A Flying Visit

When our former boss and good friend Mr DJC invited us to attend a celebration to mark his passing the age of 70, I was really torn. We both very much wanted to attend but, sadly, Mrs A was unable to come with me as her work once more put a crimp in her social life. Right up to the deadline for accepting/declining I blew hot and cold but, in the end, I decided that the opportunities to see Mr & Mrs DJC, as well as some other old friends, and to see our daughter, Miss A, were too good to miss. So, hanging my environmental head in shame, I flew across to England last Friday, returning on Sunday.

What a good choice I made. The journey went without a hitch. I had a lovely time with Miss A (including spending some time, and money, in a genuine London pub drinking genuine Young’s Bitter). I thoroughly enjoyed wandering around my old haunts in West London and re-visiting the campus where I spent 20 years of my working life, marvelling at all the wonderful new buildings my ex-employer has built with the money I (!) so carefully shepherded. I even had time to drive through the village in which we used to live.

The celebration itself was great. I re-encountered several old friends/colleagues – the hosts, Mr DJC and H, of course; Mr PDB and H; Mr JGW and M; Mrs HMN & A; Mrs DC; Mrs EP; Mr CRB and S to mention but a few – and thoroughly enjoyed a warm and friendly 4 hours or so with friends and family of Mr DJC.

Given that my footwear was, from time to time, a subject of comment when I worked at the University, I was quite pleased that no one appeared to notice that I was wearing a very unsuitable pair of worn and grubby brown Dr Marten’s boots. This deeply unfashionable choice of footwear was rather forced upon me. I discovered that morning that the pair of black shoes I had packed in my suitcase was actually one black slip-on (left) and one brown lace-up (right). What an eejit. However, I rather wish I’d worn them now!

Although I was in England but a few hours, the following really made their mark on me:-

How strange the commercial world has become. For reasons too boring to relate, I needed to lay my hands on close to 2000 euros in cash. Imagine my surprise when a fairly sizeable branch of my bank in W. London told me they couldn’t meet my needs but directed me to Marks & Spencer instead. I wandered past ready-made meals, corduroy trousers and bras and knickers (why do I always have Father Ted flashbacks when I do that?) to the travel department where a friendly young man handed over a large pile of notes. In future, will I have to go to NatWest for my socks?

How much money there is sloshing about. I was stunned by the number of people who, in a branch of Tesco near the university at 5pm on a Saturday evening, were buying hundreds of pounds worth of electronic equipment. Flat screen TVs the size of tennis courts were being wheeled out of the shop in their dozens, often being transported to BMWs, Mercs, big 4-wheel drives etc. It all felt very uncomfortable to me.

The new Wembley stadium. From the M1 and North Circular at least, the new stadium looks fantastic, especially at night when the arch is illuminated.

Masticating in public. As in France, a significant proportion of the population seems to be addicted to chewing gum. It may just have been because I was among large numbers of people for the first time for ages but the constant movement of jaws, accompanied by slurping and chomping by those who chew with their mouths open, was really striking. I’m sorry if you are one of the addicts because I have to say I find it nauseating.

The activities of Big Brother. While filling up at a service station near Stansted, I noticed a sign on the fuel pump asking my understanding for the delay in the delivery of fuel. This, it said, was to allow the police’s automatic number-plate recognition system to log my car details before I filled up. Is this for real? Dear me, Tony, what is going on? I fear for our liberty.