(in case this news has not made it into the headlines of the ArkLaTex -- perhaps not being as unusual as a shooting in Shreveport, as shocking as a drug deal in Doyline, or as thrilling as the Poke Salad Festival in Blanchard [hey, guess what we're gonna do for Daddy's birthday this year! yeeeee haw!] -- there has been a little kerfuffle in UK air transport since the dramatic opening of Heathrow's new terminal. The one called '5'. It had nothing to do with Naomi, but that child needs to get her temper under control.
On the first day of opening, Thursday 28 March , something happened with employees not being able to get to their work stations from the car parks -- dozens of flights were cancelled. Baggage systems, computer systems, common sense have been failing at a rapid pace ever since. Flights have been cancelled every day subsequent, leading to more than 15,000 lost bags by Sunday 31 March, in addition to the 54 + 12 = 66 flights scheduled for that day cancelled as well. By 2 April, there were 19,000 lost bags.
The extremely humourous thing that follows here is that some bright spark decided that the solution to this mammoth baggage problem was... to... wait for it -- FLY all the unsorted luggage to MILAN to sort it out and then return to the owners. Pardonez moi? Now [and this is going to be extremely nationalistically prejudiced], I love the Milanese persons whom I have met and lived with; I have no problem with them being in charge of assisting the world with attire, shoes, or coffee. But organising things? For the country whose people's perfected contribution is looking supreme whilst zipping around on their Vespas and casually 'Ciao!'-ing everyone they need to impress... Personally, I think this would have been much better hired out to the Germans :)
Just 42 minutes ago, The Press Association reports more computerised baggage system problems today, although only 7 BA flights have been cancelled for today.)
... Anyhoo, that was a tangent and a half. Much more than my usual singular tangent.
Last night was the First Friday Five, which is the Norwich and Norfolk CAMRA group's investigation of 5 'real ale' pubs at the beginning of each month. The group stays at each pub for approximately 40 minutes. It is quite important to keep up with these things, you know. Life is nothing if not a learning experience.
The walk started at The Coach and Horses, on Bethel Street. This is a lovely place, with loads more room than many other pubs. It is also a restaurant and appears to cater to the theatre crowd. It was clean and tidy, with a fairly stocked games area for kids and easily amused adults; however, one might think that if you, as the owner or manager of a pub, expected a significant turnout from the Real Ale Geek Squad, you might attempt to have more than 2 of your 4 handpumps actually have something to pull from (the route is published in a magazine ahead of time, so... duh). Since the purpose of the 'real ale' club is not to drink beers dispensed on gas (of which they had rather a larger selection), I had Old Speckled Hen.
Since E and i are relatively new to the group, we don't have the buddy build-up at the beginning yet, so we stood off in a doorway and talked amongst ourselves, until it was almost time to move on. Then a nice guy came over to us and said, 'Are you here to be with us?' to which the reply was affirmative, and we all moved on in a sociable group.
E says the actual subtext was kind of like this:
Guy: 'Hi. Are you two wierd?'
E: 'Yes. Yes, we are.'
Guy: 'Okay! Let's be friends!'
Our next stop was Bar Marzano, in the Forum. This is where I go to knitting a) when I go to knitting and b) when the people from knitting actually sit with me if I am there early instead of going off and making a whole 'nother group, which ever so slightly rankles...
This was not terribly exciting and there are no pictures. I had an Aspall's Cider -- this is looovely!Next, there was a bit o' confusion, since the next pub on the list hasn't actually re-opened yet (see, the windows are still shoe-polished out). The Vine is reportedly the smallest pub in Norwich and vies for 'Smallest Pub in Britain' with The Nutshell in Bury-St-Edmunds.
Some people went to The Garnet Wolsey, but the afficionados we were
with refused to go in as pints were £3.25 (an outrage). So, this motely crew went to The Walnut Shades. When I walked in, I swore I was in either Austin or Kilgore.Most of the signs on the walls are from the US; there is a Florida license plate. There are neon beer signs. And there was jukebox-type music. There is some guy playing next week who calls himself Texas THUNDER. Hmmmmm.
I did not have a Coors, but a Straw Dog.
From here, it was the home stretch. Literally, since St. Andrew's is on the way to my cosy abode :)
St. Andrew's was where we got to talkin' 'bout guns and America and microbreweries in NYC, and why my CAMRA membership has not arrived yet (see entry a few days back to read whinge). We talked the most to Duncan, a Scotsman who lived in Rochester, NY for several years and hated to move back except for the fact that his wife was not allowed to work in the US (will not go on soapbox at this moment, but keep referring back for future RANT). It was most fun.
AND, he explained to me how American football is an evolution of rugby and how some of the rules hold over... such as how no one but the quarterback is allowed to pass forward. And the line of scrimmage is actually the scrum, just not all chaotic and bloodspattered, but one on one. This naturally raised the hairs on E's neck and he attempted to argue. But this ended in acquiescence. titter.
Duncan said that I would never guess what people used to say when he told them his name. I said, 'Like Dunkin' Donuts????' and he shuddered.
*******
Much more to ramble about, but I must run now, as my ride will be here shortly to go to the Rotary Blackfriars Quiz Night!
There is a blackbird singing madly in competition with another blackbird outside my front window.
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