"Oh it's a Good Life on the Buses..."

I think Maltese buses and their drivers have appeared before in this blog. Well now I've experienced another side to them, and it's not good.

This week, I am traveling to the office at lunchtime and returning late at night. It seems I have to plan to catch a bus at least an hour before I need to - a lot of the buses are full and won't stop.

It can be quite frustrating, just like in UK, there is the cliche you wait thirty minutes for a bus and three turn up at once. The same is true here, but you take your chances that any of them will actually respond when you stick your hand out. Today I set off in plenty of time, but watched in horror as bus after bus sailed past.

The other dilemma is getting home at night. The later it gets, the quieter the buses get, but also they become less frequent. I have no way of knowing if another one is coming if I stand at the bus stop nearest to the office, or whether the last one of the night has just whizzed by. I also run the risk that on one particular night the last bus happens to be popular so as soon as it's full it decides not to pick up any more passengers - me included.

Maltese bus drivers are grumpy at the best of times - but I bet they take great pleasure in watching you curse them and make rude hand gestures in their general direction...

...out of their rear view mirror as they drown you in exhaust fumes.

p.s. I didn't take the picture myself, but that is one of the more modern Maltese buses - and the 64 is actually one of the routes I take :)

Hot? You Don't Know the Meaning of the Word

One of the things I had on my 'negative' list when I considered moving to Malta was the heat. Every time the island gets mentioned in a conversation, the response is 'ooh, it's hot there isn't it?' or 'how will you cope with the heat?' Well, my first day here and I've experienced temperatures in excess of 100 degrees, and it's still only May!

Ok, side track here, isn't it funny how we use the Fahrenheit scale for hot weather, but refer to Celsius for the cold. If it dips below freezing we say it's minus 2 degrees out there!' I suppose it sounds a bit more dramatic than 'ooh, it's dropped to 28 degrees already.' At the top end of the scale it feels hotter if you say 'it's approaching 100', rather than 'it's nearly 38 degrees.'

Anyway, I arrived at the airport and as we are coming into land the pilot casually announces that the weather in Malta is 'quite warm, 35 degrees with a light westerly breeze.' 35 degrees - quite warm! That's 95 in old money.

I've been told by various folk that Malta is also a humid environment. The only time I've experienced heat of this scale before is walking along the Las Vegas Strip at one o'clock in the afternoon - but that is desert heat. Malta, being an island, has a lot of moisture in the atmosphere. I envisioned myself stepping out of the apartment to go to work and being bathed in sweat even before I got to the end of the road. Fingers crossed, so far it hasn't been like that. I'm not saying there hasn't been perspiration, of course there has, but nothing uncontrollable, or unsightly. Hardest thing for me is if I get a sweaty face my glasses slip off the end of my nose!

I've not managed to pick up a tan, the hours I'm having to work don't allow me time outdoors during the hotter weather, but so far it's still been a pleasant enough experience living in the sun...

...although we haven't got to July and August yet.

Definition of an Eejit Part XI

Seems a long time since I defined myself as a buffoon. Well, it's happened again.

I've just told you about one of my colleagues being made redundant. On Tuesday, I got the chance to got out with him for a few drinks, make sure he was ok, and let him know it wasn't anything personal. 'A few drinks' turned out to be an all day pub crawl, taking in about half a dozen venues and a selection of pub quiz machines.

Additional note here. Well worth having a German on your quiz team. He may have been young and had no idea about UK kids TV, but it was amazing how many European geography questions and German language questions came up.

Anyway, back to the pub crawl. As soon as I realised it was going to be a long one, I did the sensible thing of leaving my bunch of keys at home. How bad would it have been if I'd lost the office keys? I simply took out the key to the front door, loose, in my jeans pocket (mixed in with my loose change. Can you tell where this story is going?). Moritz returned his set of office keys to me that he no longer needed, so I was carrying a set of them anyway, despite trying to be so careful earlier on.

We stayed in the last pub for several drinks. It has a huge beer garden, and my friend is a smoker so it meant he could puff away to his heart's content. I taught him a few new card tricks, and we even put on a bit of a magic show for two girls who seemed impressed. (Well, I think they were more drunk than us, so any mistakes we made didn't register).

I caught a cab home, must have arrived at the flat about midnight, and reached into my pocket for my key...I had Moritz's old office keys and about sixteen pound in pound coins but no flat key. A frantic rummage through every orriface on my clothing turned up nothing (except for some reason a broken cigarette lighter!) and I was stuck outside my flat door, unable to gain entry.

Another side note here. You may be wondering how I managed to get into the block of flats in the first place. One of my neighbours was trying to shift a wardrobe out to a waiting van so the front door was propped open. Why you would want to move a wardrobe at midnight is anybody's guess.

Ok, so what to do. I could gain entry from my neighbours balcony but it's midnight. I could attempt to break the lock and pay for the damages (I actually tried putting my shoulder to the door and almost broke three bones, so I gave up on that idea.) I could phone the landlord and explain, but again it's midnight and he doesn't live locally....

...or I could do what I ended up doing and walk to the office. With Moritz's keys I let myself in and slept under my own desk. I woke at 6am and as 'luck' would have it I was the only one due into the Southampton office that day. I worked from 6am til 10pm and during the day got hold of the landlord and got him to deliver a spare to the office. (I made up a story about how I locked myself out. Didn't fancy telling him his key was probably on the back seat of a cab, or under a beer garden table).

By the time I finally gained access to the apartment I had been out of the place (and wearing the same clothes) for 36 hours....

...I told you I was an eejit.

Start Spreading the News Part II

Remember the first part of this story? A local nightclub a few yards from my Southampton flat wanting to re-open? We have developments...

...and it's victory for the little people! (No, not the Munchkins in The Land of Oz, I mean victory for the local residents)

The application posted to the door of the disused club has 'Refused: 21st May 2009' scralled across it, and there is a notice in the local paper explaining it has been rejected due to 'unprecidented public opinion'.

So, despite the fact we live in a world where residents rarely know their own neighbour anymore and keep their doors double locked and bolted at all times, it seems if people band together they can make themselves heard. Ok, I admit I never got involved, and when I decided to move to Malta I did develop a 'it's someone elses problem' attitude - but I still feel some kind of pride that the club isn't going to reopen.

There is no news as to what happens next. Something needs to go there, and in the present climate it's unlikely to be more apartments, but whatever it is...

...it won't be New York, New York nightclub

Off on my Jollies Again

At short notice I'm jetting off back to Malta in two days time. Just for a week to train a new member of staff.

Sorry for the lapse in blog entries, but to be honest, everything is sort of getting on top of me at the moment and keeping upto date on my blog is the least of my worries. A key member of staff here in Southampton has been made redundant, despite the fact we are taking on staff in Malta. The summer bonus we were promised has now been reduced by 50% because of 'lack of funds' apparently.

I have a whole list of social things coming up, almost something every week, but it doesn't help that the work in-between is a string of complaints and whinging from above. Maybe listing them in chronological order will cheer me up:

1. Meeting up with Sarah and Caoimhe for dinner in The Trafford Centre, then spending my birthday in Manchester
2. Twenty20 cricket game with Jackie (spectating, not playing!)
3. Two horse race meetings with the boys from IOM (Bath and Salisbury)
4. 5 days in the IOM
5. Tara coming over and spending three days with me in Manchester
6. Concert in London with Jackie
7. Meeting up with a friend form the quiz show in Maidstone for an overnight stop
8. Meeting up with a whole group of the quiz people for a reunion

Not bad eh?

I Feel The Need... The Need to Blog

I'm actually writing this under pressure....

Ok, I admit, my blog updates have started to fall by the wayside. It's not that I don't enjoy writing entries, it's just that sometimes my life falls into a deep rut and I find it hard to get out of it. At the moment, I am definitely in a trench.

It's a stupid, viscious cycle I've found myself in. Almost all my shifts are 6am starts which means waking up by alarm at about 5.20am. Have you ever tried to rise yourself at that time? Even the dawn chorus of birds are still gargling the Listerine and tuning their instruments!

By the time I walk into the office I am already asleep, so I feel the need to drink something caffeine based. I can't get close to a mug of coffee, the smell makes me wretch, so I've come to rely on energy drinks...

And therein lies the problem. 6am, drink some American energy drinks, go home at 2pm, try to sleep... can't sleep, the second wave of caffeine has kicked in, but doze anyway. Wake up at about 11pm. Try to doze again, but can't. Eventually drop off at 3am - woken by alarm two hours later. Cycle continues.

I know the answer is not to drink the caffeine, but I also know what will happen if I try to function at work for 8 hours without a kick start....

...welcome to my world

My Magnificent Octopus Part VI

Another update on the novel....and do people want to know where they appear? I'll do my best to give you a run down.

Ok, I took quite a break from writing. Partially due to other commitments, but mainly due to the fact I had passed on the later draft to a few people, and was waiting for feedback. I finally gave up waiting.

I don't know if that's a bad thing. Perhaps they tried to read it and found it heavy going, or boring, but I couldn't wait any longer, so I pressed on.

My issue at the moment is I have the next three or four plot points to get in, and in my usual heavy-handed way I'm finding it hard to spread them between chapters. I'm so keen to get them down on paper it's rushing the plot. In retrospect that's not a bad thing. I do actually want this section of the story to rush forward (it's the section where DCI Morgen works out the link between the murders) but I think I've done it far far FAR too quickly.

The idea is, in one swoop, he discovers the link between the first three killings, which leads him to discover the potential next victim, but is minutes away from saving him. This leads to the spiral into depression I was keen to write about last time I updated you all on the novel. I'm just finding it hard to make the discovery quick, but at the same time, not appear rushed (or fake) I think half the problem is I am desperate to get to the depression bit, but I'm not an experienced writer to compose the story out of order. I need to know what prose I have created that gets him into that state. Who knows about it, who he's upset, who he's rejected etc.

Ok, Character names (in chronological order - ish) I've included surnames if they are significant

Ali - barmaid in The Swan and possible girlfriend for DCI Morgen
Frank - landlord of The Swan
Jeni - Frank's wife
Ant Desmond - landlord of The Ferry Inn
Sarah-Jayne - Ant's wife
Graeme - landlord of The New Inn
Leah - Graeme's wife
Tara - wife of the first victim
Andrew McWade - workmate of the first victim
Tim Drummond - chief forensic expert
Neville - barman at The Ship
Mark - lover of Tara (see above)
Sleddon & Crellin - footballers playing for Norwich
Gribben, Chapple & Robinson - footballers playing for West Brom
Martin Douglas - friend of victim number three

Think that's it so far, but there is still a Jacqui, Linda and Simon to fit in somewhere :o)

Southampton: Happy to Say Goodbye Part II

Last time I told you an extremely disturbing overheard conversation which almost made me weep for the future generations and the future of this city. Today, I was in the same quiz machine position, and this time the booth table housed two male students. Similar conversation to last time, but on this occasion I have to bow down to the audacity.

(NB: The **** bit is because I missed the name of the night club in question, and I'd hate to make it up in fear of being sued)

Guy 1: Any luck last night?
Guy 2: Yeah, copped off in **** she was fantastic. Shagged all night.
Guy 1: You pulled in ****? Thought Wednesday was gay night?
Guy 2: It is.
Guy 1: What the F*ck?
Guy 2: Not like that, it's packed with fit stuff, they think they're safe cos it's gay night.
Guy 1: But you pulled a bird?

(wait for it.....)

Guy 2: Yeah, I just took Gavin on the dance floor when it was quiet and snogged his face off. Slags thought we were both gay and hung off us all night. We were both tonguing them all night. Let 'em know later on you'd like to try having proper sex and they rip their knickers off. They think they are breaking in a gay bloke.
Guy 1: You snogged Gavin?
Guy 2: Yeah, but it was worth it. He took two slags home. Had a threeway.
Guy 1: Ha ha he beat you then!
Guy 2: Ha ha, yeah but my b*tch f*cked like a rabbit. Let me go bareback too cos she thought it was my first time. Stupid c**t

I still pity the city, but got to admit...

...it's an interesting technique.

We're All Off to Wem-ber-ley

Ah, the return of the prodical son, only a week since my last visit there. Why was I going back? The best opportunity to see my new TV chums.

I arrived outside the studio at exactly 5pm. As luck would have it the crowd had just finished their last recording of the day as well. It was perfect timing. From that point it was drinks in the hotel bar, drinks in the local pub, kareoke, stupid drinking games (ok I admit, some of that was my fault) and finally crashing out on a friends hotel room floor.

Highlights? Possibly singing 'Living Next Door to Alice' and having the entire pub join in with the chorus - even people as far away as the pool room. It sends a tingle down your spine when moments like that crop up.

Saddest moment was the following morning. I walked back down to the studio with a few of my closer pals, but as we said our goodbyes and they ducked into the building, I had to carry on to Wembley Park Tube station to begin my journey home...alone. It didn't help my iPod had run out of battery either.

I'm still in touch with them all daily online, but nothing compares to face to face contact. Shaking hands, hugging, even the odd peck on the cheek. It all helps to warm the heart.

...Autumn reunion, here I come!

iPod Tales

I've just returned from an overnight trip to Wembley. More of that in the next post, but I wanted to pass on two tales that happened on the journey down there that both involved my iPod Shuffle.

I recently changed the headphones on my little MP3 player. At first I thought I was going deaf - everytime I played a song I had to turn the volume up to maximum and even then I could hardly hear the music over the sound of passing traffic. I then tried changing the headphones and almost perforated my eardrum. Not sure if that's relevant, but you know I like to be thorough.

The first leg of my journey to London was a ride to Waterloo. I was half asleep after coming off the back of late shifts followed by a 6am start so as the train pulled out of the station I rested my head against the window pane and closed my eyes. The tunes in my ears were coming at me in random order - moving from 60's pop ditties to heavy rock via 70's psycadelica. Quite an eclectic mix. After about 20 minutes 'In the Army Now' by Status Quo came on. (Click below if you don't know the tune and want to hear what I was listening to)

In the Army Now

Pure 80's cheesiness from the kings of the 'we only know two chords' rockers. About halfway through there is a line 'The sargeant calls: STAND UP AND FIGHT!' with the second part of the lyric being shouted by a sargeant major type figure. With me so far?

I was half asleep on the train, listening to this tune, slightly aware that someone had sat next to me, and also slightly aware I was singing along to the music under my breath. As that lyric came along the person next to me - in perfect timing - said STAND UP AND FIGHT!. Ok, they didn't shout it, but it was certainly loud enough to jerk me awake and turn to them smiling. They were smiling back, almost laughing. I apologised to them in case my music had been too loud, but they explained they couldn't hear the music, only me singing along to it, and decided to join in. A lovely ice-breaker...

...shame it was a bloke really!

Ok story two takes place at Waterloo station itself. I'm sure you've all been to a major railway station at one time or another. Waterloo is one of the busiest in the world. About 20 mainline platforms and three seperate Tube lines coming together under one roof. At any one time there are over 5000 people in and around the station, all rushing to get where they need to get to. I was standing on the concourse, looking for a map of The Tube, trying to decide if I need the Jubilee or Northern Line when 'Adagio for Strings' came on my iPod (no need for a link this time. There is a version of it in the jukebox thing at the bottom of the blog and a video version in the old post entry about my funeral arrangements)

I turned the volume up to maximum, and with the new headphones (see, I knew it was important to mention them) all ouside noises were completely drowned away. Waterloo station suddenly became the most tranquil place on earth.

I was living in a scene from a movie. Everything seemed to move in slow-motion. The hoards of commuters began to walk in unison. The newpaper vendor seemed to be staring directly at me and waving the Evening Standard like a flag. As the middle section of the composition kicked in, the trains seemed to pull out of the station at the same time. The ride on the first escalator into The Underground seemed to go on for hours, taking me into a different realm. People were no longer faceless drones, they had personalities. Then the music faded out and it all went back to normal. Loud Tannoy anouncements about keeping hold of your luggage and minding the gap. Kids screaming, tourists chatting openly in incoherent foreign languages.

...so I skipped back to the start of the track again.

Southampton: Happy to say goodbye

I'm not sure what kind of impression I gave when I first moved here, I suppose I looked at it through rose-tinted glasses, trying to find the good in the city, knowing I was forced to be here. An over-heared conversation this lunchtime sort of sums up the city I have come to know, and why I am happy to put it behind me.

I didn't start work today until 2pm, so I came in early to have a pub lunch next door to the office. As usual, after my feed I took up residence at the quiz machine, which is now tucked away in a back corner next to a 'booth' style table. Sat around it today were three females and one male, and judging by the ongoing conversations they were all students who were coming to the end of their academic year.

Two females were talking first. The gist of the conversation was as follows: (you have to imagine the fake southern accents they all seem to gain, plus the high pitched giggles and shrieks that each sentence is punctuated with).

(I also apologise if anyone finds this conversation offensive. Just trying to make a point about the state of the city)

Girl 1: Did you see Marcus last night?
Girl 2: Which Marcus?
Girl 1: You know...Marcus?
Girl 2: Oh you mean Marcus? Yeah, saw him in The Square. F**cked him in the bogs but that was about it.
Girl 1: Didn't you take him home this time then?
Girl 2: No, I had my eyes on that bloke at the bar in Flares.
Girl 1: Did you get him then?
Girl 2: Yeah, well F*cked him in the bogs as well, but didn't feel like taking him home.
Girl 1: I just got hold of James as usual. Gave him a BJ then took him home for a F*ck
Girl 2: F**k knows the name of the bloke I took home. He was pretty fit though. F**ked all night.

At this point, the bloke at the table got a phone call. Obviously I could only hear his side of it:

Boy 1: Hey w**ker, where are you, we're in the pub?.....What time?.....Ok....well might see you later then.

Girl 1: Is he coming down then?
Boy 1: Not right now, apparently he got the sh*t kicked out of him last night and he's still in hospital, but he might come down later.
Girl 1: Is he still up for Sunday though?
Boy 1: Forgot to ask.

As calm as that. Not once did I hear one of them ask what happened or if he was alright.

...I could weep.

Short Fat Hairy Legs

I was ordering a couple of new shirts online and a pair of cheap trainers - so I took the opportunity to order a pair of shorts too. Not shorts you'd wear for sports, more the sort of casual fashion ones a surfer might wear on a day to day basis. God I've got ugly legs.

I tried them on at home (they are sort of navy blue if you want a full picture and I was wearing a plain, grey t-shirt at the time). They came to just below the knee (as they were supposed to) and I even remembered to take off my socks. Nothing worse than a pair of shorts with a couple of black socks lurking underneath.

I then took a deep breath and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn't know whether to burst into tears or laughter. Sticking out of the bottom of the legwear were two tree stumps. Chunky all the way down until the ankles when they suddenly got thinner (I never knew I had skinny ankles). Pasty white as they had never seen the sun since 1984 and dotted with red spots. I never realised how many red marks my legs had until I thrust them into a pair of shorts.

On top of all this there is the remains of my mosquito bites from my last Malta trip. Large, dark scabs surrounded by regions of purple. The kind of thing you see when Patrick Moore is showing pictures of the surface of Mars on The Sky at Night.

....It's going to be a LONG time before I buy the sandals!

Hippo Birdie Two Ewes

Less than a month to go and I turn 35. Not exactly a landmark age, but it may well be the last one I celebrate in the UK for a while.

This Friday I'm going back to Wembley. No, they haven't asked me back to film more episodes of the quiz (shame) but I'm taking the opportunity to meet up with the people who HAVE been called back so we can all go out for the night. It's only been a week since I saw them all, but already I miss them. I've had the offer of a hotel room floor to doze on afterwards, so everything is set.

Next on the agenda after that is my birthday. Ok, that doesn't exactly require any planning, but it might involve a beer or three. Two days after that I am off to a Twenty20 cricket game with two Germans. I hope to God neither of them ask me to explain the rules.

Mid June, I've booked a week off work and it's back to the sunny Isle of Man for a visit. Think it was last November that I set foot on the rock. I need to take the opportunity to say hello to people before I jet off to Malta, it might be my last chance. Hope I can get to see Caoimhe too. I've seen a few pics online and she's grown SO much. She turns 1 in a week or so. Time really does fly.

Then at the start of July it's back to London for a music concert with Jackie. Really looking forward to that, as long as Jackie Junior doesn't plan on making an appearence two months early. I'm hopeless in a medical crisis.

...and then it's Malta.

p.s. If anyone is reading this who would normally think about buying me a birthday present, can I remind you I'll be having to pack everything up a few months afterwards. The only thing I'll be buying a lot of before I go is DVDs because you can't buy them over there.

Mayday Mayday

No, not a cry for help, just pointing out we are already a third of the way through the year already. Doesn't time fly.

This is sort of a follow on post from the previous one. Just letting my readers know I have confirmed to the powers that be that I will definitely move to Malta at the end of the summer.

In most respects I am actually looking forward to it. The day to day work routine will be very similar to Southampton, but with the added advantage that the evenings can be more fun and I might actually get used to the warm weather. It's only the little things that hang around in the back of the mind that hold me back. Friends getting further out of reach, the physical burden of actually packing and moving, sorting out banking and bills - you know what I mean.

I made a start yesterday though. I had an eye test at Boots (the first in about 6 years I think), got a new prescription and ordered a new pair of specs - with transition lenses. (They used to be called React-a-lites in my day, but tradenames and copyright changed all that). I even made the optician laugh out loud a few times too. I always knew I should have been a comic actor.

But the main debate about Malta still remains unanswered....

...Do I buy some shorts and sandals or not.