424: Grüß Gott

The first thing to remember when travelling to Munich, or indeed anywhere in Bavaria, is that they don't much say Guten Morgen (Good morning) or Guten Tag (good day)  but instead use Grüß Gott (God's greetings). I flew to Munich (or München as it is called in Germany) on Friday. As you've no doubt gathered by now I pretty much love travelling

especially to Germany, where they have some of my favourite 'fast food' . Not forgetting German beer, of course.

I had an ulterior motive for going to Germany this time - I went to see an Andre Rieu concert in the Olympia Halle in Munich. I guess you either like this type of 'light classical' music or you don't. He tours all over the world with his Johann Strauss orchestra. It was the third time I've seen him live, once in UK, once in Poland and now in Munich. Here are two pictures of the concert venue. I'm perhaps the only person left in the world who won't take pictures of the group/act/turn while they are on stage performing so I took these pictures as the stadium was filling up and then turned my phone off.

On thing I had forgotten is that Bavaria, in February, usually means snow. This time was no exception but it was mostly on the fields, there was almost none on the streets of the city.

As well as going to the concert I took the opportunity to re-acquaint myself with what is, perhaps, Munich's most famous tourist attraction - the rathaus glockenspiel. Three times a day, at 11:00, 12:00 and 5:00 (in the summer), the 32 life-sized figures start to move and the bells chime. It is a re-enactment of 2 stories from the 16th century and you can read more about it here.

I also took a few pictures of the tourist 'tat' available to buy in the shops. Or it would be available if it weren't Sunday. German shops don't bother opening on Sundays. In fact they only open on Saturday afternoons on the first Saturday of the month. 


My video clip, to finish, has to be an excerpt from an Andre Rieu concert. This particular clip has a pantomime bull chasing a woman dressed in red all around the concert hall. Cheap laughs but people of a certain age lap it up.

423: Marseille

I gave myself the weekend off and went to Marseille for a couple of days. I flew from Barcelona on Friday (the flight was just over one hour) and came back by flix bus yesterday (which took 7 hours!). I found it to be a bustling city, especially on Saturday evening, when the streets were full of people. I was told it was a 'manifestation', but of what I don't know. There are several different shades of meaning to that word when translated into English, ranging from event to demonstration to march. There were scores of police vehicles on the street racing hither and thither with their 'blues and twos' almost deafening the eardrums. I even saw little gatherings of riot police ready to do their kettling or whatever French riot police do to contain situations. It may well have been a continuation of the 'yellow vest' protest movement that has such a hold in France at the moment. On Sunday I saw a smaller demonstration, all men, with their banners shouting for the release of Abdullah Öcalan, a Kurdish leader. Apart from all that 'excitement' I had an enjoyable few days in the city. I managed to work out how to release an electric scooter from its electronic 'padlock' (by logging onto their website and paying 'pennies') and enjoyed a whizz along the harbour esplanade, darting between the myriad of tourists who were out and about even this early in the year. Time to let the pictures speak louder than words.

Linguistically my brain became fried and several times I found myself saying Gracias in France and Merci in Spain.   

	I couldn't not have a picture of them selling fish on the harbour
	This is the 'grand escalier' up to the train/bus station.
	sleeping it off.

 And now, a link to the 1971 film "The French Connection", filmed largely on location in Marseille.It is the full-length film so may not be available for long before it is removed.

422: Merry Xmas to friends and rellies, especially those who have been affected by THE BIG C

     I understand that HM The Queen, and her entourage, decamps to Sandringham for Christmas every year. It appears to be my lot in life to spend every Christmas and New Year here in Golspie, in the North of Scotland. At the beginning of the last century Golspie was a thriving fishing village, but fishing, on that scale, died out more than a century ago. As it has in most places around the UK. Overfishing, and the subsequent imposition of quotas, has all but killed off our once vibrant fishing industry. 

     Golspie's chief claims to fame now are Dunrobin castle, the seat of the Dukes of Sutherland, and the monument to the 1st Duke, situated on top of a local hill - Ben Bhraggie.  Many people want to pull the monument down, because of the part the 1st Duke played in the infamous Highland Clearances. My own view is that it helps to bring tourists, and much needed cash, to this part of North East Scotland. 

     This morning I decided to undertake the walk to the monument and back. I must have walked up that hill 50 or more times over the years and am always surprised how it moves further away and higher up every year. It couldn't possibly be because I'm getting older. I would say I met a dozen or more people on the way up or the way down. It is an excellent way to counteract the excesses of Christmas Day.

     Because it's Christmas, and I'm feeling magnanimous, I have decided to sponsor myself for the walk up the hill and back. £1 per minute to Cancer Research on the way up and £1 per minute to Guide Dogs for the Blind on the way down. If you too are feeling charitable then please feel free to add to my donations by clicking on this link.

     So many of my friends and relatives have been targetted by cancer this year. The frightful, and frightening, disease seems to attack people at random. I pray that they will find a cure soon and that my friends and relatives who have suffered, and those still suffering, will be free of it for good soon. That's a bit selfish - actually I pray for everybody who has been affected by this horrible insidious disease. 

     Christmas is almost over for another year in Great Britain and Western Europe. For my friends in Russia it was an ordinary working day. There everybody is gearing up for the festivities that will commence on New Years Eve and continue for 7 or 8 days. I say to them:  c наступающим новым годом! and to my friends in Spain: Feliz año nuevo.

     To finish, that timeless classic from Raymond Briggs' The Snowman.

421: Life's a beach and then you die

     Sorry not to write so many blogs these days. They really must take 4th place behind trying to maintain a minimum level of fitness, trying to improve my Spanish by progressing from Basic to Intermediate, and preparing for English lessons. The trying to keep a level of fitness moves up and down the to-do list depending on what the scales report in the morning. They reported bad news this morning so I'm just back in from a run/walk along the beach. Salou is a bit like a ghost town now most of the tourists have gone home and it's lovely running along the sand listening to the waves of the Mediterranean gently lapping onto the beach. This is the life.
     I try not to have too many chocolate 'goodies' in the flat so as not to be tempted, but returning from a run, with the endorphins whizzing around, there is almost always a craving for some food. This morning was no exception. All I could find, that wasn't a 'proper' meal, was a foosty old carrot. Better than nothing at all, but only just. 
     It's been a busy old week. Last Saturday I went to Tarragona, 25 minutes on the bus, and met my Russian friends Sasha and Natalia who had travelled South from Barcelona to meet me. We had a very nice lunch in El Corte Ingles and then went off to view the old Roman ruins and amphitheatre.
      On Sunday, after church, I took the train to Cambrils and walked back to Salou. A beautiful walk along the coast. And with it being Sunday, there were no immigrants hawking their wares on the no-man's land between Cambrils and Salou forcing pedestrians onto the cycle path by filling the available pavement with trainers, sunglasses, football shirts, hats etc.
   Two encounters with Spanish bureaucracy this week. On Monday I visited a police station in Tarragona to register my presence in Salou. In the 'unlikely' event of Brexit going '****-up' I wanted to increase my chances of not being evicted from Spain. I took every piece of paperwork I had ever owned, just in case they might ask for it. In the event the 'interview' went quite well. Apart from the 'tasa'. They almost finish the paperwork and then send you off to find a bank to pay 12 Euros 'tax'. Why you can't pay it on the spot eludes me. You return, post-haste, waving a receipted piece of paper, and they hand you your registration card. The next brush with bureaucracy was at the offices of the INSS (Spanish Social Security) in Reus. Of course, I had taken the wrong form but they gave me the right one and kindly allowed me to fill it in at the desk rather than sending me away to book another appointment for another day. I left there with a stamped piece of paper in my sweaty little mitt and a promise that they would send me something through the post. Whether that will be a Social Security number or a medical entitlement card remains to be seen.
     And now it's time to make some soup for lunch - with the rest of the foosty carrots.
      And finally, talking about carrots....

420: A pictorial autobiography - 60 years of Des!

Prompted, in part, by several military friends and acquaintances who have recently posted Facebook statuses of themselves at the beginning of their career, I thought I would try something similar but over a longer period - i.e. the whole of my life thus far. Here we go then: a caterpillar metamorphosing into a beautiful butterfly, or, perhaps, a scabby old moth.

Part 1: The early years

Above: My first, and only, foray into acting. Erith Grammar School 1965. Left: looking very smug having presumably just mastered 1950s Lego. No glasses, must be a very very old picture.

A very young Apprentice Radio Technician at the Army Apprentices College. Harrogate. 1967.

Having transferred to the Royal Army Pay Corps in late 1969, here I am in Cyprus in Summer 1971. The last pic without a moustache!

Part II: Soldier on.......
24 years service in the Royal Army Pay Corps. Postings/attachments to The Gordon Highlanders, The Life Guards, The Cheshire Regiment, 39 Engineer Regiment, The British Embassy Moscow 1978-1980,The Royal Military Police, The RAPC Computer Centre and Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe. It wasn't all work and no play though, as you can see here: 

Entertaining HM Ambassador and staff Xmas 79

Burns night at the Embassy dacha  Jan 1980

One of many formal dinner nights

A formal dinner almost at the end of our Russian language course. Somebody, perhaps unwisely, decided to play Boney M's Rasputin. Cue drunken dancing on the table!

Part III - The Royal Auxiliary Air Force

10 very interesting years as a Russian Interpreter in the RAuxAF. Here are just a few of the highlights:

	Above: meeting HM The Queen on the occasion of the 75th Anniversary of the RAuxAF. 2005 Left: Helping out the Royal Navy during a ship visit to St Petersburg. 2004
Squadron Training in Cyprus 2006	2005. At a dedication ceremony to the Russian ship Varyag, scuttled off the West coast of Scotland.

Part IV - Teaching English - in Moscow, Warsaw and Salou

Moscow, of course, couldn't be anywhere else!

Lodz (pronounced Woodz) in Poland

Part V - Sports (Marathons, hill walking, fishing, sailing, horse riding

Ben Nevis with my son Gareth. 2007
	Above: Rutland Water with Dave Grundy 2016 Left: Russian (Zavidovo) 1979 with a much younger daughter
Above and right: fishing off Ascension Island

Part VI - and the fun just goes on and on....

With daughter, Mo, at the RAF Club

Cheers!