Friday, 28 September 2012

London Calling

Took a call at home, today.

The woman on the other end off the line said she was calling from London.

The digital display on my phone said: "international, unknown"!

She told me, in her monotone voice, that she was calling about infected files on my computer.

I said: “No”!

She said: “Yes”!

“Oh, dear”, says I.

“But don’t worry”, the all knowing, over-confident voice continued, “I can help you”.

“Wow, really! That’s great…”

She hangs up!

Did I say something wrong?

Friday, 21 September 2012

A Quid Pro Notes

Can you believe it? The Channel Islands still has one pound notes! Can’t buy much with ‘em, though!

Last time I went to Scotland, only a couple a years back, they still had notes, there, too. I’ve ransacked me brains, inter-cranial and on-line, but can’t understand why the bank of England pulled the paper notes out of circulation! The stereotypical untruths about the Scots hardly compare with the Channel Islands Franglish atmosphere or tax dodge allure of the high life, so why do they have ‘em, and we don’t? 

A recent journey down to the southern outpost of the United Kingdom, aboard a notoriously nick-named Vomit Comet, was one I had been promising myself for some time. Calm seas and patches of sea mist teased me magi-nation, as we popped in and out of pretty St Peter’s Port on our way to Jersey. But, oh dear! Oh dearie, dearie me… On arrival at St Helier, I was wishing I’d jumped off at the “Welcome to Guernsey” sign.

Jersey’s industrial looking ferry port did not seem as attractive to this disembarking sea sailing adventurer as its picturesque neighbour.

However, after a very pleasant lunch and meander round the shops, I did find something very interesting on me trip. 

The Havre des Pas Lido is an outdoor pool just off the beach at Havre des Pas, within walking distance to the port and town centre. I didn’t quite see the individual pools, as such, with the tide so high, but it was downright exhilarating walking down the steps into the chillingly refreshing deep clear water and swimming without getting extremities caught up in seaweed or sand sifting through me unexposed bits. 

Setting aside the ferry's tiered seating sections of first class, reclining seats and standard seats reminiscent of a bygone, class conscious era, I still enjoyed the journey to the Islands as much as my brief stopover. I guess that kinda goes along with my drifting perspective, inhaling each new moment in my quest to find new inspiration.