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Disappearing Britain - A Ramble & A Goodbye

This one will probably be for UK residents only.

Not that the rest of our readership aren’t welcome but sometimes the cultural crevasse intervenes and, just as your Captain struggles with why our cousins across the pond can’t spell, overseas readers might not have a clue what I’m on about.

Oh, and it will help if you’re over fifty.

First question. What happened to the Ford Sierras?

The ruddy things have disappeared, gone the way of the fabled white dog turds.

You can still see driving around Ford Cortinas of every model through from Mark I’s with their lovely triple division round tail lights that always appear on the backs of ancient caravans, even the odd Lotus Cortina ones with the green stripe that predated the Starsky and Hutch “Red Tomato”, that’s toe – mate – o phonetically, through the 1500 E’s and Mark three’s with no rear vision and the Mark IV which they tried to con us that a paint job and a new badge turned into the pretend Mark V (which like every unicorn you have actually ever seen was a horse with a facelift).

No, even the 40+ year old first embodiment of the Cortina still turns up regularly, compared that is to the Sierra. To an old git like me who can remember the great “Jelly Mould” controversy when the model was launched, and then the gradual acceptance that this was a worthy replacement for its popular forebear, it is the story of the dinosaurs all over again but in microcosm mode. To counter paraphrase the old soldier proverb Anglia’s and Escorts may fade away, but Sierras just die and evaporate.

Normally when something disappears from our daily lives there is a valid and explicable explanation. Staying with the car analogy, Fords other vanishing motor was the Corsair, always in an unfair contest with the Cortina (who decided to market those two at the same time?) the Corsair’s V4 power unit didn’t have the reliability of the Cortina engine. They blew up and waved goodbye after just a few years.

Austin Princesses rotted, Metros had their wheels fall off, all popular cars that didn’t last the course despite the huge numbers sold. But they were either badly engineered or rustbuckets. Marina’s lasted longer than their sibling All Aggros and, as for foreign makes, well let’s not mention the Lancia Beta, a car with a life expectancy of a World War One fighter pilot.

You bought it, looked at it, its engine fell out onto your driveway and you had it shot.

But the Sierra, like its replacement Mondeo, was a good car. It seemed relatively trouble free, comfortable and as time went on all cars started to look a bit like it, sure sign of a winner.

I trawled through dozens of video clips to illustrate my point. 90% were juvenile idiots (Ah, those were the days) blowing up engines and drifting their Sierras in interminably long, badly focused films with banging soundtracks or else ultra slick Ford promo videos.

So I settled on this professional job with dear old Tiff Needell calmly talking us through a man driving a "slightly" upgraded car whilst demonstrating how macho he is by ignoring the seatbelt laws.

  So that’s where they all went then.

So whilst on this ponder on the past what else has vanished from our lives without anyone paying due heed?

Well the most notable thing that springs to mind is of course, well, money.

It used to be so simple, four farthings or two halfpennies (that’s hayepnies ph.) to a penny (1d), 3d to a threepenny (thrupney) bit 6d to a tanner (sixpence) 12 = one shilling, 2 shillings a florin (two bob), 2 ½ shillings to a half crown (half a dollar) five bob bit (called a crown but nobody ever did because you only saw one minted on special occasions) a ten bob (shilling) note, a quid, a fiver and, very rarely, a tenner.

OK it wasn’t so simple, but a penny felt like money.

1971, in came decimalisation smallest coin – a halfpenny, they didn’t last long.

From Bottom Left (in the Queens English)

Shilling, Florin, Penny, Three Penny Piece, Sixpence and (centre) a Halfpenny.

In Estuary

Bob, Two Bob Bit, Penny, Thrupence, Tanner and Haypenny.

The satisfying bit however follows.

The battle of decimalisation, like the hundred years war, still rages, and although the die hards have been taken to the brink of defeat that good old reliable, leave it to the last minute, bloody mindedness still keeps the faceless hordes of unify everything, Federalistas at bay.

I believe it was the local Council in Hull or Grimsby who ruthlessly pursued local costermongers for selling fruit and veg by the pound not kilo. What a delight when some clever soul (not sole) pointed out that the public scales (Council owned and maintained) on the fish dock still weighed stubbornly by the stone, which is after all how the traders had bought them for hundreds of years.

The politicians thought, wrongly as it turns out, that the population would start to think in kilos and metres, as indeed many of the younger generation do. But mums still sent the kids to the shop for a pint of milk, the same measure that dad used to buy his beer and these symbolic units seem to be set fair to stay on the British books for the foreseeable future (unless Lord Mandy Voldemort reintroduces the death penalty for non metric thinking).

OK,OK, I know these things evolve. Avoirdupois (ruddy French never go out of fashion) measurements still cling on in the US, some places in Canada etc. and these were once from the Latin and yesteryear I’d be rambling on about pennyweights and scruples (yes it’s a now defunct weight)but the point of all this (I think) is that some things disappear from everyday life and good riddance whilst others induce a pang of remorse, of varying degrees, at their passing.

Which brings me to a dedication for this worthless monologue.

A good friend was cremated this week, two days short of his 48th birthday and about to start a new phase of his life in sunny South Africa.

Goodbye to Andy “Fatboy” Riches, a wicked sense of humour, a fine rugby player in his time, and an all round good bloke. No English church has ever seen a crowd so heavy per capita. The world is a shade greyer for his passing, his last break for the try line witnessed by a host of friends.

And one of us will never look at a giant brick fireplace or a pair of wet small boys pants (don’t ask) without remembering him.

Andy R.I.P.

A Muse from World Transport to the Olympics

Having an office in Thailand means one has to take the occasional trip out there.

Life can be hell, hot weather, sandy beaches, deserted coral islands you know – work.

One of the things one always notices is the somewhat casual attitude to transport. This seems also to go hand in hand with the somewhat casual attitude to life (and death) on the highway.

When one (that means me) fancying a little blog ‘research’ as opposed to work it’s fairly easy to find people who have even more strange methods of getting about than one finds on the average Thai highway where four on a moped is, well, pretty unremarkable.

Now I went to school in the 60’s and I KNOW how many people can get in a mini (it’s 5 less than you can get on a 500cc Sunbeam and sidecar and 6 less than fit on and around a Bond three wheeler if you’re allowed to jump off on roundabouts and only go downhill).

But some of these people take it to a new level.

Now when it comes to trucks, well that’s a different story.

No problem fitting on lots of people, ask any driver who leaves his rig unattended at Calais when en route to Dover, but trucks need to be driven carefully.

A close friend of the Handy Shipping Guide moans constantly about Polish drivers nicking his work. He says he can’t understand how they not only cover it so cheaply but how they can transit so quickly.

I think I may be able to give him a clue.

Now THAT's a bit special!

Driving styles then vary from country to country. Many years ago we used to joke that the desert drivers (Iranians, Australians) were great on their own country roads; just don’t let them into town. It was alleged that nobody dare live on the first corners of a village as one emerged from the Iraqi desert because the truck drivers would knock the walls down so regularly.

I can remember tales of drivers taping cushions to their steering wheels so they could drape their legs through and go to sleep on the endless straight stretches.

Let’s face it, even in a civilised country like the States things must get pretty boring.

Whilst we are in the US and motoring south from Iowa through Missouri and Bill and Hill Country we get to Louisiana and this next vid is like an instructional presentation for Sebastian Coe and his ilk.

The London Olympics loom and with only two years to go we need, as a nation to study how the best of the best do it.

Now Atlanta is in the Southern state of Georgia and provides a template for how to run a Summer Olympics.

What is less well known is that they gleaned their organisational skills from the guys shown here.

You have to sit through a couple of minutes of intro to get the flavour of the, somewhat different, schedule of events, but stick with it, it's worth it.

Enjoy

We Have the Technology (Captain)

That is to say, yours truly (the Captain) thinks the technology is now available.

What’s he wittering on about now I hear you say? (metaphorically).

I’d best explain; regular readers are aware that this blog frequently drifts far from the home turf of freight and shipping matters and allows deviation through the back alleys and byways of other diverse subjects.

That said, there is often a logistically based starting point, often not revealed to you, dear reader, being only in the author’s head, which starts the whole composition process off.

The starting blocks for this particular rant were, as so often the case, forged after a conversation In the Handy Shipping Guide UK office, once more a discussion centred around the rapidly declining standards of spoken and written English from many with whom we mere scribblers come into contact, job applicants, delivery drivers etc.

Now I should firstly make this clear, this is not a complaint about the way language naturally evolves, if it was socially unacceptable, nay illegal, to change and vary the way we speak, write and punctuate (to some extent) then your Captain, for one, would currently be serving a long stretch at HM’s pleasure (God bless her).

No, I’m not speaking (or writing actually) about the natural alteration of language over time, I might scream at the spell checker on occasion when the lunar eclipse causes it to switch back to default ruddy English (U.S.) from the Queens own perfect script, that time when then moon causes wives to hurl plates at innocent menfolk and whales beach themselves to the mournful howls of werewolves.

Although I still insist colour should always carry a “u” our cousins across the pond still speak and write consistently in their own way and I shout “vive la difference” (if you’re American that means I’m OK with it). After all it is in fact we English who cannot spell aluminium (see), dropping the second “ I” puts it closer to the original name after all.

The objection I, and many, many others have, is that our language is being corrupted by people who simply fail to grasp that it has reached its present form from necessity.

No matter how the tabloid crud dumb it down it is essential to retain a wide variety of expression, to attempt to avoid clichés, to use language that says precisely what one means.

“Well what can we do good Captain?” I hear you ask (that may be a voice in my head again)

“How can we possibly save society from the social leprosy, words falling from our vocabulary like rotten fingers?”

Relax Oh Reader, we have the answer.

And that is where the technology comes in.

Mobile telephone’s, or as our US cousins would say (so much more succinctly) cellphones (see that’s good verbal evolution, despite the fact my spellchecker is painting the word cherry red – obviously securely good old English(U.K. - As She Should Be Spoken mode).

Let’s face it, people bastardise our language because they’re lazy.

Text speak, what bloody rubbish!

Y dnt U C tht Kds R wld abt Txtin. Fstr thy cn spk bttr fr thm.

If we wish to save our language then technology and education provide the simplest of answers.

Like the cigarettes producers of my youth, mobile phone manufacturers want the young to be introduced to their product as soon as the umbilical is severed, and equally, as parents wanted to prevent those of us who thought it cool to puff on a Woodbine, so parents today want to ensure little Jimmy or Louise don’t end up with brain cancer at 31 because their brats are all cell phone mad.

Now nobody has proved there is any link between phones and cancer, but, like MMR vaccinations no sane mum or dad is going to expose their kids to any threat, no matter how long the odds.

OK, OK, that’s a fake produced by a Blue tooth headset company to scare you into buying their gear but I bet it got you thinking?

Which brings me back to my spell checker. Curse or blessing?

Well with little ingenuity we can turn this into a win, win, win, win situation.

How? I (imagine) I hear you ask.

Simple.

Nokia, Motorola whoever ring up Bill Gates and arrange a meet.

Nokia tell Bill they are going to produce a range of funky cell phones that come with games etc. only they aren’t phones, yes, you can ring maybe one number plus the emergency services but apart from these all calls are barred.

Bill gets to load a programme of his spellchecker on the phone, one countries language, no frills.

Well just one, the phone has a QWERTY (blimey that was easy to type) keyboard and (here’s the kicker) if there are any spelling, punctuation etc. mistakes in a message then the text can’t be sent.

Genius.

Nokia flog a cheap introductory phone to kids, Microsoft supply language software, Ma and Pa get an easy to choose, relatively cheap present for Christmas, Birthday etc. that little ‘un actually wants and youngster get to text all his mates for free (didn’t I mention the cheap rate package that dad signed when he bought it).

Can you copyright an idea?

Somebody let me know please.

Going back to the Woodbine theory just like fags (American citizens adjust spell checker to English (U.K. Gods own language) please) the make of phone the child starts with might well prove to be his brand for life.

Marketing agents can call the captain at the Handy Shipping Guide UK office.

Live Long and Prosper.

Lash that man to the mast! We're off on our (Freight) holidays.

So economy cruising is back! The article in the Handy Shipping Guide today brought back fond memories of holidays long ago when a young man could simply sign on and sail away to exotic places, wind at his back, seaweed in his hair....... you get the picture.

Not that the Captain ever did that himself you understand. No way I was sleeping with the sweaty crew eating weevils and drinking rotgut rum. However back in the good/bad (delete as preferred) old days it was common for a man to strike out for adventure by signing on and taking what the world (and the filthy crew) threw at him.

This practice was matured and refined in latter days and meant that a man of slender means could roam the world as a paying passenger aboard the steamer of his choice headed for the destination he desired. No ladies, I am not being sexist, very few of the fairer sex made such expeditions. What with the superstition and the Victorian sexual tension it didn't make for a what we euphemistically term a "pleasure cruise" for you girls.

And now, once again, times are hard and the pips are squeaking in many a wallet.

Want to take a trip at sea? Don't mind that one will eat with the, occasionally motley, crew. No special gluten free, macrobiotic diets here, no Darren Blane's amazing feats or "Paper Lace Trio" to warble to you over dinner. No Shrimp and Artichoke Bisque with Crostini and Parmesan Croutons. Just the throb of the engines, the smell of the seamen, the sight of endless miles of ocean, visits to chemical offloading piers and container ports and not a harp in sight.

You can do it all simply by taking a freighter to and from all manner of points worldwide. It used to be possible to hitch a ride with any trucker from anywhere to almost anywhere else if you didn't mind Country Music and endless conversations about lorries and roundabouts and the best cafes. That more or less ended with stricter insurance rules and Rutger Hauer. But a sea trip! That's back on the agenda again (see the links in the HSG story).

There are however some points to consider. Like the recent blog on "Orbital Airports" you may find the destinations a little too off the wall and exotic. Just like Ryan Air and co's description of airports the Port to many destinations is often a ruddy long stretch from where you, the tourist, wanted to end up. And like the cheapie air people, schedules can change, you could spend four days moored against an oil discharge quay in the Straits of Hormuz when the brochure said you'd be sunning yourself in Sharm el-Sheikh. And when you do get there you find yourself with 24 hours to kill locked in the Egyptian naval base.

So if you fancy a vacation with a difference fill your boots. And feel free to comment below and let us know how you get on.