write.as/jonbeckett

It’s lunchtime at work, and I’m forcing myself to take a break. On a given day I sit here for hours – sometimes not leaving the chair all day, and then wondering why my legs are stiff when I get up to go home. Of course I cycle to work, so I’m not completely unfit, but I really should do something more. Years ago, I used to go running a couple of times a week – maybe I should try and make time for it once more. It’s all about forming habits really – getting into a routine.

Most of the schools around here finally wind down for summer today. It’s been noticeable on the roads – a lot of families have already left for their summer vacations. On the way home last night I would normally face numerous idiots either driving me off the road, cutting me up, or pretending I don’t exist in their military grade 4x4 child ferrying monstrosities. Last night I saw nobody at all for the last mile towards home – no cars, no people – nobody. I imagine they have all gone to the mediterranean, and are busy uploading a steady stream of showing off to Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

One of my co-workers has just come back off holiday. While in a market in Italy, a Romanian boy sold him a packet of “Halva”, that he brought it for us to try. It’s kind of like sugary chipboard, mixed with wood shavings out of a hamster’s cage. I might have to get a hot drink to take the taste away.

In other news, I played the age-old game of “stay up late to avoid tomorrow” last night. Normally this would only result in me losing the game, and stumbling around like one of the undead this morning (both of which happened). The unexpected result was falling into a conversation with somebody I’ve half-followed on Tumblr for years, and realising that we followed each other way back in the mists of time. She pulled a photo from somewhere, and suddenly there was a face I hadn’t seen for perhaps ten years peering back at me. It got me thinking – about how we are all strangers, but somehow throw ourselves into the same melting pot as each other when we post to blogs, share photos, or whatever else.

Anyway. I really do need to go make a drink, before the Halva turns into quick drying cement inside me.

I’m back drinking coffee again. Or at least, I am this morning. I had a cup yesterday too. Before you roll your eyes, and say “I knew you wouldn’t last”, it’s been over a month. I’m not returning to four or five cups a day, because that’s ridiculous (and was ridiculous). Maybe just a cup now and again, because I like coffee.

In other news, I’m sitting at work, avoiding getting on with something I know I should be getting on with. Story of my life. The huge project I’ve been working on since February continues apace – and it still looks very much like a vertical climb. It doesn’t help that I’m working on it single handed, so if I drop the ball, the entire project falls to the floor. Not fun, especially with the entire workforce of a significant company starting to use the stuff I’ve been inventing.

Urgh.

It’s heading towards 11am, and I still haven’t done much besides plan what I’m going to do this week, file timesheets for the last few weeks, and drink the coffee I already mentioned. Where does the time go ? Is this a case of the Mondays? Probably.

When I came downstairs this morning I looked in on Miss 17 and reminded her that I had bought a subscription to “Crunchyroll” yesterday, which appeared to be enough to eject her out of bed. If you’ve never seen it, Crunchyroll is a streaming TV service that plays Anime. The younger children seemed pretty excited too – until they realised the shows are all subtitled – they can’t read fast enough to keep up. She got up pretty damn quickly, and I half expected to find her wiping sleep from here eyes in the lounge – instead I found her looking in the mirror in the hallway.

“Are you okay?”

She mumbled. I got concerned, dropped what I was doing, and wandered over to her.

“Is there something wrong?”

“I cut my hair…”

I didn’t quite know how to react. I think she was scared to death. She had cut about a foot off it – cutting it to just above her shoulders. I have to say – she had done a remarkably good job, because I didn’t even notice. I went and pre-warned my other half, who I think expected a hatchet job by her immediate reaction.

“Please don’t have a go at her – she’s scared to death that you will react badly”.

I think my other half was impressed too. We’re still going to invite a professional hair-dressing friend over to finish her hair off though – to cut some layers into it, and give it some shape. It could have been SO much worse.

The rest of the day has been a typical Sunday – my other half has gone out, and I’ve been lumped with washing clothes, tidying up, putting things away, and finding something to feed the endlessly hungry children. If Miss 13 walks in one more time and announces “I’m hungry” before looking for something to eat, I think I might explode.

You know how you head into the weekend sometimes, and you have plans to do so many things – things for yourself – time to yourself. And then the weekend arrives, and all those ideas get blown away by a gust of wind. Yeah. That.

I spent the majority of today taking my youngest daughter to a pool party. This required a bus ride, a walk, a train ride, and a further walk. In both directions. I suppose the saving grace of the day was that I hid in a pub for three hours while Miss 13 was at the pool party, and purposely switched off from everybody and everything.

The pub was decidedly strange – perhaps half a mile out of town, and gargantuan. I found a table with an umbrella in the back garden, and lost myself in my book rather more easily than I thought I might. I also bought a burger and some fries from the “Barbecue Shack” within the garden, and somehow made two pints of cider vanish.

Returning to the party, there was the awkward meet-up with fellow parents to get through. I had the feeling that some of them had stayed throughout the party – making conversation with each other. By the time I arrived, all pretences at being affable and charming had gone – they were standing in different corners of the garden next to the pool in silence. It was very, very odd.

I suppose it doesn’t help that I will talk to anybody about anything – so I breezed in, and struck up conversation with people even if they didn’t necessarily want it. Kind of an optimistic idiot.

After extracating Miss 13 from the pool in the party-host’s back garden (which took some time, and finally a raised voice), we walked back to the railway station, and I listened intently as a week’s worth of teenage drama was downloaded in my general direction. I pretended to listen, and said encouraging things from time to time.

We bought food for everybody on the way home – my other half is still at a music festival with her brother this evening – and chilled out together, watching movies, eating rubbish, and doing nothing for the rest of the evening. We started watchin “Akira”, until it became obvious that Miss 13 might have nightmares as a result.

Oh – I let my middle daughter play Halo tonight – the X-Box game. I picked up a copy of it from a bargain bin on the way home this evening. You have never seen anybody so excited in your entire life. I just hope she doesn’t wake up screaming about aliens invading now.

I’m at home today. I’ve been suffering with balance problems all week, and they seem to be linked with tiredness. I admitted defeat this morning, and decided to stay at home – probably the first day off sick all year. I foresee a day spent washing clothes, and reading books – and maybe posting to the blog.

I’ve been thinking about online friendships recently – about how distant they have all become. Once upon a time I would check in with friends regularly – using email, instant messaging, commenting on blogs, and so on. Slowly but surely, all of those distant friendships seem to be disappearing. I’m not sure if I’m the architect of their demise, or if they are – I just know that if I don’t make the effort, many of those friendships seem to ebb away.

I keep coming back to “The Celestine Prophecy” in my head – a book I read perhaps twenty years ago, about the transfer of energy between people. It described some people as constructing a “drama” – a means to attract others in order to feed off their energy. I see it going on all the time on the social internet, and wonder if anybody else also notices.

Anyway. I should probably go make a drink and find somewhere quiet to sit with my book.

We spent the greater part of yesterday evening sitting in a packed auditorium at the big school in town – watching a local celebrity hand out awards to students throughout the school. Of course our main reason for being there was to watch Miss 14 receive an award for her cooking exploits. A local celebrity spent his evening handing over awards, before making a speech to the children present about hard work, and perseverance.

After the official part of the awards evening finished, we made our way through to the sixth form common rooms, where food and drinks had been laid on, and spent perhaps an hour chatting with teachers and parents – and hiding from parents we really didn’t want to happen upon.

I even got to spend a few minutes talking to the local celebrity (I’m not going to name him, but I will say he won Strictly, and starred in a well known hospital drama on the BBC for several years). It was pretty amusing really – my other half really only knows him as the Dad of one of the children at the school where she works – and it struck me while making conversation how awkward social interaction must be for well known actors – because invariably the people they meet know quite a lot about them on the way into the conversation. I wonder if they have to try and figure out if somebody knows their work, or they just presume nobody does?

Anyway – we finally got home late in the evening, put the kids to bed, and chilled out for a bit. While wandering between rooms doing this and that, I happened to look in on Miss 17, and discovered her crouched in the corner of her room, staring at her phone.

“What’s wrong!?”

Over the course of the next hour, a story of jealousy, nastiness, revenge, and retribution unfolded. The person Miss 17 had ended a relationship with a few weeks previously had been trying to gain her attention via Snapchat. I helped end the conversation – suggesting that instead of showing any anger, responding with a simple “Goodbye”, and then not responding would be the best course of action. If nothing else, it would take the high ground, and expose further attempts to start a fight as the desperate attempts to seek attention that they almost certainly were.

We didn’t expect what happened next. Suddenly my daughter’s snapchat account was posting horrific messages to her friends. It turned out this same person had the login details for her account. I can imagine why – it comes straight out of the controlling/manipulating playbook, doesn’t it – it must have been extorted at some point during their relationship.

Over the next few minutes I helped lock down all of her social media accounts – changing passwords, switching on two factor authentication, and so on. Then we set about apologising to her friends, and explaining what had happened.

How or why does somebody do something like that though? How can somebody be so self obsessed and blinkered that they don’t imagine their actions will be immediately exposed? It left me kind of dumbfounded.

Apologies for the ridiculous title to this post. Or rather, no apologies what so ever. The last two days have been filled from top to bottom by work stuff. I thought it was going to be a slow, careful, methodical week, but no – instead it’s been chaotic, and never ending.

Never-ending is a funny term, isn’t it – because obviously all things have an end. Nothing is really “never ending”. I’m sitting here grinning, with the phrase “this is going to take forever” bouncing around my head.

I got my hair cut yesterday morning! I completely forgot about it. Usually a blog post gets written about the riveting conversation with the lady cutting my hair, but like I said – work kind of stomped on that. Miss 17 noticed my hair was different this evening – not entirely sure what planet she was on yesterday. As I left the dinner table earlier she suddenly remarked “have you had your hair cut?!” (after sitting next to me for twenty minutes).

What else has been going on? Oh – I finally watched the last episode of Westworld. I guess this means I can cancel the Now TV subscription until next year when another season arrives. I better check first – I think somebody had started watching House from season one again.

Oh – one more thing – I wiped the old computer in the study inbetween doing chores on Saturday. It has Windows 10 back on it, purely so the rest of the family can easily use it.

My word this was a boring post. I’ll try to come up with something a little better soon.

The weekend. Where to start? I suppose literary history tends to point towards “starting at the beginning”, so that’s what I’ll do.

After doing various chores throughout the day on Saturday, I stayed over at my mother-in-laws on Saturday night with Miss 17 – ahead of a train journey to Gloucestershire on Sunday morning to visit the “Royal International Air Tattoo” at RAF Fairford. She had never been to an air-show before, or even stood next to a real aircraft before, so it was all completely new to her.

After perhaps half an hour on a shuttle bus from Swindon bus station, we arrived on the airfield just as the first display of the day started – with an F-16 ripping through the sky overhead. I’ve never seen such a wide grin on my daughter’s face. She almost ran towards the runway, and kept saying “OH MY GOD!” over and over again. I had tried to tell her that you can “feel” fighter jets when they pass close by, but until you really do feel it, it’s hard to explain.

Through blind luck, we chose perhaps the hottest day of the year to visit the air show, and fought to take on enough water throughout the day. We also of course bought colossal amounts of cider, and perhaps the most expensive ice creams in the known universe.

Walking around the static aircraft displays, I pointed out the number of female pilots talking to the crowd in front of the various aircraft – both transport and combat aircraft. I don’t think it had occurred to my daughter that this might be a career opportunity – to perhaps travel the world and see something of it while being paid to do so.

For those interested in aircraft out there, we saw a LOT of stuff. Among the static displays (from memory), there was a collection of first and second world war aircraft – among them a beautiful Hawker Fury, and a Mk V Spitfire. There were all manner of transport aircraft from all over the world – Airbus A400s, Hercules, Boeing C-17s, and even an E3-Sentry (AWACS). Among the fighter and bomber aircraft there were all manner of Eurofighter Typhoons, F-16s, F-15s, Tornados, Saab Gripens, a B1-B, and a number of UAVs too (including the new Boeing UAV that’s been undergoing carrier trials in the US). I found out from a friend that a UAV had performed the first trans-atlantic flight before the show, and was parked somewhere on the base – I imagine on display in one of the corporate areas (Lockheed Martin had assembled a gigantic temporary building).

Among the displays in the air, we saw the Spanish, Italian, and British air force display teams, along with a number of historic aircraft, and of course the fighter jets – F16s from several countries, Typhoons from several countries, and the new F-35 made a number of appearances during the day – both the USAF version, and the British version, which hovered in front of the grandstands and caused everybody to put their hands over their ears.

As the afternoon wore on we both got tired, and agreed to see the Red Arrows (the RAF display team) before heading home. I bought a programme while at the show, and Miss 17 read it for most of the way home – I’m not sure how much she might continue to think about it, but if it’s opened her eyes to a wider world, I’m quietly pleased.

Getting home was something of an adventure in itself – caused by half the train crews in the country taking the day off for the world cup final. There were cancellations everywhere – our expected two hour journey home took nearly four hours. We got home though – and perhaps that’s the most important thing.

I’m still not entirely sure how we didn’t both get badly sunburned. We took some factor 30 sunblock with us, and used it throughout the day – but it ran out mid-afternoon. I’m also not entirely sure how we didn’t get drunk – we both drank quite a lot. Maybe the heat caused our bodies to ignore the alcohol in the cider, and just use the water up.

I posted a few photos to Instagram on the way home, and have several hundred squirreled away on my phone, and camera. Miss 17 took hundreds too. I imagine we will upload them to somewhere on the internet when we get a proper chance.

p.s. I’m SO tired today.

I got up ridiculously early yesterday – or rather, I tried to get up. You know the room spinning feeling when you go to bed after a night out? It felt like that. I staggered towards the bathroom to have a shower, and wondered what the hell was going on. I’ve had it happen in the past – fleetingly – but it usually goes away. It wasn’t this time.

After somehow getting breakfast in the hotel without falling over, I went for a long walk around Frankfurt – along the river, into the Rommerberg, and through back-streets into the city, and then back. I thought I might be getting a bit better, but still felt really odd. I know it’s to do with crystals forming in your ear, disrupting the fluid that governs your balance. I have no idea what causes them to form – but I do know there’s a procedure that doctors can perform to put it right. Of course I don’t know what that procedure is (and have a feeling it requires an inclined table).

After packing my bags, and checking out of the hotel I walked to the train station, dragging my bag behind me. The bag belonged to my other half before I met her – I dread to think how many thousands of miles it has travelled around the world either with both of us, or just myself on various business trips. It’s almost certainly been to America, Turkey, Tunisia, Spain, France (several times), and Germany (many, many times).

Perhaps an hour later I made it to the airport, and through the oddly empty queue for security. While sitting in the departure lounge, I noticed something of a panic going on at the next gate – an Iranian aircraft was being surrounded by fire engines at quite some speed, followed by firemen in full breathing apparatus. The fire engines – perhaps five or six of them – formed an arm around the aircraft, all aiming their hoses in it’s direction. I watched all of this unfolding for several minutes before anybody else seemed to notice. It made me wonder how much some people notice about the world around them – it was almost more interesting to watch the reactions of passengers in the terminal building, than events unfolding outside. People ran to the window, retrieving phones from their pockets to take photos.

I imagine there was nothing more wrong than an aircraft leaking fuel, but I did wonder about the stupidity of those standing against the glass watching – what if the fuel had ignited, with a sizeable aircraft full of fuel above it? I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to be standing behind a glass window that would almost certainly have been blown in.

A few minutes later a very calm voice announced over the public address system “this is a change of gate announement for passengers waiting for flight LH906 to London Heathrow – flight LH906 will now leave from gate B43, directly opposite.”

Thankfully the rest of the journey home was remarkably unremarkable. After landing at Heathrow, I walked straight through border control without a queue, picked my bag up, and set off in the direction of the London Express trains. For those that have not made the journey from Heathrow to London, there is about a mile walk underground along various tunnels to reach the train station that then takes you directly to Paddington Station, on the western side of the city. It goes without saying that London has many railway stations, and several airports – Paddington serves all the main lines into the south west – I think there are 14 platforms in all (above ground) – taking you to Reading, Bristol, Banbury, Oxford, Plymouth, Liskeard, and even as far as Lands End.

At Paddington I had three quarters of an hour to kill, so set off in search of something to eat. After buying a sandwich and a drink I sat quietly at a table, watching the world go by. This consisted mostly of watching a hipster Harry Styles lookalike walk up and down, talking about “his Facebook”, and “his Twitter” on his mobile phone. He amused me greatly, and left me wondering where I find my own instance of Facebook, or Twitter.

After two connecting trains (that connected – wonders never cease), and a ten minute walk, I arrived home, dropped my bags, and started throwing rubbish away, tidying up, and washing up. My other half lost the plot with me immediately. Ten minutes later I found myself walking into town with Miss 13 to buy food for dinner.

I won’t talk about the hour spent washing up after dinner either.

I will make mention of the movie we watched yesterday evening though – picked somewhat at random while dinner was cooking – “I Kill Giants”. I’m not going to ruin the plot for you, but it reminded me a lot of “Bridge to Terebithia”, and was just as powerful emotionally at the end. Definitely worth a watch if you want something a bit different that requires some thought.

Today is all about washing clothes – loading the washing machine again, and again, and again.

Oh – final thing – I finished reading “Sleeping Giants” on the way home from Germany. It’s a strange book – uneven in parts. I loved the first half of the story, but struggled to stay with the second half. I think part of that is based in the way it is written, but part of it might be that the author changed their mind about the direction of the story. I’m only guessing of course. I have the sequel sitting on my desk, so will let you know how it goes.

The alarm on my work phone woke me with a start at 6am this morning, right in the middle of a dream that seemed significant at the time, but is now completely forgotten. I stared at the wall for five or ten minutes before finally scraping myself out of bed, and stumbling off in the direction of the shower.

I’m going to miss the hotel shower when I return home. The hotel shower reaches it’s requested temperature instantaneously, and seems to provide enough water pressure to put out a fire thirty yards away – or at least it would if I dared turn the tap any further than I have so far. The shower at home is more of an exercise in blind luck, and unpredictable torture – often decorated with the hair of several teenage daughters.

Anyway!

After another morning working flat-out in an imposing conference room, with everything I did presented to the assembled clients on a huge flat screen, we eventually left for lunch – and for the first time during these visits to Germany, I was invited out.

I really didn’t know what to expect as we walked from office to office, picking up people along our way. By the time we sat down for dinner we had assembled myself, two people from Romania, a lady from Portugal (or Japan – her history seemed complicated), a lady from Italy, and a lady from Austria. Thankfully everybody spoke English, otherwise it would have been a very quiet meal. I still can’t get over that so many of the people here speak three, if not four languages.

Lunchtime was a lesson in knowing your way around – we turned two corners from the hotel where I have been staying, and sat at a table in the street of a Persian restaurant. During all these visits to Germany, this restaurant had been hiding in a suburban back-street, half as far away as the supermarket I so often walk to. An elderly Iranian man came out and conversed with us in both German, and English – matching menus against people as required. He need not really have bothered, because I put my trust in the lady I have been working with, and she ordered for me. The chicken and rice dish that arrived perhaps fifteen minutes later was wonderful.

I couldn’t help but ask questions about each person’s experiences in Germany while we ate lunch – none of us were German after all. It seemed none of the people present really thought of their country of origin as “home” any more – they had all lived in so many countries that the notion of “home” had ebbed away somewhat. Of course they still joked about the cultural touchstones that so many of us know – especially the Romanian guys, who played off each other with barbed comments that made us all laugh until our faces hurt.

No sooner had we finished our meals, then it was time to return to the office, and the afternoon whistled past in a blur of further development work on the big screen. Shaking hands, and saying goodbye at the end of the day – and the end of this visit felt different this time – like a bond has been forged. Although we have worked together for six months now, today seemed like the first time everybody let their guard down.

We won’t talk about the huge quantities of chocolates the Austrian lady kept delivering to the conference room table as I worked.

After arriving back at the hotel, folding up my work clothes, and packing my bags ready to travel in the morning, I thought “what the hell”, picked up my wallet and phone, and set off along the riverside in the sunshine. I let my feet take me on a bit of a journey first to the southern side of the city, and then back into the heart of the city in search of somewhere to eat dinner.

Just as I was beginning to give up on finding anywhere vaguely “normal”, I turned a corner and remembered a bar I had passed several times before – a faux Americana restaurant called “Chicago Meatpackers”, near Willy Brandt Platz. Everything about it was wonderful – from the offbeat decor, to the friendly staff, and the fantastic food. After ordering a burger, some fries, and a tall beer, I made mental note to leave the hotel a little more often. Yes, I’m often wiped out when I leave the office at the end of the day, but how much effort does it really take to make the fifteen minute walk into the city, and sit in a friendly, relaxed bar, where you can get something hearty to eat, sit back, and relax ?

Of course there is a flipside to sitting in restaurants that I have alluded to before. When I travel with work, I’m almost invariably on my own. Sitting in a busy bar on your own, while surrounded by groups of friends, co-workers, and families out for the evening is kind of soul destroying. While sitting in the American restaurant this evening, I had a huge attack of the lonelies. Of course it passes, but it’s not fun.

While finishing my drink, a single American guy came in, and propped himself at the bar, ordering a drink and some food. I didn’t catch all of his conversation, but it amused me – the barman appeared to be teaching him that the beer could be bought in different sized glasses – showing each of the glasses to him. I remember the same demonstration taking place when I first visited, a couple of years ago.