Delight and Disappointment on the Indian Pacific (but no murders)

Click here for a Photo Album of the trip


Day 1 (Perth to Kalgoorlie)

I will season the inevitable food photos with people observations.

Off to a roaring start on both counts on the first night with Grilled Haloumi in a Field Mushroom (the menu description was more explanatory but I forget the content) then Grilled Barramundi with Stuff (ditto). Both outstandingly delish.

I managed to forego the Belgian Chocolate Mousse in order to feel saintly.

Now for the people. 

Opposite me was Mr Yama-something - the quintessential middle-aged Japanese tourist full of bows and charming smiles but no Engish whatsoever. However I managed to discover this trip is a long held dream - marvellous.
The others were a prosperous Perth couple in their 60's who immediately enthralled me. She started polishing all their cutlery, glasses and plates as soon as they sat down, while he turned to Mr Y with the menu and said loudly and slowly "No noodles eh!". I have full value for my ticket already!


Day 2 (mainly the Nullarbor)

Less successful in the culinary department - took a punt on some unfamiliar things like this poached peach, vanilla yoghurt and quandong compote for breakfast - very pretty but just, well weird, so I had a full English Breakfast to take the taste away. 

Poor choice for dinner too - the Beef Cheeks with This and That were lovely and tender but too reminiscent of boarding school stew to be yummy, and decidedly unphotogenic, so here's dessert instead - sautéed apple slices on puff pastry with vanilla bean ice cream and butterscotch sauce. Luckily both pretty *and* yummy.

And now the people stories. As the 3rd youngest on the train I was the only woman not creating something for grandchildren, but I was lucky enough to meet an old guy who was a farmer, a miner and then a cray fisherman, so we had a chat about Dalwallinu and other Wheatbelt beauty spots before he discovered I'd driven a big tractor in Canada, and then we were off the conversational starting blocks! 

We ended up at the same table for dinner as the delightful Mr Y from the previous night, who was full of beans and happy laughter. In fact his English was a bit better than he'd been willing to share with the Pompous Perthites, and he kept diving into his satchel to show us photos of his grandchildren, his dog (a "Fawencha Boowadogga"), a postcard of a Japanese train, and other charming memorabilia. Of course I showed him my screensaver of my own dogs and he literally shrieked with laughter. He made my trip. :-)

At one point we found ourselves trying to discuss the history of the train, which included the fact that it used to be steam powered. It was only later that I delightedly recalled the spectacle of two oldish adults both making enthusiastic choo choo-choo noises and, yes, I'm proud to say we simultaneously did the siren hand gesture and went woooo-wooooo. Not surprisingly this brought more shrieks of 

delighted understanding from Mr Y. 

I felt very proud of our international communication skills.

Day 3 (Adelaide to Broken Hill)

On the 3rd night I was once again randomly allocated to a table with Mr Y (whom I now suspect of being cannily perceptive about his companions) and a rather severe older lady called "Irene, and please pronounce the final E".

 After introductions she turned to Mr Y and asked the standard train questions (where you got on, where you'll get off, is it your first trip etc). Mr Y kept turning to me with the classic hands-together entreaty, so I "translated" the questions into a more familiar form and he was able to answer.

After a few of these exchanges Ireneee said rather sharply to me "Please stop helping him - I'm certain he speaks much better English than you seem to think." Even worse than the Great Noodle Incident of the first night! I was aghast, but Mr Y did not react except to withdraw into silence as Ireneee explained she'd taught English in Japan for 4 years many years ago, and never met anyone with Mr Y's apparent limitations. 

Remember he was still sitting beside her!!

As she went on to espouse her religious views concerning the afterlife (I'm not kidding) my attention was easily drawn to Mr Y who was apparently nodding off and in imminent danger of falling asleep on her shoulder. He kept opening his eyes and straightening up, but soon began tipping towards her again. She was by then in full flight about arguments she had had with atheist friends, so I was terribly disappointed when our meals arrived and he woke up. 

I watched carefully for a conspiratorial wink when he left, but even without it I will happily believe he did it on purpose. Onya Mr Y. :-)


Day 4 (into Sydney)

Forget the food!

Well that's obviously ridiculous but it's an arresting opening line considering previous paragraphs.

The Big Buzz the last morning was that the train had been attacked by bushrangers overnight! Or at the very least armed miscreants who attacked us in our beds! 

Well, we were in our beds when it happened, which is near enough for narrative purposes, but as you insist on quibbling I'll be forced to show you my post-traumatic breakfast. 

Grilled sourdough with eggs and smoked Tasmanian trout, as you ask. 

And Now For the Disappointments

Here is part of a letter I sent to Great Southern Railways on my return (minus the photos I included to illustrate my points):

Safety Concerns on the Indian Pacific

1. Throughout the whole journey, many of the exit doors were blocked with heavy and/or hard to move items which would dangerously impede exit in an emergency. In some cases both exit doors at the end of a carriage were blocked [with] baggage, walking aids, wheelchairs, ramps, bags of laundry and boxes of supplies. 

2. The shower and toilet facilities in the Single Sleeper carriage were very cramped, with an inward-opening door for the toilet. If a passenger collapsed or suffered some other emergency while inside, there would be no way of reaching them without somehow removing the door. 

3. In addition, the Call buttons in the shower and toilet were high up and completely unreachable if someone was on the floor.  

Cleanliness Concerns on the Indian Pacific

The following examples of a very poor standard of cleanliness are not what I would expect for a $2000 fare in "Gold" class. 

1. Unwashed windows 

My primary interest on this trip was photography, but the windows in my allocated cabin were too streaked and dirty (on the outside) to focus through. At my request I was moved to a cabin on the other side of the train where the windows were a little cleaner, but I soon found they were still too dirty for photographs.
I mentioned this to the Train Manager, who kindly came and cleaned the internal surfaces, but this made only a marginal improvement. At his suggestion I checked all the windows in the Lounge and Dining cars, but they were also too dirty. I was not the only passenger to complain about the dirty windows - people with compact cameras were completely unable to focus through the grime.
I wish to stress that the windows were dirty right from the start - while the train was still in Perth. ... In order to take reasonable photos I was obliged to stand in the exits, because the single-glass windows in those doors had been cleaned. As I did this for several hours over the course of the journey, I felt very irritated that I could not even sit down to take photos with a steadier hand. 

2. Toilets 

On previous journeys the single cabins had their own toilet, but now the 18 Single Cabin passengers share two toilets, one of which became blocked every morning, reducing us to one for most of the trip. Each morning this rapidly became unsanitary with splashed urine, inadequately flushed waste, and toilet paper littering the floor. It appeared to be cleaned only once or twice a day, whereas it really needed cleaning at least every 2 hours.  

3. Shower Cubicle 

Again, there are two for the 18 Single Cabin passengers, and as with the toilets, these were in very poor condition. The nylon curtains reached only halfway to the floor, meaning that any clothes brought in got wet from the shower. The curtains were also missing several of their runners, making them hard to pull around the shower. The shower head was very calcified, leading to an erratic spray which easily got past the short flimsy curtain.
There was no exhaust fan, and the light was half full of dirt/dead insects, making the tiny room very dim. There was no rail and only one hook for towel and robe, and these fell off very easily onto the wet floor, which drained very poorly so that there was always standing water. The walls and floor were stained and the soap containers were empty. 

4. Single Sleeping Compartments 

My cabin had been inadequately cleaned in Perth, without the wash unit being wiped down, [and] The seat did not appear to have been vacuumed properly, because I found a used tissue down the side.
... I feel that the Single Cabin carriages are long overdue for refurbishment, and that they do not offer the value for money, comfort and amenity that one is entitled to expect from "Gold Class". 

I noticed that none of the Single cabins or facilities are featured on your website, and now I know why.

At the time of writing, I have received only a brief acknowledgement of my concerns, with a promise to "pass them on". I have asked for them to let me know when they've been addressed.

More Slices of Life on the Midland Train

About 6 months ago I wrote about some of my experiences on one of the suburban train lines here in Perth. I explained that this particular line  "runs from Midland, in the east, through the city to Fremantle, on the coast. It takes about an hour, with many stops, and along the way passes through suburbs covering a very wide range of socio-economic levels."

It continues to be a valuable source of learning about other lives ... and my own.

Firstly, a potential fairy tale.

There has to be a story here. I understand why someone might wear fluffy pink slippers to the station on a cold morning, but wouldn't you notice that one had come off?
Perhaps this is a Midland version of Cinderella. 

Back on the train:

     One day there was a disheveled middle aged person (common), 

                  of indeterminate gender (uncommon), 

                             muttering constantly (common), 

                                        and frequently spraying a powerful deodorant all over him/herself and nearby passengers (unique).

Another day, the train was in entertainment overdrive. 

• A very large man opposite (wearing only a vest and shorts) was listening to his very loud portable radio tuned to the racing. I bravely asked if he had earphones. Guess. 
• So I moved away, only to get hit on the leg by a ball being thrown back and forth between 2 very loud children standing on the seats. Apology from them or their mother (yelling angrily into her phone)? Guess. 
• My ears and temper were both suffering by now, so it was just as well a very loud evangelist was marching up and down, up and down, shouting that redemption was nigh. I could only hope.

And another fairy tale to finish ...

I was on the last train to make it through before a fire closed the line, so I knew nothing about it and went to work as usual. 

Many hours later, on the way home, I arrived at a darkened station with no-one in sight, but as I stood there wondering what was happening, a train pulled in to the platform, so I got on. 

In fact it was the first passenger train to get through in the whole day, so I had my own private carriage for the 40 minutes to Midland, even though it stopped conscientiously at all the intervening (and completely empty) stations.

I confess that I narrowly resisted the temptation to move to a different seat every 30 secs, or to swing my way along the hand rails, and contented myself with waving regally to the non-existent bystanders, a bit like this:

Politically Correct Seasonal Message

This is my favourite of the "Christmas Greetings" doing the internet rounds at the moment. I defy anyone to take offence at this one!

"Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low stress , non- addictive, gender neutral celebration of the summer solstice holiday practiced with the most enjoyable traditions of religious persuasion or secular practices of your choice with respect for the religious / secular persuasions and / or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all.

I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2012, but not without due respect for the calendar of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make our country great  (not to imply that Australia is necessarily greater than any other country) and without regard to the race, creed, colour, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.

This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wishee to actually implement any of the wishes for her/him or others and is void where prohibited by law, and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. The wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year or until the issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.

Name withheld per Privacy Act."

Are you like your house?

It's an old saying the some people look like their dogs, but I wonder how many people are like their houses?

I recently noticed how well my house reflects me - in summary, it is colourful and interesting, but often a bit messy.

Like me, it has a rather unusual history, despite looking pretty ordinary on the outside. It also has some entertaining quirks which are apparent only on closer acquaintance, and it has an unquestionably broad outlook.

But ... also like me, some areas are best ignored, it would certainly benefit from a lot more organisation, and there is always a long list of things which need fixing or improving, a list which never seems to get any shorter. Similarly, as with my own experiences, people either like it or scorn it, but they usually remember it.

On the other hand:

I know tidy, compact people who have houses with the same characteristics. Both they and their houses are neat, orderly, well-organised, clean, and well-maintained.

Other people and their houses are larger, rambling, slightly dishevelled, but comfortable and welcoming. They often have children all over the place.

Some houses and their owners are luxuriously appointed, with every modern accessory and convenience. Perhaps a little ostentatious in proclaiming their success, but frequently admired and envied.

Dark and mysterious houses often have similar owners - a bit threatening and possibly even dangerous. Forbidding appearances, largely hidden activities, often with lots of highly-visible protection.

Down-on-their-luck houses and owners frequently look unkempt, don't care about appearances, let everything just hang out, don't clean up, and are often a source of great annoyance for those nearby.

Houses and owners with aspirations to a better life often try too hard. Everything is just a little too well thought out, a bit false, somewhat incongruous. Perhaps even a little jarring or grating, even if we don't quite know why. They make us feel a bit uncomfortable, as if we are seeing more than they might wish.

A (thankfully) few people and their houses are so flamboyant, boastful and generally over-the-top that it is impossible to admire them, and very easy to ridicule. I'm sure they know and hate that, but too bad.

And finally, there's the reassuringly ordinary house and owner. One with no pretensions, no surprises, no fancy ideas - just solid, dependable, familiar, and safe. They don't make us feel inadequate or judgemental. They are just there, comfortable and welcoming, whenever we feel like visiting. If we know such people and houses, we are lucky.

"Family Fortunes" Quiz Answers

I dislike posting purely copied material, especially when it is unattributable, but I heard about this list, and it is every bit as wonderful as I'd hoped from its description. 
A long-running TV quiz show in the UK (recently revived) is Family Fortunes, and these are some answers given by contestants over the years. You can also find videos of some of these priceless moments, which confirm their authenticity. 
I was honestly crying at some of them - enjoy.


Q: Name something you take to the beach      A: Turkey sandwiches

Q. Name something a blind person might use      A: A sword

Q. Name a song with moon in the title      A: Blue Suede Moon

Q. Name a bird with a long neck      A: Naomi Campbell

Q. Name an occupation where you need a torch      A: A burglar

Q. Name a famous brother and sister      A: Bonnie & Clyde

Q. Name a dangerous race      A: The Arabs

Q. Name an item of clothing worn by the Three Musketeers      A: A horse

Q. Name something that floats in the bath      A: Water

Q. Name something you wear on the beach      A: A deckchair

Q. Name a famous royal      A: Mail

Q. Name a number you have to memorise      A: 7     (My absolute favourite.)

Q. Name something in the garden that’s green      A: Shed

Q. Name something that flies but doesn’t have an engine      A: A bicycle with wings

Q. Name something you might be allergic to      A: Skiing

Q. Name a famous bridge      A: The bridge over troubled waters

Q. Name something a cat does      A: Goes to the toilet

Q. Name something you do in the bathroom      A: Decorate

Q. Name an animal you might see at the zoo      A: A dog

Q. Name something associated with the police      A:Pigs

Q. Name a sign of the zodiac      A: April

Q. Name something slippery      A: A conman

Q. Name a way of cooking fish      A: Cod

Q. Name a food that can be brown or white      A: Potato

Q. Name a jacket potato topping      A: Jam

Q. Name a famous Scotsman      A: Jock

Q. Name something with a hole in it      A: Window

Q. Name a non-living object with legs      A: Plant       (A close second.)

Q. Name a domestic animal      A: Leopard

Q. Name a part of the body beginning with ‘N’      A: Knee

Q. Name something you open other than a door      A: Your bowels

Patriotism, or "Caaarn Straya!" (1)

I've never considered myself to be truly patriotic, but every now and then I feel a surge of national pride. Never during sporting events like the World Cup (which sort of football is that again?) or the Olympics, but usually in the context of a shared characteristic with other Australians.

The following list was one of the very very few email circulars to make it through my filters, but it really struck a chord, so I thought I'd pass it on with annotations to help those for whom some of the references are particularly obscure. I hope that few Australian readers will need these explanations, but it might help them to explain some of their own characteristics to others. Unfortunately I can't give due credit for the list, because it was as anonymous as all such compilations, and is doubtless the work of many people along the way. To each of them I say "Thenk smite!"

[UPDATE 26 January 2012, appropriately enough: the original list is by Aussie journalist and author Richard Glover, and can be found on his website, where he encourages readers to share it. Apologies to him for not knowing this before, and for making small amendments and additions to his already comprehensive work!]

You know you're Australian if ...

* You believe that something looking like cooked-down axle grease makes a fantastic spread. You've squeezed it through Vita Wheats to make little Vegemite worms ...
and you can sing the song.
[In fact I bet you sang along to that video, didn't you. Just like I did.]

* You believe that stubbies can be either drunk or worn.

* You think Woolloomooloo, Mooloolaba, Koolyanobbing, and Goonoo Goonoo are perfectly reasonable names for places.

* Speaking of place names, you can recognise most of the towns in the original version of "I've Been Everywhere Man".

* You're secretly proud of our killer wildlife.

* You understand that "Wagga Wagga" can be abbreviated to "Wagga", but "Woy Woy" could never be called "Woy", and "Bong Bong" can't be "Bong". That would just be silly.

* You believe all famous Kiwis are actually Australian, unless they stuff up, at which point they become Kiwis again.

* Beetroot with your hamburger ... Of course.

* You know that certain words must, by law, be shouted by the whole audience during any rendition of "Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again" and "Living Next Door to Alice".

* You're liable to burst out laughing whenever you hear of Americans "rooting" for something.

* You can translate: "Dazza and Blue went with Wozza to see Acca Dacca."


* You have at some time worn ugg boots outside the house.

* You understand that the phrase "women wearing black thongs" is less alluring than it sounds.

* You know how to pronounce "Mel-bun" properly.

* You're less likely to get caught making a bong with your garden hose than for using it illegally to water the garden.

* You believe it makes perfect sense for a nation to decorate its highways with large fibreglass fruit, penguins, prawns and sheep.

* You believe that most of the really important discoveries in the world were made by an Australian but then sold off to the Yanks for a pittance.

* You believe that the more you shorten someone's name the more you like them.

* You say "no worries" quite often, whether you realise it or not, and you understand what "no wuckers" means (without having to click on that link).





* And you have drunk your tea/coffee/Milo through a Tim Tam. Ohhh yesss.


To be continued ...

A Few Aphorisms

Nothing original today, and nothing cynical or world-weary either, for a change.
Instead, here are some quotations which mean a lot to me, and which might speak to you too.

The first one is as close as I will ever get to having my own motto.
I discovered it as an embroidered sampler in an historic cottage, with the name and date "Ann Hewson 1780". I was quite young at the time, but even so I felt that it perfectly mirrored my own outlook on life, so I copied the words and laboriously embroidered my own sampler, serendipitously finishing it exactly 200 years after Ann signed hers.
It still resonates with me all these years later ...

Learn by the bee from each event to find
Some hint of use or profit to your mind.
Nothing so small but you may draw from thence
Improvement for your virtue or your sense.

The next one is a lot less ponderous, but a very useful reminder that our lives are neither as important nor as serious as we may think. It's from Jerry Seinfeld.

Life is truly a ride. We're all strapped in and no-one can stop it. ...
Sometimes you put your arms up and scream, sometimes you just hang on ...
I think the most you can hope for at the end of your life
is that your hair's messed, you're out of breath, and you didn't throw up.

Life is full of uncertainty, and sometimes the number of necessary decisions seems overwhelming. Lewis Carroll's eternally untroubled Cheshire cat has the answer.

Alice came to a fork in the road. "Which road do I take?" she asked.
"Where do you want to go?" responded the Cheshire cat.
"I don't know," Alice answered.
"Then," said the cat, "it doesn't matter."

It's unashamedly sentimental, but this quote from an American author named Agnes Sligh Turnbull never fails to bring a lump to my throat, and I'm sure it will do the same to anyone who has loved and lost a dog. (Vale Tess, Kimba, Mtani, Zu, Harry, Taka and all the similarly precious memories of my friends.)

Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really.

Then, of course, there was Douglas Adams. Almost everything he said or wrote makes me respond "Yes!", so it is impossible to choose my favourite from thousands of insightful comments. Fortunately, there are many sites (such as this one) which share his witty wisdom, so for those who are unfamiliar with his view of the world, I'll close with this particularly pithy example.

In the beginning the Universe was created.
This has made a lot of people very angry
and has been widely regarded as a bad move.

Shhh. Don't Look Now, But ...

Like many other site owners, I am interested in who my visitors are, how they get here, how long they stay, and which pages they read.
For some people this is essential information in optimising their site for commercial purposes, but in my case it is simply idle curiosity about patterns revealed by the statistics. As you can see from the logo at the bottom right of this page, I use a free Sitemeter account to track visits, and although it shows very few details (just the IP address, for the technically minded among you), the records do provide occasional harmless amusement.

For example, every time I mention "DMOZ" or "ODP", or (nowadays) "DMOZ 2.0", and especially if I write about "Volunteer Admins", there is a flurry of visits from the same IP addresses.
Of course it may be sheer coincidence, but when those addresses match the countries or cities where DMOZ Admins live, I remind myself that I don't actually believe in coincidences.

But it is even more entertaining to see which blog posts attract the most general attention. Besides the above visits from people curious to see what I am saying about them, random visitors seem particularly drawn to posts about the following topics (in approximate order):

1. British railways (yes really!)
2. Ugliness
3. Piratical eye injuries
4. Bullying 

An eclectic bunch of topics, to be sure, and I guess some people might ponder their sociological implications.

Not me though - I just like sitting around, watching people come and go.

 

"A Gate by Any Other Name ..."

There's nothing new under the sun, apparently.

As a result of a news item today about the explosive-packed underwear of the would-be terrorist on the Christmas Day flight, I wondered how long it will be before someone comes up with a Silly Season name for the inevitable investigation into how he managed to avoid detection at two major airports.

Of course a front-runner would be "Undiegate", but I was disappointed to find that it's already been taken, back in 1997, when a New Zealand MP was publicly humiliated for spending $89 of taxpayer's money on a pair of boxer shorts for himself.

My next brainwave was "Budgiegate", in deference to the grand Australian tradition of referring to tight men's underpants as "budgiesmugglers".

But that's already been used as well, darn it, when a pet bird was smuggled into a high security prison in Ireland in 2007.

Looking at the picture of the terrorist underpants, it is easy to imagine the very localised effects of even a tiny explosion, so this opens up a new line of thought, such as "Knackergate" or "Castragate".

Perhaps we should simply return to the "Gate" which started this whole rather derivative naming trend. So this scandal could be "Watergate II", because of the obvious connection between the two, er, "Dicks".

Burpless sheep??

An uncharacteristically short and focussed post today, prompted by an item in today's news about research into reducing the amount of greenhouse gas produced by sheep.

Enquiring minds want to know ...

1. Who thought up this project, and did they manage to submit the funding proposal with a straight face?

2. Did anyone do any sums?

   "Agriculture produces about 16 per cent of Australia's greenhouse gas emissions and two-thirds of that is methane produced by farm animals ... Cattle produce about 70 kilograms of methane a year and sheep produce about one-tenth of that."

3. Let's see ... 2/3 of 16 is 10.6666. So sheep produce much less than 1% of the greenhouse gasses in the country. Anyone want to guess the percentage produced by, oh I don't know, cars and factories, to choose two non-sheep things at random?
4. Do they seriously expect to devise a genetic strategy based on a mere 200 samples?
5. What sort of a surname is Goopy anyway?
6. Would a real scientist say something like "I don't know if you have ever been inside a sheep's tummy, but it's the most fascinating part of the ecology," ("tummy"?, "ecology"?)
7. What scientist refers to pathogens as if they are people: "we're trying to get a handle on who the organisms are"?

No, I think it's pretty obvious that this "research" is merely a sham, and that these are not scientists at all, but an alien life force whose first step in world domination is to occupy the largely empty heads of sheep.

Don't say you weren't warned.

Homeopathy Rules? KO!

Essential viewing for anyone feeling "a bit poorly".

Homeopathy Emergency Department

Help! Help! I'm being repressed (in ODP/DMOZ)!

Why do some people have so much difficulty separating their identity from their position? Surely their own opinions and feelings remain independent from any paid or unpaid job they undertake? Or do they lose themselves in that role, and therefore come to see themselves as its embodiment?

This question has caused me considerable distress in the past year, because I have been villified for expressing concerns and criticisms about a position, as if I had personally attacked the incumbents themselves. The stridently defensive reactions of those who feel "attacked" have completely drowned out my protestations that my comments are neither personal nor derogatory, but simply an expression of dissatisfaction with the "system".

To indulge in some armchair analysis for a moment:
Perhaps those who hold such positions are well aware of the deficiencies inherent in their role, and this makes them particularly sensitive to criticism of it?
... Or perhaps they feel that having attained a certain status they are entitled to unqualified respect?
........Or maybe they are under such pressure from unseen directions that they have lost their sense of perspective?
............ Or maybe they just don't like me and my record?


As some very wise men once said:

King Arthur: I am your king.
Woman: Well I didn't vote for you.
King Arthur: You don't vote for kings.
Woman: Well how'd you become king then?
[Angelic music plays... ]
King Arthur: The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water, signifying by divine providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. THAT is why I am your king.
Dennis: [interrupting] Listen, strange women lyin' in ponds distributin' swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.
...
Dennis: Come and see the violence inherent in the system. Help! Help! I'm being repressed!
King Arthur: Bloody peasant!
Dennis: Oh, what a giveaway! Did you hear that? Did you hear that, eh? That's what I'm on about! Did you see him repressing me? You saw him, Didn't you?

Yep. Just like that.

Dogophiliacs

A quick explanation is probably needed, in view of the disturbed people who might arrive here in some confusion after injudicious Googling.

In fact the word in the title is not a neologism, and can be found on other sites, but I am the first person I know to use it, so I take the blame for shamelessly combining a Greek suffix with an Old English root word to describe people strongly attracted to dogs. (In the most innocent way of course, and if any fetishists have read this far, please move along. There is absolutely nothing for you here.)

In my mind, dogophiliacs are slightly different from doglovers, in that many people claim to love dogs, but they often mean only their own, or ones similar to their own. Dogophiliacs, on the other hand, are irresistably drawn to dogs of all shapes, sizes and temperaments, although "Elwood", the World's Ugliest Dog 2007 (right), would admittedly be a challenge.

I am a lifelong dogophiliac, and although I can (thank goodness) effortlessly resist all the "doggy stuff" that canny marketeers tempt us with, I cannot pass up any opportunity to greet a dog, especially if it is looking at me in an interested way. I have to admit that both dogs and children frequently cast me funny looks, but I have never been inclined to go and greet children. ;-)

During a recent trip to the UK, where dogophilia is more widespread than anywhere else, I found that it works greatly to the advantage of the solo traveller. Many conversations with complete strangers started with "Do you mind if I say hello to your dog?", and because both the dog and the owner can tell a true dogophiliac from someone just being polite, this greeting is always received very well by both parties. It crosses all social boundaries too, and even the most patrician owner cannot help unbending a little when their pride and joy is suitably fussed over.

But a word of warning to those who might see such behaviour as an easy way to gain someone's trust for dishonest reasons - insincerity is very easily spotted by even the most gormless dog, and you'll be very lucky if your only reprimand is a look of cold disdain.

There's Nowt So Queer As Folk (3)

Last week I was ambling alongside a canal in Gloucestershire when I stopped to watch a swing bridge being hand-cranked open to allow two barges through. Having watched the operator exchange familiar pleasantries with the boatmen, I wandered over to chat to him. Sounding rather like HM the Q, I asked if he enjoyed his job and the people he met. Unfortunately he didn't like his job of 13 years, but "it's all I can do now, of course" (I didn't pry), and agreed that the boat people were generally friendly and easy-going. Correctly identifying me as an Australian (and not from Middlesborough as others have supposed ;-) ), he then asked about my holiday. On hearing that I had been in Scotland for 2 weeks and was now in England for 2 weeks, he nodded politely, but then advised me in no uncertain terms that if I'd come for an extra week I could have gone to Austria, because it was really nice there.
Feeling there was nothing I could offer in defence of this frightful lapse in my travel plans, I agreed sadly that I had probably not given it enough thought, thanked him kindly for his advice, patted his scruffy dogs ("One's a Whippet/Bedlington terrier cross, y'know.") and went on my way.
Fortunately, he waved cheerily at me the following day when I passed again, and the dogs stopped shouting at the boat-bound dogs long enough to give me a quick wag, so I think my poor travel planning had been forgiven.

In the same village I met Peter, walking his two tired and blissfully muddy border collies. Like many elderly men, he had more than enough time to stop for a chat, so we talked about the hot-air balloon race we'd seen passing over the village that morning, and agreed that neither of us would ever be seen in "one of them things".
Talk turned, as usual, to my holiday, and when I explained that I'd been on a walking holiday in Scotland he smiled knowingly and said "I expect it rained all the time, didn't it?". I agreed that we seldom had a bright sunny day in the 2 weeks I was there, at which he nodded triumphantly, explaining that he'd been to Scotland once and it rained the whole day he was there!
"It might just as well have been Cheltenham", he said dismissively.
Indeed.

There's Nowt So Queer As Folk (2)

As explained in the first of this series, this anecdote is one of several collected during a recent UK holiday.

Even when things don't go to plan, there is often an unexpected gem on a holiday.
On one otherwise infuriating day it was the glorious presence of a stereotype on one of the many trains I took. He had a tweedy flat cap, hunched shoulders, a large watch, and a well-thumbed notebook in which he made copious notes every time we passed another train or a shunting yard. On the pretext of losing my balance en route to the toilet, I managed to peer over his shoulder, and sure enough, the pages were covered in squiggly numbers and times. Yes, he was a bonafide "Train Spotter".

But that was almost incidental to his sudden loud assertion that "Actually I prefer to sit on my own, thank you". This was directed at a boarding passenger who attempted to take one of the 3 spare seats around our hero. A spirited discussion then ensued, but Mr Train Spotter was implacable, and the other chap shuffled off down the carriage, muttering loudly about bloody people who think they own the bloody train just because they know the bloody engine number.

I was exchanging fascinated and appreciative grins with a lady across the aisle when the petulant voice rose again, explaining (apropos of nothing)

"I'm retired. And I'm not married, either."

Marvellous stuff.

There's Nowt So Queer As Folk (1)

Travelling alone by foot and public transport has several drawbacks, to be sure - it requires vast amounts of "waiting" time, and always involves interminable steps to negotiate with increasingly weighty baggage. But overall, it is a stimulating way to see another country, and opens up so many opportunities for meeting "the locals".
I am always much more extroverted on holiday, because I am confident that I will never see these people again, so I shed all self-consciousness and launch into many univited conversations. The result is always rewarding, sometimes surprising, and frequently memorable.

I will describe some of the best ones here - one at a time, so they can be savoured. :-)

The train trip from London to Edinburgh is a favourite of mine, but this time it was a little unusual because there was some unexplained problem near York which meant we had a long delay and were then joined by the passengers from two other trains. For the next leg of the journey it was very noisy and crowded, because one group was a bunch of primary school students from some small North Yorkshire town who had been on a field trip to the Viking Museum in York. They were very friendly, excited and chatty. You can imagine!

My "foony accent" amused them enormously, and we all enjoyed the guessing game about where I came from.

"Middlesborough", said one confidently. No, further away, I said.

"Ooooo Scotland!" said another. No, further than that, I said.

Brief silence, then in awed tones one ventured "London????".

I don't think they believed me for a second when I told them the truth, so from now on when anyone asks where I'm from, instead of "Australia" I intend to say "Middlesborough. Can't you tell?" :-D