The longest journey begins with the first step..........

Wednesday 20th Sept; First thing today we took back the heap of a hire car that was falling apart with the tracking all over the place and half the Islands' beaches in the boot. After a very heated discussion with our old pal (Danny Devito's double) from the cambio we agreed to look at a possible replacement but as both of the replacements were worse than the original we agreed to go away if he would give us all our money back. After we had satisfied him that this in no way impugned his integrity or his business practices he relented and paid us in full. As we hadn't put any petrol in the thing and had ridden round in it for a day and a half we felt that we had been adequately compensated for having to drive around in a virtual death trap. Sadly although we all shook hands I don't think we are still the friends that I thought we were. Around midday we went with our good West Country friends into town to have coffee and croissants and purchase meat for yet another evening barbeque at the complex. For lunch we all went to a restaurant overlooking the bay at Sanacra and had fresh grilled sardines as we watched the trainee scuba divers head out to sea.

My deed for this day was to keep cool in front of a very excitable and diminutive Spaniard who also contributed to my tally of human contacts. My thoughts were on the wisdom of mixing friendship and business which would seem to be on a par with mixing oil and water. 

It has been a long time since I last contributed to this journal and the last entry I did make on the 22nd of October was about events that occurred on the 16th of September whilst I was away on holiday. Given that I made a New Year resolution to write about one thought one deed and one human contact that I experienced each day I'm struggling a bit. Drastic problems require drastic solutions so I'm going to start by précising (yes that is the way to spell it I looked it up) the rest of my holiday experiences in one blog from notes kindly and efficiently supplied by Mrs Norman (did I tell you my wife's a teacher?) So here goes...

Sunday 17th Sept; Archetypal Menorcan day- light breeze cloudless sky clear air. A guy from our complex who for some reason called himself Tad and his mate who I called pole (because he stuck so near to Tads rear end all the time there was really no choice) went to fish in the little bay at the foot of the complex but despite having more kit than you could shake a rod at were defeated by a mildly choppy Mediterranean. As I was nursing a slightly sore eye as a result of one of Tads drunken and over affectionate slobbery kisses from the previous evenings encounter in the bar I didn't feel too disappointed for them. My deed on This Sunday was to follow the good books advice and do nothing, my human encounter was with two frustrated anglers and my thoughts were on drunken encounters.

Monday 18th Sept; Went for an early morning walk with the new moon and a few stars still visible before the sun fully rose over the horizon. Mrs Norman and I had chips and beer for lunch in a bar overlooking the headland which houses our complex. In the evening we went to a very expensive and beautifully equipped restaurant in Ciudadela with four friends from the complex, the surroundings were exquisite but the restaurant was fairly new with poor service and patchy quality food. My human contact was with my wife and some very amusing friends my deed was to accompany my wife to dinner and my thoughts were on the life expectancy of the restaurant.

Saturday in the sun drenched sybaritic and beautiful Balearic Island that is Menorca and preparations were afoot for the impending barbecue. Every so often on the complex when there are a few like minded people around, the marvellous complex and complex manager decides to fire up the barbecue by the bar in the evening and will warn us all in advance so that we have time to purchase something to slap on it. On this particular Saturday Mrs Norman and I were fortunate enough to have our West Country friends offer us a lift into the nearby town of Ciudadela which as fortune would have it is probably one of the most picturesque towns in the whole of Spain. Our meanderings around Ciudadela took us into the busy little coffee shop near the market square where we met yet more acquaintances from our little complex and after coffee and croissants we stepped out into the market and bought our meat for the impending barbecue. 

Butchers shops in Ciudadela market.

My human contact today included friends from the complex and an array of helpful purveyors of Spanish comestibles from the timeless market in Ciudadela. My thoughts were on the fun to be had from communal activity and my deed was to purchase some meat 

Friday the 15th October on the holiday Island of Menorca with the last knockings of a three day on off storm still rumbling out to sea but thankfully receding rapidly the Island returned to normal which meant clear blue skies and a faint cooling breeze. In the afternoon we (Mrs Norman & I) met up with some more of our friends from the original owners club who had just arrived. Colin & Lin are from the West Country and you would be hard pushed to find a friendlier or warmer couple anywhere. Some people are just easy to be with and whether it's chemistry, or stuff that you have in common, it doesn't seem to matter you know that you will all have a good time together. So on a fine clear Friday afternoon we spent a few hours chatting about this and that and catching up on each others lives as we lazed in the Mediterranean sun with nothing in particular to do but enjoy life.

A Lazy Friday afternoon

My human contact on this jewel of a day included our good friends Colin and Lin and my thoughts were on the intangible threads that make some peoples company so much more rewarding than others. My deed was to take time to appreciate the day and my good fortune to be a part of it. 

Thursday the 14th September in Menorca and the storm returned in the night with fierce winds that slapped against the shutters and drove rain in great horizontal gusts across the complex. It must be from watching too many news stories but whenever I see palm trees being buffeted by high winds I automatically think of hurricanes and tornados. Our storm however was short lived this time and apart from fusing all the lights in our apartment no serious damage was   done. In the morning we discovered that the reason the lights fused was because some rain water had seeped into an outside light fitting causing it to short circuit which tripped our circuit board. Actually I was quite impressed that this safety measure had worked so well as Vincennes, the electrician who originally installed the system, was only part time, his full time occupation being truck driver. Vincennes who is sadly no longer with us was in the great tradition of unorthodox Spanish craftsmen in that whilst he was not strictly legitimate, having no formal qualifications whatsoever, he did always have an answer to any problem. Once when a couple from one apartment complained that every electrical appliance they touched gave them a shock Vincennes considered the problem carefully for a while then he said "I have the answer, when you are to be making the cup of tea you must to be wearing the rubber boots" You really couldn't fault Vincennes's logic, only his workmanship.

The calm after the storm

My human contact on this day included our brilliant site manager

who located the dodgy light fitting for us and my deed was to fix it. My thoughts were on the late lamented Vincennes and his novel approach to all things electrical.

Wednesday the thirteenth of September our sixth day on the Island of Menorca, and those who feel that the number thirteen bodes ill would probably not have been surprised at the ferocity of the storm that unleashed itself upon us from about 3am until mid morning. The lightning over the sea during the dark hours was really impressive with huge claps of thunder rattling the shutters and windows, but although the storm bit into our part of the Island quite spectacularly, it rolled back out to sea by mid morning and was soon just a rumbling memory as it dashed up against Majorca some seventy miles away.

My human contacts on this heavily atmospheric day were the usual suspects from our complex and my deed was to stand for several rounds of drink. My thoughts centred on the various loyalties we adopt as we journey through life be they football teams or beer or in Eds' case, both. 

I am genuinely struggling to find a way to impose some literary device which will explain to anyone willing to follow my blogs, or who stumbles across them for the first time, why it is the date shown on the blog is far in advance of the date I'm writing about without constantly repeating that I am trying to catch up to the present date. I have decided that the easiest way is to ignore the problem. These are my blogs about stuff that happened to me on any given day, who I met, at least one deed carried out on that day and what I thought about it. So if the chronology is a little perplexing, tough. As I will probably be the person most interested in this body of work in the future, it will be up to me to figure it out and as I don't care I've decided that from now on the date will be whatever I deem it to be...... Writing is so empowering.

Tuesday the 12th of September in Menorca and after the previous night out at the jolly boys pub a.k.a. the bar in the complex with a number of middle aged people who should have known better I was nursing a monstrous hangover. I know I managed to speak to my youngest daughter in England and wish her a happy birthday but the rest of the day was a bit of a blur. Mrs Norman whose notes on what happened and when are usually quite informative has simply written down 'hangover!' which although quite short is probably more informative than I would like.

My human contact on this lost Tuesday definitely included the long suffering Mrs Norman and my thoughts were on the retribution that alcohol will visit upon the over indulgent. My deed was to ensure that I wished my little mate back in England a happy birthday.

Continuing the report on my summer holiday in Menorca which is now so far away it almost qualifies as history but no matter, I am determined to complete my original assignment and that means a blog for every day this year. This particular day was Monday the 11th September and the day threatened to be dull with the occasional clap of thunder in the distance but typical of Menorcan weather, storms have a habit of circling the Island in big arcs before striking and this storm was no exception. Soon the skies cleared and the sun resumed its lazy orbit across the planet uninterrupted by a single cloud. Thankfully today was the day we returned the hideous, myopic, lard arsed excuse for a hire car a Zaffira which must qualify as Vauxhall/Opel's best attempt to compete in the Ford Edsel worst car of the year award. The day wasn't all upbeat however as an experience with a sour faced, plug ugly, pompous, and officious woman who was managing the local internet bureau quite knocked me out of holiday mode for a while. I think I was more taken aback because her attitude was so untypical of Spanish women and I was totally unprepared for it. However just like the days' passing storm the mood didn't last long and after a good meal at a local restaurant and a bacchanalian night at the bar in the complex with some good friends, I forgot about old vinegar tits altogether.

The storm passes nearby

My human contacts on this day included my good wife, my bad drinking buddies and the ugly husk from the internet bureau. My thoughts were on stormy encounters and sunny dispositions with my deed being to return the ugly duckling to the farmyard. 

Notwithstanding the fact that it's still Thursday the 12th of October this blog is about events that took place on Friday the 8th of September. Mrs Norman and I were picked up around midday by our youngest daughter and driven to the station to catch our train to Gatwick. This marked the start of our longest holiday together ever, some twenty five days to be spent in our apartment overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, slap opposite the East coast of Majorca. We got off to a somewhat inauspicious start at East Croydon station when some miscreant with a dog on a piece of string failed to produce the relevant travel receipt and was promptly gang tackled by a group of over enthusiastic ticket collectors. The dog, separated from his master, started running up and down the station barking furiously whilst most of the station staff were attempting to sit on the errant traveller. A very large bespectacled passenger with a stentorian voice chose this moment to intervene, shouting with great gusto, " Unhand this man, you do not have the power of arrest " over and over again until eventually the barking dog, the struggling captive and the shouting passenger proved too much for the flagging ticket collectors who slackened their grip and watched through narrowed eyes as their catch of the day shot off pursued gleefully by his barking companion. Following this amusing diversion Mrs Norman purchased our tickets and we proceeded to Gatwick.

My human contact on this the first day of our extended holiday included a cross section of travel staff both rail and air. My thoughts were on our impending holiday and my deed was to be in charge of heaving the cases about. 

Today is still the 12th of October and I am continuing my fabrication of events prior to our departure for the Mediterranean. The day I am re-constructing in this blog is Thursday the 7th of September, one day before our scheduled departure for Menorca the beautiful tranquil jewel of an Island located at the most Easterly edge of the Balearic chain.

Around 22 years ago I enjoyed a package holiday on Menorca together with my sister, her husband and the ever present Mrs Norman. Whilst we were there we visited a new complex which was under construction at the end of a cul-de-sac on a small cliff top overlooking the sea. After our short visit the four of us sat in the grounds of a nearby bar and over a beer or two decided to buy one of the apartments that was near completion. When we returned to England my sister reluctantly pulled out of the deal but my wife and I decided to proceed. We raised some extra cash against our house in England and we purchased the property in 1985. Of all the financial decisions we have ever made in our lives (for it is always we) this one was the best by a country mile and if you look at the avatar at the top of this page which shows the view from the back patio you can see why.

So that explains why on the 7th of September we were preparing to leave for a months holiday in Menorca and we were only able to do this because Mrs Norman had finally finished with teaching albeit just after it had finished with her by putting her in hospital. My human contact on this Thursday was with guess who and my thoughts were on the Mediterranean. My deed for this day was to be cajoled into deciding what clothes I would be taking.

Memo to self ; If you are going to make any more stupid bets with yourself in future regarding keeping a weblog for a whole year and commenting on each day, don't take a months holiday away from a computer, because then the discipline (such as it is ) breaks down completely.

Today as I write this blog it is the 12th of October some thirty seven days since my last blog on the 5th of September and I struggle to remember what happened a couple of days ago let alone five weeks or more. Fortunately the ever efficient Mrs Norman has kept her own log on the salient points of what we've been up to during this time so perhaps all is not lost.

I don't have a Mrs N crib sheet for the two days immediately prior to our jetting off to Spain so I'll have to use the famous literary device of total fabrication to fill in the blanks. This blog then is for Wednesday the 6th of September and I probably got in the way whilst my industrious and ever patient wife started the packing, a job which takes a prodigious amount of time or a little longer if I help.

One of my human contacts this day would certainly have been my wife and my thoughts may have touched on the cramped environment of modern air travel. My deed would have been to resist any temptation to help with the packing.

This is Saturdays blog and because I used up a lot of time yesterday talking about time I thought I'd use today's blog to report on Friday's activity. ( I've just this minute removed my shoes because for some reason I can't think too well if my feet are restricted, I have no idea why this should be so but there you go.) Fridays' daylight hours were a little on the quiet side but Friday evening I went out for a meal with my wife, my youngest daughter and her significant other. I would actually like to see a bit more of my eldest daughter but she lives about a ninety minute drive away down by the coast and as a consequence we see less of each other than I'd like. I think it's important that families should eat together as often as possible even if the logistics are difficult because family ties help to anchor us emotionally and socially. Our depleted family meal took place in the Italian restaurant at the end of our road amidst a fair amount of friendly banter from the two youngish Italian lads who own the place. I know the French have a great and noble cuisine and other countries can claim epicurean masterpieces of their own but for the consistently best all round eating experience no one, in my opinion, comes close to the Italians.

My deed for Saturday was to catch up on my blogging (something I'm doing a lot of lately) my human contact was with my wife and my thoughts were on family matters.

Friday the first of September, the last day of the week (for Christians) and the first day of a new month for those who follow the Gregorian calendar. I suppose we generally take it for granted that our passage through life on this ball of earth and water is ordered by arbitrary rules on the passing of time denoted by seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, years, etc and accept this state of affairs as quite normal. Somewhere at the back of my mind I have the feeling that our adherence to structured time is responsible for quite a lot of angst and that the time pieces and calendars originally intended only to serve us have slowly become our masters. Man's tenure of this planet has always, until quite recently, been ordered by the changing seasons and the rising and setting sun with time being measured by available light and tasks being undertaken according to season. Although we can now measure the passing of time more accurately than ever before we are actually less aware of its passage. I think the consequence of all this is a certain disconnection with our environment and all the ills that this can bring. Of course in less industrialised societies the old rules with regard to time probably still apply but then they are not the ones messing with the global environment. I had meant to write a blog about going out to dinner with the family but I appear to have run out of time so I will report on that in Saturday's blog.

My deed for Friday was to accompany my wife to Sainsburyland and my human contact was with family members. My thought for Friday is lost in the mists of time.

This Thursday I was back aboard the SS City & Guilds at the ungodly hour of nine am or perhaps a tad later. The broom cupboard, or exam room, as it's sometimes referred to was being used to torture some poor unfortunate ensigns so I was unable to occupy it for study and had to use the official space set aside on the bridge for this purpose. My luck was doubly in as Lieutenant Grumpy de Chatelaine was on watch and his usual surly nature was not improved by being on the early shift. Watching some poor confused ensign ask Grumpy about something they don't understand is a bit like watching a moth being drawn to a flame, and the thing about the Lieutenant is that he never disappoints. As soon as the miserable wretch has the temerity to ask Grumpy a question the vitriol begins. In a voice akin to nails being scraped down a blackboard he usually berates them for not reading the question properly or failing to understand even the rudiments of their particular discipline. This is generally followed by several quick fire barked commands to do this or that leaving the object of his derision totally shaken and confused. Having thus reduced them to a heap of quivering jelly the good Lieutenant will then withdraw satisfied that yet another ensign has benefited from the full force of his teaching prowess. I think the score on this particular day was Lieutenant Grumpy de Chatelaine three, moths zero.

My deed on this Thursday was to attend college and my contacts included the mythical Lieutenant Grumpy. My thoughts for this day were on the unfortunate moths with the singed wings.

On this Wednesday, the last one in August, I spent quite some time thinking about the occasional visits Mrs Norman and I make to National Trust properties. Actually I did no such thing but I'm late with writing up this journal and I can't for the life of me remember what happened on the 30th of August so I am employing a literary device, otherwise known as fibbing, to fill in an otherwise blank space. Be that as it may I am rather taken with the work that the trust do and the way that they go about it. Apart from preserving houses, gardens and countryside that might otherwise be flattened to pay death duties, the mere act of preservation means that ancient skills involving masonry, weaving, carpentry, and all kinds of assorted crafts are kept alive in this way. These endangered skills are also employed in old style farming, animal husbandry, gardening, and food production. In fact as Mrs Norman pointed out the other day the menus in many of the trust's restaurants are a beacon for healthy eating and the consumption of organic produce.

My deed on this forgotten Wednesday was probably menial and my human contact was my ever reliable partner. My thoughts, if you'll believe a little white literary device, were on the splendid work undertaken by the National Trust.