Gurkha Highlander 2010 - the Seven Summits

I suppose this is technically day two and the weather, as ever, continues to disappoint. Whilst most of the UK is sweltering in 80F heat, we in Spean Bridge are on about 14 C ( = 56F) with heavy rain and mist. In fact, as we drove towards the departure point this morning, there were 3 Munro's ahead of us. You could see the top of two. I asked the boys which one they thought they were going for." The one with the heavy mist, sahib" came the chorus.
Frank made us his special fish curry last night.The Nepalese are not huge fish eaters, so they were a bit circumspect to begin with when it appeared. Suffice to say it all got eaten.
We just saw the end of the Engerland match. End being the operative word.
We did, however, watch the Argentina versus Mexico in the bar, where there was a man and a women in Argentine strip, going berserk for most of the match, the lady screaming in what I assume was Argentine and the bloke in a very strong Scottish accent. At half time I asked them how they came to be here. They lived just up the road and the lady was from Argentina. The chap made it quite clear that following Scotland was toooo depressing, whilst following England was clearly out of the question. Plus it helped with matrimonial harmony if Argentina lost as they could commiserate with each other.
Before setting off this morning we had a practice at the Commando Memorial for the wreath laying we have tonight. Piper Samir played "Flowers of the Forest" most sweetly, and Sgt Dev laid the wreath with enormous aplomb. I hope it goes as well this evening when supposedly TV crews and newspaper journalists will attend.
In the meantime, I have to get in the food for tomorrow's climb, which includes lots of sweeties. Gurkhas have a sweet tooth, especially for chewy ones, so several jumbo bags will be required. Then I have to get the tea flasks ready for the boys coming down off the mountain.
As Corporal Ang said yesterday " I didn't know tea could taste as good, Sahib!"

GH 10 launch!

I'm sitting in the reception at the Spean Bridge Hotel, which is, as always, the nerve centre of the Gurkha Highlander Operation each year.This is GH10.
Frank, the owner, and all the staff are so good to us that despite the place being generally overcrowded, we love being here.
Together with my chum, we drove Arnold Clark's minibus down to Sandhurst on Friday, and I ate my first curry of the period. Quite why I'm not sure, as I could have had a KFC or a McDonalds or a kebab in the immediate vicinity of the Travelodge we were in.
On second thoughts, the curry was the most acceptable option.
It didn't stop us having an egg & sausage McMuffin for breakfast - the option of GBP7.50 or GBP 1.99 was no contest when every fiver we can save pays for the food for an old pensioner for nearly a week in Nepal.
Sandhurst itself almost brought tears to the eyes of my pal as we drove to collect the lads - he had been there 37 years earlier as a sprog lieutenant. I have to say he has lost none of his military bearing over the years, despite not being career military.
We stopped off in Stafford to collect the rest then battered on up the road. My chum got off at Croy to take the train back to Edinburgh, and I drove on.
Frank welcomed us like long lost friends, insisting all the kitchen staff met us,as well as the customers in the bar, the restaurant, the hotel and the fish and chip shop, so it took a while to get to the first drink - which Frank paid for himself.
His boar curry was delicious, as was the chicken and pork, and the rice mountains were quickly demolished. Mind you, we do not have The Man Mountain with us this year who could eat any four people under the table and still be looking round for seconds....
Sunday dawned dull and cold ( 14C) so the smart new fleeces were donned for the assault on Ben Nevis.
The format is a bit different this year ( you can read about it here) which means I will have slightly less driving to do ( if you discount the 2000 to collect and drop off the boys. This was done to save enough for 20 pensioners for a month - times are really tough in the world of charities and we have to go for even more value for money.
So please - give money if you can, but even more importantly mention the Gurkha Welfare Trust on your blog, or Facebook or whatever.
I promise you it will make you feel good....

Defeat!

The Sun ran a front page special last December after the draw for the World Cup.
It ran:
England
Algeria
Slovenia
Yanks.
Those with some linguistic ability will spot the initial letters form " EASY". The sub-title was " Best English Group since the Beatles!"
I have little or no interest in fu'baw, but I have to admit to my interest being increased by England's two appalling performances so far.
In order to progress they now have to beat Slovenia, which, from last night's performance looks a)impossible and b)has the potential for an England defeat.
I told you the reason for the white flags with the red crosses in an earlier post.
I suspect there are even more England fans with metaphorically short appendages this morning....

A fairytale romance..?

Back to Glasgow and some better weather.
Things here in the underworld are getting a little sticky.
Glasgow has always been known for it's "gangs" but of course these are just the footmen for the knights, lords, earls,dukes and kings behind them.
Sometimes a footman gets the better of himself and then things become somewhat hairy.
Jimmy, for it is he, many years ago did some odd things in Ireland, and to this day frequents a pub called the Crystal Bells on Glasgow's Gallowgate. It is entirely untrue to suggest it is an IRA drinking den.
Now Jimmy had a lady-love ( Senga - in case you don't know this is Agnes backwards. It's like houses and pubs that are called NIA ROO. This is OUR AIN backwards. Got that?)
Senga, like many a lass, had her head turned by the wealth and power of Sean, and dropped Jimmy for greener pastures.
But inside Senga's breast her attachment to Jimmy never left her, and after yet another enormous row, she dumped Sean.
Now Sean is one of the high ups in charge of various taxi firms in the town and connected to the Crystal Bells ( you need to keep up and make the connections yourself.)
Senga phones Jimmy, begs forgiveness, tells him she is finished with Sean, and can they meet - in another pub which shall remain nameless. Jimmy goes along, and he and Senga start chatting and canoodling - and then Sean walks in, alerted by just about everyone in Glasgow who he had told to let him know where Senga was.
Sean slaps Jimmy about the face a couple of times and tells him to leave Senga alone, or Sean will set about Jimmy in no uncertain terms. In order to save Jimmy from a worse fate, Senga tells him to go. Jimmy agrees, and goes to the loo to tidy up a bit.
Only he bursts out ten seconds later brandishing the knife he had down the inside of his sock, and stabs Sean 53 times, all the time shouting " Set aboot me? I'll show ya set aboot me, ya ***@@^!"
In the ensuing mayhem Jimmy escapes, leaving behind the knife sticking out of Sean.
When the police arrive,they are able to get half a dozen witnesses, DNA and fingerprints off the knife, and promptly put an APB arrest warrant for Jimmy.
That was six weeks ago. Jimmy discussed with his lawyer trying for self defence (even to lawyers and criminals with flexible minds, 53 stabs is a bit much for self defence - 8 or ten yes, but not 53...)but the lawyer said the best bet was to turn himself in.
Jimmy, of course, is heartbroken - not that he killed Sean but that Senga will now have nothing to do with him.
So the for the last 6 weeks he has been wandering around Glasgow from house to house as various relatives go away for a few days, but blind drunk most of the time.
It hasn't stopped him drinking in a large number of pubs causing problems,nor ending up in the Crystal Bells shouting he could batter any one present.
He even turned up at a police station one night when he had forgotten which house he was supposed to be hiding in and asked them to put him up for the night. As he was clearly totally drunk, the police refused to take him in,so he sat on the pavement outside and went to sleep - from which the police roused him about 7am.
But here's the thing - why are none of Sean's associates after Jimmy, and why are the police ( who would appear to be taking urgent and stringent steps to arrest him) not got him yet?
Could it be connected with various taxis being set alight in the night and the police being very grateful for Sean's death?
As Bubble would say in AbFab " Who can say..?"

Love in the time of Cholera

You may remember that I am involved in the domain name business, which has broadened my knowledge of human failings and quirks considerably.
One of the more annoying things are the emails from people saying they want a domain we own, but they have no money, and would we be really kind and just give it to them.Or say they used to own it and demand we give it back to them - again for free.I wonder if they would let me have their England fubaw shirt for free... no hang about, they well might.
Anyway, one of the things we do is dating sites - I know, tacky and sleazy - but there are something like 20 million ( yes that's MILLION) people registered with dating sites in the UK alone.
For some reason South Africa has not that many less, but of course the holy grail is North America, where there are well over 50 million men and women of every sexual orientation looking for the One - or even just a one-night stand.
In amongst these are the poor souls who have a serious problem, like an STD (HIV,herpes, aids etc).They have no fewer yearnings and needs than the rest of us, and of course there are actually quite a lot of them out there.
So it wasn't a total shock when I got a request to add to the dating sites we have one domain that has good traffic for related medication (might earn 50p per day) and
which,when translated into an STD dating site, appears to be earning USD 10-15 per day.
I do not in any way suggest, dear reader, that you have such a problem, but I can only say my eyes have been opened to another area where help is desperately needed.
Click here to find out more.
PS The title of this post refer to a rather good book by Gabriel García Márquez

A miss is as good as a mile

I'm seriously busy in Romania, catching up with all the stuff I should have done last time when a) the weather was bad and b)I spent a couple of days in bed.
It hasn't prevented everyone ( and I do mean everyone) laughing like drains at the England - USA fubaw match that ended in a draw, after one of the classic goalkeeping blunders by some overpaid stiff called Green.
I am,of course, not English, so the joke is even better as far as my Romanian friends are concerned.
I did hear a joke that superseded the match.
The new British Government is seriously worried that men's penises in the UK are becoming too small to perform properly.
As a result they have asked that every man with a penis of less than 3 inches in length display a white flag with a red cross on it either as a flag on their car or out of the windows of their houses.
If you've been in England recently you will know that there are literally millions of poor chaps in a dire state.
Can't say I've noticed any such flags in Scotland - or Wales for that matter.....

A Charitable weekend

To Corstorphine Fair on Saturday for the Gurkhas.
30,000 people attend this event which is in aid of local charities.We had a visit from mthe local MSP, the MEP, the ex-MP and the new MP, all of whom ( of course) wanted their pictures taken and to be associated with the Lumley Campaign.
I wouldn't mind so much, but not one of them put their hand in their pockets ( or handbag) to give us a donation.
Overall though, it was a good event, and apart from collecting money, we gave out lots of leaflets. In common with most military charities, our supporter's average age is increasing so we need some younger blood at the bottom end.
The preparations for Gurkha Highland 2010 proceed apace. There is no offical cap this year as we are trying to reduce the budget ( where have I heard that one before?) so I will be wearing my 2009 cap.
Or maybe the 2008 one.
On Sunday I helped out the Friends of Maxwell Park at the Ready Steady Grow event.
I really must start charging for my time...

Plus ca Change

I apologise for being away for so long, but I have had a great many problems to contend with - not least having to change my email which rendered this account inoperative for some time.
Romania finished off well apart from the weather that was poor for the time of year.
The wedding went well and instead of the bride being ransomed it ended up as the bridegroom ( Nicou) who was more than bemused with the whole thing. I managed to get candle wax and honey all down my jacket, so it is presently residing in the specialist cleaners.
In the meantime, I see we now have a coalition government. It remains to be seen whether it will be strong enough to force the banks to stop lending to it, and start lending to the poor benighted punters. I had a discussion with the regional director of RBS today, whose brief is:
1) Do not lend money on property
2) Where you have lent money in the past, claw it back
3) If you can't get it back, up the charges, margin and fees.
4) Er, that's it.
In effect, whereas bankers used to get bonusses for lending money,they are now getting bonuses for getting it back in. It will all end in tears, as all things with the banks do in time.
I am gearing up for Gurkha Highlander 2010, which is actually named "The Seven Sisters", the idea being to do 7 Munroes in 7 days. Fortunately, I am only driving again.
In the meantime, I was on the Somme again for a boy's outing, which was great fun, even if a bit chilly. It culminated in an excellent lunch on Sunday in Arras at a restaurant that had just opened two days earlier. The food was excellent as was the ambience - but we were somewhat surprised to discover that the Chef was from Swindon.
I sort of think the level of his food was a bit beyond the good people of Swindon...
As an aside, the spell check suggests " Swindlers" for Swindon...
The most extraordinary thing about the battlefields is that when the war ended there where literally thousands of square miles with nothing in them - just mud, holes,metal and bodies. These bodies keep appearing - we saw several new graves in some of the cemeteries with addenda in the registers. The thought at the time was that no one would ever live in the area again, but good land ( especially owned by a Frenchman) is precious, and the villages all grew up again quite quickly.
One of the more interesting things to do is visit a German Cemetery. There are very few as most bodies were taken back to Germany, but there are a few here and there.
Complete with Jewish headstones.
The thing is, the non-Jewish corpses have a simple black metal cross with the name, rank and job of the interee.
The Jewish ones were removed during WW2 and melted down to make bullets - so at least the Jews could be useful. The bodies were removed from their Aryan colleagues.
Now, the headstones have replaced the gaps and the bodies have been returned.
In Schlaflige Ruhe

Gie us Peace..

I couldn't stand it anymore - I had to get away from all the politics and everyone asking me questions about what I thought. Why don't they just do their own thinking?
Anyway, here I am back in Romania again, ready for another wedding ( although it will be dry as far as I am concerned)and to do lots of work ( hopefully). The flight from Luton to Sibiu on Blue Air went without a hitch, and the moment we got back to Sighisoara Alin whisked me off to talk to several groups of people about all sorts of things.
The last few days have largely been taken up with changing over my email address. Our techy Ms. Lear ( Now Mrs. Rock God) had set me up about 10 years ago on Handbag.com, which was ( is??) run by Boots for females. But it was dead easy and I could work it.Unfortunately, it moved to Tiscali some years ago and has never been that reliable. Now, they are closing the whole system as of June 3rd.
Of course, changing over the address book was easy ( especially as Mrs. Rock God actually did it for me ( Virtual Assistants are marvellous), but ploughing through the hundreds of saved and sent emails to see what I needed to keep has been much more onerous. I cannot for the life of me think why I have an email telling me all about prosthetic legs which I have carefully saved....
Sighisoara is looking lovely, as they have now finally finished redoing all the cobbles in the citadel, and they ahve added lots of uplighters to make it look very smart. As I returned from lunch about 9:30 this evening, there where a goodly number taking photos of how smart it was.
Alin has the bit between his teeth about taking a test drive in the new Dacia Duster - but he is very disappointed to hear that the 4 x 4 with aircon and leather seats is not the mere Eur 10,500 he thought it was. That's the basic model - no aircon, no 4 x 4 and naturally no leather seats. With everything it's about the same again...
The more interesting thing is the Dacia Logan we bought nearly 3 years ago for Eur 5,600 is still worth about Eur 3,500, so we have had all that motoring for about Eur 2000. I call that really good value.

The election that didn't elect.

This from a LibDem:
"It gives me absolutely no pleasure whatever to write this - I am a party member of the LibDems (or was until today - the chance of my renewing my membership has receded significantly if the party is unable to display any maturity and judgement)."
If you recall I long ago said the LibDems would do badly at this election ( actually worse than the outcome) and now I believe they will split again. We will return to effective 2 party system democracy at the next election, when the LibDems will be wiped out.

Back to the '70s

Niall Ferguson will be having an article in tomorrow's Spectator which has the following paragraph:
"The mess we are in is the result of 13 squandered years in which an unprincipled government frittered away the achievements of the Thatcher era. We are back not just in 1979, but in 1976, the last time the IMF had to bail Britain out as a consequence of Labour¹s economic mismanagement."
If anyone is in any doubt as to what this means, have a look at Greece today.
I may be eating my Romanian goats sooner than I thought...

Elections

Ok I admit it, I have a bet on that the Tories will have a majority and even more than 2 seats in Scotland.
I only ever bet £5 - it's proving the point, not the money. My best "coup" was not when John Major won the 1992 election ( though I had £5 on that) but when he won the leadership from Mrs. T.
But it wasn't my bet.
I was sitting in a car with a chap whose nickname was ( is) Dealaday. His wife in the back seat was complaining bitterly about all the horrible men who had forced her out, and Dealaday said he was going to put £1000 on Heseltine.
I told him he was crazy and the ( at that time just the MPs) party would never condone matricide.
" So who would you bet on?"
" I have £5 on John Major". He looked at me as if I had two heads. It happens to me frequently.
" You're mad."
" Wait and see."
He thought for a moment.
Then he reached for the carphone and spoke to his bookie.
" What are the odds on John Major?" I think they were 5/1 from memory and he promptly put £1000 on.
The rest is history - and apart from the £25 I won myself, I got a cheque for £500 from Dealaday.
I didn't start to tell you all that - I was thinking about election night.
It's the only night of the quinquennial when politicians cannot hide, spin or lie.
They are exposed naked and trembling before the power of those they have ignored for years.
I sincerely hope the worst offenders will get the chop ( I'm thinking particularly of Ed Balls) but there are others too.
We shall see.
PS
And by the way, I happen to think JM wasn't such a bad PM - I'm sure history will prove him to have been right in lots of things ( and Blair and Brown wrong in lots and lots)

Wear it with pride..

Yesterday was the annual Gurkha Welfare Trust Curry Lunch, which this year was held at 2 Div. Headquarters at Craigiehall outside Edinburgh.
We had an excellent day, including a band concert, which was a bit chilly standing outside to listen to.
The thing about the GWT is that the people involved, and it's supporters, are all terribly nice people - generally of a slightly older tinge and therefore polite and caring, but also with a sense of humour.
At the risk of offending my reader, two senior officers ( long retired) were passing through a door to collect their food. One stopped dead.
" Have you just farted?"
"Of course I have, " said the other. " You don't think I smell like this all the time do you?"
The main preoccupation of most of the elderly army people is with their medals. Some, of course, are for extreme bravery, but quite a lot are "campaign" medals or what are called "theatre" medals.
A dear friend has been trying to get his theatre medal for Malaya since 1966. He has reams of correspondence on this, and supporting letters from all and sundry saying he was there. Including the son of the then Prime Minister.
The problem is two-fold. He can't remember when he actually arrived, and the MOD has lost his records.
His arrival date is critical, because you have to do 6 weeks in a theatre of war to get the medal.He might have arrived 42 days before the end of the campaign. Or he might not. Or,if he arrived 43 days before the end, is that six weeks before or is that six weeks bar one day.
It's a bit like how many angels can dance on the point of a pin.
Of course, the fact that the MOD has no records is less of a drawback. They can simply rule that he was there.
So it was with some glee that he appeared yesterday, looking incredibly smug, wearing his new medal. I'm sure he bought it on ebay.
I questioned him about it.
" Well," he said, "I've been keeping it inside my jacket. I wasn't actually sure I was allowed to wear it. However, I went onto Google and they say I may."

So that's all right then.

He's now turnd his attention to a TA medal he feels entitled to....

His Majesty's clothes

Whilst waiting for someone at Glasgow Central Station last evening, there were a group of nubile young ladies handing out cards -to men only. They passed me by, and I asked for a card.
"Nah," said the stunna. " It's for a lap-dancing club. You're too old"
" Besides, " said the other, " We don't let anyone in wearing cords."
As a friend hurtingly remarked,"It's as well they didn't see your underpants."
Definite lese-majeste

Sticking out

The volcanic ash has had some unexpected effects.
People having to remain overseas - if on medication - have had some issues with getting their pill supplies.
Most have had a fairly easy ride. In the EU for example, you can go along to a doctor, explain your problems, show the medication and get a new prescription which can be filled in ( for example) Puerto Banus, if that's where your staying.
So it was without too much worry that a very senior Scottish gentleman discovered that he might have an extra week or so in Spain before he could get home.
He toddled into the doctor, gave him his prescriptions, explained his problems and the doctor nodded sagely.
Now the gentleman in question has a specifically dodgy ticker that requires constant medication.
One of the pills he has to take every day is Viagra.
50 mg.
8 times a day.
This results in certain effects which I will leave to your imagination, and which elicit quite a lot of admiring glances from ladies of all vintage - and quite a lot of men too.
So the Spanish doctor,having nodded sagely,looked at the bulge in his patient's trousers,and wrote out the prescriptions, all bar the Viagra.
The Scottish grandee queried this, and was assured no prescription was necessary - Viagra was available over the counter in Spain without prescription.
He popped into the pharmacy, handed over the prescriptions, then said , "Viagra?"
"Si", said the pharmacist." Quantos?"
Now the VIP had never had to think about that- he had simply got the prescription, used the pills, and then refilled the prescription when he finished them.
Just at that point, his third wife ( some 20 years his younger) hobbled into the shop - she had hurt her back gardening.
The husband and she exchanged some words, then he turned back to the pharmacist.
He had no real idea what to say - so he said the first thing that came into his head.
"500"
The pharmacist dropped the pills he was holding. He looked at the wife. He looked at the husband. He looked at the husband's crotch.
He shook his head.
"Madre de Dios! You Eeenglish! Normally you are just disgusting with the beer! But now - you are disgusting with the sex too!"

God made Sex

I was taken with this headline to a story about sex education in America. Of course, we in the UK couldn't possibly bring God into our rapidly disintegrating multi-cultural society, and absolutely not into S-E-X.
In America, though, God is still very big business, and He is listened to.
Well, his minions on Earth are, at any rate.
So I was pleased to see that God had made sex. It has always seemed to me that it's not something that had to be constructed. After all, even very primitive creatures have what they call sex ( we might not, of course). I'm sure Mr. Fact will make sure we get all this correct.
The point of the article was that parents should be the people to inform their children about it - never mind how embarrassed both sides might be.
I well remember my own sex education at school, which I have mentioned before.
The majority of what I learned from my parents came from my father ( boy - dad - it's a man thing).
We were walking up a street in Vevey, Switzerland that sits comforatbly on the Lake of Geneva in it's pristine smugness. As we made our way homewards, my father kept his eyes very firmly on the ground, and harumphed, clearing his throat.
" Hm yes, your over thirteen now, aren't you?"
" Yes Dad."
" Harumph, harumph... ah, things start happening.. harumph!"
" Yes Dad"
" Ah, harumph, ah, there might be hairs growing .."
" Yes Dad"
" Harumph.. all over?"
" Yes Dad."
" AH and er, harumph, what about down there?"
" Yes Dad."
" Ah," sigh of relief. " That's all right then..."

Living on the edge

Sorry about the sizing - I'll have to get the chap that winds my watch to sort it (joke)
When I was looking up Falstaff for the previous post, I came across this quote of his:
I can get no remedy against this consumption of the
purse;
borrowing only lingers and lingers it out... ( I,2,585)
Do you think Gordon Brown knows this?
Or the Greeks?

A singular man

Here's a tale to take your mind off bigots and the election.
Mind you, we all have prejudices..
Anyway, in Romania in the time of Ceausescu, there lived a man who didn't like the regime. Actually, lots of men didn't like the regime, but they toed the line.
This particular man, whose name was Tiberius ( and they have Trajan as well), decided he would "drop out" of the stranglehold that the regime had on it's people.
So he went off to live in the woods not far from a place called Apold. It was pretty chilly in the winter but he dug himself a cave and was fine.
The only problem was that he needed to feed himself, so he hunted a bit, stole a bit and general kept himself out of people's way.
The regime, of course, didn't like this show of individuality one bit, so they sent a few people out to throw him in jail.
Unfortunately ( or fortunately if you were Tiberius), they couldn't lay hands on him. They found the entrance to the cave all right, but when they went inside they started to be impeded by booby traps and disappearing floors into bottomless pits.
Tiberius had dug all these himself, and every time one of his pursuers disappeared there was maniacal laughter ahead of the pack.
The baddies eventually gave up, swearing to return.
Of course, reporting failure on something to the regime at the time wasn't a good idea, so there was a degree of fudge, delay and obfuscation which meant it was some months before anything further happened. Think Falstaff's description of his defence in Henry IV part 2.
They returned in force, with machinery and weapons, and tried for days to capture Tiberius, and always just in front of them was that maniacal laugh.
Eventually, they lost all patience and brought up artillery and explosives. They spent days laying charges, and finally pushed the plunger.
Tiberius had gone round disconnecting things.
By now, of course, he had become a hero, so the regime started at one end of the woods and cave and systematically blew half the mountainside to bits. Still they heard the laughter.
Finally, they poured hundreds of tons of concret and boulders into the caves, working all the way round like a hunter with a ferret after rabbits. Even as they poured, they heard the laugh.
When the work was all done there was silence. After a couple of days of no sound, they packed up their equipment and went away.
And Tiberius watched them from the top of the Church tower in Apold...

Why people hate Thatcher

.. because she made them face reality.

PS. Lovely quote from ex-Fabian Stephen Pollard:"When you give power to those previously subservient to bureaucracy and ideology, everything blossoms"

Back to the Present

I finally got back to Glasgow last night.

My journey was most interesting, travelling through Hungary,Austria,Germany and Holland before setting foot on UK soil again.

I'm quite lucky - there must be several tens of thousands still stuck.

Travelling for 2 days across Europe in a train was a salutary lesson. The further west and north, the better the train. I set off from Sighisoara with 4 enormous sandwiches as provided by Alin, a bar of chocolate, 4 half litres of water, some cabbage pie - and a loo roll. I may say I didn't need it...

Nowhere did I see a single UK consular official helping out. In fact, at the main Vienna Railway station where I had to change for Munich, there were probably some 3 -4,000 Brits desperately trying to get to the Channel Coast without money or anything. Austrian Railways, at their own cost, was passing out coffee, water, food and what information they had, and very welcome it was too to those that needed it. They had also made the loos free ( normally 50 cents) to British travellers. An excellent effort.

Once into Germany, I saw just how far down the list of countries we have slipped. Everywhere was spotless. The trains had people clearing up regularly, and also cleaning the loos en route. They had recycling bins on the trains, and anything that was collected was recycled before being taken off. The trains themselves had about 25% more space per passenger than ours do. The train stations, even in the middle of the night, had all-night train information ( and trains that ran all night) as well as attended toilets and shower rooms and places to eat and drink.

At one point on a platform in Dortmund I looked a little lost. We wee man popped out of a sentry box, and asked if he could help. Which he duly did. This was about 1am.

Things were similarly good in Holland as I made my way to the early ( or is that late?) Hook of Holland to Harwich ferry. And there I met up with more hoards of Brits pleading with the officials to let them board. Eventually ( at a guess) a ferry which normally would take mostly freight and perhaps 4/500 foot passengers, took not so much freight but about 3 or 4,000 poor souls.

On board I was able to get a shower and change my shirt, so I looked quite presentable.

There were lots of tales, but two will suffice.

One elderly couple had been at Calais for 5 days. Not one Navy ship, not any British officials, nothing. So they gave up and headed to Hoek Van Holland, where they thought they would have a better chance ( they did).

Another couple had been in Argentina, and, as it happened, had flown with Iberia and therefore back to Madrid.

They had heard Brown intone that there would be a fleet of coaches waiting to take them to the Navy ships.

Not only were there no coaches and no Navy ships, there were again no British officials to help. In the end, they had found that there were possible chances in Holland, had changed their UK flight to Amsterdam, then made their way to the port.

Brown referring to the Dunkirk spirit made everyone laugh. As one of them told me:" Well at Dunkirk at least there were both ships and direction. And I should know, 'cos I was there. Here, this lot couldn't organise a chimps tea party".

I'm not sure I quite get that one, but I'm sure you get the drift.

Potholes!

I finally made it back last night ( more anon) but I was struck by an email I received from the only Tory Councillor in Glasgow:

CARRIAGEWAY INVESTMENT PROGRAMME 2010 – 2011
Following the recent Council Budget announcement of additional funding for roads maintenance, Glasgow City Council can now set out below the proposals on how it intends to commit this combined budget of £12 million.
Background
There has been no capital investment in the fabric of the network since 2006/07. This has left our roads more vulnerable to attack by external agents such as the weather. The last 2 successive years of extreme winter weather have demonstrated the vulnerability of our Road Network. Underlying problems have allowed the cold weather to wreak havoc, as evidenced by the massive increase in the number of reported potholes:-
2007/08 2008/09 2009/10
No of potholes
(Winter period 3,500 4,647 10,199
Oct – March )

So there you have it. There are officially 10,199 potholes in Glasgow City.

These are reported - and not necessarily filled in.....

The Dunkirk Spirit

Well,with a bit of luck I'll be back Sunday night. I won't bore you with all the machinations required to get a ferry reservation, but suffice it to say I had to get the Mayor to pull a few strings. Quite what his connection with Stena Line is I have no idea, but I suspect it may have something to do with RomGaz where his son works..

Of course, Romanians being what they are, they are convinced the flight ban has only been promulgated to enable train and bus companies to make a profit, and there could be a smidgen of truth in that. They are certainly profiting handsomely.

Spring has definitely arrived in Sighisoara - the little sad smiley ladies are out with their bunches of flowers. As you may recall from a previous post, their real business is not selling flowers, but getting their pictures taken. They are chosen for their diminutive size and the bitter-sweet smile they can put on. I defy anyone not to want to take a picture of them clutching a small bunch of wild flowers...

My enforced presence here has worked quite well, as people who might have wanted to avoid talking to us have no excuse not to when there would appear to be no imminent departure, so we have been able to achieve much that might not have happened otherwise. The weather continues to be beautiful after one day of rain.

The Mayor was very concerned that I would be travelling for at least 2 days to get home, and said that the situation was of such gravity that I should be allowed to take a bottle of tuica with me en route. In fact, it just so happened he had one with him, and, purely by chance, another one as well, which he proposed to keep me company with overnight. I reminded him of our compact, and after a bit of ( false?) concern for my well-being, he conceded he would save them for 3rd September.

He did insist however we should have a special lunch.

As you know, lunch is about 5pm, and we went to a place I had never been in Medias. I can only describe it as a barn, which it was, as it was a flour store for the bakery next door.

The "lunch" was prepared in the bakery oven and consisted of an entire leg of piglet smoked and roasted, served with nothing but the beans so beloved by everyone here - myself included. It was the most enormous chunk I had ever seen on a plate, and was absolutely delicious.

Of course, there was no charge. When the Mayor asked for the bill, he expressed wonderful astonishment that it was free. He is very good at that. It's a bit like the Godfather.." Your Don expects you to do this out of respect and love for him...."

I take the train later tonight. It feels a bit like Europe at the start of WW2 - it will be dark, a spirit of fortitude required, sandwiches, water - and loo-paper.

You never know...

Elyssium

My enforced prolongation of stay in Romania is throwing up all sorts of wonderful things.

Not least is the fact that rather than 120 odd goats we now appear to have more than 150.

At this time of year they are out in the fields in groups of 10/15, being looked after by young boys, who might be described as Peter's descendants ( That's Peter as in Heidi). Quite how I own all these goats is completely beyond me. The good thing is that it is creating employment where there was none before and the cries of horror at the size of the herd have diminished as more and more people are taking care of them. I think there are now 14 in total, with the boys on about GBP2 per day, with the seniors on about GBP6. It is of course 7 days a week, so there are opportunities to rotate work as needed.In the winter they are all indoors, so far fewer people are needed to look after them.

The first of the Billys went off to market and fetched about GBP300 each, so it's all woking out quite well though my fingers are firmly crossed. At last count we should be selling about 40 so we are firmly on course for a small profit this year

Goats, of course, eat their way through everything, so we have had a policy of getting them onto the worst land that needs cleaning up. Once the goats have chomped their way across, planting or reseeding is a doddle.Yesterday was spent all day in the fields, and a serious suntan is now in place. The butterflies and lizards were also stirring, and Transylvania is back to it's magical best.

I have a new camera which is simply wonderful - I have lots of really good pictures of my feet or the sky, but not many of anything else. Naturally, I don't have the instruction manual with me, nor would I read it if I did - it's a man thing. Fortunately, Alin is always on hand, and spent the whole evening early last week working out how it worked. At least I can now take a picture, look at it and erase it too.

Out here, sometimes amazing things happen for no apparent reason.

Alin was approached a few weeks ago by a man who couldn't pay his gas bill, begging to sell us a piece of land.

It wasn't where we wanted it.

It wasn't near anything else we owned.

It wasn't that easy to access.

It hadn't been worked for some years.

There were title problems, inheritage problems ( as Alin calls them) and even a problem with his ID.

Elena, the Capo of the local food Mafia in Nemsa, asked us very politely if we would please buy it, as she owed the man a favour. Reluctantly, Alin agreed to buy it, after his usual " Mr. King, what you tink?" elicited a shrug of my shoulders down the telephone.

One of the magical things here are the picnics people have. Barbecue is almost a religion. The Mayor has a good spot, set in the trees, but without much outlook. I've been looking for a spot where I could have my barbecue. Two or three areas have come up, but all of them just lacked a little something.

So yesterday we went to look at the land Alin had reluctantly bought, and slaved over to get the paperwork in order.

To say I was charmed would be to put it too mildly.

The land sits above Nemsa, looking straight down the valley and across the village, nestling in a kind of hollow below a wooded hillock.

We both just stood there gazing about.

" Mr. King, I'm thinking this will be your picnic spot."

A load of fag ash..

I've deliberately not mentioned the volcanic ash cloud up to now, as I couldn't believe Europe as a whole had collectively taken leave of it's senses.
When Mt. St.Helens erupted over a far larger area of the United States in 1980, less than 1000 flights were cancelled, and those mostly because the airstrips were covered with ash which had to be cleared away.
The Met office is in full cover-its-backside mode. Quite apart from the fact that people who study volcanoes regularly fly through the ash to measure all sorts of things, IATA has roundly condemned Europe, lambasted European leaders for their inaction, and calling the travel chaos "a mess and an embarrassment. "
Iata chief Giovanni Bisignani said: "The decision that Europe has made is with no risk assessment, no consultation, no co-ordination, no leadership."
Well that shouldn't be such a surprise - that's Europe described perfectly.

Cold turkey

There are perils associated with doing business in Romania, and I have been hit by two of them today.

The first concerns some land we have owned for quite some time. To cut a long story short, there would appear to be two pieces of land with the same reference number.

As far as the law and we are concerned, we own the bit we thought we bought. As far as the person farming our land is concerned, it is still his.

However, it actually works in our favour, ,as we have a specific requirement for another piece nearby, which is owned by the dispossessed farmer. Nothing could be simpler than to effect a transfer each way....which has therefore worked out very well in our favour.

The other problem is the Mayor , having had his birthday, has decided he won't drink until my birthday on 3rd September. The problem is he has roped me in to do the cold turkey with him. In fact, it won't be much of a problem for me as I don't drink in the UK anyway, but I am Godfather at another wedding in Romania on 16th May, and that will be quite difficult.

Still, it's in a good cause. The bet is a bottle of whisky - to be drunk by the loser.

I don't drink whisky, so I better not lose.

PS. You see what being drunk does to you....???

A badge of honour

Being in Romania makes me reflect on what the EU actually does.

Apart from giving farmers like me subvention payments, most of the time it's objects are Statist and regulatory.

For instance, last year when we did the contracts for renting the land to various people, we simply put all the bits one individual was renting onto one piece of paper and had it notarised. The Romanians ( who make French and Italian bureaucrats look like amateurs) have simply layered EU regulations on top of their own. Somewhere along the line, this has translated into having to do one contract for each piece of land.

So yesterday we took the notary with us to Nemsa and Alma Vii, clutching ream upon ream of paper, and as each renter came up he signed, I signed and stamped, in three copies.

128 times.

Times 3.

I was completely punchdrunk by the time we finished.

The only ray of light on the horizon is that this is the first year this has had to be done, and everyone is up in arms about it, so there is likely to be a modification for next year.

Last year we got goats and sheep as rent, but as we now own most of the goats in the area ( and having the sheep simply feeds the teethy wolves and the locals), we will receive a share in the produce in the autumn, or in some cases days work. This last is quite useful as it saves having to pick and choose who we want to work for us on the day.

Yesterday was the Mayor's birthday, so of course we had to go and wish him many happy returns. He is now 58, and although he drinks like a fish and eats all the wrong things, he looks remarkably young. I put it down to his not smoking at all and being effectively stress free. Everyone does everything for him.

Of course, it could just be the genes.

His father died last month.

He lost a leg in the war and refused ever to wear a prosthetic, which stood outside his front door for all to see. He hirpled about on his crutches until the day before he passed away.

He was married twice( his first wife died during WW2) and Eugen is the progeny of his second marriage post-war.

He was 92 when he died, a man who worked the fields well into his 70s, and a previous mayor in the Communist era.

So I expect at least another 25 or 30 years out of Eugen.

Goat Stew.

I've been very busy the last couple of days out here, and very boring it has been as well.

Hours spent with lawyers and accountants are just about bearable, but with officials who require upwards of 40 or 50 signatures and stamps is enough to make me want to shoot myself. Fortunately, it does eventually end, and one can emerge blinking into the sunshine again.

The Mayor is well. The house he is building for his son and daughter-in-law is progressing well, even if he has some odd ideas. He has decided it should have CCTV cameras. As everyone has told us,"For what he wants this? To watch his chickens pecking?" The house is in the grounds of his own house, which is immediately beside the police, so it is extremely unlikely anyone would attempt anything.

The centre of Sighisoara is no longer a mess - the cobbles have all been put back, although with true Official determination some of them have had to be dug up again. They had very carefully sunk some uplighters into strategic locations - the only problem being no one had laid any electric cables...

The new seasons cabbage is not here yet. This means that one does not order cabbage salad as it is a bit white and tough. Of course, foreigners and people from Bucharest are steered to order it, as they, of course, know no better.

But the overwhelming question of the day, on everyone's lips, is what are we going to do with the goats? You may recall last autumn we had about 60 - I say "about" as my calculation was less than the goatherd's, which, in turn,was less than there actually was.

Having been mated in November, we now have a string of baby goats emerging, which, in theory, will take us to about 120.

This is such an enormous number that people actually can't conceive of how we are going to deal with them. As Baldrick would say, I have a cunning plan...

It looks as if we will have about 25 or 30 male goats from the new crop, so these will be sold far and wide - we will only sell in our area if anyone wants one. Some may even find their way back to Switzerland to help their gene pool.

On 23rd May, a large delegation is coming from LeManoir near Caen in France to mark 25 years of association with Mosna. There is to be a feast for the whole (top echelon) population of the three villages and the French - about 300 people in total.

By my reckoning, this will use up about 30 kids. Of course, the Mayor has a budget for this, but Mosna City Hall also has a derelict orchard I want, so we have arranged a small swap. He will buy the goats from me and I will buy the orchard from him. More precisely, Mosna will give me the orchard and I will pay the Mayor....

But hey - that's the goat problem solved . For this year at least..

Kaka

The weather here in Romania is not of the very best, but it was still great to get into the hills and check the land that had most recently been bought. I had seen pictures and maps sent over the internet, but there is nothing quite like walking over one's own land, and seeing what the views are like from it.

We have huge amounts to settle in the next week or so, from what to do about the goats, which are beginning to take over everyone's thinking in Nemsa, to registering additional land for subvention payments, appearing before the land court and many more.

But today was Sunday, so it was more important to just get the feel for the area again.

This is the time of year that the snails are collected.

Every wet patch of grass has its own seeker or two, complete with sacks to pop the little darlings into.

I was most impressed to see this, and stopped to watch for a few minutes. I remarked what a good food source they were, after being hung in a sack for a week to drain them of any residual dirt.

"No, Mr. King, " said Alin." We Romanians are definitely not eating such things. We think of them as kaka ( a universal European term for poo)"

Apparently, snails go for about GBP3.5 per Kg. to the collector, and each village has it's own super collector who pays out, then takes a van load to the main town where huge lorries are waiting to take them to other countries. They are never eaten in Romania.

In the season, the ordinary collectors, after some rain, can make up to GBP30 per day - just about a week's wages in the countryside.

As we were going to visit the Mayor, we stopped in Medias flower market to pick up a bunch of roses. There were some lovely yellow ones, with red centres, and I immediately bought a bunch of 7 for GBP2.50. I raised them to my nose and sniffed.

There was a sort of plasticky smell. My thought was it was the paper around them, so I plunged my nose further in.

Still plasticky - indeed, rather moreso.

I turned to Alin.

"These flowers smell funny."

He looked at me and burst into side-slapping gales of laughter.

The red bits in the middle were not natural - they were spray-painted on.

And it had been comprehensively and expertly transferred to my nose and face.

Very Cheeky..

I'm back in Romania after the winter break, and was greeted with a dull day. It brightened as we drove back from Cluj to Sighisoara, and I heard of the Polish airplane crash and the death of the Polish Prime Minister. Not over comforting, then, that I had bee flying with a Polish airline ( Wizz)

More importantly, on the flight with me were The Cheeky Girls. They of course come from Cluj originally.

Now in Romania, they are NOT known for one of them having been engaged to Lembit Opik. Indeed when I mentioned this to another passenger, they asked a) what nationality was he and b) what did he do. I explained he was a Lib-Dem MP, and the enquirer laughed.

"That" he said,"Is why I have never heard of him"

The reason they are known in Romania is because one of them ( I have no idea which one) supposedly had an affair with Tony Blair.

They are not known for their singing ability.

BORING!

I'm already bored with the election. At 11pm last night the scrolling BREAKING NEWS feed from Sky had, as it's one and only story " Gordon Brown calls election for May 6th"
That was hardly breaking, it had been broken some 12 hours earlier.
The only potential joy I can see is the bloggers, mobile phone cameras and mobile phone recorders catching politicians unaware and skewering phoniness, as has been pointed out elsewhere.
I'm off to London and Romania for the next few weeks, so will at least miss the first half.
I may have to remove myself somewhere else for the rest....

PLEASE take us back to the '80s, not the '70s

I know my reader doesn't like it when I mention politics, but this is a slightly off-topic mention with a bit of a sideswipe.
Depicting David Cameron as Gene Hunt has to be the stupidest thing this Labour Government has ever done - and it's done many many stupid things.
Of course, it's stupidity has a purpose - to make us all more dependant on the State. Even taking away the tax break on pension dividends was designed in the long term to make more people reliant on the State - and turkeys don't vote for Christmas.
But DC as GH harks back to a period which many regard as a golden age. From the 70's we were a bankrupt, nonentity of a country, until we regained pride in ourselves again and in our country. Labour, of course, destroyed that pride before, and have done it again. Reagan did the same with America - it had lost it's faith in itself, and Reagan gave her it back.Clinton and Obama have thrown it away again and Americans will come to regret their retreat.
Labour talks of taking tough decisions, but in reality take none - bar to set up another quango and deliberate.
Many years ago, one of the heads of Nestles, that great multinational, told me that in many ways it didn't matter what decisions he took - by the time it mattered it would be long after it was relevant. The same is true in any field - what matters is having a decision so that plans can be made. The problem is none of the present slew of national or local Labour politicians have a clue about that - they've never taken any decision beyond where their next meal is coming from.
And before you tell me they have taken decisions, in general they are disastrous.
So back to Gene Genie. If you are a man, wouldn't you like to do away with all the PC claptrap and just say what you really think without being mealy mouthed?
And if you're a woman, even if you are a feminist, I can't help but think you just might like that hint of danger...

Casablanca

What is it that makes a truly great film? People think I'm a bit odd because I watch and re-watch films that I regard as great.
Casablanca has to be in the top ten and is on More4 this afternoon.
There isn't any part of it that drops below excellent - the pace,the acting, the story, the message.Great films send shivers down my spine, and this one is no exception.
In case you aren't sure, Rick (aka Humphrey Bogart) does NOT say " Play it again Sam". He just says "Play it". Ingrid Bergman on the other hand says " Play it Sam".
But he DOES say " Here's lookin'at you kid."
Wonderful

MOD and Joanna Lumley and Gurkhas

How many Gurkhas have arrived since the new immigration entitlements were announced?
This is a matter for the Home Office and the UK Border Agency and beyond the remit of the WPC. It is inevitable that the number of Gurkhas will increase in this country as a result of a series of changes to Government immigration entitlements for Gurkhas. The Trust is ready to respond to any increase through the establishment of a Welfare Centre in Salisbury and strong partnerships with other Service Charities and agencies.
What do you think of Joanna Lumley
Joanna Lumley has been a champion of the Gurkha solider for decades and is a loyal and devoted daughter of the Regiment. The Trust is honoured to have Miss Lumley as a Vice Patron of the Trust and thrilled that she has lent her support to the launch of a major fundraising drive for the Trust.
What is Joanna Lumley’s position on the recent media coverage on UK Gurkha welfare?
You will have to ask Joanna Lumley. These issues are beyond the remit of the WPC.
Is Joanna Lumley to blame for the hardships being experienced by Gurkhas in this country?
Of course not. The issues on UK Gurkha welfare are complicated and best addressed another time. For now, focus of the WPC is raising funds for 10,000 old Gurkha soldiers and widows in Nepal who rely on the Trust.
What is the Trust’s position on GAESO and the other organisations accused of exploiting Gurkhas.
These issues are beyond the remit of the WPC
The Trust is deeply distressed to learn of instances where organisations and individuals have misled Gurkhas over the realities of life in the UK. The Trust is in no way implicated in these articles and, in partnership with the MOD, has in place a comprehensive welfare structure to support those seeking resettlement in the UK. These services are impartial, authoritative and provided free of charge.
These are complicated matters and best addressed in another forum as the WPC is a fundraising activity with its focus on raising money for welfare pensions (and the CT).
What does the Trust think about the cases of Gurkhas in distress in the UK recently featured in the media?
The Trust is very concerned about reports of Gurkhas in need of welfare support. It would be inappropriate for the Trust to comment on the detail of the specific welfare cases in the media, but in general it is important that the public is reassured, there an excellent welfare infrastructure in place for any Gurkha in need in this country and it responds with urgency to cases of distress and hardship both here and in Nepal. The Gurkha Welfare Centre in Salisbury (with a forward operating base at Aldershot) is the focus for all UK Gurkha welfare and is helping Gurkhas seek their statutory entitlements and benevolence from other Service charities and agencies.
If there is such a huge demand for welfare support in this country, why is the WPC directing its funds to Nepal?
There are 10,000 old soldiers and widows in Nepal who are in the twilight of their lives and rely absolutely on the Trust for a dignified old age. We owe a debt of honour to these people, many of whom are WWII veterans.
Furthermore, the WPC is a personal challenge for Mike Willis and Bruce Jackman. They are compelled to help their old comrades and those that served directly alongside of them.

Scandal! Gossip!

Now I know it's Poisson d'Avril, but this is absolutely true ( and tickles my sense of glee. )
I live in an area of Glasgow where there are various kinds of social occasion, including concerts, Gal days and the like. Not every married couple equally like such events, so as we live in an enlightened and open society, one couple's husband could quite easily escort another man's wide to eg an art show, whilst the other halves went their own ways quite separately.
Nothing wrong in that... except... I'm a very cynical old King. As Reggie's CJ would say, " I didn't get to where I am today by being not cynical and eating pumice stone.."
There is one couple with an age difference of about 30 years. The lady concerned is a bit ditzy, but hey that's fine, she's nice looking, well dressed and quite cheery.
Her husband likes football, she likes concerts. So she goes to concerts - with another married man who is about the same age as the husband - a " walker".
And has done for years.
And being an entirely cynical chap, I've always thought they were at it like rabbits in spring. It is undeniable that a year or so into the " relationship" she had glammed up a bit more and had a silly smile on her face - as did the walker.
Time goes on, and the smiles faded.
Move forward a year or two. I happen to be in the doc's surgery today having the remains of my face removed - when lo and behold in comes the walker, muffled up, cap pulled down over face, coat turned up. He would have been unable to recognise me.
He goes to where the repeat prescriptions are collected, but finds his is not there. He whispers his name to the receptionist, who calls across to her colleague, " Has the doc not done Mr.Walker's Viagra prescription yet?"
You heard it here first.
PS
I have a running joke with a friend that I can tell when people have been at it - they have flashing signs on their head, which fade until they do it again. And the more they do it the brighter the sign.
So if you see a couple with one flashing sign but not over the other......

Weasel by name.....

I missed this but it was forwarded to me by a close relative.

"Don't know if you saw this at the weekend. Essentially a member of the public wrote to his MP referring to Lord Mandelson as "Herr Diktator Mandelweasel" and rather than correct it, the MP's covering letter said "Please find enclosed a letter from [the constituent] who is concerned about the ramifications of Mr Mandelweasel's three strikes and disconnect policy". The MP's office pp'd it, the department's correspondence unit issued a three page standard line reply about the digital economy bill, without referring to the error, just had it pp'd and sent. The best bit, however, is the quote from the department's spokesperson: "Lord Mandelson and his ministerial team are concentrating on this important issue and others facing our digital economy. Weasels are beyond his remit, for now at least."

Watch this space for "Lord High Weasel Hunter"...

Does anyone remember Catweazle? ( see above...)

PS

Don't quite know why but for some reason this reminded me of when the youngest Miss Lear was very small, and we were skiing in Murren. The children's dinner was always 6 pm, and the maitre d' was always fluttering about his " little princesses" clearly looking for the big tip at the end of the holiday.

Youngest Miss Lear was never very taken with him. In fact, every evening after he had done his bit and moved away, and whilst spooning whatever food it was into her mouth would say " He's a worm..."

What MOD and Government are doing for the ex-Gurkhas...

Dated 29 Mar 10

WORK UNDERTAKEN BY MOD AND GOVERNMENT
FOR THE SETTLEMENT OF EX-GURKHAS SINCE MAY 2009

· A cross-Government working group set up in June 2009 quickly established the ground that needed to be covered to make sure that those coming to the UK had fast track arrangements for obtaining National Insurance numbers which are essential to claim benefits and to get into employment.

· The DWP and UKBA worked between July and October to make arrangements for a special stamp for passports that would enable ex-Gurkhas reside in the UK for only 3 months before benefits could be paid.

· Time MOD recruited and trained staff to run a new Gurkha Settlement Office in Kathmandu which opened for business on 3rd October 2009. The government of Nepal and all ex-service organisations were briefed by MOD about the role of the new Gurkha Settlement Office which provides free help and assistance on the settlement process. This included information and education about life in the UK, filling out the visa form, help with completeing supporting documentation and get on the fast track for National Insurance.

· To date over 4000 visits to the office have been made by ex-Gurkhas and their dependants.

· Also in October 2009, the MOD in partnership with the Gurkha Welfare Trust (GWT), expanded its existing welfare arrangements in Aldershot with additional staff to deal with incoming ex-Gurkha welfare cases. A new Gurkha Welfare office jointly manned by GWT and MOD staff opened in January 2010 for the same purpose.

· In November 2009 and January 2010 several hundred ex-Gurkha representatives in Nepal were briefed by a joint MOD/UKBA team about the benefits of using the Kathmandu settlement office. In addition, all the major ex-service charities have been consulted about what more could be done in the UK. As a result of these consultations the DCLG announced in January that they will set up a Housing Advice Centre which will not only help ex-Gurkhas and their families identify suitable housing but will offer landlords a bond to cover the rent deposit required before the property could be made available.

· In March 2010, a booklet in English and Nepali that explains the cost of living in the UK was widely issued at the request of the ex-service organisations.

· A comprehensive book about life in the UK will be issued in Nepal in April this year. The book, developed in association with ex-servicemen, the service charities and local authorities contains information that ex-Gurkhas need to know about living in the UK.

· In April, further MOD/UKBA consultation and briefings will take place in Nepal with ex-service organisations. It is also intended to forward base some of the settlement office staff from Kathmandu to the east and west of Nepal to try and reach those who might not be able to travel to Kathmandu.

Gurkha Highlander 2010

The wonderfully delectable Winchester Whisperer has asked if there will be the Gurkha Highlander this year.
The short answer is yes, but it will be late June early July this year and be slightly different in that there will be 7 mountains to climb, one per day.
Further details here:

Please be really helpful and donate here:

The Counter Revolutionary Council for Iran

I'm in London on domain business,so didn't get to make up my bed on the couch until after 2:30 his morning, and as I can't sleep beyond about 7 if been up and about for a few hours.
I'm waiting for my friend Carlo to wake up - his day doesn't start until at least noon.
So I though I would share something with you.Carlo is an Armenian Iranian, whose father was the Shah's personal pianist.
He was able to get into the premier school in Iran, called Alborz, by hard work and because he had always been able to speak English.
Apart from running the school's black market economy, he won the Shah's Scholarship to Columbia University in the States.
The only problem was that just after he turned 15, things got a bit iffy, and his parents sent him to the UK, where he was supposed to study before going to the States.
Unfortunately, being 15, the bright lights distracted him somewhat ( which they continue to do to this day) and after quite a short period the UK Immigration people revoked his student visa.
As he says, " What to do?".
His parents told him not to come back as things were now in total turmoil, the Shah having fled.
His solution was to form his own political party - The Counter Revolutionary Council for Iran - and marched into the Immigration office and demanded political asylum.
This, of course, was under Mrs.T, and you didn't just get let in willy nilly.
So from then on he had to make his own way with nothing from the UK ( CF the present system) and had to wait 6 years before he was allowed to apply for permanent residency.
He then managed to get his mother here ( his father was in prison in Iran) and told the authorities she was also a political asylum seeker. When his father got out of jail 3 years later, he organised his escape.
There is a twist in his father's tale.
Carlo's uncle, his father's brother, was a very rich man with worldwide interests and he had left Iran before the Shah, taking as much with him as he could. But there was ten times the amount left behind, which Carlo's father had hidden by creating a false chimney -which actually worked. The Revolutionary Mullahs never found it, despite torture and tearing the house apart.
So when Carlo said to his father he had arranged to smuggle him out, he was told that he could not come until he had retrieved the treasure.
The escape plans had to be changed to include a whole truck to cart the jewels and other items, which increased the danger a hundredfold.
Carlo's uncle travelled to the border to await the truck on the appointed day, and leapt for joy when it appeared over the desert.
He told his brother he would give him a quarter of the rescued treasure, but Carlo's father refused.
"No, my brother, these are your things. I was merely the caretaker until I could return them to you"
The brothers argued until finally Carlo's father said "Look. I have no wish for anything from you. But if you insist on me having something, let it be the most valuable thing you can give."
"Name it"
" Your love"
PS
Carlo just got his UK passport- 22 years later.

Ready!

I was out for dinner last night in Stravaigin 2 in Ruthven Lane in Glasgow, and very good it was too.
I was with a friend who I have mentioned before who is a strong Celtic supporter, but also has much to do with the various rescues of fu'baw clubs up and down the country.
I told the tale before of the Americans wanting to buy Rangers, but there is an addendum.
It is common knowledge that the Ranger's supporters club is hoping to achieve something of a takeover now that the Ellis one has foundered on the sleight-of-hand being discovered about the piece of land the club did NOT own.
So my friend was invited to an informal meeting to show how they might go about it.
No sooner had he walked through the door than one of the supporters leapt to his feet shrieking "TREACHERY"
My friend, never one to hold a grudge, burst into hysterical laughter, which rather brought the meeting to an abrupt end.
But remember - you read it here first that the supporters will buy Rangers....
*I should perhaps mention that Celtic were beaten 4-0 by St. Mirren whilst we were having dinner.
" I don't care," said my host," I'm a Rangers supporter now..."
** Stravaigin 2 used to house the offices of perhaps the first of Glasgow's fine diners - Poachers, long since sadly deceased

That was the week...

I'm afraid I haven't had the chance to post over the last week. I had a speaking engagement in Braemar for the WI and the Castleton Lady Dancers of Braemar, who gave the GWT an excellent cheque. Immediately afterwards I spent time talking to various BR engineers as the recent Halkirk Crossing train crash happened on my land (!) To cut a long story short BR want to do various works and need to use some of my land to effect them. Visions of pots of gold are not appropriate, but I daresay I will be able to afford a Lottery ticket.
M'learned friend and I were due to travel south on Sunday to Salisbury, but the trial he was due to preside over was moved back from Thursday to Wednesday, necessitating his travel by train.
BR had closed the line between Carlisle and Preston for works ( and almost certainly just to spite me ) which meant I would have taken 17 hours to get to Salisbury, so I stuck with Plan A and drove.
The reason for the GWT meeting was to update us on various matters, notably the bad publicity in the Daily Mail and Independent on the Gurkhas who have come over since the ruling last summer - Lumley's Law one might call it.
In fact, the numbers that have a problem is relatively small ( and mostly caused by GAESO's misinformation) whilst the vast majority who have done it properly for free through the GWS have been able to access help immediately on arrival if required.
Only some 150 have had to have real help, and that has been immediately organised through the GWT.
There are already some who are going back ( life here is not in the least much fun for them) and there will be lots more who come, but the Newspapers resolutely refuse to see the second chapter - the good news rather than the bad.
I believe there will be a ministerial statement soon and also a statement by JL.

Drunks in Romania

From The Times
March 10, 2010
Drivers warned of drunks in road as Romania tries to reduce accidents.


Road signs warning drivers that drunken people may be in the road have been put up to reduce the number of accidents.
The signs read "Attention - Drunks" and show a reveller crawling along with a bottle in his hand.
Petru Antal, the Mayor of Pecica in Romania said his town had a vibrant nightlife. He said: “We are a border town and have lots of cars thundering through here all the time. But we also have a very vibrant nightlife and the two don't mix.
“We have to target the drivers because by the time they get to this state the pedestrians are beyond caring.”

This of course, is not something that we have a problem with in Mosna, Nemsa and Alma Vii.
The drunks are all driving the cars.....

Self assessment

Mrs. Lear as you know is doing terribly well at Auchencruive Scottish Agricultural College.
Apart from having a sore back from all the tree planting she has been doing, she and her remaining 4 mates are all doing just great.
There were 7 at the start of the year but one dropped out after a couple of weeks (gamekeeper chap) and another after about a month( got a job in town).
Anyway, they have to provide each other with assessments of their performance on the tree project.
Now Mrs. Lear as you know has only been out there in academia for a relatively short while,and doesn't really have the hang of how to advance her cause.
If you want a good assessment you have to make sure the rest of the class knows you intend to give them a good assessment.
Unfortunately, she omitted to do any lobbying,and handed out 2 "poors", one "fair",and one "merely adequate".
It caused a bit of a frost at the housewarming one of her co-students had on Friday night....

Fighting the Terrorists and dangerous dogs

This is a true story.
I have a friend with a famous name, which really is ( let's say) Winston Churchill.
He wanted a cheap pay as you go phone and popped into a shop in one of the not-quite-as-smart areas of London.
After some discussion, he gleaned that a) the phone was £20 b) he could have a simcard to top up c) he could give any name he liked d) he could give any address he liked and e)there were no identity checks.
Being a decent sort he handed over the £20, and gave his own name " Winston Churchill"
" Nah," said the vendor," Come off it mate, that's obviously fake."
" No really, it's my name"
" Piss off, think of another one."
" OK how about Mickey Mouse?"
" Now you're talking - that'll be mister M.Mouse. Address?"
" The Magic Kingdom,Westminster, London SW1 1 BF."
Vendor hands over phone and simcard.
As my friend left the shop he overheard the vendor say to his sidekick -" That's the fourth M.Mouse we've had this week...."
It'll be like the dangerous dogs thing, toothless.
Hm maybe that's not quite right but you get my point.
My dog, who is the friendliest fluffiest dude you could ever come across has been marked down by the youngest Ms Lear as in need of registration under the Dangerous Dogs act.
" After all, " she says," even quite sane people turn into simpering idiots in his presence - he clearly turns their brains to mush. Most dangerous."
PS
Can't help but think Disney will be suing for breach of copyright.

The King's New Clothes

Perhaps the first sign of the bottom of the recession has emerged.
I went along to my tailor Stephen Purvis today for the first time in more than 18 months.
The visit was necessitated by the extreme slimness ( well marginally slimmer) body I now have with all the walking I do.
He has had a dreadful couple of years (not least getting separated ) but within the last two weeks some of his old customers have returned ( including myself).
So he measured me up and agreed the shape was different,and it would be MAY before he could deliver. Which is when the conversation got round to how bad it's been, but also how much work he has recently got.
What has quite pleased him too is that as the punters return, he can get the balances they owe him from the last time they visited.
People never pay their tailors - until they need more clothes.
Anyway, I have ordered two pairs of cords, one deep blue, one purple as befits a King, and a most becoming pair of dark grey flannels. A jacket will follow once I start getting the trousers.
Just as well really - everyone would hate to see my underwear if they were the Emperor's New Clothes....

Is anybody listening out there?

Far be it for me to suggest the NHS is not quite as good as it might be, but then, I am only a humble user of it.
I have a thingy growing above my lip ( no, its not a mustache) and I have had a couple of similar " lesions" removed before now ( chin, earlobe) because they get in the way and eventually start getting nicked when shaving and bleed everywhere.
So I popped along for my appointment at the brand spanking new Victoria Hospital in Glasgow this morning.
It's a fantastic building. The only problem was they forgot to connect the drains which set it back a few months...
At the appointed hour ( 08:50) at Clinic B there was no one to be seen. I nipped next door to Clinic C, and when I said there was nobody about, I was met with a shrug of the shoulders.
About 09:10 a wee wumin asked if I was waiting for anyone. I showed her my appointment letter. She looked at me. She went behind the desk got a file out, read it, then pointed at a cubicle.
" In there and take your top off - Doctor will be along shortly"
Now I did think it a bit strange that I had to take my top off, but hey, they are the professionals.
After another 10 minutes or so, a very dapper gent arrived with a file, opened it, read a line or two, shut it, then prodded me in the ribs.
" Hm can't see anything there. Where is it.?"
" Where's what?"
" The growth on your rib - is it internal?"
Now there were three possibilities that leapt to mind. Either there was someone else needing a lump cut out of their rib ( and I was damned sure I wasn't going to let them do that to me) or my own doctor had sent other details.
Or the person who had taken the details from my own doctor was deaf - they are forced to employ people with various disabilities nowadays to meet their PC quota.
" Er actually it's not me with the rib problem. Mine's on my LIP."
" Nothing like a rib. Wait here."
He came back with the wee wumin who turned out to be his nurse.
A general discussion ensued which established
a) I was the patient they were supposed to see.
b) It was definitely my rib that was the problem - as per their paperwork.
I kept pointing at my lip, but the doc went on about the exploratory operation I would need before he could be sure about the lump ( what lump?) and how to deal with it.
" Look," I eventually said," There's nothing wrong with my rib. Are you going to look at my lip or not?"
" NO," they said in unison. " That's not in our targets"
" Right, I will go away and start all over again."
" Well that means you will have refused treatment," said the wee wumin, severely, " and when you ask again to get your lumpy rib taken care of we will be within our rights to refuse treatment."
As I left, I heard the doc say " Well that's our target for lumpy ribs met anyway."
My only worry now is that if I ever DO have a problem with my rib, I may die of it before they will deal with it.

Jawohl Mein Hauptbannfuhrer!

Word on the Street is that Germany will not lend Greece one cent - so says the German finance minister.
A snippet has reached me, however, that a " cash for asset" deal might be done.
You may recall that one of the other times the Banks got it completely wrong about sovereign debt, the only way to solve it was for the Banks to take over part of the infrastructure of the defaulting country. This was known as a menu, and would include eg the electric company for a $billion or so - things were much cheaper then.
Of course, this suited the defaulting countries perfectly. A year or two down the line the government would change, usually non-democratically,and the new government would re-nationalise whatever it had previously swapped. In the meantime, the taxpayers in the western banks had effectively paid the sovereign debt off, because it was written off by the banks on day 1, hence a fall in profits, hence no tax payable. Very neat whirligig.
So we are probably fast approaching a similar situation. A little bird tells me that Germany and Greece may be discussion the sale and leaseback of Corfu. In fact, this won't raise that much cash because Germans own most of Corfu ( along with Majorca, Crete etc etc) already.
What it does do, I think, is point out how far Germany's desire for " Lebensraum" has moved in the last 70 years or so.


After all, the last time they wanted a bit of space they didn't sign a cheque - they launched Barbarossa.
I have to say, I can't think that all the stunning blond girl's hearts will beat as fast for a chap signing an enormous cheque as for a Panzer Kommandant.
Mind you, you never know....

Tantra

You may recall we are attempting to do something with some of our domain names which involved linking to a dating site.
Having rootled about a bit, we found we owned www.datingtantra.com, and duly sent it off for approval.
Back came an email which basically said "I never heard of tantra so I looked it up and I don't understand a word. What do you mean by it?"
Now the one thing I am really really good at is talking as if I know what I am talking about. Acutely aware that if I mentioned "Sex" or " Sex at Oxford and Cambridge" ( I believe that increases your Google traffic) we would get the name thrown out, so I came up with the following:
"Tantric teaching is all about channelling energy within yourself to achieve higher levels of peace and spiritual calm.Our idea is that people should look to find soul mates who are reaching towards spiritual union. It comes from the Sanskrit word meaning " to weave".Part of eg tantric meditation consists of visualising an ideal eg god or goddess, and uniting with them in mind, body and spirit , a process likened to courtship. Our civilisation's idea of "The One " is VERY much of relevance here."
You have to admit that sounds pretty romantic. Certainly the young lady you was reviewing our application fell in love with me on the spot. Fortunately, she lives in America......

In praise of SNIFFEM

Many many years ago, there was great debate throughout academia as to whether or not History was Art or Science.
I can't now for the life of me remember which side won, but I do know I had to give a paper to The Headmaster's Discussion Group on the subject. The main point of the Group was the sherry beforehand and the port afterwards. Most papers were heard through the sound of schoolboy snores or hiccups.
The best one ever was by a chap who I seem to think was called Kerry Dixon, who produced the one and only paper which had people in fits of laughter. It was, as I recall, a tongue in cheek critique of pop-music. Naturally, given the august members of the Group, it was supposed to be damning. Naturally, because he was a bit of a wag, it was full of double-entendres and red herrings, and earned him nul points from the Headmaster. Naturally,we all thought it was great.
But back to History.
I read ( amongst other things) History at University, and to this day I enjoy historical biography and histories, in particular those about World War I, on which I consider myself a bit of an expert.
Today, I had a meeting with a chap who is wanting to set up The Scottish National Film Museum , which would include not just the archive, but artifacts and all sorts of other things - including HISTORY. I think the acronym SNFM ( pronounced SNIFFEM) is particularly apt.
His take on the subject?
" History is made by the people who bother to turn up." In fact, that's pretty true.
UPDATE: This is post 1001, which I rather like.
PS: We own a domain ( canalboattrader.com) which is blacklisted by Google. Why? Because the letters ANAL appear in it. Sigh.