Tuesday, 31 July 2007

Thank Heavens I Know my Cows

I went on some training last week - proper training - up town, costs money, lunch included sort of thing. You know when it's a quality do, as there'll be people from the west midlands with those little cases on wheels worrying whether their spouse will be alright getting his own tea. Never a thought for those of us without spouses who regularly solo cater. But I digress. The training rooms were all named after cows and we were doing Process Mapping in Friesian. Now there was a tricky moment when Janine from Dundee nearly ended up in Holstein after a short mid afternoon comfort break. Luckily I managed to steer her clear and thanked Dolly that now I'm an Archers regular bovine breeding is second nature.

Well we didn’t get to Blenheim; apparently it was the wrong sort of flooding on the line. I mean we could have got there, but it was decided that the extra layers of titting about which would be required, when Blenheim would probably be there for another few hundred years, and this was perhaps the last dry sunny day we were ever going to see in London, were not worth the bother. So we agreed to head to Woodstock another time, and promptly went in search of disabled pigeons. Ok so we didn’t exactly go in search of disabled pigeons, but it was very hard to avoid them, flap flap, hobble hobble, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Apparently it wasn’t the first sighting of a disabled pigeon that day, so they are obviously endemic. I wonder who you write to about pigeons.

I’m not sure whether as a disabled pigeon you get any enhanced benefits or access to VAT free cars you can sell on. Probably be worth looking into though. I have recently noticed that I have one leg slightly longer than the other, so am considering registering disabled myself. In the olden days I’d have been able to go to the post office to get the appropriate form, but I probably have to go to the benefits agency now and be seen by an assessor. It’s political correctness gone mad if you ask me. I could look in Wicks though – they seem to have a good selection of self help leaflets just as you enter the main entrance – on the right. How to tile a bathroom, how to rewire a ring main, how to hose down a talkative neighbour, how to claim disability living allowance.

So in lieu of Churchill’s ancestral we had a great day wandering around London, punctuated with a splattering of coffee and Culture. Though we did have difficulty locating compeed blister plasters in WC1, but I think that is perhaps for another time.

First stop the British museum, where you’re not allowed to sit on the stairs, but Spanish men are allowed to wear canary yellow leisure slacks without security even batting an eyelid. We learnt all about transcribing hieroglyphics via the Rosetta stone and I gave a brief talk on the use of the scarab beetle during the process of mummification and its afterlife ramifications. (I think that must have been Ramifications the 3rd)

We then headed to Drummond St for an excellent, but reportedly not up to the usual standard, buffet lunch at Diwana. For dessert I stuck my fingers in my ears and hoped for the ground to open whilst my fellow diners gave the manager some useful tips about how to improve the service on offer during a busy lunchtime buffet serving period stylee sort of thing. It wasn’t quite as bad as dad clicking his fingers in the Ashoka, but it wasn’t good.

After a few deep breaths and group counselling we perambulated onwards to Euston Road on the pretext of finding both a Boots and a bus to Holborn only to be drawn into the Welcome Institute and their ‘Time Out Recommended’ Heart exhibition.

Now did you know that the hummingbird’s heart beats at 1220 bpm whereas the elephant is far more sedentary coming in at 25 bpm. I think Hazel Dean 12 inches used to be about 140! There was loads of great imagery and history, information on the development of our knowledge over the centuries and the break throughs this had allowed. All washed down with a lovely film all about open heart surgery. We were particularly taken with the ribs being sawn through and the cauterising, Lets just leave it at that shall we. In the welcome institute's defence they do have a lovely coffee and book shop and general 10 out of 10 customer facilities ambiance.

In other news – I have let my beard grow a little longer than normal and it has prompted a host of people (over 2) to tell me how slim I look. So instead of snacking on a block of cheese as you wander around Catford, can I suggest the new trend in slimming aids – Beard Growth – no calories, no wrapper to dispose of, and no added risk of colon cancer or coronary heart disease. You see the simple old fashioned approaches to good health and body disfiguremorphism can never be beaten.

All the best from the West,



Turning Into My Dad said...

You're fast becoming the Samuel Pepys de nos jours. Re the disabled pigeons, fat chance re the benefits, as Dear Ken hates them more than he hates the rest of us. I'm with him on that - the pigeons that is. We're all against it (them).

Dan said...

I always found the pigeons an absolute joy. If Red Ken were to get rid of them it would be like the tower without the ravens! Beefeaters too!!

Viles disease is overated anyway - oh no, that's rats isn't it.

Did I tell you about the time I owned the Swan hotel in Stratford?

On Mother Kelly's doorstep...................