dreaded Nigerian underpants bomber
What a terrible holiday period for Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab.
By the time, we had opened all our presents, stuffed ourselves with turkey, fallen out over charades and finally slumped in front of 'Gavin & Stacey', Umar should have been sitting at the right hand of Allah, surrounded by a variety of 57 vestal virgins, clad in white silk lingerie, feeding him grapes, tending to his every whim, straddli - [That's enough vestal virgin fantasties - Ed].
Even worse, the young man does not have much to look forward to in the coming weeks of 2010.
- His girlfriend is unlikely to accept his perfectly reasonable explanation that the white, sticky stuff coating his boxer shorts and trousers is indeed PETN explosive residue and nothing more sinister after his 20 minute visit to the aircraft lavatory, clutching a copy of 'High Life' magazine.
- Umar Farouk will need nerves of steel and great mental strength to endure the endless questioning and sophisticated interrogation techniques used by the FBI and CIA. Overcoming sleep deprivation, maintaining stress positions for prolonged periods and surviving water boarding are child's play but heaven help him when the US authorities play Metallica, David Gray and Dire Straits 24 hours a day with the volume turned up to 11.
- Poor Umar is unlikely to be able to claim a refund on his underwear from Marks and Spencer. 'I'm sorry, Sir but with no receipt we can only offer you gift vouchers. In any case, these Y-fronts appear to be worn and, worse, slightly soiled.'
- If and when he should finally rediscover a place in his girlfriend's affections (after persuading her that he wasn't pleasuring himself when he placed the blanket over his waist), sexual intercourse is going to be very painful with charred bollocks and a red hot poker that is just like - well - a red hot poker with third degree burns.
travelogue
People never ask me 'Hey Norman - where has your glamorous globe trotting lifestyle as a IT consultant taken you this year ?'
- January - Bergen
- February - Berne, Blackpool
- March - Madrid, Cairo
- April - Slough, Macclesfield
- May - Lisbon
- June - Warsaw
- July - Brisbane, Perth, Broome, Darwin (holiday)
- August - Brentford
- September - Sunderland
- October - Swindon
- November - Dusseldorf
- December - Kitchen Table
trainspotting
This morning I commuted, Reggie Perrin style, from my leafy suburb into the heart of London by train. Nothing too unusual about that.
After I paid for my daily travelcard, I took my place on an unusually crowded platform. An unusually crowded platform normally means only one thing. An lengthy delay inevitably followed by an overcrowded, late running train.
Sure enough, I soon gathered that there had been a fatality on this section of the railway line last night which caused major delays and now had a knock-on effect to this morning.
Naturally enough, I didn't hear this update from South West Train staff at the ticket booth or over the loudspeaker system. Instead I heard this important travel status update from a gentleman in a smart, grey suit (and not so smart white trainers) giving a blow by blow account to his secretary, Julie.
The gentleman spoke with such a loud, clear authoritative voice, I took the opportunity to thank him and suggested that he should get a job as a station announcer. Thankfully, the delays didn't inconvenience him that much as his first meeting was only at 10:30a.m - a catch up on the Q3 numbers with Brian and Phil.
A train arrived. It was already overcrowded with standing room only. Everyone attempted to pile on and most of them succeeded. I stood to one side and watched the melee with a few other commuters who didn't fancy standing for half an hour, uncomfortably positioned, face to face, desperately trying to avoid bodily contact with a young lady's breasts or worse, with your head positioned directly under someone's sweaty armpits.
Two minutes later, another train arrived. It was empty. Gleefully, we all boarded and took our choice of seats in the empty carriages.
The train set off - it didn't stop at New Malden and it didn't stop at Raynes Park. Even better, it turns out that we are on a fast service that only stops at Wimbledon, Clapham Junction and Vauxhall. Only this train didn't stop at Wimbledon. Nor did it stop at Earlsfield. It just sailed straight through both stations at great speed.
We also sailed straight past Clapham Junction (the busiest railway station in England) which was a surprise to a couple of people who had got up and stood by the doors, hoping to disembark. I spotted the earlier train packed to the rafters with yet more people trying to board, politely enquiring in a very British way: 'Could you possibly move down inside the carriage - possibly - at all ?'
Back on our train, no-one got off (even if they wanted to), no-one got on and no-one spoiled the blissfully quiet environment with their mobile phones and discarding their copies of 'Metro' so I was able to enjoy my high speed journey, listening to 'Boxer' by The National, in a virtually empty carriage.
As we approached the final destination (Waterloo) I was slightly worried I was sitting on a ghost train with no driver at the controls. Briefly, I wondered whether we were, in fact, even going to stop at Waterloo or simply plough straight on through the buffers into the station concourse, killing 34 people who were staring blankly at the 'Departures' board.
We arrived at Waterloo and thankfully stopped at platform 4. The journey which is normally timetabled to take 29 minutes and normally takes closer to 35 was over. In a new world record of 18 minutes.
holiday highlights
Memories of the annual summer vacation are now fading, the digital photos have been rationalised and printed, the video footage remains on the camcorder (thankfully) and the entries for 'Holiday Highlights' have now been received and short-listed.
Norma - 'So many memories. Catching up with friends and family, the climate, the lifestyle, The awesome scenery of the Bungle Bungles, the idyll that is Hamilton Island, sailing to Freemantle, cuddling a Koala, the endless miles of white sand and blue sky at Cable Beach.'
Norman - 'When Norma spotted the first kangeroo in the wild but couldn't tell anyone because she was squatting down in the bush, having a pee.'
Norman Junior III - 'When we were having that lovely Aussie sing-song on the 4x4 truck, we ran out of songs and there was a brief silence until Dad piped up with 'Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner.'
Norma Jeane - 'Free Internet access and those little drawers where you can charge cameras, phones and iPods at Singapore airport.'
Auntie Vera - 'When Norma mounted the kerb while driving the beach buggy on Hamilton Island. And nearly ran that lady over.
great balls of fire
Mum and Dad
Having cool time on Crete (geddit ?) with Bazzer, Nobby, TenBob, SickNote and the three 'S's.
Sun = wicked. Sea = wicked. Sex = wicked (geddit ?). Loadsa Brits out here. Able to get The Sun delivered. Happy hour - all day long (nudge, nudge).
Last night, I asked a bird if she fancied a ride on my very own 'banana boat'.
She slapped me (just like being back at home :-) then she poured sambuca all over me balls.
I went: 'Hey - hang on love, let's get back to me hotel room. There's people watching here, innit ?'
Then she got a lighter and set fire to me balls. Ouch.
Bazzer said I should have said 'OK - I suppose a shag's out of the question then ?' but I was diving into the swimming pool.
Will be laid up in hospital for a bit (but I won't be getting 'a bit' for a while - geddit ?).
Hope to be out by Thursday as Julian's taking us all to Knossos for the day.
Luv ya - Stuart.