Back to school

Alexander started 1st grade today and with that he changed schools from Van Meter to Blossom Hill although they currently share the same campus. His teacher Mr Martin from what I could tell from observing him last year has no sense of humour and seemed to spend his time after class enforcing the rules with a rigor unlike any other teacher on the campus.

He reminded me of Mrs Ramsey who when I was 8 destroyed our love or learning and replaced it with fear of failure. I hate the woman to this day and so does Brain T. who I met when he was working in the gardens at Kames Castle where we were on vacation. It turned out we both went to Rothesay Primary School within a year or so of each other. He asked me if I had been taught by Mrs Ramsey. When I said yes, he asked if she had scunnered me. Oh yes she had and I will remember it to my dying day. At least I didn't suffer the belt like Brian T.

So surrounded by classrooms whose exteriors were adorned with teddy bears, kites and the like, Mr Martins "decoration" on the railing stood out rather starkly.

Bank Holiday Travel Hell

There's a reason they don't show movies about airplane disasters on planes-: It's very unnerving. So too is reading about potential airline disasters every day in the paper for 2 weeks before you fly. I had laid awake most the night wondering if this flight might be our last. The thought that one of my fellow passengers and fellow countrymen might want to kill me, my wife, my son and my baby just would not go away. The papers of course had gone in to graphic detail about how the plane would disintegrate at 31,000 feet. What would happen to me if that happened? How long would I live? Would I have time to say good bye? Would I look into my daughters eyes and feel guilty for bringing her? At 4:00am I gave up trying to sleep, showered and commenced the final pack.

As we left the hotel at 5:30am on Saturday I was not looking forward to the trip home. In fact I was dreading it. Our macho taxi driver told us he had been driving all night. Why is that macho? I was none too impressed when he had a near miss with a line of stationary traffic as we neared Heathrow. I won't be using the Octobus taxi service again, ever.

We had been told by Virgin to check-in no less that 3.5 hours before our flight which we dutifully tried to do. However there were no Skycaps to take our luggage into the terminal and boy did we have a lot of luggage. Each door into the airport was manned/blocked by some officious little nobody who would only let you past if you were traveling with a particular airline. I enquired where the Skycaps were and was told to go 3 doors down and ask at information. I went 3 doors down and was refused entry to Information because I was traveling with Virgin and could only enter the airport by the door 3 doors up. "But they sent me down here." I replied.
"Well you can't come through here." was the little fascists response.

At this point I seriously considered either pushing past the guy or just punching him in the face really hard. I regained my composure and thought of the rest of my family shivering on the sidewalk and resigned myself to getting the luggage into the airport one way or another. But I won't forget the experience and if I get the chance to spoil some little sods day at Heathrow when I am traveling on my own I will do it, in fact I will go out of my way to do it because I am Scottish, not English.

In the end we managed to push most of our luggage on two trolleys with Alexander pushing the stroller with all the hand luggage on that. It was quite a feat. When we got to the Virgin check-in the place was almost empty apart from the staff. Perhaps they had all checked in 4 hours before, or perhaps some little fascist wouldn't let them into the airport at all.

Dena had carefully packed our original carry-on bags in our luggage and we had left some of our other luggage back at my parents. We now had less luggage than we were allowed and we now sported some really ancient little carry-on bags including a light grey one which had word "Amstrad" on it in large white letters. I really don't know where that came from.

"Two of your bags are overweight." the check-in agent announced. "Do want to pay the $40 excess baggage fee to allow your bags to be checked?"
Dena was furious! Her tearful outburst at the check-in agent left the agent unmoved. "You can pay over there."

The stress of the trip home was beginning tell on Dena and she was starting to get really on edge.
"Can I take cosmetics in my carry-on?" she enquired of the security guy at the Fast Track.
" Oh no, no cosmetics allowed today." came the helpful reply from some female American passenger behind us in the queue. Dena turned and looked daggers at the woman. "I wasn't asking you I was asking him!" she growled.

We moved through the line discarding some of Fiona's medications. When we got through the x-ray I was asked about the bottle of Benadryl that we still had. I pointed out that it was prescribed by Fiona's pediatrician to the very professional but cheery and informed x-ray guy and we were allowed to keep it. I recalled seeing on a TV show about Heathrow how the security staff had all gone on vacation dressed as vicars and tarts and smiled to myself.

Airside, Dena bought some liquid aspirin for Fiona's teething, only to be told after (and probably quite deliberately after) she had bought it that she probably couldn't have it on the flight.
The same occurred after she bought water in duty free and had it delivered to the jet way. "You probably can't open that on the flight." we were told.

On the plane things got better. We were greeted by the perky cabin director who looked at our water and our aspirin and told us it was all fine to use. It turned out she had been on a customer service course the week before, because Richard Branson is concerned his staff have lost the plot regarding service since 911. Based on our trip to the UK I think he is right. Anyway this lady was great and looked after us very well including inviting me up the 1st class bar for a drink. 3 G&T's later I was definitely flying at 31,000 feet.

Mrs. B. of Bourn's Bad Back Begets Broadside

We finally made it over to Mrs. B's. We were told early in the vacation that she had hurt her back. So before visiting I enquired by telephone of her husband how she was. He told me that she had a lot of difficulty getting out of bed in the morning, was unable to lift anything and pretty much spent most her waking ours in a chair.

"Yes, but has her bad back affected her in any way?" I enquired. 

Old Buffers

Would you get on a train with this man?

I used to for about 3 years, and he hasn't changed a bit. He always looked like this.

Paul and his Mrs. met us at Nene Valley Railway in Peterborough for a short trip on some traditional British Rail rolling stock that we were only too familar with.

Even the reading lights didn't work to add to the authenticity.

Watching Paul laughing at me trying to stop Alexander clowning on the seats every 30 seconds made me laugh inside and see myself. Boy am I grown up now. I've got childern to shout at.

I nearly came out with the magic phrase the two of us heard incanted by an American to his child, on a train somewhere in Europe 20+ years ago: "I have words to say to you!"

On the return rail journey Paul and I followed the signs saying "This bar closed. Other bar this way." It was of course also closed.

1 point to Rod.

We wandered back down the carraiges to the ladies and children, having navigated past two canines and their owners. Upon arrival Alexander proclaimed...
"Daddy I found two dogs and I sat with them."
Being as ever the master to tact I told him...
"That's no way to refer to your mother or Paul's wife."

Since I have been to the Nene Valley Railway many times and Paul and his Mrs. hadn't, we headed off to a really nice hotel/pub that I knew right near the railway line.
Of course I couldn't find it at all.

So, Paul suggested we drive to a village because any village in England has a pub in it.

He was of course right, and we ended up in Elton, which I know I visited with Rosemary but thankfully do not recall. I do however recall riding through the village with the bike club on the way to the Peterborough Bike Rally. I also recall riding back that way with Kev's sister on the back which was a fun time, a long long long time ago.

The Elton pub was a most excellent example of public houses with the smell of wood smoke, a beer gardern and even a field between it and the church sporting 2 five-a-side goals. Alexander, Paul and I were well into that.

Time stopped for us there until the rain began, and we began to realize that Mr. A would need to be fed and watered back at the hotel if he was to sleep through the night. So we said our farewells; our respective spouses taking the wheel.

Playing Great British Balls Up

I think I have finally snapped. Nearly three weeks of British service and I can't take any more! If you feel the same way then you too can play Great British Balls Up!

Here is how to play...

You and other members of your party score 1 point for every messed up order, every late order, every mis-represented item, every "well there is a war on you know." attitude and any other broken element of British service.

Retrospectively from Monday...

• Rod scores 1 point for his GNER Wendsleydale sandwich made with sticky cheese paste.
• Alexander scores 1 point for being required to order his desert with his main course and starter.

Tuesday...

• Alexander scores 1 point for not receiving his desert with chooclate ice cream as specified on the menu.
• Dena scores 1 point for ordering a mozzarella salad and receiving salmon!
• Dena scores another 1 point for ordering a mozzarella salad that second time around came with no mozzarella.
• Rod scores 1 point for ordering the special that came with a pint of bitter included, only it didn't.

Wednesday...

• Rod and Alexaner both score 1 point for ordering a croque monsieur sandwich and receiving mozzarella and tomato sandwiches.
• Dena scores 1 point for daring to ask for salad dressing and expecting to receive any.

7 more meals left, who will win this great contest?

The road to hell

If there is a hell and I end up in it, my punishment will be to travel with a tight schedule. The number of times I dream of taking a taxi to Heathrow and discovering I have forgotten my passport or arrived the wrong airport or both!

So, today's trip back to Kettering wasn't something I looked forward too. In short we made it back, but carting the damn luggage from pillar to post was an unforgettable experience.

The GNER Wendsleydale cheese sandwich which was glued together with some kind of generic cheese paste (listed in the small print that you could only reasonably read after you had purchased it) was also unforgettable.

That said, when we got into St. Pancras station, someone, who perhaps had been on a customer service course, actually helped carry our bags, got us on a train in good time, took note of the coach we were in and phoned ahead to tell someone at the Kettering to meet us and help us with our bags. We were utterly amazed. In the UK it's the individual people who take the initiative to help and when they do it's utterely wonderful and surprising.

On the train to Kettering, relaxed and inspired by the whole helpful experience I phone the hotel to ask if they could use their nice shiny silver minibus to pick us up. It had stood resplendant and unused in the carpark during our previous stay as the hotel hadn't had anyone capable of driving it to the station 2 miles away "so early in the morning" when we had asked.

"We are arriving at 6:00pm. Could someone pick us from the station and take us to your hotel so we can check back in?"

"I'm sorry sir, we don't have anyone qualified to drive the minibus at that time."

I wondered when exactly they did actually have someone qualified to drive the minibus? Perhaps during a full moon, when Venus was in decline during the ides of October???

Naming Fiona

We headed in to Glasgow to St. Andrews East church on Alexandra Parade. Frank pulled some strings with the minister and was allowed to Christen Fiona in the church where he Christened Alexander 5 years before. 45 years ago he Christened me!

Over afternoon tea with Frank and Doreen at Cameron House, where we were staying, Frank took me to one side and told me that my parents had been their best friends. "They have a wonderful sense of humour and have been very much our best friends. Even now when I think of them I smile. Please tell them that we think of them." And so I will.

Frank too has a wonderful sense of humour and I am reminded of the time as a child when we where on vacation with them playing at a beach.

I never knew Frank when he had much hair, he has always been thin on top for as long as I can recall.

As I played in the rock pools, Frank suddenly scooped up some vividly green seaweed and put it on his head.

"Quick quick, take a picture of me!" he asked of my father.
"When we get it developed we can send it back to Kodak and ask what on earth have the done with the colour of my hair."

Somewhere in the Crawford slide vault at my parents house there is that picture. 

Kilmacolm

My Aunt Isobel arranged a dinner with all the family. It also turned out to be her birthday. Here she is cutting her cake.

Everyone who could come came. There were 19 of us for dinner at the Pullman which was a most excellent family evening. 

Seeing an old friend in passing

Sailing back to the mainland I passed an old friend- the Waverly. Now a tourist attraction as the "last ocean going paddle steamer in the world." Of course in my day she was just another aquatic bus to be used from trips to the mainland to buy shoes and the like. But she always was and still is an elegant bus. 

Departure

Time for us to leave and the band played on. Not because we were leaving but because today was the Highland Games on Bute where people from all over the Cowal come to compete. Not least of all the pipe bands who march off the ferry, up the town to the meadows where they take part in the games.
I recall watching them as a child marching back at the end of day one by one onto the ferry. My father bringing up the rear in his pipe band- the Boys Brigade. 

St. Blanes Chapel

It's our last day here and the rain abated enough for us to climb the hill to St. Blanes Chapel. This is where my parents want their ashes scattered when they go.
However as Richard pointed out, to be true to the history of the chapel, my mother would need to be scattered in the womens graveyard and my father in the mens, since the two are quite separate, ensuring no hankey pankey in the afterlife.
I think when the time comes I'll break with tradition and scatter them together. 

One boy and somone elses dog

At St. Ninians bay Alexander made a new friend. They played wtih his football until his new friend burst it. Then they played with the pieces. Play continued until the thunder struck and his new friend ran back to his farmhouse home.
Then boy did it rain! It was as if all the rain we were supposed to have had the past 5 days came at once.

And yes he did make it to the top

  

Mount Stuart

The childrens play area at Mount Stuart Estate was a big hit with both Alexander and Phoebe. The restaurant had an espresso machine for Ali and myself. And the food served us all well. 

Stravanan Bay

We bought Richard a kite for his birthday in the hope that he shares it with Phoebe when she gets older, and a bottle of single malt scotch in the hope that he doesnt!

Of Coffee and Castles

Ali and I found one more thing we had in common. We need a proper cup of coffee from a proper coffee machine for the day to be tollerable. So we snuck off, found the Kettle Drum Cafe and made our day whole. Meantime Alexander climed all over the castle with Pheobe in hot persuit.

The Wreck of the Co-Worker

This wreck now adds a little character to the bay. I've seen it described as Bute's Eiffel Tower no less.

Ettrick Bay

This was one of my favourite haunts as a child and somewhere in the great crawford slide vault there is a slide of Ali about Alexanders age playing on this beach. 

Morning At Kames

Here is the view from the kitchen door of our cottage at Kames Castle. We arrived around 8:30pm and were met by the castle's house keeper, Alison, Richard and Phoebe who are staying down by the castle in another cottage.

The cottage is built into the wall of the walled garden and is quite spacious. Alexander intially loved it, until whilst cooking dinner I set fire to the garlic bread, filled the house with smoke and set off the smoke detector. After that he was somewhat more circumspect of our new locaton.

The road to the Isle

The trip to Bute turned out to be quite a marathon. Despite all intents to reduce our luggage load we still had a lot of cases, Fiona's crib and stroller. Getting from St. Pancras to Kings Cross was downright hard work.

Arriving at Edinburgh Waverly we found that a peace march had clogged up the roads and taxi's couldn't get down to the station. We waited for over and hour in line. Each step forward in the line involving a massive amount of luggage movement.

The rental car company turned out to be somewhere on an industrial estate in a part of Edinburgh I had only read about in Ian Rankin novels. I hope I never see it again.

We arrived on the west coast around 6:00pm and my hope to pass through Greenock on a Saturday without encountering the obligatory drunken football supporters were dashed when we stoppped at Tesco's for provisions.

Unfortunately Celtic had won that day and the obligatory drunken Celtic supporter cornered us in the toilets attempting to strike up a conversation with Alexander while he releived himself. We made it out of loos ok and went shopping. We later saw said supporter collapsing on the pavement while waiting for a taxi. Ah, it is good to see that the old traditions are alive and well in Scotland (not). 

The APM

Monday I headed off to the ARM Partner Meeting (APM) in Cambridge. Dena and the children stayed in Kettering spending some more time with my folks. Here is my Dad and Fiona at Boughton House

Arriving at the APM I got rather a surprise, my colleague who had been going to give one the presentations had gone on paternity leave, leaving me with the presentation and all of his meetings. Sigh, I wish someone had told me this.

All in all the APM went well and I got some nice dinners in with all my friends including Zogger who was over from Seattle.

Thurs morning I heard the news about the plot to blow up planes and my heart sank. I knew that our return journey was now going to be a living hell. One in which I would constantly be on edge wondering what would happen.

After lunch at the Wrestlers with Prue, Dena picked me up at ARM in the afternoon to take me back to Kettering. Dave and Brian came out of the office to say Hi to us all which was really neat.

Dinner with Clive and Kathy

My old school friend Clive and his wife Kathy use the gym that is part of the hotel here in Kettering. I hooked up with Clive on Saturday for a coffee and he introduced me to John Campbell who was at school with us. I would not of recongnised him but once we got chatting, his easy going manner and broad smile were certainly familiar.

We got together with Clive, Kathy and their kids for a swim and then dinner in the hotel bar which we all enjoyed.

Pitsford Again

We took my parents over to Brixworth Country Park. I had brought Alexander's bike and along with my folding bike, but once again Alexander wasn't took keen to ride more than about 1/4 mile and then get back to for his ice cream. 

Alexander gets in to the swing of things

Using our usual technique of feeding the wee man chocolate first thing in the morning he seems to have gotten on the right time zone pretty quickly, despite sharing a room with the rest of us. Fiona on the other hand is far from quiet at night and it looks like she is getting some teeth.

The hotel has a pool so I think we will be spending quite a lot of time in it. 

Here begins our UK Marathon

This is going to be one big big trip encoroporating England and Scotland, work and play. We hope it all goes well.