There's nothing quite like waking up at 3.15 a.m., realizing that in your OCD-inspired rush to clean out your Yahoo mail inbox last week you deleted the KLM ticket confirmations for your flights from Norwich-Amstermdam-Norwich -- the second half of which you haven't yet taken -- and then panicking that this means you won't be able to check in online and KLM overbook their flights to Norwich, meaning that you'll be bumped, and that will mean PJ won't get to the UK in time to get his flight to Chicago, so he won't make the important conference he needs to speak at -- and so on.
Luckily, broadband meant that I could check my Yahoo account, click hopefully on Trash, and find that the deleted ticket confirmations were still in there. Phew! All's well that ends well.
God bless the Internet!
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Friday, September 15, 2006
You CANNOT be serious!
The long list of reasons why Dutchies shouldn't have to go to work rarely astounds me now; I've gotten used to the idea that work is seen as an option in life, rather than a requirement. However, one piece of information I acquired yesterday did leave me stunned. If you are sick while on holiday, you can convert that vacation day into a sick day and claim back that vacation day. As we were told this, you could hear British and US jaws hitting the table. WTF!!! If you're sick while on vacation, that's just bad luck! You weren't going to go to work anyway, so why should you claim it as a sick day? Unbelieveable! Amusingly, this doesn't apply to public holidays -- perhaps even the Dutch government couldn't face enabling the entire population to phone in sick on New Year's Day.
This is not information that's generally shared with employees -- hence my surprise after five years working here -- but clearly the Dutch are brought up to know their (idle) employee rights. Family member died? One day off. Getting married? Two days off. Moving house? Another day off. Don't really like your job but can't be arsed looking for another one? Take six months off on full pay -- you're clearly stressed!
The Daily Mail would have a field day over here.
This is not information that's generally shared with employees -- hence my surprise after five years working here -- but clearly the Dutch are brought up to know their (idle) employee rights. Family member died? One day off. Getting married? Two days off. Moving house? Another day off. Don't really like your job but can't be arsed looking for another one? Take six months off on full pay -- you're clearly stressed!
The Daily Mail would have a field day over here.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
The boys are back in town
Ah yes, the end of August/beginning of September signals the return to our street of the frat boys in the frat house on the corner. It's the time when new pledges arrive, taking part in all those fun little hazing rituals that are, apparently, a cornerstone of the Dutch university system. What will it be this year? Standing outside the house at 8 in the morning reading aloud out of a newspaper? Or perhaps running laps of the block in full frat-boy rig? As far as I can tell, becoming a member of a fraternity here involves very little: A willingness to wear the frat-boy uniform of pale blue shirt, navy blazer, and those appalling red chinos that Dutch men are so inexplicably fond of. In addition, they must grow their hair into the frat-boy cut -- a short, sharp crop at the back and a mop of heavy blond curls on top, greased down with lashings of cheap gel. (Seriously, a gathering of Dutch frat boys scarily resembles scenes from The Midwich Cuckoos.) And let's not forget an ability to heave a battered sofa up out of the stenchy beer cellar and across the street to the edge of the canal, so that 3 boys can sit and smoke on it while their house mates unconcernedly spread themselves across the road, a menace to pedestrians, drivers, and cyclists (i.e., me) alike. God knows what they're talking about: What jobs they're going to walk into, courtesy of their frat mates, when they (eventually) leave university? How to guarantee a large payoff from a company for being utterly crap in said job? How to badly park their enormous 50s American frat car so that it sticks out into the street, causing traffic jams? The possibilities are endless.
However, I should keep in mind what my mother always told me: If you can't say anything nice about someone, don't say anything at all.
...
...
...
But I can't stay silent!!! Their hair and trousers irritate me SO much!! I just want to KILL THEM ALL EVERY TIME I CYCLE PAST!!!! FIRST UP AGAINST THE WALL WHEN THE REVOLUION COMES!!!!!!
Phew. I feel better now. Time for bed.
However, I should keep in mind what my mother always told me: If you can't say anything nice about someone, don't say anything at all.
...
...
...
But I can't stay silent!!! Their hair and trousers irritate me SO much!! I just want to KILL THEM ALL EVERY TIME I CYCLE PAST!!!! FIRST UP AGAINST THE WALL WHEN THE REVOLUION COMES!!!!!!
Phew. I feel better now. Time for bed.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Damn you, Jobs
For various reasons that would take far too long to go into here and now, I loathe Apple. Yeah yeah, I'm just being contrary: Their design is fab, everybody should ditch PCs etc, but I don't care. They're smug bastards who charge far too much for kit with " rechargeable" batteries that grind to a halt far too quickly and thus encourage environmentally unfriendly behavior. (Huh -- that didn't take as long as I thought.)
However. The just-announced iPod has Bejewelled Deluxe on it! I love this game! I developed RSI a few years ago from playing it solidly for several hours in a cold room on consecutive days over Christmas! My shoulder's never recovered! Add in Mini Golf, Pac Man, and Tetris, and you've got an iPod that I really really want!
(Drops to knees, raises arms in the air, and looks up)
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
However. The just-announced iPod has Bejewelled Deluxe on it! I love this game! I developed RSI a few years ago from playing it solidly for several hours in a cold room on consecutive days over Christmas! My shoulder's never recovered! Add in Mini Golf, Pac Man, and Tetris, and you've got an iPod that I really really want!
(Drops to knees, raises arms in the air, and looks up)
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Monday, September 11, 2006
Escape from Carmarthen
Carmarthen's early 20th century shire hall looms above the town, looking far more like Hitler's lair than a set of administrative offices. Luckily, there were some far prettier buildings -- mainly 19th century chapels -- scattered throughout the town and the countryside around it was stunning.
We were destined for Llandarog to help celebrate PJ's aunt/uncle's 40th wedding anniversary. We knew that there would be a number of young children there, so decided to stop at the White Hart for a swift sharpener* before entering the fray. What a gorgeous little pub, just opposite an equally picturesque church where a wedding was taking place. It's hardly surprising that Llandarog won a string of "Best-Kept Village" awards in the 1960s and 1970s, although it's recent lack of success must be a little disheartening.
Having fortified ourselves with a pint of barley-based stout (PJ) and a double vodka lime and soda (me), we headed off to Cousin Mark's for cake and conversation. Knowing that the latter would largely revolve around people that I'd never met (and that PJ didn't remember) and who were usually dead, we were planning an early escape. However, large amounts of cake and booze*, a bouncy castle, and the wine-fuelled* bonding of PJ and Cousin Mark over the challenges of parents who only talk about dead people (at length) meant we stayed until late into the evening. Good times in the wilds of Wales: Who would have thought it?
* I don't want to imply that we are dependent in any way on alcohol or have what the Americans might call "a problem" with it, but somehow our consumption always rises dramatically when we're in the UK -- and it does help smoothe most social interactions. This doesn't bode well for our livers on our return to our homeland.
We were destined for Llandarog to help celebrate PJ's aunt/uncle's 40th wedding anniversary. We knew that there would be a number of young children there, so decided to stop at the White Hart for a swift sharpener* before entering the fray. What a gorgeous little pub, just opposite an equally picturesque church where a wedding was taking place. It's hardly surprising that Llandarog won a string of "Best-Kept Village" awards in the 1960s and 1970s, although it's recent lack of success must be a little disheartening.
Having fortified ourselves with a pint of barley-based stout (PJ) and a double vodka lime and soda (me), we headed off to Cousin Mark's for cake and conversation. Knowing that the latter would largely revolve around people that I'd never met (and that PJ didn't remember) and who were usually dead, we were planning an early escape. However, large amounts of cake and booze*, a bouncy castle, and the wine-fuelled* bonding of PJ and Cousin Mark over the challenges of parents who only talk about dead people (at length) meant we stayed until late into the evening. Good times in the wilds of Wales: Who would have thought it?
* I don't want to imply that we are dependent in any way on alcohol or have what the Americans might call "a problem" with it, but somehow our consumption always rises dramatically when we're in the UK -- and it does help smoothe most social interactions. This doesn't bode well for our livers on our return to our homeland.
Harry Ramsden's BIG challenge
Friday night in Cardiff, and we decided to eschew the delights of the "Marco Pierre White at Tides" restaurant in our hotel and head across the marina to Harry Ramsden's for proper fish 'n' chips. On perusing the menu, the Harry Ramsden Big Challenge caught PJ's eye: two large pieces of haddock, extra-large chips, and two portions of mushy peas for 10.99 -- and a certificate at the end if you cleared your plate. Let's see how he did.
The food arrives; PJ is feeling confident.
Let's take a closer look at what he ordered.
And 20 minutes later: All gone!
The manager was slightly taken aback by our enthusiastic insistence on getting the certificate -- but we wanted a momento of this stupendous achievement. All we have to do now is decide where to hang the framed testament to PJ's prodigious fish 'n' chip eating skills.
The food arrives; PJ is feeling confident.
Let's take a closer look at what he ordered.
And 20 minutes later: All gone!
The manager was slightly taken aback by our enthusiastic insistence on getting the certificate -- but we wanted a momento of this stupendous achievement. All we have to do now is decide where to hang the framed testament to PJ's prodigious fish 'n' chip eating skills.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Civic pride
In the late 19th century, Cardiff was attempting to gain city status and the elders decided to go on a building spree. A fine set of civic buildings were constructed near the castle.
100 years later, it was the same story, but this time down in the bay and as a way of restoring not just civic but national pride. (And to provide a set for the resurrected -- or should that be regenerated? -- Dr Who. It was slightly disconcerting to walk along seemingly familiar streets, only to realize that you remembered them from the 2005 Dr Who Crimbo special.) Another impressive job.
It's all very sparkly.
100 years later, it was the same story, but this time down in the bay and as a way of restoring not just civic but national pride. (And to provide a set for the resurrected -- or should that be regenerated? -- Dr Who. It was slightly disconcerting to walk along seemingly familiar streets, only to realize that you remembered them from the 2005 Dr Who Crimbo special.) Another impressive job.
It's all very sparkly.
On the docks
My great-grandfather used to work on the docks. However, I somehow doubt he was quite so Village People as this fine statue.
In place of the docks now are buildings like this, the St David's Hotel and Spa, our home for our two -- or should that be 1.5 -- nights in Cardiff. Nice. And I'm sure working there is considerably less stressful than hauling coal or loads off the boats. Even if the uniforms aren't as appealing.
In place of the docks now are buildings like this, the St David's Hotel and Spa, our home for our two -- or should that be 1.5 -- nights in Cardiff. Nice. And I'm sure working there is considerably less stressful than hauling coal or loads off the boats. Even if the uniforms aren't as appealing.
Schiphol after hours
We've returned from Wales and finally have both a USB to miniUSB cable AND broadband. Hurrah! So here, as promised, are some pics.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Land of my forefathers
Ok, it turns out that there "was" a security threat last night; a hoax bomb threat to the plane next to the one due to fly out to Amsterdam to take us to Cardiff, which required the evacuation of lots of planes. Or something. Either that, or BMI Baby persuaded the local Cardiff newspapers to run the story to throw me off the scent. Humph! We landed in Wales at just before 1 a.m. local time, and got to the hotel at 1.30. In bed and fast asleep by 1.40.
It was worth it. This is a lovely city. The developed Cardiff Bay area is stunning, particularly when you get bags of sunshine and blue skies, as we did today. The city centre is less impressive -- too many malls, too many "super"clubs -- although the civic buildings developed in the late 19th century as part of Cardiff's bid to become a city are wonderful. Long, graceful boulevards with classical domes and columns, topped off with Welsh dragons, all set in rather nice parkland. Just lovely. Our hotel is very modern, great views of the Bay -- and of Harry Ramsden's fish 'n' chip restaurant, where we had dinner tonight -- and a spa area with pool and gym; we've walked miles and done some exercise today.
Again, apologies for the lack of photos. We looked into buying a USB to miniUSB cable today, but 20 quid seemed extortionate. You'll just have to hold on till tomorrow evening.
Off to Carmarthen tomorrow on the world's slowest train -- well, with the obvious exception of last Friday's 18:20 London-Norwich service -- for a day of family fun. And if there's no fun, we'll move on to Plan B -- getting hammered.
It was worth it. This is a lovely city. The developed Cardiff Bay area is stunning, particularly when you get bags of sunshine and blue skies, as we did today. The city centre is less impressive -- too many malls, too many "super"clubs -- although the civic buildings developed in the late 19th century as part of Cardiff's bid to become a city are wonderful. Long, graceful boulevards with classical domes and columns, topped off with Welsh dragons, all set in rather nice parkland. Just lovely. Our hotel is very modern, great views of the Bay -- and of Harry Ramsden's fish 'n' chip restaurant, where we had dinner tonight -- and a spa area with pool and gym; we've walked miles and done some exercise today.
Again, apologies for the lack of photos. We looked into buying a USB to miniUSB cable today, but 20 quid seemed extortionate. You'll just have to hold on till tomorrow evening.
Off to Carmarthen tomorrow on the world's slowest train -- well, with the obvious exception of last Friday's 18:20 London-Norwich service -- for a day of family fun. And if there's no fun, we'll move on to Plan B -- getting hammered.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Where, o where, is our plane?
Norfolk Dumpling, why are you blogging so late in the evening? Are you so excited by the charms of Cardiff that you feel compelled to share them with us?
Fat chance. We're still in Schiphol, a "mere" 2 hours after our flight was due to depart, and no sign of us departing for another hour and 20 minutes. Apparently, there was a security alert that closed Cardiff airport for a couple of hours. Hmm, funny that. We've checked the Cardiff airport Web site and local BBC news and nothing's been reported. Now, maybe they've just got a little blase about security incidents recently, but I still think it would appear somewhere. (Admittedly, I can't face checking CNN, but they're probably still running serious news stories about the Suri Cruise pics in Vanity Fair.) So, it looks to me like BMI Baby -- that's BMI Baby you should avoid in future -- is telling porky pies to cover up their own incompetence and lack of aircraft. After all, who'd complain about people just trying to keep us safe?
Um, me, actually -- Schiphol is bloody depressing at midnight. I've got some great photos of deserted corridors that I'd love to share with you, only someone forgot to pack the camera cables -- and of course all the shops are shut now. It just keeps getting better and better! But at least we got a refreshment voucher; shame they couldn't warm up my "warme" chocolademelk for me. The good news is that we have a fab driver from our hotel who's provided us with more information about what's going on than any member of staff in this godforsaken hole. Davy will be getting a big tip tonight (if we actually get to meet him).
Fat chance. We're still in Schiphol, a "mere" 2 hours after our flight was due to depart, and no sign of us departing for another hour and 20 minutes. Apparently, there was a security alert that closed Cardiff airport for a couple of hours. Hmm, funny that. We've checked the Cardiff airport Web site and local BBC news and nothing's been reported. Now, maybe they've just got a little blase about security incidents recently, but I still think it would appear somewhere. (Admittedly, I can't face checking CNN, but they're probably still running serious news stories about the Suri Cruise pics in Vanity Fair.) So, it looks to me like BMI Baby -- that's BMI Baby you should avoid in future -- is telling porky pies to cover up their own incompetence and lack of aircraft. After all, who'd complain about people just trying to keep us safe?
Um, me, actually -- Schiphol is bloody depressing at midnight. I've got some great photos of deserted corridors that I'd love to share with you, only someone forgot to pack the camera cables -- and of course all the shops are shut now. It just keeps getting better and better! But at least we got a refreshment voucher; shame they couldn't warm up my "warme" chocolademelk for me. The good news is that we have a fab driver from our hotel who's provided us with more information about what's going on than any member of staff in this godforsaken hole. Davy will be getting a big tip tonight (if we actually get to meet him).
Mother knows best
The recent trip to Norwich gave me the opportunity to go shopping with my mother, something I've not done for years. (Well, for clothes. We always go food shopping together.) The excursion kicked off with me rapidly reverting to sulky teenager-hood.
"Come on then, let's try to find you a nice dress."
"I don't want a nice dress. I look awful in dresses. Why can't I get some trainers instead?"
"But you've got a lovely figure! You should show it off!"
"Don't say that!"
"What?"
"About my figure! It's embarrassing! And nothing's going to fit. I'm so fat. And I don't have any friends and no one will ever like me."
And so on.
I'm surprised she didn't ditch me after an abortive visit to Monsoon, but -- just as she has done for the past 35 years -- she persisted and we hit paydirt in House of Fraser. After criticizing half a dozen frocks, we finally found two that I agreed, with a marked lack of enthusiasm, to try on. And I liked them. And they were both a size 10 (UK size 10, US size 6)! Now, I'm not sure if this is the result of Britain being in the grip of an obesity crisis (TM The Daily Mail), but I felt pretty damn good in the changing rooms -- positively svelte! -- unlike in my gym's changing room, where I feel like a stumpy, albino dwarf. I bought both dresses, have worn one of them to work (and got some compliments), so will obviously have to go shopping with Mama Dumpling more frequently. I'm sure she'll be delighted to hear that.
"Come on then, let's try to find you a nice dress."
"I don't want a nice dress. I look awful in dresses. Why can't I get some trainers instead?"
"But you've got a lovely figure! You should show it off!"
"Don't say that!"
"What?"
"About my figure! It's embarrassing! And nothing's going to fit. I'm so fat. And I don't have any friends and no one will ever like me."
And so on.
I'm surprised she didn't ditch me after an abortive visit to Monsoon, but -- just as she has done for the past 35 years -- she persisted and we hit paydirt in House of Fraser. After criticizing half a dozen frocks, we finally found two that I agreed, with a marked lack of enthusiasm, to try on. And I liked them. And they were both a size 10 (UK size 10, US size 6)! Now, I'm not sure if this is the result of Britain being in the grip of an obesity crisis (TM The Daily Mail), but I felt pretty damn good in the changing rooms -- positively svelte! -- unlike in my gym's changing room, where I feel like a stumpy, albino dwarf. I bought both dresses, have worn one of them to work (and got some compliments), so will obviously have to go shopping with Mama Dumpling more frequently. I'm sure she'll be delighted to hear that.
O what a beautiful morning
You can tell it's going to be a good day when you spend your shower time wondering if it would be too creepy to ask your boyfriend to put a towel over you in the event of you falling over while showering, hitting your head, and dying in a pool of soapy blood on the shower room floor. I really don't want to be discovered naked and dead. Terribly embarrassing and not at all British.
Maybe I'm watching too much CSI.
Maybe I'm watching too much CSI.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
It's the little things that make life worth living
Two things made me happy today:
1. I saw a tortoise in the Vondelpark on my way to work. I'm used to seeing wildlife in the form of ducks, dogs, inept rollerbladers, and the occasional parrot, but tortoises? Not so much. This one was quite small, with a dark green shell, and had clearly made it across the (luckily quieter) bike path with some effort, and was heaving him/herself gratefully on to the verge, hoping for a quieter life there.
2. I managed to work a reference to Norwich -- a fine city -- into a piece of research that I was editing, thus promoting this wonderful place to a much wider audience. Hurrah for Norfolk County Council's free Wi-Fi initiative -- even if it didn't seem to cover my hairdresser's salon.
As you can see, it doesn't take much to make me happy.
1. I saw a tortoise in the Vondelpark on my way to work. I'm used to seeing wildlife in the form of ducks, dogs, inept rollerbladers, and the occasional parrot, but tortoises? Not so much. This one was quite small, with a dark green shell, and had clearly made it across the (luckily quieter) bike path with some effort, and was heaving him/herself gratefully on to the verge, hoping for a quieter life there.
2. I managed to work a reference to Norwich -- a fine city -- into a piece of research that I was editing, thus promoting this wonderful place to a much wider audience. Hurrah for Norfolk County Council's free Wi-Fi initiative -- even if it didn't seem to cover my hairdresser's salon.
As you can see, it doesn't take much to make me happy.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
"This is your RTL5 . . . Not"
After five years, I don't really expect that much from Dutch TV stations. Shows pulled from the schedule mid-season? Check. 45-minute shows chopped in half and shown as 30-minute episodes on subsequent evenings? Check. A season starting with episode 8, working back down to episode 2, and then leaping to episode 9? Checkity check. But RTL5 are really taking the proverbial with CSI: Miama (I know, don't say anything). Last week, Speedle was alive. This week, no sign of him, a bunch of new characters, and we're clearly half-way though an ongoing subplot about a mole in the lab. It looks like we've jumped not just episodes, but seasons. Why is it so hard to show one season at a time and in the right order?
Roll on a return to the UK and decent stations.
Roll on a return to the UK and decent stations.
Monday, September 04, 2006
After Snakes on a Plane, it's time for Cats on a Car
Well, one cat. And it is likely to prompt the car's owner to start swearing. Our much-missed children in fur, Plato and Aristotle, loved lazing louchely on our family car, soaking up the residual heat from the engine as they sprawled across the bonnet. And leaving little muddy paw prints on it. And the occasional scratch in the paintwork. So when I say much-missed, I mean that I miss them, not the owner of the car in question . . .
Norfolk daze
Our visits to the People's Republic of Norfolk have taken on a soothingly repetitive rhythm: arrive late Friday evening (either by design or courtesy of the railways); get up late, go into town for a cheap but excellent haircut (Jem at Method), meet the 'rents at Loch Fyne for a late lunch, into M&S to buy underwear and teabags (240 Extra Strong One Cups), and then home for dinner and, usually, a Channel 4 "list" show -- you know, one of those super-cheap TV programs with a decent voiceover and lots of rentagobs like Stuart Maconie. Sunday involves reading the papers, heading to Sainsbury's for more essential items unavailable over here -- decent veggie stock powder, magic dusters, vast slabs of Dairy Milk -- and then a bit of a walk before heading to the joyously simple and laid-back Norwich Airport.
This weekend was no exception. The haircut was top-notch; the mussels in Loch Fyne very tasty; I got several outfits at the new House of Fraser; and the Channel 4 show in question was "Britain's 50 top comedy films", voice-overed by fellow Norfolk boy Stephen Fry (we went to the same 6th form college!) but, refreshingly, without Stuart Maconie or his fellow Z-list "celeb" peers who usually appear on "I love whatever you'll pay me to talk about." No, this had commentary from the likes of Kevin Smith, and the top three films -- as voted for by you, the British public -- were Shaun of the Dead, Airplane, and at No.1 Life of Brian. Fine films all and an easy way to waste several hours. And despite a short delay at the airport due to high winds, our journey home was straightforward. Even the dreaded security checks seem far more amenable and less stressful when administered by someone with a strong Norfolk accent -- although I was bemused that a man ahead of me was complaining about the fact that he wasn't allowed to take his roll-on deodorant in hand luggage. "Why doesn't anyone tell you these things?" he remonstrated with the guard; she looked somewhat nonplussed and ventured that it had been all over the news for the past month, but he was not satisfied. Muppet.
This weekend was no exception. The haircut was top-notch; the mussels in Loch Fyne very tasty; I got several outfits at the new House of Fraser; and the Channel 4 show in question was "Britain's 50 top comedy films", voice-overed by fellow Norfolk boy Stephen Fry (we went to the same 6th form college!) but, refreshingly, without Stuart Maconie or his fellow Z-list "celeb" peers who usually appear on "I love whatever you'll pay me to talk about." No, this had commentary from the likes of Kevin Smith, and the top three films -- as voted for by you, the British public -- were Shaun of the Dead, Airplane, and at No.1 Life of Brian. Fine films all and an easy way to waste several hours. And despite a short delay at the airport due to high winds, our journey home was straightforward. Even the dreaded security checks seem far more amenable and less stressful when administered by someone with a strong Norfolk accent -- although I was bemused that a man ahead of me was complaining about the fact that he wasn't allowed to take his roll-on deodorant in hand luggage. "Why doesn't anyone tell you these things?" he remonstrated with the guard; she looked somewhat nonplussed and ventured that it had been all over the news for the past month, but he was not satisfied. Muppet.
All together now
She's just a devil woman
With evil on her mind
Beware the devil woman
She's gonna get you*
*Actually, Emmy's more likely to roll around in something whiffy, bark a lot, and demand to have her tummy tickled, but still. Those eyes are scary!
With evil on her mind
Beware the devil woman
She's gonna get you*
*Actually, Emmy's more likely to roll around in something whiffy, bark a lot, and demand to have her tummy tickled, but still. Those eyes are scary!
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Time flies when you're having fun
Or, when you're working in London for a few days. The city is a time (and money) sink: Pop out for a quick political drink after work with the boss and you're suddenly half an hour late for the far more sociable evening you have lined up with sister and friends. Head out to get a sandwich at lunchtime? YOu get back to the office an hour later, having spent £50 on stuff. Nothing useful or essential. Just stuff. Even getting out of London isn't easy. We turned up at Liverpool Street Station 20 minutes before our train was due to depart, only to find that it was delayed, ominously, by 40 minutes. And then, all the trains were delayed by 40 minutes, people started getting off trains they'd boarded 10 minutes earlier, and it was clear that chaos was inevitable. It turned out that the overhead power lines had come down at Ingatestone and they weren't sure when -- or even if -- they'd be fixed. And the same thing had happened on Wednesday and trains hadn't left till the early hours of the morning. Sigh. Experience of the British rail network has taught me that it's never a good idea to wait around for more information; just find an alternative route, get moving, and don't try to find out whether they managed to fix the problem 10 minutes after you left. We phoned the parents, explained the dilmma, and Papa Dumpling offered to pick us up at Stansted Airport, a "mere" 90 minutes from Norwich. We dashed over to Platform 3, miraculously got seats on the train, and arrived at Stansted 40 minutes later. A bottle of white wine, thoughtfully opened before we left the office, and a pack of cream cakes sustained us while we waited for our chaffeur to arrive, and then, again miraculously, we found his car among the melee and headed up the M11 to fish pie and a good night's sleep.
Our swift decision was the right one -- as expected. Trains were still not running today and compensation forms were being handed out like candy in a playground at the station this morning. Unfortunately, I can only get my ticket price back in the form of National Rail vouchers, which surely violates all sorts of trading standards legislation -- or at least good customer service practices. Why can't M&S run the railways? You'd always get your money back, no questions asked. And the tea would be great.
Our swift decision was the right one -- as expected. Trains were still not running today and compensation forms were being handed out like candy in a playground at the station this morning. Unfortunately, I can only get my ticket price back in the form of National Rail vouchers, which surely violates all sorts of trading standards legislation -- or at least good customer service practices. Why can't M&S run the railways? You'd always get your money back, no questions asked. And the tea would be great.
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