Friday, November 30, 2007

Ok, this is definitely the last post

I know I made a closing post, but Kim has rightly reminded me that I have one task that remains incomplete, and I agree wholeheartedly that I can't, in good conscience, let this blog descend into the dusty depths of web history without saying a few venomous words about my former employer.

Now, purely for reasons of keeping this semi-anonymous, I don't want to name his real name, or the company. Not because I care about him, or the company, but I don't want this being hoovered up in some google search, because:

A) He's lawyer-happy, and would probably sue me just to be painful.
B) It could reflect badly on my friends still working there.

However, I feel that we can still get away with calling him Aston Younger, and go from there.

Working for Aston was a unique experience. Now, when I say unique, I'm not using unique in terms of "Winning ten million dollars in the Lotto was a unique experience", rather, I'm thinking more along the lines of "The Black Death was a unique period in Europe's History" ie. It's unique, because it's never been any more hellish since then.

Perhaps I should provide some background.

Aston ran a company that dealt in Medical Insurance. As companies go, this sort of field of expertise, at least in terms of social standing & social responsibility, slots neatly in between companies that produce toys with lead in them, and the Gestapo. That being said, you can run a compassionate ship in these greasy and treacherous waters, it's just that Aston chose not too. You see, Aston was already a very wealthy man before he ever stuck his beak into medical insurance, which, while some would call that a positive, I call a definite negative.

For starters, what else does a man like Aston need, when he already has a big house in London, owns several polo ponies, has a trophy wife/girlfriend, exotic sports car? Well, I'm sure he can think of something, but the problem was that given that Aston has all these possessions, he really can't be stuffed taking any interest in the company. He has enough money to keep him on easy street for the rest of his (un)natural life and hence doesn't really give a rat's arse about how the company does.

That being said, don't even think that given this was the case, he opted to delegate responsibility to anyone. Oh no. He insisted on retaining personal control of the company in every respect, which made it damn difficult for us to get any decision from him, given he was only in the office for less than 50% of the week. And even when he was in the office, he'd be jabbering away on the phone or off doing lunch with some other equally pretentious and annoying person.

Working for Aston was a nightmare, simply because he had no idea how to manage. His idea of management was to saunter out from his office, like the Lord descending on high, to mingle with the commoners. He'd wander round the desk, smelling of cheap aftershave, and enquire as to whether we were winning or not. Given that I soon realised he really didn't give a shit how we were or what we were doing, provided it wasn't bad news, I'd just tell him good news all the time. Contented, he would then wander off into accounts where he'd remain closeted with his egyptian book fiddler for the rest of the day, emerging only to yell about how much money he'd made or lost since yesterday.

Meanwhile, the rest of us soldiered on, without any real idea or concept about where he was taking the company, until he deigned to tell us (usually about 3 weeks after we needed to know). By the end of my time there, I didn't give a rats about him or his problems, and as a result, I finished up, packed my bags, and fucked right off.

Put quite simply, the man was an arse. I for one, am not sorry to be rid of him.

Monday, November 19, 2007

I suppose I should make a closing post.

The more perceptive of you may have noticed that this blog came to a rather abrupt end, with me promising photos, and then not delivering. Well, what happened was that my camera was stolen on the last day of my time in Estonia, and all my photos went with it. This took the wind out of my sails somewhat, since I was a bit gutted to lose all the photos from the whole trip. Despite the fact that Greg gave me a CD with all his photos on it, it still disappointed me somewhat, and thus I never got round to updating the blog.

The remainder of my time in England (some 3 weeks) was spent in and around London - I caught up with everyone before I left, as well as a friend of mine, Ash, who had come over from Australia for a holiday.

But now, I'm back in Australia, and thoroughly convinced that I made the right decision to leave when I did. It was time to leave England, and I left without any regrets or things unfinished.

Flicking back through this blog it's interesting to see how it changed over time - it started out as a wide-eyed expose into international travel, and I followed the time in America with great interest - each and every day there with Dad was magical, and it will remain with me until the day I die as one of the greatest months of my entire life. There's the trip to Italy, my initial exposure to England, the pain of not being able to get a job, delight at starting work and the misery of the long winter in England, overworked, cold and underpaid. There's the trip back to Oz, the Gregory River canoe race, and then finally the time spent travelling in Europe, which was also a once in a lifetime experience.

I think that's the best part about this blog - the fact that it will serve as a reminder of the days that I spent abroad. For example, I couldn't remember every single day in America and the goings on of each day, but the blog instantly reminds me of what happened on a particular day, whether it was getting stuck behind a tractor, Dad demonstrating his ingenuity with the freezer, the crazy old man routine on the Californian freeways or the bedlam of driving into New York, to name but a few.

The 18 months I spent abroad was a fantastic time for me, and the blog serves as a fantastic reminder of it. That's the beauty of it. I don't suppose anyone will actually read this last entry, but just in case, I'd like to extend a few thank-you's.

I'd like to thank anyone and everyone who read this blog over the time I updated it - in particular those of you who commented.

To the guys at HCI - thanks for making London such a pleasant place to work. We had good days and bad days, but the good days definitely outweighed the bad, and it was a pleasure working with such great people.

To the crew at the Badger - thanks to you for continuing to put up with me even after I moved out. Christmas at the Badger was great fun, and the best way possible to pass what would have otherwise been a very lonely and boring week.

Particular thanks to Dan, Nick, Karl, Greg and Christian - you guys put up with me for the whole time in London, whether it was playing computer games, poker, drinking vodka in Poland or suffering an attack of depression on New Year's Eve.

Thanks to Wendy for being awake at 3am Aussie time due to her baby, and giving me someone to talk to on MSN during the week when I would otherwise be bored out of my skull at work. It was always good to catch up on news at home and the band.

Finally, thanks to Laurie, Dan, Glen, Nye, Ken and Gerald - you guys commented thoroughly on my blog, and made it the sort of blog that gets blocked by the German state web filter. I thank you.

And that's as good a note as any to end on.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Behind the Iron Curtain

One of the main reasons that I am glad that I made this trip is that it gives me one inescapable bragging right over my parents. You see, my parents did their 10 years of hippy travels from about 1974 till 1983 - the astute of you may notice that the year that their travels ended coincides with my arrival - and yet in all that time they were never able to go beyond the Iron Curtain since this little thing called the Cold War was raging at the time. So, in travelling to Poland, Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, this has been one small step for Paul, and one giant NYAH NYAH NYAH to my parentals.

In the nicest possible way, since I will be staying with them when I get home. (Remember Mum, if you could make my bed before I arrive home on the 10th, that would be great).

Ok, so what has happened since I posted last? Well, first of all - in posting this it is obvious that I survived the bus trip from Warsaw to Riga. 1000 kilometres in two legs. We left Warsaw at 11pm and got into Vilnius at around 8:45am the following morning. The original plan was to stay in Vilnius, but after looking about and not seeing anything much worth looking at, we decided to press on to Riga.

A further 5 hours of bus travel ensued, and we arrived at Riga at around 4pm, thoroughly shattered. At this point, we made our way to the House Hostel, which is undoubtedly the most bizarre place I have ever stayed at. What happened was that we got there and no-one was there. So we rang the number on the door and the guy who runs the place came over about 15 minutes later, let us in, took payment for 2 nights and then left - and we never saw him again the whole time we were there. In fact, we never saw another person at this hostel the whole time we were there. We wound up staying for 3 nights instead of 2, and got the second night for free. Essentially, it was like having our own private apartment, so we just boozed it up in the common room after coming back home from the clubs, and had the whole place to ourselves.

We followed that up by travelling up to Parnu in Estonia, and from there we went on a sort of detox/nature retreat. There is a national park just near Parnu and we decided to stay in this little cottage there. My old man would have loved it, being an old hunter-gatherer type himself. You had to chop your own wood, bring your own food, light your own fires and generally take care of yourself. The highlight was undoubtedly firing up a genuine Estonian sauna on the last night there.

The way it works is that you have a small wooden hut with a stove inside, with several rocks on top. This hut is at the end of a small jetty that extends into the river. Once the fire has been lit and the air temperature inside is at about 70 degrees, you go in (traditionalists say naked, we opted for board shorts) and then once inside, you dump water onto the rocks. Steam will come out off the rocks and superheat the air, causing sweat to roll off you in droves. The hardest part is the fact that the air you breathe is just as hot, meaning you feel as though you are suffocating as all this heat flows into your throat. Once you have had all the heat you can stand, you simply open the door, walk out and jump straight into the river. This has the effect of plunging your body into icy water, and causes your testicles to shrink to the size of peas. It also chills your body down, and then you climb out, jump into the sauna and go again. Normally this activity is accompanied by great liver-crippling draughts of vodka, but we didn't have any.

And so, following our little sidestep into the wilderness, we find ourselves back in Parnu again. The plan is that we stay here tonight, head up to Tallinn tomorrow, and spend the weekend in Tallinn before flying back into London on Sunday night.

Next blog will be from London, and will most likely contain photos as well.

Thursday, September 06, 2007

Poland in detail

I've taken the liberty of deleting my original brief post about my time here in Poland since I'm now in a position to give a more detailed update as to what is going on. No photos as yet - that will have to wait until I am back in London on the 16th.

Greg, Christian and myself flew out from Gatwick airport on last Friday, the 31st, via Poland's "finest" airline Centralwings. The flight was cheap, as was the beer. 2 quid bought you 4 cans of Polish beer, so naturally we already had a fairly healthy glow by the time we touched down in Krakow, in Southern Poland.

Krakow is a great city to go to if you are seeking to have a good time. Unlike most of Poland, it was untouched by the Second World War, and as such, most of the buildings and monuments are all originals. There is a massive town square in the centre of town, which is packed with clubs, nightclubs, bars and all of which is in close walking distance of the hostel we were staying at. Frankly, the 4 nights we were in Krakow were all fairly debaucherous. The one moment of seriousness came on the Monday where we went out to visit Auschwitz-Birkenau which is located nearby.

Auschwitz itself doesn't actually resemble a death camp, and indeed it wasn't. Auschwitz already existed as a series of army barracks, comprising approximately 30 large brick buildings. The Germans converted these to prisons, and used Auschwitz solely as a work camp. While they did perform some exterminations at Auschwitz, these were mainly of an experimental nature, designed to test the nature of the Zyklon B agent used to in the extermination process. Auschwitz does however possess the sole surviving gas chamber and crematorium.

It was at nearby Birkenau that the great holocaust occurred - Birkenau is a much larger camp, and it was designed solely as an extermination camp. The camp is vast - several hundred cabins dot the interior, and the camp is dominated by a large brick structure underneath which passed a length of railway track. The brick structure came to be known as the Gate of Death, since all who passed under it in the trains would not survive. Upon arrival at Birkenau, the Jews on board the train would disembark, and be directed by SS doctors to either the camp or the showers. All the men and women who were fit to work went to the camp, and all other women, children and elderly went to the showers. The showers were of course the gas chambers in disguise, and what happened after that is well known. Suffice to say that at Auschwitz they have exhibits including a pile of 30000 pairs of spectacles, enough shoes to fill several rooms and 2 tonnes of human hair - this represented but a small fraction of the belongings looted from the dead after the gas chambers had done their work. All very sobering.

After Krakow we came to Warsaw where I am at the moment - we've been here for a few days and are leaving tonight for Riga by bus. 9 hour overnight bus trip. Should prove to be suitably shitty. We're spending the weekend in Riga, and then heading off to Tallinn in Estonia on the Monday. Once there we'll be spending the rest of our time in and around Estonia until we fly back on the Sunday.

On the whole it's been a pretty good trip so far - it's certainly been a completely different world to the usual stuff I've been up to in England.

Except for this bus trip. It's really going to suck.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Warney and Beyond

Continuing the trend of catching up on what I've been up to - on August 18th I ticked another item off my London checklist by going to Lord's Cricket ground to watch a game. It was an added bonus that this game happened to be the domestic one-day final, between Hampshire and Durham, and that the great Shane Warne was captaining and playing for Hampshire.

While Warney didn't end up taking any wickets, it was still nice to see him bowl one last time, since it's not something I'll be able to do again back in Australia.

Lords itself though made the whole trip worthwhile, even if Warne hadn't been playing. Make no mistake, this is the home of cricket, and it oozes it from every pore. The ground is steeped in tradition and a true sense of occasion, from the moment you walk in through the wrought iron W.G Grace Gates.


It's this building which does the most to create the sense of occasion - the famous Members Stand. This building is populated by the true toffs of cricket - the Lords Taverners, or Members, for short. Basically, you only get in if you know someone. And have a lot of money. And give a lot of it to Taverners. And then only if you really, really grovel. In addition, you have to have impeccable class and standing amongst your peers. Not for these gents the consuming of amber ale and loud cheers. Rather, a glass of vintage wine, and polite applause.

Coming from a cricketing experience that has been mainly at the Gabba, and surrounded by beers, Mexican waves and larrikinism, it certainly marked a considerable change of pace.


The other end of the stadium is slightly more modern, although equally notable - this is the new media centre, which sparked controversy when originally built, but has come to be part of the ground as much as the members stand itself.


A shot of the ground, with Warney caught at the moment of bowling.

For the record, Hampshire lost - quite heavily. Durham batted first and racked up 312, and in reply Hampshire only managed about 160.

What else is there?

Basically, I've now left work, and am about to begin my travels before heading home on October 9th. Tomorrow I'm off to Paris for 3 days, and then immediately afterwards, will be taking off to Eastern Europe for 2 weeks. Beyond that, Egypt, Ireland? Still not sure as yet. I'll have about 3 weeks after I get back from Eastern Europe to do some more travelling, so either way it should be a good time.

Don't expect frequent updates since I won't be near computers that often, but then again, updates have scarcely been anything like frequent for the last few months anyway.

If the tanks succeed, then victory follows.

The final entry to my little jaunts by rail into the English countryside is finally up - this time, I was down at the sleepy little town of Wool, and the Bovington Tank Museum located there. It's a very impressive collection of tanks - some of which are unique, and the last of their kind remaining in the world. This is particularly so of some of the German tanks they have there - owing to production difficulties (primarily caused by being bombed round the clock by Allied bombers) the Germans never built that great a number of tanks, and when you lose a war, most of your tanks tend to get destroyed in the process.

The above quote that entitles this entry is courtesy of "Smiling Heinz" Guderian by the way - Germany's finest tank commander during WW2 - or Panzers as he would have referred to them.

What I've done is listed the tanks chronologically in the photos, and as usual there'll be a little bit of background blurb beneath each one.


This is a Mark II British tank - one of the first ever tank designs. Tanks were first invented during WW1, and saw action in 1916 and 1917 at battles such as Cambrai. The tank was originally conceived as an infantry support weapon, an armoured vehicle that could break through the barbed wire, deflect the machine gun bullets fired by the enemy and provide valuable cover for the infantry to advance behind. Hence the lethargic top speed (some 8 mph), since it was never anticipated that the tank would have to outrun infantry. Although tanks saw some success during the war, they were far from being the groundbreaking weapon of WW2. Most Generals, while appreciating the value of tanks in protecting infantry, could not envision them ever playing anything more than a supporting role on the battlefield.


This British Matilda tank continued in much the same vein as the tank above - again, it was designed solely as an infantry support vehicle. The most notable change is in the appearance - it didn't take long for a turret mounted on top of the hull to become the norm in tank design. Having the guns fire from the side of the hull as in the Mark II shown above limited their field of fire, and also meant that if one gun was knocked out, that particular side of the tank was defenceless. Having a gun mounted in a rotating turret enabled a 360 degree arc of fire, meaning the tank could defend itself from any direction.

The Matilda saw service in WW2, primarily in the North African battlefield. By 1942 however it had been phased out, as newer, faster and more heavily armed tanks had become available. Although the Matilda possessed very strong armour, it was too small to mount a heavy enough gun to punch through most German tanks after 1941, and the armour made it very slow as well. Speed (or lack thereof) increasingly became a liability in WW2, as tanks quickly became the pre-eminent means of waging war, and as the spearhead of the advance, needed to be able to move quicker and faster than before.


This British A10 Cruiser, developed around the same time as the Matilda, was one attempt to solve the issue of speed vs armour. Unlike the Matilda, which piled on the armour plating at the expense of speed, the A10 eschewed armour in favour of speed. These tanks, known as "Cruiser" tanks, were fast indeed for tanks, but the lack of armour meant they were not much use in a stand up fight against other tanks. Again, these tanks also fought mainly in the North African desert, and also by 1942 had been phased out due to obsolescence. Although they had enjoyed success against the poor quality Italian tanks during 1940, the arrival of the more heavily armoured and gunned German tanks in 1941 quickly made the A10 and it's brethren a liability in battle.


This American Grant tank combined elements of WW1 and WW2 tank design, as you can see. The tank was designed to be able to field both a 75mm main gun (shown in the side casemate) as well as a smaller machine gun mounted in the turret above it. Although ungainly, the design proved surprisingly effective. It served primarily in the North African desert, as well as in campaigns in Sicily and Italy during 1943 and 1944.


This tank should be instantly familiar to anyone who knows anything at all about tanks - the famous Sherman tank is probably the most recognisable tank ever made, and certainly one of the most numerous ever produced. This tank was the mainstay of the American and British armies from 1942 until the end of WW2, and was produced in the tens of thousands. The design was based upon the realization on the part of the Allied High Command that they could not outbuild the Germans in terms of tank quality, so they would outbuild them in numbers instead. The Sherman was much lighter, and lesser armoured than the German behemoths, but the advantage of numbers meant that the Allies could usually throw in 5 Shermans to every 1 German tank in the field. And if the Germans proved too strong, the Allies had complete control of the air anyway, meaning bombs could be dropped all over any German tank that didn't want to withdraw.

You'll notice also that this tank is actually taken "on the move" rather than sitting inside the museum building - the reason for this is that the museum maintains several of these tanks in working order, and runs them around a field 3 times a week to put on a show, complete with pyrotechnics and whatnot.


Although the Allies were always behind the Germans in terms of overall tank quality, the British still managed to produce several tanks that had sufficient armour to survive most of the German firepower, even if their own guns weren't up to damaging the Germans in reply.

This tank is a British Churchill, and it was renowned for it's immensely strong and thick frontal armour, capable of deflecting almost all German tank rounds. The reason the British produced tanks like the Churchill was that by 1944 British manpower reserves were stretched to the limit, and they simply could not afford to lose troops at the rate they were with the Sherman.

But enough about the Allies. What of the Germans - these fearsome tanks capable of outgunning and outfighting the Allies finest? Wonder no longer.


The Tiger. Like the Sherman, one of the most famous tanks of the war, if not the most famous of all time. This tank, when it first appeared, struck fear into the Allied tank crews. It was considerably larger than anything the Allies possessed - weighing almost twice as much as the Sherman. It's frontal and side armour could easily deflect the standard 75mm rounds the Sherman, Grant and Churchill were armed with, unless the Allies closed to within a range of 400 metres. Given that the Tiger could knock out the Shermans at a range of 2.5 km, it's easy to see the advantage it possessed. The principle advantage was derived from it's gun - the equally legendary 88mm gun.

The 88 millimetre, or "88" as it was simply known started out life as an anti-aircraft gun. The Germans however soon realised it could also be used to great effect as a fixed anti-tank gun, simply by lowering the barrels down to ground level and firing at tanks instead of planes. When the Tiger was developed in 1942, the Germans equipped it with the 88, and the legend was born.

This Tiger is the last of it's kind that is still in working order - there are other Tigers left in the world, but not many. The Germans only built approximately 1100, and naturally, most of those were destroyed in the war.


This is the King Tiger - a larger variant of the Tiger. While still armed with the 88, it had a larger turret and more armour. This tank served mainly on the Eastern Front against the Russians - unlike the Americans and British, the Russians showed no qualms against designing larger tanks, and as a result, the Germans needed to build even larger tanks to outmatch them.

This King Tiger has it's hull coated with a fibreglass based paste (you may be able to notice the irregularities under the paint) which was designed so that infantry hiding in trenches could not attach magnetic mines to the tank. This was a favourite pasttime of the Russians.


This brute is the Tiger II - one of the final attempts by the Germans to build a tank that was impenetrable to anything the Allies could throw at it. This tank weighs close to 75 tons, and is larger than most Main Battle Tanks of the modern era, giving you an idea of it's size. In addition to beefing up the armour, engine and hull size, the Germans also ditched the 88mm gun, and equipped this tank with a truly monstrous 128mm anti-tank weapon. This sort of calibre weapon was normally mounted on navy destroyers, and was used to sink ships. Using it to destroy tanks seemed almost overkill. To give you a true idea of just how big this tank is, by way of comparison, the man leaning on the track is about 1.70m tall. Make no mistake, this thing was immense, although it wasn't the largest tank that the Germans ever built.


And this is it. The Daddy of them all. This Jadgtiger surprised me for two reasons - firstly, I was stunned at just how huge it was, and also because I didn't think any had surived the war. This tank was really rare - only about 70 or so were completed, and again, almost all were destroyed. This was primarily due to the fact that they were manned by fanatical SS crewmen, who tended to blow themselves and their tank up rather than let either be captured should the tank be knocked out.

After WW2, both the Americans and British resolved that they would never again let themselves be placed in a situation whereby their armies would have to take the field in inferior tanks. In this resolve, they have been remarkably successful - due to a combination of British developed Chobham armour and the American innovation of depleted uranium tank rounds, American and British tanks are capable of deflecting almost any firepower directed at them, while also able to destroy any other enemy tank.


This is the Centurion, the first post-war British tank to put Britain's resolve to the test. This tank, while not the size of the German monsters shown previously (in fact, as mentioned, very almost no tanks ever since have reached the size of the Tiger II and Jadgtiger), did combine speed, effective armour protection and an excellent main gun to provide an excellent armoured platform. This tank served as the mainstay of Britain's tank force from the late 1940's well into the 1960's, until it was succeeded by the Chieftain.

This is the Chieftain (also shown in outdoors mode), which served as Britain's mainstay from the 1960's until the 1980's and the arrival of the Challenger. Interestingly, prior to this tank, the armies of Australia and Canada had always used whatever tanks the British government were using, what with being part of the Empire and all. However, with the advent of Chieftain, designed as it was to fight in Europe against a Soviet invasion, the Australian and Canadian governments were deterred by the sheer size and expense of the tank. Chieftain was a Main Battle Tank in the truest sense of the word, designed solely for all out war. The Aussies and the Canucks needed something a bit more versatile, and certainly something cheaper and easier to maintain. It was this tank that caused them to adopt the German Leopard tank design, which, in a curious role reversal since WW2, was now a smaller, lighter and nimbler design than the American and British tanks.



Finally, we have the Challenger I, which has itself been superseded by the Challenger II, but only as a recently as 2000 onwards, if memory serves. This is fairly indicative of a modern tank design - note the much flatter turret and angular shaped armour. This is designed to reduce the profile of the tank, making it harder to spot. The sloping armour also increases the chance that a shell will deflect off the tank, rather than penetrating through into the crew compartment.

I was somewhat disappointed not to see a M1 Abrams, but I guess that being the current tank still being used by the US Army, they're all busy in Iraq for the time being.

So there you have it. A journey through the history of the tank, from 1917 until 2007. All in all, an excellent way to spend a day.

Friday, August 10, 2007

England Expects that every Man will do His Duty

Saturday 4th August saw me venture down to Portsmouth Harbour, ancestral home of the mighty Royal Navy of old (and the not so mighty Royal navy of the present day).

There is an impressive collection of vessels to be found floating in the harbour, and some equally impressive ones to be found in drydock. The historic dockyard is well worth a trip - for 15 quid entry you get to see every ship and exhibit in the dockyard, as well as a tour of the harbour itself.

So, let's get started.


This is HMS Warrior - the second ever all-iron warship, constructed back in 1860, in response to the French La Gloire, which, naturally, was the first ever all-iron warship. However, La Gloire didn't survive the passage of time - the French broke it up for scrap in the 1880's - but HMS Warrior endured as a training vessel and a coal bunker before it was rescued in 1979. It was restored and rebuilt over 8 years, and was sailed to it's current location in Portsmouth Harbour.


This is a shot of the bow - as you can see, Warrior carries masts, for sails, to propel her along when cruising peacefully. Should battle be joined, the ship would fire up the boilers and the propellors, and tear along at a "staggering" 8 knots. (Approximately 12 km/h).


Although a modern ship, in terms of being constructed from iron, as opposed from wood, it retained an old-fashioned armament. Warrior possessed several dozen muzzle loading cannon, just as the British ships of two-hundred years before had. In battle, Warrior would simply sail up alongside the opposing vessel, as it's cannonballs deflected harmlessly off it's massive iron sides, and unload a devastating broadside that would annihilate the hapless enemy.


This imposing brute (child in shot for scale) is what is known as a Carronade. It was based at the stern, mounted on rails set into the deck, and could be pivoted around to shoot anywhere in a 180 degree angle behind and to the side of the ship. These were used to sweep the enemy decks of riflemen and boarders, with a horrendous blast of "grapeshot". Grapeshot was comprised of hundreds of tiny musket balls, shrapnel and whatever else they could jam down the barrel of the gun. Think of it as a gigantic shotgun.


It wasn't all war and cannons on the ship however. This luxurious setting could be found in the officers' wardroom, and was where the officers sat down for dinner. Admittedly dinner was only likely to consist of salt beef and maybe some fresh meat if they had it, but at least the officers could get trashed on wine, unlike the men, who had to do with moldy biscuits and weak beer.


Moving along to another vessel and undeniably the most famous vessel in the entire British Navy, let alone Portsmouth.

HMS Victory was a 1st rate 3 decker, constructed from 1759 to 1767. It was already a well-known ship by the time of 1805, having served in several actions against the French. 1805 and Trafalgar however, would make it immortal. At the battle of Trafalgar, it served as Nelson's flagship, leading the attack that sliced through the French line, firing it's full broadside into the stern of the French flagship Bucentaur. Although heavily damaged at the battle, losing it's foremast, it survived, as did every other British ship. The French and Spanish fleet fared not so well - 18 ships sank or were captured. It was the most crushing naval victory of all time.

However, the British did suffer one loss, of irreplaceable value - Lord Admiral Nelson, the greatest English sailor of the age, was shot by a French musketball at the height of the battle and died some 3 hours later - surviving long enough to realise the magnitude of his great victory.


This is one of the gundecks of Victory, the upper gundeck, which carried the lightest cannons - although firing a cannonball weighing 24 pounds, they weren't exactly small. The height of the decks is the main thing to notice here, as it is scarcely 5 feet from deck to ceiling. Made strolling about a bit difficult for a 6 footer like myself.


It's always been seen as one of the great oddities of naval construction in the 17 and 1800's - that ships purposely built for war, armed to the teeth with great cannons, and their sides made up of reinforced oak panelling, would have at the stern a great wall of glass panels and flimsy pine. It was precisely this sort of stern on the Bucentaur that Victory unloaded 50 cannons into, it's entire broadside, poured in through the glass panels, travelling the entire length of the French ship. Approximately 240 men were killed or maimed in that first terrifying broadside.

It was on the Victory's quarterdeck, perched atop the stern, that Nelson received his fatal wound - a French musketball entered through his shoulder, travelled through his lungs and liver and finished up in the small of his back, shattering his spine. Unable to walk, and with his body quickly filling up with his own blood, he lasted only a few hours more. The crew carried him deep below decks to the Orlop deck, below the waterline, where he lay dying. News came down of the great victory, and he died, with the words "Thank God I have done my Duty."


(Pardon the No Photography sign)

They don't like you taking photos of this, since it's seen as disrespectful. Perhaps it is. But the way I see it, Nelson is long gone, as are his relatives and anyone else who knew him personally. It's not like I'm wandering round Auschwitz snapping photos of the gas chambers, where someone's mother and father met their premature end.

So, there you have it. Pressed against the white beam, Nelson perished on October 21st 1805 at 4:30pm.


So, now onto some more modern stuff. This is HMS Ark Royal, the Royal Navy's newest aircraft carrier. It's a lot smaller than the gigantic Yank carriers, since it only needs to be able to launch Harrier Jump Jets and helicopters.


This is one of several Royal Navy Frigates that were tied up in Harbour. Somehow, the ships of today do not have the same pomp and circumstance as the ships of yore. I think it's the grey.


And finally, we have a building known as the Spinnaker, a 185m observation tower that gives great views of Portsmouth Harbour. (Or so I'm told)

At 10 quid to go up, and faced with a line longer than Ben Hur, I decided against it.

So there you have it. Portsmouth. Well worth the trip down.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Jabba the AccountHutt

Some of you may have gleaned from the odd comment in my blog that whilst I don't mind my job, I really, really hate my boss. And don't worry - all will be revealed. Once I leave.

But I cannot refrain from taking a moment to slag off a different annoyance in my life - namely, the miserable old dotard that has taken up nesting in our accounts office, and who hides behind his spreadsheets while managing to be the most difficult and irritating person I've ever met.

For those of you unaware, Accounting is all about money. Money comes in, Money goes out. Cashflow. Expenditure. Whatever you want to call it. Now, our accountant, by the name of Maurice, to his credit, has the incomings down pat. Believe me, if money comes into this office, it gets allocated to a person's policy as soon as possible. All well and good.

However, when it's time to give money back to a client, then we have problems. You see, our accountant friend. as well as my boss are both greedy pricks at the best of times, and for reasons that I cannot begin to comprehend, think it's better to hold onto a person's money for a month or two (or more) longer than they need to before giving it back. Make no mistake, we have to give this money back, and we always do. But rather than return it immediately, our boss, and our accountant, hold onto it in their grasping, greasy, wrong-side-of-50 hands.

Take today. This morning in fact. About a week ago we declined to insure a guy who was massively overweight. No surprises there. But he'd already paid online when he applied. So it's a simple matter of returning his money, right? Wrong. I gave this to Account Fuck five days ago, and he still hasn't done it. Two minutes of work and he hadn't been bothered. Meanwhile we're copping grief from clients - which, I might add, he never has talk to. Our boss doesn't want him talking to clients, since his customer service skills are completely non-existent. So I have to tell these poor bastards that their money is going to come back "shortly" and then go in and verbally joust with Jabba the AccountHutt in the other room.

He doesn't pay commission to brokers, he doesn't pay the reinsurer on time, he doesn't refund money - for the life of me, I can't understand why we have this overweight leech clinging to this company. Oh, that's right, I remember now. Because he's the only one dishonest enough to cover up the fact that my boss is a lying fraud, a cheat and a criminal.

Two and a half fucking weeks to go, and it cannot come soon enough.

Monday, August 06, 2007

There'll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover

Well, over the past two weekends I've been a bit busy with travelling. Braving British Rail and the hordes of sun-seeking Londoners, I've undertaken some train journeys down to the Channel Coast, to see a few things outside of London. Specifically, the White Cliffs of Dover; various old and new ships of Her Majesty's Navy in Portsmouth Harbour; and finally Bovington Tank Museum.

All in all, a good mix of militarism and sightseeing.

Actually, travelling by train in England is a pretty decent way to get around. During rush hour it's hell on rails, but on the weekend it's actually not too bad. Trains don't run as often, so the tracks aren't as crowded, and as a result you tend to get a pretty clear run. It's cheap too - a trip to Portsmouth for example, a good 200 mile return journey, only cost 18 quid.

The best part about it though is the fact you're out of London. Every mile of green fields and trees reminds you that you're not actually surrounded by hordes of crappy little terraced houses and traffic. And now that the English summer has actually started, it's sublime out in the countryside. Weather has been perfect these past few weeks. It's almost enough to make up for the two months of rain and crap that preceded it throughout "summer".

Well, let's start with Dover in this blog, and I'll cover the rest over the next few days.


And here it is. Dover City that is. Situated pretty much right at the narrowest point of the English Channel, when standing on Dover Castle you can easily make out the grey strip of land that marks France. The city itself is a nice enough place, although I didn't spent a great deal of time down there.


This is Dover Castle, situated well above the city. To use a phrase said many times before, you can see why they built it where they did. The vantage point is stunning, as is the view. I took the previous photo of Dover standing on the top of the Keep. The Keep is the oldest part of the castle and was built by Henry II in 1188 AD. The rest of the castle, such as the walls and outlying fortifications were constructed over the next hundred years or so.

That being said, Henry wasn't the first person to hit upon the idea of constructing a castle here. There were conquerors of England that preceded him by a good 1000 years that thought of it first...


The crumbling tower that sits just to the right of the Monastery is the oldest surviving Roman building in all of England. They built it shortly after the Roman conquest early in AD, to act as a beacon/lighthouse for ships crossing from the French (or Gallish) coast.


This is slightly newer. Kings in the 1700's tended to like visiting Dover, but they naturally turned their noses up at the grotty little Keep. Hence, they opted for something slightly more luxurious and opulent.


Some of the traditional armament of Dover Castle.


This is a little more modern. During the German blitz of 1940 and 1941, Dover was heavily bombed throughout. The harbour was a major British staging post for channel convoys, and was always full of targets for the Germans. Owing to Dover Castle's outstanding vantage point right above the Harbour, the British positioned several Anti-Aircraft guns on the heights above Dover, to try and make life as difficult for the Stukas as possible.

After leaving the castle itself, I did a tour of the underground wartime tunnels. The chalk cliffs of Dover are very soft, and consequently the British excavated them extensively, digging out a massive underground bunker underneath Dover castle, deep underground. The first tunnels were dug during Napoleonic times, and then were extended during WW2. No photos though - while the tunnels have come off the Official Secrets Act, they still don't want you taking photos of them.

Fortunately, my next exhibit is free to be photographed. It's pretty close to being the most recognisable feature in all of the United Kingdom.


And here they are. It's hard to describe how epic it is to be standing on the famous White Cliffs what with the Channel breeze blowing at you, 70 metre drop to the ocean below - German tourists nattering away in your ear (I'm telling you, WW2 was a ruse. The bastards have invaded, I counted at least 50 in Dover alone!)


This shot was taken from Dover Castle, and shows the rather pleasant landscape adorning the ground above the Cliffs, before one reaches the end of England.


Another view.


This shot was taken below the cliffs on the way - this is a slightly smaller part down near the town itself, but it rapidly rises away up to the dizzying heights in the previous photos.

All in all, it was an excellent day.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Carn the Tigers

I'm not going to whinge about sacrifices I'm making to enlighten you all to my squalid little existence over here on the dark side of the world, because frankly, I'm not making any. Fuck me, what is it - at least a few weeks since I updated this?

Actually, I'll be honest. When I first conceived this notion of doing a travel blog, I never thought it would last this long. 12 months - Max. And yet I find myself still in England some 15 months after I first set out, and with just under 3 months left to go on this adventure. That's right folks - I booked my flight home today. 9th October I leave Heathrow behind, and shall arrive back in Australia on Wednesday 10th October at 7:25pm local time. For good.

However, between the time when I turf work on 24th August and 9th October, I plan to visit Eastern Europe, Gibraltar, Scotland, Paris and Ireland. Got my work cut out for me, but we'll see how we go. I've worked out I can fit in everything I want to do - there's also a ton of stuff I'll be doing over the coming weekends here in England, so now that I'm going to be travelling again, we might actually see some regular updates.

To the weekend just gone.

I went down to the Twickenham Stoop - not THE Twickenham Stadium, but rather a smaller stadium next door, which houses Rugby League. I do think it's a disgrace when the proper rugby has to spend time in a pokey little stadium while this so-called gents game gets the big stadium, but nonetheless.

I went there with a bunch of blokes from Wests Tigers to see the Huddersfield Giants take on Harlequins. Basically, a couple of ex-West Tigers players signed for Huddersfield, so they're like the unofficial home of Wests Tigers fans in London. So, I went to see John Skandalis & Shane Elford play, and also to drink with about 20 odd crazed Huddersfield fans who'd come from the deepest dales of Northern England.

Fuck Me.

I died the death last Saturday. I managed to leave the pub, fall onto a train to home and was staggered to wake up in my own bed having no recollection of getting there. I was even more astonished to see perfectly, until I realised that I'd left my contact lenses in overnight.

The hangover was crippling, and the day was magic. Here's the photos.


This is Sincas, Jason and yours truly respectively. Taken at the JD Wetherspoons bar in Twickenham, prior to the game.


Me, amongst all the other boys from Huddersfield and Leichhardt. It was a difficult experience to try and understand the Yorkshire accent after I'd had a skinful - I'm pissed to begin with, and so were they - once they started slurring the odd word it was almost impossible to pick it up.

Now for some shots from the game.


Harlequins on the attack - not that it did them any good.


A bit of cheerleader action.

The final score. Sorry 'Quins - better luck next year.