London Underground: learn to be silent

“Please mind the gap”. For two years I wondered where the gap was. Sure, I could see a gap, but not big enough for me to fall down (note to reader, I am not big nor small...I would say of average size). Then I ventured further than the sixteen stops on the Victoria line and decided that the announcement wasn’t so useless after all. There are gaps big enough for Manual Uribe Garza to fall down and if you are not use to seeing them, you could be a goner.

“Please report all unattended items”. This is fair enough advice. Though I did see a carrier bag full of chips on the tube one Sunday morning and I spent the whole time praying that it would not be reported and I would not be delayed.

But…

“Please take care when walking down the escalator”. What! What else am I going to do? Throw myself down? Try my best to fall? Suddenly decide that this would be an effective way of committing suicide? Nah, I don’t think so.



And, before you say anything....I was being careful when I tripped and caught my hair in the bottom moving step.

Holiday Snippet 2

At the Palai Salaam (set inside the walls of Taroudant) the lunching never seen a blackman David Bowie chicken head look-alike part time jeweller turned beer taster sat by the pool writing post cards while her obedient and fearful husband read his computer programming monthly. She noticed a pigeon flying into the swimming pool and exclaimed,

“Oh, David look, the pigeon thinks it is Jesus!”

How stupid am I to think that it was just thirsty.



The scenery in Morocco was amazing. We drove to the Tizi-n-Test pass over the high Atlas Mountains with Said, our guide from Naturally Morocco, and the Vicar. Thank God for the Vicar, without him we would have had no chance conversing with the family in the Berber village that invited us into their house for mint tea.

After visiting the house and seeing lots of animals (cows, cats, donkeys, turkeys and chickens) and an olive press, we were running late and it was time to take a short cut over walls and through fields. The local girls that we passed on the way were amused by my headdress - I think I was wearing it in a rather unfashionable way. This wasn't surprising considering a man not much younger than my dad taught me how to put it on.

Plates and Faces (Part 2)

My final conclusion, after spending a week locked in a dishwasher, is that my face looks like a plate.

Judge it for yourself.