Petrolhead with a conscience...

Gibraltar Bus Service Changes

2011-10-21T11:17:00.000+02:00

So, the buses are no longer a free-for-all for non-paying tourists and their tour operators. Good news. To celebrate (and because i'm lazy) as I emerged from a meeting in Europort this morning I was walking to the office when the bus came round the McDonald's roundabout en route to market place. Legged it and got on it. Loved it.

I don't know if I'll ever relinquish the pleasure of having my moped take me anywhere in Gib within a few minutes, sweat and stress free but, this week's actually been really enjoyable without my moped. I'm now jumping on and off my bike far more proficiently than I was used to and I've started fine tuning my use of the locks, my helmet and trouser clip.

I might be tempted to carry on doing this and will likely, when inclement weather arrives, take to walking or bussing versus moped or bicycle. Let's see. For now though, i've uploaded the press release re the bus service as well as the new routes (which you can download for your mobile devices for when you're on the run) for all to see.

Have a good friday...

Open publication - Free publishing - More gibraltar

Open publication - Free publishing

2011-10-19T11:19:00.000+02:00

Day 3 of this In Town Without My Car lark and already a few observations.

I'm worried about my trousers;

I've had a run in with a Toyota Land Cruiser (you know, big 4x4 type car, like the Mitsubishi Pajero);
There are such things as 'comfort pedals' a pair of which I got myself yesterday;

I'm getting helmet hair (though the helmet matches the bike's colour scheme well);

We need more bicycle parking in Gib generally; and
My current steed is really not cut out for getting around on. All that quick release and shiny finish... makes it a target and it's going to get scratched and I don't like that.

So, solutions: Buy a new bike, one of these single speeds for like £200-£300, everything on it fixed, bolted on. One D-lock and bob's your uncle. Something like this maybe... click and then click 'watch video'

http://www.trekbikes.com/us/en/bikes/town/urban_utility/earl

On another note, tonight is the liveable/livable (?) cities discussion and, as tends to be the case at these things, I'm expecting some to try and slaughter me for being a petrolhead, criticising me for having the audacity to speak at events of this kind having owned a series of 'gas-guzzlers.'

I'm looking forward to it actually, because I don't think that being militant about the environment in a place like Gibraltar is actually going to get us anywhere. I'm pretty certain that Gibraltar is not, today, a place where the environment ranks highly on the average citizen's list of concerns. Environmentalists are battling, and will continue to for some time yet, with the personal transportation privilege exercised by everyone in the community and the majority of locals, vast even, pay only lip service to the idea of a liveable city in Gibraltar, for various reasons.

What we need is a paradigm shift, one which will not materialise overnight and will certainly not be in response to militance in the environmental context. I'm looking forward to having a chat tonight and sharing how I think we should do it. Hopefully there'll be some people there who share my view. If there aren't, its going to be a long night...

One idea that occurred to me yesterday as I nearly got knocked over by a woman in a Toyota Land Cruiser, the registration of which I have seared in my psyche, was that perhaps the ITWC group or even the Gib Cycling Association could create a leaflet as part of an education campaign for drivers and, every time we have a near miss, we can report the number plate and the authorities can circulate a leaflet to that specific person, almost as a 'we know you nearly killed someone today so have a read of this and try not to do it again...' kind of thing. We should probably also campaign for the use of helmets in Gib too...

That wasn't the first thing that came to mind when she overtook giving me about 3mm of clearance though, I can't bring myself to write such things.

So here's the secret... Which wasn't very secret if you looked for it

2011-10-16T22:04:00.002+02:00

Ok, so we didn't make it to 100 this morning at the rally but it was actually a really good turnout... Have a look at this video and see for yourself..

So, what's the secret then?

A few years back, a good friend and one of my best men, Justin, created a series of internet only tv shows called the Siesta Show. This was to be used on his website www.eyeonspain.com and it featured a discussion of a whole range of subjects and special guests... The programme's audience was the membership of the website, one which dealt with the vagaries of buying property in Spain which was and continues to be very popular.

I didn't make it to this weight by virtue of the air I breathe on its own. I enjoy cooking and, as part of the shows he did I helped out and recorded a couple of videos which no doubt you will all find worthy of serious cringing. My favourite was certainly the Huevos a la Flamenca as they were amazing. Note in particular the choreetsso lol...

Here it is, and now it's out. Quite a relief now that it is, enjoy...

Proper Opposition?

2011-10-13T21:57:00.002+02:00

In response to a tweet by Matt Raven to the GSD asking the GSD to describe the role of proper opposition, I can offer my own personal view of what that means. Posts on the GSD and other pages are limited to 1,000 characters hence why I've posted this here.

Proper opposition in my view is opposition which acts to hold government to account for the sole purpose of furthering the best interests of the community. Proper opposition can be turned to for guidance when important decisions need to be made by a community, particularly one our size facing the issues we do. My personal view is that the opposition we have seen over the last sixteen years has been exclusively about reelection, political gain and, particularly, about rubbishing every last government initiative, failing thereby, to provide effective opposition.

Their reticence on issues such as the Constitution, the homosexual age of consent and parliamentary reform are, in my view, plain and worrying examples of moments when the GSLP chose intentional ambivalence and lack of guidance in the misguided hope that the Government's initiative in each of those cases would be undermined, with the consequent political impact that would bring.

There are many other points that could be raised to highlight the lack of proper opposition over the years in Gibraltar but I would prefer, instead, to encourage a discussion on this very point. One last point, it's not just the Government that's accountable to the electorate!

Visit https://www.facebook.com/pages/Gibraltar-Social-Democrats-GSD/268644129832550 to leave comments about this post. Thanks!

2011-10-11T11:32:00.001+02:00

Might avoid mountain biking in Africa...

Radio Gibraltar on Twitter - Social Media blunder or a Tweep's misunderstanding?

2011-08-16T10:24:00.001+02:00

Getting up to date with the news on Twitter this morning I noticed, for the first time, the appearance of @RadioGibraltar in the twitterverse and, I must admit, I wasn't filled with positivity when I did.

The thing is that, thus far, the two Johnnies, Davina, @GibSteve and others have been doing a great job of 'being social.' My question is therefore 'does an entity like Radio Gibraltar actually need an official Twitter handle when it's people are already doing a brilliant job of interacting with others in the chosen media?'

The way I see it is that I don't really want to follow @RadioGibraltar: why follow a faceless institution when I much prefer seeing @JonScottGib's ramblings during the morning show (which I always catch later on in the morning anyway) as well as @jonsac's rants and James Neish's updates. The faceless institution in today's social media environment smells of a misinterpretation of what it's really all about.

I suppose that @RadioGibraltar's continued existence on Twitter might arguably be necessary to enable those looking for the radio station itself to actually find it in the first place, which kind of makes sense if you're not local and you don't listen to Radio Gibraltar! If you did, you'd know that most all the guys there are on Twitter and that you can (I hope, but haven't checked) find all the details on their website, from which you can also listen to the radio!

You see, justification though there may be for what I consider this twitter 'faux pas' by GBC, I can't help but worry that rather than a misunderstanding of the virtues of the social media movement, this is actually just an example of GBC management being unable, for whatever reason, to have faith and put the success and future of it's product firmly in the hands of those on the front line, the ones who do the talking, the ones who we tune in to listen to on a daily basis. @RadioGibraltar smacks of maintaining control, ensuring continuity 'in case one of the guys goes off the reservation.'

The people, that's who I follow; those are the people that make the Corporation. Do us a favour Mr Manager, let them lead for once; I'm sure you'd be pleasantly surprised...

F1 on BBC & Sky Sports

2011-07-29T12:27:00.000+02:00

Oh well, I'm breaking radio silence on a topic I hold very dear to my heart: F1

I can't believe the deal that's been struck on this to share the coverage between the BBC and Sky Sports. I don't know what commercial pressures have been brought to bear on these negotiations, whether they were pressures to cut spending at the Beeb or Bernie wanting more for the brilliant spectacle the sport has become of late. Whatever the reasons, one thing is for sure. We will never have the kind of quality, uninterrupted coverage we have enjoyed for the last few years. No doubt, new initiatives on data for the viewer, red button facilities etc will ruin the simple, effective and comprehensive coverage we enjoy today.

I have NO faith in Sky as a provider of F1 coverage and am gutted that the BBC will only be showing a few races. Jake Humphrey, Martin Brundle, David Coulthard et al (I don't rate Eddie Jordan's contribution at all) can start getting used to the idea that with less races to cover and no exclusivity, they will be able to call on less and less of the beeb's resources as the year progresses and, at some point, the decision will be taken to just get out of F1 altogether.

What a pathetic and sad state of affairs for a sport enjoying a return to form which it had lost with the departure of the original Schumacher who, incidentally, just needs a good car to win again. Or so I keep hoping!

A new episode

2011-04-18T11:41:00.007+02:00

A lot’s been going on in my life lately, most of it (pretty much) has been positive.

I’ve discovered the benefits of an altogether greener form of transport. I’ve taken to cycling for pleasure in a way I never imagined I would. I am still a fair weather rider, preferring to stay indoors when the levanter wind is blowing a howler whilst others are flying with it or struggling against it, but when I do ride, I enjoy every minute of it. In the last nearly three years I’ve gone from being a bit of a sloth to riding bicycles, walking, a spot of jogging and taking on as much outdoorsy activity as I can muster. The cycling has seen me ride from Cape St Vincent to Gibraltar over five days as well as to the Pyrenees, a staggeringly beautiful part of the world I might never have otherwise discovered. Oh, and I’ve dropped 20 kgs in weight (although I still need to lose a bit more, slowly but surely), have a look at the comparison…

As for cycling in a practical, utilitarian application, I've tried to use my mountain bike to get around Gibraltar but right now the facilities and infrastructure are quite limited and this is something I am actively lobbying Government on and an area where I hope there will soon be improvements on the ground. My efforts at getting around on my bike have also been hampered by the fact that a.) Gibraltar is so tiny it barely makes any kind of sense to make such short journeys by bicycle (versus my Scooter which is so much more convenient; and b.) I wear a suit to work. In summary, my quandary is made up of one part inconvenience, two parts of the inconvenience hardly being worth the bother and 1 part of a mix of practical difficulties infused with a general hesitation borne out of the worry about what people may think.

I have also, for some time now, been pondering whether or not a life in politics is the right kind of life for me. I believe I can make a significant contribution to the local community, new ideas, new energy and, importantly, a passion for something I’ve recently discovered: the ease with which we can, in small steps, improve the quality of life for everyone here. The environment has, for so long, been seen cast in a negative light by local NGOs (this is my opinion, though I am sure they would disagree with me). The environment is something which until recently was, for me, an inconvenience in my life as a petrolhead. My head was simply switched off to all the noise the ESG and other community groups made about the environment, the refinery, air quality, etc. I frankly believed that an association made up of members driving around in gas guzzling 4x4s (the aesthetics and practicality of which I love, despite their image and the fact that most people who drive these don’t actually have a need for them) lacked a certain credibility. Their once a year clean the world campaign I always thought smacked of Shakespeare’s lady protesting too much and I never shied away from making my opinion of them clear to anyone who cared to ask.

Since I re-discovered cycling, however, things are quite different. Very, actually. As I read more and more about cycling (as I tend to do whenever I discover something I find interesting) it was impossible to read up on the subject of cycling for pleasure without getting caught up in the ‘Cycling as a means of transport’ movement taking big cities and elsewhere around the world by storm. Reading about this and other movements I found myself asking other questions about alternative means of transport, how they work elsewhere and why they don’t’ exist here in Gibraltar. Reading up about cycling and these other issues incessantly in my spare time on the internet inevitably led to the discovery of the many and varied forms of alternative energy sources being researched and understood, as well as the many applications of these new technologies being developed all over the world. It was only after this long process of discovery, prompted by my re-discovery of the joy of cycling for pleasure, that I have come to understand what looking after our environment is really about.

Taking care of and improving the environment in which we live is not about being militant. A Talibanesque approach to getting us out of our cars and on to our push bikes is not going to help us embrace the environment, it’ll only make us even more resistant to change. The biggest problem we face in Gib is that we are victims of our own success. Subject to certain examples, we lead very good, very prosperous lives in Gibraltar. We all have decent jobs, make good salaries and enjoy the fruits of an economy which has grown steadily over the last fifteen years despite international economic turmoil. Families have their cars (yes, plural), their scooters and, therefore, their personal transportation freedom. Any affront to this liberty is met with violent resistance, on many occasions to the extent that I’ve been surprised by how viciously otherwise right-thinking individuals defend their right to drive their cars to work every day, even if, as the crow flies, the distance can be no more than 500 metres.

There’s so much to talk about when discussing how Gibraltar can go green that to go any further right now would bore even me. What this all boils down to is that I now see the environment, not as a burden, but as an opportunity for growth and development as well as the improvement of the quality of life of everyone here in our little community. I hope you’ll join me in this discussion as it goes on…

Getting the facts right

2010-08-19T11:42:00.000+02:00

Funny how easy it is to be prompted to prod away at the keyboard by a single article. This article by Jo Tweedy, of the Mail Online, has provoked 'a bit of a reaction' if the comments left are anything to go by.

This post is somewhat like another comment, only on a different, more open forum. The point of the post is merely to try to explain why it is he might have had such a reaction from the community here in Gibraltar.

The cursory treatment of the thorny issue of Gibraltar's relationship with Spain is dispensed with by Tweedy in a matter of a couple of lines, talking about how the decision to charge a toll (which may well yet not go ahead) has gone down like 'the proverbial lead balloon.' It would, in fact, be far closer to express it in terms of the average Gibraltarian taking to the suggestion of a toll in much the same way as one would to 'a fart in a spacesuit.'

The border is used, daily, by about 12,000 Spanish workers who live in Spain, make their money in Gibraltar (where the minimum salary is now £5.40 an hour, check out average monthly salaries in Andalucia for comparison, if there's any jobs left, of course) and take all of it back to Spain to stump up their free-falling economy.

The local community has no issue with this, never has. La Linea was, not to put too fine a point on it, built on the scraps of Gibraltar and not in the figurative sense either. We have always been the richer neighbour, granted, but we've been that through adversity in a number of forms: the closure of the border and continuous reputational and political attacks on us from Spain, a country which, regardless of its economic meltdown, maintains its age-old claim over the sovereignty of Gibraltar.

We don't mind being the engine of la Linea's economy because we still have full employment. We don't mind that the thousands of Euros made by the Spanish workers are then promptly taken out of Gibraltar, never to be seen again, because we still have a fantastic quality of life. We don't even mind having to queue up to get in and out of Gibraltar because, frankly, we no longer expect anything less.

What we do mind, however, is the chronic misinformation being put out by a number of writers, be they economic, travel or political commentators, who base their musings on a misunderstanding of the fundamental situation.

Far be it from Tweedy to venture an objective review of the slapstick ridiculousness of the very concept of the toll itself in law. I wonder how the French would react if, willy nilly, Spanish officials decided to impose a toll on all vehicles entering France?

Spain, having joined the EU in 1986 and since bled the EU's coffers dry during its own boom, will now give nothing back, but that's beside the point. The point is that they were European enough to take, take, take but not European enough to pay, pay, pay.

La Linea used to receive a bursary of sorts of about 30 million Euros a year, as a thank you for all the hardship it endured while the border with Gibraltar was closed. They received that bursary for over 30 years and were yet unable to develop a product or economy that could stand on its own two feet. Why? Well I'd rather not let my warming head get the better of me...

Tweedy's article gleans over the relationship between Gibraltar and Spain (whether down on the ground at Gibraltar/La Linea or at a higher, political level, with Madrid), refers to the pain that is the border crossing whilst simultaneously dismissing the fact that the delays are a Spanish creature AND then goes on to describe Gibraltar as unremarkable... is it any wonder he got the reaction he did? I think this post has been quite level-headed, in the circumstances...

New Year's Resolutions

2007-12-22T14:05:00.000+01:00

Every year the same thing, we all know the drill. I'm giving up smoking. I'm losing three quarters of my body weight. I'm going to join a knitting club and knit all of next year's christmas presents. These and many more stated ambitions are bandied about willy nilly during the holiday season as we all gear up for the arrival of the New Year.

We all make these promises to ourselves, some more significant than others. Some succeed and some fail, such is life.

In an attempt to try and record the range of ambitions the world has to offer and the extent to which we succeed in making the dream come true, I propose the establishment of a record, a record made for all to see of everything you and I are hoping for. A record that will be the evidence of the will to succeed or just another lame target you were never going to be aiming for in the first place.

In the social networking website to end all social networking sites (as fas as I'm concerned anyway) I've set up a new group called, funnily enough, 'New Year's Resolutions.' I'm hoping this will be the group that makes it happen for you, if only because when you post your resolution, hundreds will know the target you've set yourself!

So join me in this little experiment... we might just learn a little something.

The Colour of Almost Certain Death

2007-09-27T19:29:00.000+02:00

I love motorcycles, I really do. This, my first ever proper bike, was an amazing tool indeed. Its 900cc inline four engine felt massive between my legs (phwoar! (sorry)) and it felt almost wrong to be stood astride something that could throw you at the horizon with such barely believable force.

I owned this for about three months. They were interesting months, if nothing else. What was supposed to be a dream come true became more of a burden than anything else.

I could see in my friends and family, knowing me and my ways and thinking me madder than I really am, how the first suggestion of a bike ride to Spain would conjur images of death, destruction and mourning almost instantly. I would initially try and explain how I didn't have a death wish, extolling the virtues of the statistics. When I realised my words were falling on deaf ears I gave up. I'd just go for my ride without letting anyone know.

Problem was that going out on my own and then not being able to tell of my near misses, how the thing was so amazingly fast I might take spare underwear the next time I went and so on, it wasn't fun anymore. This, in addition to the fact that out of five proper rides i nearly killed myself on at least 12 occasions, I thought it best to err on the side caution, give in to the advice and will of others and sell it.

I don't regret selling it, I don't. My life expectancy improved by about 125% when it rode out of sight with its new owner. I don't half miss it though. Moral of the story: When you buy your first big bike, try and go for something smaller than a 900. The important people around you might then be able to let you enjoy yourself and you'll avoid every conversation about your new pride and joy ending in the words 'you're going to kill yourself.'

Death of a blog

2007-09-27T15:02:00.001+02:00

Really rather unspectacular isn't it?

I haven't written anything for really quite a while and, frankly, no one could care less. There's something refreshing about this whole blogging business. If i don't blog, few people care, and none care enough to actually do anything about it. Truly a no pressure type situation.

I was very glad to come back for a quick look and see a comment from a random stranger noting that it was a nice blog, and that some pictures of Gibraltar would be nice. They would be, wouldn't they? Here's not a very good one, taken from over the border, illustrating the only weather system of note here in this haven we call home. The easterly or, more commonly, 'El Levante.' In case you don't know, air rushes from the east, collides with the rock and rushes up the east face, rapidly cooling as it goes, forming the cloud which then clings to the top of the rock. Cool huh?

And so, with a new outlook, i plan to resume blogging. I have plenty to tell, and the blogs will be shorter. I trust you'll keep coming back, but if you don't, again, no pressure. I'll get some Gibraltar pictures up too while I'm at it. Nothing wrong in keeping an audience entertained...

Welcome back to all of us.

Formula 1 on the brink

2007-08-01T16:28:00.003+02:00

Has the British nation lost its objectivity? I have followed F1 on ITV for years now and have always been proud to. Knowledgeable, impartial coverage with some perfectly acceptable focus on the British contingent.

Sadly, this is being lost. But its not just the ITV TV coverage, but the general coverage by british media of the whole Stepneygate situation. It is a matter of law that if you are found to be in breach of rules and regulations, a penalty is applied. It is in this way that we make those who would seek to exploit a situation think twice about what they're doing. If, on the evidence there are any mitigating or aggravating features, the penalty is reduced or increased accordingly. That much is settled.

So why is it then that McLaren, found to be in breach of the Sporting code (really not very sporting at all), have got off, thus far, scot-free. What's even harder to understand is that it seems none of the official media sources have come out lambasting what is clearly a gross dereliction of the Sport Council's duty to Formula 1. Has Hamilton Mania killed the reasonable man? Is there no-one out there who can see through a growing passion to identify something so wrong on so many levels as the FIA's decision?

The staunchest Ferrari supporter will have hated what happened at the Austrian GP all those years ago. The same fan will have felt offended by Schumacher's worst moment in Jerez in 1997. In spite of the brilliance of Ferrari's champion years, I've never allowed myself to be dazzled and lose the respect for the rules which make Formula 1 the greatest sporting spectacle on earth. The core principles of F1 are what make it great. 10 teams, 1 rule book, 20 cars, the leading pack of which are separated by mere tenths of a second per lap. The engineering teams coming up with THEIR OWN solutions to the same problem. Innovation, exploration, pioneering technologies. That's what its about, not cheating?!

The FIA's decision threatens the very fabric of F1, and if the appeals process does not turn the decision around, the 'dangerous precedent' Ferrari speak of will be set.

The British Nation is greater than this. Surely someone will speak out in favour of what is right. Hamilton is a sensation, a champion in the making, no doubt. Lets make sure that he becomes a champion of a sport we can be proud of, a sport which preserves the fundamental principles of respect, competition and, above all, fair play.

Tearing up the countryside! But not really...

2007-07-14T17:39:00.000+02:00

I'm really quite the lucky fellow.

School in the middle of the Amazon forests. Dance and drama classes after school in the middle of the next desert, second oasis to the right, over three dunes, first outpost on your left. You can't miss it.

I have recently developed a new level of respect for the abilities of your 'average' school run monster and an equally new level of contempt for those who own and drive these cars for any length of time without exploring the very environment these animals are designed to excel in.

A few weeks ago I took part in a corporate day organised by yours truly at the Land Rover Experience in Ashford, in the Garden of England, Kent. The weather was drizzly, not particularly warm, and the smell of wood burning to keep the main reception rooms of the hotel warm felt a bit out of place the first week of July. That said, the weather was pretty much perfect for our day out off-roading in the latest gear on offer from Land Rover and, in particular, for our foray into clay pigeon shooting. The American right to bear arms had a new proponent in me for a few days after the event but, thankfully, I seem to have returned to the sanity of hating the very concept of firing firearms for fun.

We headed out to the hills and forests in a top of the range Range Rover and I wondered whether we wouldn't be collected at some kind of 'base' by clapped out landies and then sent off to throw those at the countyside. I was wrong. We soon found ourselves climbing sheer cliff faces and dropping over the other side of the same, rear right wheels in the air... all the while keeping our feet off the pedals to let car do its own thing to keep you in one piece and, of course, keeping our thumbs well away from the inside of the steering wheel.

The talent of these machines truly beggars belief. I had started off feeling sorry for the poor things and the abuse they were getting (my sensitivity for the care of vehicles bordering the ridiculous you understand) but soon realised how we were nowhere near the limits of their ability, in addition to the fact that the company's not about to trash vehicles that they will then sell on as ex-demonstrators! I nearly choked on my chewing gum when the instructor told us about this like he was telling us the time. After the 'abuse' these things get? Ex-demonstrators?! I think i'll be buying my Landie new thank you very much!

The whole experience re-ignited the fire of a yearning for one of these things which i have had and suppressed in the past. As with all my other cars, let the campaigning begin!

If you own one of these, sign yourself up for a training course for a day. If you don't, save up some money to buy one and then get yourself down to Ashford, spend the night at the Eastwell Manor Hotel, and drive the nuts off one of these beasts. One thing though: don't forget to bring a pen. You'l be signing an order form for one of these amazing cars before you get on the plane back home!

Sukhothai - a misapprehension put right.

2007-07-13T10:47:00.000+02:00

The problem with Thai food had always been a marked lack of imagination and a very conservative, non-existent even, sense of gastronomic adventure. My experience with this kind of food then was very limited and I was unable to commit to whether I was a fan or not. Imagine my delight when, during a general conversation about the wonder and glory that is Chinese food and my attempt to summarily dismiss the 'run of the mill' Thai green curry as bland and uneventful, I was, quite correctly, put in my place by a lovely couple who contended, 'you obviously haven't tried Sukhothai in Marbella.'

And so it was that a couple of weeks later we arranged and made a reservation at Sukhothai, on Marbella's Golden Mile. Reservations are recommended as the restaurant is a little on the cosy side and they're only open for dinner. Add to that its popularity and you simply won't get through the door without booking a table. Instantly on arrival its popularity was validated. A cosy, nicely lit and immaculately decorated restaurant with a far eastern flavour you could taste well before tucking in to the meal, accompanied by the subtlest of tunes in the background, the combined effect of which was a marked air of distinction from your average asian eatery.

The attentive waiting staff showed us to our table and shortly thereafter offered us our first drinks of the evening. The, by now very popular, couple who had brought us here, as big fans of the style of food and masters of the menu, were left to order for us all. The evening got off to a wonderful if fiery start with some deliciously fragrant soup.

As a main course we were then treated to a variety of dishes, amongst which was one of the stalwarts of Thai cuisine, the Thai red curry. It was in sampling this wonderfully creamy yet fresh dish that I realised where I had gone wrong with Thai food from the very beginning. I suppose it is my duty to confess that my only previous experience of Thai food had been from a take-away/eat-in restaurant at home. Maybe it was a bad day for the restaurant, but the Thai red (and green, incidentally) curries I had sampled from this restaurant had, to my mind, always been far too thin, the sauces having little or no substance and which simply wouldn't 'cling.' Dismissing this as the norm owing to our limited experience we were misled and sincerely believed that Thai was a far weaker experience on the whole than your average Chinese meal. We were also served certain stir fried seafood and vegetables in some spicy but oh-so-tasty sauces, along with plenty of sticky rice, washed down by plenty of white wine.

I have no quarms admitting that I was quite wrong and that I had no idea what a quality Thai meal was all about.

My lack of patience and control meant that I would be in no condition to sample desserts. And so it was that I had suffered a fundamental shift in my estimation of Thai food. In a couple of hours i went from indifference to infatuation. Couldn't care less to couldn't get enough! Perhaps it was the setting, the service, the food or a combination of all of these factors put together. Sukhothai Restaurant in the Marbellamar Centro Comercial in Marbella was an authentic experience which i genuinely recommend, if only to help you establish in your own minds the benchmark of good wholsesome Thai food.

Botafumeiro vs Benvenuti

2007-06-26T15:07:00.000+02:00

I like to think I know a thing or two about good food and wine. Lord knows I eat out often enough to give me at least some experience against which to assess the quality (or lack thereof) of this and that restaurant. Two restaurants I recently had the good fortune of visiting with friends have left a lasting impression on me, each for different reasons.

In early May, I was in Barcelona for the Spanish grand Prix and on the Friday night, dined with a group of about 17 friends at the Botafumeiro Restaurant. A very popular and traditional Galician seafood restaurant in the heart of Barcelona that seats 300 and counts the King of Spain and many celebrities amongst its loyal clients, this frankly massive venue impressed from the off, with its 'crew' of waiters and waitresses, decked out in nautical-type outfits, keeping the customers well plied with their very comprehensive range of fine Spanish wines.

The bread basket, for me the single most telling indicator of the quality of a restaurant) was excellent. Having ordered a variety of starters for the group to share, the meal was getting off to a very promising start, the Octopus Feira style topping the rankings. The main courses delivered the encore for the starters' quality performance, the fisherman's rice (Arroz Caldoso) looking particularly tasty. The freshest fish and vegetables and some rather fantastic sauces rounded out the whole gastronomic experience. The food, in addition to the wine (good choice made by one of our party though I forget what it was, a Diamante perhaps) certainly lived up to the grandeur of the place.

It was with much curiosity then that I overheard two friends, an Italian and a French man, discussing, sotto voce, that although 'ok,' the food was hardly anything to write home about, a sentiment which I could hardly believe I was sharing with them. They were, in particular, rather disappointed with the 90 EUR per head price tag, asserting that in Italy you'd need pay no more than 30 EUR to enjoy a meal not merely the equal of but, in fact, superior to the banquet I thought we had just enjoyed.

As luck would have it, I would be in Bologna the following week and so would have the opportunity of testing the theory!

Our arrival in Italy was beset by problems and delays and instead of arriving in Bologna at 1130hrs as scheduled it was all the airline could do to get us there at 2030hrs instead. We arrived at our country house accomodation, a few windy and hilly kilometres beyond the
Bolognese town of Monzuno and were informed by the mistress of the house that she had made a reservation for us in a restaurant by the name of Benvenuti in the next town, Loiano.

Upon arrival at Benvenuti after an exhausting day we were (no surprises here) 'welcomed' or 'benvenuti'd' by the owner of the restaurant who had been expecting us following a call from the mistress of the country house. Immediately we sat down we were treated to bruschetta and tomato, the freshest I had ever tasted and I took a moment to take in the rather lovely family restaurant feel of the place. I chatted in Italian (in rudimentary language of course, ably assisted by my phrasebook and an element of singing in Spanish which they seem to either understand or think is a dialect they SHOULD understand so just nod willingly)(maybe they just don;t want you to feel like an idiot) with the owner who suggested a couple of pasta dishes, one of which was taglioline in a pancetta and something (I think it was called heaven or puree of forbidden fruit or something) sauce. As a main I had a pancetta and bayleaf-wrapped fillet steak with oven potatoes and roasted tomatoes. Simple meal huh?

I was, until that day, a virgin of genuine Italian cuisine. I am glad to have waited to have my Italian pasta cherry picked at the ripe old age of 30, at a time in my life when I was best equipped to understand the marvel that meal would represent. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the main course as following the starter would be akin to following Michael Schumacher in the hot seat of a Ferrari F1 car (sorry Kimi). The main course, however, pulled a Lewis Hamilton out of the bag and was simply astounding. The steak, sourced from what must have been very happy, very satisfied cows, was cooked to absolute perfection and wrapped in delicious pancetta and bay leaves. The oven baked potatoes would literally melt in the mouth and the roasted tomatoes, well, simply tremendous.

Along with the chilled Lambrusco di Modena, it must come as no surprise that this meal actually had me trying to hatch an evil (well, not really very evil as such, but it woke you up!) for escaping my mortgage/job/life in Gibraltar and going to live in Italy! It was wonderful. The atmosphere. The food. The wine! And the price, the least important bit, 30 EUR per head! For the money I'd paid the Botafumeirans, I could have had my innocence taken three times!

My friends were right you know. The Italians do more than just fast, beautiful, exotic, pulse-racing cars better than anyone else. They are more than just football World Cup Champions and the nation that brought us the most successful F1 team in the history of the sport. They are the originators of some of the best food in the world and the Italian nation is, for all of the above reasons and despite their well-publicised and much maligned failings, far greater than the sum of its parts.

Now, where's that lottery ticket?

Only in America - Part 1

2007-06-21T17:11:00.000+02:00

While I'm hardly a hater of all things American like most English (actual or implied, direct or indirect)(there goes my lawyer streak again!) folk are, it would be wholly inaccurate to describe me as a devotee of the American cause. The title of this particular blog suggests that I anticipate the creation of a series of articles devoted to the American dream (or so they call it, but they are, of course, by implication, asleep all the time!) and such anticipation developed as I typed the first few words of this article and a whole list of Americanisms worthy of my time rushed to mind.

Motoring, food, eating out in particular, tipping, general IQ, build quality, harley davidsons and the American population's take on their effect on the environment are but a few matters which require my attention in due course. Today, thanks to an email from a good friend of mine with a very interesting article issued by the REUTERS news service (i'm going to great pains to correctly cite my source (damn you university education!)) I am duty bound to bring you my personal views on America's love of the autocar, or should I say, the truck...

This article in question set out the details of how two teenagers, armed with guns (note to self: dedicate an article to their hallowed right to bear arms, maybe in the context of the Virginia Tech Massacre...), approached a man in a place called Marietta, Georgia, stole his wallet and the keys to his Honda Accord. When they jumped in the car it would seem the first order of business was to tune the in-car entertainment system (in England, 'the radio') to their favourite station, maybe 'hook-up' their 'fly' mp3 player and 'bust some tunes out' to accompany their attempted grand theft auto. What is, after all, a heist like a Honda Accord without its accompanying soundtrack?

Key in the ignition, rev the engine (cue defendant No1 in marked american drawl "man this wimpy Japanese piece o'cr*p engine's quiet!"), GO! wait a sec. GO! How!?!! "We ain't goin' nowhere!""What's that pedal on the left of the brake doing there?!"

Yes indeed, it would seem our dastardly duo, the wannabe gone-in-sixty-seconds-type kind of criminals and their master-plan became undone, even when in possession of the keys to the object of their illegitimate desire and accompanied by some 'phat' tunes, by the car's own manual transmission. Their crowning moment of glory, the peak of their careers, the opportunity and the prize snatched from their very hands... by a clutch pedal.

The article explains what some people may not know and that is that on the other side of the pond the majority of cars are fitted with automatic transmission and therefore just two pedals. One to go. One to stop. Simple, easy, lazy. Yes, lazy. The prevalence of the automatic transmission in the US is very telling of the American way. The world's most popular car, the car which has sold the most units in the world, ever, isn't even a car! Its a truck! A pick-up truck. The Ford F-150. It is an American designed and built car for the masses which is cheap to buy and, until petrol prices started their skyward trend a while back, cheap to run.

The big lazy engines (V8s) put their torque (a lot of it) and power (not much of that) down to the road through the lazy automatic gearbox, driven by the big (invariably) and lazy (by implication) driver on his/her way to Walmart, McDonald's or (my own personal favourite) the Cheesecake factory. Your average American drives on some of the straighest roads in the world, and that's clear from how their cars react when you try and steer them away from the safety of the dead ahead. They simply go to pieces! On a straight road though, with that V8 and big "power" pedal, the American "muscle car" is a joy to drive. Show it a corner and it sways and rocks like your average 'crazy sausage' ride down at the beach, hopelessly trying to cope with sideways forces it just doesn't understand!

If I may be so bold, the American approach to motoring is much the same as its approach to their foreign policy. Shock and awe. Pure and simple. Driving in the States is so restricted by unrealistically low speed limits and an inability to grasp roundabouts that you soon learn after being there for a couple of days why everyone, to a man, consistently storms away from traffic lights like their hair is on fire. Every green light is an opportunity, albeit short lived, to explore the power on tap by putting pedal to the metal. 55mph is soon on the clock, off comes the throttle and you cruise for ten minutes, an hour, a day even, at the same, mind numbing speed, till you arrive where you're going.

So every trip has its moments of excitement, the beginning, the gathering of pace and the hope that everything is going to be fine, that you're going to get there faster than it usually takes. Then there's a stop sign. A junction. A light. And another stop sign. All that hope soon dissipates and you realise you're in for the long hard slog. You realise that no matter how hard you try, or how much brute force and bullying you throw at it, you're always going to take an hour to go 55 miles. The more you throw at it, the more frustrated you'll get. Wouldn't it surely just be best to accept the reality of life and the fact that however much you do, life is life and some things may never change? huh? wouldn't it?

Did someone mention American foreign policy?

The Convenience of Courtesy

2007-06-16T19:11:00.000+02:00

Today’s a better day. I’ve been gagging to take the Cooper out for a proper drive ever since I got it a few weeks ago and since it still has about 900kms to go on the god forsaken running in, I thought I’d take the opportunity and take it out this morning for breakfast in rather a nice place, Ronda, Malaga, Spain. I got up, far more easily than I do when there’s work to be done, at eight fifteen, had shower and completed the daily morning routine with haste and anticipation and at 08.40 was on the Spanish side of the border making my way to breakfast in Ronda.

Knowing as I do that there are some road-works going on in the area of La Estacion de San Roque, I took a recently discovered alternative route behind Sotogrande (I say…) towards Castellar and then continued on past Jimena, San Pablo de Buceite, Gaucin… and arrived at Ronda for ten in the morning, perfect timing for breakfast.

All the while I marvelled at how amazing this little car really is and how it’s got that ‘big car’ feel licked. Thank you BMW. Not bad for the Germans, a bit of fun and all that… It rode the so-so quality roads leading up to Jimena quite well and with little fuss. It was when I got past the frontier town that I came across one of the few pleasant surprises in store for me today. The road all the way practically to Ronda has been re-surfaced and armco put in place (mostly) in a really rather tasteful and rustic sort of way. The MINI loved the smooth surface, and the combination of early morning and the fact that it was rainy, foggy and generally miserable this morning meant that there was practically no-one out on the roads. No-one that is, except me, sporting the silliest grin from ear to ear. I started out gently coaxing the car round the corners, feeling out the grip on the new surface and patiently waiting for temperature to build in the tyres before starting to lean on them a little more. The master-plan was delayed because by the time I got comfortable, the fog made its appearance on the mountain!

In fog it’s far too easy to misjudge your speed given the reduced visibility and the sensation induced by the fog that you’re travelling much, much slower than you actually are. Hard as I was concentrating on keeping the car on the road and at a sensible pace, I found myself getting more and more carried away and by the time the fog cleared I was properly motoring. What might be worth noting at this point is that this kind of MINI adventure is only really any fun if you’re on your own in the car and, preferably, in the company of another keen driver (certainly not in faster machinery though (funny how that was never an issue in the BMW)) behind or in front of you. In fact, its almost invariably better to have them in front if they’re any good as it’s always easier to stalk the prey than to feel out the pace for yourself. If he’s too slow, you can slate your mate till the cows come home and, if it happens to be a thrilling, white-knuckle ride kind of experience trying to keep up with him you can still pretend it was ever so slightly boring when you’re having coffee later!

When I got to Ronda most of it was still asleep, of course, so I parked up, got out, stopped in the nearest bar and had breakfast, some nice mountain bread, just about toasted, with some tomato smeared on it and drenched in olive oil. To keep blood pressure in check, salt was, of course, added liberally. Eager to get back in the car two minutes after arriving, I forced myself to go for a short walk and popped over to the Convento de La Merced, home to a cloistered order of Carmelite nuns, who sell, from behind a revolving shelf partition, all manner of pastry and baked products. Since it was for a better cause than my diet will ever be, I splashed out on some goodies which will serve as evidence of my drive here for coffee in the days to come, not to mention a tasty treat at the beach!

I jumped in the car and headed back, San Pedro de Alcantara way. What fantastic roads these are, some of the favourites of the regional biking community and reason for the very visible and oh-so-effective (supposedly) Guardia Civil presence. I say supposedly because it really wasn’t very effective on me. As I stormed out of a corner from behind a lorry to overtake in a junction area (impatient, stupid etc.) I saw them in the corner of my eye and, more importantly, they too had seen me. I abandoned the manoeuvre, indicated to pull over and immediately indicated to the officer from afar my acknowledgment that it was a fair cop as I braced myself for the rightful slapped wrist headed my way.

The second surprise of the day was upon me. One of the most pleasant people in law enforcement I could have hoped to come across saluted and greeted me and asked me for documentation, all of which I had. Except one bit, the not so particularly important bit. My driver’s licence! The trip to Bologna struck again as my licence was in the passport I had used to travel there and had stayed at home since the trip. I contemplated running him through that sad story to provoke some kind of sympathy, but a general derision of the Spanish way was hardly going to help my cause.

I think it can only have been a combination of this officer’s good heart (I didn’t know the men in green had any of those) and my courtesy to him by being pleasant and cooperative (and sincerely petrified, let’s not forget) that made him see sense in just fining me EUR 105 (after the discount – questions in an SAE to usual address) and letting me be on my merry way! I am honestly surprised by how effective some courtesy in a difficult situation can prove. I was almost thankful to him for having stopped me and making me see the error of my ways. So I thanked him and drove away, much more slowly yet very satisfied about the whole thing! My pocket was EUR 105 lighter but hey, I was free!

So in all, a really good morning. It could have been the weather, or the fact that I was the embodiment of politeness and pleasantness. It could have been that the officer was contemplating a change of career and a life of religion devoted to Jesus at the exact moment I barrelled out of the corner towards him with a boot full of bakery products bought from a convent of cloistered nuns, a host of good causes to which my hard earned money would be going and God shone his light on me…

Then again, in this colour, with wheels like these, I don’t know, it could well have been… ‘the MINI effect!’

Contemplating the unthinkable

2007-06-14T18:32:00.000+02:00

After a long day at the office, there's a fair bit to think about tonight. I wonder if sleep will escape me.

My day began as I walked out of my front door and heard the sad news today of the passing of a colleague's wife, victim of cancer (they're getting younger) at the peak of 40 years of age... makes you stop and think doesn't it? The reality of life is that today you have everything and you're on top of the world. You gaze upon your domain and see that all is good. Then one day, tomorrow say, out of nowhere, the most insignificant and inconsequential graze or bump makes an appearance. A small mark, nothing really...

I cannot begin to understand what it must feel like to have the dreaded news of a positive diagnosis delivered to you. It surely can't be easy for the messenger but, as in all things professional, you see something often enough and it becomes automatic, inconsequential even. Like the banker who processes millions in payments every day. The lawyer who, depending on his level of success, sees clients released one day, locked up the next. A doctor's lot is, on a good day, an enviable one but on a bad day, it takes a special kind of someone to discharge such depressing responsibility.

So how does it go? How do they tell you? I feel I need to make clear the fact that this is neither morbid fascination nor some perverse pursuit of questionable grounding. This is curiosity reminiscent of my failure to grasp, when it came so close to me many years ago, how this part of life works. This is a frank and genuine inability to understand how such monumentally devastating, crippling, life-changing and life re-focussing news can be reduced to the simplest and almost inappreicable and trifling words, 'you have cancer.'

'You have mail,' - fine.
'You have issues,' - so what's new?
'You have a faulty boiler...' - well, charge me double the normal price and stiff me for the labour but i'll be damned, get me my hot water!

'You have cancer?...I beg your pardon, is that it? Simple as that?

It is an inescapable truth that the language we speak is beautiful in that it has, simultaneously, both the audacity and sensitivity to reduce, quite unapologetically and yet, so kindly, the personal catastrophe of a positive diagnosis into such inoffensive terms that it, at once, both presents the reality of the tragedy as a gross trivialisation and, thankfully, a remarkably less bitter pill to swallow.

As you arrive at the clinic, all thoughts on the latest project, your lunch, dinner, partner perhaps, nothing can stop you living your life how you choose. As you leave the same clinic, the world has been transformed, in a matter of mere seconds, into something you already had but now want so much more than before! Is it a feeling of heightened respect and love for your life, from one moment to the next, for something you already had all those five minutes ago and which you stilll have now? Only now, you can't take it for granted...?

I've always admired those who fight the fight and pull through such terrible times, people who are an inspiration to all those suffering from one disease or another. My admiration for this person was accentuated by the fact that she chose to talk about her struggles to try and help others in similar situations (God knows there's many) and further because of how calmly I understand she managed the last moments of her life. There can be no doubt that, when all is said and done, the death of the patient is the start of the family's healing process.

How noble then that, in bringing to an end the suffering of the afflicted individual and taking their life, it brings with it relief and healing to all those around. Pity really. If only it were noble enough to skip the pain and suffering and bring only joy and happiness...

F1 Safety - a job bloody well done!

2007-06-11T12:45:00.000+02:00

Thankfully, Lewis Hamilton's rookie win of a six race long F1 career, a mesmerising achievement and one which is putting the child Alonso in his place (I particularly enjoy watching him throw his toys out of the pram after this kind of result), will remained branded on the minds of F1 fans (and others) for a long time to come. That we won't soon forget what happened on the streets of Montreal yesterday is positive for at least one other reason: that Robert Kubica, the Polish BMW driver, is today born anew.

The truly horrific accident suffered by the driver at the restart of the race was gut-wrenching to watch. As the accident came to its sickening end, Kubica's head flailing about the cockpit, with one hand raised as if to say "nothing to see here!" or "its ok, i'm in a modern F1 car" the efforts of all those involved with the F1 safety lobby and the work of all those tasked with making the sport safer and safer, were repaid in full.

I was surprised about how affected I was by watching the accident and seeing that the driver didn't just undo his harness, pop out the steering wheel and jump out the car. It was a difficult moment to be honest. You'd think that your attachment to a sport, particularly considering how detached your involvement as a spectator is, could only go so far. You'd also think that, when something like that happens, you'd simply dismiss it as part of the sport you love. But think again.

Its difficult to explain why, as the driver lay in the car entirely motionless, I began to develop that feeling of dread of losing something close to you, something you hold dear. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that you're witnessing the moment when the loss may occur, however distant you may be. Yet I see/hear/read about all the killings as a result of bombings and other terrorist attacks all over the world, particularly Iraq, and the numbers simply don't faze me. It is sad but accurate to say that it happens so bloody much that we've become desensitized to it. But somehow, I was properly affected by what I saw yesterday.

It might be the passion for the sport (and not just the scarlet cars), watching one of the drivers in what is still a very dangerous sport, giving and risking everything for the sake of getting ahead of an opponent, a dogfight for the next corner and one place higher up the finishing order. Every point worth not just millions for a team in revenues in the subsequent year, but pride and success for the individual himself.

All things considered though, having seen Alonso comprehensively destroyed by his rookie team mate, now Championship leader, and seeing the so-called Champion being overtaken by the amazing Takuma Sato in, effectively, last year's Honda, I was glad for the end result. With one exception. Ferrari.

The disqualification and Kimi's inability to get on terms with the rest of the contenders is a source of much frustration. There's a long way to go for the end of the championship and if we keep our cool we can still take it... but we're going to have to work as hard as ever to challenge the scurrying silver cars!

Changing the BMW for a MINI - The Official Line

2007-06-03T19:48:00.000+02:00

The day before flying out to Bologna (we all know the unmitigated disaster that turned out to be) I sold (horror of horrors)(like its a surprise) my BMW 335i Coupe which I'd had for seven months and 14k kms. Upon my return from my own weekend of reckoning, I set about getting myself a brand new MINI Cooper.

Now whilst I understand that for the majority of readers this may sound like I finally lost it, it may well be the most sensible car decision I have made in my life so far. It is a sad coincidence then, I'm afraid, that such a sensible decision (on a personal level) should, simultaneously and to the rest of the world, make about as much sense as our friend George's take on Iraq and, most recently, the environment.

In an effort to make people understand the reasons why I've committed this apparent act of motoring lunacy I have tried, but to no avail, to come up with a series of explanations that I hoped would throw people off the scent so I wouldn't have to resort to the brutal honest truth of the situation. Amongst the list of gems concocted during the many sleepless nights I enjoy in anticipation of the arrival of the new toy, were the following:

1. It makes absolute financial sense to get shot of such an expensive car that only sits in its parking for most of the week and which I use only on weekends; (that's sort of ok)
2. Its TOO accomplished (how can I expect anyone to understand that?)
3. Its TOO fast (most people assume I'm on Class A hallucinogens from this point on)
4. Its not RAW enough (this has the peculiar effect of invoking the recollection and listing by the individual concerned of all the cars (and bikes) I've owned, followed inevitably by the very helpful 'why did you sell 'the blue Ford' then?' question!)

I bought the MINI because I enjoyed the BMW for as long as I had had it and was bored and it was time for a change cos I felt like it, really just as simple as all that. My passion is driving, its what I love. I always wanted a MINI, a car anyone who knows anything about a car describes as a go-kart, a car that's cheeky, a hoot to drive and entirely devoid of class association and, for the avoidance of doubt and in the abundance of caution, a car I WANTED, pure and simple.

So that's it, its out. If anyone asks, just direct them to the blog. Its what I plan to do.

Oh, and while I'm on a flyer, this weekend there was some kind of environment awareness day here in Gib, which I'm sure most of the ESG attended in their 4X4/SUVs. But shhhh, I never said that. Bloody hypocrits!

How ridiculous... me, the Petrolhead, even I'm driving a greener car than they are!

Tuscan Reflection

2007-05-28T15:29:00.000+02:00

My weekend break to Bologna was the result of the expedition of a long-held wish of travelling to Italy and, in particular, the supercar and Ferrari territory that is Maranello. This long and eagerly awaited trip to this very beautiful part of the world was prioritised and organsised, rather precipitously, in the last few weeks and on the basis of hardly the most honourable of causes.

Now, on my way home, sitting on yet another delayed plane (of course its Iberia!), I can reflect on a game played, and won of course, but not without noting a vague and general dissatisfaction with the basis of the whole experience.

It has to be said, before you think me totally insane (and on the basis of events on Saturday, I may well be), that although getting to Bologna turned out to be a complete fiasco, the fact that I had to cancel the two lunch and dinner reservations I had made at symbolic restaurants and that we only made it to our country house at nine thirty, the weekend was far from ruined.

The Lodole country house, just beyond Monzuno in Bologna was a real find. A 17th (?) Century country house, recently and lovingly restored was set in the hills of the beautiful tuscan valley. Upon arrival, our host informed me that she had very kindly made a reservation for us in the best restaurant in the nearby town of Loiano, Benvenuti! Bags dropped, we made for the restaurant in our Fiat Panda, parked right outside the restaurant in charming Loiano and had possibly the best meal of my life so far (full description upon request but only whilst eating, it would otherwise be unbearable). A bottle of Lambrusco later we returned to our room, bolstered and ready for the following day.

Sunday we head to Maranello, arrive finally at the place where the magic happens and it feels great. We have a lovely lunch watching a terribly boring race where Ferrari get trounced and yet, I'm still concerned I might never want to go home. Mclaren's decimation of Ferrari isn't enough, surprisingly, to put a dampener on my spirits. Ferrari going to be ok without Schumacher? Schumacher IS Ferrari... And I hope I'm wrong about that.

Head to Modena, lovely place, tutto chiuso cos its Sunday and then back to Monzuno for a shower and dinner in town at Trattoria Mulini. Had it not been for the pasta we'd ordered, I would have eaten just the crescentine, a regional specialty. My good God, how little I knew about eating well and about truly good food!

Back to today, and we're shortly to arrive at Madrid and so we're stretching and warming up for the 400m dash that is the catching of our connecting flight! Its been a great weekend, but short. Its been really bad at times, amazing at others. It has, however, also been perfect in one single way. It has been perfect in confirming what I suspected: that Italy is a truly phenomenal place. Once more will not be enough, and, if necessary, I'll run the gauntlet and fly Iberia again to get there.

Ciao Bologna, ci rivediamo!

Lastminute.com - hell no, not if the Spanish can help it!

2007-05-26T10:59:00.000+02:00

Useless! A word which, while instructive, falls far short of expressing the level of sheer apathy and complete disregard for customer service the Spanish nation (in fact, they don't even deserve my taking the time to capitalise the first letter of the name of their country) considers appropriate.

Today I'm not so much blogging as I am venting. I fear that if I don't vent like this, and I mean right now, I stand a good chance of developing some kind of bi-polar psychological disorder in later life, much in the way of Jim Carrey's character in 'Me, myself & Irene.' The spanish nation, ably represented this morning by Iberia airlines, is 100%, wholeheartedly, unremittingly, fundamentally and to its very core, incompetent and disinterested with it. They absolutely do not care in the slightest bit about the mild inconvenience of losing seven hours out of a two-day city break to Maranello Italy for an out of control Ferrari nut like yours truly.

It doesn't matter, does it, that you skipped sleeping to be at the airport on time at 5.00am. That a good friend also did the same to ferry me to the airport. Its perfectly ok, isn't it, for the airline to make my departure an hour and forty five minutes late, compromising my connection in such a way that I have to make like Linford Christie on steroids through the ugliest airport terminal Madrid has to offer,to the connecting flight only to find that '[sorry sir], the gate closed two minutes ago and we're unable to re-open it.' Words in square brackets mean, in the context of this post, that which should have been the first words spoken but which, of course, were beneath the very friendly staff at the capital's airport.

I now wait, fuming, to board my flight to Bologna. I know that I should rise above this, and, eventually will. Right now though, I question how they ever made it into the EU and how exactly they've come this far. Its certainly not been a matter of pride in what they do, dedication to the (s)panish cause. If I never see an Iberia plane or Spanish airport again, it'll be too soon.

Am I certifiable?

2007-05-23T11:49:00.000+02:00

For years now I've wondered what it takes to get admitted to a mental institution and and how close I may be manouevering the (red) 2-man raft I call my life, to that particularly unpleasant wind.

I say this because I am only too aware of how fickle, at times insanely so, I am when it comes to certain things in life, particularly cars. My relationship with cars over the years is something that I think warrants putting in writing and sharing with the world. I'm firmly of the belief that if by committing these matters to the world and saving at least one person, it will have been worth the self-flagellation this post will surely turn out to be.

So fickle am I however, that I'm sat here wondering how this post actually will end. Right now, in the time it takes me to press the right combination of keys in the correct sequence to complete this sentence, my opinion of how I should conclude this post has changed at least four times, such indecision rendering it that many times harder for me to formulate the sentence correctly! Although I'm pretty certain that to put myself out there like this, in writing, is a good idea, I am also, aware, right now, of the smallest, almost imperceptible foetus of a thought in the back of my mind that will probably militate in favour of this post actually not being a good idea. Watch this space...

When I returned home from my studies and got my first job making £10,000 a year, I borrowed £10,000 to buy my first car! I started as I meant to carry on. I made £700 a month and blew £200 of that on the finance, but boy was I a happy chappy. In October 2003, blinded by the excitement of a new job and a new house, it felt right to blow £15,700 (which of course I'd have to borrow) on a new car I had only momentarily been 'in love' with. It wasn't really love to be honest, that much I realised about two weeks after driving out of the dealership with it. It was more my fickle nature getting the better of me. My first car, now two years old, had developed its first fault and needed a new electric window motor. That was it! "Enough of the bloody faults with the bloody car (remember: first fault). Its unreliable and has to bloody go!"

So after screwing that up and landing myself in a family car, I resisted only for about six months before selling that on at a loss of about £3,000 and getting myself one of my genuine dream cars of the time, a car I've dedicated a post to as I sincerely believe it deserves that much attention. I eventually owned that car for four months short of three years, the longest I've owned a car. The ownership experience wasn't without its hardship but it was sufficiently amazing that I held on to it through thick and thin and managed to stave off my continual longing for other cars. There were always rock solid arguments to get rid of the RS and then rock solid arguments for keeping it AND buying a second car!

Finally in January, after a protracted marketing and sale process, I sold the car, for peanuts, to a monkey incidentally (if you accept peanuts, you'll inevitably be selling to a monkey) and blew a full and quite ridiculous amount of stupid money to buy the car I own now. Which I have just sold, I think, tomorrow, for a good price, maybe... My apologies to my dear partner and to all those of you who may know someone like me. Its not malicious, we really know not what we do...

Over the years, I've been trying to work out what the problem is, and I think I know what it is... but can't be bothered to type anymore so look out for my next post!

Scooter for a Helmet

2007-05-21T18:20:00.000+02:00

Browsing through my daily internet haunts, a list of which I'll shove on the end of this post for the sake of completeness, I allowed myself an indulgence and clicked through to the Ferraristore website. This is always a very bad idea. In fact, it ranks all the way up there with letting a woman drive the space shuttle, but I was feeling a bit frisky with the whole thing and decided to have a look.

The Ferraristore presents an amazing range of products, all of which are emblazoned in one way or another, whether subtly or in an Italian in your face kind of way, with the Cavallino Rampante, one of the world's most evocative symbols and Ferrari's logo since the early 1930s. Umbrellas, t-shirts, ties, caps and belts feature amongst memorabilia and components of championship winning cars auctioned through the website.

Stopping short of blowing almost $4,000 on a rear-wing endplate of the champion F2001 F1 contender, I stumbled rather happily across their sports accessories section where I found the most attractive helmet I have ever had the good fortune of laying my eyes upon.

A simple and elegant open face design in Ferrari's sexiest of red hues with an attack-helicopter spec wrap-around visor and a bold decal of an elongated italian flag on a white background along the centreline. Smaller yet just as delicious as the decal on the raw F360 Challenge Stradale and its soon to be launched but officially non-existent F430 CS successor.

So fantastic is this headgear that it brought about the resurfacing of an old (and by this I mean no more than three months) dilemma I recently got over. Whether to buy a full on bike, or a high end scooter. The argument had gone in favour of neither of the two as a project that a.) involved the spending of money I didn't have at the time; b.) didn't fancy borrowing; and c.) something more beyond my already risky approach to hobbies that might precipitate my premature, motoring induced demise.

The decision has now, however, made itself. I'm getting a scooter. After some research, a Gilera Nexus 250 to be precise. In red, with the red helmet. OR, it could be in black with the equivalently coloured fashion accessory doubling up as protective headgear. Now all I have to do is to try and sell my car, again, and then campaign and persuade those who need campaigning and persuading but shall remain nameless, that being 100% debt free would simply be too boring.

Mind you, I'm going to have to spend alot of money on the bike to get it sounding anything like the Challenge Stradale the helmet reminds you of, and if it ever sounds like that, i'm not going to be very popular on the estate in the mornings!

Daily internet haunts:

www.itv-f1.com

www.planetf1.com

www.f1.com

www.telecinco.es (for a laugh) (I love Lewis Hamilton for putting Alonso in his place)

www.hotmail.com

www.gmail.com

www.yahoo.com another email)(don't be fooled, i'm not that popular, I never have new mail)

www.ferrari.com

www.blogger.com (recent addition)

news.bbc.co.uk

http://selwyn.figueras.googlepages.com/ (this is just a test site with little on it)

www.e90post.com

Anti Money laundering seminars - god help us

2007-05-18T12:31:00.000+02:00

This now being my first proper blog entry, I thought I'd grace it with an air of importance, severity and seriousness.

I was at a seminar this morning being addressed by a guy who had been a career money launderer for about ten years to 1990. He told us all about how he had become involved with drugs traffickers in Miami and how he had decided that he would become their money launderer. He told a fantastic tale of how they'd board Lear jets and fly out to Anguila and deposit large suitcases of money into accounts with banks on the remote carribbean island. The ten years he spent doing this were good years but he was eventually apprehended and sentenced to 25 years in prison, hardly a joke. Having served about 6 months of his sentence he was approached by law enforcement agencies to assist in a joint Swiss-American operation targeting money launderers on both sides of the pond. For collaborating, his term was reduced from 25 to 2 years.

It was amazing to hear him talk of these things as someone with real experience of being on the wrong side of the law and particularly as someone who is now making (I imagine) a fair bit of money talking internationally about all the illegal transactions he organised and conducted himself!

Unfortunately for me, this post turned out a whole lot less interesting than I thought it would and if that's how I'm feeling, I shudder to think of the effect it may have had on anyone reading it. I think that's where I'll leave that one.

Introduction to blogging

2007-05-17T16:14:00.000+02:00

Well, this is it, my first blog ever. My first foray into writing for the sake of writing, keeping a record of my life from this point on and making it available to the public at large. Mind you, at this time, i'm pretty sure very few people are actually going to be interested in anything i may have to say. I've also got to say that this first line is coming out really easily! I suppose this might just be the very outlet i may have been looking for for some time.

I like (love, maybe?) to write and do alot of it for a living. I'm a lawyer you see, and one that will not (for the time being anyway) get to see the inside of a courtroom, something i really enjoy. That is, of course, unless something goes horribly wrong or impatience gets the better of me and i rob a bank to buy my Ferrari.

So i suppose that for my first blog i should really set out who i am, what i do, what tickles me, what i'm passionate about, my dreams, my ambitions, etc. But i'm not going to. I'll do that when i'm inspired.

Watch this space, or not. Whatever floats your boat.