Chips and strawberries for breakfast

Neither my wife or I had been on an 'all inclusive' holiday before but since this was the only type of holiday offered at the location we had chosen for this year's vacation we decided to give it a try.

Generally, I have refrained from such packages since each tour operator interprets the term 'all inclusive' differently. Often it would appear you needed a computer to work out what was and what was not included in an offer – 'Alcohol not included', 'Free alcohol only available between 17:00 and 19:00 on alternate days when ordered from the beachbar', 'Main meal deemed to be lunch or evening meal', 'Free drinks only available with meals or restricted to only one drink per person'. Give me a break, I'm on holiday, the most taxing issue I want to have to deal with is which sunbed to lie on.

Thankfully, on this particular deal the term 'All-inclusive' pretty much meant exactly that. All drinks and all meals were included in the price, as were the use of all the amenities, with the exception of motorised boats. Effectively you could eat or drink 24 hours a day without the need to put your hand in your pocket for anything other than tips, which is exactly what several people appeared to be attempting.

Like most large hotel complexes these days the main meals in the restaurants were served buffet style and since the resort in Cuba attracted a wide variety of guests of different nationalities the selection of foods was as diverse as the circumstances would permit. There was always plenty of it and if you fancied chips and strawberries for breakfast then this was Hog's heaven.

Unfortunately, my stomach was in turmoil for most of the holiday so am I probably one of the very few people who has ever been on a fortnight's all-inclusive holiday and returned lighter than they were when they arrived.

The staff were always friendly and helpful and so long as you avoided the peak period at breakfast and early evening you could enjoy your meal without the need to queue.

I have to admit that throughout my life I have never truly mastered the art of breakfast and this holiday merely highlighted my discomfort with what we are told is 'the most important meal of the day'. Over the years I have tried skipping breakfast, full English breakfasts, continental breakfasts, cereals only, yoghurt only, pots of tea or coffee and jugs of fruit juice or smoothies, none of which I have every felt satisfied with. As an experiment I decided to try to mix things up with different selections on each day of the holiday and while I am prepared to accept the premise that breakfast is the most important meal of the day I am no nearer working out why I find it such a disappointment.

My earliest memories of breakfasts was being forced to throw it down my neck at great haste before being kicked off to school. Invariably the family was running late and everything was done in a rush. Usually my father would be the first down to breakfast and follow a set procedure of eating a light breakfast while reading the newspaper. If it was not a school day then my grandfather would emerge an hour later for his breakfast and start moaning about the fact that the newspaper was creased and the pages were in the wrong order. It was not unknown for my mother to be ironing the newspaper when I arrived in the kitchen. In hindsight I can recognise how these events shaped my view on breakfasts in later life.

It has to be said that I am not of the best temperament first thing in the morning and if I am to have any kind of breakfast, which I generally do since I have no idea these days at what time of day I am likely to get a chance to grab a bite to eat, then I am best left to my own devices and enjoy whatever I find to hand in glorious silence.

The way in which I cope with being forced to emerge from a warm and cosy bed each morning is to follow a fairly stable routine. The one thing I know for sure is that failure to adhere to this routine will adversely effect my temperament for the rest of the day.

Having calculated that there are certain things that need to be achieved within a given time frame it is important for me to complete these tasks at my own pace with as few distractions as possible. There is nothing in my schedule that is rocket science – wash, dress, have something to eat and drink, watch or listen to the news, Where am I? What day is it? What will the weather be like? Are there any traffic issues that will impact on my journey to work? It is not asking a lot realistically to get my head straight in the morning but the whole day can be ruined by the boiler failing, the alarm not working or an unwarranted phone call from the office intruding into what I see as 'My' time.

If this gives you the impression that I am not into communal grazing then you would be right and I found it difficult to adjust to the etiquette (or lack of it) of the buffet, pleasant as the restaurant was. The concept of an open air restaurant you think would be refreshing, not having to worry about work, having a leisurely breakfast with the missus while listening to the birdsong but still there were distractions that left me bewildered, which is not a great way to start the day.

I can understand that some people may wish to take their towels, etc. to the restaurant so that they can go straight to the pool or the beach after they have eaten but where do you draw the line? There was not a great deal of room between the tables and personally I would prefer not to have to climb over buckets, spades and assorted inflatables in order to get to the serving area. One guest would regularly walk in to breakfast carrying his fishing tackle, what was he intending to do, catch his breakfast from one of the ornamental ponds dotted around the restaurant?

Another individual to whom I took an intense dislike was a guy who on several occasions arrived in full lycra gear and helmet. On its own, not a problem, but who on earth allowed him not only to bring his bike into the restaurant but chain it to the wooden bannisters. I don't care, even if you are Bradley Wiggins, there should be no need for you to take your bike into a restaurant. Who does he think is going to steal it? If he is in such a goddam hurry then why didn't he get one of the waitresses to hand him a selection of food as he rode by. It was just as well I was sitting well away from him otherwise I feel sure I would have somehow managed to let his tyres down. If I had opted to hire a car for the day would anyone have objected if I had parked it in front of the omelette counter while I grabbed a quick bite?

Anyone who has endured my company at breakfast will testify to the fact that I struggle to construct a coherent sentence until I am on my second cup of tea, so I am sympathetic to the principle that some people's brains require more attention than others to spark them in to action. Quite what the woman I was queuing behind at the egg counter requires to get her brain cell functioning is beyond me. (It's OK, I'm British, we know what queuing is, it is our national sport). This particular self-service counter offered a limited range of options, namely a selection of tortillas, fried eggs or a choice of scrambled egg or scrambled egg with small cubes of diced ham. If you wished for something more adventurous or just simply enjoyed queuing there was a separate counter where you could watch a chef conjure up an offering of your choice. 

I've never been the greatest fan of eggs since learning that they emerge from a chicken's bottom but on this day I thought I would give the scrambled eggs and ham a try. I was standing behind this woman who had clearly made extensive use of 'all-inclusive' packages over many years. She studied the selection on display for a long time before using the ladle provided to spoon several helpings of the scrambled egg with ham onto her plate. After a further period of deliberation she then used the ladle to start 'weeding out' the pieces of ham and returning them to the hotplate. Once she had finished she returned the ladle to the dish, turned away and marched off to inspect the food on offer at the other counters. In the time it had taken her to remove the ham from her plate several more people had joined the queue behind me. I still don't know why she could not have opted for the basic scrambled egg (without the ham) or have sorted her food once she had returned to her table. All I do know is that the person behind me obviously was thinking along similar lines to myself for we both looked at the dish, looked at each other with bewildered expressions, shook our head and decided to give eggs a miss for that day.

Having now had a few days to evaluate our holiday I realise how bizarre the layout was in the reception area and the restaurants. Either the place was built on a swamp or the architect had an obsession for water. Everywhere you looked there was either a pond with a water feature or an island. Some of the islands were impeccably manicured while others were left untouched – these we referred to as 'the allotments'. I am not well enough acquainted with the Cuban flora and fauna to be in a position to tell whether this was an apt description or not – the fish seemed to like it, or it might be the amount of food that the guests used to throw to them. For some reason these islands were populated by scantily clad, gold painted statues which not only looked out of place but I also found rather disturbing. Had they been bronze or if there had been a touch of verdi gris perhaps I would have felt more comfortable with them. As it was, all I could think of was Shirley Eaton in Goldfinger which inevitably led me to the conclusion that this was the way that the resort dealt with the guests who did not pay their bills.

It has been a tradition within the Shanks family to try and foster good relations with all the places that we visit on our travels and to take a bit of our culture to foreign climes. To this extent we endeavour to leave a gift of a garden gnome in a suitable location. We were very please with our choice on this occasion as he fitted well with the environment. So if you visit the Playa Pesquero resort in Holguin someday and happen to stumble across a cheery looking gnome with a fishing rod sitting in the allotments say hello to Gordon for us.

Faux Fashion

Hello my fashion-conscious friends,

just thought I should let the good people of England know that I, Slapen Tikl, the renowned Croatian fashion designer, will be bringing my new Summer collection to London Fashion Week next year. My team have been working around the clock seeking inspirational ideas from all over the world. I finally believe that I have managed to create a style that will captivate the discerning critics and the buying public in my favourite capital city.

I am really excited at this opportunity to display my latest selection of clothes alongside the great fashion names of Vivienne Westwood, Paul Smith, DAKS and Burberry.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with my work, think of me as 'Gok Wan Extreme', though not quite as tutti frutti. I like the beautiful ladies, they are not just there to walk about in the sexy clothes, yes? And I don't wear the hair gel, the moisturiser or the geeky specs, otherwise we are like cheese from the same rack – only he soft-ripened and blue-veined while I am more like a Stinking Bishop.

We both like to dress the women with their lumpity-bumpity bits, making them look gorgeous in clothes made from all kinds of materials. I share Gok's passion for experimentation and love the use of accessories to embellish my creations.

It is my belief that fashion is art and it should be a reflection of what is happening around us, so I have based the theme of my new collection on what I see going on around me. We are in the grips of a global recession so I have tried to strip my designs back to basics, using cheap and available materials that are also ecologically and environmentally friendly.

Last year in New York my collection of dresses made from elephant poop received a warm response but next year I hope to surpass myself with a twist on an old theme using bin liners. When they were first styled on the catwalk they were only available in the one colour but today, the supply is more plentiful an the bags come in a range of colours, sizes, thicknesses and materials which I am really looking forward to playing around with.

Every bone in my body tells me that fashion is not simply about wearing the right clothes. It is no longer good enough just to look good and feel good. This is the 21st century and people now want more from their outfits – the Tikl brand has been delivering these qualities for the past decade but from next year owners of my latest creations will have the added bonus of wearing garments that taste good!!!

We have incorporated recycled materials (including bin-bags) into our designs for several years so it would seem a natural progression to utilise the contents of these bags. Initially I viewed it as a social experiment based on the premise of 'we are what we eat', in which case wearing what we eat should be an expression of who we are, yes?

Some of my vegan models were sceptical of my motivations but others jumped at the chance to wear a pair of shoulder pads fashioned out of melon, cauliflower earrings or a pizza tantaliser. And why not? Carmen Miranda made a very good career with her film wardrobe festooned in fruit. Food is so much more plentiful these days, there is such a rich variety of colours, flavours and textures. I particularly enjoy working with pasta and seeing what can be achieved with so many different shapes.

Admittedly there were setbacks in my early designs. Several of them utilised more food than some of the models ate in a month and often the models would eat the embellishments faster than I could attach them to the costume. Finding the right preservative has now enabled me to extend the shelf-life of my creations and fulfilled the measures set in place by the Customs authorities on the transportation of food produce between countries.

As a young designer I never envisaged a day when it would be necessary for me to have a food scientist working on my team but we are now working at the cutting edge of fashion, are pushing back the boundaries of what can be achieved almost on a daily basis and I very much look forward to bringing the very latest Tikl collection to London next year.

The Chronic ails of Narnia

Once again the Annual Political Bunfest is upon us, not that you would have known it without the hype from the press. Meaningful soundbites have been few and far between, which is a sad reflection of the times in which we are living and the lack of any cohesive strategy to get the country out of the deep economic mess from any of the parties. Even the obligatory bouts of personal mudslinging have lacked any real conviction this year.

Strangely, I have found myself studying David Cameron more closely than I would care to admit. He cannot help his upbringing, he will forever be an ‘Etonian toff’, and he should be happy with the hand that life has dealt him. To portray himself as a ‘normal everyday geezer’, ‘a man of the people’, is about as convincing as William Hague in a baseball cap. 

Ed Milliband dedicated a great part of his keynote speech to how ‘normal’ an upbringing he had. ‘Beaker’ may have attended Haverstock Comprehensive School but not every pupil has 2 successful and celebrated academics for parents. Nor do they go on to study at Oxford and Harvard.

John Major was not averse to talking up his humble family background and Margaret Thatcher would  often play on her ‘grocer’s daughter from Rochdale’ roots. Personally, I find such references rather unnerving and patronising to the point of nausea. I would no more wish to see the country run by someone brought up in an inner city tower block with just a GCSE in woodwork to their name than I would welcome the spectacle of Vince Cable sporting an earring ,an eyebrow piercing and with a large spider’s web  tattoo on his neck. Of course, every party strives to endear themselves to the widest range of voter, but it is buttock-clenchingly insulting when they do not credit the electorate with the ability to spot a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

       

When I say that I am studying David Cameron I should explain that I am examining his footprints and  checking for signs of pedicel growth. His recent speeches talk of difficult changes and growth which I believe are a veiled reference to his own personal wellbeing. His political rhetoric would clearly indicate that he is living, as he believes we all are, in a weird utopian world, which I (for one) don’t recognise, and I am simply seeking the evidence of cloven hoof and horns to prove my suspicions that he is, in fact, Mr. Tumnus.

Anyone who believes that this country is in the throws of economic recovery is clearly living in the world of Narnia. The only reason that the jobless total has fallen is that there has been a boom in coffee and fast food outlets – this is all well and good up until we hit the point of a coffee shortage when booming prices will force many of these new enterprises to close, and we will have a glut of Baristas swelling the dole queue.

David Cameron may trumpet increases in the number of doctors, dentists, nurses, etc. but the problems within the NHS are still escalating. Fuel costs are increasing, manufacturing costs are increasing, youth unemployment is rising and the only people in receipt of pay rises are company directors. Every time I visit the local shops I notice that more shops have closed and that food prices have risen. The police and the military are being forced into reducing their numbers and there are still several years of cuts in public services ahead.

He talks of the necessity for people to make cuts and the need for more entrepreneurs. In focusing on the public sector he seems to have forgotten that there are a great number of private enterprises who rely on, and have been just as badly affected by the cuts made to this country’s public services. At the same time as we are being asked to make cuts we are being asked to make savings towards our long term needs in retirement. Those at the top may be in a position to adjust to the economies being asked of us all but for the majority of those on middle or lower incomes every enforced cut is a major blow and there comes a point where there is no more water in the well.

True, we are a victim of the global economic climate along with everybody else. Thankfully we are not in the position of Greece, Italy, Spain, Portugal or Ireland but Britain is certainly not Narnia and the only thing at the back of my wardrobe is a manky old pair of trainers.

Frontline birth

Up until today I had never given any thought to the prospect of a soldier giving birth on the field of battle. Today's news of the birth of a baby boy to a Royal Artillery gunner in Afghanistan has rather altered my perception of modern warfare. As I read the story on the BBC website images of Tom Hanks in the film 'Saving Private Ryan' came to mind. His anguished face barking out commands to his troops in the midst of battle, with gunfire and explosions happening all around him. “.. more smoke … give me covering fire! … incoming RPGs … take cover …sniper at 2 o'clock … medic! … we need more ammo … grenades … mortars ... forceps?”

The baby, who is in a stable condition, was conceived before the start of the servicewoman's tour of duty and was born 5 weeks premature at Camp Bastion after the unnamed gunner complained of stomach pains.

Pregnant service women are banned from front line duties and all service personnel, male and female, are given pre-deployment medical checks based on their role however, women are not routinely given pregnancy tests.

It gives a whole new take on the serviceman's slang of 'grunt'. 

 

What prisoners watch on TV

A recent enquiry under the freedom of information act has revealed a number of interesting snippets about the TV viewing habits of prison inmates in the UK. According to the MOJ prisoners are allowed to watch a selection of free to air channels as well as the BBC and ITV stations. Within some privately run prisons a limited number of subscription and satellite channels are also available to selected inmates. The provision of a small TV set and the ability to watch TV in your cell is reportedly conditional on good behaviour, though the definition of good behaviour was not specified. One prison officer reported that an inmate had thrown his television at an officer, smashing it to pieces, within an hour the inmate had been given a replacement TV. 

The report goes on to mention that the soaps and the digital channel E4 were particularly popular within the women’s prisons while Sky Sports News was the channel of choice within male establishments, though the service was withdrawn when it became a subscription only service.

I am not advocating that all prisoners should be flogged daily or strung up to the wall by their thumbs, though I do think it was a missed opportunity when the country stopped shipping our most notorious felons off to the colonies. 

It should be remembered that a great many of those that find themselves detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure have mental health issues, or self-inflicted ailments resulting from drink or drug abuse. Undoubtedly support, training and rehabilitation will assist a few in turning their lives around, just how much support inmates should receive will always be open to question.

There are those that would argue that anything short of conjugal visits is a denial of human rights. It is usual for the people who espouse this policy to overlook the human rights of the individuals who have suffered as a result of the actions of the person who perpetrated the crime.

Crime and punishment being such a political hot potato whoever happens to be in government will always look to talk up the successes of their particular policies, however ill-conceived or inept they may be. This situation seems to have spawned a breed of prison inmate who views the system as a way of life and quite enjoy the ‘holiday camp’ atmosphere. Free food and accommodation, no utility bills to worry about and if you’re lucky enough you might be able to come out with a degree to your name, a job to go to and no student debt.

Let’s not forget that the reason for these people being incarcerated is because they have transgressed the law by inflicting pain and suffering on their victims. It is the taxpayer who is funding the prison system the primary purpose of which is to punish those who have broken the laws of the land. Being deprived of a choice of TV should not be considered a denial of basic human rights. If prisoners want to watch TV in the pricacy of their cell then the TV they are allowed to watch should be appropriate to their status. No more casing the joints on ‘Antiques Roadshow’ or ‘House in the country’. Forget ‘Eastenders’, ‘Corrie’ and ‘Big, fat, gypsy wedding’ there should only be 2 choices available for inmates to watch – the food channel and a 24-hour loop with back to back episodes of ‘One man and his dog’. 

Stuff that funky gibbon

Researchers in Japan have learned that Lar gibbons (or white-handed gibbons as they are also known) use the same vocal techniques as human soprano singers when tested in an environment rich with helium. Scientists claim that the gibbons are able to control the frequencies of their vocal tracts in the same way as a humans do.

And here was stupid, tone-deaf little me thinking that it was in fact the other way round. I have long considered the high pitched warblings of some of our best known soprano singers bear remarkable similarity to the random agitated screechings of certain endangered primates. 

I am unsure as to why anyone would wish to expose these angelic looking creatures to helium but would assume that the resulting ‘tunes’ were more satisfactory than had the experiments been carried out on humans.

Can we expect one day to see a gibbon taking to the stage at Glyndebourne? How long will it be before Sir Tom Jones releases a record backed by a choir of gibbons?

As I write, I have visions of Simon Cowell drifting across the Indonesian peninsula in a helium filled balloon, recorder in one hand and contract in the other. One bag of hot air inside another.