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Eileen and I spent May half term in Gran Canaria. Having just taken on the role of union rep for the NAS/UWT I spoofed it up for them. However everything in the report happened. 6 members of staff thought this was bad use of union fees lol:
Educational Related Visit to Gran Canaria
May 23 – 31 2009
In line with being squeaky clean with the use of the Public Purse the NAS/UWT have advised me to publish my account of the above titled educational visit (especially as the Staffordshire Branch was holding a balance of £1,767…….but isn’t now). So here goes:
• Saturday – set off for Glasgow Airport (saving of £500 by not flying from Birmingham). Stopped for shopping in Preston (why?) and then in Carlisle where I purchased an invaluable piece of educational kit that was to be the catalyst for the bringing together of nations…..more to follow. On the M74 I was able to employ the cruise control, craftily set at 72 mph (on holiday – live dangerously) and just at it’s end, before 3 lanes becomes 2 there is an enticing piece of downhill straight road, perhaps 3 miles in length. “Here’s somewhere to put your foot down Eileen” I said. Before I had time to play with the paddles (a term I’ve heard many times on Top Gear but never quite understood) a BMW Z4 went past at a trillion miles per hour….”Here’s another one” said I as the Old Bill went past us at a trillion and twenty. Oh we did laugh as sporty guy and girl on arm were nicked.
Flew at 22.30, Eileen sitting with Newcastles version of Bet Lynch and her husband, he immediately falling asleep on her shoulder, whilst never loosening his grip on his brandy and coke……..not a great start.
• Sunday – up sharp after 4 hours sleep, not wanting to miss a minute of this rare opportunity. Quick tour of the hotel and off to the beach for the day. Returned to the pool area to have a quick dip and was immediately recognised by a rather tall Dutch chap called Jan, who nodded cheerfully as I passed, quickly followed by Gunter, flowing grey moustache and all who welcomed me as though we were old friends. All around the pool hands were raised and a plethora of greetings followed. The NAS have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies thought I but no it wasn’t my knowledge of Rarely Cover they craved……………………………………….it was the make and model of the Speedos I’d bought in Carlisle and, looking around, the whole pool area was awash with balding, greying, pot bellied men of 50+ posing in their various shades and styles of this still world famous item of leisure wear. Initial disappointment of my obviously new attire was quickly forgotten when I retold the tale of my previous pair and Eileens final words (“You can’t wear them anymore I can see you’re a**e though them”). Reputation intact we retired to prepare for dinner.
Dinner was a grand affair, the harpist and guitarist on the door performing in that way that only the Spanish seem able to achieve – that of playing their whole repertoire and it sounding the same from start to finish, with loud bits and louder bits – a bit like Captain Beefheart during his LSD days. As there was no-one on the door Eileen and I wandered in, collected a couple of plates and attacked, on the Unions behalf of course, the starters area. Having loaded my plate to capacity first, although cricking my neck as a result of the excess nodding to Gunter et al I found a seat and beckoned Eileen. The next bit happened in a blur…..the YTS waiter looked at me and gave out one of those screams you hear only on Tom and Jerry when someone is cut in half or Toms tail is on fire. He then promptly fainted. The Maitre d arrived at the same rate as the police car and, in a blur of Spanish diplomacy removed me and my starter of paella, chips and curry sauce to our allotted spot. Seems I chose to sit in the space reserved for the likes of King Juan Carlos and his family, Elton John and the Hairy Woman off the ITV thing…..wonder if they’re all fully paid up members of the Speedo Club (European Division) 2009?
Monday – keen to make more international links I strolled leisurely around the pool area. In all Unions there are clear role boundaries and the pool was no different. To the right, in the shade, was for families with small children (as the average age in the hotel was 62.7 there were only 3 children on show and these were under the strict regime of a Spanish couple, politically somewhere to the right of Franco, who had invoked the holiday rule of no talking while the sun’s out). Above them in the raised area were the long term residents, the further to the back being governed, as far as I could tell, by the proximity of nipple to belly button. This was where Sir Speedo sat, or hung out, dependant on elastic reliability. To the left were the newcomers and, on glancing over…………no it couldn’t be……it looked like him…….surely not…….could he be a brother too? It was John Clarke, ex Head of Geoga. How did I know……well he was so white (whiter than a ghost who has just seen another ghost for the first time), he was under the umbrella in a pair of glaring baggy shorts and…..the clincher for me…..he was playing magnetic scrabble. I dived in immediately, surfacing close to the couple with the stealth of a nuclear submarine (except for the coughing) and realised he was German, although the snatch of conversation I did hear suggested a close family link:
Ich habe dir alle Überschriften und Links gegeben, Weib! Kannst du den Rest nicht von selbst erledigen (oder erfinden?)
“I’ve given you all the headings and links, woman! Can’t you just finish (or make up) the rest of it yourself ????”
• Tuesday – keen to enforce the Cultural Diversity element of the trip so off to the beach to promote World Speedo Day and get into the local dialogue, al fresco pour favour. Not there long when a wailing noise began, getting ever louder as Manuel (no Speedos) made his way between the sun beds with his “Melonee Melonee, you beeeeautiful people”, have some of that type local banter, obviously put on for us visitors. He got as far as the gap in the beds when the Spanish Old Bill turned up, on his quad bike and nicked him. There followed 5 minutes of Melon Man shouting and cursing, changing to pleading then to begging as his melons, bananas and pineapples were stuffed into the carrier on the front of the quad, a bit like the metal carrier on the front of Miss Marples’ push bike. More Spanish cursing followed so el policio stands on his bike with one foot on the handle bars just to show who was the toughest. I held my breath, not knowing if he was about to break into “I’m a Lumberjack” or “YMCA” but just then the squad car turned up. This elevated Melon Man from unlicensed crook to something bigger – maybe drug dealing or time share selling. Whichever he was soon involved in another altercation as the Sun Bed man tried to get 7 euros out of him for sulking on one of his beds. All petty arguing stopped as the SAS helicopter approached (I kid you not) which meant that selling melons was merely a front for being a secret member of the Mafioso, the Taliban or the Baader Meinhof Gang. Either way these continual distractions from our cultural quest left me with a burnt left foot, two burnt knees (which diverted ships that evening) and a tingling inner thigh (stop making up your own jokes). We retired to the safety of Speedo Land and cheap Spanish brandy.
• Wednesday – Nothing happened……………………well not until the evening when we paid a ……cultural……visit to Yumbo Shopping Centre in Playa de Ingles (including slopey things on the letters). Here we were led to believe cultural diversity took on a different slant and it didn’t take us long to work out what the slant was. Never have I seen so many moustaches attached to so much leather before (pleasingly no Speedo guys were there). 4 levels of shops and bars were covered in about 45 minutes (the time it usually takes for Eileen to plan her shopping campaign) and we escaped to the back of the taxi.
• Thursday – the knees remain a major shipping hazard so we decide to raid Marks and Spencers in Vecindario (pronounced Bethindaareeo, which is why no-one had a clue where we were talking about. Might as well have been Fecin…….). We were put right by the hotel reception who were good at pronunciation but lousy at converting distance into taxi related euros. We arrived and I left Eileen with an hour to peruse this giant of commerce whilst I checked out the local comp. or at least the masses of graffiti on its outside walls. My perusing took 10 minutes, Eileens venture was limited by Marksies having the floor space of the Caretakers office and we both wandered aimlessly through what ever its name was for 50 minutes. On the plus side Eileen did get a lovely top at the bargain price of 13 euros. Unfortunately if you added on the taxi there and back it came out nearer to 80. Bless her. I never said anything………………
• Friday – knees back to the right colour – off around the hotel grounds which were littered with sun beds, bars and amusements. Got talking to a member of the wildfowl family. He (she?) the doves and pigeons were much friendlier than those at home. Perhaps if I starve the birds in our garden they might start appreciating me more and come to heel. Gave some money to the Drama Luvvies who pretend to be statues and dress up for our entertainment. Not the best way of making money, kitted out in 1940s suits and skirts, caked in make up and standing still for weeks on end when it’s 88 degrees. Saw our only person begging. He had a gammy leg…..well the top bit was OK but his shin was at ninety degrees to his thigh, his foot at ninety degrees to his shin and his big toe pointed out to sea. I said to Eileen he’d earn more money if he painted a face on a sock, put it on, pretending his toe was an imaginary nose and learnt a ventriloquist act.
• Saturday – Last day and doesn’t it go quickly………unless your flight is at 04.00 Sunday morning. Still we enjoyed the pool, food and everything else on offer. Couldn’t believe anything else could happen …….’til we got to the airport and over the intercom came the classic:
“Last call for Mrs Wa***r on flight 445E for Madrid” Only problem was that Mrs Wa***r didn’t hear so it was repeated over and over, much to the delight of most of Glasgow.
Stores
x
Educational Related Visit to Gran Canaria
May 23 – 31 2009
In line with being squeaky clean with the use of the Public Purse the NAS/UWT have advised me to publish my account of the above titled educational visit (especially as the Staffordshire Branch was holding a balance of £1,767…….but isn’t now). So here goes:
• Saturday – set off for Glasgow Airport (saving of £500 by not flying from Birmingham). Stopped for shopping in Preston (why?) and then in Carlisle where I purchased an invaluable piece of educational kit that was to be the catalyst for the bringing together of nations…..more to follow. On the M74 I was able to employ the cruise control, craftily set at 72 mph (on holiday – live dangerously) and just at it’s end, before 3 lanes becomes 2 there is an enticing piece of downhill straight road, perhaps 3 miles in length. “Here’s somewhere to put your foot down Eileen” I said. Before I had time to play with the paddles (a term I’ve heard many times on Top Gear but never quite understood) a BMW Z4 went past at a trillion miles per hour….”Here’s another one” said I as the Old Bill went past us at a trillion and twenty. Oh we did laugh as sporty guy and girl on arm were nicked.
Flew at 22.30, Eileen sitting with Newcastles version of Bet Lynch and her husband, he immediately falling asleep on her shoulder, whilst never loosening his grip on his brandy and coke……..not a great start.
• Sunday – up sharp after 4 hours sleep, not wanting to miss a minute of this rare opportunity. Quick tour of the hotel and off to the beach for the day. Returned to the pool area to have a quick dip and was immediately recognised by a rather tall Dutch chap called Jan, who nodded cheerfully as I passed, quickly followed by Gunter, flowing grey moustache and all who welcomed me as though we were old friends. All around the pool hands were raised and a plethora of greetings followed. The NAS have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies thought I but no it wasn’t my knowledge of Rarely Cover they craved……………………………………….it was the make and model of the Speedos I’d bought in Carlisle and, looking around, the whole pool area was awash with balding, greying, pot bellied men of 50+ posing in their various shades and styles of this still world famous item of leisure wear. Initial disappointment of my obviously new attire was quickly forgotten when I retold the tale of my previous pair and Eileens final words (“You can’t wear them anymore I can see you’re a**e though them”). Reputation intact we retired to prepare for dinner.
Dinner was a grand affair, the harpist and guitarist on the door performing in that way that only the Spanish seem able to achieve – that of playing their whole repertoire and it sounding the same from start to finish, with loud bits and louder bits – a bit like Captain Beefheart during his LSD days. As there was no-one on the door Eileen and I wandered in, collected a couple of plates and attacked, on the Unions behalf of course, the starters area. Having loaded my plate to capacity first, although cricking my neck as a result of the excess nodding to Gunter et al I found a seat and beckoned Eileen. The next bit happened in a blur…..the YTS waiter looked at me and gave out one of those screams you hear only on Tom and Jerry when someone is cut in half or Toms tail is on fire. He then promptly fainted. The Maitre d arrived at the same rate as the police car and, in a blur of Spanish diplomacy removed me and my starter of paella, chips and curry sauce to our allotted spot. Seems I chose to sit in the space reserved for the likes of King Juan Carlos and his family, Elton John and the Hairy Woman off the ITV thing…..wonder if they’re all fully paid up members of the Speedo Club (European Division) 2009?
Monday – keen to make more international links I strolled leisurely around the pool area. In all Unions there are clear role boundaries and the pool was no different. To the right, in the shade, was for families with small children (as the average age in the hotel was 62.7 there were only 3 children on show and these were under the strict regime of a Spanish couple, politically somewhere to the right of Franco, who had invoked the holiday rule of no talking while the sun’s out). Above them in the raised area were the long term residents, the further to the back being governed, as far as I could tell, by the proximity of nipple to belly button. This was where Sir Speedo sat, or hung out, dependant on elastic reliability. To the left were the newcomers and, on glancing over…………no it couldn’t be……it looked like him…….surely not…….could he be a brother too? It was John Clarke, ex Head of Geoga. How did I know……well he was so white (whiter than a ghost who has just seen another ghost for the first time), he was under the umbrella in a pair of glaring baggy shorts and…..the clincher for me…..he was playing magnetic scrabble. I dived in immediately, surfacing close to the couple with the stealth of a nuclear submarine (except for the coughing) and realised he was German, although the snatch of conversation I did hear suggested a close family link:
Ich habe dir alle Überschriften und Links gegeben, Weib! Kannst du den Rest nicht von selbst erledigen (oder erfinden?)
“I’ve given you all the headings and links, woman! Can’t you just finish (or make up) the rest of it yourself ????”
• Tuesday – keen to enforce the Cultural Diversity element of the trip so off to the beach to promote World Speedo Day and get into the local dialogue, al fresco pour favour. Not there long when a wailing noise began, getting ever louder as Manuel (no Speedos) made his way between the sun beds with his “Melonee Melonee, you beeeeautiful people”, have some of that type local banter, obviously put on for us visitors. He got as far as the gap in the beds when the Spanish Old Bill turned up, on his quad bike and nicked him. There followed 5 minutes of Melon Man shouting and cursing, changing to pleading then to begging as his melons, bananas and pineapples were stuffed into the carrier on the front of the quad, a bit like the metal carrier on the front of Miss Marples’ push bike. More Spanish cursing followed so el policio stands on his bike with one foot on the handle bars just to show who was the toughest. I held my breath, not knowing if he was about to break into “I’m a Lumberjack” or “YMCA” but just then the squad car turned up. This elevated Melon Man from unlicensed crook to something bigger – maybe drug dealing or time share selling. Whichever he was soon involved in another altercation as the Sun Bed man tried to get 7 euros out of him for sulking on one of his beds. All petty arguing stopped as the SAS helicopter approached (I kid you not) which meant that selling melons was merely a front for being a secret member of the Mafioso, the Taliban or the Baader Meinhof Gang. Either way these continual distractions from our cultural quest left me with a burnt left foot, two burnt knees (which diverted ships that evening) and a tingling inner thigh (stop making up your own jokes). We retired to the safety of Speedo Land and cheap Spanish brandy.
• Wednesday – Nothing happened……………………well not until the evening when we paid a ……cultural……visit to Yumbo Shopping Centre in Playa de Ingles (including slopey things on the letters). Here we were led to believe cultural diversity took on a different slant and it didn’t take us long to work out what the slant was. Never have I seen so many moustaches attached to so much leather before (pleasingly no Speedo guys were there). 4 levels of shops and bars were covered in about 45 minutes (the time it usually takes for Eileen to plan her shopping campaign) and we escaped to the back of the taxi.
• Thursday – the knees remain a major shipping hazard so we decide to raid Marks and Spencers in Vecindario (pronounced Bethindaareeo, which is why no-one had a clue where we were talking about. Might as well have been Fecin…….). We were put right by the hotel reception who were good at pronunciation but lousy at converting distance into taxi related euros. We arrived and I left Eileen with an hour to peruse this giant of commerce whilst I checked out the local comp. or at least the masses of graffiti on its outside walls. My perusing took 10 minutes, Eileens venture was limited by Marksies having the floor space of the Caretakers office and we both wandered aimlessly through what ever its name was for 50 minutes. On the plus side Eileen did get a lovely top at the bargain price of 13 euros. Unfortunately if you added on the taxi there and back it came out nearer to 80. Bless her. I never said anything………………
• Friday – knees back to the right colour – off around the hotel grounds which were littered with sun beds, bars and amusements. Got talking to a member of the wildfowl family. He (she?) the doves and pigeons were much friendlier than those at home. Perhaps if I starve the birds in our garden they might start appreciating me more and come to heel. Gave some money to the Drama Luvvies who pretend to be statues and dress up for our entertainment. Not the best way of making money, kitted out in 1940s suits and skirts, caked in make up and standing still for weeks on end when it’s 88 degrees. Saw our only person begging. He had a gammy leg…..well the top bit was OK but his shin was at ninety degrees to his thigh, his foot at ninety degrees to his shin and his big toe pointed out to sea. I said to Eileen he’d earn more money if he painted a face on a sock, put it on, pretending his toe was an imaginary nose and learnt a ventriloquist act.
• Saturday – Last day and doesn’t it go quickly………unless your flight is at 04.00 Sunday morning. Still we enjoyed the pool, food and everything else on offer. Couldn’t believe anything else could happen …….’til we got to the airport and over the intercom came the classic:
“Last call for Mrs Wa***r on flight 445E for Madrid” Only problem was that Mrs Wa***r didn’t hear so it was repeated over and over, much to the delight of most of Glasgow.
Stores
x
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