment were no better or worse than any European airlines, the entertainment left a lot to be desired. We had a small personal TV screen in the back of the seat ahead but the entertainment package consisted of three terrible English films and hundreds of Chinese movies. The Chinese passengers loved watching the latest national movies but for me they were terrible. I tried to watch one and gave up because it so awful.

I had nothing to entertain me, other than trying to compose a tune out of the close harmony snoring that was going on around me.

This is exactly why I need something to keep my brain from seizing up in disgust.

Here is my list:

iPod Classic

Regular readers will know that I am a huge fan of music . My iPod Classic can accommodate my entire CD collection. At the moment it contains almost 7000 songs which if played altogether would provide almost 22 days of continuous music.

It’s great for relaxing on a dreary long haul flight and even on holiday when sitting on a sun kissed beach watching the sun’s rays reflecting off the still blue water. 

Kindle

I am an avid reader and consume books. When travelling, I read so many books, especially if the trip is a solitary business trip or we are chilling out on a sunny beach somewhere. In the past I have had to sacrifice clothes (not underpants and socks you’ll be pleased to know) in order to cram another paperback into my luggage; either that or fill my hand luggage with books. Worse, I do have a tendency to hoard books so I end up having to bring them back with me too.

Not now though. My Kindle has saved me. I can download as many books as I like because Kindle storage weighs zero grams. It makes no difference whether I download one book or one hundred books. Gone are the days of taking an entire library onto an aircraft.

I know that purists mourn the dawn of the Kindle and other eReaders but when travelling, it makes life so much easier.

PSP

"We need a new manager!"

I am a sad old fool who still plays the odd computer game. As rare as that is nowadays, I do dabble, particularly on a long haul flight where the only entertainment is a library of bizarre martial arts films.

My particular favourites are football games, in which I either play football matches against the computer, and lose horribly, or as a football manager when I have arguments with computer sprites who play crap and end up getting the sack for precipitating the relegation of my chosen club.

It’s fun though – at least until the swearing starts.

Nexus 7 Tablet

I didn’t think I needed a tablet but now I am converted. The Nexus 7 is a smaller, cheaper version of an iPad but is just as versatile. I have converted my old collection of DVD’s into Nexus 7 friendly files and loaded them onto the device so that I can watch movies at my leisure. I also have an app called Sky Go which allows me to download movies from Sky’s library of films and watch them offline. Add to that a few other useful apps, like puzzle games, offline dictionaries and I  have a very versatile device that allows me to access the internet via hotel wifi to keep me in touch with what’s happening in the world and send/receive emails etc.

I can barely survive a trip without it.

Smartphone

I know what you’re thinking. Making phone calls, sending texts and surfing the internet on a mobile network while in a foreign land can be very expensive.

That’s true, but when abroad, a smartphone is absolutely essential. This device is smaller even than my Nexus 7 tablet which means I can fit it into my pocket when I am out and about. The great thing about my phone is that I can download maps of my destination and use GPS to find my way around foreign cities without the need for paying stupid money to download maps on the fly. I can also download offline dictionaries in a variety of languages which stops me looking like a fool when sitting in a restaurant which has no menus in English. There are so many useful apps available that my smartphone is almost like having a travel guide with me all the time.

And it takes decent pictures too.

Camera

"I''m still not sure I have anough cameras!"

As good as a smartphone camera is, it simply doesn’t meet the standard of a proper digital camera. We have two cameras, the first is a small one that fits snugly into my pocket and takes amazing pictures, particularly in the dark. The other is a digital SLR which Mrs PM uses to take incredible photos. Of course, it is much bulkier but the photos it produces more than compensate from the stigma of standing out like a tourist. At the start of this year I was too scared to use it, but I have spent 30 days trying to master a little bit of theory with a view to actually trying to take some half decent photographs with it when we go to Brazil later this year.

And finally …

I’m sure more sensible readers will roll their eyes and say “What about sun protection, health protection, guide books and all of the other essentials to keep you safe?”

Yes – they are essentials (particularly sun cream which prevents me devolving into a lobster) but I need simply pleasures to keep me sane on long tedious flights and when stuck on my own in a strange hotel room in deepest darkest China.

Sadly, I have to endure another business trip to China in June and I will have nobody to play with. The devices above will make the trip far more enjoyable.

So there!

Over to you, dear reader.

What do you regard as essential travel items?

Cat Camera

Have you ever wondered what your moggy is up to when he's not following you around the house like a lost sheep begging for food? Are you even mildly curious about what your feline companion does after he has disappeared through the cat flap? Well, wonder no more for I have discovered a great way for you to find out.

I read a fabulous article in the newspaper a couple of weeks ago about people who have actually bought cameras for their cats. These cameras are attached to your moggy's collar and periodically take snapshots as he goes about his daily business.

What a fantastic idea! And what’s more, I’m disappointed that I didn’t think of it myself.

I want one. No, that’s not true – I want three – one for each of our cats.

Cats fascinate me. If you have read any of my posts before (here and here), you will be aware that we have three cats; two of our own plus a third, Spike, who is really owned by a near neighbour. We first became aware that Spike was not a stray cat when he ambled into our house wearing a collar and name tag with the name “Hamish” and a phone number engraved on it. Of course, I had to phone the number and discover who really owned him. Having done so, I visited the owner and discovered that she thought Spike/Hamish had simply gone missing. She told me that she had even tried to follow him, having to give up when he crawled through a small hole in the fence.

If only she had had a cat camera. She would have discovered a whole new world of information. She would have seen photos of:

(1) My ugly mug as Spike sits on my knee begging for food
(2) My sleeping ugly mug as Spike sits on my sleeping form begging for food shortly before giving up and lying across my face.
(3) My semi-naked body as I emerge, bleary eyed from the bedroom first thing in the morning searching for the bathroom.

You may agree, these things are not pretty sights.

The other thing Spike’s real owner told me was that some of the old ladies in her street feed a huge black cat whom they lovingly call George. This cat is so fat that he can barely crowbar his bulk through holes in fences. Does this post (here) give you a clue as to the real identity of that enormous black fat lump of feline blubber? Yes - I think so too.

That’s why I am tempted to buy three of these cameras. I’m deadly serious.

For Spike, I want to know if he distributes his time between his real owner and us or whether in fact he is “owned” by more neighbours. I also want to know whether he has more aliases other than Spike or Hamish

For Poppy, the cat who is scared of her own tail, I want to know if she has a dynamic feline alter-ego where she fights feline crime in neighbours’ gardens and is the scourge of the mice in the area. Is she Poppy, the mild mannered scaredy cat by day and SpiderCat the terror of birds, mice and other tiny woodland creatures by night?

For Jasper, I want to know just how much he is eating and whether we should confine him to the house for the duration of his diet (and yes, he is on a strict diet at the moment – and losing a little weight too). If old ladies are pandering to his gluttonous requirements I need to know about it.

As brilliant an idea as it sounds, there are a couple of things making me think twice about cat cameras.

First, Mrs PM thinks that the cats are her babies. She thinks that the cats love her and are one hundred percent committed to us. I know about cats. I know for a fact that you do not own a cat – the cat owns you. You are merely a source of mild amusement and a slave that feeds them. I know my place; all three of them treat me with contempt and only show me any attention when they are hungry. Jasper only sits near to me when he wants to steal some of my body heat to keep him warm. Spike sits on my knee only when he needs a cushion or when he wants a little bit of my dinner. Poppy only ventures out of her hiding place when her tummy is rumbling. But sadly, to Mrs P, they are like children. Even when they deposit the remains of a half eaten bird in her lap, she is unaware of the true nature of the feline.

Second, there may be a problem with the photos produced. I can imagine that Spike’s owner may call the police if she discovers a photo of me staggering out of the shower first thing in the morning. Worse still, she may see the camera around Spike’s neck and consider me to be a colossal pervert using Spike as an unwitting accomplice.

Maybe its not such a good idea after all, but if you are interested (or amused by the idea) simply follow this link.

The Things You Do For Love

I am going to do something I promised myself I wouldn’t do: show you a photo of the Plastic Mancunian.

I had decided not to do allow my ugly mug on this blog in case it scared the children. However, in this case I feel it is necessary to highlight the subject matter of the post.

It all started two or three years ago when Mrs PM decided to augment her self-taught amateur photography skills by joining a local evening class. Off she would go every Wednesday, armed with her digital SLR camera and a bucket of enthusiasm. She would return with a huge smile on her face and stories about the people on the course, the topics being covered and some of the new techniques she had learned. I would dutifully walk around with her as she wondered around taking photos of absolutely anything. And she was good – very good.

And then came that fateful day.

She returned home looking perplexed.

“What’s the matter?” I said.

“I have to take photos in the studio at the college.” she replied. “It has to be of a person with the theme Style With Attitude. I’m stuck.”

Being the devoted partner that I am we discussed how she could achieve this. Being into rock music in a big way, I suggested that as a theme. I picked up last month’s copy of “Classic Rock” magazine and said

“Take a look through this. Rock musicians have style and enough attitude to terrify an army of robots. You’ve got all sorts in there.”

In fact there was a picture of Gene Simmons from Kiss in his glory days of the seventies, full of make-up and showing the entire world how long his tongue was.

“What about him?” I said.

“Brilliant!” she replied.

And then it happened.

“Will you do it?” she squeaked.

“Absolutely not.” I replied. “There is absolutely no way that I am putting on makeup. There is absolutely no way that I am sitting in a studio looking like an arse. There is absolutely no way that I am allowing you to take photos of me covered in black and white paint to show your friends.”

I was resolute. I was determined. My mind was made up. I would not do it.

Ten minutes later we were discussing how to apply the makeup to my face.

I don’t know what it is about females but they have this way of persuading men to do whatever they want. I don’t even recall saying “Okay – I’ll allow you to make a complete arse of me.”

As the fateful day approached, I discovered three things.

First, there was a former work colleague of mine, Martin, on her course. My attempt to keep this little project a secret would therefore be blown out of the water.

Second, I naively thought that if she had the studio for three hours we could apply the make up there, take the photos and then I could remove the makeup and go. Wrong again. She needed the full three hours to set up the lighting, familiarize herself with the equipment and take hundreds of photos, most of which would be discarded. I would have to have the makeup applied at home and get to the studio in full view of everybody.

Third, the studio session was booked for Wednesday night, which meant that the college would be full of students, and worse, my former work colleague would be there.

On the day, I left work early and arrived home in trepidation. Mrs PM sat there for almost an hour painting my face. I could hear the cats sniggering – treacherous felines that they are.

After she had finished, she was so proud that I couldn’t express my true feelings. I stared at myself in the mirror and almost passed out with embarrassment. When I put on the black wig, I almost frightened myself to death.

Thankfully, Mrs PM wouldn’t let me put on my glasses in case it smudged the makeup so on the journey to the college so I was oblivious to the stares I was getting. Mrs PM kept sniggering all the way there (a full fifteen minute journey) because people were openly laughing at me.

When we arrived at the college, Mrs PM led me through the crowded foyer and up three flights of stairs. We arrived at the studio and found the door locked. Mrs PM said

“Wait there – I need to get the key. I won’t be long.”

She left me standing there in a crowded corridor for ten minutes, with seemingly hundreds of people walking past and trying not to laugh. Some people actually spoke to me.

“Where’s the fancy dress party?”

“Are you the Joker?”

“Are you ill?”

“Very good. Is it Hallowe’en?”

After an eternity, she returned and said “Martin’s here. He wants to see you in your makeup.”

“Martin can f**k off” I snarled.

I discovered that we were actually sharing the studio with another female student whose idea of style with attitude was to photograph her friend in a variety of delightful poses. All that separated the two girls from Mrs PM and the monster was a black curtain. The other student peered around the curtain and said “Hiya” to Mrs PM before saying “Bloody Hell!” the instant she saw me. I must have scared her half to death.

For the next three hours. Mrs PM barked instructions at me, making me snarl, pose, headbang, grimace, leap up and down. The other two girls in the studio were laughing not so much at my face but at the way Mrs PM was saying “Snarl at me, baby. SNARL!! YOU’RE ANGRY – SHOW IT!!!”

At the end I grabbed Mrs PM’s bag of makeup remover and ran to the disabled toilets to remove the gunk from my face. There was no way I was going to let Martin see me like this.

Guys, have ever tried to remove makeup? It is impossible. I spent about half an hour scrubbing my face with goo. The black and white makeup blurred into a putrid grey colour that made me look like death warmed up. Mrs PM knocked on the door – “Are you OK in there?”

“Yes,” I grimaced, scrubbing my face with the toilet brush in desperation.

Finally I managed to get it all off – or so I thought.

I returned to Mrs PMs class and shook hands with Martin (who I hadn’t seen for a while). By this time, Mrs PM had shown the entire class the photos and they had been well received. Martin laughed, but only when I closed my eyes – I had left black makeup on my eyelids. Also my face was red raw where my attempts to get rid of the makeup had actually removed flesh.

Of course, now everybody has seen the photos. In fact, one of the photos was blown up to three feet square and hung up in the canteen. How embarrassing. The good news is that you cannot really tell that it is me in the photos. My hair is short and blond and I wear glasses. People have remarked “Is that really you?”

That’s another reason why I have decided to post the photos. Here are a couple of them (including the one that was blown up):








For those of you who have never seen Gene Simmons in his full glory, here he is:


Can you spot the difference?

Mrs PM has now given up the course but still takes lots of photographs – of other things thankfully.

I’m pleased with that – I have only just recovered. I’m sure there’s still makeup somewhere on my face.