lifestylesupportguru

Category: Travel

Going on Holiday

A very good day to you from the Lifestyle Support Guru! Having just returned from Tenerife, I felt I should share some hints and tips on how to make the most of your holiday, especially since not all of you are on permanent holiday like I am, so you need to ensure that you don’t waste any of your valuable time.
1. Don’t just throw your make-up bag into your carry-on case at the last minute (boys, I’m talking to you, too) – I didn’t know that mascara counts as a liquid – and nor did I know that roll-on deodorant had to be ‘declared’ either. Take it from me that it is NOT possible to fit five mascara wands, a roll-on deodorant, a tube of toothpaste, a small bottle of shower gel and a small bottle of body lotion into one of those small airport plastic bags, although the Customs woman tried her best. In the end, she split the items into two bags and gave DOT (Dai of Tanzania/Turkey, although we’re still not too sure about the latter at the moment) the one with the mascara, girly-smelling shower gel and body lotion to carry through security. How I laughed!
2. Once you are seated in the airport bar, make sure you have a stiff drink in front of you to help cope with the trauma of:
a) Suddenly realising that you hadn’t done the last thing on your list of ‘things to do before I go on holiday’, which was ‘empty the fridge’ and that you will now return to some manky mushrooms and beans and sausages, which you’d been intending to use up for the last few days. There is also milk in there…
b) Receiving a text from the company from which you’d ordered a sofa several weeks ago to say that it was ready for delivery and asking you to ring to arrange a date. You ring and explain that you are about to board a plane…
c) Looking up at the television in the bar and finding that Theresa May has become Prime Minister!
And all this has happened before you’ve even left the country!

Real Ale

Whilst on holiday, do make sure that you book a place at the Brazilian Fiesta Night at the hotel (although I never did find out why Spanish Tenerife had a Brazilian Night?). This will afford many opportunities for entertainment and fun, especially if you are seated on a table with some Germans. Since the price included unlimited alcohol (ha! I knew you were wondering why I would have opted for a Brazilian Night!), we fully expected the Germans to be sinking stein after stein of beer, but they managed one pint and one small glass of wine between four of them and then left early – one can only assume to get their towels ready for an early start on the sunbeds. DOT and I, however, made sure that we made the most of the local alcohol before Brexit kicks in and makes it too expensive to go on holiday.
The ‘Brazilian’ dancers didn’t look very Brazilian – I think they had come via the nearby west coast of Africa – and they weren’t necessarily chosen for their dance ability either, but they were VERY enthusiastic; DOT said the girl would have achieved a borderline C/D in GCSE Dance, but an A for GCSE Legs. What a wag!! How I laughed!
There was then a trio of singers who didn’t look very Brazilian either and nor did their repertoire of songs sound Brazilian, unless ‘Happy’ and ‘Uptown Funk’ derived from that country? Who am I to query such matters? But how I laughed!
The price included food – unfortunately, the dessert was chocolate brownie and ice cream, neither of which is a favourite of the LSG, but DOT did well out of it. I didn’t do too badly either – I swapped my dessert for his Cava… How I laughed!
And finally, be sure to go on a jeep safari up the highest mountain in Spain (not on the mainland, obviously), if only to give some serious respect to the drivers who took those Land Rovers up almost vertical paths – even the Welsh would be impressed with their hill starts! This day out also offers you the opportunity to get burned to a crisp because the air is thinner, being so high up, so less protection from those naughty little rays of sunshine… and you forgot to put the sun screen in your bag. How I laughed!

If nothing else, make sure that you laugh! 🙂

Oop North at Halifax

The Lifestyle Support Guru is on a quest to introduce you to places you should visit before you die and Halifax is on the list. ‘Why Halifax?’ you ask. ‘Why not?’ I reply. There is, in fact, a very mundane explanation – I don’t like leaving the cats for more than 24 hours without some human interaction (it’s called ‘cleaning out the litter tray’), so somewhere within a 2-hour drive is ideal. And I like going ‘oop north’ – it’s another country! In fact, it’s another world!

Sheffield

The first thing that took me by surprise (just after Sheffield, which is where I consider ‘the North’ starts) was passing an Audi driver on the motorway who was in the nearside lane, even though there was plenty of space in the other three lanes. I have never seen this before although, sadly, I didn’t see any Volvo, Merc or BMW drivers following this brilliant example.
The satnav was set to take me to Halifax via the excellently-named Netherthong – how can you not go to a place with such a wonderful name? – so imagine my delight when I found there was an Upperthong as well! When I got out of the car at the top of a very steep hill in Upperthong to greet TOFU (Trefor of ‘Ull), I could fully understand why you would need both upper AND nether thongs (and preferably fur-lined) – the wind was a tad chilly in all quarters.
Having visited Barnsley on a Bank Holiday weekend, TOFU and I were not completely taken by

hot cocoa

surprise in Halifax because it’s very similar – there’s just more of it. TOFU remarked that we seemed to have arrived ‘late to the party’ at 8 in the evening. One young lady on the dance floor in the first pub we entered had obviously consumed more than the recommended number of alcohol units and another young lady was more interested in watching her own boobs jiggle about as she sat bouncing to the music. Personally, I find a cup of hot cocoa more enthralling.
The next pub had karaoke in full swing when we walked in – ‘Kingston Town’ sung by Halifax’s answer to Orville is something that will stay with me for a long time, along with the young man dancing next to our table displaying a ‘Top Man’ waistband on his underpants. If you must

boxer shorts

display where you buy your underpants, at least go with fake Calvin Kleins, daaahlings.
We then headed to the nearest Wetherspoon’s, even though we knew we would have to spend a long time waiting to get served by staff who have never learned to smile. (I have only ever been in one Wetherspoon’s pub where I was greeted civilly, served quickly and with a smile – and that was because she was an ex-pupil!) However, the pull of a pub without techno-trance dance music or karaoke sung by Orville was, I have to say, irresistible.

There is some class in Halifax – TOFU heard one young woman ask for a bottle of rosé… with a

Joie de Vivre

pint glass. His immortal comment, however, once we were seated, was ‘There’s a lot more flesh on display than perhaps there should be,’ as yet another person in shorts/hot pants passed us. I replied that that was perhaps why the textile industry failed in this area because people don’t wear enough of it. No fashion judgements were being made, you understand.
The night ended with that famous quote: “When a man is tired of Halifax, he is tired of life; for there is in Halifax all that life can afford.” ‘Who said that?’ asked TOFU. ‘Boris Johnson,’ I replied.

And the next stop on the LSG’s world tour? Who knows? Suggestions are welcome – as long as it’s within a 90-mile radius of Derby so that I can carry out my litter-cleaning duties!

DOT calling LSG – Advice Please

I have received this heartfelt plea from DOT and, although I was going to post some sound advice about going oop north to Halifax, I felt this merited a more urgent response. Halifax can wait – we’ll always have Halifax, as Humphrey Bogart said so movingly in ‘Casablanca’ (or was that ‘Carry on, Casablanca’?).

“to: Lifestyle Support Guru

Tanzania

Message to LSG from DOT (Dai of Tanzania)
Dear LSG, I shall soon be making a brief (ha ha – you’ll get the joke later) visit to the UK, where I shall change from DOT (Dai of Tanzania) to DOT (Dai of Turkey). My letter is not about my change of name, but a necessary change in my circumstances.

Istanbul

I need a reputable place, recommended by you, to buy a complete new set of underwear. You may recall that on my last visit I also had a similar need and purchased 10 pairs from M&S. I can hear you wondering how I could have worked my way through 10 pairs of underwear in such a short time.
I didn’t.
The items in question were all several sizes too large and none of the assistants at the aforesaid shop pointed this out to me, or even raised an eyebrow.

boxer shorts

At first I found the extra room useful. I cut down enormously on my excess baggage to Tanzania by simply filling my underwear with towels, and other soft furnishings, such as pillows, a duvet, 2 waterbottles and 20 pairs of socks. They didn’t set off the alarm at the airport, and my body shape ensured that undesirables didn’t wish to seat themselves next to me. However, things haven’t gone as smoothly since.
I have had to learn to walk with a mincing step whilst in Tanzania: left hand firmly inside the back belt of my trousers holding on to the waistband of the undergarments to ensure they don’t end up around my knees. Occasional forgetfulness has me having to hunt, using my complete arm down inside the trousers, whilst smiling and nodding at alarmed passers-by. Shopping has become problematic as I often need both hands to carry the bags, and the faltering garments ensure the mincing steps become more exaggerated at these times, only able to move my lower limbs from the knees downwards, attracting unwanted attention.
I haven’t replaced them whilst here as I’m never sure that someone hasn’t worn said items previously.
So, all I want is a reputable place where the assistants will raise their eyebrows and ask suitable questions like, “Are these for your own use, sir?”, or “How many people are you expecting to get into each pair?”
Dear LSG. Please help. I can’t spend another 2 years like the last. And as you are a Support Guru, this seemed an appropriate plea.”

Oh, DOT, DOT, DOT … (Did you see what I did there? Ha ha!) What can I say? If only I had read this before I went to Netherthong in the Yorkshire Dales …
Firstly, I have to congratulate you on your highly inventive use of the extra luggage space created by your purchase of over-large undergarments. With careful marketing, you could branch out (so to speak) into the travel industry, offering Ryanair customers a foolproof means of packing all their holiday clothing without having to pay those pesky ‘hold luggage’ charges. (‘Hold luggage’ is not, I hasten to add, an order – that could lead to charges of a very different kind and at least one night’s stay in a local prison cell as you try to explain just what you were attempting to do with your arm buried down your trousers. I don’t think ‘Looking for my underpants’ will translate too well into Turkish.)

CHEESE

You could, of course, pop along to Derby’s Eagle Market, which still advertises itself as ‘Britain’s largest indoor market’ (even though it isn’t and, to my knowledge, never has been) to purchase more undergarments in a more appropriate size. Unfortunately, there is one immediate problem I can foresee – there’s only about one stall left in the market and that sells cheese. I do not recommend purchasing anything from this stall because a) you don’t eat cheese and b) using said cheese as a ‘filler’ for the previously-purchased garments could lead to even stranger looks from people and, probably, unwanted attention from dogs and other creatures with a strong sense of smell.
I can only see one solution and that is to ask a sibling (you have a choice of several) to accompany you next time you sally forth on a shopping trip and get him/her to read the labels on packs of undergarments BEFORE you purchase them. This could serve two purposes – i) hours of entertainment and amusement for passers-by as they watch you peering closely at labels, asking, ‘Does that say Large or Extra Large? I don’t want them round my knees again.’ and ii) a warm glow emanating from the sibling who was chosen because (s)he feels loved and wanted, although that warm glow could, equally, be emanating from sheer embarrassment.
Personally, I would recommend going to a town where you and/or glowing sibling aren’t known. Alfreton (see previous post) has some shops – and very few pubs, so you can wander round purchasing underpants in a variety of sizes without fear of being recognised or of going into a pub, drinking too much and ending up doing a Superman impression as you try on your new pants over your trousers.
I hope this helps. Do keep me informed.

Around the World with the Lifestyle Support Guru

Alfreton by Dave Bevis

I realised I hadn’t dispensed any advice for a little while and I worry about my devoted followers drifting along life’s meandering streams without the benefit of sound guidance. Therefore, in a bid to open your eyes and minds to the wonders of the world around us, I have travelled far and wide and I am overjoyed to be able to introduce you to the wonders and delights of… Alfreton (or Olfreton, as the locals say, for some unknown reason).
Alfreton is a former mining town (going back to my roots) in Derbyshire; on the website about the town, it stated that there were 10 pubs in the town centre, which seemed as good a reason as any for visiting and spending a night there (and a cheap hotel deal helped), so off I set to meet up with youngest sibling (siblings really are such useful creatures at times).
The first thing you need to know is that time has no meaning in Alfreton – it exists in a space-time continuum which may have been the inspiration for Dr Who. This is particularly the case with taxis, where ten minutes turns into forty. (Actually, I think there may only be one taxi in the town.)
Secondly, I don’t think they can have had any ‘numeracy hours’ in Alfreton schools because there were nowhere near 10 pubs in the town centre – more like three! The first pub had a DJ and disco, complete with glitter ball, and a clientele with an average age of 60 – and it was only that low because sibling and I walked in.
The second pub described itself as ‘a traditional pub’ – that depends entirely on your definition of ‘traditional’, of course. If you have a picture of a quaint pub with a roaring fire and locals drinking pints of real ale, try again. It was actually the locals who were roaring, not the fire.
You may decide to try a local Chinese restaurant which comes highly recommended – once again the ‘time-space continuum’ comes into play because we had the fastest service ever and there was one point when I thought they were going to remove our plates before we’d even finished eating!

Sauvignon Blanc

After this fine dining experience, you decide to try the relative sophistication of the nearby Wetherspoons and ask what dry white wines they have. The barman reels off a list: ‘Do you want Shiraz, Merlot, Malbec or Cabernet Sauvignon?’ You gently reply, with a small smile, ‘Those aren’t white wines.’ ‘Oh, aren’t they?’ says the barman. ‘What colour did you ask for?’ Sigh.
And then you return to the ‘space-time continuum’ as you find that the local taxis (or rather, taxi – singular) seem to stop working after 11 on a Friday night, so it’s time for a quick yomp (or slow in the LSG’s case) back to the hotel, entering the grounds via a gap in the hedge to save having to walk all the way round to the proper entrance. You just hope that no one is watching you from their room as you clamber through the hedge and scramble up a grassy slope towards the hotel.
And that, dear devotees, is Alfreton done and dusted. The next stop on my whirlwind tour of ‘places to visit before you die’ is Halifax. Can’t wait!
PS The people of Alfreton were very friendly and helpful. Even when the aforementioned sibling asked in a local pub if there were any good places to eat, ignoring the carvery directly in front of him, the landlady’s smile never faltered!

Did they really say that??

Africa Street sellers

Good evening from the Lifestyle Support Guru, once again here to guide you across life’s babbling brooks, raging rivers and terrifying torrents. Surely, you must think, there cannot be much more that the LSG can teach us? She has already helped us with so much, such as what to say to a lady with her dress tucked in her knickers, how to deal with marauding monkeys, and enjoying a night out in Barnsley (or all three together, if this takes your fancy).
Oh, my faithful followers, there is still so much to learn, including when you may use exclamation marks, as laid down by our all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful but beloved government (I may have made that last bit up).
Today, however, I wish to share with you some of the deeper thoughts I have gathered from listening to those around me and, thus, help you to avoid making a complete fool of yourself by repeating such silly things. I shall also include some photographic evidence so that you may make up your own minds.

The first ‘jewels’ are all courtesy of my acquaintance, TT (the Tiny Tyke), who has featured in previous posts because of his wide-ranging level of knowledge (believing that the English for Beaujolais is Bordeaux, for example). He was studying some of my glorious photos of African scenes (in other words, I was showing him my holiday photos, yawn, yawn) and, upon seeing a

Market traders England

typical African street scene of crowds of people selling fruit and vegetables and anything else that might bring in a few Tanzanian shillings, he remarked, ‘I love little market towns’, as if he were looking at a picture of Pickering in North Yorkshire!
Upon seeing another street scene with concrete crossings across rainwater ditches, his comment was, ‘That reminds me of the canals you see when you come into Birmingham on the train.’

And finally, while looking at a photo of a main road crowded with vehicles of all shapes and sizes, he commented that he couldn’t understand ‘why they only ever seem to have one main road running through African countries’. I patiently explained that this might have something to do with the arid wilderness and wild animals found in many such countries, so there’s no real point in having another road, since you are likely either to end up dying of dehydration or serving as a packed lunch for a lion (or both?).

But TT is not the only one who has given me pause for thought with his observations. I overheard a conversation in the pub the other night when two men were discussing Burns Night (yes, I know it’s April, but Derby occasionally takes some time to catch up with other, more forward-looking towns and cities). One of the gentlemen said that he didn’t know the words to ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and he’d never tried haggis because he’d never been to Scotland. In the next breath, he said that his favourite food is curry. With my most innocent face on, I asked him if he’d ever been to India. ‘No, of course not,’ he replied, with no hint of irony.
I shall finish with an example of something which still puzzles me: why would my youngest sibling, over a Sainsbury’s ‘Junior Breakfast’, ask me if I had ever thought of working on Sainsbury’s checkout when I retired? Dearest devotees, much as I admire Sainsbury’s checkout staff, I am afraid that I would have to consider Waitrose at the very least!

Do play along with ‘Spot the difference’ in the photos…

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