Day two in Morocco
A trip to Agadir was the order of the day, more to prove a theory as much to relax and make the most of the down time.
The morning saw a gentle start with a healthy frugal breakfast of fruit yoghurt and bread eaten on the roof terrace with all of the guests, a real mix from Germany, Netherlands, USA, France, Argentina and Spain. It seems that crossing the Med to Africasees a much more cosmopolitan and eclectic mix of travellers.
On the way to the sole bus station on the coast road between Tamraght and Agadir Will pick up a stray dog whom we named Phyllis and stuck with us for an hour until we jumped on the number to Agadir.
The journey was quick and uneventful but interesting to se in daylight the terrain we had traversed the previous evening.
We were dropped of in a car park in central Agadir deciding to follow the trail of tourist breadcrumbs to the red brick esplanade throngs with cheap hotels and street traders. The clientele were thin on the ground so we were a constant target. We eventually ended up in a nameless restaurant and ordered basic fare of cheeseburger and a turkey sandwich, simple. Two hours later the food turns up, rant suppressed due to blood pressure.
From there we decided that we would check out the English Pub and then go back. True to form the bar was stereotypically full of fat sweaty sex pests enjoying their steak and kidney pie or sausage egg and chips. My theory was proved! I'm not sure if I felt mor smug, vindicated in my ranting or disappointed. The fact that the two halfs of lager cost over ten quid iced the boing cake. Why on earth do we as a nation do this? A hang over to imperialistic dogma perhaps? So, no more words, Agadir is an embryonic Benidorm.
Day done, a sweaty and packed bus journey later and we were back at the hostel for a nap. A lovely meal out at Adams restaurant and we now find ourselves having a post Ramadan beer on the roof terrace. Marrakech tomorrow.
Wednesday 15 May 2019
Morocco day one 14th May
I realise that with the multitude of simple apps available today a written blog or journal must seem a waste of effort and largely pointless. My reason for writing, more than anything is to collect my thoughts and rant in a more precise fashion. I realise also that in reality no-one will read this so I probably will not share. If you are reading this, how? Please let me know.
Waking this morning after a fitful night was relaxing, no agendas, no pressures, no idea where's he stairs and taking a I am. The call to prayer came at three fifteen, an hour early for Ramadan, drowning out the insect chorus and waking all, for a time. Falling back asleep saw me waking at seven and rising to find an empty secured building. Sitting on the stairs and taking a moment to reflect I realised what a difficult time the past six years have been for Emma and the kids in particular a and how I haven't really been a positive, helpful frame of mind for quite some time. This was clearly illustrated with my irritation,ire and downright anger during the flight yesterday.
Agadir is the new Benidorm, or has aspirations to become such. That was and is my prediction/theory anyway. The Ryanair flight from Stansted to Agadir certainly reinforced the notion. The couple of screeching, cackling middle-aged witches from east London sitting behind Will and I were almost perfectly stereotypical to prove my theory outright on the clientele the resort now attracts. They were drunk to begin with, had no idea where they were travelling to, topped up constantly with Prosecco (which is the drink of choice for those who generally knows fuck all about wine). The constancy recitation of their innocuous repot lire of songs from Grease was highly reminiscent of old drunken Scotsmen who habitually plagued my train trips to Carlisle from Plymouth. Matters were made worse when a one of these harridans staggered across her friend on her way to the toilet and elbowing me solidly on the crown of my bonce. I was not so pissed of at the assault more that she woke me from blissful ignorant slumber to which I could not return, bastard!
I'll skip the other highlights of the flight as it will just make me sound like a grumpy, intolerant middle-aged, arrogant snob, which I am. One more, after a couple of hours a number of passengers not least of which my friends the witches, started complaining about how long the journey was taking. FFS! The captain of course rethought his strategy and landed nearly two hours early, arseholes!
I'll close the Ryanair account with another display of rage borne from arrogance; upon landing the cabin erupted into cheers and clapping, what! Not only was it evident that most had not strayed too far beyond their local cost uttersg let alone flown abroad but that the fact the magic metal bird had not eaten them was a miracle.
Enough of that, obviously both Will and I are looking forward tremendously to the return flight. We finally arrived at the hostel following a non description taxi ride from 'Agadir' airport to Tamraght surf hostel, checked in then explored the dusty alleyways of Tamraght to find a small,quiet restaurant, Mona, where Will tried the poulet brochettes and I the viande tagine, pretty good. And so to bed and rewind back to the beginning.
Off to Agadir today, will update later.
Waking this morning after a fitful night was relaxing, no agendas, no pressures, no idea where's he stairs and taking a I am. The call to prayer came at three fifteen, an hour early for Ramadan, drowning out the insect chorus and waking all, for a time. Falling back asleep saw me waking at seven and rising to find an empty secured building. Sitting on the stairs and taking a moment to reflect I realised what a difficult time the past six years have been for Emma and the kids in particular a and how I haven't really been a positive, helpful frame of mind for quite some time. This was clearly illustrated with my irritation,ire and downright anger during the flight yesterday.
Agadir is the new Benidorm, or has aspirations to become such. That was and is my prediction/theory anyway. The Ryanair flight from Stansted to Agadir certainly reinforced the notion. The couple of screeching, cackling middle-aged witches from east London sitting behind Will and I were almost perfectly stereotypical to prove my theory outright on the clientele the resort now attracts. They were drunk to begin with, had no idea where they were travelling to, topped up constantly with Prosecco (which is the drink of choice for those who generally knows fuck all about wine). The constancy recitation of their innocuous repot lire of songs from Grease was highly reminiscent of old drunken Scotsmen who habitually plagued my train trips to Carlisle from Plymouth. Matters were made worse when a one of these harridans staggered across her friend on her way to the toilet and elbowing me solidly on the crown of my bonce. I was not so pissed of at the assault more that she woke me from blissful ignorant slumber to which I could not return, bastard!
I'll skip the other highlights of the flight as it will just make me sound like a grumpy, intolerant middle-aged, arrogant snob, which I am. One more, after a couple of hours a number of passengers not least of which my friends the witches, started complaining about how long the journey was taking. FFS! The captain of course rethought his strategy and landed nearly two hours early, arseholes!
I'll close the Ryanair account with another display of rage borne from arrogance; upon landing the cabin erupted into cheers and clapping, what! Not only was it evident that most had not strayed too far beyond their local cost uttersg let alone flown abroad but that the fact the magic metal bird had not eaten them was a miracle.
Enough of that, obviously both Will and I are looking forward tremendously to the return flight. We finally arrived at the hostel following a non description taxi ride from 'Agadir' airport to Tamraght surf hostel, checked in then explored the dusty alleyways of Tamraght to find a small,quiet restaurant, Mona, where Will tried the poulet brochettes and I the viande tagine, pretty good. And so to bed and rewind back to the beginning.
Off to Agadir today, will update later.
Sunday 5 June 2016
Pre-cursor to some cathartic posts and blogs
Once again I begin with; it's been a while since my last post. This time, however, I have the means to explain why, or at least define where I stand and my next steps.
My good friend Ed Wilson would approve of my next statement; I have decided to do two things before I continue. The first is to completely separate my so called work life from my real life, the second and most important, is to remove all negative elements from my life.
With this in mind, and as much as I loathe habitual wingers on social media, I do enjoy communicating with most of my friends but there are some who are ex-work colleagues who do not fit this approach, not ex-navy buddies as we shared so much more than merely work, but those since I left.
It is said that in adversity you truly find out who your friends are, well we will see ;-)
My good friend Ed Wilson would approve of my next statement; I have decided to do two things before I continue. The first is to completely separate my so called work life from my real life, the second and most important, is to remove all negative elements from my life.
With this in mind, and as much as I loathe habitual wingers on social media, I do enjoy communicating with most of my friends but there are some who are ex-work colleagues who do not fit this approach, not ex-navy buddies as we shared so much more than merely work, but those since I left.
It is said that in adversity you truly find out who your friends are, well we will see ;-)
Sunday 21 December 2014
When the road ran out...
It has been a while since I posted...
That seems to be the precursor for my most recent blog posts, so why change the habit?
This Christmas the decision was made to abandon the Gosport base and decamp to the North as that was where a majority of the family are based. With three dogs, albeit small rats, and four kids, albeit two younger and two adults, the logistics were challenging. Thanks to Dad for volunteering to take the older boys and the pups. My missus, Beth, Eds and I are well installed in an apartment in Newcastle City Centre, and that is where the drama for today's tale lies.
We arrived around 2000 last evening after a breakdown, the bonnet on the Land Rover refused to close after an oil check, and a shoulder implosion (something that occurs frequently following my serious car smash in Belgium a decade ago). After a number of family arguments, when I say family I do of course mean a single member, we offloaded, relaxed and indulged in some local cuisine; Chicken Parmesan and notable kebabs! Then bed and sleep.
The boys were to travel from Gosport this morning so the plan was from me to check on the old man then take the available tram members to Berwick to show them where I grew up.
First off, today was the Sunderland vs Newcastle derby, which I intended to circumvent by an early departure. WRONG! Beth decided that a full beautification and feedback loop was necessary, we managed to leave an hour before kick-off.
As our apartment is a mere 100m from St James' Park and we had no choice but to pass the throng of highly charged, intelligent human-beings on their way to the match, we ended up caught between the Geordies and the Mackems in an escalating riot.
We finally managed to push our way through the dickheads, thanks to the police for encouraging to keep driving directly at the drunken bell-ends.
Our destination, Berwick-Upon-Tweed was visited for too short a time, but many memories returned and I shall when I have time.
That seems to be the precursor for my most recent blog posts, so why change the habit?
This Christmas the decision was made to abandon the Gosport base and decamp to the North as that was where a majority of the family are based. With three dogs, albeit small rats, and four kids, albeit two younger and two adults, the logistics were challenging. Thanks to Dad for volunteering to take the older boys and the pups. My missus, Beth, Eds and I are well installed in an apartment in Newcastle City Centre, and that is where the drama for today's tale lies.
We arrived around 2000 last evening after a breakdown, the bonnet on the Land Rover refused to close after an oil check, and a shoulder implosion (something that occurs frequently following my serious car smash in Belgium a decade ago). After a number of family arguments, when I say family I do of course mean a single member, we offloaded, relaxed and indulged in some local cuisine; Chicken Parmesan and notable kebabs! Then bed and sleep.
The boys were to travel from Gosport this morning so the plan was from me to check on the old man then take the available tram members to Berwick to show them where I grew up.
First off, today was the Sunderland vs Newcastle derby, which I intended to circumvent by an early departure. WRONG! Beth decided that a full beautification and feedback loop was necessary, we managed to leave an hour before kick-off.
As our apartment is a mere 100m from St James' Park and we had no choice but to pass the throng of highly charged, intelligent human-beings on their way to the match, we ended up caught between the Geordies and the Mackems in an escalating riot.
We finally managed to push our way through the dickheads, thanks to the police for encouraging to keep driving directly at the drunken bell-ends.
Our destination, Berwick-Upon-Tweed was visited for too short a time, but many memories returned and I shall when I have time.
A blurry shot of our old house in Mansefield Road
Some bloody bridge!
Eddy on Spittal beach
Me looking out to see the sea, Spittal promenade
Wind blowing in my greying mane
Johnny's in Spittal as it is now
Spittal beach
Eds and Beth in Spittal
When the road ran out
The road to Holy Island
All in all a very brief visit and journey through the elements that still mean so much to me. I would so much like to do this again and catch up with any who remember me from the days when there was a wood yard in Tweedmouth and no Nero or Costa in Berwicj high street!
Monday 2 December 2013
December again, how the f*** did that happen?
Once again yet another holiday season is upon us, all tho soon and once again finding me completely unprepared.
In the run up to Christmas I find myself in a rather different position than I did last year. The old Gledson homestead in French France is signed over tomorrow and my dad returns shortly afterwards to take up residence in our tin box for a few weeks before embarking on a search for a new home. Kirsty, Will's other half, is now living with us full time.Also the new addition, Fiona, is very small one and has carved a niche for herself that bothers no-one and, of course, we have the usual crowd. Bearing in mind our house can support five out of the six of our usual contingent at any one time Christmas day began to look a little awkward. Google to the rescue: It appears that Gosport has a great many large, opulent, holiday quarters, many at the newly converted Clarence Yard. So, that's what I did. I booked an 8 berth apartment for the Christmas period.
At least we will have a base, walking distance from the house and office, to have Christmas dinner and free up space for us all. The only rules will be, no TV, no news, no football and above all NO JUSTIN 'KIN BIEBER!!
In the run up to Christmas I find myself in a rather different position than I did last year. The old Gledson homestead in French France is signed over tomorrow and my dad returns shortly afterwards to take up residence in our tin box for a few weeks before embarking on a search for a new home. Kirsty, Will's other half, is now living with us full time.Also the new addition, Fiona, is very small one and has carved a niche for herself that bothers no-one and, of course, we have the usual crowd. Bearing in mind our house can support five out of the six of our usual contingent at any one time Christmas day began to look a little awkward. Google to the rescue: It appears that Gosport has a great many large, opulent, holiday quarters, many at the newly converted Clarence Yard. So, that's what I did. I booked an 8 berth apartment for the Christmas period.
At least we will have a base, walking distance from the house and office, to have Christmas dinner and free up space for us all. The only rules will be, no TV, no news, no football and above all NO JUSTIN 'KIN BIEBER!!
Sunday 17 November 2013
Change, change, it's time for another change
It has been a while since I blogged with most of recent time spent in working with a new set of monkeys (well the management at least) and slowly becoming more and more disillusioned with the broadcast behemoth that is Arqiva. In fact the disillusionment has slowly led to increasing depression as the travel and fruitlessness of effort has frustrated and infuriated me to extreme measures.
That aside, we have a new family member. Fiona Dawn Wilkinson joined us on Wednesday 13th November. She is an absolute delight and as miniature Daschunds go she is agile, quick witted and has fitted in very well.
Last week Chris and I exhibited at BVE (British Video Exhibition) North at the Manchester Central exhibition centre with Garland Partners which was a slow and dull show but did show that we are really onto something and need to find a way to dedicate more time to progress.
Which leads me to an explanation of the blog title. It wasn't too long ago that we, in the Gledson household, were pooling coins to buy food, and I would have taken any job going, which I 'kin well did. Maintaining momentum with Cerberus had been difficult to say the least, but with a great deal of support from our partners and suppliers we are now in a position to move on to the next stage. Unfortunately this will entail someone taking on a full time mantle to take the helm to move this puppy forward. To this end I will turn in my notice this week, not as bad as it sounds as I aim to see the year out in the current contract and have alternative means of income filtering in slowly.
It's been a tough year so far, the only way is up.
That aside, we have a new family member. Fiona Dawn Wilkinson joined us on Wednesday 13th November. She is an absolute delight and as miniature Daschunds go she is agile, quick witted and has fitted in very well.
Which leads me to an explanation of the blog title. It wasn't too long ago that we, in the Gledson household, were pooling coins to buy food, and I would have taken any job going, which I 'kin well did. Maintaining momentum with Cerberus had been difficult to say the least, but with a great deal of support from our partners and suppliers we are now in a position to move on to the next stage. Unfortunately this will entail someone taking on a full time mantle to take the helm to move this puppy forward. To this end I will turn in my notice this week, not as bad as it sounds as I aim to see the year out in the current contract and have alternative means of income filtering in slowly.
It's been a tough year so far, the only way is up.
Friday 4 October 2013
What a bunch of bankers
OK, this is a whinge, granted, and a whinge about money at that.
For those of you who do read my blog, you may remember that as soon as it was evident that I was probably earning once more, Emma and I dragged our sorry arses into our nearest Natwest branch and opened our hearts to the customer relationship manager. It was the first time that I have ever owned up to not having complete control of my life and all elements that may effect it. Angela, our relationship manager, was incredibly helpful and honest. We left so much happier and feeling hopeful.
Then, yesterday, after a month of working my cute little arse off, we received millions (five) letters from Natwest demanding immediately payment of everything, including the mortgage. The alternative was removal of all banking privileges, effective within 60 days. I rang them.
It transpires that at no point is there a means for branches or departments to exchange information. Progress. They apologised for the stress and general incompetence but could not reverse the process without a full review, happening tomorrow morning on the phone. Cunch of bunts!!!!
On a positive note, Cerberus is started to gain momentum. I will say no more, other than, thanks Roger, Dawn, Lorna and Helen for your belief. As always the Cerberus team, you know who you are, have been there.
Time to push on and make a difference.
Today's picture: A fat chicken
For those of you who do read my blog, you may remember that as soon as it was evident that I was probably earning once more, Emma and I dragged our sorry arses into our nearest Natwest branch and opened our hearts to the customer relationship manager. It was the first time that I have ever owned up to not having complete control of my life and all elements that may effect it. Angela, our relationship manager, was incredibly helpful and honest. We left so much happier and feeling hopeful.
Then, yesterday, after a month of working my cute little arse off, we received millions (five) letters from Natwest demanding immediately payment of everything, including the mortgage. The alternative was removal of all banking privileges, effective within 60 days. I rang them.
It transpires that at no point is there a means for branches or departments to exchange information. Progress. They apologised for the stress and general incompetence but could not reverse the process without a full review, happening tomorrow morning on the phone. Cunch of bunts!!!!
On a positive note, Cerberus is started to gain momentum. I will say no more, other than, thanks Roger, Dawn, Lorna and Helen for your belief. As always the Cerberus team, you know who you are, have been there.
Time to push on and make a difference.
Today's picture: A fat chicken
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