| Thursday saw my wife - Marie - finishing her job at Stirling-based life
assurance company Scottish Amicable. Having felt unhappy about the work she
was being asked to do for several months, she resigned her job hacking COBOL
there to start at Standard Life, in Edinburgh, today.
So I left work early on Thursday and drove to Stirling, to join her and some
colleagues in the celebrations. I decided that since I wanted a drinkie too,
I would book us in to the Stirling Highland Hotel, bed & breakfast. Since I'm
a member of the health club there, I get a 25% discount, making the room cost
�45.
I joined Marie and her colleagues in a Mexican restaurant in town. Now, I
loathe hot (ie spicy) food. It just turns my stomach. Marie enjoys hot food,
but hasn't eaten any in ages, since I normally would be with her when we go
out to dinner.
We had our Mexican meal, then went to a local bar for a few jars
(incidentally, if you're looking for a quiet pub in which to drink and chat in
Stirling, the Hogshead is recommended. Not for disco weenies, though).
We got well puddled, then M and I walked up the hill to the Highland Hotel.
We staggered into our room, and slept the sleep of the just.
The following morning, I was not happy. My tummy was decidedly unhappy,
whether as a result of the wine or food I don't know. So I left Marie in the
room, and walked to the town and back for some tummy-settling treatment. It
didn't help much, but it got me well enough to let us check out.
My bill was �90 - the �45 was _per_person_. Damned silly British pricing
mechanisms. I wasn't happy, but managed to check out and somehow drover the
25 miles back home. All the way back I was reflecting that even a return taxi
journey would have cost considerably less than �90.
About 5pm on the Friday, just as I started to recover from my hangover, Marie
realised that she was not well either. Her sore tum was so bad that she took
herself off to bed while I went for a singing lesson.
Next day, neither of us was feeling well enough to go to our regular Saturday
morning step class, and the day was spent lazing around with both of us trying
to avoid thinking about our stomachs.
On Sunday, we went to a rehearsal for my current show (Carousel). I had told
Marie about how formidable the choreographer is, and she wanted to see what a
dance rehearsal with this lady was like. Marie came along to see me jumping,
running and performing the most ambitious lifts I have ever done...I think
that she was terrified. When the choreographer asked Marie if she'd like to
take part, Marie's face went white. She managed to stammer out a negative
response, but was still in shock.
Later, while I was still trying to rehearse, Marie was talking to another
visitor to the rehearsal, the girlfriend of one of the leads. She apparently
runs a fledgeling dance company, which will accpet payment from hotels and the
like to provide some kind of cabaret evening, with singing and dancing. This
girlfriend wanted me to join in...she obviously failed to realise just how
little talent for this lark I have.
After the rehearsal we went across the road to a local pub, where we met some
work colleagues of mine. Stupidly, forgetting the lesson of the previous
days, I had a pint of cider, and followed it up with two more.
So, here I am in the office, with a thumping headache, a rotten cold and a
wibbly stomach.
Blech!
regards,
//alan
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| It is 06:00 Friday morning and we are all packed ready to go. It's
Synod time again. We have been warned that we must provide our own
towels. Now given what happened the last time we were staying in a
religious conference centre, you would think that as well as a couple
of towels we would at least have packed a food hamper.
I did have enough sense to pack a couple of bottles of red wine, along
with a corkscrew. So after a quick visit to the kittens, they are
growing as you watch them, we were off!
It was fairly patchy fog, but as there was little or no cloud this
would burn off. All along the sides of the motorways there are signs
telling you that the transport of pigs is forbidden. Well they have all
those apparently random outbreaks of swine fever. Instead of the normal
plague pattern, with one single source and the spread being done by
moving animals, they have invented a new process to assist spreading
the disease.
First you collect sperm from a diseased boar. Next you mix it with
sperm from healthy boars and then you distribute it all over the
country to infect the sows. Then you sit back and wait, whilst still
dispatching the infected sperm, until someone works out what is
happening. They deserve a major prize for shear gobsmacking stupidity.
Now they are running around slaughtering pigs and piglets like there
was no tomorrow. Well this may have some positive impact on the world
famous Dutch Pig Poop mountains. Or should that be lakes?
In any event, if you are a pig, and the Netherlands is on your vacation
itinerary for this year I would advise you to start making other plans
quite urgently.
We pulled off at one of the chain restaurants, they usually do a quite
acceptable ham omelette during breakfast time. Unfortunately this one
only had sausage rolls. Oh well better than nothing. They do however
provide free(ish) coffee, you buy one cup and the refills are free.
We dawdle over the free coffee, firstly because it is free, and
secondly because we are running ahead of time and are liable to arrive
before the clergy have had breakfast.
I have a feeling in my water that the congenial chaos which seems to be
the hallmark of any Anglican occasion is just about to begin.
The sheet containing the instruction on how to find the place also
contains a map. Alas the instructions and map differ on various points.
As our normal Netherlands map is not detailed enough, we stop and buy
another one at a filling station. Naturally this map bears no
similarity to the instructions or the little map beside them.
We use the big map. The instructions say "After about 2 Km turn right
at the lights." I note the figure on the odometer and drive on. After 2
Km there are no traffic lights! Nor are there after 3, 4 or 5. Just as
panic is beginning to set in I see a set up ahead. Whilst we are
stopped at them I quickly read the small brown signs that show
recreational things like sports halls, swimming baths and the like.
Mercifully our destination was on one. Happen as well because we never
saw the railway line that we were supposed to cross, according to the
instructions.
We rolled in at 08:50 and parked. On entering the building several
signs pointed to the reception and reminded us to remove our football
boots. We headed towards reception and ran into Jan, who kindly pointed
us in completely the opposite direction, to where the Synod reception
was.
As ever Les was in charge, and eventually he finished his breakfast and
came to deal with us. It has taken me some time to realise exactly who
Les reminds me of when he is in charge of checking in people to a
Synod.
It is the white rabbit from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. He has
the slightly haunted look of someone who, while knowing that nothing
has actually gone wrong yet, is troubled by the certain feeling that
disaster lurks around every corner, ready to pounce at any second.
He tells Harry that the price is fl 84.50 per person. Harry grabs a
piece of paper and begins to multiply 84.5 by 2. It is not in Harry's
nature to think that 2 times 85 is 170 and 170 minus 1 is 169. Les
begins to write two receipts. This is almost as complicated as Harry's
calculations.
Les is grateful that Harry is writing a cheque as he is running out of
small change. Why they didn't round the price up to a convenient 85
Guilders I do not know. Had I been in charge it would have been 100
guilders a head and the surplus could have gone to paying for some of
the people who could not afford to pay their own way. Strange to say,
although I did not raise this point someone else did and it was
adopted.
Les puts Harry's cheque with the other takings in a small green
cardboard box that once contained a multimeter, more on this later.
Harry has asked for a double room, something that is usually rather
rare in a Monastery. We are a bit shocked to discover that we may have
to share with a third person! We pinned on our name badges and set off
to find our room. The place seems to be overrun with cowboys and
cowgirls.
"This is the first time I've been to a Synod held on a Dude Ranch",
quipped Harry. The boys wear cowboy hats all the time, outdoors,
indoors, even during meals. In my mind's eye I see them wearing them in
bed. They also wear the tight jeans that were popular in the 60s and
70s. The girls all wear various wild west skirts. Except the one with
the hideously fat legs. She wears a mini skirt that could be used as a
rather brief pelmet.
The boys wear lurid blue jackets, the girls lurid red ones. Both are
embroidered "The Rising Moon Country and Western Dance Club". Both
sexes wear cowboy boots. For some strange reason they are all speaking
German. Later I discover that they actually hail from Zurich.
We think that we look silly enough having to wear name badges.
"Still it could be worse," said I as we climbed the wrong staircase
quietly getting lost trying to find our room.
"How?" said Harry looking for room B21 in an area where all the rooms
have a D prefix.
"Well they could have brought their horses too," I replied as Harry
spotted a cleaner and homed in on him to ask where B21 was.
He was a strange fellow, he looked almost human and seemed to have a
passive understanding of speech. He could receive OK but appeared to be
unable to transmit. So instead of telling us, he took us. We thanked
him kindly and unlocked the door.
The room was small and square. It was barely furnished and contained
the following; 2 chairs, one so rickety that no one dare sit on it, one
single long fluorescent light, controlled by a single switch by the
door, one short incandescent light above a wash basin, one mirror
between the light and the wash basin, one washbasin with two taps each
with a blue spot on it, but no plug for the drain, one small table in
front of the window, one cupboard that turned out to be a rather
roughly made wardrobe, on the wall on the other side of the window was
a central heating radiator, and 4, count them, single beds. There was
just about enough room left for one person to undress.
On each bed there was a mattress with a fitted bottom sheet. On this
lay a pillow, and neatly folded, a pillowcase, a sheet and a blanket.
On the cupboard was a stack of 4 extra blankets. You have to make up
your own bed.
When the shock wore off we decided that if anyone else was assigned to
our room we would either go home or book into a hotel for the night.
We unpacked and made our way downstairs and found that Les had almost
finished processing the pair who had been in the queue directly behind
us.
Harry went into the session, I went off exploring. It was by now a
bright sunny morning, and quite pleasant, if you kept out of the wind.
I knew we were close to the German border but I was not prepared for
just how close. I wandered off up the hill and got to a T junction. On
the opposite side of the road was a "No Entry" sign that looked a bit
odd. At first I thought it was a home made one but it looked too
professionally finished for that. On closer examination I noticed that
the white bar running through the centre was too narrow.
I crossed the road and found that all the signs were different. Street
names were no longer white on blue, they were black on white. It
appears that the border runs down the dotted line in the middle of the
road.
House numbers on the German side were in descending odd numbers. On the
Dutch side they were ascending and both odd and even. Dutch busses were
crossing and using German bus stops and vice versa. There was a
supermarket full of German goods. Cross back and everything is Dutch
again, weird.
I returned to the Synod but they were still yakking. I looked at my
watch to see the time and instead read the cryptic message "Explosion
in Leeds." In went across to the car, turned on the radio and
eventually found a news program with a report on it.
By now they were all out for a breather and a cuppa. I sat with a group
that Harry came out with. One of them said, "That was all a bit
superficial."
"Oh I didn't think it went that deep," replied Harry, sarcastically.
It appears that the copy of the programme that we received was a draft
copy. About the only correct details on it are the dates. Revised
copies are distributed just before they become obsolete. I think that
they should abandon the programme and write it after the event. Then we
will know where we have been.
Bishop John arrived and I worked out who he reminds me of. He looks
like an aging version of Popeye's perennial adversary, Bluto. Bishop
Henry turned up and I notice he still favours purple shirts.
Eventually lunch came round. It was a rerun of what breakfast probably
had been. The table was set in groups of 4. For each group there is a
plate with 4 slices of cheese and 4 slices of two different types of
spam. A thermal jug of coffee or tea, a pot of margarine, no butter, a
pot of jam, a dish with chocolate mouse droppings, a box containing two
sorts of bread and a jug of UHT milk which I cannot abide. As a token
contribution to warm food we each get a croquette.
Les arrives for lunch carrying the green cardboard box containing the
takings, carefully held horizontal in front of him in his right hand.
After lunch you must clear the tables yourself. Given that you also
have to make your own beds up, the staff are not exactly over worked.
The discussion on euthanasia, scheduled for 11:00 is actually going to
take place at 16:15 but it doesn't get going until 16:30. Anne started
off by demonstrating how an overhead projector can get in the way of
disseminating information. However she did blow up the myth that 52% of
the deaths in the Netherlands resulted from by euthanasia.
The plan had been a panel with various fields of expertise or
experience on the subject to give a brief outline of what they knew.
Then they would answer questions from the floor.
Unfortunately there was a young priest with a video and he thought this
was the most moving thing he had ever come across. He gave a short
boring speech which he read from a sheaf of papers in an unmodulated,
monotonous voice which peaked at about 15 words a minute.
Then he showed us the video. The sound track didn't really have a
signal-to-noise ratio, it was more like a noise-to-signal ratio. There
was a sound like a motorbike or heavy diesel engine thumping away
continuously in the foreground. To add to the confusion the family, who
were playing themselves, were Scottish and spoke with a rather thick
accent. I'm willing to bet I was the only person in the room that got
more than 1 word in 10.
Looking round at the glazed eyes he then handed out some papers. These
were 2 A4 sheets printed on both sides. Then, using his "stupefy them
with boredom", voice he slowly and flatly read the contents out to us.
They contained a lot of questions, no answers, and some highly
erroneous information.
When he ground to a halt there was just about enough time for Harry,
and I to correct some of the major inaccuracies, then another priest
gave a short, but terribly gushy, talk on the power of prayer. He
subscribes to the theory that if you badger God enough He will
eventually give in and let you have your way. My cat labours under a
similar delusion. If left to his own devices, he will pester me
throughout a meal in the hope of enhancing his chances of getting a
titbit. Admittedly he usually does, but we digress.
Another spoke strongly of the work of a Hospice and how wonderful it
was to work there. Then the discussion time was up. Pity really, I
would have liked more discussion and less lecture and video, from which
I learned very little.
I would have liked to ask a few questions like, "Hands up all who are
Christians?"
Followed by "Hands up all who believe in an afterlife?" Here my hand
would also have been raised, I wonder if any would have noticed.
Then "Hands up all who think that death is a transition rather than a
terminal experience?"
And finally "Then what is your problem with euthanasia?"
Ah well perhaps it was all for the good, it might have made them think
controversial thoughts.
Now the bar was open and everything was 2 guilders. Les arrived with
his cardboard box and entrusted it to me while he went to the loo. I
sat drinking my wine and guarding the box with my life, well the room
was full of Anglicans!
Perhaps I should take time out to explain how a Synod really works.
Once you overcome the massive inertia and get everyone into the meeting
room, then stop the myriad conversations, things progress at a slow but
reasonable pace.
However once you let them out of the meeting room, it is bedlam. A bit
like thrombosis really. They form small clots of people who then get
stuck in narrow places and stop the flow. For example if there is a
large open space near the window, they will gather about 4 deep round
the door.
Dinner, the one hot meal of the day, was next. The choice of soup was
tomato, like it or lump it. This was followed by chicken leg with
gravy, chips, mixed vegetables and a sort of salad. The Archdeacon
declined the chicken and just had the vegetable matter, and to be
honest he didn't miss much.
Desert was fla (cold, in this case, chocolate flavoured, custard) with
a small blob of cream on the top. Several words to describe this meal
spring to mind, but I'll keep it clean and merely say, disgusting.
They are off to discuss the accounts so I retire to our room. Safe in
the knowledge that there will be no third party, I open a bottle of
wine. I had aired the room by leaving the window wide open and now it
was freezing cold. To my surprise the radiator got warm after I turned
it on so I sat on my bed with my back against the radiator reading my
book and sipping my wine.
Harry arrived and told me the bar was once more open. So down we went
to have a sociable drink and watch Les wandering around, box in hand.
The bar was most competently run by the couple who do the Mission to
Seamen. Apparently they run one for the sailors. We left before the end
and retired to our room where the wine was cheaper. In the middle of
the night the heating went off and both of us got up and grabbed an
extra blanket.
Next morning the heating came back on and Harry got up, washed shaved
and dressed and shot off to the Chapel for Matins. I stayed in bed
until I was sure that they were all safely in Chapel and went off to
have my shower. Well there is less chance of the water pressure varying
whilst I am showering.
The shower room is an interesting place. It is a normal room, one of 4
where the floors have been raised to get the plumbing in. 2 are shower
rooms, the other pair a ladies' and gents' loo.
Each shower room contains 4 cubicles. They have a door, a small space
to change, a couple of studs to hang your clothes and towel on, no
hooks, a shower cubicle with no curtain and a pair of unmarked taps.
I take off my dressing gown and have the greatest difficulty getting it
to hang on the stud. The towel has a loop on it so it is not such a
problem. I have brought a small tablet of soap, pinched from some long
forgotten hotel room. It is too small and slips through the wire soap
holder, which I use to hold the razor and shaving foam.
Experimentally I open both taps a little and cold water begins to
dribble out of the shower head. Not knowing which is which I give both
taps a twist. It appears that the right one is the cold water and the
pressure is high. The shower head leaps up and smashes against the
roof. A jet of extremely cold water hits me. As I am not actually
standing in the shower basin the changing area begins to fill.
Eventually I stabilise the temperature and have a shower and a shave.
The lack of a curtain is now making itself felt. There is a goodly
amount of water in the changing area when I finally emerge.
I dry off put on the dressing gown and leave the cubical. There is a
squeegee and a small drain in the floor of the corridor. I grab the
squeegee and wipe the water towards the drain. Some genius has made the
floor round the drain dead flat. It takes ages to get all the water
down the drain.
Back in our room I dress and strip the bed, well I don't want to
overload the staff. Harry returns from Matins and we go down for
breakfast, which of course is a rerun of lunch except there in no tea
or croquette. A small green cardboard box enters, closely followed by
Les.
"How long will it be before Les gets up and tells us we must vacate our
rooms instantly as there are other people arriving and they must be
cleaned?" I mused.
About two minutes later Les, box in hand, is telling us exactly that.
He also adds that we must not only strip the bed, we must also place
all the used sheets and pillowcases outside the door. I'm surprised we
didn't have to launder and iron them.
After breakfast someone finally relieved Les of his cherished cardboard
box and he now began to fret about the return of the keys. We emptied
our room, packed it all in the car and gave him our key.
We were hanging around in the hall way and discovered that we had not
read the notices. One banned all smoking, food and drink from the
rooms. Pity I hadn't noticed it the night before, the wine would have
tasted better.
Everyone else goes off to Mass, I go for a walk. Outside on the
football fields teams of little boys in brightly coloured football
strip enthusiastically, if ineffectually kick a football around. On the
sidelines adults holler helpful, if unintelligible, advice. Actually as
the morning progressed the teams were replaced by older boys. In the
afternoon there were girls playing. Being so close to Germany tends to
make everything very orderly.
I was going to walk into the town centre but it was a bit too cold and
as the car park was filling up with cars owned by the father's of
would-be footballers I decided not to drive either. In the end I did a
bit of local walking.
As lunchtime approached I sneaked into the dining room and adjusted the
plates of meat so that our lot got the more edible types of spam.
In the room above, the dancers are rehearsing. As they thump the floor
with their cowboy boots in perfect unison, the lamps hanging from the
ceiling begin to sway and bounce. I question the wisdom of allowing
them to rehearse in an upstairs room.
I was waiting outside the Chapel when they came out. One asked me what
I thought of the service and I told him that I hadn't actually
attended. He looked perplexed.
Lunch started with that typical Anglican confusion. No one knew who was
going to say grace as both Bishops and the Archdeacon were not present.
So the meal began in a noisy shambles. Croquettes were replaced by
fricandel, a type of large sausage.
It is also known by another, less formal, name which Harry and I teach
Trevor and an American boy named Mark. Mark likes it and looks around
for more. (I do hope Mark does not drop into a snack bar and ask for
one using this name we taught him as it really is rather rude.)
The dancers are still banging around upstairs but most of the noise is
drowned out by the conversation of our lot. Occasionally there will be
a real thump and people will look round in a perplexed manner.
This time all four tables have been set, but no one is sitting at the
fourth one. Naturally we plunder it. Sausages are handed round with
carefree abandon. Then both Bishops and the Archdeacon arrive late, but
hungry. Oops!
All that is left is Bishop John's keynote speech. He was quite
interesting but I did notice one thing during the question and answer
period at the end. It appears to be all but impossible for an Anglican
priest to be concise when asking a question.
They say a few words, look heavenwards for inspiration whilst waving a
hand in a circular motion so that everyone can see they haven't
finished. Then they stagger on until they hit the next glitch.
The one who told us about the power of prayer, whilst using the word
prayer no less than 17 times, now asks about "rooting" (this is the
idea of the Anglican church not being principally for expatriates). He
uses the word over and over again, stressing it each time.
Bishop John gave a warm and positive response that went down well with
the questioner. Mind you if he had analysed exactly what Bishop John
said he would have found there was nothing there at all.
Then suddenly it was all over, Bishop John gave us his blessing and
pandemonium broke out. Les became a one man commotion on the return of
keys and badges. The tea was late and there was the promise of a famed
"Limburgse Vlaai" (Fruit Flan). Even this did not deter the stampede to
the door, and soon we were off.
It is said that everything that happens to you can be a learning
experience. As I drove home I mulled over what I had learned over this
weekend. I think the most important thing was, our work's canteen food
is not really as bad as I had thought.
Jamie.
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