Resolutions 2014

A new year but with the same hopes

AOG, Madrid

My Christmas vacation started off with me flying to London a few days before and ended with me flying back to Madrid from Barcelona airport a couple of days ago.

In between both airports, as is customary since I relocated to Spain and met my other half, we spend part of the holiday season in the UK, both in London and in rural Oxfordshire, and part of it in northern Spain, mostly Bilbao and coastal Cantabria.

Then, once the family duties are done, we relocate to the Catalan coastal town of Sitges for a couple of days of rest before facing the year ahead. Yes, we both end up shattered and fatigued after all the travelling, the gifting, the emotional encounters with family, friends, each other, &c.

I left sunny Barcelona and landed in a cold and rainy Madrid thinking about the year ahead. About my career, my life, my plans. The challenges ahead, the things I’ve left behind.

I realised that, basically, since my 20s, I’ve been consciously trying to do the same thing, year after year: achieve something.

Achievement is, naturally, defined and applied to whatever new task happens to pop up in my life, and it is not always reached… though I have been known to surprise myself.

I was talking to a friend of mine just after I got back to Madrid and the subject came up: New Year Resolutions.

Only last year, and for the first time ever, I actually took out a piece of paper and wrote down a few lines.

I forgot, or redefined, or lost, most of them as the year landed squarely on my lap and brushed aside most of my good intentions.

But two in particular kept popping into my head throught the entire 12 months the year lasted.

First, writing.

My actual resolution was to write 12 short stories in one year. One per month. That did not happen.

I ended up writing about 3. But then I also co-wrote a script for a short film, and, back in November, I participated in NANOWRIMO.

No, I did not finish a 50K word novel in 30 days.

But something else happened. I took up an old, forgotten, sci fi novel I had started to write in my very early 20s.

Along the way, it has grown, changed, and been re-started a couple more times.

But, for the time being, it is incarnating itself semi successfully. I’m not sure about when I’ll finish it, but I want to continue writing it. This is an achievement in itself.

Unfortunately, those things which always get in the way of writing (you know, life, work, shit) are still there.

I had this idea that I could do some writing during the Christmas season. I even took my laptop all over the place in the off chance I would get some time to do a bit of writing. No such luck.

However, that thing I do when I write, think about the story, did went on. I kept thinking, and have kept thinking, about the story, the characters, the twist, throughout.

Then my partner told his 12 year old niece that I was writing a novel, and two days later she was asking me about it. She is the only person who actually knows what it is about, other than me. And the best compliment was when she told me she wanted to read it.

Of course, at the tender age of 12, she got a ‘doctored’ version of it. And She may have to reach 17 before she can actually read it. But I’m glad she was interested.

www.fofothing.com/polo

The other thing I wrote down has a lot to do with me personally.

I wrote down “Be more sociable”.

Not that I am not sociable. I love society. I love socialising. Meeting friends. Doing things. Going places.

But unfortunately, I am not always in the mood to do any of that. Usually because I am tired. Or not interested on what is being offered. Or unwell. Or whatever other cheap excuse I can think of to redeploy inside and stay home and not see anybody during daylight hours…

However, more and more, this past year I tried continuosly to put my initial distate for the things I dislike aside, and endeavored to concentrate instead on enjoying my friend’s company whenever it is offered -which is often.

Unfortunately for me, I’m still too stupidly shy, or coy, or reticent, or whatever the hell is wrong with me, to actually call friends up and seek them out.

Yes, that thing that normal people do on a regular basis I tend to find difficult. Not always. Not all the time. But now and again. Here and there.

But, throughout 2013, whenever somebody called me, whenever I saw their name on the phone’s screen, I did my best to just pick up and agree to meet, putting all of me aside and just doing it.

I can’t say that I did that all of the time. But I did do it. And certainly I did it more often than in 2012, or 2011.

Perhaps I take my cue from my mother. When we were kids, she was the eternal social butterfly (Gemini).

Her social calendar was always chock-a-block with dates, parties, dinner engagements, social events, etc.

But I also recall how she used to complain that she needed time off. I remember how people would call home and ask for her, and she would sometimes say in a low voice, or just mouthing the words, ‘I am not here’. 

And the message would be passed on.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t tired, she just wanted to be left alone for a short while. She needed some ‘me’ time.

These days she has become very much a hermit, and her social calendar is mostly devoid of dates, other than whenever my sister and I ask to see her.

Nevertheless, last year she told me very clearly she was not flying to Spain to see me on my birthday.

She had a long list of excuses, but basically, she is not where she was when she was in her 20s or 30s, or 40s.

She is aging. She is somewhere else.

But back to me.

Last year I was able to combine my social life, such as it was, with my writing. I would meet with friends from the writing group I belong to and agree to set up a writing time and date. Usually a Saturday afternoon, somewhere in one of the city’s cafés.

This allowed me to write, to create, and be social, at the same time.

Onwards to the new year.

So, this year, my resolutions have not been written down yet, but those two will certainly head the list.

1- Write. Finish the novel. Do the short stories. Continue going to the writer’s group once a week.

2- Be more sociable. Even more. And again. One more time.

And I’ll add a couple more.

Exercise some more.

Watch my weight.

Make more friends. One can never have enough of those.

Read. Yes, read. A writer writes. Also, a writer reads. And reads a lot.

By the author of this post. Ralph Lauren, Fall 2o13.

Draw.

Create.

This one has been on my mind for a couple of months now.

I started doing some fashion illustration last year sometime in late September.

The drawing bug is within me once again. 

I’ve even thought about setting up a blog to upload the sketches. Maybe even invest some time in learning how to fully operate Photoshop, or even learn about Corel Draw.

Be healthy. Live healthy.

Improve my career. Move to Barcelona to be closer to my partner. These, in fact, go hand in hand.

Acting. Don’t give up on improv, in spite of all the problems and drawbacks concerning the course.

Join a choir and sing some.

Blog more in the abscence of all else.

I have even considered going back to University, although this last one belongs to late 2013.

I have to decide on whether I want to do a doctorate, which I do but have no time for.

Or start a new degree, which I do but have no time for. Psychology is always very appealing.

And it is only January!

Left out and left behind

AOG, Madrid

Yesterday I was doing some shopping on the way home.  I had gone to the local supermarket with my headphones on and was looking to buy some dinner.
 

I noticed this woman fellow shopper as I went to the canned vegetables isle. I didn’t give her much thought since she looked very unfriendly and, quite frankly, these days I have zero time for unfriendly-looking people. 

I went about my business and stood in line to pay for a few minutes (it still amazes me how in Europe cash tills are usually kept at minimum with huge lines at any one time on any one register).
 

Suddenly, the angry woman in black rushed out of the supermarket with her huge over-the-shoulder bag.
 

The cashier was too busy and didn’t see her leave. The security guard was nowhere to be seen (maybe he was on a break). And the people in line in front of me where too preoccupied with having to wait for so long to pay.
 

So what is my gripe? Well, when I had last seen her, her hands were filled with items. When she saw me perhaps she got defensive that I had come to her isle when she was about to do some creative ‘discounting’ in her favor.
 

I did see her a couple more times in the store, and at all times she had her hands full.
 

So when she rushed out, I could only think the worse. Especially after, as I was leaving, the security guard came asking the cashier about her.
 

So why is this particular ‘potential’ shoplifter of any interest? Many reasons.
 

First of all, this woman was, in appearance anyway, middle class.  Almost trendy. She was well dressed and had an elegant manner to her.
 

Second of all, she was old. Maybe early to mid sixties. Although I know that people of all ages shoplift, it is true that she went against type. Middle class elderly women in Spain do not, as a general rule, shoplift. 

Especially not food.
 

But here it was, the real and ugly face of Spain’s current economic crisis.
 

The media in Spain, and I find this surprising, continuously go on and on about youth unemployment. With good reason, it is true. However, Spain suffers from a much more modern (yet antiquated in its inception) malaise. 

Unlike the US, or other more forward-thinking countries, in Spain, once you are past the age of 40, you may as well forget about working. 

In the labor market you are pretty much invisible and unemployable. 

And no, I am not exaggerating. 

Last year, about 40% of people unemployed in Spain were over the age of 40. The number is higher for those over 50. 

It is true that, generally, in Spain most employers prefer to hire younger and cheaper workers than those with greater experience. 

The first time I saw an advert which stated very explicitly “People over the age of 40 need not apply” I was shocked. That was 5 years ago, but those adverts have not stopped popping up. 

And yes, in theory, Spanish law forbids age discrimination. But this is one of those instances where the law is much more advanced than the society it is meant to serve.

Whereas in the UK such adverts would create an outrage, here they merely reflect the current state of affairs.

And I have another example. Years ago a friend of mine from Barcelona had just gotten back from the US. 

He is not exactly anti-American, but he does have that strange superiority complex which most Europeans seem to don whenever it comes to American culture and American practices and things they don’t know anything about.

He was telling us at a bar about his trip. About how wonderful it all was, how cheap things are in the US, and about how, in America, old people are exploited.

“I went to Wal-Mart, and the guy bagging my shopping was an old guy! Why do Americans exploit the elderly like that?”

Most people kept quiet and some laughed. Where he saw exploitation I saw respite from life and poverty.

And then I said that unlike in Spain, where old people are not even hired, at least in the US the elderly are not discarded and they are allowed to remain productive if they wish to be.

My friend was not convinced. Neither were the others, although some did say that, as usual, the US was more advanced than Spain in these matters and that Spain had “a long way to go still”.

But you see, in Spain, most old people don’t work not because they don’t want to, they don’t work because they are either retired, or they can't find a job. 

Of course, Spain being Spain, the family plays a very large part in this scenario. 

Most retired people in Spain have a state pension, and many financial benefits, however most does not mean all. 

When that happens, the family tends to fill in the gaps which the State leaves open (and there’s many of those). 

Although access to free health is guaranteed, many other things are not, and that is where most people rely on their families. 

For example, it is not at all uncommon for married couples to take in their elderly parents to live with them. Less so these days, especially in large cities like Madrid or Barcelona. 

But it is not uncommon, nor unheard of, nor strange. Nor is it strange to go on vacation with the entire family, grandparents included. 

Personally I find this one of the more endearing traits of Spanish society. 

There was a story in the papers a couple of years ago which talked about an elderly couple, one of whom (the wife) had been made homeless when the building they lived in was about to be refurbished. They had been living there for over 40 years. 

“There” was a one room studio apartment the walls of which could be touched at the same time if you stretched out both your arms. 

In Spain this is known as “infra-vivienda”, or substandard housing. Unfortunately they are not the only couple living in such conditions. 

On the one hand you could blame social services, but on the other you can also blame these people’s culture.
It is unsightly to ask for help, or complain publicly. Or at least it is for their generation. Younger people do complain more, though there is not much of a culture of asking for help. Ironically, there is a culture of demanding a particular right.

This I usually put down to their rights being trampled during the Franco dictatorship. 

So when that elderly woman left with, probably, some shopping in her bag, it dawned on me just how bad things are beginning to get. And although Spain’s economy is much larger than Greece’s (and Portugal, Ireland and Iceland put together), if things get worse, then people’s lives will suffer because of it. 

Although there is a large underground economy in the country, it is obvious that not everyone participates in it. 

That lady last night did not seem to be participating in it.

Work in progress

AOG, Madrid

Today I applied for a job. I had to write a letter. This is what I wrote.

"Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn once wrote "Man has set for himself the goal of conquering the world but in the processes loses his soul".

 From the beginning of the modern era, the common man has been caught in between politics and technology, both of which have harmed and aided him in almost equal parts. The anonymity of the Middle Ages was swept away by the arrival of the modern state. Today, everywhere, Human Rights violations are the rule, rather than the exception.

Organisations such as the Red Cross have always sided with the common man, and have utilised technology in his/her favour. My personal motivation is to help out this Amazing organisation in the best way I know how: by distributing is message in the best possible way.

In our globalised society, where common people are increasingly challenging the "powers that be" by uploading images from a mobile phone, accessing the Internet and writing about abuses and crimes in their communities, I am convinced that we need a globalising and globalised message. And here the ICRC can be of great help. Ironically, man alone cannot face mankind.

One that brings not just hope, but help. As  Leo Buscaglia wrote, "the opposite of love is not hate - it's apathy. It's not giving a damn".

Professionally, I have always believed that free speech is one of humanity's most basic rights. It is key to my work. Without it, my profession becomes a hoax.

Giving a voice to those that need help is a task much greater than I can achieve by myself. However, by working for the ICRC, the task is, though certainly not smaller, it is at least doable.

These are the reasons why I would welcome the chance to work for the ICRC, because it helps me to marry my professional and personal interests into one."

I don't know why I'm sharing this, but I thought I had to. 

Odd year

AOG, Madrid

This has been an odd year thus far. I have not wanted to update this blog, though I have no idea why eaxctly. It just hasn't happened.

Since we got back from Japan last year, I have found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on much, though I think that what I have been suffering from most is just good old fashioned apathy and little else.

Work has been stressful since about mid-February when 80% of my department at the paper left. 

The workload increased and I was surprised to experience that my colleagues were not really forthcoming in the help department. 

Yes, I know economics is a difficult thing to deal with. However, I also noticed that they were not really helping each other much either.

I am not in the mood to do a 7 month recap, but I will say that somehow I've managed to survive Spain winning the World Cup in South Africa, the Madrid Pride celebrations, and that I've made a couple of new friends and those are always in short supply.

And speaking of friends, through the magic of Facebook, I found the two High School buddies I've been after since we graduated. One, funnily enough, lives in London! The other one just moved back to Texas. We've spoken on the phone a couple of times, which is good. We are still were we left off. A good feeling.

August is just around the corner, and my only plan is to take it easy. 

We'll see.

 PS: I've just realized that the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics just passed me by completely. I'm so not a jock...but I do like one when I see one! LOL

Japan Lag

AOG, Madrid

I came back from Tokyo last Sunday, a week ago today. I arrived in Barcelona around 11:30PM and got to bed around 1AM.

The next day I took a fast train from Barcelona to Madrid. Having left the country of silence less than 24 hours before, arriving at, and traveling through, the nation of noise, the shock was remarkable.

It all went mostly in silence on board our train until we stopped at Saragossa. There, two (maybe three) middle aged couples entered my coach.

From the minute they sat their Aragonese butts down, until we arrived at Madrid's Atocha Station, all they did was talk, non-stop, and in a loud voice. 

At one point, one of the ladies decided to call her son and hold a full conversation with him right in the carriage. I could not believe it.

It was interesting to overhear that one of the husbands in tow had not taken a train to Madrid in 35 years. 

That the last time his wife took a train was when they went on their honeymoon.

That they were all going to some Central American country for a well deserved vacation.

And although their lives were interesting, all I wanted was peace and quiet.

This week, it has taken me five days to realize where I was. This may sound more glamorous than what it really is. 

I was at work, and my mind was elsewhere. It wasn't as if I didn't know where I was, it was more like my cognizance of the outside world was still in Japan, and not here, in Madrid, at all.

It is hard to explain.

By Thursday, however, my cognizant self arrived with my physical self. I began to be more aware of my surroundings, my home, work colleagues. I don't know. It was odd. Perhaps jet lag played a part.

New Friends

This Thursday, to celebrate my newly found awareness of my life, I went to Diurno, my usual daily breakfast joint. 

I picked up this month's issue of In Madrid magazine and had a latte. On the classifieds section there was a small ad concerning "Gay friends in Madrid".

I thought, well, why the heck not?

But then I went to work and completely forgot about it.

I was sent home early-ish, and it was too cold to walk. I took a bus, and, after a couple of blocks, remembered the ad. I checked to see if I had the magazine with me. I did. So I texted both numbers on the ad. No reply for about 10 minutes.

I thought I'd left it too late, and began to plan my evening ahead: get some milk, wholemeal cookies, and watch Big Brother (or Gran Hermano, as it is known in Spain).

However, after a while, I got an SMS telling me where they met, and at what time they left. I rushed home, took the quickest shower (wash that work/office smell off!), and left.

On my way there, the other member actually called me to tell me where they were, and informed me that he had just gotten off a plane, and apologised for not having called earlier. 

Yes, he was British.

I arrived and was quickly greeted by one of the organisers who introduced me to the evening's participants.

One blonde American girl, one other American guy, one guy from, I think, Latin America somewhere, and the rest, Spanish guys of various ages and hairstyles.

We stayed at the café in question off of Montera street (or Whore Alley as I call it) until about 11:45PM, then, slowly, most people made their way home.

The evening's host and a Spanish guy invited me to go for one last drink in Chueca. I decided I would go with them.

All in all, an enjoyable and surprising evening, considering I woke up feeling very Tokyo, and went to bed feeling very Madrid.

Work, fear and the current crisis

AOG, Madrid

There is real fear in the air these days. I see it when I watch the news, both local, as well as when I watch foreign channels. And the thing about fear is that it is contagious. Unfortunately.

The other thing I’ve begun to notice is ignorance.

Perhaps that is the wrong word. Perhaps what I see is that thing we humans do so well, that “its nothing to do with me” attitude which so often infuriates others, and somehow helps us to get through the day.

My co-workers speak of the current crisis as if it had nothing to do with them. Some of them are a bit unhappy about their job.

They speak about getting a different job somewhere else. As though that were so easy. Their attitude scares me. Especially given the latest statistics.

Here, since the crisis began, 3.000 journalists have lost their jobs, and this country has the highest unemployment rate in Europe. At least this month it does.

From reading the British press you’d think the UK will overtake Spain, and every other country soon.

One of my co-workers is pregnant. She is due sometime in March. She comes to work everyday and is already quite balloon-like. She is one of the few people not to complain about getting a different job.

I too don’t complain. Maybe because I’m older? Or perhaps I too am afraid?

Answered prayers

AOG, Madrid

No, not Capote's unfinished novel. The other kind.

The kind that leave you numb with doubt surprise and which make you want to sit down and take it all in so that you may understand it.

Today, so soon after, I was offered a job interview.

And then I was offered a job.

I didn't think too hard about it.

I love my soon-to-be-ex-job but to them I am only a freelancer. I wanted, I need, a full-time job.

I said yes on the spot.

And now I will be a full-time journalist.

Finally.

Why I love being a Journalist/Writer/Actor/Model/Waiter

AOG, Madrid

T0day I started, sort of, a new job (sort of job). I am with a news agency in Spain. Sort of. They don't really know how to take me on, either as an intern, or a freelancer. Or what.

But, to me, that is secondary.

This morning I showed up at work and went to cover the Anne Frank musical. Yes, it is odd for Spain to come up with this, but then, if the British can turn Les Miserables into a musical, then I suppose the Spanish can turn Anne Frank's diary into a musical.
We arrived at the Häagen-Dazs Theater in Madrid (don't ask, I don't know), and the director, or perhaps he was the musical director, was telling off a blond actress of age unknown for being late. She politely, yet defiantly, told him that other people had been late too. So, obviously, the problem was not the actors, it was the call sheet.

The director, or stage hand, or whatever he was, mentioned that that could not be the case. The actors had been late all throughout the rehearsals. And so it went on.
A few minutes later, a local television station was interviewing the blond actress who came down from the stage outraged at the way she had been treated. As soon as the camera went on, she switched on the charm. A true professional, I thought.

We were treated to two scenes from the play.

There I was, witnessing a press conference, thinking how this might be replayed for Tele-K's immigration program, my other (unpaid) job in Madrid. The angle being that the female lead is played by 13 year old Havana-born Cuban American Isabella Castillo, who flew all the way from Miami to play the part. The general consensus was that she was very pretty. Prettier than the real Anne. But then, this was theater, and not without controversy.

There were two, in fact: One, which the journalists were trying to create, concerning the two Anne Frank foundations (Basel and Amsterdam) one of which is not (untrue as it turned out) 100% happy with the musical.

The other, a question from the AP journalist concerning the producer's claims that this was the first musical based on Anne Frank. Incorrect. According to the journalist, and The New York Times, there is at least one other, "Yours, Anne", which was produced off Broadway in 1985. Then the journalist and the producer, Señor Alvero, began to discuss the difference between a musical, and a sung play. In short, the controversy was set.

And there I was. Day one and amazed and grateful for being able to be there, then.

Later in the afternoon, we went to cover the anti FARC demonstration in Plaza Mayor. It was mostly Colombian expats living in Madrid. A few Venezuelans, who were there to offer their support for Uribe, and their distate for Chávez, the odd camera-seeking individual (who, by the way, had me beckoned so as to shoot him and his daughter, which we did), and, most surprisingly, my International Journalism professor, M.A. Bastenier. I wanted to go and say hi, but I was working. So I couldn't. And in any case, he was busy telling the crowd how his heart was Colombian.

One of the participants quoted García Marquez, "We Colombians are born suspect, and we die guilty". How true of Colombians, unfortunately. Why do some nationalities have such negative connotations?

Half way through, they started singing a popular human rights folk song by Argentina's answer to Bob Dylan, Leon Gieco, "Solo le pido a Dios" (I only ask of God). It was very emotional.

And there I was, in the midst of it all, looking for camera angles, people to interview, story angles.

Then back to the office to edit, cut, write up the story, then go home.

And I so loved every minute of it.

Oh, yes, and I learned something new today.

There is no subway into Georgetown, in Washington D.C., because Jackie Kennedy opposed the idea. Something to do with social class and her finding public transport too low class for Georgetown.

Or so I was informed today by a work colleague who knows D.C. much better than I do.

Truth? Hearsay? Urban myth? Bad propaganda?

Looking for work with Martadona

AOG, Madrid

These days I find myself looking for work. CV's are being sent all over the Spanish universe as we speak.

Last night, my partner suggested I sent my cv on a CD. It was different. I am thinking about it.

Then along came Martadona...

And now I'm thinking about doing the same....

In case you are wondering, she sings about being a lawyer, then mentions her qualities and skills. She finishes by saying she'd like to work with you.

The kiss at the end is the best part.

Enjoy.

Last night in Spain 2006

Tonight is my last night in Madrid. In a few hours I flyback to London to spend Christmas with Madame Mère, Sister & Bro-in-law in their lovely home (with room for a flock of ponies!) in the shire of Oxford. And their dogs. I won't be in Spain again until january 2007. And by then, I will know if I have been granted an internship with the PRISA media group (owner of El País, CNN +, SER Radio, etc etc) or not. If so, I will be happy. If not. Well...we'll see. I don't wish to anticipate anything.

Of course, I have been flying to London once a month (sometimes twice a month) since January. So it is not as if I'm flying home after a long spell. Home is now Madrid. Sort of. Somehow. Not that I think of London as home. Although I lived for 15 years on that island (The UK), I never thought of London as home. It was where I lived. But it did not fit my definition of home (in this respect I envy my mother and sister. They LOVE the UK. I, as with all else, have to be Le Garçon Différent). But Home, is Spain now. And when I think of it, it feels ok to do so. Do I miss London? Yes. Sometimes I do. How could I not? But love it? Mmmm....

I only love the US. And Mexico. And Spain. And France. And Cuba. And Argentina. I like South Africa. I like Germany. I like Venezuela. I like Greece. I like Denmark. I like Portugal. And Hungary.

I sort-of-kinda-in-a-way-but-not-always-yet-somehow like London. But not to live there. I think it has become one of those places I visit and like. A destination with the added bonus of a resident family. One way or another, I will always be tied to the island for better or for worse. But I think that is ok too.

It is funny because I have never lived anywhere for 15 years non-stop but for London. Maybe that is why I don't love it. Though this is not true. There are a million reasons why I don't. And million (or close to a million) why I do. Maybe I should be positive. I like that people think it is a world city. Like New York. Unlike Madrid. Not a world city just yet.

My classmates have loved calling me English (Tony es inglés) all year long. Which is amazing because the british never have done that; because I very obviously am not. Especially when I open my mouth and speak; when I do, a type of California via Texas accent comes out which is very obviously not British. And yet when I go to the US everyone thinks I am British. "I just love your accent" "What accent?". I am doomed. I know. I will forever be intertwinned with multiple cultures in spite of myself. Doomed to be "the other" until I die.

Even in Spain, where, in theory, I am meant to be from by virtue of birth and parentage. Though a life lived outside it does diferentiate me from most people here. And I think it shows sometimes. Yet, I speak their language, and they think I am some sort of weird hybrid. And whenever I say something odd, it is never because I might BE odd, but because I am foreign. To them. So not from here either.

But it has been amusing to be thought of, in a roundabout kind of way, as British. Especially because the Spanish, like the Americans and everyone else on earth, are sold on their idea of the British. They think only of elegance, teas at 5, the English look of things, Harrod's. Ideas which are as real as those about Spain- paella, sea, sex, sand and sangria. Spain, just isn't this. Nor is Britain that. Of course, these things do exist within both countries, but they do not even come close to defining them any more so that to say George W. Bush represent all about the US. How could he? how can these things?

So. In a few hours back to London. Shopping spree tomorrow before Christmas with the Hunter's. I guess I'll be quite tired by the end of it. And then off to the big apple for New Year's. Yes, it would appear like I travel a lot. But on a budget. There is no glamour involved.

By the way, I have not packed yet. And also, four of my friends in London are away on holiday. Not that I would have much time for them but...

I was told about this website when I first started working on TV back in '04 in London. One of the runners on Fit Farm (Channel 4) showed me this site. It makes me laugh. Wait until you get to the snake part.

Oh, yes, And have a very Happy Christmas 2006.