Communication Breakdown

Google allows me to see which countries are looking at my scribbling. And there are some pretty bizzare places.

Someone in Sudan was even reading this. I assume that this is just a search mistake & they were looking for something about Heinz baked beans.... the inspiration for the number 57. I could have used 42, the meaning of life from Hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy.

But if anyone in Sudan wants to know more about media feel free to get in touch via pgarethbrown@gmail.com. And speaking of communication our IT geniuses have completely bolloxed up our email, so I have a new survey to see how important email is for staying in touch.

The Greatest Train Journey in the World

Click through the headline for a great ad about the East coast main line from London to Edinburgh. Berwick-upon-Tweed isn't at war with Russia sadly... I checked. But it's a lovely story.

Fear of Flying

When I was young & foolish I did a couple of parachute jumps. The first one is the hardest.

The training takes two days before you are allowed to jump. And the instructors use the same technique employed by the army in the first world war. They shout a lot, telling you to do things which you don't want to do. Stand up, sit down, get in the door.... GO! So when they tell you to go over the top, you just do it. Your brain has stopped functioning. Your body just obeys their commands.

Then you board the aircraft. As I recall there were about 15 of us. I was number eight which was perfect. You don't want to be the first or the last. They tell you to stand up, you stand. They tell you to "get in the door", you get in the door. They tell you to GO... and you jump. Into nothing but thin air, relying on a big piece of cloth to save you from plunging to your certain death. It's great fun.

But there is one drawback. The next time you board a commercial flight you don't have a parachute. Instead you have a life-jacket with a bleeding whistle. That might be reassuring when you are crossing the Pacific or Atlantic. But when you are flying to Almaty from Moscow, over thousands of miles of hard land, & only the shrinking sea of Aral to splash into... it's hardly comforting.

Krzysiek Sakho R.I.P.

Another great loss this year...

Elephants or Hippopotami...?

The commercial in the headline link was a classic. But a friend of mine was living with 2 engineering students when it was broadcast. They objected to the use of an Elephant as a unit of measurement. Hardly scientific they thought. Could be a big elephant, could be a small elephant; could be African, could be Indian - the ears make all the difference.

I'd forgotten this until I was up the CN Tower in Toronto this summer. The tower enjoys a glass floor one can walk on. 500 metres in the air. It's a spooky experience.

You are comforted by the fact that the glass can withstand heroic weights. But instead of using elephants for their measurements they use hippopotamuses. The transparent stuff can take 14 apparently. Again you ask yourself - are these big happy hippos or small hippopotami...?

Hardly scientific.

Wigan Wheels

The funniest man in the World is my mate Jamie.

At Polytechnic in London, where we met, he was on the bus that took students to the Underground station. An American exchange student Gordy got on the bus in full national costume; Timberlands, knee length shorts, plaid shirt, baseball hat, ray-bans & small backpack.

Jamie asked him in his friendly Sheffield accent, "Off to Buckingham Palace Gordon?"

Gordon still hasn't forgiven him.

Years later Jamie was deep in debt from his student days so he did what any wise Yorkshireman would do.... and bought a second hand Maserati in Wigan. He informed me that this was a sound financial investment as it would help him in his search for a wife. "I've had the front strengthened, as the women keep bouncing off it."

I made a deal with Jim. I would lend him several thousand pounds on the condition that he sell the motor. He reluctantly agreed. The next time we met he arrived in a Nissan Micra, "me Uncle died & I inherited it" was his explanation for the sexy new wheels.

I thought that this was the end of the Wigan Maserati tale but there was more. Much more.

A couple of years later James was working in New York... still searching for a bride. He left me for a couple of days while he went to Las Vegas for a conference. Being a fiscally prudent person he told me that he'd read a book & knew how to beat the casinos. He even left me the book. I read it.

Apparently if you have a team of mathematically gifted MIT students you can count the cards & work out the statistical probability at Blackjack. With massive financial backing you can play knowing when the deck of cards is in your favour. Over time you will beat the system. A single Yorkshireman from Middlesex Poly isn't able to repeat this trick. Jamie lost $500.

But while he was away a female friend of Jim's arrived & told me the final installment of the Wigan Wheels. James had sold said Motor to a gentlemen in one of the less salubrious parts of London who went by the name of Saddam Osama Gaddafi or similar.

A friend of Jim's heard about this & decided this was ripe for exploitation. He called Jamie and pretended to be Mr. Hussein, the new owner of the fine Italian car. Jamie's flatmate took the call. Jamie's friend said that there were problems with the car. Jamie told her to tell him that he wasn't in.

But then Jim realised that he couldn't hide so he called the real Mr.Hussein. He got his answering machine, so Jamie left a message saying that he was sorry for the problems & that he would sort it out.

Then Jamie's friend called back to say that he was winding Jamie up before.

And then, inevitably, the real Mr. Hussein called asking why Jamie had left a message about "problems with the car"

As my father always said... never buy a second hand Italian Sports car in Lancashire & sell it to a Muslim in the East End.

Why I haven't learnt Russian

I have been working in Russia for more than 10 years off & on. And the question I have heard more than any other is "Why don't you speak Russian?"

I have several excuses. Firstly I arrived just in time for the financial crash of 1998. Unfortunately this meant that I had to cancel my lovely lessons to save cash. This was a pity as they reminded me of all the joy I had struggling to learn German at school. I told my teacher Nina that if she could teach me jokes I would be more motivated. She thought I was joking.

Secondly I never imagined that I would still be here a decade later. I therefore only learnt restaurant & taxi Russian.

But thirdly & most crucially Russian is difficult to learn. It's not an especially hard language like Arabic or Mandarin Chinese. It is simply no fun to speak.

I have spoken French in France, German in Germany, Polish in Poland and Turkish in Turkey... and I can honestly state that speaking Russian in Russia is a miserable experience. Russians constantly correct you. They also fail to understand you if you make the simplest mistake in accent. This is in contrast to Ukraine, where most people understand Ukrainian even if they don't speak it. In Kiev if you mix Polish with Russian/Ukrainian you will be understood... and they will appreciate the fact that you are trying. In Moscow the usual response to my attempts to communicate are met with - "why do you speak with a pre-Baltic accent?" or "Why do you speak like a stupid Kazakh?"

Turkish was the easiest to speak. So few tourists learn even a few simple phrases that any Turkish is met with astonishment & joy. This only makes you want to learn & speak more.

I was once asked by a group of colleagues at a conference why I didn't speak Russian. I pointed out that they had been in the Netherlands for 3 days & had failed to learn the Dutch for "Thank you."