Londinium Calling

Ah, the Motherland. Could Shaun Micallef have put it any better?

As it turns out, Micallef's depiction is not entirely true for the vast majority of the West End (not that I saw the inside any of those houses). My week and a bit in London was a bit of a whirlwind, what with all the sights seen and tiles got on, but a whirlwind that reaffirmed my love for the place. I'm looking forward to working there at the end of the year. Of course the highlight of London was seeing, dining and dining with Jane, Ed, Breyden and Lucy and seeing/meeting all their pals abroad - though two events are worth mentioning as they appeal to the opposite ends of my nerd/jock personality.

Game On
Explore the history, technology and culture of computer games in this new special exhibition. From the PDP-1 of the 1960s to the latest consoles (oh, yeah, this is the nerdy bit) - by all normal social yardsticks this was an uncool thing to go to; by my diminuitive social yardstick, on the other (joystick) hand, this was hella cool. Most of my favourite retro arcade games were there - notably my favourite of all time: Galaga - and every console you could think of (NES, SNES, Sega Master System and Megadrive/Genesis, Game Boy, Atari Lynx, Atari 7800, C64, PS1, PS2, PS3, N64, GameCube, Wii etc.) and probably twice as many that didn't make the mainstream.

But like most nerdly gatherings, I left dissatisfied and alone. The organisers neglected to mention in the blurb that children would be admitted to this holy shrine of imbalanced upbringing. Many times I would stride (well, nerdily limp - it's my club foot) over to a particular gaming machine only to be thwarted at the last hobble by a nimble youth; a creature that appears to respond to the stimuli of complex patterns of light and noises by manically pounding anything within striking range. Creationists rejoice, human children haven't evolved since at least the time of Bamm-Bamm Rubble.

"But... but they can't even appreciate it!" I protested to the parent of the offender; never quite finding the nerve to verbalise this protestation. Though I am fairly sure my strangled wheezes and pathetic grin adequately conveyed my indignation as I retreated back to the 8-bit security of Galaga.

Lord's/MCC Tour
Through an improbable sequence of recruitment, expansion and further recruitment, followed by an offer of alternative employment, my father is an old (he's sixty something) colleague and friend of the present Secretary and Chief Executive of Marylebone Cricket Club - Keith Bradshaw. Keith generously invited Jane and I to a personal tour around Lord's: the players' dressing rooms, balconies, the Long Room and members' areas, Media Centre (spaceship) and all the training areas. I remember being a cricket fan even before I could tell the difference between Boony's and Merv's moustaches (Merv's is rougher on the skin); so to visit the home of cricket and see the ground and the Ashes urn was even better than driving (quickly) through Ricky's Mowbray.