Hi Peeps,

A few days ago, I got off a flight from Portugal with my family. As we walked through immigration, I kept up a running commentary about how selfish the git in front of me was with his suitcase. It was one of those drag along trolley cases and was about 4 feet behind him, directly in front of where I was trying to walk. This caused me to alternately walk bow legged or hop a lot.  The git in question was engrossed on his mobile in what I assume was a call of earth shattering importance. Whatever it was about, he was sufficiently caught up in it as to be oblivious to the damage his case was wreaking on my shins.

Control those suitcases🤨

Later, as we managed our way to the car park, I was still mumbling about what dark and special hells should be reserved for people whom inflict grievous bodily harm on innocent pedestrians with their luggage. However,  once  in the car park, I apparently took to moaning about the shockingly inconsiderate parking of some people; questioning how they passed their driving tests when evenly parking between two parallel white lines was beyond them.  Once at the car, I turned to the lack of space provided in car parks that means that if like me, you reverse park into a space, it’s virtually impossible to negotiate bulky suitcases between the cars to the boot, especially when your neighbor is parked on the white line.

We were in the old Volvo and it had been playing up a little before our departure to Portugal.  Wifey had complained

Is it really that hard?

that the car had refused to start for her after it had sat just an hour in a Tesco’s car park.  After 2 weeks rest in what apparently had been monsoon like conditions, I was expecting the worse.  But the dear old Volvo started first time for me.  I celebrated  with a cry of “What a Machine”, beaming a huge grin. At this point, whilst small daughter rolled her eyes in disgust, Wifey looked at me and stated, “ you know, you are turning into Jeremy Clarkson.”

Empathy

I am sure this was meant as a terrible insult. In fact, I was quite pleased at the comparison.  I am turning into Jeremy Clarkson and I think I like it.

I freely confess, I like the Jezzer.  He and I are of comparable ages. We are both big blokes and although I have yet to swallow the beach ball he appears to have ingested, I fear that is coming too.  We are both loud, opinionated and, obviously very sensible and clever men.

Another similarity we share is mechanical ineptitude. Despite being an engineer (although, in fairness, I am a Chemical Engineer. Not a clanky one),  I am hopeless at all things mechanical.  I enjoy driving cars, but know little about their inner workings.  Beneath the bonnet is a strange world of pipes and tubes, wires and filters and in my opinion, generally best left alone to wiser men than me.  I can hit things with a hammer. Sometimes this helps, but most times, I just sit back leaving it the the nice man in overalls.

In common with Jezzer, I am frustrated by the growing political correctness we are all subjected to. I want to be able to state the bleeding obvious without worrying about whom I am going to offend. I dislike politicians on principle, am unmoved by the plight of polar bears. And I prefer a nice warm steak to cold cuts.

Yes, I like Mr Clarkson, but despite  all the similarities, where Jezzer and I seriously digress is in career choices.  I am incredibly envious of  his path through life. Sadly, I suspect he would be unimpressed by mine.

Career Choices

As an avid fan of the old Top Gear and more recently, the Grand Tour, I eagerly await new episodes and will happily

Cars I will probably never get to drive

rewatch the old ones.  I’m like a kid, drooling as I watch Jezzer; the old bloke with the funny hair and shocking taste in shirts and the midget,  pratting about in cars I can only dream about.  I love driving my Aston Martin. I have tried an R8, various Porches and a Maserati. But I fear I will never get to sample a Lambo, or a McClaren or a Ferrari. These are at least a possibility, but a Bugatti, or Koenigsegg or a Pagani Zonda?  Ain’t going to happen. And if I did win the lottery, no one is ever going to pay me to drive these wonderful machines whilst racing across the continent, or The States or even N Scotland, with my chums.  Yup, in the career choice, I have to hand it to Jezzer.

My Father used to say if you can find a career you enjoy, you will be happy for life, irrespective of how much  you make. Suffice to say he hated his job.  I used to enjoy my career.  Traveling and living in various parts of the world, meeting different peoples, experiencing different cultures, generally not getting shot at.  It was fun.  These days it’s more a chore.

I used to like the traveling, but not now.  Traveling is far from glamorous. Airport security just annoys me.  I had long ago learned not to travel wearing a belt, watch, or thick soled shoes and to pack my lap top in the hold baggage. None the less,  I was stopped in Manchester airport security the other day for having a tube of toothpaste in my hand baggage.  I had forgotten to pack toothpaste so bought some at Boots, not considering the 100ml rule. Suffice to say, it was confiscated and I was given a severe looking at by the disapproving official.  I have yet to hear of a plane being brought down by someone violently administering oral hygiene on the pilot.  I suppose it could happen,  but more likely by stabbing him in the eye with the toothbrush.  I was allowed to keep that.

I hate trolley suitcases, I hate being surrounded by people shouting into their mobile phones and I hate paying inflated airport prices for nasty substandard food and plastic beer.   What I object to most of all is the modern airport strategy of making me walk through a maze of duty free shops after  security. Here I will be harassed by overly made up young ladies intent on sticking noxious perfumes up my nose.  With a small daughter in tow it’s even worse, trying to drag her away from the enormous ‘airport special’ slabs of Dairy Milk and elaborate super-pack containers of Skittles; each of which has enough sugar to allow her to fly without the help of a plane.

No, air travel is not much fun and with the general Americanization of the World, once you get to where you are going, you are confronted with the same stores and restaurants.  Better off staying at home.

Chums

A Relaxing Jezzer in the pub

I occasionally wonder what Jeremy would be like if you met him in a pub?  I like to think, he would be witty and charming. Like me.  Personally, I would like to have a beer with him, chatting and putting the world to rights as we scoff at the hash the politicians are making of, well everything really.   I like to think we would get on fine and with a shared world view, become good chums.

But, I suspect, he probably gets a lot of hassle in pubs. I don’t envy his celebratory status. I have, fortunately, never had a phone thrust in my face for a selfie. I can I imagine it must get a bit wearing. In reality, I would never dream of interrupting him. It would be rude.

I guess we will never know and that’s probably a good thing as a subject  Jeremy and I might disagree on, is electric cars. Mr C  has said he will never waste an hour of his life having to charge an electric car.  I used to wholeheartedly agree with him.  But now, I find myself getting frustrated, awaiting the arrival of Wifeys new Tesla. It’s overdue. It should have been delivered by the end of July. Then the end of August. We are now told it will be end of September. But despite the delay, the charging point is being installed next week and I am eagerly awaiting  its arrival. I keep saying it’s Wifeys car and I ‘tut’ at the mere thought of an electric car. But, whilst it might not be a Ferrari, it can out perform a host of  great cars, including my AM as far as 0-62 goes. So, it has to be worth a shot.  And on that bombshell……………

Graham