I wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t had mobile phones with us? I guess I would’ve left all of our belongings on the beach and walked to the nearest house (Google maps thinks this is 2.6 miles from the carpark, so I guess at 3 miles from the beach) to call for a coast guard. Unless the nice man with the boat had given me a lift and we’d found ourselves trapped the next morning. I guess we’d have spent quite a while longer on the island than we’d planned…
I read an article in the Guardian earlier this year by someone who had given up using their phone for a week, and had all sorts of trouble. Annoyingly I can’t find it now, but I think the conclusion was that, in order to survive without constant contact with the wider world, you needed to be much better organised. For example, I quite often loose Mr H. in the super market, and have to call him after walking around with an armful of eggs, bread and loose vegetables (he is invariably in the electrical goods or reduced aisles, but moving around them in such a way that I can’t find him…) for 15 minutes.
Mr H. is excited about my phone contract ending so that I can get an N95 and we'll be able to install some GPS sharing software so that we can always tell where each other are. A bit like a police state, but for married couples.
Thursday, 31 July 2008
Saturday, 26 July 2008
Long Island
But that remains, to this day, the wettest I've ever been. In retrospect it was all a bit of an adventure, but one I'd certainly rather not repeat...
I've had more than a few adventures I'd rather not repeat over the years and I think that a fair share of them are probably because of my [now] Mr. H. I think my 'favourite' [read 'most extreme and least likely to be repeated'] was probably our trip to Long Island.
As is so often the case, it was Mr. H. who announced his marvellous plan for a trip to stay on one of the islands in Poole harbour. I think at this point he and some of our other friends had already been on one such trip, and had all lived to tell the tale. Although, if I remember rightly, one of the participants had, after swimming back to the mainland early the next morning, gone directly to work at Barkley's House, smelling of sea water and lack of showers...
So, knowing that people had already participated in this journey and returned intact, I agreed to join him and two others under the condition that I would not have to swim. We had a small inflatable dingy and I intended to cross over the harbour in this.
The first obstacle we faced was transporting our equipment from the carpark at Arne to the water. This is a relatively short journey, but we were carrying food, camping equipment (including a 4 man frame tent) and a boat by foot, which made it somewhat more difficult. When we reached the beach, the boys loaded up the dingy with the first instalment of our belongings and set off into the sea, leaving me on the beach with the second batch.
I watched them struggle against the current with some other visitors to the area (who had come in a real boat, with an engine and rooms and which doesn't need to be filled with air in order to function) and eventually reach our destination. Shortly after they had unloaded, two of them set out on the return leg in order to collect me and the rest of the cargo. But it was not long before it was quite apparent that the currents had now defeated them. When Mr. H. had returned to shore I received a phone call from him, explaining that they were trapped on the island in the harbour, and that I was consequently trapped on the beach.
We were mid discussion about calling the coastguard when one of my fellow spectators offered me a lift in his motorised dingy. I foolishly accepted with great gratitude, and before long had joined my friends with our possessions on the island. We thanked the man who had given me a lift and set about putting up the [enormous] tent and barbecuing our dinner. It was a good evening!
The next morning, however, the tide was high and the currents were strong. The boys tried swimming back and failed. I still refused to swim (this had been a condition of my participation in the 'adventure'), and before long we were all sitting on the beach wondering what to do.
Mr H. eventually decided to phone his mum, who in turned called some friends who own a motor boat which was moored nearby. A few hours later we were travelling back to the marina in style, although I understand that launching a boat is an expensive business, so we were very grateful to our rescuers!
All in all, it was a proper adventure, with members of the public transporting us to places from which we couldn't possibly return, and friends-of-friends rescuing us in a speed boat. I wouldn't go again, though, unless we have a canoe or similar next time. Mr H. is not renowned for his organisational skills.
I've had more than a few adventures I'd rather not repeat over the years and I think that a fair share of them are probably because of my [now] Mr. H. I think my 'favourite' [read 'most extreme and least likely to be repeated'] was probably our trip to Long Island.
As is so often the case, it was Mr. H. who announced his marvellous plan for a trip to stay on one of the islands in Poole harbour. I think at this point he and some of our other friends had already been on one such trip, and had all lived to tell the tale. Although, if I remember rightly, one of the participants had, after swimming back to the mainland early the next morning, gone directly to work at Barkley's House, smelling of sea water and lack of showers...
So, knowing that people had already participated in this journey and returned intact, I agreed to join him and two others under the condition that I would not have to swim. We had a small inflatable dingy and I intended to cross over the harbour in this.
The first obstacle we faced was transporting our equipment from the carpark at Arne to the water. This is a relatively short journey, but we were carrying food, camping equipment (including a 4 man frame tent) and a boat by foot, which made it somewhat more difficult. When we reached the beach, the boys loaded up the dingy with the first instalment of our belongings and set off into the sea, leaving me on the beach with the second batch.
I watched them struggle against the current with some other visitors to the area (who had come in a real boat, with an engine and rooms and which doesn't need to be filled with air in order to function) and eventually reach our destination. Shortly after they had unloaded, two of them set out on the return leg in order to collect me and the rest of the cargo. But it was not long before it was quite apparent that the currents had now defeated them. When Mr. H. had returned to shore I received a phone call from him, explaining that they were trapped on the island in the harbour, and that I was consequently trapped on the beach.
We were mid discussion about calling the coastguard when one of my fellow spectators offered me a lift in his motorised dingy. I foolishly accepted with great gratitude, and before long had joined my friends with our possessions on the island. We thanked the man who had given me a lift and set about putting up the [enormous] tent and barbecuing our dinner. It was a good evening!
The next morning, however, the tide was high and the currents were strong. The boys tried swimming back and failed. I still refused to swim (this had been a condition of my participation in the 'adventure'), and before long we were all sitting on the beach wondering what to do.
Mr H. eventually decided to phone his mum, who in turned called some friends who own a motor boat which was moored nearby. A few hours later we were travelling back to the marina in style, although I understand that launching a boat is an expensive business, so we were very grateful to our rescuers!
All in all, it was a proper adventure, with members of the public transporting us to places from which we couldn't possibly return, and friends-of-friends rescuing us in a speed boat. I wouldn't go again, though, unless we have a canoe or similar next time. Mr H. is not renowned for his organisational skills.
Friday, 25 July 2008
Barcelona
That destination would have been Dijon in France. I've still never visited Burgundy, and Dijon seemed to be the place to go. After doing some research to ensure there was plenty to keep my friends and me entertained, I stumbled upon these Segways for hire! What a brilliant idea!
It was not to be, however. I'm really not sure how, but we ended up going on holiday to Barcelona instead, and thoroughly enjoyed it. That was also, coincidentally, the holiday where the airport lost my luggage and, because I was away with four males and no female (besides myself, obviously) I ended up wearing a Queen with Paul Rogers at Hyde Park t-shirt [digression: that concert was AWESOME! But I propose that people under a certain height should get a discount on standing tickets. Or at least a taser to use on tall people who insist on standing right in front of you and moving the whole time. Also people who sit on their friends' shoulders the whole duration of a concert] and shorts to bed.
So, with no spare clothes, I ended up rinsing out underwear in the sink every night and hanging it out the window to dry, and bought some emergency tops and pants at Spanish H&M as soon as I found one. But the worst moment struck when the heavens opened and a September deluge hit Barcelona. Wearing my floor-length denim skirt (which was slightly too big for me) and wedges, the boys all ran on ahead and I was weighed down, unable to walk, and with nothing to change into when I got back...
Anyway, the conclusion was that later that same evening the airport found my bag and delivered it to the apartment, so I was mercifully spared wearing mens clothes in public. But that remains, to this day, the wettest I've ever been. In retrospect it was all a bit of an adventure, but one I'd certainly rather not repeat.
Thursday, 24 July 2008
Segway
I had a bit of trouble before I set up this blog in spelling 'segue', which is ironic really as I'd already picked out the title before I'd even written anything [digression: I actually wanted 'segue.blogspot' rather than 'segue-musings.blogspot', but some fiend of a blogger had beaten me to it]. Of course, my first step was to Google the word and check the results were concurrent with my understanding of the meaning. They weren't.
I, along with the other ignorant people of the world, had been spelling it Segway. Now, a Segway (according to Wikipedia) is “a two-wheeled, self-balancing electric vehicle invented by Dean Kamen”. In fact, I probably would never have found the article I was looking for if a multitude of equally foolish people had not preceded me, resulting in someone adding “Not to be confused with segue” to the top of the Wikipedia article I had opened.
Having discovered this, I then investigated the article for the correct Segue, and was disappointed to find that it was nowhere near as exciting as the two-wheeled, self-balancing electric vehicle I had previously been researching. In fact, to form my second segue (not Segway), I nearly chose my holiday destination based entirely on these cunning devises 3 years ago.
I, along with the other ignorant people of the world, had been spelling it Segway. Now, a Segway (according to Wikipedia) is “a two-wheeled, self-balancing electric vehicle invented by Dean Kamen”. In fact, I probably would never have found the article I was looking for if a multitude of equally foolish people had not preceded me, resulting in someone adding “Not to be confused with segue” to the top of the Wikipedia article I had opened.
Having discovered this, I then investigated the article for the correct Segue, and was disappointed to find that it was nowhere near as exciting as the two-wheeled, self-balancing electric vehicle I had previously been researching. In fact, to form my second segue (not Segway), I nearly chose my holiday destination based entirely on these cunning devises 3 years ago.
Wednesday, 23 July 2008
Introduction
“You write about what you know”
- Larry David
Hello, and welcome to my Segue-musings blog! A whirl-wind misadventure of discontinuous thoughts and abstract notions.
Having decided to treat my rapidly approaching unemployment with delight rather than despair, I thought that this would probably be the best time to take up writing a blog again, after the futility of my last one. I’ve been contemplating this for a while, but have never had the time nor the content for one. Until now.
The prospect of leaving work has lead me to a) foresee large chunks of unoccupied time in my future and b) not feel concerned about blogging whilst still at my current place of employment (what are they going to do – fire me?). As for content…
Well, if you can only really write about what you know, I have a problem in that I know a great deal about very little (or is it very little about a great deal?) – but the little I know likes to rattle incessantly around my spacious mind. The desire to empty my thoughts into a more solid format seems pointless, as they’re so poorly structured and contain little real substance. But then that’s the entire point of this blog.
My challenge over the next days, weeks, months, or however long my attention span extends, is to record abstractly connected musings. Rather than what I know, I shall write about what I think, possible why I think it, and what I discover by this process. I love to play the game where I retrace my conversations with Mr. H., discovering how we ended up talking about Filofax after originally humming Tubular Bells together (a story for another day). Now we can see in written form how that transition occurred!
Please leave a comment at the bottom of any post where you performed a segue of your own. This is an opportunity for us to learn how our minds form connections between subjects and, in turn, to learn how oddly my mind works in general.
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