Monday, February 26, 2007, 11:54 PM
What did people like this do before the Internet?
Click on this link here to get an idea. I thoroughly recommend it
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Saturday, February 24, 2007, 12:15 AM
Paris is beautiful, romantic, frangrant, fun and French. Hordes of tourists, lovers and countrypeople head to this city in search of that elusive je ne sais quoi, lurking down a hidden sidestreet in Montmartre.
Yet there is an integral part of Paris that makes you want to make a journey to the French capital your last one. It's an airport so cruelly, absurdly nasty, that you wonder whether it was not designed by some arch-environmentalist who decided to put people off flying for good. I can only guess how much the country of France must despise General Charles de Gaulle in order to name The Worst Airport In The World after him.
The sticky, abandoned cups, filthy brown surfaces and ripped-out computer terminals you see here represent the limit of the abilities of my camera to describe CdG's Terminal 1. From the moment you approach the place in a bus, it fills you with dread - a grotesque concrete hexagonal structure with interlinking walkways that conjure the image of an enormous hamster run. Once inside departures, if you are caught on the wrong walkway, you are finished - done for, your flight won't wait. Rather than offer you a return route, you have to exit the airport as if you had just arrived and you had come through baggage reclaim. You have to consider yourself fortunate that the walkway didn't collapse as it did here.
Once you are near the area of your gate, you have to go through a security check that is about as stringent as the local Under 12's school dance. A security guard fished a container of liquid out of a couple's bag and jokingly asked "so is this where you keep your nitroglycerine?". His colleagues chuckled in unison as they casually waved nutcases and mentalists* through the scanner gateway.
Walking under concrete joists reminiscent of grey slabs of Ryvita, realising that an absence of food is feeding your despondency, you wonder if there is a café anywhere. You stroll past men in suits with thousand-yard stares and come across a poor little kiosk, where a €6.00 tuna and egg sandwich looks so aged, it probably qualifies for a bus pass. Looking around, you realise that you're being watched - several businessmen had the idea of buying such a sandwich, but then decided to wait and see whether someone else would before taking the plunge. Misery and food poisoning is so much sweeter when shared, and so it is on this note that I recommend that if you must... if you really must go via this airport, you take a partner for some moral support. And possibly some romance later.
* Potential nutcases and mentalists
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Wednesday, February 21, 2007, 11:59 PM
If, dear reader, you are struggling to cope with a minor household botherance like a loose screw on the toilet roll holder , then take a look at my ceiling here. That's it - feel better? This is what happens when Mother Nature taps you on the shoulder and reminds you of how she created valleys, mountains and splintered rocks.
First came the wind. In a recent gale, unbeknown to me, the strength of the gusts deformed the lead sheeting on the roof of the house, bending it up with the casual ease that a waiter creases a napkin.
Then, in true British fashion, a torrential downpour proceeded to divert itself through the open gap and down into the attic. At this point, like a victim in a Hollywood slasher movie, I was unaware of the threat lurking one floor above me, and I proceeded to go about my life in the warmth of my home.
My moment of horror came when I returned home to find brownish, smelly water dripping out of my ceiling. It had not been an easy day, and this caused me to sink to my knees in despair. It's a seeping feeling of disbelieving powerlessness, and very humbling to know that your cocoon of warm, snuggly homeliness is now exposed to the elements.
The council's emergency repair service were about as responsive as anaesthetised baboons - they could get someone round in ten days. TEN DAYS! Ten days of watery exposure to whatever John Kettley announces in the way of meteorology. Meanwhile, they sent round a bloke who whistled, removed my ceiling light and then buggered off. Thankfully, at the time of writing, the rain has stopped, and I have high hopes of a normal ceiling soon.
I'm done. Now get on with that toilet roll holder.
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Sunday, February 18, 2007, 05:46 PM
Not a lot to say about this image, except that it represents the first recorded instance of our daughter attempting to eat my camera.
Nothing is safe now.
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Saturday, February 17, 2007, 05:22 PM
If you want to see an example of a good brand striding purposefully in the direction of nowhere, then you have to visit the following microsite for the new Audi TT:TTRemastered
Whilst the bleepy audio and seductive animations promise a ride as elegant, snug and downright smug as the car, you get a sinking realisation after a minute that there is nothing of any interest whatsoever in the site. No humour, no car-porn, nothing at all that a bloke can get his (petrol)head around.
I last had this feeling when I opened up a bag of posh crisps to find that someone had polished off two thirds, and left a portion more appropriate for a diminutive leprachaun. I remained mystified at how the bag had been prefectly resealed until I read the disclaimer down the side.
Audi used to be a brand with a lot more oomph than this - remember the classic ad that caused every guy in the sixth form to call out "tell Charles I'm on my way - TAXI!".
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