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Thursday 21 June 2018

412: Defence Discount Service

This particular blog is exclusively aimed at my UK military colleagues (serving or retired). At the risk of 'teaching grandmother to suck eggs' I wanted to draw your attention to the Defence Discount Service. Just in case you weren't aware of it.

The card has been around for a few years but I had always discarded the notion of applying for one because it isn't free! Recently I came to my senses and applied. It costs £4.99 and lasts for 5 years. Come on, what's £4.99. That can be recouped in very short order having nabbed a few discounts. Recently I finally decided to apply. They didn't accept the initial proof of service that I sent so I reinforced it with an Army Identity Card dated 1984 and a picture of me with Her Majesty the Queen. Between them those two pieces of evidence did the trick!
The 'big' stores, Debenhams, M&S etc don't accept the card - surprise, surprise, but there are a few hundred others that do. I was particularly pleased to see Patisserie Valerie on the list - who doesn't like to stop for a coffee and cake whilst out shopping.
Finally, Oxford Street having exhausted me, I went for a liquid lunch with my sister and we ended up sharing another goldfish bowl sized G&T.
Scrolling through Face Book this morning I was amused by a comment from another military veteran about his time in the service "it was all a game, to make you the person you are today".

Monday 11 June 2018

411: Three Queens in three days

Saturday's Queen: 
On Saturday evening I watched highlights on television of Her Majesty the Queen taking part in the Trooping the Colour ceremony. This takes place every year to celebrate her official birthday and, if I remember correctly from 2 days ago, this is the 63rd Trooping the Colour ceremony she has attended. Incredible! Nobody in the world does pomp and pageantry as well as we Brits.

Sunday's Queen: 
I went to Barcelona to watch Queen (+ Alan Lambert) in concert in the Palau Sant Jordi. Turned out to be not such a good idea and I left after 15 minutes. Turns out that in such an enormous stadium the stage was that far away it was like watching ants performing. 


 But hearing was a different story. It seemed to me that they were shouting instead of singing. I have absolutely no idea why the volume needs to be so loud. A bit of a paradox really - old people sometimes need to be shouted at so they can hear. Younger people, the majority of the audience, can, in theory, hear perfectly well. Why do they need to be shouted at? I don't understand. Call me an old fogey if you will, (all right, you're an old fogey), but I found myself wishing I was at an Andre Rieu concert or listening to some light classics in the Royal Albert Hall. I love all the old Queen songs but in future I shall watch them on You Tube with me choosing the volume.
A couple more gripes, while I'm in the mood! I had thought about buying some 'merchandise', a Queen T-shirt or something similar. I nearly fell over when I saw the prices. 40-50 Euros. Almost a twelfth of my pension, just for a T-shirt! I don't think so. How can they justify that? They charge what the market will bear, I suppose. I paid 7.50 for a hot dog and a bottle of water. Excessive but not unexpected for somewhere with a captive audience. Next, and final, probably, grumble: I had gone early to do a recce of the joint (time spent on reconnaissance  is never wasted). The plan was to buy some food at a roadside cafe before I went into the stadium proper. The plan was dashed as there were no roadside cafes, no roadside anything for that matter. Palau Sant Jordi was built for the 1992 Spanish Olympic games. It is the largest indoor stadium in Spain with  seating capacity of 17,960. It is part of the Olympic complex, located on Montjuic hill in splendid isolation. 30 minutes walk from my hotel, and 45 minutes back, in the dark when you head off in the wrong direction looking for a bus stop. Plenty bus stops, very few buses. Having arrived there early I discovered the outer gates to the complex weren't going to be opened until 7.30. It completely slipped my mind that this was a Spanish 7.30 i.e nearly 7.50. Then, once we got into the grounds, we had to stand around, in lose formation, for almost another hour until they opened the doors to the building. Thank God I'm not currently disabled and Thank God it wasn't raining, as it had been earlier. This is another aspect of the evening I don't understand: if they had opened the doors earlier then the cash tills could have been ringing earlier. OK, last moan: the concert was due to start at 9.30. It was 9.55 before Queen deigned to make an appearance. How dare they, with the money we had paid for the seats. Surely he who pays the piper calls the tune. Or so it was once upon a time.  Can I get on with my day now I've got all that off my chest?
Monday's Queen
On this day, in 2013, my dear old Mum passed away. God bless her. Here is a picture of her on her wedding day (1945?) being given a traditional rolling pin by her Mum to keep Dad in order. Rest in Peace Mum (and Dad, and Nan).