Billy No Mates

I have been Billy No Mates in the past.

You might wonder whether this is just another silly name I have invented for myself. It’s not really.

In the UK (and possibly other places) becoming “Billy No Mates” refers to situations where you find yourself on your own in a pub, in a restaurant, at a gig or some other social gathering potentially feeling self-conscious because, in your head, you think that everybody else enjoying the company other people and when they see you sitting on your own in the corner, they will laugh or feel sorry for you. 

“Look at him. He’s got no friends. HA HA HA!”

“I feel sorry for old Bill No Mates in the corner there on his own.”

The thing is that work sometimes made sure that it was difficult to avoid becoming Billy No Mates before I retired. I may have mentioned that I used to work on airport IT systems, which meant that I was often asked to fly abroad for days and sometimes weeks at a time to work with the system on site. Most of the time, I travelled with colleagues and a lot of the time, I was entertained by the customers concerned. I don’t mean that they got up and started singing and dancing – they just took me out for meals. 

However, sometimes it was just me. 

When I started travelling abroad I was still quite shy and reserved and if I ended up on my own in those early years, I was tempted to simply go to McDonalds and take my Big Mac Meal back to my lonely old hotel room and sit there on my bed munching away and feeling sorry for myself. The problem was that I had a meal allowance and as time went on I started thinking to myself that perhaps I should take advantage of this and go out to a restaurant. 

And so I did and over the years, as Billy No Mates, I’ve actually just enjoyed meals in sometimes crowded places, watching other people, listening to other conversations and not feeling that self-conscious at all. There comes a point when you realise that being Billy No Mates in such situations is fine and also can be enjoyable. 

Initially, when I plucked up the courage to do it, I used to take a book with me and read it while I was waiting for my meal. That all stopped on a trip to Toronto, Canada. I had the weekend off so, as Billy No Mates, I decided to spend Saturday exploring Toronto and Sunday exploring Niagara Falls. On Saturday, I forgot my book, which was annoying at first, but then I realised that having lunch in a coffee shop and a lovely evening meal in a lively Toronto restaurant was actually just as enjoyable as getting lost in a good book. The restaurant I chose in Toronto had a lively bar attached to it, and I thoroughly enjoyed sampling a couple of Canadian beers and just people watching as I ate. Nobody stared at me and nobody laughed. In fact, the waiters and waitresses stopped to chat a couple of times. 

On Sunday, I spent the whole day in Niagara and had a great lunch. On the way back, an old lady sat next to me on the bus (which was really a special airport taxi) and gave me her life story. She was going back to the UK for the first time for fifty years and was very nervous about it. I did my best to reassure her and, when we arrived at the airport, where I was also staying, I took her to the check-in desks and made sure that she got a boarding pass. She took me for a coffee by way of thanks and I escorted her to the departure lounge. She was most grateful.

I’ve even been on my own in Moscow in the middle of winter. During the three week trip, I was staying at an airport miles away from the city but close enough to get there by train. Armed with my Russian phrasebook, I managed to catch a train and navigate the amazing underground subway system. I found a Mexican restaurant I had been to before with a colleague on a previous trip, and I enjoyed a lovely Mexican meal while watching a live Russian band performing rock music, all washed down with a couple of Baltika beers. There was even an argument in there between a couple and although I couldn’t understand a single word they were saying, it was entertaining. 

All this brings me to the point of this post, which I am reaching in a roundabout way. 

One thing that helps if you find yourself on your own in a pub or restaurant, whether you are actively being Billy No Mates or just waiting for somebody who is delayed, is to have your phone with you. I recall one night when I was in Hong Kong alone, again on a work trip, when I decided to go to a couple of places where Mrs PM had been to when we lived there for three months. In fact it was my very last work trip to Hong Kong. This was not a smartphone but it had a camera and a couple of games so it kind of passed the time. Mrs PM and I would go to a bar called Delaney’s in Wan Chai and then have a meal in a Mexican restaurant called La Placita in Causeway Bay. For old times sake, I wandered into Delaney’s only to find that the bar had moved. I sat at the bar with a beer and chatted to Mrs PM via text. It felt like I wasn’t alone at all. Later, I went to find La Placita but it too had closed. Instead I went to an American diner we had visited a couple of times and again, I chatted via text to Mrs PM, saying how disappointed I was that La Placita was closed. And I was barely aware that I was Billy No Mates – even though I was. 

Since then, phone technology has exploded and just about everybody you see has one. They are far more than just a phone and almost everybody has become reliant on them – myself included. However, this appears to have had a negative effect. What you see now is people in bars and restaurants spending their time engrossed in their phones even when they are with people. It seems a lot of people want to become Billy No Mates, ironically even if they are with their mates. 

I’ve mentioned this before but there was one recent example I saw in a local pub. Three young people were sitting at a table and they were clearly together. All of them were totally absorbed in whatever was on their phones and nobody was talking, that is until one of them ran out of beer and asked whose round it was. They all chose to be Billy No Mates even though they were together. What was the point of being out with friends if all you can do is spend your time on your phone?

It’s crazy. 

I still become Billy No Mates occasionally these days and when I do I use my smartphone to entertain me if necessary. But if I am waiting for a friend in a pub, say, the phone is returned to my pocket the very moment they arrive. 

These days, the only time I become Billy No Mates is when I am waiting for somebody or on public transport on my own. That said, I am quite happy to go to the cinema on my own for example. The same applies to rock concerts. I have a group of mates who all love a bit of rock music and we tend to all go together but occasionally I have to go on my own if the band concerned is more progressive. And I don’t mind that either. For example I have in recent years happily become Billy No Mates to see Riverside, Rush, Porcupine Tree and Dream Theater because I’m the only one out of our group that likes them.

I guess the moral of the post is that It's okay to become Billy No Mates but I’m not sure that becoming Billy No Mates when you are out with friends because of your smartphone is cool really. 

You can’t beat a real conversation with a human being. 

Coming Home

Mrs PM and I have recently returned from a week long break in Playa Blanca, Lanzarote in the Canary Islands. We were meant to go to Malaysia but Mrs PM’s job situation scuppered that somewhat and forced us to postpone that wonderful trip until 2026. The good news is that the situation is now resolved but sadly it was too late to organise that trip to the Far East. Instead we opted for a short European trip to get some winter sun.

Whenever I am abroad, especially in winter, I barely think of Manchester. As we walked along the promenade after breakfast, listening to the Atlantic Ocean lapping up on the sandy shores and rocks, the dreadful rainy cold weather that we have to endure in February in the UK is so far from my brain that Manchester may as well be on another planet. 

Even the evenings are beautiful and clear in Lanzarote, if not a little chilly. All that means is that I have to wear long trousers instead of shorts as we dine within earshot of the waves. And talking about planets, we actually managed to see a couple of them with the naked eye. Mrs PM mentioned that the news had an article about all the planets being aligned. I love a good sunset and as we were sitting in a bar watching our star slowly descend behind the horizon, seemingly into the horizon, I used an app on my smartphone to find the planets – the app is called Sky Map and well worth a download. Here are a couple of sunset pictures I took.

Mercury was close to the sun but invisible and a bright spot nearby turned out to be Venus. As the sun disappeared and the sky became darker, other points of light in the firmament became visible and, with the aid of Sky Map, I could clearly identify Saturn, which looked a little dull compared to Venus but still there. The app also told me that just below Venus but perhaps too far away to see with the naked eye was Neptune. 

As I moves around the sky, I then identified and saw Jupiter and Uranus. Jupiter was perfectly clear and Uranus, like Saturn, was quite dull but just about visible. 

The only one I couldn’t find was Mars. 

It would have been amazing to have seen this exact sky with a telescope from the desert where there is no light pollution to shield the planets. I remember a trip to Barbados where we had a little session with an astronomer who used a telescope to find Saturn for us. That was amazing and I could even see the rings. 

On our last morning, we had a leisurely breakfast and had time to take a walk along the promenade for a coffee before having to return to the airport for our flight home. I enjoyed sitting by the ocean, listening to the waves and enjoying the clear blue skies and the sun reflecting off glistening turquoise water. 

I felt totally relaxed. 

About eight hours later we had landed at Manchester Airport and were in a cab, driving through the rainy cold streets of my home city. I looked through the rain spotted windows of the cab and the sky was dark and covered in clouds that hid any stars and planets. Part of me was disappointed and I craved sitting by the beach, stargazing while listening to the calm sea. Mrs PM was excited because she was starting her new job the following day and she was also looking forward to seeing her “babies”, that is our two domineering masters, our cats Ziggy and Star(dust).

I allowed my mind to briefly return the scene from eight hours ago, the taste of the coffee, the warm breeze, the sound of the ocean, the colours, the people. 

And then I realised that in a few moments I would be home. 

My home is my castle, the place where I feel most comfortable. It’s like my central office, even though I don’t work anymore and I love being there. My brief longing for Lanzarote gradually faded and once I had braved the rain, entered my house and unpacked, I had the chance to sit down with a cup of tea and think about my trip. Star(dust) put her two front paws on my stomach and stared at me as she purred. She then lay down next to me, clinging to my leg like a feline leech and fell asleep. Ziggy was sitting next to Mrs PM.

I then started thinking about our next trip to Malta in May, where we will be taking Mrs PM’s mum for a celebration of her 80th birthday. I will once again be beside the sea with a chance to explore Valetta. It will be warm sunny and in terms of weather, a million miles from Manchester. 

Mrs PM broke my reverie.

“I’m glad to be home,” she said. 

And, to be perfectly honest, so was I.

Let's Do Europe

“Let’s do Europe!” is a phrase I have heard quite a few times, mainly from Americans but also from other nationalities, including people from my own country.

Last week I was in a restaurant in Porto, Portugal, and I heard a variation on the words again from a young American couple on an adjacent table.

“I can’t believe we’re in Europe,” said one of them. “I’ve always wanted to do Europe and here we are.”

I’m not criticising them, far from it in fact. I am delighted that these young people have taken the time to leave the confines of the United States and venture out to, in my opinion, the most exciting and varied continent on the planet.

The only minor quibble I have is that it is pretty much impossible to “do Europe” unless you are very wealthy and spend many years travelling around each country in turn and within each country visit as much of it as you can.

I have lived in Europe all of my life and I have barely scratched the surface – and I have travelled a lot. In fact, I can also say that I have not “done” the UK either – and I live here.

My travel map for Europe looks impressive to people but the truth is that is isn’t really.

For example I have never been to Albania, Andorra, Armenia, Austria, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Cyprus, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Georgia, Kazakhstan, Kosovo, Latvia, Lichtenstein, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Macedonia, Moldova, Montenegro, Norway, Poland, Romania, San Marino, Serbia, Slovakia, Slovenia, Sweden or Ukraine.

When you compare the list to the places I have been (Belgium, Croatia, Czech Republic, France, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Iceland, Ireland, Malta, Monaco, Netherlands, Portugal, Russia, Spain, Switzerland, Turkey, UK and Vatican City) it looks like I have seen less than half of the continent.

One of the countries I have spent a lot of time in is Spain and I have barely scratched the surface of that vast and wonderful country. I have had conversations with people in the past who claim to know Spain “like the back of their hands” and yet base their knowledge on a few two week package holidays to the Balearic Islands (having never even been to the mainland!).

“So do you speak Spanish?” I have asked.

“No – there’s no need. They all speak English!”

Wrong.

Try travelling on a train from Seville to Madrid and see how many people speak English. In fact, just wander around either of those two cities and see how far you get without a few basic words or a phrase book.

It’s a similar story with other continents of course. For example I have been to the United States and Canada quite a few times and I simply cannot claim that I know either of those countries. Sure, I can speak English and have been to a few big cities like Los Angeles, New York, Washington DC and Toronto but if I were to tell an American that I have “done” the United States he would, quite rightly, laugh at me and tell me how wrong I am.

I’ve been to Australia too but I would need two decades at least to fully explore that huge place – I was there for just over two weeks!

Similarly with Asia – the biggest continent of all. I have spent eight weeks of my life in China yet every time I have been back, the place never ceases to amaze me with its wonderful quirkiness, beauty, customs and traditions. I learn something new each time I visit.

What I would say to anybody who wants to “do Europe” is this:

Yes – I agree – you should do Europe – again and again and again! 

Keep coming back and seek out new adventures. 

Eventually you will get to know the place. 

Mind if I join you?

Contagion

My name is Dave and I am a hypochondriac.

For that reason, and that reason alone, the end of the world scenario that terrifies me most is the threat that we as a race could all be wiped out by a supervirus.

Imagine, if you will, a TV news announcement that describes a potential nasty bug that is spreading from person to person in numerous countries with no hope of recovery. From that point on, I would be totally and utterly convinced that the virus was in my system even if it hadn’t reached the shores of the United Kingdom yet.

In the past, I have been slightly perturbed when newscasters have mentioned benign bugs that are nasty but not lethal, even when they are confined to the deepest parts of Africa, say.

A few years ago there had been an outbreak of the deadly respiratory disease called Sars and it had surfaced in Hong Kong. Thankfully, the authorities had it under control eventually and it was then that my project manager asked me to go on a business trip to the city.  I read that the authorities at the airport were screening people as they came and left using thermal cameras in an attempt to detect elevated temperatures in travellers. I wrestled with my inner hypochondriac who told me in no uncertain terms that I was going to catch the disease even though it was under control. Normally I would have been over the moon to visit my favourite city outside the United Kingdom – but not this time.

Deep down I knew that I would be safe but that didn’t stop the hypochondriac inside whispering to me constantly through the flight: “You will catch Sars – that’s if you don’t have it already.”

The temperature in Hong Kong in the summer is quite a lot higher than the UK and you feel it the moment that you leave the aircraft. Such was my paranoia that I thought the thermal cameras would identify an elevated temperature in me as I walked towards immigration.

Of course, I was being utterly stupid and I passed through without a problem. My trip lasted three weeks, during which time I became an expert in the symptoms of Sars. Every time I felt slightly below par I was convinced that I had succumbed to the disease – even a few weeks after my return to Manchester.

I know that I am an idiot for allowing myself to accede to such moronic paranoia but I can’t help it. I wish I could.

Thus, if I were to ever catch a news report telling me that a deadly disease was spreading across the world, wiping out everybody who came into contact with it, I would probably worry myself to death months before the infection claimed me.

I would be an expert and would probably use all of my money to travel to the remotest part of the world, avoiding all contact with civilisation on my way, so that I could sit there in splendid isolation away from any human beings who might pass on the deadly virus to me.

That’s how irrational my inner hypochondriac is.

The perfectionist in me wanted to do some research into the possibility of humanity being wiped out by such a virus so I have had to silence the hypochondriac.

And thank goodness for that because I have discovered that it is highly unlikely that a pandemic could cause the extinction of the human race. Over the centuries, there have been several nasty little blighters that have tried their level best to take us all out – things like The Black Death, Ebola, various flavours of flu, Sars and HIV.

The good news is that there are steps in place to contain such outbreaks and the organisations and institutions that are responsible for this are damned good at what they do.

Yet, as I watch programs like “The Walking Dead” where a virus has wiped out all but the hardiest of humanity and turned them into flesh eating Zombies, I can’t help but think that maybe such a thing could happen. In fact, in the show, every human being actually has the disease anyway so that when you eventually die, you come back to life as a cannibalistic corpse whose sole  raison d'être is to munch on the living.

How nice is that?

My deepest fear is that there is a malignant virus living dormant in every human being ust waiting to be activated and murder us in the most horrible way possible. If I shove this thought aside for a moment (very difficult now it is in my head) the truth is that humanity would find a way were such a supervirus to suddenly appear – even if it were man made. Some form of humanity would survive and find a way perhaps living in a remote part of the world, like the top of a mountain range, the deepest part of the Australian Outback or an African desert. It wouldn’t be pleasant but we might survive.

And if you do live in such an inhospitable yet safe part of the world, get ready to meet me. I’ll be there the moment the first cases of the outbreak are reported.

A Castle

After two depressing posts, I think it’s time to add a little bit of joy to the proceedings.

This year has been shit but in the midst of the manure, I have visited a couple of great little places in England in my quest to see as much of my own country as possible.

The first place is Ludlow, a small market town hidden in the countryside of South Shropshire. It’s a wonderful little place with almost 500 listed buildings, i.e. buildings that have been added to the Statutory List of Buildings of Special Architectural or Historic Interest.

There is also an old medieval castle that has sadly fallen into decline over the years and while it is largely in ruins, it is still interesting enough to visit.

Ludlow is a lovely little town, filled with history and surrounded by verdant countryside that is excellent for a decent ramble on a Saturday morning; a great way to relax if you need to unwind after a stressful week at work.

Mrs PM and I spent the weekend simply walking around, visiting the castle and enjoying hearty English fare washed down with a pint or two of the finest English ale.

Ludlow is home to a couple of interesting structures.

First, Ludlow Castle, initially started way back in 1086, stands over the town like a silent sentinel. It’s fallen into disrepair over the years and is now largely in ruins. However, there is enough present for a stimulating visit.

Originating a couple of hundred years later, St Laurence’s church is also significant building and can be seen from most of the town.

If you are a fan of English architecture, you will love the place.

Here are few photos.

Mrs PM - A Damsel in Distress

A Knight to the Rescue

Finally, I encountered quite an interesting toilet in a pub (I’m sorry to discuss toilets again). This one had beer barrels as urinals with humorous little signs indicating how a man’s liquid waste product can be converted back into ale. I had to break men’s public toilet etiquette rules and risk being thought of as some kind of pervert by taking a photograph in the men’s loo. Thankfully I was alone when I did this. 

Here is the photo.

Which one is used for lager?

The things I do for this blog.

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.

Mr Mildly Obsessive

I’ve just returned from what seems to be becoming my annual business trip to China and this particular trip made me realise something about myself that I have suspected for a while.

I am a mild sufferer of OCD or Obsessive Compusive Disorder.

I looked up the definition of OCD to get a handle on what it actually means and I found this:

“An obsession is an unwanted and unpleasant thought, image or urge that repeatedly enters a person's mind, causing feelings of anxiety, disgust or unease.”

It’s something that I think is getting worse as I get older.

Here’s an example.

Yesterday, I left my hotel room in Shanghai for the final time and checked out at reception. I jumped into the shuttle bus to take me to the airport and then had a wild thought that I had left my flight boarding pass in my room and my passport in the room safe. These were the two things that would enable me to get home and, if my worst fears were true, would result in my having to return to the hotel making me potentially miss my flight. I actually panicked and opened my rucksack to double check that I had the required documents.

The truth is I did have them – of course I bloody well had them!

Also, because I am obsessed with the fear of being so late that I would miss the flight, I had checked out so early that I could have easily made the return trip to the hotel (possibly twice) and still had plenty of time to catch the flight.

And the stupid thing is that in the shuttle bus, I checked my passport and boarding passes three times! THREE BLOODY TIMES!

I actually scolded myself the final time, saying rather loudly "You bloody idiot!” which brought a stare of disapproval from another passenger who thought I was referring to him.

Worse, when I got to the airport, I was so early that I had to wait for the check in desks to open. When I finally got through security, I checked my documents a further few times even though I knew that they were there.

I’m the same when I leave the house, generally. I am convinced that there is a window left open, a door left unlocked or a burglar alarm still turned off and on one or two occasions, I have actually returned to the house to double check.

I blame two things for the evolution of this embarrassing peculiarity.

The first thing is my terrible memory. As I get older, I forget things. Everybody my age says the same thing. I look at a person I haven’t seen for a while and say to myself:

 “What the bloody hell is that guy’s name???”

I suffer from all of the typical age-related memory-loss features, such as:

Walking into a room and having no idea why I went there.

Forgetting where I put things. This is particularly frustrating and I have developed a regime to counteract this infuriating problem. I always put things in the same place. However, Mrs PM sometimes decides to have a “tidy up” and moves them, which leads to me turning the house upside down looking for things, convinced that I have lost them.

Such things are affectionately called “senior moments” and many people I know around my age and older complain about this.

The second thing I have to blame is my beloved Mrs PM.  She is the love of my life but she is one of the most scatter-brained people I have ever met. For example, she has driven all the way to work and left her laptop at home. That wouldn’t be so bad if the journey wasn’t about twenty miles, usually through heavy rush hour traffic. She has also left her laptop at work when she has to do some work at home and had to make the journey back. You may think that this is okay if it’s just a one-off but it isn’t; she has done it several times.

Also, I have come home and found windows open and doors unlocked. I find myself being OCD for her too.

“Have you got your laptop?”

“Where are your keys?” 

She also drifts away into her own little world and on occasion has set off for a journey for the shops only to drift into what she and I both call “Mrs PM World” and find herself on her way to work.

This is something that she has had to put up with most of her life but, unlike me, she doesn’t beat herself up about it.

“I know,” she’ll say with a laugh. “It was another Mrs PM moment.”

When such things happen to me, I am furious with myself, which is why my evolving OCD has manifested itself to protect me against my own memory.

I also make lists of things to take with me on holiday and trips generally to make sure that I don’t infuriate myself with my poor memory. And Mrs PM does the same, so it helps her although she has still managed to become a victim of her herself. For example, no list could have stopped her from leaving a coat in Manchester airport or travelling all the way to Alaska, one of the coldest places in America, having left her winter coat hanging up in the bedroom next to her suitcase!

She has improved, mainly due to my own OCD. As she says, I have saved her on numerous occasions with just a couple of simple questions.

I’d rather make sure that everything is fine and make sure that I don’t have to enrage myself with my own shortcomings.

Perhaps mild OCD is a good thing.

I just hope that I remember to post this all on my blog.

At least my daily readership will go up as a result, even if it is only me making sure, four or five times today, that I submitted the post.

Oh crap – maybe that’s why most of my hits come from Manchester!

Iguaçu Falls

So there I was, dressed like a condom and being drenched by Mother Nature at her most fierce. I looked around through glasses soaked with droplets of water and noticed that a hundred or so other people were also doing passable impersonations of condoms and being equally soaked.

Some brave fools had decided to take on the force of nature protected just by normal clothes and as a result, were totally drenched.

I was standing on a wooden walkway in the middle of Garganta do Diablo (Devil’s Throat) on the Brazilian side of Iguaçu Falls quite literally surrounded by tons of water cascading over rocks both above us and below us. I think the name Devil’s Throat is quite an apt name.

I’ve been to Niagara Falls in Canada and marvelled at its fierce beauty. I honestly never thought that I would see anything better in the waterfall department, that is until I saw Iguaçu Falls.

We arrived in Foz do Iguaçu in Brazil a week or so ago in the middle of a rainstorm and on our first full day caught a local bus to the Iguaçu National Park. We paid our entrance fee and a few moments later we found ourselves on a double decker bus heading for the falls themselves, following a rough tourist map written in Portuguese. The bus stopped a few times but with the help of my poor Spanish and Mrs PM’s limited Portuguese vocabulary, we managed to get off at the starting point for a small hike that would ultimately lead us to Devil’s Throat.

In the distance amongst the trees we could hear a distant rumbling, which meant that I heard the falls before I actually saw them. When I eventually did see them, my first thought was that there were far more than at Niagara. From where we stood the falls were across the river in Argentina and in the distance we could see walkways where Argentinians could get up close and personal. We had already decided to go to Argentina the next day so that was something to look forward to.

Our first view of the waterfalls

A closer look

The trail gradually led us down from our high vantage point. There were hundreds of people all trying to take photos with is so we had to be very patient. While we were waiting we observed the local wildlife, in particular a rather strange creature called a coati, which looks a bit like a raccoon. There were warning signs asking us not to feed these persistent little creatures as they are known to bite. I was happy to oblige because the last thing I wanted to worry about, being a massive hypochondriac, was rabies.

A cheeky coati

As we descended the views of the falls became more spectacular and the noise became louder. Mrs PM was far more prepared than I was and about half way down she bought a couple of human sized condoms from a café, anticipating the need to protect us against the water.

Getting closer

And closer

The lower we got, the spray became more prevalent and, reluctantly, I put on the giant body condom. I felt like a total berk until we arrived at Devil’s Gorge. A wooden walkway led out into Mother Nature’s biggest shower system. I could barely hear myself think, such was the volume of cascading water. We were surrounded by high waterfalls from above and below.

Deep in Garganta do Diablo

Devil's Throat

It was magnificent and I was in awe of the beauty of Mother Nature.

We kept the human condoms when we left the Brazilian side so we could use them in Argentina. The next day, a small minibus picked us up at our hotel in Foz do Iguaçu and after a relatively easy border crossing, we arrived in Parque Nacional del Iguazù on the Argentinian side of the falls.

The main difference in Argentina, apart from the language, was the view of the falls. In Brazil we descended into the Devil’s Throat. In Argentina, we got up close and personal with numerous other waterfalls from both below and above.

There were several trails. The first trail, the so-called “Low Trail” was similar to the Brazilian side apart from how close we got the falls themselves. We didn’t find ourselves trapped in Devil’s Throat but we were a lot closer to the many cascading waterfalls.

There were a couple of instances when my fear of heights joined the party. The low trail was supposed be low but in reality the pathways crossed the falls at quite a height. I was okay but I had to hurry across a couple of the paths because the drop below was enough to make me jittery. I left Mrs PM to take the scary photos as I watched by the sidelines. 

The "Low Trail"

Up close and personal

We had to put on our human condoms again for an encounter with a particularly high waterfall from below.

Later, we took the “High Trail”. I was slightly nervous because the low trail had made me worry about heights but the high trail took us over the top of the falls at an acceptable height above the rivers. The views from these lofty heights were absolutely remarkable. We walked over countless waterfalls, watching the water flow over the edges of cliffs in a raucous fusion of spray, foliage, rock and thunder. 

It was magnificent.

We barely noticed that the weather had taken a turn for the worse. Our condoms protected use from the torrential rain that had started.

We walked back hoping to see Devil’s Throat from above but sadly we ran out of time and had to meet the minibus so that we could return to Brazil.

I’ll leave you with a video that hopefully gives you a feeling of how beautiful  Iguaçu Falls is. To be honest, I preferred the views from Argentina but I would urge you to visit both for the full experience.

The Hypochondriac (Part Two)

I have a confession to make.

My name is Dave and I’m a hypochondriac.

Actually, that makes me feel like I’m sitting in a meeting of Hypochondriacs Anonymous. I’ve told the world before that I suffer from hypochondria in an early blog post (you can read it here) and I have learned to stop reading about illness and asking Mr Google about symptoms.

Sadly, a couple of weeks ago, I fell off the wagon and spent a week convinced that I was suffering from a major illness.

It all started when a work colleague who had been on a trip to Brazil advised me that I need to look at vaccinations for my forthcoming trip to that country. Now normally, I’m not too bothered about vaccinations because ultimately they protect you from all manner of nasty viruses that can wreak havoc with your body.

Being well travelled I am used to trips to the doctor to check on what he needs to inject me with. I don’t like needles but I look away as the nurse administers the vaccine before going home as if nothing has happened, with just a small pain in the arm.

I made an appointment and the young nurse told me that I should have Tetanus and Hepatitis A boosters but that I also need to have a vaccine for Yellow Fever.

“Now there’s something I need to warn you about with the Yellow Fever vaccine,” she said. “It can have side effects.”

My mind started working overtime and before I knew it, my imagination was running amok. I envisaged everything from keeling over in a rabid seizure to growing a new head and turning into one of those lizard people that conspiracy theorists think rule the world.

I had a vaccine last week! Now look at me!!

“What sort of side effects?” I said, trying to control my shaky voice.

In a nutshell she told me that one in ten people felt ill with flu like symptoms but there have been cases of people falling really ill up to ten days after injection.

“It’s alright,” she said. “I’ve never known anybody actually turn yellow, but if you do just go to A&E!”

She said this with a smile on her face as she stabbed me with what I now imagined was an alien virus from the Planet Tharg that would make me disintegrate into a mutant creature, like Jeff Goldbum’s character did in The Fly.

She then told me that my immune system would fight off the virus and in ten days I would be fine. But then it got worse. She decided to make casual conversation by telling me that I shouldn’t have the virus if I am ill or that people over 60 are recommended not to have it.

“I’M ONLY EIGHT YEARS AWAY!” I screamed. “AND I’VE GOT A COLD!”

I didn’t really. I smiled and nodded, feigning interest when all I wanted to do was rush out of the surgery screaming.

I drove home with my weird imagination in full control. I had a slight cold and, in my mind, my immune system was going to be fighting that instead of the Yellow Fever and I would end up turning yellow and being strapped to a bed in Intensive care surrounded by lots of armed men in Hazmat suits.

Could it get worse?

Of course it could. The second I got home, I was at my computer asking Mr Google “What are the side effects of the Yellow Fever vaccine?”

What followed was panic as I read all possible effects.

One in three people suffer  from mild effects such as headache, muscle pain, a mild fever and soreness at the injection site.

One in 130,000 suffer an allergic reaction.

One in 250,000 suffer a condition that effects the brain and nervous system causing confusion and coordination problems.

One in 330,000 people can suffer a condition that effects internal organs which can in even rarer cases, actually lead to organ failure.

Guess which category I thought I was going to fall into?

Mrs PM had had a Yellow Fever vaccination about eleven years ago when she went to Nigeria with work and she had to have a booster this time. When I broached the subject with her, she told me that the vaccine caused her to bleed from the eyes for three days. No she didn’t – I made that up.

She suffered no ill effects whatsoever and told me in no uncertain terms that I was being a big baby.

The rational part of me agreed but the Hypochondriac fuelled by Captain Paranoia told me to expect the worst.

I became obsessed over the next few days. Remember that cold I told you I had? Well that got worse, and at work, I looked up yet more symptoms and worked myself up even more.

“Oh God NO!!” I yelled at my desk.

“What’s up?” asked my work colleague.

“Nothing,” I stuttered. “Just a stupid bug in my program.”

By day three, I genuinely felt ill. My cold had got worse, I had a headache and I had flu like symptoms, just like one in in three people apparently suffer from.

I got home and lay on the settee feeling sorry for myself – a bit like this guy:

Thankfully, the next day I felt a lot better and went to work with no ill effects.

That was a couple of weeks ago and I am now officially immune to Yellow Fever with a little yellow certificate to prove it.

I didn’t turn into Jeff Goldblum’s fly.

I didn’t grow a new head.

I didn’t turn yellow.

The only thing that was injured was my pride.

I pledge to you, dear reader, that I will never ever ask Mr Google again for advice about symptoms.

I’m looking forward to the next meeting of Hypochondriacs  Anonymous.

Sunrise, Sunset

There is nothing more relaxing that watching a beautiful sunrise or sunset. Manchester is covered with cloud most of the year so it can be difficult to see the sun at all, making it necessary for me to travel to far off exotic places to witness such splendour.

Nevertheless, I have managed to catch a glimpse of the sun rising and falling behind the horizon in my adopted home town.

I have captured a few nice sunsets and the odd the sunrise over recent years – mostly sunsets because catching a good sunrise requires getting up at the crack of dawn (something I prefer not to do on holiday).

I thought I would share a few with you. I hope you like them.

Sunrise

Sunrise in Manchester on a rare cloud-free day

Sunrise in Alaska

A beautiful sunrise in Port Douglas Australia

Sunset

A very colourful sunset in Bodrum, Turkey

The sun disappearing behind a mountain in Majorca

Still in Spain, Puerto Banus

A sunset in Sorrento, Italy

A moody sunset in Cape Cod, United States

Sunset behind a fountain in Geneva, Switzerland

Another rare cloud-free sky in Manchester

A beautiful sunset in Santorini, Greece

A fantastic sunset in Victoria, Canada

I love a good sunrise and sunset and I hope to add more to my collection.

I hope you enjoyed them.