Thursday, November 29, 2007

Is there anyone alive out there???

There are many things that could go in this blog. There are probably many things that SHOULD go in this blog. I should probably have shared that I got my first ever 'man' of the match award for hockey, and made it through the pint of snake bite that is the prize without dribbling or - a far bigger achievement - bringing any of it back up. I should also share that on a recent work trip to Glasgow I was converted to the cul of rugby by the presence of a large number of players and support staff of an Italian club. My eyes are still glazed from starring at them. Of equal importance is my pending trip to Brussels, where I think I will be forced to finish all of my Christmas shopping in one fell swoop, secure in the knowledge that whatever I get I will be able to put off any disgusted protests with 'I bought this for you when I was in Brussels'; oh, and if anyone's wondering what I'm planning to buy, it's chocolates all round. And by the tme I'm done, if they're anything like I'll probably be, they will be all round. But enough of what SHOULD be going to make up a post on the blog of a person theoretically having adventures in the big wide world, and onto what is really happening, since she appears to have become invisible.

I'm just back from another work trip, and forced to frantically do my washing before heading off again, cramming 7 days of London life into the 4 alloted. It was not a good trip, right from the start. I thought I'd allowed myself enough time to get to the airport and stop off in a bookshop on the way. Turns out, I hadn't. Or rather I had, but I hadn't taken public transport into my accounting. One brisk walk through the terminal later, and I was a pocket knife lighter. In my rush to get out the door, I'd forgotten that my cherished Victorinox green knife was living in the bottom of my handhag. It lives there no longer. With the load of work I had to get through at the hotel, it was a bit of a relief to find that I could race through the rooms and get all the photos I needed, and head back to collate the information on the laptop I'd borrowed. Except the lovely system administrator had set the computer up so that not only could I not connect to the hotel's wireless internet network - meaning all my study plans were voided - but it wouldn't recognise my camera being plugged into it either. No more work on that, it seemed. But the TV was there, so all was well, for a few hours, at least, once I'd figured out how to turn the heating down. No hotel room needs to b 25 degrees when you're trying to sleep. Then 4:21 rolled around. I know what time it was because I looked at the clock when I woke up, thinking that the oud ringing must have been an alarm clock. Sadly, no. Nothing so simple. It was a fire alarm.

I've been in this situation before. There is nothing less comfortable than standing on the street in your pyjamas. At least this time it wasn't snowing. I'd stopped to grab my coat, was proud of my forethought in getting my key as well, and hauled on my shoes - inadequate canvas numbers not made for keeping sockless feet warm, but better than the alternative. 4 fire trucks worth of firemen - at least there was some scenary - failed to find anything more than a disconnected wire. I, however, had discovered that standing in the Scottish night air with a bunch of drunken soccer fans is not as much fun as it sounds. Especially when they launch into some soccer song for the umpteenth time, or wander over to comment on the fact that, while they are drunkenly leering, fully clothed and barely able to see straight, you are in your 'classy' flannelette pyjamas. The fact that it took them a good 5 minutes of staring to work this out is no consolation. A pair of knees were planted fairly squarely in my back by an aging midget when the Scots finally decided to let me leave their fair city, and an old woman actually sat on my on the bus back from the station. I wrenched my arm lifting my case, and then got home to find that not only had something I was expecting to be delivered not arrived, but neither had the much-promised electrician been by to let us have light on the stairs outside the door to the flat. Thank god I had a torch with me.

So, for any who are curious, the life of a 'glamorous' architect is not quite so gorgie as you might expect. You do get strange looks when you're counting bricks to figure out rough dimensions of things when you forget your tape measure (although given that it's steel, and can give a nasty nick if you release it too quickly, I doubt it would have made it through security at the airport), and some even stranger looks when you stand around a hotel taking notes on the state of the furniture, or photos of the perfectly boring ceiling. But it's a living. Besides, I always have Brussels...

Friday, November 16, 2007

Did you know...?

Party invitations always come at the same time. You can go for days, weeks, sometimes even months, without a single invite, then in the space of four days in come 7 invites for the same 2 days. Then comes the dilemma. How do you choose which one to go to?


There is a noticable similarity between the word 'Kilt' spoken with a scots accent, and an english accent saying 'celt'. So, who thinks there may once have been some misunderstanding along those lines way back when? And who got it right in the long run? Was it the celt in the kilt? Or the kilt in the celt?


Austrian roadsides (and Bavarian, and Italian) are littered with large shrines and statues of holy figures, whether there as a memorial to some driver who lost their life on the generally treacherous winding roads, or to protect the drivers who are passing now. The shrines are generally placed in the most dangerous and precarious positions. But which came first? The need for a whacking great shrine to offer the protection of the lord on a dangerous stretch of road, or a nice big distracting statue for cars to plough into?


It is easy to keep secrets until you start talking. Then, the temptation to spill everything you know becomes almost overwhelming. Even being alert for all the dangers, there are icebergs that threaten to rip open the side of the vault hiding your deepest darkest secret. The iceberg is often made larger by the presence of alcohol.


Men and women will never truly understand each other. Need I say more?

The amount of things to be packed for a holiday will always fill the baggage allocated. The amount to bring home will always exceed that same baggage, even if no extra items have been added. By the same token, last minute packing always results in just as many things being left behind as careful and organised packing, but has the added surprise of the things that were caught up in the panicked throwing of things into the case. Who knew that a pair of slippers would find their way into a flatmate's case?


The part of the movie that gets talked over by a chatty friend will always be the part where the crucial plot twist is explained. This is the reason DVDs were invented.


Random observations can be patched together to make a blog post when there isn't enough in any one idea to string out a proper post.