Christopher Combe's Blog, page 2

The Answer to the Ultimate Question

Of Life, The Universe and Everything.

Anyone who knows anything worthwhile knows that the answer is 42. Today I turned 42. I have to say I feel distinctly underwhelmed. I probably know less than I did yesterday, given that my brain cells are dying off with my increased age. I did get called "Marvin the Paranoid Android" once upon a time, to be fair. Don't expect a cheery posting here, folks...

I woke up to rain and wind rustling in the trees outside my window. I really didn't want to get up. I'd had a few beverages last night and, whilst not hungover, I had stayed up far too late again and just didn't feel like getting up. I always struggle to get up before 7am, and as the nights stretch their dark, autumnal jaws to swallow the daylight hours, it will become more difficult, I'm sure.

I eventually roused myself at 7.16am. I needed to get to work, and was going to be late anyway. I showered, cursing the fluctuations in power and temperature from the lime-crusted shower head. The surrounds are depressing...brown tiles and creaky, old piping. It's like showering in a public toilet in Grimsby. At least the light is working again.

After dressing I take my birthday cards from my laptop bag and open them. They've been waiting in there for a week, ready to celebrate another notch on the ruler that ends somewhere down the line, but ends inevitably nonetheless...

*slap*

OK. I'll snap out of it, but let me explain my foul mood: I am once again trapped in solitude. I am working in Holland now, near the city of Groningen. I stay in the city itself and drive up and down to the work site every day. It's a pleasant city, with canals, bicycles and lots of students. In my spare time I have had a good look around, taking photos with my new camera (I've got into the DSLR side of things now, and am enjoying it). I probably have too much spare time. A 2-day weekend is not good when you're completely alone. There's no socialising here; I'm just a consultant here, dropping in to do a few months of work, and everyone else has their own life. Some go home every other weekend and I am going to explore that possibility myself, I think. At the end of the day I find myself going to bars and restaurants alone, sitting in the corner watching big groups of people having fun or couples holding hands...

I've said before that this kind of life sucks, and I stick by it. I am so close to home, but so far away. I had a weekend at home last weekend, and it was great. We went to Whitby and had fish and chips and the sun shone all day. Then this weekend, I slobbed about in the 50s-era apartment (it's great location-wise, to be fair) and went out only to get food. I even watched some Forumla 1 racing, and I don't really care for it.

And so today is my birthday and I think that fact is amplifying the loneliness. Well-meaning people have sent me a torrent of texts and facebook messages, wishing that I have a "great day" and so on. I would love to have a great day, but so far it's been pretty shite. When I got to work I was told there is a meeting at 5pm tonight, which will last up to 2 hours. Fantastic. I don't want to be lonely, but then I don't want to be stuck in a meeting that means I won't get back to Groningen until 8pm. I've found an Irish bar near where I'm staying, and fancied a trip there tonight, even if I end up sitting alone at the bar and watching English football...the barman is friendly enough.

I dislike this current situation so much that I've been considereing the Middle East again, even places like Saudi Arabia. At least I'd be part of a team and in the same boat as everyone else there. Of course, this kind of thought is little short of utter insanity. I would find faults there...I'd not get home for 3 months at a time and would soon tire of the Middle East Medieval Mindset again. And then it might kick off in Iran. I'm clinging to the fact that the light is visible at the end of the tunnel. The situation that brought me here (that thing in the Middle East) is nearly resolved, and a large weight will lift from my shoulders within the space of about 5 weeks. It'll just be my luck that the world WILL end in December, just as I'm getting back on an even keel.

Hey ho. Chins up...there will be some wine drunk at some time today.

Oops!

I do apologise...the free period for OYIW starts today, Tuesday 7th August. I've been travelling hither and thither and got a bit mixed up with my days.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/One-Year-Wonderland-Expat-ebook/dp/B005BTNBD8/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1310677869&sr=1-1

Going FREE!

I have finally got round to updating my Dubai book, "One Year In Wonderland". It has been thoroughly overhauled, with some professional editing and a new cover, and includes a new chapter detailing an unexpected and rather unwelcome return to Dubai. To mark the release of the new version, I have signed it up to the KDP Select program, making it exclusive to Amazon in e-book format, and allowing me to run a FREE promotion for five days. The free period starts on Monday 7th August.

One Year In Wonderland: Updated and Extended

Pants on fire?

So I'm currently working in the Shetland Islands and am enjoying some stunning scenery and nature. I have taken hundreds of photos (see flickr). In the first few weeks I stayed at the Shetland Hotel in Lerwick. It's a bit of an eyesore and I had a few problems sleeping as I kept hearing noise from adjacent rooms, from the corridors and from above. I posted a review on tripadvisor and made a few points (forgetting about the terrible wi-fi coverage in there) whilst saying the staff were good and the restaurant was OK. The management have replied to my review saying that the walls are 1 foot thick and there was never any noise when they had a listen themselves (did they actually have someone in the next room, I wonder?) So either I am lying or hallucinating, according to them. I am disgusted and have no means of editing my review or replying to their reply. I can post another review in 3 months' time.

Needless to say, I have moved to another hotel in a place called Hillswick. It is more of a guest house, to be honest, but it much more welcoming and MUCH QUIETER.

Carling Cup Final 2004 Memories

On the occasion of the "2nd" anniversary of that wonderful day in Cardiff (it was 29th February 2004), I thought I'd share an extract from my book "You Are My Boro: The Unlikely Adventures of a Small Town in Europe".

From Chapter 11 - 2003/4 - We DID Overcome.


And so it was upon us: The League Cup, or, to giveit its sponsor's name, the Carling Cup Final. Could it happen this time? Could128 years of hurt finally come to an end? The portents were good, not least inthe fact that we would be playing at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff rather than Wembley, which was stillundergoing complete and very expensive reconstruction. There was also the dateof the game: the leap year extra day of 29th February. It was a raredate, and maybe something rare would happen.
I managed to get myself a ticket, having made theprudent decision to buy a season ticket halfway through the season and thus improvemy chances if we'd got there. There was a decent allocation for real fans atLeague Cup finals in Cardiff.I think both sets of fans were allocated nearly 30,000 tickets, so a goodnumber got to go to the match. I'm sure there were those who were unlucky orwho just couldn't make it at all, and I believe Bolton had some problems withtheir allocations. Such is life with cup finals. They are logistical challengesgiven the short time scales that are often at play; there's no doubt of that.
In the weeks leading up to the game I had been askedif I wanted to go to a BBC Radio 5 Live fans' forum being held on a midweeknight at a pub in Bolton, so I joined about a dozen other people who ran,contributed to or posted on FMTTM's messageboard, including the likes of RobNichols and the legend they call Uncle Harry. We made our way over the Pennines with a "pies and peace" offering of some localpork products and found the venue. It was a large, modern pub with a cavernousopen area. A group of tables was set up at one end of the room where thepresenter, Jonathan Pearce, took up his central hosting position between MarkLawrenson, Craig Hignett, Stan Collymore and Bolton legend, John McGinlay. Infront of them were several rows of chairs seating Boltonfans. The small Boro contingent was ushered upstairs to a mezzanine areaoverlooking the main floor.
The show was lively and the banter wasgood-spirited. There was a roving reporter called Clem (himself a Teessider)who mingled with the fans when prompted, asking various questions and wanderingaround with the obligatory large microphone and headphones worn on one ear.During one such walkabout, Clem came towards me and thrust the microphone undermy mouth, asking who I most feared from Bolton. My first, instinctive answer of"Peter Kay" raised a laugh in the crowd, although Mr. Pearce didn't look tooimpressed down on the main floor, but I soon gave a real answer and named KevinDavies as someone who would definitely cause us problems in the game. He hadbeen a thorn in our sides before, and I knew he was the kind of playerdefenders hate to face: a big, bustling nuisance who doesn't know the meaningof a lost cause.
After the show we found out that the actual LeagueCup trophy was there (it could have been a replica, of course, but it lookedreal enough) and a few of us had our photos taken gurning over the trophy withthumbs aloft and so on. Craig Hignett, ex-member of the dynamic strike duo of1995-96 named the Midget Gems (partnered by Nick Barmby), came and chatted withus for a while and posed for more photos. A few drinks were imbibed and it wassoon time to head back to the North East.
For the match itself, I decided to head down thenight before the match and stay in a Travelodge just off the M4. This meant Icould get into Cardiff nice and early without worrying about driving a long waytwice in a day, especially as the weather had turned wintry. I gave anothercouple of Boro fans a lift down as well, and they stayed at the same hotel. Nextmorning we ate a hearty breakfast in the Little Chef next door and headed intoWelsh Wales. I had never been to Wales in my entire life, and hoped I wouldn'tbe accosted by enormous unintelligible signs emblazoned with thirty-letterplace names (made up of the letters H, L and U, mostly). It wasn't like that atall, of course, and it didn't take long to cross the Severn and get to Cardiff.
We were directed to car parks on the outskirts ofthe Welsh capital city, from where we could catch buses to the city centre. Itwas all fairly well organised and we got into the heart of the city with a goodfew hours to spare, and found that it was already buzzing with football fans.The strange thing was that it seemed to be all Boro. There were very few Boltonfans to be found, and all the pubs were awash with the reds and whites of Middlesbrough. There was a convivial and excited partyatmosphere all around.
I headed to the Cardiff branch of the British Legionwhere a few people I knew where going to be meeting up for a few drinks. When Igot there I found that they had a German beer called Bitburger which I hadn'ttasted since I was a young slip of a lad back in the late 1980s. My excitementabated a tad when I found out that it was an alcohol-free version, but I stilldrank it. I was high enough on expectation as it was, and had to drive homeafter the game anyway.
Everyone was itching to get to the match, and therewas an amazing feeling of optimism amongst the Boro fans. It was moreoptimistic than the feeling I'd witnessed back in 1997. It wasn't justoptimism, actually, it was belief.This was our time, and I don't think we'd ever felt so sure of it. As kick-offtime approached people finished their drinks, exchanged handshakes, hugs andback-pats and headed towards the venue for the cup final.

The Millennium stadium is an impressive venue, withhigh, white steel columns in each corner and polished black cladding around thetop of the stands. On the day of our final it had Carling Cup banners drapedfrom various structures. I made my way into the ground and up to my seat, whichwas high up at the back of one of the end stands. The retractable roof wasclosed for the match, and from the roof hung two huge banners bearing the clubcrests of Bolton and Boro. The centre circlewas covered with a huge circle of cloth bearing the name of the sponsors. Thestands were soon full of hopeful fans, decked out in their red and whiteshirts, hats and scarves and waving their flags. The atmosphere was cracklingwith expectancy and nails were bitten as news of the team selections camethrough. Hopes and dreams by the thousand were ready to pour out onto the pitchwhen the teams appeared.
The teams emerged a few minutes before kick-off to abackground of vivid, moving colour and colossal noise. Fireworks erupted fromthe pitch and flash-bulbs by the thousand lit up the stands. The two teamslined up along the pitch, one on each side of the half-way line and did all thepre-match presentation stuff they like to torture us all with. Get on with it,will ya?
When it did start, it started better than anyonecould have dared to imagine. In only the second minute Danny Mills knocked along ball forward from right back. It was headed back into midfield whereMendieta suddenly had acres of space. He curled a gorgeous ball out to Zendenon the left wing, and Zenden whipped a wicked low cross into the six-yard boxwhere Job slammed it home to give Boro the lead.

If that was good, better was to follow. French WorldCup winner Djorkaeff had a chance for Bolton, saved well by Schwarzer to hisright, and from the resulting corner Boro won a free kick for Bolton naughtinessin the area. A bit of head tennis ensued before Mendieta slid the ball intowards Job who was lurking in the area with his back to goal. As he tried totake the ball to one side, he was floored by a clumsy tackle from behind and refereeMr. Riley pointed to the spot. Oh. My. God. We had a penalty.
Zenden took the responsibility on his shoulders andstepped up to take the penalty kick. As he kicked his standing foot slipped andhe did actually strike the ball twice, but the contacts were so close togetherit was only visible on a slow-mo replay, and the ball ended up in the net. Onlysix minutes had passed, and the Boro fans could barely contain themselves. Ifound myself hugging the bloke next to me, who I'd never seen before and havenever seen since. I would have apologised, but he was hugging back with greatenthusiasm.
On 21 minutes Boltonwoke from their stunned stupor and hit back. It was a goal out of nothing byKevin Bloody Davies (didn't I warn them?) with a weak, long-range shot fromwide on the right. Schwarzer made a bit of a boo-boo of it, misjudging thebounce and letting the ball in at his near post. He was visibly annoyed by themistake, kicking the goalpost in frustration. Of course Bolton came at us hard afterthat. They launched a series of attacks in their usual, Big-Sam-drilled way,but we stood firm. Schwarzer was a man possessed, making a series of greatsaves to quell the white-shirted hordes, and we made it to half time with thelead intact.
The second half wasn't half as hairy for Boro as itcould have been. Bolton soon ran out of steam. They kept pressing for theequaliser, but Boro kept breaking quickly, and could well have scored a coupleof goals up at the end of the ground where our nervous fans were seated.Mendieta had a couple of good chances and Juninho made a couple of trademarkmazy runs, but the third goal wouldn't come. Ricketts came on for a bumblingcameo and our nerves were shot. Regulation time ran out and Boltonhad four minutes of injury time to try and draw level. They threw everythingforward, and there was a horrible, heart-in-the-mouth moment when Ehiogu's armwas struck by a goal-bound shot as he lunged across to block it from almostpoint-blank range. Mike Riley waved play on and we were so, so close to Paradise. The strains of "We Shall Overcome", thatprotest song of the civil rights movement adopted as an anthem of valiantdefeat by Boro fans in the past, wasn't going to get an airing today. PleaseGod, I can't say I really believe in you, but please: not today.
The roar at the final whistle was like nothing I'veheard before or since. The release was immeasurable. Finally, finally, Middlesbrough had won a real trophy. Mickey Mouse trophymy arse. I stood with arms aloft and screamed until my lungs burned and my headspan, then had to sit down to get my breath back. It was then that I wept likea big bloody baby, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'd not been a Boro fan forvery long compared to many of those around me, but at that moment I felt 100%Teessider.
I'd seen cup final defeats and relegations, and thiswas sweeter and more real thananything I'd ever felt as a football fan, even in my foolish and misguidedyounger years. I can't imagine a Manchester United or Chelsea fan knowing howthis moment feels. They win trophies all the time, so they get used to it. Hardtimes for them are going a season without winning a pot, whilst the majority ofclubs just want to survive and go on the odd cup run, hoping to get a fewcrumbs thrown their way now and again by Sky Television.
The celebrations were long, lusty and loud. Longafter the Bolton fans had vacated their halfof the stadium to trudge home feeling hard done by (been there, done that), thestadium rocked to the Boro rhythm. The players partied on the pitch as much thefans did in the stands, with a beaming Juninho laying the ghosts of Elland Road torest. You could see it meant a lot to him. I rang my parents on my mobile,giving them a replay of my full-time roar, but with all the noise around me, Iwasn't sure who I was actually speaking to. It could well have been theanswering machine.
The spectacular trophy presentation ceremony sawGareth Southgate lift that glittering piece of silverware high above his headas fireworks shot towards the dark voids of the roof. Steve Gibson, the lad whocame from the tough, working-class Middlesbrough estate of Park End to becomeone of the most popular chairmen in the modern game, was persuaded to come upto the podium and was lifted shoulder-high by the players. As for SteveMcClaren, he hadn't been universally popular with fans of the club, but he haddone the one thing no other manager had managed before: won a cup.
 It was alljust flipping fantastic, and I am so glad and I feel so privileged that I wasthere to see history being made. 
Full book available at Amazon.co.uk

Not a Holiday in Cambodia,,,,

For anyone remotely interested in my current adventures in Cambodia, please take a gander at this...

http://notaholidayincambodia.blogspot.com/

An Unexpected Return to Wonderland...

When I imagined myself returning to Dubai, I imagined all kinds of things and how I would feel as I looked at the now-working Metro lines and the finished Burj Dubai...I mean Khalifa. What I never, ever imagined was seeing Dubai from the inside of a police van, through the bars of black caging.

I was flying to Cambodia with Etihad, via AD and Bangkok. There was supposed to be a 2 hour stop in each place. On my way to Manchester Airport my new company rang to say there was a long delay to the Bangkok leg, and it would be leaving 8 or 9 hours late. When I landed in AD the transfer desk gave everyone a hotel voucher and told us to go through immigration and get picked up for the hotel. I had no inkling that they would pull me. I do have a debt outstanding to a UAE bank, but had agreed a payment plan with a UK company. I have also been back to the UAE since I left in 2007, staying for 3 weeks in AD only last year. So it was a surprise when the immigration officer took more than one look at my passport and then told me there was a case against me.

I was taken to 2 different offices, where I sat around a lot, watching blokes in uniforms looking at computer screens. They said very little to me other than there was a case lodged by HSBC about a bounced cheque in 2009. I said this was impossible. Surely I would have been pulled last year, and there was this agreement I had in place as well. I was then lead to a goods lift and down to a grim deportation holding area in the bowels of the airport, where I say on a metal bench. There were cells down there, with a collection of subcontinental men lying on dirty mattresses. Water was available, but you seemed to have to share one chewed-up polystyrene cup with everyone else. After a couple of hours they told me I was going to Dubai via AD police station and wouldn't be allowed to fly to Bangkok. Nice. This was turning hellish, and after another emotional goodbye with my kids, I was close to screaming the bloody place down. They off-loaded my bags and drove me to AD police station in a caged van. They said they might keep me there for the night (in a cell), but then after another few hours of sitting around they took me to the main police station in Dubai, again in a caged van, with all my luggage squeezed between and onto the seats.

As I said, it wasn't how I expected to see Dubai again...through bars. We went along the Emirates Road so I only saw the Burj from a distance. I guess sight-seeing isn't on the agenda. Food was, though. They stopped at a service station to get bottles of Sprite and a Burger King drive-through meal. At the police station I was locked in a holding cell and after an hour or so a representative from the bank arrived to talk to me...well, I actually talked to the regional collections manager...and I was pretty much coerced into agreeing a new deal to pay back a reduced portion of what I owe in a short timeframe, despite already having an agreement in place. What choice did I have? I needed to get away and back on my way to my new job. So I was released after a 12-hour detention. The bank man was slightly apologetic but didn't explain how this police case had come about and why it hadn't shown up last time. All very strange.

I have been told it could have been worse, but some wonderfully helpful people kindly pulled a few strings and got the bank man to see me quickly. I walked out of the police station with all my luggage and no local currency, needing to get back to AD somehow. My company found me a room in the Crowne Plaza for the night (luckily, there were barely any rooms going), so I got a taxi (via Dubai airport to change some money) and I got the Etihad bus to AD airport early next morning and got the hell outta Dodge. I really don't know if I want to ever set foot in the Middle East again. And I certainly won't give HSBC any of my business again!

Still, I am now in Cambodia. I arrived pretty much 48 hours after leaving home. The accommodation is fine, the commute is a 100-yard walk, and the people seem really nice. I won't be too glowing about it...been there before and fell flat on my face. I'm quietly optimistic that this Year of the Dragon, and the project I'm going to work on is supposed to represent the Dragon and Health and Prosperity. Fingers crossed...

The Journey Continues...in writing and in life.

It has been a few days over six months since I self-published my first book, One Year In Wonderland, to Amazon using their KDP service. It has been an interesting half a year, there can be no doubt about it. I have sold 2,300 copies of the book, and now have 16 reviews on Amazon UK and US, with a further 3 on Librarything and 5 ratings at Goodreads, with an average rating of between 3 and 4 out of 5. As a first-time writer, I can't be too unhappy with that. My second book, "You Are My Boro", came out in December, and it has sold 300 copies so far.

The sales figures have been interesting to follow, with the huge increases I saw in late September and early October then a little dip before I redid my cover and blurb, which took me into another little climb. I trawled all over the internet looking for ways to publicise, using Twitter, Facebook and various forums and blogs to spread the word. Then there was the madness of the Christmas week, where I sold 200 copies in a week. For three months the book never left the top 1500 (UK overall) in terms of sales ranking, and has consistently been number 1 in the Travel>Middle East category.

Following the reviews has been interesting as well. I had one or two nice ones from on-line "freinds" who gave me glowing reports to get me going, as you'd expect, but soon had real reviews coming through. A couple of 4-star reviews with some constructive criticism were nice to read, including one saying I was a good writer who should travel more (well, I think I might be able to see to that soon...more later). Then there were one or two negative reviews. At first I was stung by them, especially when they were so dismissive and almost personal. I took it personally, and felt like making comments, particularly when someone said I was "racist and sexist". On a writer's web forum I was warned that this was not a good idea, so held my tongue/fingers. One has to develop thick skin and try and learn from these things, they told me. OK, thought I. I draw the line at people completely misquoting and misrepresenting my work, though, and have posted a comment after one very recent review showing the actual words I wrote, nothing more.

What I have learned and picked up is that the style I wrote OYIW is maybe a touch too informal and chatty for some. Whilst the light, bloggy style was OK for most, I think it jarred for a few people. Some were looking for a more serious and considered critique of Dubai, I think, and although I do talk about some bad things I saw, I know that there is far more to the place and far worse that could have gone into the book. I am currently in the process of writing something else about Dubai that will make OYIW seem like a glowing holiday brochure. It's not all my own work; it comes from someone else's experiences. I can't say too much at this stage until we decide how to bring it to the public eye.

I will also write about my time in Libya, where I spent 6 months in 2010. It will not be blog-based this time, so I hope I will be able to develop a more "mature" style or writing, although I'll definitely include some of the lighter moments of my time there.

And now there's the chance to use my career as a platform for writing material once again. More my accident than by design, I am going on my travels again. I have been unable to secure long-term QSing work in the UK, so have had to accept an offer to work in Cambodia for several months in Contracts Management...which CAN actually be a bit more interesting than plain old quantity surveying. In the family sense, it is far from ideal, as I will be leaving the wife and kids again (I am dreading the goodbyes already). The rotations aren't terrible (9 weeks on/2 weeks off), and I should be able to make some much-needed improvements to my finances...if my health holds up (that dreaded phrase I have been son fond of in the last decade). I have been to the Far East before (Taiwan in 2002/3), but Cambodia is a fascinating country with a troubled recent history, and I hope I will be able to craft some worthy words to describe my experiences there. Hopefully what I write will show that I am developing as a writer, if not (corn me up now) a person...

We shall see!

Happy Holidays on Holy Island

I am absolutely shattered, but it is a price worth paying for the superb time I have had surrounded by family on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne just off the Northumberland coast. My aunt and uncle have a cottage there and invited a few of us up for the Christmas festivities. We ate and drank obscene amounts, even when the power went off for several hours on Christmas Eve, and walked for miles around the rugged coastline of the island, taking in the views and unique vibes. One of favourite times was when I dragged myself out of bed early to catch the sunrise and take some photos. The wind had dropped to nothing and for a splendid hour, I was the only soul for what felt like miles. It was great. I'll leave the pictures to say the rest.

Pictures of Holy Island.

Today is the day...

that marks the death of an intellectual giant, Christopher Hitchens. Agree with him or not, he was a man who was able to provoke debate and thought. He was strident and obstinate to the end, assuring everyone there would be no Pascal's Wager death-bed conversion. He has to be admired.

Hitchens talks to Richard Dawkins.

Also, today marks the 10th anniversary of the passing of Stuart Adamson, lead singer of Big Country. Their album, "The Seer", is one of my favourites of all time, particularly the last song, "The Sailor". I could listen to that song forever.

The Sailor