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Un Quicky
Bonjour bonjour! Savez? Blah blah blah etc etc. Had a decent cup of PG Tips last night when I got in. Damn it's good to be back home :) I have a mountain of things to tell you about. It will take a couple of days to write it all up. I also have to get the hang of a QWERTY keyboard again, and not that bizarre Frenchy keyboard I've been using. I'll archive all of January's ramblings before I post 'My Adventures In France' . I did hear one thing on Fox News when I was away. The small European country of Lichtenstein is going to rent itself out as a corporate venue. It has a population of around 33,000.......and obvously needs the money. Just lets hope this doesn't happen when someone attempted to take a long-term uncheduled lease on Poland back in 1939. Dr P
Wednesday, February 12, 2003
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Two Weeks Away
Yup. I'll be away on business for the next two weeks. France - Paris & Lille. I might be able to log on some time to say hello, but if you don't see me, set your clocks for Wednesday 12th Feb - the day of the historic return from conquering Europe. If this is the first time you've been here - have a good look around. Feel free to scroll down and peruse previous entries. I can't begin to list the stuff you'll read....ha....but it ranges from reporting on the Grosvernor of Illinois' decision to get rid of the death penalty in his state, to more down to earth topics like 'farting in the gym'. Also click on the Nov & Dec links to read other fun & games in the life of Dr P... But don't let your entertainment stop there. There are quite a few links listed under 'Trivia'. These include such pearls as Flyguy - which describes actually what goes on. Panda Cam takes you to the panda enclosure in San Diego zoo for live video feed of.....well....pandas! I could list them all here, but I don't want to spoil them for you. Last, but certainly not least are all the links to my favourite people and their journals. Listed under "You'll Like These", (because you will), are the main people whose weblog diary thingies I like to say hello at. Also under the two different journal board listings are other places I like to go. And there's a pretty coloured 'blogroll' thingy that lists a few regulars as well. You should go and read what they have to say........and say hello :) If you want to see different weblog rings/groups/societies have a look under 'Homes' & 'More Homes' - there are some other interesting people lurking behind those links! Most of all, enjoy your visit here - I'll be back sooner than you think :) Dr P
Wednesday, January 29, 2003
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Trade Unions
Aren't Trade Unions interesting things? USDAW - Union of Shop Distributors & Allied Workers, i.e. the shop floor workers 'retailing union' was my first adventure. Many years ago I came up against the 'management' in the retail store I was working at. The details are tedious, but we ended up being passed onto the TGWU - The Transport & General Workers Union, basically because the guy running the local branch of USDAW, was a slob, and wouldn't get off his fat lazy arse to help us. I say 'us'. What happened in this store was a tail of intrigue and woe - for me. One company took over another company, and certain things were happening which I , and many others did not agree with - so we had various 'secret squirrel' meetings in local hotels with union reps to decide what we should do next. Unfortunately, the store manager got wind of our meetings, and one by one he 'got' to every member of staff, until there was only me & somebody else who were still 'pro-union'. (In the mean-time another company took us over, just to complicate things).Then my colleague resigned and moved on elsewhere.....the Marines actually. So there I was........the only person standing up for himself with 'union backing' *cough* in the whole store. In a retail environment where sales targets mattered, and a manager who had a 'three strikes and you're out' rule if you were bottom of the sales charts three weeks in a row...........I was given really s**t jobs to do. I was given a rough ride, but I survived. The new company understood there was an 'atmosphere' in the store. 'We' had a meeting with them. The manager was suspended and later sacked. I won............but my faith in trade unions wasn't exactly solidified by that experience. I left shortly afterwards because the new company lowered my basic salary & changed the commission scheme. I was unable to take them to an industrial tribunal due to my lack of service with the previous companies. After filling in several forms and making statements, six months later I received notification from the Unemployment Benefit office that my case had been 'proven' - I was right, the company could not just walk in and do what it wants. I received my backdated unemployment benefit money - they would not issue any as I had left the job for 'unproven reasons'. I now know, certainly in the UK, that there is such a thing called the 'Transfer of Undertakings' which protects an employee when a new company 'takes over; the one he/she is working for. The moral of this story is - stick to your principles - when you know you are right........you are always right. Dr P
Tuesday, January 28, 2003
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Feeling Poorly
We all can feel a bit under the weather at times. Not want to get out of bed, (unless you’re a bed tester in a bed factory – in which case you’d welcome a good walk around), just feeling drained or generally exhausted etc. I feel a bit like that myself at the moment. I’ve just got back to work after about four months off. I’ve started going back to the gym to get fit. And I’m driving every day. I’m knackered . I think I need a holiday – ha. But when do you decide that ‘feeling poorly’ gets you absent from work, or from some place you were supposed to be? Whilst watching Man Utd v West Ham, ( Man U are were thrashing West Ham 4 – 0 with 35 mins to go at the time of writing - yesterday), I learnt that one of the Man U players, Paul Scholes , had been substituted at half time because he was ‘ feeling poorly ’. Hmmm. What sort of an excuse does a multi-million pound soccer player have to tell his manager at half time that he is ‘too poorly’ to play:
A. You just can’t be arsed to get out of bed? B. One of your kiddies is sick and you are the only one there to look after them? C. It’s the Friday morning between Thanksgiving, (Thursday), and Saturday – you have no more holiday days left to take……but you have the mother-of-all-hangovers ? D. Bizarrely – you are actually ‘ill’ ? E. You think you’ve been the victim of alien abduction during the night, and are currently doing a full body check for punctures & needle marks? F. It’s exam day? If you answered ‘A’ or ‘F’ – I’m surprised you think you’ve got time to be browsing the internet – get a life! If you answered ‘B’ – I’m surprised you think you’ve got time to be browsing the internet – watch that child! J Answering ‘C’ will get you a place in the ‘Unoriginal Hall of Fame’ – and your cards on the following Monday. ‘D’ – wimps! LOL ! Those of an ‘E’ persuasion – I’d just like you to check everything in your house because while you’ve been reading this, you’ve been transported into your virtual house in the belly of the mother ship you were in last night……..! I think the only people who can possibly be sick are West Ham Utd – the match ended Man Utd 6 – 0 West Ham Utd…….and not a flying saucer in sight. Dr P
Monday, January 27, 2003
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The Handshake Game
I came across this after dinner party game many years ago. And like many after dinner party games it relies on your level of consciousness at the time. And I don’t just mean whether or not you’re in a communicative state of mind because you might be concerned with Third World debt, or the political situation in Nicaragua – I’m referring to your alcohol intake. Naturally, games like Twister require no adjustment at all. In fact, the more alcohol the better – just be ready to do a lot of cleaning up afterwards. (N.B. if you’re planning to play Twister after dinner – don’t serve Chinese food – very messy). So where were we? Ah yes – The Handshake Game……It’s very simple. But it does require complete honesty, in other words no bullshitting. There’s a game called Balderdash where a player gives several definitions of a word, and the other people have to guess the right one. Ideal game for me! If you’re good at talking complete bollocks – then Balderdash is the game for you. Ah yes – The Handshake Game…….. It's like this - I know an elderly gentlemen who's uncle was one of the conspirators who plotted to kill Rasputin . Therefore, I've shaken hands with the elderly gent, (count 1), he has obviously shaken hands with his uncle, (count 2), he naturally has shaken hands with Rasputin, (count 3). So at this point I can say that "I have Rasputin in three handshakes". But the clever amongst you would then realise that I must have Czar Nicholas II and many members of the former Russian Royal family 'in 4' . The natural consequence of that would be to say, therefore I have many members of other European royal familys from the turn of the 20th century, 'in 4 or 5' - including Queen Victoria . You could be challenged to prove your link & explain your handshakes if for example you said you had 'God in one' . A good person you might be, but an angel, saint, or someone in direct contact with 'The Big Guy' - you are probably not. A person may then try to beat your number of handshakes with an equally implausible number of links to the person you have named. There are several ways to play this game:
Dr P
Sunday, January 26, 2003
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Somewhere in Spain
Before arriving in Brussels to stick some plaster & paint on the old Bolivian embassy, I had quite an adventure getting there. It started off by leaving my job in London, going to Wales and getting a crewing position on a yacht with a guy I'd never met before, sailing to Spain , and hitch-hiking up through Europe. Here's a little extract from the diary at the time, (1985!)..... "Monday 10th June 1845hrs. Sitting on the pavement in a no horse town called Benahadux, approx. 8 km N.E. of Almeria. I checked out the Malaga hostel on Sunday morning, went back to the yacht to collect my gear & have a good-bye drink with everyone. Got to Malaga about 1900hrs. They'd put all the international travelers in one room. I was sharing the room with Peter, (Argentinian), Flavio, (Brazilian), a Dane, a Yank, and an Italian guy. The Yank spoke high speed Californian Spanish to help him get by. Peter was penniless, and was trying to get back to Argentina. We talked about The Malvinas, (The Falkland Islands), and how he had just escaped conscription by leaving the country before his notice arrived. (Consciption was done alphabetically using the last few digits of the Argentine National Insurance number). I advised him to check out the yachting situation. (I could have got on a yacht to Rio, back in Benelmadena. A salty old sea dog I met there told me that "....If I don't stop now, I never would again...." - it was a bit early in my life to be giving it all up for sailing the high seas, although it was an exciting prospect.) Had coffee & rolls for breakfast, and got a couple of buses to take me to the other side of town, heading east out of Malaga. Two hours later, after a 3 km walk, and posing for a photo with the milkman's donkey (!), I got my first lift in Spain. Actually, the vehicle was stationary when I approached it. In fact, it was broken down! The driver had his head in the bonnet, trying to fix it, when I attacked him with my phrase book. Somehow, I managed to get a 20 mile lift and another breakfast, (free), out of it. I was at a place called Nerja. It's a good hitching place from there because around the corner was 50 km worth of the most treacherous winding cliff roads ever! I'd been there half na hour when a Dutch guy pulled up & gave mw a lift to Almeria, some 120 km. And then I go the bus here. It's very Sierra-Nevadaish around here. Lots of chalk & brown hills. the main street looks like it's a forgotten set out of a Spaghetti Western. I'll try a bit more hitching now, and doss down somewhere later on. I'll head for Murcia - 220 km away... Tuesday 14th June 1400hrs. Start of siesta time! Strange things do happen. I walked out of Benahadoux, 8 km to the next no horse town called Rejo. This was getting very desert like. And Lo! - there I met a VW camper packed with Aussies. the three girls and a guy had just spent three weeks coming from Belgium on their way to Morocco. Naturally, the fridge was full of 'cannies', so we had a few, and exchanged useful information. I told them about the cliff roads before Nerja, and they advised me to stay the night in this God forsaken hamlet because a movie was being made a couple of miles outside the place, and they were shooting some scenes early tomorrow morning. I approached a bunch of of peasanty types, who were drinking and chatting away. I attempted to break the communication barrier with the help of my exceptionally well worn phrase book. It didn't work. One of the group had a cousin who was French, so I ended up explaining to him that I wanted a room for the night. We understood each other perfectly. As soon as they got the message - nobody wanted to know. Maybe because he felt sorry for me, or because I was ruining a good afternoons drinking session for him, but the man with the French cousin decided to help me out. He said I could sleep in his half built house, which was only fractionally better than sleeping in the middle of the desert. Evening drew in quickly for the artists, and they moved from the bar around the corner to the street with the lampost in it. I sat with them for a while sorting out my pack, had an orange for dinner, and retired to my newly acquired abode for the night. But it didn't last long.........MOSQUITOS!! I braved them for about half an hour - with me curled up in a ball inside my sleeping bag. But the noise of the buzzing, and the thud...thud...thud as they dive-bombed me, all became too much. Anyway, this was the middle of summer - and I was roasting to death inside that bag! I valiantly leapt out of my bag, grabbed all my stuff, and dragged it across from the ruins of my 'hotel' across the street to the safety of the lampost. They had gone to bed by then. The mossys didn't come near me - they just fizzled themselves out on the street light. This was a much nicer, cleaner, quieter place then I'd just been laying in. So, I stretched out my bag, and much to the amazement of some of the old folk who were looking out from behind their shutters....I went to sleep in the street." It was quite a fun trip. Meeting people can be very rewarding, just avoid some of the no horse towns in Southern Spain :) Dr P
Saturday, January 25, 2003
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Buried In Beige Draylon
I had an interesting job once. In fact, I've had several interesting jobs. One of the strangest pieces of employment I had was decorating the former Bolivian embassy in Brussels, Belgium. I'll type that again just in case you thought you mis-read it....decorating the former Bolivian embassy in Brussels, Belgium. The path to employment always intrigues me as well. For example - a zoo keeper. There could be many reasons as to why he/she is a zoo keeper :
But the first interesting job in question was working on a local history project back in my home town. I was a 'transcriber'.....ooh - I know, doesn't exactly make you sit up and want the T-shirt does it? I went through the church parish records which had been copied onto microfiche. Microfiche. Another silly bloody word. 'Micro' - understandably means small. But what the hell's a 'fiche'? A French fish? Are we all looking at small French fish? Are we really inside the Matrix? Or am I talking bollocks again? I was looking through the 'hatches, matches & dispatches' - thats the births, marriages & death records, to check for family tree stuff. The lytch gate, (an old wooden hut type covering over the church gates), was where coffins used to be opened to see if the corpses were ' buried in wool'. ( During the 14th and 15th centuries the protection of this national product was of great importance, and an act was passed in the reign of Charles II for the express purpose of increasing the consumption of English wool.) Basically, you had to pay a tax if the body in the coffin was wrapped in wool. Those who could afford it, paid the tax. this was then indicated in the death register with the initials "B.I.W." next to their name. This was also used as an indication of the status of the family if they could afford to do that. Bloody hell - it just turned into a history lesson. Okay, well lets just see if you've been paying attention:
Dr P
Friday, January 24, 2003
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BUNKER MEN
"Treat the builders, not the masses'" (Who wants to save the middle classes?) Nice new homes for Bunker Men On emerging from their den. Mutants out from doors on walls Catch the next one as it falls. They don't get to see the day When Bunker Men come out to play. Stay-pressed, stylish N.B.C. threads Looking after all the heads Of services which only then Can keep alive the Bunker Men. A brave new world for Bunker Men, A chance to start it all again. As the glowing mist unfurls, I hope there are some Bunker Girls! Yeah, well , what with all this talk of war etc - there's always a light side to things :) Dr P
Thursday, January 23, 2003
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Hunchback of Notre Dame Weather
Rain. Excellent stuff isn't it? Makes us do daft things. Drive far closer and faster than we would normally do in dryer conditions. (Not me of course). Splash in puddles....me. Wear strange clothes - most definitely......and me as well. But where I think the Hunchback of Notre Dame would be perfectly at home, feel relaxed out on the streets, is on a rainy day like this. I suppose I better qualify that last statement. Earlier today I was proceeding along the road in an orderly fashion, (just in case there's any policemen reading this. Imagine - I nearly said PIGS but I didn't. ), when the Heavens opened and a downpour began. (And why do we always hate it when the Heavens open, but when we see geysers spouting up water from Hell's direction, we love them & say how pretty they are? Is this a sign of the twisted attraction to evil and the ways of Satan ? Or am I talking complete bollocks again? Vote Now !) And rain it did. A lot. And that's when I realised that Quasimodo would be most at home roaming the streets at this time - without anyone being none the wiser. There was a man on a bicycle. He was, actually, on the pavement, and I suppose breaking some kind of local bylaw. It may have been legal for a man of thif parifhe to runne hif oxen along thif triale 200 years ago, but this bloke was on a Halfords ten speed racer - hardly the farmer type. Anway, he didn't have any cattle with him. Soooooooo, there he was on his bike with the rain beating down on him. (You may be wondering why this is taking so long to explain. I was in a traffic jam , and he was cycling towards me on the same side of the road. This gave me a long time to watch...and think.) My first thought was:
He looked like a hunchback riding a bike. Indeed, he could well have been a hunchback riding a bike. He was going at great speed towards the church. I rest my case. But Charles Laughton in kagool? I just can't see that somehow?....actually I just did,...it's quite funny :) Dr P
Wednesday, January 22, 2003
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The Dating Game How would you like to know everything about your date before you met them ? You do? Then Puntos Arenas is the place for you. Yes - that Puntos Arenas, the one near the tip of South America. Okay, it's a bit of a taxi ride home. And the language might be a bit of a problem. And I think the nearest McDonalds is about 800 miles north of you at Pto.Montt. (Always useful to know if the date bums out after the first few mins, and you're starving). But the kids down there have it pretty much wrapped up when it comes to seeing if your date is worth dating. Here's the scenario: Marie, (name changed),.......actually I'm just making her damned name up anyway - so what does it matter? Anyway......Marie, 17yrs old..........yes, I made her age up as well. I suppose I better stick a disclaimer in here - come to think of it, I really should have a disclaimer at the foot of the page as well - look for that in a few days. Anyway - here's this disclaimer: This article in no way relates to anybody called Maria, aged 17yrs old, or any other person mentioned here within living in & around, or just traveling Puntos Arenas, Chile, South America. Any resemblance to anybody is purely coincidental. Honest. So Marie fancies the pants off Salvador. Salvador is in her Deep Sea Oceanic Studies Class at college. (Yes - it does sound a bit fishy, but it's my story and I'm sticking with it.). Marie wants to ask him out, but first she wants to know more about him. In true college style, she consults her friends. She asks those all important college type questions that girls ask about boys......(remember this is a Spanish translation, so bear with me).......
During this time , (and remember I'm not making up the basic principal of this article - this really does happen down there), Salvador knows he's under investigation. In fact, if he's the 'King Crab', ( probably not the best analogy to use, is it?), of the Deep Sea Oceanic Class, he could be being investigated by more than one girl at the same time. (Potential business opportunity for a Quik-PhotoLab store in P.A.). He could, in fact play this to his advantage if he knows who is investigating him. Act like a right w***er in front of one girl's friends, but be The Pope in front of some other girl's friends........hmmmm, acting like The Pope won't get him anywhere on the 'rumpy-pumpy' front, will it ? Perhaps acting like Antonio Banderas would be a better choice. So, I was watching a travel programme about Puntos Arenas. There was a girl who spent one year with her friends investigating one guy. (This guy had already been investigated eleven previous times.......even with your head in a diving bell, you'd have had to have known that if you were at the same college). Finally, a date was set up. The girl, and her friends trooped into a tapas bar to meet the 'Golden Child'. She sat for approx. two minutes next to him.........turned to the camera and said 'No'. And got up and worked out. The 'Golden Child' never even flinched. I believe he later went to the leather store to get a belt made with the slogan printed into it: "¡Doce de tantos meses - un qué
individuo!" And then he might have not of as well.
So, the next time you're down in Puntos Arenas, and you're looking for a good time. Make sure you've got plenty of money & time and your hands to spare. And you might........just might.........get lucky. Dr P
Tuesday, January 21, 2003
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Androgynous Dream Activists (Omorphions)
It does sound like a suppport band for Duran Duran during a 1980's tour of Thailand, or something, doesn't it? But it came to me in a dream........just last night............and yes - I'm going to tell you about it... I was driving around a motorway - somewhere- (have you noticed in dreams how you don't necessarily know exactly where you are sometimes, but that the surroundings seem comfortable & familair?), - it seemed like a bit of a sci-fi ring road around a central city 'suspended' in the air. Dark City came to mind......except this was during the day. The traffic began to bunch up at high speed. I was in the fast lane, oops, I mean an 'overtaking' lane, when I saw huge accidents occuring in the middle and inside lanes. There were smashes, multi-car pile ups,cars, (and perhaps 'csars' as I originally typed. Probably driving Zil's :) ), sliding and twisting all over the place. But it didn't seem to bother me. (Lets be honest, in 'real life' I'd have cacked me pants by now and probably have ploughed into the back of someone else.......but let's not discuss my driving skills here (!)...meanwhile, back at the dream...)...Nope, I was a cool as a cucumber. (Question - How do cucumbers describe their own suave,sophisticated, stylish & debonaire approach to the traumas of everyday life? It takes some balls to be cool knowing that in the end you'll be 'salad fodder'. Or maybe they don't know,eh? Perhaps they think they're going to 'Cucumber Heaven' once they get lifted out of the tray in the supermarket? Except for the 'half cucumbers' who are probably hoping they're going to a 'Limb Replacement Centre for Mutilated Vegetables '. Or maybe.......they just don't think at all..........lets get back to the dream, eh?..........). There I was, still, as cool as that aforementioned salad vegetable. Eventually, I was towards the front of what was left of the traffic on the motorway, and there seemed to be an unspoken accepted desicion that we should all slow down. I do remember putting my left hand out and bracing myself on the dashboard - waiting for some plonker to rear-end me. It never happened. There was some commotion happening on a motorway bridge some distance ahead. The scene changed to a press conference being given by the police in relation to the motorway incident. The room was very bright & white. The police were showing video evidence. The video showed 'people' in white radioactive suits running across a road. They were all identical. I remember looking over the policeman's shoulder at his notes. He was refering to them as 'Omorphions' - like they were some sort of lesser part of society. I got the impression that this particular group of Omorphions had been programmed to do what they did, so the police weren't blaming them directly for their actions, just whoever had programmed them - as those people were the real activists......and when I woke up.....it was all a dream. Oh yes, before anyone says it - Omorphions are not Irish clones Dr P
Monday, January 20, 2003
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Foreign Intrigue & Adventure
When I were a lad, we went to Rome to see the Pope. He was in. That was lucky. We'd traveled overland from the UK by train through France & Italy. I can't remember how long it took, a couple of days at least. I had a huge white plastic 'gerry can' in a haversack. It was filled with orange juice. It had been my dad's idea, because we couldn't drink the water 'over there', (and you still can't!), and this would help on the journey. There was a slight embarrassment about it at first, but although the juice was warm before we'd even left England, there were some welcome thirsty faces on a packed sleeper train ploughing it's way through Europe . But who were we. 'We' were the Archconfraternity of St. Stephen - the "altar servers union" - and we were on a pilgrimage to Rome. Funny thing is, I never really felt like pilgrim. In fact, as far as pilgrimages went - this was a pretty damned good one in terms of the travel arrangements, journey, and guaranteed final outcome. If you consider all those medieval pilgrimages where the church actively encouraged people to go wandering around Europe & the Middle East looking for Holy Shrines, we were on a good thing. No passing plagues, no bands of robbers ,(although it never stopped the pickpockets in Rome trying to steal from one of the priests with us), no chance of getting to our final destination and finding it burnt down/stolen - or find ourselves imprisoned for our beliefs. But those French sleeper trains were a bit primitive. Our train stopped everywhere. By the time it got half way down France, it was absolutely packed. I remember one morning sticking my head out of the train door window as we whistled through the French countryside scaring les vaches, and there was a girl who was leaning out of another door window a few feet away: "HI !" I shouted, above the noise of the, ( I guess ....), diesel locomotive, "Where you from?". Now I was actually being a bit silly there, not just being incredibly English. (Note: being incredibly English is expecting everyone....everywhere to speak the Queen's English. I mean, after all, didn't we colonise half the bloody world in the first place!? Anyway, lets not get into that one. Lets get back on the train......).Yes I was being silly, because I didn't know how she was going to answer me.... "Fine," she shouted back, "Where you from?". Okay. That took me by surprise - she either was English, or had a very good English accent, and I couldn't hear her 'foreigness' because of the noise of the train. I shouted back that I was from England. So was she. Hmmm. I understood her quite well. I asked her to be more exact.............she only lived about 15 miles away from me back home. So much for foreign intrigue and adventure, eh? I stuck my head back in and had a warm cup of orange juice instead. Dr P
Sunday, January 19, 2003
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Avoiding Eye Contact....Again
As ever, I started to write about one thing yesterday, and completely side-tracked my self onto something else. Still, it's a laff, eh? Anyway, there I was - back the gym. As I am a spectacle wearing person,(my current pair are exactly like the ones Michael Douglas wore in "Falling Down". The resemblance has been noted. In fact, when I do wear a short sleeve white shirt, I have been sorely tempted to go into MacDonalds a few minutes after 11am and try to order a breakfast - just to see their reactions.), there are only disadvantages in not wearing my specs when I'm working out. I'm only slightly short-sighted, but anybody over, say, 20 feet away, I would have to stare hard at to recognise.....disadvantage no.1: The Squint - for personal safety - mine & theirs (!) - I simply try not to look at anybody whilst I'm in there, otherwise I'll end up looking like a stalkers face pressed up against the bathroom window as I squint a few times into the distance to see who is there. This will get me thumped. Okay, nobody I know goes in there, thank God. At the moment, in these early days of getting fit, it's a pretty poor show I'm putting on. There's 'extreme oldies ' in there doing marathons whilst I can jog for a few......but then half to reduce it to a quick walk again. But now we come across disadvantage no.2: The Middle Distance Stare - this is just something I have to adopt because I can't really focus on the MTV-playing monitor hanging from the ceiling, but I have to look somewhere.The weights machines are at the far end of the gym, and I'm always conscience of the fact that when a large busty girl is working out, or when some girl takes her top off whilst 'resting' inbetween bench presses etc - they'll see me looking straight ahead.....'towards them'. But I've got to look somewhere! This will get me thumped. (So far....so good!) Of course, one of the things that I think we all are a bit conscience of whilst working out, is, where should you actually 'look' when you're in close quarters with lots of mixed sex sweaty bodies.(" Mixed Sex Sweaty Bodies " ? Sounds like a 70's porno movie title?). Anyway, so this brings up the third disadvantage, common to everyone I believe: The Short Range Look - this can also be compounded if the gym, like mine, has machines in rows, but on steps going down to the main gym floor. Where do you look without being accused of being a pervy? You try to look at the machine controls, right? And you desperately try not to look at the tight lycra ass in front of you which is commiting a crime against man made material by punishing itself so much - cos then you start to laff and lose balance, catch your breath,......and the worst thing you can ever do whilst in the gym - smile to yourself - that's a definite one way ticket out the fire exit. But if you think you can avoid some these embarassing situations by suddenly doing stretching exercises, coughing, and scratching your crotch - try doing that in a crowded elevator when you make eye contact with someone. Dr P
Saturday, January 18, 2003
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Avoiding Eye
Contact
It’s a human nature thing I suppose. I mean, if we were all open mouthed in complete astonishment with full face stares at everyone that passed by – it’d be the biggest floating psychiatric planet in the Universe. No wonder there’s never been major ‘First Contact’ with alien life – they keep landing in the country side, where all our country cousins find them first, and then it’s a case of a huge red-cheeked yokel sticking his face into some bewildered alien’s visor with a: “Howdy partner! Mighty fine vee-hickle you got there. Mind if I take alook see inside?” And before he knows it, the poor alien has had his stabilisers ripped off his spaceship and spot-welded onto the side of a rusty old Toyota Camry. Take the ‘Toilets By The Locker’ scenario, as happened to me today. There I was minding my own business…..actually I was heading towards the toilets to ‘do’ my ’business’, when I spied a young lady by her locker, which was right by the gents toilet door. Okay – what goes through your head at this point? There maybe only a few steps before you’re safely behind closed doors, but what of the potential psychological trauma that could unfold before you get in there. The girl was putting her coat in her locker and looked up when she saw me. I was only going to one place, there was no other reason for me heading in that direction – so what was I supposed to say “Hi – I’m going for a crap, how you doing?”. I looked at her – and there was eye contact. Damn. Gotta say something now, otherwise she might think I’m being rude. There were only a few steps to go……I could have coughed, perhaps clutched my chest and staggered into through the toilet door, or merely just looked at the ground and shuffle my way in there. But no, I thought I’d best engage in a little ‘Passing Conversation’ – throw away lines to get through embarrassing social situations. I said – “Hello”. Now I really didn’t expect a reply here. In this particular social context, having recognised the accepted situation the recipient of the ‘hello’ would respond with a nod, grunt or equally non-engaging ‘hello’…ah ha – but she didn’t recognise the situation. Damn. She looked up from her locker and said “Hello” – with that bright cheery ‘Lets-have-a-conversation’ type ‘hello’. Oops. The appalling cappuccino from the Kenco coffee machine was not going to allow me to stop when it was so close to it’s overall victory - passage through my system in record time. I stopped momentarily in the doorway of the toilet & weighed up the situation. It didn’t take long. I looked up at her…paused….thought ‘F**k it’ – and opted for bowel relief as opposed to casual conversation. The strange thing is……I’m sure she saw on my face what I was thinking. Now, in her eyes I’ll be forever the ‘guy-who’d-rather-s**t-than-talk-to-me’…….. Don’t drink cappuccino from a Kenco coffee machine if you want to be a chick magnet……:) Dr P
Friday, January 17, 2003
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"Tonight Matthew............"
"....you're going to be......" (drum roll,dry ice,doors open) "..........Gary Glitter." Dr P
Thursday, January 16, 2003
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Remote Viewing
It's difficult to know where to begin with this subject. Remote Viewing, RV, in it's simplest terms is the ability to be able to see/travel in the past/present/future to people/places and events. Here's a another definition. The Larger Universe used to have a bulletin board where many people, me included, used to post their thoughts, experiences etc on RV. Here is one posted by me on Saturday 24/10/98: Having already dabbled in basic RVing using a mixture of CRV/SRV protocols, with a small measure of success, I decided to invest in some form of training - an audio cassette course from 'The Academy of Remote Viewing Through Time and Space' - aka 'The Probable Future Corporation' , ran by a former European trained RVer - Gerald O'Donnell . It's slightly concerning at first because the tapes sound like a lot of heavy mental suggestion to suggest that you've reached the 'Theta Level of Consciousness', as opposed to actually getting there. But it does tend to get you in a relaxed frame of mind for bigger and better things. I was soaking in the sound from the first tape and seem to get down to Theta. Whilst there, the tape suggests, that some students may want a guide to help them communicate with The Greater Universe. The voice said that you might be surprised who appears. I wasn't really thinking about that when suddenly a woman's face appears........... She was in her late forties. White. Black beehive hairdo with black horn rimmed glasses. Her face was silhouetted against a leaded glass window - as if I was looking up to her. Then 'I' was standing next to her - we were in the front row of a church service. BUT - I got the distinct impression that 'I' was a small boy, about ten years old. I remember looking up at her - 'I' must have been 'her son', or something. I looked down at my hands to confirm this - small hands! Anyway, I looked behind me along the row (as small boys do in church services!) and a small blond haired girl was waving to me. (- I'm not quite sure whether I actually saw that or I was making it up to complete the scene...). Then my view point spiraled out above the church, which seemed to be surrounded by yellow wheat/corn fields. Now - I don't know about you, but little images appearing just as I'm about to drop off to sleep is not an unusual thing for me. So, I didn't think anything of this. As the psychologist might say - "It could have been my Namer & Guesser assembling an image because I needed to identify something......". The voice on the tape suggests that that if someone appears - ask who it is. Before we'd even got to the church service bit, Three bits of information popped into my head- 1. Myrtle Green 2. 1954 3. Minnesota Wow! What was that ? Again I didn't think much of this until I finished that RV session. (One of the main points of an RV session, in whatever manner it is done, is that information has to received first, then analyzed afterwards). I began to think - maybe there is a Myrtle Green out .....there. It sounded like such a daft name to make up - even for me. And what about that date and place ? I begin to search the web. I tried the US White Pages - no luck. I try a general search for 'Myrtle Green' - no luck. Then on the edge of one of these search engine pages, it directs you towards genealogy sites. Now, you have to believe in fate a little bit here. There is a lot of crappie 'no access', incomplete, useless 'family tree' type web sites out there. However, I got quickly lead to a genealogical site (not Minnesota based), which was concerned with the Green Family Name. Down in the listing were about half a dozen Myrtle Greens. Below is the info from the genealogy page: Name: Myrtle Leona Green Birth date: June 01, 1898 Birth location: Ohio Death date: July 11, 1954 Age at death: 56yrs 41 days. Death location:(unknown) Spouse: Schick, Walter And here is a copy of my documented RV session: Name: Myrtle Green - matches. Date 1954 - matches. Location Minnesota - no match. Could be place of death, or church. Date at death - possibly slightly older than person I 'saw'. General Description: White woman. Black hair. Beehive haircut. Black horn rimmed glasses. In a church with a small boy about ten. Church possibly in the fcountryside. Wheatields susurrounding. Could be Ohio. I emailed Gerald O'Donnell, and he said it was a bit strange, and to 'ask for clarification'.....I wasn't able to get back to that level/frame of mind to find out any more via RV. I've tried tracing Walter Schick - so far I've found: 1. a ex-German WWII fighter plane designer who defected to the US - he co-authored a book. I don't know if he is alive - although he'd have to be quite old! 2. The 'Walter Schick Jazz Quintet' - who, I think, are still playing. And that's where the story ended. Life took hold of my surroundings and I didn't have any more time to devote to RV. Anyone can do this. It is just a matter of mental application. Just like riding a bike, really. I once did a demo for a friend of mine, and it's also something I do from time to time. I asked him to put a marker in the middle of a magasine which neither he, nor I, had opened. I then got myself settled, and attempted to view the page. It was quite successful. I got a mixture of the pages on either side of the bookmark - because they were both pictures. Minority Report makes me smile. It's just a wild advancement of the use of RV type technology,(people), who already helping the authorities in many ways. Go take a look into the future - it's here already. Dr P
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
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The Avril Lavigne Complex
Now, I know this sounds a bit odd.....but.....I think I'm stalked by Ms Lavigne .Everywhere I go - she seems to be there. Okay, to be more precise - every TV or radio I come across seems to be playing her songs. Yes the current hits are "Complicated" and "Skater Boy"....nah nah nah......ha - it was always the mature end to a kids argument, wasn't it? Or when you'd just proved a point - 'So there - na nah nah!' And even when you were a kid you knew it was a totally meaningless statement, but it still left you frustrated because you knew you'd lost the argument If only you'd got your 'nah nah nah' in there quicker - the world might have been a whole different place......until the next little spat. Okay, I'll admit it - this is not the first time this has happened either. Remember when Dido first hit the charts about a year and a half ago? Same story. And that was even more bizarre, as there were huge geographical distances involved in-between me seeing one of her video's on TV, or listening to her in the car. I ended up buying her album & recommending her to all family & friends - in fact, I even went to her web site and emailed her record company saying how good she was. How's that for dedication, eh? I won't go this far with the Lavigne girl. I mean, there international laws about this sort of thing, and I'm probably sailing a bit close to the wind with admitting the fascination with her in the first place. But it is a musical thing - I just seem to have got the bug for this teeny-bopper music. The ' Bjork Phase' was totally different, of course..............as was the ' Britney Period'.............no - I am positively repulsed by Christina Aguilera. She just looks bizarre in that ' Dirty 'song. I suppose I should end here with a note about our maritime chums. Sailors must have a bit of a confusing time when they think they are near to doing something wrong. They're not going to say "I think I'm sailing a bit close to the wind......" They might be on their boat at the time - how daft is that going to sound? Probably not half as daft as me trying to explain it I think. Dr P
Tuesday, January 14, 2003
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"Can I use your dictaphone ?"
"No - you can use your finger like everyone else". It's an old Bernard Manning joke I know, but I thought it's the best way to start this one - keeping in the same lower body region feel as yesterdays blog. And what better way to start today's drivel then to change the subject completely - This year will be "The Year Of The Tie Pin", or tie clasp to be exact. My father used to wear them many years ago. He did have some nice mother-of-pearl ones. So the next time you see me in my zoot suit, and inappropriate tie, it'll be pinned down with a good old-fashioned tie clasp. I better let you in on a secret. Everything you're reading is being transcribed back from the aforementioned dictaphone . I was on a long car trip this morning, (and, conversely, this afternoon as well :) ), and pulled into a service station before I'd p***ed my pants. (Damn, I made a mental note not to go anywhere near that subject. In fact, I swore to myself yesterday that there is no way I could possibly, even accidentally, get onto the subject of pants p***ing. Such is the will of the flowing text, that even I can't control what happens next!) There I was in the car. Chatting to myself, smiling away, trusty dictaphone in my hand........enduring image, eh? Actually, it's a 'microcassette-corder'according to what is printed on the front of it. Anyway, it records stuff when you speak into it. And this is what I said: ".....the biggest thing so far today is that I've pulled into a service station for....er....a cup of coffee, on an early morning ride 'up North' as they say. And there was a guy behind the counter in one of those Costa Rican Colombian La De Da coffee places ........I could have went to MacDonalds and had the usual slop burn my lips and staggered out going 'Why did I buy that again?'. But I thought - no,no,no, I'll have a cappucino...y'know...multi-latto-twin-cylinder-cam-shafted-fuel-injected large - and it was not in a polystyrene cup. It was in an actual porcelain thing, so there was a bit of taste to it. And I had one of them. And then I felt like for some reason, I felt like saying to him "......and have one yerself, mate". Ha ha ha. Maybe people do. Maybe that's why these guys are so strung out. They're not students y'know. They're not people who are desperate for money and are scrounging around or anything. They're actually just bloody coffee addicts y'know. And everytime someone comes along with a "....and have one yerself, mate", y'know he nips out the back and crushes down a few grains and snorts a few lines of Colombian. I don't know. I just think he's got the wrong idea about it." - and that, dear readers was the raw unedited version of Dr P.... aren't you glad I usually put some kind of order in my written blogs? Dr P
Monday, January 13, 2003
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Farting In The Gym
Oh come on - we've all done it. I'd forgotten about this embarrassing side effect of working out. And it really doesn't matter what you've eaten or drank before you went, when you had your last intake of food, or even if you've had your morning ablutions. But, oh boy - do not stand anywhere near me when this is happening! There isn't really a great deal you can do about it is there? Do you, break step on the machine to break wind whilst pretending to go get a drink of water or read the notices on the wall. Incidentally, have you ever entered one of those competitions? I particularly like the rowing one where it says that everyone is welcome, and that there's different levels to row at. But you know all these things are won by the human cyborg unit Thick-Beta 7, whose only purpose in life is to finally assimilate with the rowing machine and become as one in the great 'Rowing Machine Collective' whose mystical chants include - Level 10, faster, faster, lift that baby off it's brackets. Yesterday, (yes - all my troubles seemed so far away.....Just having a lyric moment there....:) ), there I was on the stepping machine, minding my own business when I felt a build up of pressure in a 'bowel area'. Without getting too medical, you know what I mean when I say that this is not the sort of lower body feeling one associates with everyday work-like activity - unless, of course you spend your day sat on the pan reading the sporting pages. And there's another, (to me anyway), disgusting human phenomena - taking something to read into the toilet. For Gawd's sake - the main purpose of occupying the smallest room in the house is not to spend quality relaxation time.........although this obviously depends on your quality of life. But what's even more disturbing is when you go into someone else's house, you have to use their bathroom.............and there is a magasine rack in there. Two questions immediately spring to mind:
Anyway, there I was back in the gym. Bowel pressure build up. I decided as it was coming to the end of my vigorous workout...*cough*...I thought I'd hit the exercise mats for the valuable stretching routines before I left. Gingerly, (does that mean like 'Ginger Rogers'?), I got off - actually I staggered away from - the machine and collapsed on the blue rubber mat. This sudden shift in my torso caused me to let rip with a fart, which, had I been standing up somewhere might not have been so loud, but due to the immediate proximity of the mat to my butt - it was like the noise the huge Maceys Thanksgiving Floats make when they deflate them back in the hangar. And if you can't imagine that - it was like an enormous raspberry! Isn't it strange how quickly your brain works in situations like this? I mean, the deviousness and cunning plots and plans that flash through your head in order to....er.....'cover your tracks'. I wonder if the CIA use the Unexpected Fart In Public scenario in their agents training to test their ability to react in a crisis situation? There may even be a written test: You're standing beside the President and The Queen of England. You fart. Do you:
So, in my particular situation I opted for the quick scraping of my training shoe on the rubber mat to replicate the previous offensive sound. It worked. And just for added measure I accidently-on-purpose tripped up on the mat as I got up to leave. I did not stay around to see the aftermath of my bodily functions, although I'm sure it's not the first time, or the last, that it has happened in there. I doubt they'll be naming a machine after me for my contribution to gym life. Maybe they'll be a competition on the wall next time I read it - now I might stand a chance in that ! Dr P
Sunday, January 12, 2003
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Death Row Sentences Commuted to 'Life' in Illinois
In a press conference today at North Western University, Illinois, retiring Grosvernor George Ryan announced that Death Row inmates in Illinois have all had their sentences commuted to 'life'. Clemency hearings will be heard for all of them in the near future. Four years ago George Ryan was voted into office as Grosvernor of Illinois. "I was a believer in the death penalty" he said today. Shortly after his arrival he set up a panel to investigate the death penalty system in Illinois which has resulted in the dramatic changes that are occurring. What are the stats? The death sentence was re-instated in Illinois back in 1977. Last year, 2002, a 1000 murders were committed in the state of Illinois, of which only 2% were sentenced to death row. The actions of prosecutors, defenders, and everyone throughout the criminal justice system involved in cases of murder, came under question during the commission's investigation. The inequality in prosecuting and defending came under initial attack in an introductory speech by Larry Sullivan. As a result of the investigation 17 death row prisoners have now been pardoned and released. Several of them were at the press conference today. Four had only just been pardoned yesterday. But it is not only the injustices occurring with the death row prisoners which the investigation has highlighted. There were a further 33 people who had been charged with murder, (although not put on death row), whose cases were proven to be 'incorrect' and they have been subsequently released. They were also a further 93 cases whose convictions have been turned over. "The system in Illinois is broken" In a frank and open speech Ryan went on to name names and quote extensively from the commission's findings. He commented that the 102 prosecutors elected locally were under pressure from their own communities & politicians. One legal observer noted that the use of the death penalty in Illinois was "......as freakish and arbitrary as who gets hit by a bolt of lightening." "Did you know, "Ryan stated, "that you are five times more likely to be convicted of murder with the death sentence in the rural communities around Cook County, than you are in Cook County. Five times more likely." Ryan also went onto talk about the Ford Height Murders (convicted 1979, released 1996). How was it that the original, incorrectly sentenced people, were put on death row, but when the actual murderers were convicted, they were only given a an 80 year life sentence. Why was there that imbalance ? "There is more than enough blame to go around" One of the most damning statements was concerning the law enforcement agencies who conducted the initial murder investigations before they even got to trial. Some of the 17 released so far had been 'tortured' into making confessions. One victim had even scratched the word 'innocence' into the bench with a paper clip whilst being forced to confess to a murder he didn't commit. "Repair or Repeal" Grosvernor Ryan's speech was long and expansive. It covered, not only the potential ramifications this decision could have for the American legal system, but also how this would effect the world view and opinion of the USA abroad. He mentioned a phone call he had received this week from the former South African premier, Nelson Mandela. Mr Mandela had said "The US sets the example for justice and fairness for the world." Arch Bishop Tu Tu had also sent a letter to Grosvernor Ryan offering his comments on Illinois' decision. Personal bitterness Understandably there are a lot of the victims of the families of, what could be considered, 'genuine death row imates', who are going to feel particularly aggrieved at the fact that the person who killed their family member is no longer going to be executed by the state. Ryan himself has also been touched by this. He movingly went on to tell the story of a current death row inmate, (whose sentence will now be commuted to life), had buried alive Ryan's friend and next door neighbour in his home town. "Mercy spells richer fruits than strict justice" quoted Ryan of Abe Lincoln. The beginning of real justice The commission into the investigation of the death penalty system has looked at and reviewed all aspects of the death row system in the state of Illinois. About time. If you saw Grosvernor Ryan's speech, you realised you were watching a turning point in the US Criminal Justice System. If you didn't see it - go to your TV now. Find a news channel. Watch it. Read about it. The retiring grosvernor of Illinois has listened, acted, and championed the calls for justice and fairness in Illinois' death row system. Ryan said at the end of his momentous speech, "I'm going to sleep well tonight knowing that I've made the right decision". So will the 156 inmates on death row. Okay - why did I do that piece? Well, I was totally moved and amazed that such a man in public office, whose opinions were set in stone when he became gosvernor, could be turned around like that. Not only turned around, but acted on in such a manner to completely change the future of the death row system in his state. There is an enormous amount of controversy surrounding this announcement, and his speech, and the measure being taken are far too much to be encapsulated into one article. For your own piece of mind I suggest you do follow this up and become fully acquainted with all the issues involved. It was interesting to note that Fox News did air the speech live, but less than 30 minutes later it never even made the news headlines and was not mentioned at all in that news broadcast. Who am I to suggest that there may be a lot of political pressure in the background in both directions to support/go against this action and decision in Illinois? But there obviously is. Dr P
Saturday, January 11, 2003
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Frank & Eric
"Warm for this time of year " noticed Frank aloud. "Hmm," agreed Eric, "Still a bit dark though." "It's night" "Oh....I hadn't noticed. Difficult to tell nowadays. My eyes aren't as good as they used to be." Frank stretched his legs. "We should get out more often".........And, as if by magic, the door swung open and light poured into the room. "Quick!" shouted Frank to his companion, "Now's our chance!" They both escaped as the door swung shut behind them. "Well that's us buggered, " moaned Eric, " We'll never get back in now". "Don't worry.It'll open again soon. Anyway, while we're out we may as well enjoy ourselves." "...suppose so." So Frank & Eric set off for a spot of exercise. They managed a few games of tag, and then decided to explore. There to here. Here to there. In fact - all over the place. "Hey Eric!" called Frank to his friend, "I've found one". A window. Windows had always been a hobby of their's. No matter where they went, they'd always find one. This particular window was set half way up a staircase. "Looks like one of those old fashioned sash cord jobs" said Eric as he investigated the frames. "Could do with a damned good clean" commented Frank. They'd spend hours with a window. Sometimes Frank would do the frames, and Eric the glass. Sometimes they'd do half and half. Whichever way they did it, they'd get to know every inch of that window, and how to find it again. "Y'know Frank, I'm surprised we haven't come across this one before. It's one of the biggest around here". "Yes - I know what you mean. Have you finished the frames?" "Yes. I'm just waiting for you." "Lets get back then. Maybe the doors open". Without further discussion they retraced their path back to the door. Luckily for them it was open. "There you are" said Frank smugly, "I told you it would be open soon". "Luck.Pure luck" replied Eric as they entered the room, " But lets hope someone closes it soon & locks that bloody spider out!" "Yes," Frank replied, " I don't fancy another sleepless night on guard duty. Remember what happened to Bert ? He didn't even have time to take off.........." Dr P
Saturday, January 11, 2003
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Vive la difference!
.......in the bloody temperature. It was zero degrees centigrade at Stansted anyway, which I thought was cold enough. But the pilot informed me, (actually he informed everybody with an intercom announcement, it's just that the message seemed rather dramatic, and as I was the only one who went "What?!", so I guessed he was just talking to me....), that the temperature in Paris would be minus 6 degrees. Hello!? Paris....further south towards the equator.......er......should be a tad bit warmer. And with 'le factor de wind chill' it was definitely 'la weather de brass monkey' - no link there, I did it once before somewhere in "Blogging With Dr P...".Go search for 'brass monkey weather' in Google, that'll explain it. Interestingly, I checked out the 'search page' again. Somebody found me by looking for Morrison's supermarkets in Israel....? I think I'll do an experiment and send a 'coded message' within one of my diary entries...........then search for it and see when/if it comes up. I'll let you know. Cheap low-cost airlines. Don't just love 'em? There's one whose name is like the sound a bee makes. This is the company I flew to Paris with. It was, and is, a no frills airline. This obviously includes cleaners and maintenance staff. I have sat in cleaner public toilets.In fact, the people who had dirtied the public toilet before me,may well have done the same on this plane. It was filthy. The old yellowing paint work of the overhead lockers was masked by grimy hand marks along the door handles & covers. Light switches & 'above the head panels' were obviously not part of the cleaning contract either. I decided to catch a little shut-eye.... I applied for a job to be a member of British Airways cabin crew when I were a lad. Ah, those young & foolish days before airline documentaries, when life was so innocent,............and camping was something you did in the boy scouts.There was an open day selection process initially. A large room of candidates were split into two groups. It was then the 'roll-the-piece-of-paper-into-a-ball-and-throw-it-to-a-person' introduction scheme. I got it twice.Was someone deaf or stupid? Or was my charismatic personality, even at that early age, so brilliant that, with mutual consent, the group wanted to hear me talk again? Nah - there were a few thick buggers in there who never made it to the second round. They're probably still making their aunts & uncles play this 'great game they learnt' when they come round a-visiting at Christmas. Round Two was a smaller group round. The situation was: " You're marooned on a desert island. You can have three things with you. What would they be?" The purpose of this little activity was not to see how many times people said "Matches! String!"etc, but to see who were the leaders. The group was being observed by three air stewards/stewardess'. True to form, the drone workers were coming out with all the non-imaginative stuff - 'matches,water,string,food etc' When it came to me, I thought "Sod this. Who wants to stay on an island?" So I said I'd have a motorboat, and an unlimited supply fuel, and food. Stunned silence. I broke the bubble of the few people in the group, the ones who had made it from the first round that were still marveling at the paper ball game, (and couldn't wait to get home & play it at their next Christian Rafia Work Coffee Morning for Sick Marsupials), they were thinking - "Oh -he can't say that." I did. I never saw them a week later at the final interviews. The following week was interview time. This is when the tide of change begin rapidly sweeping over me. There really is no other way of saying this - all the blokes were as bent as a nine pound note. I mean there should have been a 'Butlins', or 'Boys Scouts' sign above the entrance - there was so much camping going on! Here's a message for cabin stewards - "You don't have to be feminine to work with women." Hairdressers, clothes designers, cabin stewards etc - why do the male section of these industries come across as being gay - is there something in their employment contracts about it? Anyway, to put it mildly, I could feel my butt cheeks tightening shut whenever one of them approached me - this was, obviously, not the job for me ! The inteview procedure for the cabin crew also included some psychology tests. I noticed that at the foot of the page that the tests were produced from some unknown Californian university. Seeing that California is the 'land of fruits & nuts', I asked the stewardess in charge what she thought the vailidity was of a psychology test from a Califorinian university. She just smiled, she didn't know what the hell I was talking about. I bet she's still there now.........pre-rolling balls of paper for the next group of candidates. Dr P
Friday, January 10, 2003
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