Category Archives: General Rambling

For posts that just go on and on and on and on and ……

A Security Issue

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How well can we rely on the security staff at Europe’s airports to do their jobs? Can they really protect us from a terrorist who is determined to blow up a plane? Are they, or the machinery they operate, up to the job?

My experiences show otherwise. The number of times I have been checked through British Airports and then European ones, each having a different set of rules and each finding different things to concern themselves with, make me wonder what this security thing is all about.

Take my latest trip.

From Malpensa through Brussels to Birmingham. Fairly straightforward, you might think. However, add in the fact that, in order to smoke, I go through security more than once at most airports. I get to learn what they want and this makes it quicker (for them and me) – however, something is most definitely wrong.

I am taking coffee in my hand luggage. This is finely ground coffee. It’s special Italian coffee and is for Best Mate.

First there is Malpensa. In the tray I put my bag. In another tray I put my coat and my mobile phone. My coat contains my cigarettes and a lighter. I keep all my coins and my other lighter. Stupidly, I have worn my boots which have a large chunk of metal round the heel. The security guard wants these on the conveyor belt which is, kind of, fair enough.

I slip through the gate with no beep. I collect all my things and on we go to the aircraft.

We arrive in Belgium – Brussels to be exact. I leave the airport (as if I am going to Brussels) so that I may go outside to have a cigarette.

Of course, I have to go back through security. Here they want all shoes off – metal or no.

I put my bag in a tray. I put my coat (with mobile , cigarettes and lighter) in another tray. But wait! Here they also want loose change. I take the Euro coins from one pocket and the English coins from another and add them to the coat tray.

I step through. No beep.

However, here, they decide that my bag requires checking. Nothing has been added or taken away since Malpensa (except the Milan-Brussels boarding card).

They go through the bag. They are interested in the tobacco and the coffee but, of course, everything has to come out. Nothing is found that is bad (I am not a terrorist).

I pack up and walk on.

After coffee and a sandwich, I really need another cigarette. Once again I leave the airport to stand outside the arrivals and have my couple of cigarettes.

I go back through security. This is the same security gate that I went through before. Exactly the same gate. There were a few different staff.

I placed my bag in one tray; my coat (with phone, cigarettes, lighter, Euro coins and British coins) in another and my boots in a third.

Then he asked if I had anything else in my pockets. I said my wallet (credit cards and cash) and he wanted them too.

So, there I was, going through the same gate as I had done an hour before. Personally, the only differences between last time and this were:

Minus: Credit Card Wallet

Plus: One glass of beer (inside me, of course); One chicken, bacon and lettuce sandwich (again inside me); A couple of cigarettes worth of extra tar/nicotine/whatever; Dust or anything that may have been floating in the air and is too small to see.

It beeped.

So then I had to be searched as did my bag.

The guy actually said that he had seen me go through before.

My conclusion to this was that either:

  1. The machine beeps every fifth or tenth person through, whatever.
  2. Someone in the team had a remote control switch that made it beep (and that is for another post).

Either way, it simply WAS NOT POSSIBLE for the machine to detect beer, chicken, bacon, lettuce, tar or nicotine in my body. And I honestly assure you there was nothing else that was additional on my person.

Speaking to someone today who knows someone in the Civil Aviation Authority in the country they come from (not Italy or the UK) he said that his friend had advised that, in fact, these security checks were a waste of time, money and energy but that ‘it makes the passengers feel safer’.

Well, not me it doesn’t. It makes me feel angry as I now know that the security gate in Brussels (the one on the left as you go through to the UK flights) doesn’t work properly. And, if it doesn’t work properly, is it the only one? I suspect not.

And then there was the UK on the way back. Going through Birmingham security:

Female Security Person: Do you have a belt, sir?
Me: No.
FSP: Can you take your sandals off please sir?
Me: Why – that guy has just gone through with sandals?
FSP: Exactly sir, and it set the alarm off.

I went through sans sandals.

Whilst waiting for my stuff to come through, the next five people were allowed through with their sandals on!

I’m sorry but you are just being random. And random doesn’t make me feel safe. Random means lucky not secure. Random means you are there to annoy me rather than make me feel good. All this security rubbish has to stop.

So, Brussels security does not make me feel safe and Birmingham security are too random for me to feel safe.

At least with Italian security you know where you stand – I.e. they are fairly relaxed about it – but, weirdly, it makes me feel safer as, instead of concentrating on rubbish, they probably have time to truly observe the people going through and can spot someone who might be acting in a suspect manner.

A luv poim wot u mus reed

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From time to time, to give myself a break or just because I am bored (waiting for things to happen over which I have absolutely zero influence and can do nothing to hurry along), I like to surf the web. And, when I say that, I mean blogs.

There’s something about blogs that I find fascinating (not so with Twitter or Facebook – which we can’t even get to now as it’s been blocked here, at work, and the proxies don’t hack it (it was probably blocked for overuse by one of the people in Purchasing – mentioning no names, of course)). But the Twitter and Facebook things are for another time and another post.

Blogging, however, takes some time and some thought (although you may not think so reading some of my posts, I grant you)

And I do like to see the other blogs to which some of my favourite blogs link to and today it was Cecilieaux .

From there, one of the blogs had this entry with, if the background to the finding of the poem is true, the most delightful poem that you just have to read. If the background (and I don’t know this blogger at all) is not true then although well done, it wouldn’t have the same feel to it for me.

Therefore, I am wishing it were true.  Anyway, enjoy!

Update: April 2015.

Since this was one of the most beautiful things I ever found and, given that many things ‘disappear’ and that the blogger seems to have stopped writing around 2013 (so the blog may disappear at some time), I do hope I don’t cause offence but I repeat the entry here, in hard copy, so that I will always have it.

Love Poem by Eight-Year Old

(A note found on the playground
pinned by wind against the chain-link fence)

From: Daniel A.
To: Meesha

In case you guest
I love you it is a present
to see you.
When I dreem.
I dreem you Not gold
not a cristal pond not a bird
singing evry song
you ever herd jus you
Only. None else

Because I love you
and love to say your name
I saw you
and remember this
Thanks you for a dreem

Who? can take
Your plase

The mysterious case of the disappearing curtain pole and other things.

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I bought two curtain poles and fixings. The first was yellow as the curtains and lounge is a mixture of yellows and red. The second was white as the bedroom curtains and walls are white.

After successfully putting up the lounge curtains, I started on the bedroom ones. Afraid of heights, nonetheless, I dutifully climbed up and down the ladders with drill/screwdrivers/pliers, etc. a number of times.

The holders for the rod were fixed. All I now needed was the rod itself. One small problem. I couldn’t find it.

It’s a bloke thing. We can’t find stuff that is right in front of us. I have this problem for certain.

So, although I had only bought it on Saturday, it had already disappeared. I hunted in every room. Unfortunately, it is the same colour as most of the walls. And I was certain that I had put it upright in some corner.

I checked behind each door (twice), in each corner of each room/alcove/whatever. I even checked the kitchen even though I was pretty sure it would not be there as I do not trust Dino not to try and eat it as the new toy.

I must have walked past it several times before, eventually, I noticed I had propped it up in a corner created near the front door.

At least it was found but I could have saved a lot of time if I had remembered where I had put it in the first place.  I like being a bloke but sometimes …….

Tonight must be more drilling; putting up the ‘new to me’ kitchen cupboard from FfI (who is no longer responding to calls or texts – ah well) and, hopefully, some ironing or cleaning, both of which I detest.

Finding things and throwing some out; Am I selfish?

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I open a shoe box. It contains many other, smaller boxes. I have assumed for some years, whilst it sat at the back of my wardrobe in the old flat, that it contained, more or less, only cuff-links.

Indeed, most of the stuff there is exactly that. I am surprised and, I must say, delighted to find some boxes which contain gold rings. This was from the ‘gold’ phase. The ‘gold’ phase was before V and lasted for some years with V. Of course, for some years now we have been on the ‘silver’ phase. I look froward to the ‘gold’ phase return and, maybe, I will re-introduce that phase? After all, I have no one to tell me not to.

I also find a card, at the bottom of the box. It is a Christmas card but I cannot tell from what Christmas it was. I suspect a Christmas before Italy, since these cards are impossible to find here, Italians not being into ‘cards for every occasion’ like the English or Americans. The card professes things.

I start to read it but my eyes cannot focus on the words and, in fact, although it was only last night, I cannot remember a single word – except the word ‘love’.

I wonder, now and yesterday, if the words meant anything at the time they were written or whether it was just ‘the right thing to say’? I wonder whether anything really has any meaning from anyone? I even wonder if anything I think or say is real or ‘made-up’ in my head? Sometimes it feels real but does that mean it was or is or is it just in my head?

I throw the card with the other things that I am throwing away. Boxes that contain nothing and that aren’t even nice boxes, plastic bags, etc.

There is a moment of indecision as to whether I should retrieve it. I have kept it this long (but for how long?). But why? I haven’t read it for a number of years and, maybe, never since it was given to me, so why keep it longer?

Why bother to keep it now?

I steel my heart (for it is my heart that tells me to retrieve it and my head is telling me not to) and it gets collected up and thrown out with the rest of the trash of a past life.

‘It’s better this way,’ I tell myself.

Later…. I talk with the dogs since a) they will listen, b) they will not answer back or contradict me or argue with me and c) there is no one else to talk to. For Dino, this talking means that I want to give him attention, so I do, loving him for being there and needing me right now.

This is the fifth post I have written and, probably the only one that I will publish. Sometimes it is hard to write something that is even slightly worthwhile and even the slightly worthwhile ones are dubious. Maybe all of them? But, then, like talking to Dino and Rufus, it’s not for their benefit but mine. Does that make me selfish?

Will this make me gay?

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As a gay person I must be a bit of a disappointment to the rest of the gay community. Indeed, I have been called the straightest of gay men. Many, many years ago, at a place that I worked, we did consulting to a well-known company based in the East of London/Essex. My work colleague was rumoured to be gay by the people we worked with at our customer. He countered this by telling people how wrong they had got it and that he was married with kids (and showing them pictures to prove it) whilst I was the one that was gay! I didn’t bear any grudge but thought it quite funny that so many people had got it so wrong.

Amongst other things, this straight/gay thing means that, for instance, I don’t wear any make-up; don’t really worry about being ‘toned’ (although these days it is a young, straight thing anyway) and never, never put what I call ‘crap’, on my body. ‘Crap’ includes cream – i.e. hand cream/body cream, etc.

However, since about November of last year, when we didn’t have a working washing machine, I had to do a lot of washing by hand. This played havoc with the skin on my hands which, until that point, had been as soft as a baby’s bottom (well, almost). The thing that really frustrated me is, that, my hands never recovered and, even now, parts of them are very rough with dry skin.

So, last night, after several months of putting up with this I had to phone V to ask what handcream he used, whilst I was in the supermarket. And, for the first time, really, I have started using hand cream. I am really hoping it is a temporary measure and that within a month or so, my hands will be back to normal as I am not keen on this new normal at all.

Perhaps, I am becoming a real gay person after all?

Musing?

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musing

I am taking a break from cleaning, whilst also waiting for the Terminally Ill Techno Guy to come (now just to fix my telephone line).

I cleaned and sorted much of the bedroom and then cleaned the lounge and re-arranged everything as to how it should be.

But, I do wonder, who is it for? What real purpose does it serve? Let’s be honest, V was the home maker. He did all the curtains and the fancy stuff that made it a home. I would live without curtains – not because I want to, just because I couldn’t be bothered. And why spend all that money which could be spent on something else?

I mean, for instance, the bedroom really needs a chest of drawers. I know where it should go; I know what it should look like. And, if I got one, it would look good but I probably won’t get one now and, therefore, I will manage – for ever!

But V would have one and, somehow, it would make the bedroom just so much better. I sit here, at the open window, in the perfect flat, knowing that, if V were here, it would be better than perfect.

Strange things with the Internet

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I laughed with Best Mate when I said –

“I bet, as soon as you go, the internet will be up and running”

And, as freaky as it might seem, it turned out to be perfectly true.

I rang Telecom Italia (although the initials TI might be better represented as Terminally Ill) to say that, after two days, my Internet and telephone line were STILL NOT working.

As is normal for the ignorant and unhelpful Telecom Italia operators, I was told that it had been up and running since about 4 p.m. that afternoon.

I insisted that it was still not working. The man agreed that they would send someone out but that it couldn’t be tomorrow (i.e. today) as this was a holiday and it would be Saturday.

I am less than impressed.

So, today, whilst BM was asleep (or at least, resting) I tried everything I could to get it working, to no avail.

After arriving back home after dropping her off at the airport, I thought I would have one last go at connecting. And it worked!

OK, this is not entirely the full story. The full story is that I found it [Edit 2015 – I don’t know what “it” is, I’m sorry] on the floor on the day that it didn’t work. The dogs, who have been sleeping in the bedroom, with me, whilst Best Mate (and also whilst FfI) stayed with me had knocked it off the desk.

So, the reality is that I thumped it a few times before trying to connect.

So now I don’t know whether it was me thumping it or that Terminally Ill did something else.

Who cares? The phone line still isn’t working properly so they can come here anyway. I know that because I tried to use the phone to tell them not to come and it won’t ring out.

I really, really, bloody HATE Terminally Ill!

In the meantime, Best Mate is on her way back home. >I shall miss her being here but know she must go home. I hope to see her again soon but at her place.

The Answer to the Final Question nearly done; Swedish Meatballs; Good and Bad bits

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29th April, Early Evening.

I’ve had better days, to be frank. The saving grace was that Best Mate was with me.

At least this morning, when I woke up, there was blue sky and sun. It wasn’t really warm but OK. I was just grateful it wasn’t raining.

By the time I got back from taking the boys out it was cloudy. There were things to do. Namely, completing the answer to the Final Question (this is getting really boring, isn’t it). This meant a trip to work and then somewhere else. Best Mate sat in the car. It took a little longer than expected but now I have done everything I can. I shall know next week. Of course, the “situation” will not be finished then but at least my part will be.

Then to Ikea to get some bits. I had high hopes even if Ikea is one of the very worst places in the world (for me). I knew, more or less, what I wanted – had a list with measurements.

When we got there we first went to Costarama. This is more of a DIY place. I needed some things which I got OK. Good start.

Then to Ikea and, as it was just past lunchtime we went in as Best Mate had a real hankering for their meatballs. They were great. Proper gravy and we had them with chips. They reminded me a bit of the meatballs I had in the Mongolian restaurant here, in Milan>, which, in turn, reminded me of faggots (for my American readers, faggots are not what you think, obviously) once again. Mmmm. Really tasty. As far as I was concerned I could have gone home right there and then. However, we were here so let’s do it.

Although I did get some things, the things I really wanted were short in supply. There was so little choice in bathroom cabinets; not the right storage boxes; not the right things for the kitchen.

So, I am not much further forward which is annoying. Also, when we came out of Ikea it was to a tremendous thunderstorm. Bah!

Then I got a call from work to tell me that I am working the weekend of the show in Paris and having to drive back with the bits at the end of the show.

Well, there are things to discuss when I am back in work on Monday, that’s for sure.

And, once again, I am, in effect, without internet access. This morning there was a very slow connection but, I guess, after the rain again, this afternoon it was gone.

At the moment, I have an even slower connection via someone’s wireless but it is so slow as to not be there. I guess this will be posted tomorrow when they are supposed to have officially fixed it.

Maybe this morning was just a ploy by Telecom Italia to let me think they were not so bad after all. Let’s hope that they have fixed it by the end of tomorrow as Best Mate has bought me a USB video camera so we can see each other when we Skype and we were going to try it out when she called the little BMs this evening.

Ah well, the plan is to do Chinese tonight as I have kept to my word so far and we have been having cheap (but good) meals.

“There are no revelations. Everything you learn, you know already”

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I sit here, with the post below, not posted; with the rain outside – knowing it’s raining because of the whoosh of the cars as they drive through the driving rain; with, as I just told Best Mate, the heater that I didn’t buy last year or the year before that, or, even, the first year that I felt the cold after they had switched the building central heating off, blowing no hot air to keep me from blowing on my fingers to try and stem the feeling that my fingers were gradually shrivelling up – when they had gone cold and shiny and slippery, in the way that they do with the cold – when they won’t work properly.

And, the reason for the post below not being posted, as this one won’t be, when I am finished, is down to wonderful Telecom Italia. I have been back with them less than a week and it already feels like I have never been away. It’s the rain, I suppose.

The difference between this time and the last time I had problems with Telecom Italia (which was just before I moved to Infostrada/Wind/whatever) was that the whole conversation was in Italian. Well, I say Italian. His bit was in Italian and my bit was in a version of Italian that, using a phrase used by one of my ex-students who is now a colleague could only be described as Kill Italian Volume 105.

Still, I made myself understood. He made himself understood to me. Everything was going swimmingly until the end when I asked how long it could possibly take to fix.

“Two days”

“TWO DAYS!” I could barely keep the shock that this information had on me out of my voice. In fact so barely was it concealed that, the reality was, it wasn’t.

He made a noise which I can only describe as a cross between a laugh and a snort. The laugh because I’m sure that’s what it was but the snort because there was a certain amount of the arrogant contempt for which all Telecom Italian employees must have special training in order that they are able to master it to perfection.

I thanked him but I have no idea what for.

Perhaps it is the rain after all. I have noticed that, in general, if anything goes wrong it is when it is raining here. The radio will go silent for minutes at a time; the electricity can be a little intermittent; the telephone lines don’t work properly.

Still, on the plus side, whilst Best Mate was listening to her iPod thing (which is not an iPod at all – just something similar), I finished the book that Peter had lent me at the Mantova festival last September! Yes, it has taken me 7 months to finish a single book. Even I am disgusted with myself. Anyway, the one line that really stood out for me was the line in the post title. I just loved it.

And the book? Kalooki Nights by Howard Jacobson – page 446 in the version Peter lent me. So there you have it.

This will be posted, exactly as it is, when I have internet access.