I have frequently, through this column, referred to the horrors of a cashless society, having just got back from a visit to the UK I cannot help wondering if it is too late. Although I had intended to draw British money on arrival it did not happen while everywhere, not only accepted a card but also expected to be paid that way.
That meant for every pound we spent approximately 5% went to the banks for supplying the service, when in reality that sum of money could have stayed in circulation if we had used cash and the plastic in our wallets did not exist.
Any form of travelling is not without mishap, alright it does not have to be, but frequently is. We were on one of EasyJet’s modern planes on the way back to Spain, I was sitting next to my wife enjoying the ride and we were nattering in general.
The space in an aircraft, as everyone knows is limited, when suddenly Jean asked if I had dropped anything as she thought she saw something fall and sure enough my gold signet ring was missing off my finger.
People were very kind as once it was known Individuals in three rows of seats were searching the cabin floor to see if they could find it.
To a man, well at least me, ladies’ handbags are a place not to venture into its secrets and bits and pieces that only a woman would know the use of, I say that with respect, but my darling searched through her bag several times while torches from the modern mobiles were being flashed under the seats.
Then Jean found it somewhere in the inner confines of her bag which had been open on the floor in front of us, which the item sliding off my finger had dropped into. Our appreciation to all the fellow passengers who helped by studying the floor of the Airbus 320.
The journey was surprising as we thought there was a recession, where in the past at such a time everywhere is quiet and yet this time public houses were full with diners spilling out into the gardens, a change from when we were there five years ago, also traffic levels seemed to be a lot higher, perhaps that was comparing it with where we live, where six cars in a line is a congestion.
You are Nicked:
Not many of us can remember a ‘Beat Policeman’ walking the streets especially at night, well many moons ago it used to be normal, although I understand some towns, struggling with misbehaviour and other horrors on the highways are considering bringing them back.
We had been touring around Scotland, just the two of us, finding hotels as we travelled about, which had not been difficult in what was the old world of Scotland before the digital age hit it with items like ‘TripAdvisor’ to show the way.
We were making our way southward and as usual with the holiday, no real plan where we were going next. Barrow in Furness seemed a good idea, so we poured over the maps and made our way there.
With the narrow twisty roads of that time, it was late and getting dark when we arrived in the vicinity of the town, we then discovered there was some convention on at that time and the agents had occupied the hotels which were fully booked with no room, not even for the two of us.
We were wandering along the waterfront and there strolling along a smartly dressed local Bobby. In desperation we explained our predicament, I think he was quite pleased to have someone to talk to.
He nodded his head as we explained to him the problem of somewhere to stay, to which he confirmed the town was full of delegates to some engineering conference.
He pointed to a side turning a little way ahead and said at the far end of it we would find a house with rooms to let.
We thanked him and with some relief I turned into the turning only to discover it was one way – and not the way we are going. So, I backed out. In the mirror I could see our friendly policeman taking his notebook out and he booked me for going up a one-way street the wrong way.
I pointed out to him he had sent us up that road – he smiled, shaking his head and said, “No I told you there was a house up that road that let out rooms I did not tell you to drive up it.”
The house with the rooms, although it did not have a red light outside, was no more than scruffy accommodation they let out by the hour.
The Middle age runner:
Not many people have heard of ‘Valintina Petrillo’, she, and I say it with trepidation as I do not believe a born man should be able to compete in women’s competition. In this case we are in Paris at the World para Athletics Championships where this trans person raced in the 400 metres, and despite approaching middle age and being in her late forties, and eighteen years older than the others in the event, this birth man managed to come in third, which to my mind proves the point that the trans female is stronger, and if for only ‘fairness in sport’ they should not be able to take part in female events.
I have always wanted to take up motor racing. Maybe it’s not too late to start. I could be a ‘trans Stirling Moss’, ah, but if I really want to win, I will need to be a Formula One car with four giant wheels on each of my corners.
However, that is all make believe as in the end we are either male or female. Take care.
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