Just one small detail missing.... #paperwork

I think its a shame that we live in a world where experience counts for very little anymore. Unless you have hundreds of qualifications and letters after your name you are a supposed dumb ass.
Well, truth be told if you are a prospective employer and you are judging your future staff on the amount of qualifications they have and just that then you are missing the wider picture.
 Take myself for instance as I have seen this first hand because although I am able to strip a truck down to the last wheel nut and place all the parts on the floor and then rebuild it piece by piece then paint it and drive it i am only actually qualified to drive it on paper. So that says to an employer I can drive a forty four tonne truck but not work on it, how wrong could he be?. On top of that I can fault find on hydraulic systems and have written hydraulic schematics for some of the biggest companies in the world, I can fault find with every kind of electronic diagnostic equipment currently available and have a background in automotive electronics that reaches from grass cutting machines to the latest commercial vehicles, I wired my own house and buildings in years gone by and installed my own computerised central heating system, i am a National B scrutineer for the British Motor Sports Association and own an Operators licence for three vehicles and nine trailers, I am a school governor and I have just written and published my first novel on Kindle as well as having penned two poetry books. I can set up a golf greens mower to cut down to a quarter of an inch or set the injectors on a 4 series Scania truck, I can drive a 360 degree machine and if it falls over i know how to use the equipment to recover it, repair it and drive it again...
The problem with all this and believe me it's a small amount of what I am actually able to do, is without a piece of paper to say you have done it you are just a face in the crowd and I wonder if those bits of paper are perhaps relied upon a little too much?. I was given a level three exam sheet and asked to answer the questions on a subject i know inside out. I got half the questions right. Why only half?.
The truth is i knew what the items were in the test but i didnt know the correct names for them, so although I could do the repair with my eyes shut and tell you what the fault was i couldnt tell you the exact names of every component, I recognised them and could do the job required but was unable to write it down on the paper.
Now that really should be a lesson to all of us time served mechanics, the facts are that a rookie who doesn't know the front from the back of an engine will be higher up the tree than you because he has revised and knows the names of the items he is working with its as simple as that.
To that aim I am heading to college and taking a course at the end of August even though I have been asked by one college to tutor, I feel I need to do this for myself as i feel a little short changed having trained five apprentices in the past and at least two of whom are now master technicians I am having to stand up to the plate and be questioned as to my ability. So be warned, do the paperwork as the devil is in the detail !!

A False Twilight On Kindle

Well the first novel from my own hand is now out on Kindle, its called "A False Twilight" by David James and I would love it if all those who read and enjoy my style would try the $0.99c book I have penned and give me your thoughts below, I have more books to follow this year and any comments good or bad would be very much appreciated, besides all that I do need the money so buy one for a friend while you are at it !........ (Joking. About the friend bit)  :-))
Hope you enjoy x

False Twilight

Excerpt from A False Twilight Out on Kindle This weekend just 99c !! #Adultcontent

 Caution :- Adult Content.

Marie looked up at Steven and stretched to kiss him on the lips, he kissed her in that soft slow tender way again, his lips barely touching hers yet searching her mouth and teasing her, she had never felt anything like it, she raised her arm and held his head as they kissed a little harder as she twisted herself round and straddled him with her thighs , almost on top of him she pushed her body into his, his hand slid down her back and time and again pulling her into him, their breathing now more pronounced and almost feverish, Marie moaned slightly as Steven raised his knee between her legs, she pushed against him and broke off from the passionate kiss with a huge sigh as she felt Steven moving his knee between her legs, she pushed harder into him and dropped and kissed him passionately yet again, Steven ran his fingers through her hair with one hand and moved his hand to cup Marie’s bottom with the other, Marie responded by pushing herself harder into Steven, their passion overtaking their inhibitions as the two writhed together on the settee, suddenly Marie stopped, she got up letting out a low sigh as she did, she walked over to the lamp in the corner of the room and switched it off, then walked back to Steven, she held her hand out to him,

“Are you coming to bed?” she said in a soft whisper,

Steven rose from the settee and grabbed her hand and the two made soft steps up the stairs as quietly as they could and Marie led him to her room, she left the light off and closed the door behind them, she stood there with Steven and reached for his tie, then his shirt, kissing his bare chest as she undressed him, he ran his fingers through her hair and sighed as she uncoupled his belt and kissed him on the stomach, she let go of the belt and slipped her fingers along the waist band of Stevens boxer shorts, teasing and kissing as she did, Stevens moans became louder as he held the back of her head with her hair, she slowly moved to his groin running her tongue along the edge of his boxers as she pulled them down lower and lower, eventually she slipped them down over his thighs and his manhood brushed her cheek, she kissed it’s base and ran her tongue along its length, “God this man smelt good”, she thought to herself, slowly she edged to the tip and then softly closed her mouth over him as he let out a huge sigh and pulled her head onto him, Marie closed her mouth around the long straight shaft and worked the tip with her tongue Steven was sighing louder and louder, holding her head and pulling her hair as she worked on him, she could feel Steven pulsing inside her mouth as his manhood grew, she kept working the tip as she felt him twitch and soon Steven was gasping for more, he groaned as the first wave of climax overtook him, he held Marie’s head into him as wave after wave of orgasm shuddered through his body, Marie stayed with him, her mouth around his manhood as Steven’s pulsing slowly subsided, and his groans became sighs of contentment, Marie held Steven there for a few moment then pulled quietly away and looked up at her man, his face a picture of contentment, he lay back on the bed and sighed,

“Oh my God Marie, Oh my God, that was unbelievable, I have never felt like that with a woman before, thank you sweetheart,  Marie got up and slipped to the bathroom,  she put her head around the door as she freshened up,

“You OK Hun?” she smiled

OK? I am more than OK babe I am in seventh heaven, oh my life that was good, wow, I am just lost for words!”

Marie came back across to the bed, she stepped out of her dress as she walked across the bedroom floor, she jumped on the bed next to Steven and cuddled up to him, they just lay there and held one another without saying a word for quite a while, just content to be in each others arms, Steven slowly moved his hand to the inside of Marie’s thigh,

“it’s time you had some fun now too” he said tenderly as he moved his hand between Marie’s thighs, she gasped as his hand slid down inside her low cut pants and lightly brushed between her legs, she was very wet and responded to Steven’s light touch with long sighs as he moved his fingers expertly inside her, she writhed as he started moving his fingers firmly but tenderly between her legs her moans became higher pitched and her breathing more heightened as she came closer to orgasm, Stevens fingers knowing just what to do as she gasped for air and soon she couldn’t stop herself she grabbed Stevens hand and pushed it harder between her legs as she came again and again Steven hugged her tightly as she convulsed at his tender touch her moans and sighs slowly getting shallower as her orgasm subsided, she hugged Steven tightly and they lay there wrapped around each other for what seemed forever, but Marie couldn’t care, she was in love and happy with her new man and judging by his low whines as he slept Steven was too !.

The two slept soundly that night, Marie woke first just after half six, she was usually an early riser so she slipped downstairs with her dressing gown on and made her and Steven a coffee, by the time she had climbed the stairs Steven was awake and she popped the cup on the bedside cabinet and kissed her man on the cheek,

“Good morning” she said in soft low voice,

“Mm Good Morning you” he replied, “Thank you for the coffee, just the way I like it”

“Oh that’s OK I think you earned it” she looked and smiled at her man.

The meaning of laugh.

Life can be tough sometimes no doubt about it, things don't go our way and before you know it everything in your life sucks apart from the girlfriend who has just run off with the spotty faced kid from next door who  won the Lotto after buying the ticket in front of you. We all know that feeling when you fall into a bath of supermodels and you are the only gay in the village.
What we should actually be doing is laughing at life and what it teaches us during the average day, the problem is we are all too busy with our routine to look at it differently when that routine is broken because of some extraordinary reason.  I am going through a crazy time at the moment, my life is upside down, back to front and inverted, the only difference to me and a front loader is I am slightly noisier. No matter what I touch, do or say it's the wrong thing, very similar to a best man's speech that reminds the bride of the time they screwed each other in her parents bed I am on a surefire collision course with controversy.
So, what to do? shout? wail? curse my rotten luck and say five hail Mary's at my next confession? tie a lucky rabbits foot to my lucky four leaf clover and play chicken with the 7.20 to Paddington??. I think not. I sat down in a quiet corner and looked at the bigger picture, yes it's a cliche but hell if they weren't relevant they wouldn't be cliches, would they?
The amazing thing is it's very likely your bad day isn't really that bad a day after all it's just a bad hour or so because most people who are at stress level 15 and rising are soon below level 2 an hour or so later, it's like our bodies have a built in thermostat that gets to red hot and eventually blows, simmers for the next hour or so and then, like a Nun who just had her ass pinched by the vicar during choir practice all hell breaks loose again. It's how we humans are, it's natural but much more prevalent in some than others depending on our temperament, that said, there I was today walking around head down looking at my feet with my bottom lip dragging the ground so low it had more gravel rash than the Tour de France Club house at tea time when it suddenly dawned on me that some smart Alec would soon walk up to me and say "There is always someone worse off"!  If they had I would be writing this from a holding cell and leaving the soap on the shower floor. I was not in the mood for Mr Cliche to try and lighten my load in fact I was not in the mood for anything other than a hot cup of coffee and a sit down.
This is where my theory picks up, just why do we need that coffee and sit down? probably because its what our parents did and their parents before them and they only had CAMP coffee to drink so had good reason to be shit faced with how the day was going, but my point is its how we are programmed, we behave instinctively to stress because it's how we are taught to act. Today I broke that cycle and sat and thought about the positive things in my life rather than the negative shit and I did a damned good job on myself in fact I am thinking of taking up a missionary post in a city near you as half an hour later I was more pumped than a trouser leg at a Yorkshire Terrier convention so there we have it the answer to all our troubles, don't drink coffee while sitting down feeling miserable, drink coffee while sitting down next to a missionary.

No need to thank me. :-))

He's not the Gove here, not one bit.

I am due to go to a meeting tonight at my local Primary School where I sit as a parent governor. I have been away for two months in Australia and finishing a couple of new books I am writing so I have not been to a meeting for a while. The last time we met as a board with me present it was to discuss forced sponsorship by a local Secondary School because even with top marks in SATS tests on the day of HMI visits we were judged inadequate. Despite a huge effort from staff and the governors the school is on the verge of being made an Academy, in other words privatised through the back door and all the resources given to a neighboring town. This doesn't sit easy with me and I have fought it every inch of the way even as far as setting up a meeting with The Right Honorable Philip Dunne MP but all to no avail, so I am afraid if this is the case I will take my written expertise and knowledge from the school and consider my position as there is little point in fighting for a lost cause.
I do just wonder what Mr Gove hopes to achieve by pushing Local Authorities to forced Academy Status as it is no guarantee of success, in fact many Academies are still failing and if you take the likes of someone like myself and just ignore my input and those of my fellow local governors it is indeed a treacherous path that Mr Gove is taking.  It also seems awfully strange to me that another four schools in Shropshire of previous good repute are now said to be failing and will soon come under the Academy microscope, therefore if you are right Mr Gove I salute your bold steps but if as I am guessing you are not then you risk alienating a local community and assisting it in losing it's school and that is something the electorate will be more than happy to remind you of come election time.

I do just wonder when the "privatised fixes all" campaign will be thrown out of central government, it clearly doesn't at all and leads to cost cutting and eventual take over of our many assets by foreign companies. The rail network is a hit and miss affair, don't start me on the NHS and now having almost destroyed the once great Royal Mail by under investment that too is to be sold off, goodness gracious me what a sorry state we are in this country that the powers that be are so busy putting CCTV up on our roads and streets they cant see the people who use them getting so very tired of the interfering nannies who think they know best.

The (Hot) Sunday Roast.

The weather is always a great topic of conversation here in the UK and none more so than when the sun is shining. We rarely see the ball in the sky as it is let alone have temperatures of thirty six degrees day after day. As usual extreme weather means extreme difficulty for us poor Anglo Saxon types, for instance the roads are now melting the crops are wilting and very soon we will have a hosepipe ban despite the fact its been the wettest two years on record.
This is however exactly what it means to be British.  We are also suffering the barbecue season where the smell of dodgy coal and burnt beefburgers is only outdone by the shout's of "Fuck I think I burnt it" but at least it takes our mind off the weather until we sit down with a cold tin of lager and our cremated burger on a bun made of edible sponge, of course the neighbours and the in-laws have to come round or its not a proper "do" they deserve to sample your top cuisine where everything on the menu comes "very well done" though if nothing else all this revelry keeps the pets well fed throughout the summer.
Of course there is always a serious side to such heat and that is to remember those pets, they too are not used to the heat and we must ensure a plentiful supply of water and shade at all times, as animals will die of heat exhaustion much quicker than we humans, that said three of my fish have just died and I wonder if they were a little dehydrated? I know two of them suffered from epilepsy as when I took them out of the water they fitted, however I popped them back in and the shock of going in the water obviously brought them round and they stopped, lucky I am a quick thinker.
The last thing to remember about this heat is that alcohol actually dehydrates us, so the more you drink the thirstier you will get. I tried this theory out last night and it seems to be correct, well actually I am not that sure it is as I passed out just after my fifteenth pint, I think more because it was apparently my round next and I had just seen William Hague MP walk through the door...
 If all else fails you could actually do what our Australian brethren do when it's too damned hot to move and that's to not move, or go surfing but that is never the British way of doing things and after all isn't there a few mad dogs we should be walking?  Enjoy the weather x

It's alright for OZ ..snippet

Manly has some great places to eat and restaurants vary from South American to Indian and the vast majority are very good and even better value for money. One place in particular did a cracking steak with salad and fries for ten dollars; needless to say I ate there most nights! I did try one of the full-on steak houses on the front but I have to admit it was expensive and what I did get was overpriced, strangely I even had a bill for the water which was a first. Lesson learned I stuck to my friendly public house and its ten dollar bonanza.

 When writing you have to have a few ingredients to get the juices flowing, one of the obvious one’s is quiet and that was all going to plan until the second week of my visit when I heard muffled voices for a few hours and the odd whistle or shout, having said that I could live with it. The problem was by 7.a.m the next morning I was greeted by a noise that sounded like someone throwing a mountain goat down a well-oiled tin roof with a forty five degree slope while attached to a bungee line 2 feet shorter than the end of the tin.  I dared to hang my head out of the window and look and to my horror some builders had started gutting a penthouse about ten floors up and had attached a long tube to the side of the building which led to a skip at the bottom, they were throwing everything down the tube and every item they sent down there rattled the very window panes and worse they looked like they were set in for the month. I had no choice but to batten down the hatches and close all windows and to be honest in the end I resorted to my iTunes headphones to drown out the rattle. Amazingly after a few hours I even discarded the headphones as to be fair you do get used to it, much like someone who lives next to the Motorway, it’s always there you just block it and ironically the following day I wrote almost fourteen thousand words, proving I am just a Diva really.

 The weekend had arrived and there was a buzz in Manly as it was holding an annual street festival, there were stalls going up everywhere and the roads were blocked off to allow people to walk freely through the town, it was fantastic with live bands and samples of food and wine on every stall, the place was heaving with people and I thought what a pity it was that my Missionary friend wasn’t here today as he would have worn out his Rubik’s cube trying to convert the crowds. I spent some time going round the various stalls with everything from cheeses locally made through to wine from Hunter Valley, the latter I can vouch for as very good wine indeed though on my fourth visit for a free sample I was given a polite reminder that I hadn’t actually bought anything yet so felt obliged. I had one of their cheapest whites and then went back for two more tastings, just to prove I haven't lost my Shropshire upbringing where the word’s “Free” and the slogan “Fill your boot’s” are very much a fabric of society

After about four hours of this shindig I was finding it very hard to be meaningful about anything, just putting one foot in front of the other was a bit of a struggle so I thought I should retire to my apartment before I attracted the attention of the firearm carrying Police Officers. I slept like a log that Saturday night and woke up feeling quite good, so I looked out of the window and decided it was a good time to walk to the shops and get a coffee and some breakfast. No sooner had I started walking down the very quiet pavements than a drop of water landed on top of my head, followed by another one and so on, it had started to rain, so I rushed a little more but it rained a little more and then more again until the heavens opened without warning thus I found out local knowledge is always invaluable and this underlined the reason why no-one was outside, most of Manly knew it was about to rain (except me of course).

 Within seconds I was drenched to the point where it was running out of my underwear, no mean feat considering I wasn’t wearing any under my shorts. I darted for cover under the canopy of a massive hotel and there I stayed, for at least the next hour or two I can’t remember. The rain came down horizontally, vertically, sideways, cross ways you name it and the wind was enough to take you out to sea while still tied to the jetty let alone holding your ground without falling over. Apparently, so I am told this was not a storm, a storm is when you get thunder and lightning not just wind and rain but this was of little comfort to me as I stood wondering if I would ever be able to run for it from under the hotel canopy. In the end I decided that life was too short and just hoofed it to the shopping mall, after all I couldn’t get a lot wetter if I tried and in any case it was expected of me to be in the rain as I am British it’s what we do.

Dont worry it's not a storm....

.

 

Yours truly enjoying a small shower

I tramped around the mall in my soggy trainers and wet backside for about half an hour before it actually stopped raining outside and the sun once again dared to show its face. I stepped on to the now sun soaked pavement and headed for the ferry wharf and a caramel latte from Gloria’s coffee shop, all was soon OK with the world again as I stood on the quayside leaning on the sea rails steaming in the now very hot sunshine, talk about the sublime to the ridiculous.

 The start of June brought a move of apartments, I would not be sad to be leaving my little hide away which was basic in the extreme, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers. I met the new Apartment owner in the centre of Manly, his name was Jarmo and he and his family were from Finland originally and had decided to try the area for between three to five years to see how they got on but as that was almost thirty years ago I guess the question had been answered. He was a laid back easy going man and very typical of his countrymen, polite and very well-spoken and we chatted as we walked to the apartment, I told him of my writing exploits and he filled me in with some history of Manly as well as pointing out the best places to eat and great places to go and visit. We arrived at the huge building on Central Avenue and walked into the lobby and stepped into the lift,

“Your apartment is at the very top, the views are fantastic” He quipped.

Now that would normally get everyone else jumping with joy and running around like its Christmas but not me, yes you guessed it the top floor meant it was high. With some trepidation I followed Jarmo out through the lift doors and was almost immediately confronted by a ceiling to floor window on both sides of the building. I tried not to look and walked down the middle of the corridor so as to avoid falling to my death. We reached the apartment door and Jarmo opened up and we walked inside. It was a beautifully appointed apartment and I was taken aback as to how clean and neat it was, Jarmo showed me round and introduced me to the view… I didn’t faint, I wasn’t happy but I didn’t faint. I thanked my host as he left and closed the door, I then walked slowly to the huge windows that overlooked this beautiful town and peered down to the street below, I immediately headed back for the kitchen for fear of the floor giving away and yes me falling to my death, there seems to be a recurring theme here don’t you think?. It was high, in fact it was the highest building in Manly and I was on the top floor, I had visions of Edward Lewis in Pretty Woman peering over the edge and freezing to the spot, it was truly wasted on such a hopeless case as me but from in the kitchen the sea view looked terrific.

 I went up on to the roof to locate the washing machines later that afternoon and it was like a bush tucker trial made up of my worst nightmares, firstly the steps up to the roof had yet another window from ceiling to floor so as you walked up or down them it looked like you were walking into the street below so I pushed my back to the retaining wall and eased myself past it, then on the roof there was a wall all the way around at just over waist height, I had the hairs stood up on the back of my neck as I fumbled for the door to the wash room to hide in. I would have stopped there for good but I had no washing and no money for the machine so I had to brave those damned stairs again. For the rest of my stay I used a local launderette in the Town.

Chapter Three: When in Rome

I settled in to my new apartment very quickly despite the first few nights lying in bed worrying that the front of the building would collapse and I would fall to my death, (it does happen you know) so sleep was not that easy to obtain but I found as my stay went on I did actually get used to the height, I didn’t like it but I got used to it, that’s all I will admit to.  The first morning I awoke in my new dwellings was a revelation as while lying in bed I saw the sun rise up out of its Pacific Ocean water bed and climb into the clear blue sky. This was heaven for a poet and inspiration point for someone who writes, it was a scene the likes of which will stay with you until your dying day, magical as it was humbling to see our wonderful world we inhabit at its very best. I lay there and took photos in sequence as the sun rose, I am sure the locals would all have ignored it and just been getting on with their day but to me it was a fantastic sight.

The view over Manly bay from my bed....

Read and read again, then change it..the edit.

It seems over the past few weeks of writing I have had to deal with every emotion going, from elation at getting the green light to write for every hour of every day to the disappointment at finding out that your writing needs the mother of all edits before it's even seen the light of day. In the long run this will be of great benefit but your writing is very personal and I am probably, on my own admission a little bit too sensitive sometimes. This is to be expected as to put your heart and soul into your writing then you have to have that sensitivity and be able to portray it on to the page as you write, the problem with learning a new trade is keeping the work separated from real life.
I find the re-reading of page after page extremely tough and will be glad when I hand it over to a proof reader who knows far more about such tasks than I. Having done as much as I can and guided the story to its present state I feel I can do no more or offer any more input and the amount of work I have put into it is very tiring, not including the other work I am currently working on.  The idea I guess is not to get down-beat or too close to what you are producing, the very act of placing your work on to the open market means you must expect criticism and deal with it subjectively, the same goes for praise when you have done well, keeping your feet on the ground and getting the job done is still the most important thing.
I think the lesson's learnt over the past few month's would serve us all well in keeping our expectations within the realms of reality and our targets more reachable, that said if we played it by the rules every time I doubt man would ever have been to the moon or even flown, so perhaps a healthy mix of ambition coupled with the realisation that it may not all turn out just how you want it is the best solution.

Whisper it...

I actually managed to get out and go bowling in Shrewsbury this afternoon, may I be struck down where i stand for leaving my laptop :-) ..... forgotten what a day out was like !

From The Novella coming out on Kindle at the end of July.

Leave It To OZ

By

Dave James

Chapter One: A Flight Of Fancy

Heading down to Gatwick Airport one sunny Tuesday afternoon in the middle of May was definitely not on my busy agenda six months before, come to think of it three months before, but my wish to see the “Land of plenty” kept pushing me until I decided the call needed to be answered. In that 3 short months I had planned out and scheduled my foray over to Sydney Australia (Manly to be precise) and set my course for the adventure of a lifetime. But first (and if you are me this is a BIG first) I had to fly over there via Dubai and then on to Kingsford Smith International. That may be a fun filled time for the majority of the population but for me with my intense dislike of heights it was a huge call, add that to my mechanical knowledge about anything from hydraulics to gas cookers and you see why every noise creak or groan was an imminent disaster about to happen.

Despite this minor issue, I sat in Departures drinking my coffee on the second tier of Gatwick’s many restaurants feeling up for the adventure. It was just bravado, but I was intent on going and if that was the case I had to fly. I waited the three long hours to board and duly walked the “gangplank” to the plane, it was far bigger than any plane I had been on before, to those of you who rely on such information to make your life complete it was a Boeing 777 and it had two wings, that was very comforting for me I can assure you. I sat in my seat opposite a young Indian woman who was part of a family of four, I must have looked very threatening because within seconds of them realising she would be sat next to me they dumped their young lad in that seat, he must have been all of seven years old, I could almost hear their thought’s and I chuckled to myself, if I was unsafe for her to sit by why would the kid be any better off?  Anyway, we went through the drill of lifebelts and seat belts at which point I closed my eyes as I didn’t want to be reminded of crashing into the sea or falling out of the sky but thankfully we were soon taxiing down the runway and within seconds all the throttles let loose and we were airborne.

Now if you like flying, at this point you will be looking out of the window, organising your lunch and selecting your favourite movie. If, like me you are not so keen, the air hostess will be slowly peeling your fingers out of the seat cushion and pushing you back from the “brace for impact” position whilst slapping you across the face for shouting “We are all gonna die!” This done she smiled at me and asked me if I needed a drink. There is telepathic for you. All of a sudden this flying thing started to look a little more acceptable, I asked for a Scotch and smiled at her, I didn’t get this treatment last time I flew to Holland or France, a couple of stiff Whiskey’s and I will face a dog fight in a Spitfire let alone a seven hour flight on a Boeing. My excitement as you regular flyer's will know was very short lived as she came trotting down the aisle with a miniature bottle of dyed tap water matured and bottled in Kazakhstan. Whatever it was, it resembled Whiskey but that’s where the similarities ended. My bottom lip firmly in my lap I drank it anyway and another five before she said “No more sir”. The fact I could sink half a bottle of Teacher’s Scotch in a normal night’s drinking and still sing every word to “Sweet Chariot” while auditioning for Dancing On Ice should give you a clue that I was not even close to pissed, but the bar was now closed to Mr. James so I had to divert my attention elsewhere from the grumbling engines and flexing wings. That answer came very swiftly in the form of the on board entertainment, not the TV on the seat in front of me but my fellow passengers or more directly the one’s sitting by me. No the Indian female sat in the next but one seat hadn’t decided to do a belly dance, in fact she was sat with her head against the TV screen on the seat in front of her looking like she was praying, she may well have been but it was a little unnerving as to why and if she was did I ought to start? I got my answer when she was still there six and a half hours later, you guessed it she didn’t like flying either!

So, sat there I grabbed my headphones and looked at my TV selection. The seven year old next to me was busy watching some Indian cartoon and was chuckling and giggling away but also fidgeting. I hate fidgets, it’s a real pet hate of mine, topped with that he kept knocking my arm off the arm rest, I know it was his armrest but show some respect who is the adult here?  I duly scrolled through all the movies until I spied the perfect specimen, so I clicked play and sat back smugly waiting in anticipation. I was not disappointed, I chose “Pirates of The Caribbean at World’s End” simply because I knew damned well the little kid next to me would not be able to resist having a quick peek across at my screen. This of course was the case and before the first hour of the film was up he had joined his mother praying at the monitor in front of him he was so shit scared. I have to admit I sat back in my seat a little smug afterwards happy that the fidgeting had stopped, so I decided to take a nap.  Have you ever tried to nap on a plane? No seriously?  Well I couldn’t, it was impossible in between the bumps in the invisible air we were flying through and the seat belt warning “bong” coming on to warn us of immediate disaster and the smell of burnt sausage and scrambled egg getting delivered on a trolley that made more rattles than Fisher Price during the last tax year it was a non-starter. So with sleep out of the question I once again turned to my screen in front of me and selected a few episodes of “The Mentalist” it reminded of home as it was all repeats but at least it helped the time slip by and before I knew what was happening we were about to land in Dubai, the sheer terror on the Indian Woman’s face opposite me as we descended was unforgettable, only matched by that of her seven year old boy who would be having nightmares for weeks thanks to Captain Jack Sparrow and a vindictive Englishman.

If you have been used to farmers with wellington boots and holes in their jacket pockets wearing caps that don’t fit and bemoaning how poor they are then Dubai International will come as quite a culture shock. From the full height waterfall stretching some sixty feet in the air to the gold embossed hand rails on the escalators through to the ornamental pool full of Koi Carp and surrounding vegetation the place was a wonder to behold never mind venturing into the City itself. It was a most beautiful place and very well organised with shuttle trains between gates and young people walking around with “Can I help you” on their T shirts all of them more than able to guide you through this metropolis of an Airport. The shops stretched for half a mile and included every big name you could think of, even the clocks in the walkways were made by Rolex; It was like the Willy Wonka’s of bling.  I did however have to turn my mind to the next flight, I did try to imagine just what fourteen hours on an Airplane would be like given my history but being happy to have got the first seven hours over with was somewhat of a triumph itself so I headed for a coffee shop to celebrate my success at not having fallen from forty thousand feet to my death, yes honestly!.  Sitting at a Costa coffee I was asked if I wanted to plug my laptop in and did I know there was free airport Wi-Fi, all the things you would not expect from the same establishment in the UK. I sat down and let my long suffering Facebook buddies know that I was safe and sound on the ground in Dubai, oh and don’t forget Twitter. By the time I had done the rounds and let everyone know I was still breathing I was ready to go and line up for the next bout of flying.  I dragged my feet across to check in and looked out on to the runway; there stood the biggest aircraft currently flying passengers (Airbus 380) in the world, it looked huge and I was quite heartened by that fact as that meant less turbulence, surely?.

An hour later and we were airborne, the flight was half empty and I had no-one sat in any of the rows either side of me, so I keeled over and went to sleep, well I tried to go to sleep, I dozed and that was about it, it was 14 hours of hell and I hated it, but the means justified the end in my eyes, I think I may be more suited as a Mariner than a Pilot.  Thirteen hours and fifty minutes later we lined up for a landing in Kingsford Smith International Airport, we circled over the Harbour bridge and dropped on to the runway at five minutes past five in the morning and yes you guessed it, it was raining for England, only in Sydney.  Kingsford Smith is a lovely airport, very easy to get through and bright and clean, I skipped through customs and grabbed my case and a bottle of Whiskey from Duty Free (real whiskey), then headed for the Taxi rank. Out of the shelter of the Airport it was pouring with rain so I skipped over to a Taxi driver and said, “Hi there I am from the UK I want this motel please” the Indian Taxi driver looked at my address and pointed to a road bridge half a mile away, “Oh fuck that mate it’s only just over that road bridge it’s not worth me taking you”. I have to admit that was not the response I was looking for after twenty two hours of flying spread over two days, but I guessed the guy knew what he was talking about and I started my trek. Eventually I ended up at the back of a huge building now well and truly soaked to the skin, I asked a chap if he knew where the Motel was and he looked at the address, “Crikey mate it’s the other side of that foot bridge about a mile away, you will have to go under the walkway and then across the bridge, it’s about five hundred meters away from you on the right” I thanked him and walked on, the footbridge he had mentioned was actually part of a large highway and was full of traffic traveling at speed and with rain and traffic at speed comes spray, lots of it and I was now looking like a drowned rat. I reached the Motel and booked in, crashed on the bed and heard nothing for four hours.

I woke up and grabbed a small glass and reached for my Whiskey. That “wee dram” went down a treat, I was still in time for breakfast at the Motel as it was only Nine so I plodded down and headed for some food, the breakfast was luke warm bacon followed by luke warm beans followed by, yes you get the picture, I did think of taking it back to my room and doing CPR on it but I was just tired and hungry so I ate it and prayed for a quick death. Fortunately my Shropshire stomach is made of wrought iron so it digested the worst the Motel could throw at me with just the odd growl now and then, bless it.  More sleep was the order of the day so I napped until around three that day then donned my 02 England Rugby shirt and headed out to taunt the natives. I soon found out that the Motel was near the airport and the airport was near to, well not a lot, so I walked a few suburbs and streets and headed back to the relative safety of the Motel at which point I fell asleep only this time for the same length as my plane flight.

The next day I awoke feeling amazingly good, I even attempted a second breakfast on the premise that the first one was a fluke. I was correct, the first one was a fluke as this one was colder, in fact I called the waiter over and asked him to put it in the fridge for an hour to warm it up a little, somehow I don’t think the Asian guy quite got my Anglo Saxon sense of humour as he just smiled and said “OK” all the time. I gathered my case and bags after breakfast and headed for Manly, my outright destination, I skipped the Taxi idea as I didn’t want another soaking and headed for the train station next to the Airport. Fortunately the trains were bright, clean and on time and I was soon on the quayside in Sydney Harbour, complete with the Harbour Bridge and Opera House, as you can imagine the iPhone was out taking pictures faster than a whippet on linoleum and I was soon sending wonderful sights of Sydney at its best to my long suffering Facebook friends.
 With the excitement over I grabbed a Ferry ticket for seven dollars and took my seat on the “World Famous Manly Ferry”. Slipping past the Opera House I took more pictures and scoffed at the announcement about “lifebelts” under our seats, “It’s only a damned ferry” I thought. About fifteen minutes in to the Ferry ride I wondered just where we were going as to all intents and purposes we were heading out to sea and what was worse it looked bloody rough. I started to get a little worried at this point as we hit the swell at the entrance of the harbour and it was rolling the Ferry from side to side like a rag doll in a cement mixer, I looked out of one window to see the sea and no sky and the other window to see just sky, this was not the usual kind of Ferry ride I had experienced. Eventually we turned to the left and followed the swell into Manly Wharf which just gave you a feeling of your stomach hitting your pelvis after bouncing off your ribs. Feeling a little sea sick by now I wobbled off with my suitcase and laptop, my face looking greener than the boat I had just alighted from. A quick walk to the Taxi rank and I was outside my small hotel that I would be staying in to write my epic novel that will eventually earn me enough to retire on (ahem).

Booked in and ready for a look round I trotted on to the front of Manly beach, I popped into a coffee shop and sat down, this tall blonde lad came over and asked “Can I help you Sir?” “Yes please could I have a medium Latte?” “Coming right up Sir, by the way is that an England shirt under your jacket?” “Well yes it is I am keeping the faith for a few days” “Oh that’s great I am from Sheffield” he replied. With that we swapped life histories and I discovered he moved here twelve months ago with his family and he loves it, it was one of many such meetings with ex-pats that would come my way during my stay, we English seem to have adopted Manly as a second city and it’s not hard to see why.
 The next few days were set for writing and I stayed in for anything up to eight to ten hours a day putting fingers to keyboard. I shopped for food at Coles at the suggestion of the locals as it bought Australian goods to sell to Australians, somewhat of a cop out as it is owned by an Englishman and a Scotchman, but who was I to upset my new hosts?. I trotted off to the LiquorSave store and grabbed a bottle of wine and a bottle of Whiskey, (yes another one), I went up to the counter and the assistant said “Fifty seven dollars please” I dutifully grabbed my cash and just happened to look at the till, it clearly said fifty six dollars ninety eight cents, So, I handed her sixty dollars across and said “that says Fifty Six dollars and ninety eight cents on the till”. She smiled and opened the till up and placed some coins in my hand. I walked out and thought no more of it until I reiterated this to a local a while later who subsequently roared with laughter. Somewhat puzzled I inquired as to why she thought that was so funny? “No one bothers with the cents here sweetheart, we just round it up or down to the nearest five cents and she gave you the five cents to shut you up!”  She walked off still laughing and shaking her head, it seems it was another lesson learned.