Out for a Duck (Tour)

The occasion of celebrating my son's 7th birthday, some sunny spring weather, and the desire to escape from painting and decorating for a day led to us embarking on a most unusual tour around central London.

We had booked a trip on London Ducktours, which uses a fleet of six WW2 era amphibious vehicles, for a tour around central London landmarks that ends with a half-hour cruise up and down part of the River Thames. The amphibious vehicles are known as "Ducks" from their military acronym "DUKW". An American invention, over 22,000 "Ducks" were built during World War 2 and the "boat" we were on took part in the D-Day invasion on 6th June 1944*.

* One of the passengers on our trip provided a double-whammy of trivia: her father had driven a Duck during D-Day, and he was also the first ever baby born by Caesarian section at St George's hospital in Tooting. An unusual combination of facts certainly, but this blog is no prisoner to protocol!

The Duck Tour was actually just the middle part of our day which had started at 5.43am when my chronically overexcited son awoke and thundered down the stairs to let us know that he was now 7 years old.

After unwrapping presents and much excitement for the kids, we began preparations for our day which included my wife starting to roast chicken at 6.30am and both of us drinking gallons of coffee to stay awake.

By 10am we were assembled at Epsom station to meet 4 of my son's friends who were coming on the Duck Tour with us. My wife and I were soon wondering about the folly of our venture as the noise levels approached that of a Concorde flying through an underpass. There appears to be a point at which a group of 6-7 year olds reaches critical mass, resulting in parental meltdown.

The train journey itself seemed to be exciting enough for them, so their day could only get better. Which it soon did, as we reached the "Ducks" parking up spot in Chicheley St behind Jubilee Gardens and the London Eye.

We'd arrived in plenty of time for our midday trip, so after half an hour of letting the kids burn off some excess energy in the park we joined the queue to board our Duck and begin the adventure. We set off into the London traffic and soon became a tourist attraction in our own right. Our guide had us laughing and enjoying the sites as he provided a terrific blend of information and bad jokes.

We took in most of the usual sights around Westminster, went as far as the Ritz & Green Park, then back down to Vauxhall where the highlight of the trip awaited us.

We pulled in right next door to the famous MI6 building, where the Duck was prepared for its watery excursion. Some minor adjustments were made to the vehicle, then our driver Steve was replaced by "Waterman" Mark. No build-up was required to heighten the excitement as Mark drove the Duck over the edge of the ramp and we accelerated down into the river with a suitably dramatic splash.

Sitting at the back of the vehicle with our party, we had a lot of engine noise with the propellor screws churning underneath us and the water swirling about halfway up the back door (the Duck has a fairly tail-heavy profile) but the experience was fantastic. My son was beaming from ear to ear, and his mates were all shouting and pointing and loving every minute.

We pootled up the river to the Houses of Parliament, then performed a U-turn and struggled back against the outgoing tide. We emerged from the river at the same spot next to the MI6 building and returned to Chiveley St, where we disembarked from our remarkable tour vehicle.

In desperate need of refuelling, we adjourned to a nearby Pizza Express and fed and watered the troops. After that, a short runaround in Jubilee Gardens was followed by the return train journey to Epsom where waiting Mums picked up my son's friends, and we made our way home.

We were all absolutely worn out, but it had been a really special day built around the unforgettable journey on the Duck. It was an experience that we can thorougly recommend to anyone, no matter what age or how cool they are! It's a great way to see the tourist sites, and to be a tourist attraction yourself along the way.

Living in Limbo

For anyone who read my previous blog, I'm still sitting in the corner waiting for the bell to begin round 3!

For those who haven't read it .. then please read it and come right back, I'm not going anywhere.

In fact, that is pretty much my predicament - I don't seem to be going anywhere in a hurry right now. My job is in limbo while the powers that be decide my fate. It's a bit of an ordeal I suppose, but life goes on and the world still turns.

I've got a hot date with a paintbrush every night this week, as we continue to redecorate the house. With new flooring due in soon, there is an added sense of urgency to get it done. My wife is continuing to astound me with her application and dedication to the task, very much the Yin to my Yang ... and that's not a euphemism, gutter-dwellers.

A lot of people spend their hard-earned cash on nights out getting boozed and dancing in nightclubs, but I suggest there is a new way: stay home and decorate, get dizzy on paint fumes while listening to the radio! No need for a cab home afterwards either.

While I'm in this limbo waiting for my job to be sorted out one way or the other, I can't really plan anything. My wife and I are desperate for a family holiday somewhere, but we just can't do anything until we know whether I'm unemployed or secure for another few months. It's a predicament that sadly too many people are suffering right now, as the clouds gather over the economy and doom-mongers fill the media with their foreboding.

My answer to this is ... cricket.

Yes - that relatively gentle sport recently dragged into the crosshairs of terrorists in Pakistan, but still ultimately in my opinion a sport that is good for the soul. At the moment it is only net practices once a week until the season starts at the end of April, but already it has lifted me and given me a nice thrill of anticipation.

Cricket is undoubtedly an English sport in spirit (and in its archaic rules), yet people from all of the cricket-playing nations bring their own interpretation and approach. Everything about this diversity makes cricket a broadening and uplifting experience. From West Indian exuberance, Australian bravado, and Indian silky skills to Kiwi dibbly-dobbliness, it all makes for a fascinating mix and some very interesting contests.

My own local cricket team is primarily composed of Englishmen, with a smattering of Kiwi ingenuity and sub-continental wizardry. Our matches are all friendlies, usually 40 overs or "timed", depending on the preference of the opposition. Match days often bring a loyal following of friends and family, who provide invaluable moral support as well as organising the afternoon tea and drinks (for home games).

The atmosphere at these matches is always jovial, with a constant background noise of banter and bad puns. Combined with the edginess of a sporting contest at its heart, it is an enriching experience for everyone involved.

While the season is yet to start, the very anticipation of it starting soon is enough to banish the gloomy clouds about the world at large from my mind.

Even here in limbo.

The Wrestler .. not starring Mickey Rourke (or his dog)

There are days when you feel in control - you are the one deciding your destiny.

Then there are days like today, where I am in the hands of fate - subject to factors beyond my control.

Today (hopefully) I should find out whether I still have a job or not beyond 31st March. As an IT contractor this is not an uncommon situation to be in, however the current economic climate has hit the Financial IT contract market very hard, so the chances of finding another job are low ... making the stakes higher than ever.

It's complicated, so I'm going to use the totally unrelated metaphor of a Wrestling match to try and explain my situation:

- The wrestling match is the "Keeping Doug in a Job" tag-team title fight. I currently hold the Championship Belt ("The Job"), which is sponsored by my recruitment agency.

- The referee in the centre of the ring is the company I am working for.

- In my corner (as my trainer/number one supporter) is my comically Gallic line manager from Paris. My boss likes me - hell, he even thinks I am performing my role to a high standard! He wants to keep me in the role, he says.

- On my tag team is my existing recruitment agency, who would like to keep me in the role too.

- In the other corner is a supply agency that the referee secretly wants to win the match.

The bell rings for round one!

I step out of the corner to start the fight. A millisecond later I'm hit in the back of the head by a towel as my boss throws it in. "As we’ve not been able to change your contract into a contract of service due to the contract restriction with the recruitment agency, an RFP has been submitted on the market!" he shouts in support.

As I stagger sideways, he follows up: "We’ll need to take into account a hand over period which I expect as soon as possible and will require your full participation on it!" He then shouts out to the supply agency in the other corner: "Hey! Got any decent wrestlers over there?"

But there is no immediate answer - the supply agency in the other corner has just landed a low blow on the recruitment agency. "Uurrgghh! Supply agency talk next round. Supply agency busy discussing recruitment agency's exclusion clause!"

The company referee stands to one side, thoughtfully tapping away at a calculator muttering words like "headcount", "budget costs" and "merde".

I stagger back to my corner and throw the towel back at my boss. "I thought you were on my side!"

He grins sheepishly: "I’m sorry about this inconvenience it generates for you and the level of service in the UK as it has nothing to do with the level of performance you are providing which I’m very satisfied with!"

"I remain anyway at your disposal if you think about any arrangement we could find before the deadline!" he says with a collossal Gallic shrug, before scuttling away to sit behind the supply agency's corner.

The bell rings to end round one, and I collapse in my corner as my bloodied recruitment agency team-mate crawls across the canvas to join me.

"Doug, I can't win this fight. The judges have already written the script for this one, but there might be a way that you can still win it .... "

The bell rings for round 2.

My boss hoots his support for the massive supply agency, as it lunges forwards grasping for my Championship Belt.

"Hold it!" I shout, holding the Belt at arm's length.

"You know, there is a way we can all win this fight. All of us."

The lumbering supply agency stops, then snorts in confusion. It looks at the ref, who shrugs indifferently.

"You want the belt, right?" I say, holding it up. The supply agency replies sneeringly "Supply Agency get Belt anyway! Supply agency not care!"

"Now here's the deal" I begin. "In return for getting your name on the Belt and keeping me on the team, you only have to pay half the exclusion clause to my recruitment agency."

There is a shaky thumbs-up from the recruitment agency hanging onto the ropes.

"And!" I continue, "the company keeps me in the job which makes them happy too. Right boss?" I point to him as he waves to the audience.

"Oh! Mais oui! Of course - I'm right behind you Doug!" he shouts from the supply agency's corner opposite me.

The bell rings to end round 2, and as we retreat to our corners the supply agency turns back. "Urrggghh. Supply agency think hard. Supply agency make proposal to referee in round 3!"

And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the dramatic climax at which I stand today - poised to return to the fight in round 3.

I figure I can come out of this fight in one of two ways. Either bloodied yet unbowed, like Mickey Rourke.

Or like his dog. 'Nuff said.