Television, the Drug of the Nation

From someone who doesn't watch much TV the following statement is going to seem a little out of character. Two faced even. But I strongly believe that TV defines Britain in the world. Or rather the BBC does. 

No matter which side of the political line you choose to sit on, or on the line itself in some cases, you have to admit that the BBC is recognised the world over. Yes you do. It won't hurt.

And I miss it. Even though if I were to be in the UK right now, this evening, or this morning if you want to be pedantic, I probably be doing something less boring instead, it'd be good to know it was there. 

Except now it's not. And I can't not watch it. That seems to make it worse somehow. Yes we can get BBC World News - a watered down version of BBC 24 - with it's odd slant towards all things non UK. Why? Why bother? We all know that the interesting things only happen north of the channel. 

And there are the BBC educational programmes. I must admit I got a bit of a shock when I tuned in and DIDN'T find a programme about table etiquette and the correct way to make tea. Instead I was treated to a natural history programme about two......well you can imagine. BBC Knowledge is the go-to programme for Kiwis with a first for knowledge. Thank goodness they don't show any sport on there. The last thing we want is Kiwis getting good at cricket or rugby.....

But wherever you go in the world, people recognise the BBC. Here in NZ people trust it more than their own broadcasters Sky.  I know that isn't saying much. But they do. 

Two channels of quality programming, and the obligatory UK Gold, is not much. But it'll do. It'll have to. The rest is either American trash (with the exception of Big Bang Theory - the geek shall inherit the earth) or imported Aussie stuff. And you can only imagine what that's like. 

Oh how I miss the BBC. Especially last Sunday when the UK were being tret to the new Doctor Who. And we weren't. What a calamity. What a predicament. What to do? With only a few teaser trailers it was clearly some way off landing New Zealand side. Fortunately Auckland had the answer. The cinema. Yessiree for only $20 each we could sit in comfortable seats, drinks in hand, in near total darkness and watch the new episode unfold. How could we refuse?

So at 5pm last Sunday we joined the other trendsetters, you know go getters, and watched Malcolm Tucker....oops... Doctor Who take on half-machine half-human foes. No, not the Conservative Party but evil impostors who we're farming innocent humans for their own gain.....wait it could've been..... stop it!  Anyway, it was just like being at home except it cost us the better part of £20 for the pleasure and I got a few more funny stares in my homemade Ood costume. Ah well, at least it was dark for the walk home.

 

She'll Be Right

The French have a saying, well they would wouldn't they (probably accompanied by a Gaelic shrug) 'Vive La Difference'. Typical. Sheesh can't they just get over themselves. I mean what is the point. All cool and calm and then as soon as the heat rises.....Sorry where was I? Oh yes, the French. Or rather their saying. Live life to the full. Or something like that. Enjoy the differences. Indeed.

Since arriving in NZ I have noticed a whole plethora of differences. Some huge. Others small, almost negligible. Which is which. Who knows, or more importantly who cares. But they are there nonetheless. One such recent example is when a hapless traveller tried to get a tax number. One from NZ and the other the UK. I'll let you decide which is which....

Scenario 1

Interior - Post Office

Customer: Hello. I need to apply for a tax number. [Form handed through to the representative]

Representative: Hhmmpphh.

Customer: Is this the right form?

Representative: [silence]

Customer: Errr. Good.

Representative: Do you have a copy of your driving licence?

Customer: [Hands over originals of documents]

Representative: Yes, but where are the photocopies? The application form states clearly in paragraph 13 subsection 5 that photocopies are to be presented for authentication by an approved government employee.

Customer: Errrr

Representative: Speak or leave

Customer: Sorry.

Representative: Speak louder you globulous cretin.

Customer: Errr

Representative: Where is the photocopy you human piece of excrament. You are not worthy to wipe the arse of humanity. You make me sick. BLLLAARRGGHH!!!

Customer: I don't have it. I'm really sorry. Surely there must be something I can do. Please..... Please. I've been in a queue for hours. [whimpers]

Representative: Of course....... COME BACK WITH THE CORRECT PAPERWORK YOU UTTER ARSE!!!!

Scenario 2

Interior - Post Office

Customer: Hello. I need to apply for a tax number. [Form handed through to the representative]

Reprentative: Of course. How are you doing.

Customer: [slightly unnerved by the bonhomie] errr good thanks.

Representative: Let's take a look. Oh, say, do you have photocopies?

Customer: Goodness. No I forgot.

Representative: No worries, I'll just go and take some now.

Customer: Oh, great thanks.

Representative: [after a few minutes] Here you go. Right I'll just fill in the missing bits........ all done. I'll pop these in the post and you should get a tax number in a few days. Is there anything else? 

Customer: [a bit shocked] Errr nope ... cool. Thanks.....

Representative: No worries, she'll be right!

Long Haul Flights and All That Jazz

I think Hollywood missed a trick. I really do. Why? Let me explain. Several years ago, more years than I care to remember, a film was released called 'Snakes on a Plane'. As is typical of Hollywood, I was expecting there to be a slew of similar titled sequels. But they never arrived. Not even one. Maybe it was something to do with the film being very poor, not that I have seen it you understand - I have a policy that I don't watch films where the movie's title gives away the entire plot. I mean what's the point. I don't need to sacrifice two hours in a darkened and stale popcorn smelling room to know that the film involves snakes. Or to be more precise, snakes on a plane. Equally I've never seen 'The Great Escape', 'Mr Smith Goes to Washington' or 'The Never Ending Story'. Actually I have avoided that last one because I've got better things to do with my life. Lucky escape. 

Putting my titular prejudices aside for the time being, if the film had been better then we surely would have been treated to equally magical sequels; 'Crocodiles on a Plane', 'Spiders on a Plane' or the spine chilling final instalment, the pinnacle of airborne terror films 'Baby on a Plane'. You see I got there in the end. At one point I was in danger of losing my way but have faith.....

Admittedly, as soon as I saw the critter, I donned my headphones and looked at the in flight menu for some audible distraction - some soothing music to block out the inevitable squawks and help me drift off. 'Hits of Rock' wasn't going to cut it, neither was 'Metal Anthems'. Aha the Jazz menu looks like a good starting point. 

Before you rush off and get the wrong idea, I'm not really much of a jazz aficionado. Not really. You see I never really bothered with it. Too. ...well.... erm.... noodly. If you catch my drift. Actually I tell a lie, I do have one Jazz CD. Miles Davis' seminal classic 'Kind of Blue'. But then who doesn't? 

Anyway in this instance I decided that a John Coltrane's Quartet album was ideal. I had heard of him so he must be worth falling asleep to. And so the music started and after three or four tracks I was starting to enjoy it; the syncopated rhythms, the delicate interplay between the double bass and trumpet and the sheer smoothness. Smooth. Smooth. Smooth.....

It had just the right effect and I soon fell into a cosy slumber....

I awoke over an hour later refreshed and somewhat surprised that JC's Quartet were still playing. You certainly get value for money with this bunch! What troopers! I glanced at the screen in front of me to see how many more tracks were left to enjoy. Oops. In my haste to play the music I'd inadvertently only selected the first track. And it was looping. Endlessly. 

I'd been listening to the first track over and over again for an hour and-a-bloody half and hadn't noticed. See I told you I wasn't an aficionado.

You see that's the problem with Jazz, it's so bloody relaxing that you can't distinguish between songs. And it doesn't matter. Well not to me in any rate. 

I glanced over at the baby. Sound asleep. Hhmmmm, maybe I need to reassess my future aeroplane based thrillers. Maybe 'Baby on a Plane' is not as horrific as I'd imagined. No there is something far, far worse. 'Idiot on a Plane' anyone? Maybe so.

First Steps

When does a journey really start? Is it a well defined point such as the moment you step onto the plane, when you drag your suitcase off the top shelf or is it months or even years before? The first day in a job, passing an exam, buying your first house or the start of a lasting friendship? Maybe it's all of these things and more. Or maybe I'm just talking out of my hat. 'Probably', I hear you say.

You see, in a little over 24 hours, I will be taking such a step and clambering aboard a 777 destined for New Zealand. A truly momentous occasion or just one step of many? And as some bright spark once said, it's not where you start or end up but how you got there that matters. Or, if you are an Ian Brown acolyte, it's not where you're from that counts but where you're at. Hhmmmm. 

Anyway maybe this particular journey started on the 5 March when, on a dull and grey Darlington afternoon we caught a train to Edinburgh to attend a 'This Is New Zealand' Seminar - an evening devoted to the mechanics of moving to the Southern Hemisphere. If this was the first step then it couldn't have been any less salubrious. OK, I admit we had 1st Class seats but this was the result of blagging some free travel vouchers courtesy of other delayed journeys. Not so impressive now is it? 

Anyroadup, as they have want to say in these parts of the world, watching monochrome grey house roofs spin past whilst a leaden sky threatens to dump more water on already sodden fields I got the feeling that I was thousands of miles off my intended destination. Metaphorically and literally speaking. Physically I still am but after only a couple of months of planning, form filling, house emptying, possession moving, van driving, goodbye waving and tear shedding I am closer than I ever have been. 

Or maybe it started many years earlier, when we bought our first house in Leeds in 1994 and started a chain of events that would culminate in moving to Darlington and eventually paying off the mortgage, giving us the freedom to take a break from the UK. 

Whether the decision to work abroad for a couple of years was a good one or a gargantuan mistake....... who knows. Whatever it is, and whatever the outcome, it'll be fun finding out. And like I said before, it the journey that's interesting and not where you end up.