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Donkey Sanctuary Honored national training AWARDS
Year peak of Donkey Sanctuary Press
The Donkey Sanctuary has been awarded a prestigious National Training Award in recognition of their outstanding contribution and commitment to education, learning and development in the werkplek.De Donkey Sanctuary was introduced instead of a regional National Training Award at the South West regional ceremony in Bristol Tuesday 19 October 2010. The charity was in the Large Employer Award category for recognized “innovative modular course – improved donkey welfare, while at the same time increasing employee motivation and progression.” Run on behalf of the Department for Business, Innovation and Skills (BIS) of the UK skills inspired the National Training Awards and promotes British industry in the training and development as a way to an excellent organizational and individual success to invest. Winning an award is a recognition of best practices and provides a benchmark for standards of excellence in education in the United Kingdom. City & Guilds is the first sponsor of the 2010 National Training Awards.Alison Dale, Training and Development Coordinator in the Office The Donkey Sanctuary in Sidmouth, said: “We are delighted to be awarded Southwest Award recognition for the outstanding in-house training, that we developed through our Bronze and Silver Certificates. This training provides a high standard to do the donkey care and welfare in the center of everything we do, and we are so happy that we position on the expertise of so many of our employees pull in providing this “Simon Bartley, Chief Executive of the UK Skills National Training Awards, which manages said.” I would like to congratulate all the regional winners of National Training Awards 2010. Reaching an award is a fantastic achievement and one that all winners must be real proud. “now more crucial than ever for organizations to continue to invest in developing their employees. The United Kingdom will only be strengthened and supported in the future may need to give people the necessary skills for the demands of the globalized economy of today. “End-notes for editors For further information please contact: The Donkey Sanctuary Press OfficeTel: 01395 573097 / 573014 / 573124 | mobile: 927 778 07,970 | E-mail: press.office @ thedonkeysanctuary.com < = a href" Http: / / www.thedonkeysanctuary.org.uk / press office rel = "nofollow"> www.thedonkeysanctuary.org.uk / Press | www.facebook.com / DonkeyPR | www.twitter. com / DonkeyPR The Donkey Sanctuary is to donkeys and mules to protect and promote their welfare worldwide. The charity was founded by Dr Elisabeth Svendsen, MBE in 1969 and in its concern over 14,500 donkeys UK, Ireland and mainland Europe. It also works in Egypt, Ethiopia, India, Kenya and Mexico welfare with donkey donkey-owner communities through education and improve the veterinary work. The charity relies entirely on donations to continue its important work around the world For more information Tel. 01395 578222, see www.thedonkeysanctuary.org.uk or visit the charity based in Sidmouth, Devon (365 days with free access). National Training Awards are achieved individuals and organizations in the United Kingdom a excellent business and personal success by investing in training. Winning an award is a recognition of best practices and provides a benchmark for standards of excellence in education in the United Kingdom. • Perform year on behalf of the Department of Business, Innovation and Skills by UK Skills, the awards, supported by Skills Development Scotland, the Welsh Assembly Government and the Ministry for Employment and Learning, Northern Ireland. • Founded in 1987, the National Training Awards to be free and are unique in that the seven award categories every industry and size of organizations, provider of comprehensive training and individuals. The award categories recognize all types of training for qualifications, programs of informal learning and coaching. • The National Programme aims at the beginning of constructive feedback to each participant after the new judge in the awards process, from the advice and instructions given to self-assessment. Finalists and winners will be honored with a series of regional networking events and a national ceremony. • For more information visit, please www.nationaltrainingawards.com
A British Toilet
Year peak of Wootang01
9.4.09De flight arrived on time and within twelve hours on board quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary opnieuw.Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The decor is right out of the sterile and less than 80 years a thorn in the background a faint rhythm of human activity, like a crowd the foreground. There are certainly also the faces of all races are available, creating a rich mosaic of people, which is refreshing, if not quite after swimming for so long to revive in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.Toegang Internet is sealed in England, as it seems. Nothing is free, everything is unheard of wireless hotspots on the desktop terminals monetized. I think Hong Kong has spoiled me with his large, free access to the informatiesnelweg.11.4.09Ondanks to stay in a room with five other backpackers, I slept well. The mattress and pillows are sound, my headphones to keep outside noise, and the rooms are so dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as perhaps a gloomy rainy days when on. All in all, St. Paul’s a great place for the flock, adventurous and curious city remain Explorer – CouchSurfing is a sustainable alternative, I will for the next test keer.Gisteren Connie and I are packed in the Borough Market, where it all types of delicious, hearty meals. It was certainly a European flavor to the food fair: Simmering sausages were everywhere and as much as the meat was plentiful, and real, so the dairy delicacies were in the form of countless rounds of cheese stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed him with tasty snacks poured a large amount of alcohol from cups orange like waterfalls. For the first time I tried wine, like hot, rancid taste mulled wine punch – the perfect tonic for a rainy London days, I think. We have killed later that afternoon in the pub, shooting the breeze as imbibing more diminutive half pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon does not seem so bad, especially if you are in the company of friends, I can understand why the British do so much! Earlier in the day we visited the Tate Modern. The turbine room lived up to its reputation as a celebrity with a giant spider, completely filled with plump cocoon, the anchoring of the retrospective. The permanent galleries, was also a pleasure it was when his eyes hard. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock found the rooms on the upper floors with the products of their supple wrists, and I ended up getting a big fan of cubism, while the development of abstract art and contempt for their empty images that I feel are missing both the motivation and emotie.Mijn first trip yesterday morning was Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. The imperious towers over the surrounding area, and yet for all its majesty, the place was certainly quiet! Business did pick up later, but once opened the armory shop, and dozens of fans descended on him like bees in a hive. sell, of course – - I also dug in a gift-buying mission, and wound up buying a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student and a sweater for a good maatregel.Ik is now in Westminster Abbey Museum, rest my weary legs and back in charge. So far I’m really with what I have seen a confluence of beauty and history for me is that it should catch it all day impressed, I can not save a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey poets corner, where none other than the literary ace Samuel Johnson rest in peace – his bust confirms its local presence, so alive biografie.Voor in his lunch was taken prisoner I have a steak and beer pie, served was with mashed potatoes, Guinness included as an extra cold – two degrees colder, says the bartender. It went well, like all other dishes I have had in England, and now I’m not accustomed to drunkenness on the half two doubtful. In addition, inspired football play Liverpool against Blackburn, and my lunch was compleet.Gelet had my fill of football, I decided my ticket scalping at Stamford Bridge to try to skip and instead went to the British Museum to inspect their full collections. Along the way, I noticed a theater, their doors wide open and the admission of customers. With great speed, I then checked the show times, saw a show was to begin, and then hurried to the cashier at a discounted ticket to buy – if you get a £ 40 a ticket deal that is. So I see a seat for Hairspray in the West End greep.De show was worth £ 40. The music was addictive, and the amount and the consequences were not so sticky to encourage as well – the vibrant background lights were both brilliant and penetrating. The actors were also the pulsating, oozing charisma, as they danced and delivered lines dripping into humor. Hairspray is a quality of production and certainly a aanrader.12.4.09Bij breakfast I sat opposite a man who asked me which country had returned to Hong Kong – China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he began to spit my food, while he, completely unaware of my breakfast always the container of the fruit was placed in his inner churl. I think I now understand the convention of reporting on the mouth while talking and chewing at the same time, because we actually talked about life in London in general, and I praised London for racial integration, the act is an amazing leap of faith attempt to society, you are fully accepting all kinds of people. It was not like the British tried unsuccessfully, all things are for all people, using the Spanish with visitors from Spain, with the Germans and even German, Hindi with Indians, whether their native language Hindi, was not even with the absurd idea of promote international adoption of its language in order to participate fully in English so that their hands and proudly polyglot “practice” in their language. In fact, the attempt in London on the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge and common understanding of a ubiquitous English accent used to find an example, and the foundation for a world stad.Ik celebrated the resurrection of Jesus at St. Andrew’s Church Street in Cambridge. The community members of the Baptist church were warm and charming, and I met some of them, including a visit (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan University in Guangzhou, in fact, my little City University of Hong Kong visited in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and those who believe less in number than the “progressive” services on each of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK, but that is what this part of the Body of Christ does is unique, it was also the message as short as a PowerPoint slide, and no less informative, spoke the word of power in my life to a question from John 21:22 – which is great for you trees, grass and old showed, universities, the Cambridge soon? . Sitting here, drinking half a pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I had a relaxed, if not sad, days go so far, my only job around while take the green surroundings, like a sponge, camera in tow. are I’m back on the excellent beers, enjoy a pint DoomBar Sharp for my fish and chips: the drinking water is 18, but anyone whose face still traces of youthful glow is likely to get carded these days, “said the bartender myself. The youth drinking culture is much like the college drinking culture in Amerika.Mijn twisted stay in Cambridge, relaxed and incoherent it is, is in the process after this lunch. I’m not sure if it is something to see, to save the American cemetery, two miles away from an impossible to rest. I have a great time in this city, and I’m grateful for access to the living history – the people here have remarkable patience and tolerance, which many tourists strolling on the streets, peering – and photographing – in every nook and hole .13.4 .09 There are no garbage cans, but I have seen white on the streets of many races couples where the men are as a rule – the women, the ethnic group to a bright, usually a kind of Asian countries are, and saw some black and white dudes Indian dudes kuikens.Mensen here to keep doors at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it seems like they go out on a limb, only for the person who come before them, at which point I have to wait while she went to relieve them of such a random control nemen.Ik the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there, neither me nor issued any justice, because it really too much, poll enough interesting things to a whole day, I think. The abyss of artifacts from ancient times, based on sources as diverse as Korea and Mesopotamia, is a merit of the British Empire, would be without his release, most of these large carnivores are not available for our jurisdiction, better, I think these treasures open to all the largest supermarket in history as the human eye, and worse, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors in the garbage, mogelijk.Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at the Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a marvel, plush, and a proof of love for this city for the arts. The ballet itself was superior to the fulfillment of the first half of the second, where the lithe dancers showed their phenomenal agility, of all places, a cemetery covered with a blanket of smoke and darkness. I admit that their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy cemetery, did what I strike, vreemd.Twee nice ladies from Kent convinced me, her home town tomorrow, where they told me that the true and “working” The Leeds Castle mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin waited bezoek.Ik am a nurse a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondered about the variety of British ales and bearings, the British have a great deed for the world by creating an endless series of low-done alcohol session beers to enjoy at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner and is evil: ensnare apart from this inexhaustible source of cheap beer my inner alcoholic, I feel put me on my first fifteen, almost ten years after the fact, I’ll go a little harder back in Hong Kong, and I want to propose anything malty af.Irene fuel that I need to stop at the National Art Gallery, since we were in the area, and it was created an hour service. The gallery is currently presenting a special exhibition of Picasso, has the non-ticket part of various seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba – and parodies of other masterpieces – smart repeated in variations. The main gallery is home to two beautiful portraits by Joshua Reynolds, a favorite of mine happened, he lives a good friend of Samuel Johnson – I went through Boswells, where his namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera 14.4. 0.09 I prayed last night and went through my list, everyone on the elevator to the Lord. It felt good that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and the lives of my brothers and zussen.Ongetwijfeld, I felt very sad, as if a spirit in the world of the living, in a place where religious fanaticism, it seems, is a thing of the past, a minor, many are in dark corners of the old cathedrals, which are more expensive than the tourist destinations liberating hidden houses of prayer that day. In fact, I do not see who pray outside the Easter service I attended in Cambridge – for such an ecstatic moment for a large church, you think it would be just more than three dozen visits sharp ones. The people in the UK and Europe in general, it is my hope, but the lock word, descent into the silent cell of their hearts. Can the sudden break for dinner and in the cool morning and cool, quiet nights are included. There is still hope for a revival in this place, to rise to the belief of a beautiful sun every morning. God would like to save them so they deliver on that day, what wonder, think, that the zeker.Ik London, if any, their police state, like a vine in the shade has roots shot in every corner of daily life, from the reports in the terrorist underground, begging Londoners to report any suspicious things, every few dogs that walk through busy Euston. What makes this even more incredible is the fact that the United States, the indomitable arch-enemy of the young, rebellious order, do not be afraid to bombard their citizens, such scare tactics these days, especially with Obama in office, perhaps we have grown in recent years point to the questionable efficiency of the surrender of civil liberties to the state, have our bags checked everywhere – the London Eye, Hairspray and The Royal Opera House in London to check bags, while museums do not somehow that doesn ‘t add up for mij . Ik ‘m in a majestic book shop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly confirm my suspicions, there are so many books about the death of Christianity in England, because books attempted murder Christianity everywhere. However, I think, a wonderful biography of John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and sub-devil of CS Lewis. I can pick up eerste.Lunch Sally was pleasant and cheerful. We ate at a restaurant in nearby French New Street – yes, Birmingham City of Culture! Sally and I tried their omelette, while her friend had the fish without chips. The conversation was light, levity was was so our memories of those fleeting moments of the first year in Hong Kong, it’s amazing how friendships can so suddenly taken with a smile. On their recommendation, I’m on my way to Warwick Castle – she also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they can not extra-time visitors is the tourist information office staff to me, to my great disappointment A! Visit to Warwick Castle is really made for a nice day. The castle, which is partly founded by William the Conqueror in 1068, a tacky tourist trap as a careful preservation of history, sometimes a crazy version of Ocean Park, while others recognize commitment to a beautiful, merciless English past. The castle is suitable for all visitors, and not surprisingly, all groups as what a giant trebuchet siege engine that threw for seventeen performances of a fireball in the sky high and far – fantastic! Taliban Beware! 15/04/2009 I’m on a jet plane leaving this evening, if I did not back in England. I will miss this quirky, lovable place, and I want Tom and Irene, who so generously welcomed me into their homes, fed me miss, and felt my use of their toilet and shower of course. I am for the many blessings of God on this reis.Op today’s route is a journey into the home of John Wesley, by visiting the Imperial War Museum followed grateful. Earlier today I grabbed a tube of Oilatum, maybe a week late, which I recommended Teri this persistent weakness of the dermal treatment of me – did I’m happy to report that my skin huilen.John Wesley home safe and sound stopped. Services are still in the chapel instead of every day, and the crypt, so far is from the basement for the dead is a bright, spacious museum, in which all things Wesley can be seen – I’ve never understood how much was a cult figure, he in England, at the height of the idol frenzy, ironically itself, it must have been as popular as the Beatles at their peak. The house itself is a multi-storey buildings with narrow, steep staircases and spacious rooms in an 18th Century was decorated mode.Ik hidden Samuel Johnson’s house in a maze of red brick addition to Fleet Street. In the house of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and its tireless love obscure words was the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this is by far the highlight of my trip to England! The best was last bewaard.Er certainly a large number of portraits hang around the house like ornaments on a tree. Each parabola has its own story, carefully told about the cheat sheet in each room. Celebrities galore, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted some of the finer pictures in the house. I have been a real affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, whose Boswell developed: “His person was short, roughly his face and vulgar, his attitude that a scholar awkwardly Gentleman easily persuaded, it seems, I can also use flattering description of me. no I’m sorry could stop trying to be the’m in the UK curry, I think the take CityU canteen will do to the dish. But I have the appropriate task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific have counter staff, to hear from you reviewed was nice in red, light powder on the cheeks, with real diamonds earrings, she said, her small, delicate face, under the command of a chic molten British accent their irresistible positive and exciting. Not only do they know me a place on the floor, but she had her head on my back peeled submissive, they need a professional in this nu.Zag I again pull double-duty as she was, collecting tickets before boarding. It is my search for curry, and the fog of love, where scarcely remembered a man made, I was looking for my words, like the guy, sloppy has too much punch, I’m just an amateur, unfortunately, an “Oliver Goldsmith” with the ladies -. have I not a game – YES Some final, consequential bits: sold due to the chavs, no longer Burberry fashion baseball caps, because the IRA are garbage no longer a commodity in the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and underground of the city is a dirty mess, and for other terrorists in far more arid areas, go through a western airport has the dullness of the superficial process that does not make me any safer, in my made invisible vijanden.Eindelijk I saw so many Indians work in Heathrow, I was just the place for Mumbai wrong have. Their presence has surprised me, because the proportion of the population will be certainly be less indicative than their share of Heathrow staff, with a mysterious setting preload. Regardless, it controls a fantastic job with superficial airport, and in general are absurdly funny and witty, if not for England tactloos.Dat
is
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Urban
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All large cities have communities of people for whom success is not an easy path. The choices made at the avenues and crossroads they have faced in their lives can take them away, not only from the mainstream in society, but into the realms of anti society. Salvation from such an existence lies within, and it is this self-recognition and the hard won advantages that come from it that ‘Urban’ represents.
Lee Fortnam is an ambassador for The Prince’s Trust organisation. He helps troubled young people reach self awareness about their lives. He has lived this life himself. After troubled early years and time away he found the motivation in himself to step away from an almost inevitable degenerate existance to one of fulfilment, enterprise and positivity.
Lee’s rehabilitation led him to enrol on a number of training courses and eventually become a Corgi registered gas and plumbing engineer. With help from The Prince’s Trust he has his own successful and cherished business.
Security Checks
Image by Wootang01
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80′s and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul’s is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer – couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I’ll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch – the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one’s eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey – on sale, of course – for good measure.
I’m sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I’ve been verily impressed with what I’ve seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace – his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold – 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I’ve had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket – if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That’s how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating – the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned – China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one’s mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn’t as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus’ resurrection at the St. Andrew’s Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that’s what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 – what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that’s Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I’ve had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp’s DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history – the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering – and photographing – into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I’ve seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white – the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city’s love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I’m nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba – repeated in clever variants – and parodies of other masters’ works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson – I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge – for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn’t dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we’ve grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere – London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn’t add up for me.
I’m in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street – yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle – they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air – fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I’m leaving on a jet plane this evening; don’t know when I’ll be back in England again. I’ll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I’m grateful for God’s many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley’s home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine – I’m happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley’s home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display – I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson’s house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn’t stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen’s take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies – I got no game – booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn’t make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That’s all for England!
Irene at the Grocer in Chinatown
Image by Wootang01
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80′s and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul’s is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer – couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I’ll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch – the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one’s eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey – on sale, of course – for good measure.
I’m sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I’ve been verily impressed with what I’ve seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace – his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold – 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I’ve had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket – if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That’s how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating – the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned – China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one’s mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn’t as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus’ resurrection at the St. Andrew’s Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that’s what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 – what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that’s Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I’ve had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp’s DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history – the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering – and photographing – into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I’ve seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white – the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city’s love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I’m nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba – repeated in clever variants – and parodies of other masters’ works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson – I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge – for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn’t dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we’ve grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere – London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn’t add up for me.
I’m in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street – yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle – they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air – fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I’m leaving on a jet plane this evening; don’t know when I’ll be back in England again. I’ll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I’m grateful for God’s many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley’s home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine – I’m happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley’s home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display – I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson’s house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn’t stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen’s take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies – I got no game – booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn’t make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That’s all for England!
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The London Frontline Monkey
Image by Wootang01
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80′s and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul’s is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer – couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I’ll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch – the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one’s eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey – on sale, of course – for good measure.
I’m sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I’ve been verily impressed with what I’ve seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace – his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold – 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I’ve had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket – if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That’s how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating – the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned – China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one’s mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn’t as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus’ resurrection at the St. Andrew’s Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that’s what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 – what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that’s Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I’ve had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp’s DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history – the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering – and photographing – into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I’ve seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white – the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city’s love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I’m nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba – repeated in clever variants – and parodies of other masters’ works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson – I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge – for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn’t dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we’ve grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere – London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn’t add up for me.
I’m in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street – yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle – they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air – fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I’m leaving on a jet plane this evening; don’t know when I’ll be back in England again. I’ll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I’m grateful for God’s many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley’s home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine – I’m happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley’s home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display – I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson’s house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn’t stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen’s take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies – I got no game – booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn’t make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That’s all for England!
Birmingham Bubbles
Image by Wootang01
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80′s and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul’s is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer – couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I’ll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch – the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one’s eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey – on sale, of course – for good measure.
I’m sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I’ve been verily impressed with what I’ve seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace – his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold – 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I’ve had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket – if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That’s how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating – the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned – China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one’s mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn’t as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus’ resurrection at the St. Andrew’s Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that’s what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 – what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that’s Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I’ve had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp’s DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history – the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering – and photographing – into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I’ve seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white – the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city’s love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I’m nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba – repeated in clever variants – and parodies of other masters’ works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson – I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge – for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn’t dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we’ve grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere – London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn’t add up for me.
I’m in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street – yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle – they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air – fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I’m leaving on a jet plane this evening; don’t know when I’ll be back in England again. I’ll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I’m grateful for God’s many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley’s home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine – I’m happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley’s home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display – I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson’s house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn’t stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen’s take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies – I got no game – booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn’t make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That’s all for England!
Business Motivation for the Entrepreneur: What Drives You to Succeed and Build Wealth in Your Life?
Article by Jeff Przybylski
Motivation as an entrepreneur can mean many things to different people and changes dramatically from case to case. Everyone has a driving force or something they’re trying to get to or get more of. For some, it’s more money, time, or to travel. For others, it can be power, freedom, or love. Often times, it’s a combination of things, but what’s most important is that you come to realize what it is that you most want in life and remind yourself of that thing constantly. Eat, sleep, and breathe that idea of what you’ll achieve once you reach that end goal and don’t ever forget it. If you want that brand new car or vehicle, print out a picture of it and put it in places you’ll see all day every day. Put them up in the bathroom and next to your computer monitor or on the fridge. Glance at them as much as possible and really visualize yourself achieving that goal and feeling how you will once you attain it.
If money is your primary motivation, there must be something underlying that you actually wish to use with it. The idea of having money alone isn’t enough to really zero-in on what it is that you want. Take the time to reflect on what you would do if money wasn’t even an issue and you always had a constant stream of it coming in that was enough to live extremely comfortably. Is there a material possession that you’ve always wanted like a car, boat, or house? If so, make sure you take those pictures I spoke of earlier and plaster them all over the place. Imagine yourself at the wheel or living in that luxurious home and really concentrate on the sights, sounds, and smells that would come along with having them. If it’s freedom, then think of how nice it would be to work hard for no one but you and how everything you do will directly affect your bottom dollar and not someone else. All of your success will come from you and you only, so feel how much of an accomplishment that will be. If travel is your motivator, lookup information about all the beautiful destinations of the world that you’ll soon be visiting. The options are endless really, so aim big and don’t ever look back.
Let me share what drives me so you can gain an understanding of who I am as a person. My motivators are to achieve great financial wealth so that I don’t ever have to worry about how I’m going to pay bills each and every month or to be so in debt that I’m constantly stressed out and doing who knows what harm to my mind and body. Along with this comes the feeling of being fully on my own and not having to answer to anyone for anything. I’ve been under the scrutiny of so many managers and bosses over the years that never seemed to really understand the motivations behind working life and how employees should be treated and dealt with. I don’t ever want to experience that again. Nor do I wish to sit in traffic for hours each day as I smell exhaust fumes and watch as impatient drivers cut each other off and express their road rage. I will always work hard, but on my own terms and for me – that’s it.
It will be different for everyone, but you have to keep those motivations near and dear to your heart and never ever let them go. Believe that you’ve already gotten them and act accordingly and before you know it, they’ll become a reality.
About the Author
If you’d like to find out more information on how you can accomplish that end goal of whatever truly motivates you, please visit my site at http://www.how2livethedream.com.
Your first step is simply making that first step toward financial independence…don’t wait, do it now!
A study showed that monetary incentives are great for routine, mechanical work. But how does it play when talking about cognitive, advanced tasks? Not well at all. Watch this supercool animation and get a better understanding on how the labor force will react in 5 to 10 years.
Check out these business motivation images:
An iPod and a Frothy Pint
Image by Wootang01
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80′s and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul’s is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer – couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I’ll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch – the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one’s eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey – on sale, of course – for good measure.
I’m sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I’ve been verily impressed with what I’ve seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace – his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold – 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I’ve had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket – if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That’s how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating – the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned – China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one’s mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn’t as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus’ resurrection at the St. Andrew’s Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that’s what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 – what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that’s Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I’ve had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp’s DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history – the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering – and photographing – into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I’ve seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white – the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city’s love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I’m nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba – repeated in clever variants – and parodies of other masters’ works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson – I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge – for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn’t dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we’ve grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere – London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn’t add up for me.
I’m in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street – yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle – they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air – fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I’m leaving on a jet plane this evening; don’t know when I’ll be back in England again. I’ll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I’m grateful for God’s many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley’s home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine – I’m happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley’s home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display – I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson’s house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn’t stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen’s take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies – I got no game – booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn’t make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That’s all for England!
Chicken, Ham and Leek Pie, with Mash
Image by Wootang01
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80′s and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul’s is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer – couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I’ll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch – the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one’s eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey – on sale, of course – for good measure.
I’m sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I’ve been verily impressed with what I’ve seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace – his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold – 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I’ve had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket – if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That’s how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating – the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned – China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one’s mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn’t as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus’ resurrection at the St. Andrew’s Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that’s what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 – what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that’s Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I’ve had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp’s DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history – the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering – and photographing – into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I’ve seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white – the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city’s love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I’m nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba – repeated in clever variants – and parodies of other masters’ works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson – I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge – for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn’t dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we’ve grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere – London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn’t add up for me.
I’m in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street – yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle – they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air – fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I’m leaving on a jet plane this evening; don’t know when I’ll be back in England again. I’ll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I’m grateful for God’s many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley’s home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine – I’m happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley’s home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display – I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson’s house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn’t stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen’s take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies – I got no game – booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn’t make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That’s all for England!
Sleeping on the Job?
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It can be tempting to believe your business is settled and you can sit back and relax, but this kind of sleeping on the job can cost you. While you relax, your competitors are implementing the latest SEO and marketing strategies, leaving you dreaming without achieving. Let FindYourSearch help keep your business at the top.
(Original photo licensed under Creative Commons Attribution by CubanRefugee)
The “It’s Up To You” card holder reminds you who’s in charge. Potential worlds await you with theone of a kind design that features a beautiful maiden-hair fern on the back side. One of our best-selling card-wallets, it measures 2.75″ x 3″ when closed and holds up to 20 business cards in the clear inside pockets. Made from a durable paper-plastic laminate combination and hand sewn with cotton thread, this card case is a practical and chic way to carry your credit cards, buisness cards and cash
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Question by David S: I need to write a critique for my business class and can not find a good article on motivation.?
some one find me some good articles?? If you find an artcle on the issues of motivation would be nice… 10 pts to the best article
Best answer:
Answer by notaxpert
This is one of the great motivational speeches of all time. Follow this link for some articles on motivation. http://ezinearticles.com/?cat=Self-Improvement:Motivation
NUMBER ONE SPEECH
“Winning is not a sometime thing; it’s an all the time thing. You don’t win once in a while; you don’t do things right once in a while; you do them right all the time. Winning is a habit. Unfortunately, so is losing.
“There is no room for second place. There is only one place in my game, and that’s first place. I have finished second twice in my time at Green Bay, and I don’t ever want to finish second again. There is a second place bowl game, but it is a game for losers played by losers. It is and always has been an American zeal to be first in anything we do, and to win, and to win, and to win.
“Every time a football player goes to play his trade he’s got to play from the ground up – from the soles of his feet right up to his head. Every inch of him has to play. Some guys play with their heads. That’s O.K. You’ve got to be smart to be number one in any business. But more importantly, you’ve got to play with your heart, with every fiber of your body. If you’re lucky enough to find a guy with a lot of head and a lot of heart, he’s never going to come off the field second.
“Running a football team is no different than running any other kind of organization – an army, a political party or a business. The principles are the same. The object is to win – to beat the other guy. Maybe that sounds hard or cruel. I don’t think it is.
“It is a reality of life that men are competitive and the most competitive games draw the most competitive men. That’s why they are there – to compete. To know the rules and objectives when they get in the game. The object is to win fairly, squarely, by the rules – but to win.
“And in truth, I’ve never known a man worth his salt who in the long run, deep down in his heart, didn’t appreciate the grind, the discipline. There is something in good men that really yearns for discipline and the harsh reality of head to head combat.
“I don’t say these things because I believe in the ‘brute’ nature of man or that men must be brutalized to be combative. I believe in God, and I believe in human decency. But I firmly believe that any man’s finest hour – his greatest fulfillment to all he holds dear – is that moment when he has to work his heart out in a good cause and he’s exhausted on the field of battle – victorious.”
–Vince Lombardi
Give your answer to this question below!
Some cool business motivation images:
web2.0 Voodoo
Image by assbach
day33 of 365
Ok I’m through with the kitchen-remodelling. My hands are cleaned from white painting. I showered off the blood and sweat and now back to business… yes, I know im on holiday 
( but…
I have to do a presentation about "Web2.0 – Corporate Blogs" ( business models, successfull examples, etc. ) and "The usage of Web2.0 services in german medium-size business" before monday. As you can see I don’t have the slightest indication of motivation. It’s my last few (sunny) free days…. So I been trying some voodoo before my screen but… Nothing, except some smoke…
If anyone out there is into that topic. Please help! Any link, presentation, input is very welcome 
See notes for details.
See huge for details.
.
Let Your Light Shine!
Image by sirwiseowl
Health:
1. Drink plenty of water.
2. Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dinner like a beggar.
3. Eat more foods that grow on trees and plants and eat less food that is manufactured in plants..
4. Live with the 3 E’s — Energy, Enthusiasm and Empathy
5. Make time to pray, for whatever you want, to whoever you like.
6. Play more games
7. Read more books than you did in 2009 .
8. Sit in silence for at least 10 minutes each day
9. Sleep for 7 hours.
10. Take a 10-30 minutes walk daily. And while you walk, smile.
Personality:
11. Don’t compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
12. Don’t have negative thoughts or things you cannot control. Instead invest your energy in the positive present moment.
13. Don’t over do. Keep your limits.
14. Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
15. Don’t waste your precious energy on gossip.
16. Dream more while you are awake
17. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need..
18. Forget issues of the past. Don’t remind your partner with his/her mistakes of the past. That will ruin your present happiness.
19. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone. Don’t hate others.
20. Make peace with your past so it won’t spoil the present.
21. No one is in charge of your happiness except you.
22. Realize that life is a school and you are here to learn. Problems are simply part of the curriculum that appear and fade away like algebra class but the lessons you learn will last a lifetime.
23. Smile and laugh more.
24. You don’t have to win every argument. Agree to disagree…
Society:
25. Call your family often.
26. Each day give something good to others.
27. Forgive everyone for everything..
28. Spend time with people over the age of 70 & under the age of 6.
29. Try to make at least three people smile each day.
30. What other people think of you is none of your business.
31. Your job won’t take care of you when you are sick. Your friends will. Stay in touch.
Life:
32. Do the right thing!
33. Get rid of anything that isn’t useful, beautiful or joyful.
34. However good or bad a situation is, it will change..
35. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
36. The best is yet to come..
37. When you awake alive in the morning, praise God.
38. Your inner most self is always happy. So, be happy.
39. May there always be an angel by your side!
40. Join me on facebook at: www.facebook.com/sirwiseowl/
Changing the World
Image by studio-d
The top book is by the founder of Room to Read, a non-profit that supplies books & scholarships, builds libraries and schools in mostly southeast asia. It is an inspiring story of the power of the individual to change his/her course in life and to inspire others to join him in making the world a better place. There are so many lessons in this book for life and business. I HIGHLY recommend it. And yes Mom, I’m sending it to you this week.
On a side note…the pictures that follow this one, are of a party that I went to that raised ,000. 1/2 of which went to Room to Read.
Question by Steven K: should profit be the sole motivation for operating a business?
Best answer:
Answer by Dentist H since 2001
even charities are businesses.
look up and see what the ceo OF RED CROSS MAKES!
it’s sad.
Know better? Leave your own answer in the comments!
Time flies! It seems like just yesterday our start-up magazine was in a cramped home office with only 1200 readers, but here we are 10 years later with a successful magazine with the mission of empowering young girls and turning them into self confident teens! Watch how Discovery Girls Magazine was created and how it positively affects the self-esteem of hundreds of thousands of young girls between the ages of 8 and 12. It is a movie made by girls for girls. But parents can watch it too!
Video Rating: 0 / 5
Brooks International presents Motivational Business Speaker Vince Poscente. www.brooksinternational.com . Vince Poscente is an Olympian with business and academic credentials that back up his engaging message. His inspiring and funny stories combined with 135 mph skiing videos will keep you on the edge-of-your-seat!
Video Rating: 4 / 5
motivation business ethics money spanish subtitles
Video Rating: 4 / 5
www.globalchange.com How to lead people so they feel passionate about your corporate goals. Change management and business objectives. Connect with passion. Why people follow leaders. Leadership styles and effective leadership. Conference keynote speaker and Futurist Dr Patrick Dixon.How to make things happen. Connect with passion. Managing uncertainty with rapid change. Leadership styles. Why people get out of bed in the morning. How to motivate teams at work to do great things. Business management. Secret of leadership and ultimate leadership speech. Business ethics and values in corporations. Secrets of business success and increased productivity. Cutting costs. Increasing output. Adding shareholder value. Sustainable business success. Work life balance and lessons from non profits volunteering. Why building a better world is such a powerful motivation. Lecture by Dr Patrick Dixon for MTN, author of Building a Better Business, Futurewise and conference speaker.Motivation at work. Leadership. Leadership purpose, aims, strategy and objectives. Profits and profitability. Motivation to succeed and secrets of business success. Productivity and efficiency key. Workplace morale. Team dynamics and leadership styles. Business mission and vision. Business values and office culture.How to make things happen in Business. Connect with passion, keys to motivation, leadership and change management in business. Managing uncertainty with rapid change. Leadership styles. Why people get …
Video Rating: 4 / 5
Some cool pictures
Business Motivation:
y2.d147 | long time no see (me) . 
Year peak of delicious bagel sandwich 
Image
Year peak of Wootang01 p 9.4.09De flight?-order and within zw? lf hours arrived on board quickly and without Zwischenf? lle. To be sure, was the quality of t of the Cathay Pacific service exemplary opnieuw.Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The set comes directly from the sterile and is 80 years less a thorn in the eye as a faint background of the rhythm of human activity, like a crowd in the foreground. There is certainly the faces of all races are the cre? through a rich mosaic of humanity ek f lead? that is refreshing, if not quite as long after swimming in a sea of reviving Chinese faces in Hong Kong.Toegang Internet is in England, she sealed. Nothing seems clear, everything is unerh? Rt of wireless hotspots on the desktop terminals monetized. I think Hong Kong has me Use screen? Hnt with his big en, free access to the informatiesnelweg.11.4.09Ondanks a stay in a room with f? Five other backpackers, I slept well. The mattress and pillows are solid, keep my Headphone Au? Close? Noise and bedroom as dark as an H? Cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as maybe a D? Steres rainy days, when on. All in all, the St. Paul’s is a great place f? R the herd, adventurous and love to stay City Explorer. – CouchSurfing is a sustainable alternative, I will f r n the next test keer.Gisteren Connie and I are packed in the Borough Market, where there are all kinds of k eastern, savory foods, it was certainly a taste of the europian?? Food Fair:?? Simmering W brush were omnipresent rtig and as much as the meat was plentiful, and real, so were his delicious dairy K in the form of the Monna Lisa unz rounds K se, piled up behind checkered tabletops. Nat? Of course we washed him with plenty of delicious snacks that alcohol flowed out of cups orange like waterfalls? Ll For the first time I have wine, trying to like warm, rancid flavor punch hwein gl -.? the perfect tonic f? r a rainy London day, I think we sp? ter murdered in the afternoon in the pub. differences? s the breeze, w? while imbibing more diminutive half pints in the process. Getting around four in the afternoon does not seem so bad rt destroyed?, Especially if you are in the company of friends, I can understand why the lot Engl margins with a pretend! Fr? Ago on the day we visited the Tate Modern. The turbine room lived up to his prominent billing as a giant spider, complete with bulging gef? Llten cocoon, anchoring the retrospective. The st? LinkedIn galleries, was also a joy it was when the eyes party. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock found the rooms on the upper floors with the products of their supple wrists, and I ended up getting a big fan of cubism, he, w? F during the development of a contempt? R abstract art and its empty images that I feel lack both the motivation and emotie.Mijn first trip yesterday morning, the Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. T heat it? Imperiously? About the environment, and yet f? R all his Majesty? T, the place was certainly quiet! Business did sp? Ter to pick up, but when the R? Stkammer he shop? Opened, and dozens of fans st? Mth him like bees in a hive. Also, I dug in a gift-buying mission, and wound up buying a book Godfrey f r, f r a student a scarf and a jersey -? Sell, of course -. nat? f? r maatregel.Ik a good meeting at Westminster Abbey Museum now, rest my m? the legs and R bridges? So far I have really responsible with what I have seen a confluence of Sch? beauty and history impressed F? r me w re? it days, get to catch everything, then I can not save a couple of hours My favorite part of the abbey poets corner, where none other than the literary ace Samuel Johnson rest in peace -. Ste B’s best account its local presence Pr, the so biografie.Voor alive in his lunch was taken prisoner I have a steak and beer pie, served with potato plague ree, including Guinness was cold as an extra -? two degrees k? lter, explained? rt the bartender It went well, just. have had, like all other K? his delicious I in England, and now I’m not drunk at half past one weight? hnt doubt. Dar had? inspired out of about Liverpool Football you against Blackburn and my lunch was my compleet.Gelet F? ll of foot ball, I decided to get my ticket scalping attempt at Stamford Bridge Skip? and instead went to the British Museum f? r to visit their extensive collections. Along the way, I noticed a theater, their T? Far Ren ge? Opened and the registration of. ? Have customers with a lot of speed, I then checked the show times, saw a show was to begin, and nally ran at the checkout to buy Verg nstigten ticket – if you call? 40 per ticket deal is. So I have a seat f? R see Hairspray in the West End show greep.De worth it? 40 The music was s? Mighty, and the amount and the consequences were not so much kitsch as pleasant rdern f?. – The lights were pulsating background penetrate both and sparkling. The actors were also seep into the vibrant radiance, w? While they danced and drip lines delivered in humor. Hairspray is a quality t of production and certainly a aanrader.12.4.09Bij breakfast hst? Ck I sat opposite a man over. ? Asked me which country is Hong Kong for ckgekehrt – China and Japan was really quite funny Then he began to spit my food, he said, while w, v llig hst in the dark as my Fri ck the container or container; nt?? where the fruit was placed in his inner churl.? . I think I now understand the convention of reporting? Over his mouth while talking and chewing at the same time, because we talked about? About life in London in general, and I praised London f? R racial integration, which is a plot of the amazing leap of faith f? r the company, try to be comprehensive, accept all types of people. It was not like the British, trying in vain to all things f? R are all people, using the Spanish with visitors from Spain, German, with German and even Hindi with Indians, if Hindi was not their native language, even given the absurd idea F? Promotion of international adoption of its language to complete? FULLY to? Apply English so that their H? walls and proud polyglot “practice” in their language. In fact, the attempt to London to take advantage of the rich mosaic of ethnic ek knowledge, and a common comprehension? Is to be sought by an omnipresent ndnis? Rtigen English accent an example, and f the foundation? R a world city. I celebrate the resurrection of Jesus at St. Andrew’s Church Street in Cambridge. The community members of the Baptist church were warm and charming, and I met some of them, including a visit (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan University t in Guangzhou, which had in fact my little City University of Hong Kong visited in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and equation? Believers in smaller numbers than the “progressive” services on each of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK, but that makes this part of the body of Christ is unique, it was also the message as short as a PowerPoint film, and no less informative, said the power of word in my life is a matter of John 21:22 – what the f r Gro e B rooms;?? Grass and old showed universities, from Cambridge in a nutshell. sit here, drink half a pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I had a relaxed, if not Wehmer? TIG, day so far, go to my only job around, w? while receiving the gr? NEN environment like a sponge, camera in his kielzog . Ik ‘m back on the excellent beers, enjoys a pint en DoomBar Sharp my fish and chips friends come to drink is 18, but anyone whose face is still youthful brilliance Notes D? RFTE get carded these days, “said the bartender me. The youth drinking culture is much like the college drinking culture in Amerika.Mijn twisted stay in Cambridge, relaxed and incoherent? Rent may be, is over after this sp? Th lunch. I a not sure if it something to see, to save the American cemetery, two miles away from a UNM? aligned residue. I have a big time like in this city, and I am grateful f? R access
The Entrepreneur Within – Business Motivation
I swear, there is no way I could ever quit being in business for myself, even if nothing financially ever materializes. I must have entrepreneurial genes or something, but I can have one disappointment after another and yet I will always come back for more.
Hope and optimism are truly the wonder drugs of all time, and that’s what entrepreneurialism does for me. As long as there’s a smidgen of hope, I am good to go. The <i>”You just never know”</i> factor is always in play for me. Because, you really never do. Anything is possible, even in the recessional gutter in which we live. But, maybe going into an online business for yourself (it costs little or nothing to do it) during such hard times might even be advantageous because…may I repeat…<i>”You just never know.”</i>
As despondent as I get with politics, business is another matter. Even though the little guy keeps getting kicked to the curb, it actually makes me more determined than ever to become successful earning a decent living right out of my own dang home doing what I love. America may be farcically called “The Land of Opportunity” these days, but you can’t discount the feeling that despite the rampant greed and unmerciful graft, opportunity is like a dandelion: it always finds a place to sprout, no matter what. I want my piece of the pie, and though it appears extremely difficult, I do not care one iota.
Success, I’m comin’ to get ya.
Grant “Brad” Gerver is an entrepreneur and co-owner of Filibi.com: Quite simply one of the most generous businesses online. “Gerv” is also a performing blues artist-songwriter with The Buzzard Brothers and on YouTube. He is a retired elementary school teacher who currently works in the mental health care field.
Article from articlesbase.com
Some cool business motivation images:
Father
Image by h.koppdelaney
The Balloon
I wonder who will get the balloon.
His daughter? His son?
Maybe he got it from his girlfriend.
I don’t know, but the balloon makes me smile.
HKD
Falls Psychologie interessiert: A3 Motivation
Symbole in der Kunst – Der Luftballon
Die Energie, die ich symbolisch mit dem Ballon ausdrücken möchte ist Leichtigkeit und Freundlichkeit. Auch Flüchtigkeit, Bewegung und Wandel, Luft und Wind. Ich hätte dem Mann auch kleine Flügelchen an seine Fersen malen können, dann wäre die Zuordnung klassisch, denn Hermes, der olympische Götterbote zeichnet sich durch diese aus.
Freundlichkeit, Aufmerksamkeit, Leichtigkeit, Schnelligkeit und Offenheit sind Motivationskräfte, die von A3 motiviert werden. Ideen auf allen Gebieten perlen im Geist wie in einem Sektglas empor. Inspirationen aus der Oberwelt empfange ich durch diese transzendente Funktion in meiner Psyche. Mir fallen spontan Notlösungen zu komplizierten Situationen ein oder grandiose neue Erkenntnisse.
Mit dem Luftballon ermögliche ich bestimmte Projektionen auf den Mann. Er bekommt etwas Leichtes und Spielerisches. Der seriöse Charakter des Bildes wird aufgelockert. Mit dem Ballon bekommt es einen überraschenden und freundlichen Kontrapunkt.
Plötzlich ist ein einem grauen Alltagsbild das Kindliche mit im Spiel und genau das ist die Energieform A3. Sie motiviert zum Spiel auf allen Ebenen.
HKD
d business news
Image by dmixo6
SEP122009
Image by colemama
Normally Saturday mornings are ideal times to find games going on around town, but the rainy conditions kept some away from play. It looks like the golfers and the basketball players are a much hardier group than those tennis players! 
Wonder if there’s a universal motivator that keeps some out of the rain and others apathetic towards the weather when pursuing a fun activity?
Daniel Pink (author of highly recommended reading, A Whole New Mind) on TED video describes the value of intrinsic motivation and how business models’ emphasis on extrinsic motivation are outdated and inaccurate. The power of intrinsic motivation is certainly not new – it’s been a long-desired goal for our students in learning. Instead, schools (like businesses), have turned to external motivators (grades, scholarship promises, and other rewards) to guide student education. So, now have we ‘created a monster’? Are students limiting their time and energy to just doing the minimal as tied to the external standard? Just the other day, a 11th grader who admittedly doesn’t read well asked me why our HS Library doesn’t do "Reading Counts" as that is the program that motivated her to read in middle school…Did this incentive model really serve the purpose of learning? Are our teachers losing opportunities for helping students develop a ‘love for learning’ when they must focus on standardized assessments and packaged programmed instruction? Will we find a way to focus on intrinsic, rather than extrinsic, motivating factors in the future?
This photograph compilation is a response to Carol Van Hook’s "Game is On" 365 Flickr Challenge for September 2009 . Naples Beach Hotel and Golf Club & Gulfview Middle School, Naples, FL
www.globalchange.com Motivation at work. People don’t get passionate about shareholder value or business profits or excel spreadsheets. They get passionate and motivated about challenge, great teams, vision, important goals, having fun, about family and friends, about the community and world they live in. How to make things happen in Business. Connect with passion, keys to motivation, leadership and change management in business. Managing uncertainty with rapid change. Leadership styles. Why people get out of bed in the morning. How to motivate teams at work to do great things. Business management. Secret of leadership and ultimate leadership speech. Business ethics and values in corporations. Secrets of business success and increased productivity. Cutting costs. Increasing output. Adding shareholder value. Sustainable business success. Work life balance and lessons from non profits volunteering. Why building a better world is such a powerful motivation. Lecture by Dr Patrick Dixon for MTN, author of Building a Better Business, Futurewise and conference speaker.Motivation at work. Leadership. Leadership purpose, aims, strategy and objectives. Profits and profitability. Motivation to succeed and secrets of business success. Productivity and efficiency key. Workplace morale. Team dynamics and leadership styles. Business mission and vision. Business values and office culture. Connect with passion and you will motivate teams to change organisation, business and world. Work …
Video Rating: 4 / 5
Video excerpts from one of Ross Page’s life changing TOM Leadership and Communication presentations (HRD Conference, London). Using the latest brain and learning research, Ross works internationally and combines powerful experiential learning techniques with exciting music and visuals to present highly motivating and extremely memorable sessions.
Video Rating: 4 / 5
Following in the bestselling footsteps of Little Red Book of Selling, Little Red Book of Sales Answers, Little Black Book of Connections, and The Little Gold Book of YES! Attitude, Jeffrey Gitomer’s The Little Green Book of Getting Your Way digs deep into the 9.5 elements that make persuasion, and getting your way, happen. By breaking down the elements, the reader will begin to understand, take action, become proficient, and then master the ability to persuade. Because persuasion occurs in so m
Rating: 
(out of 81 reviews)
List Price: $ 19.99
Price: $ 5.00
Find More Business Motivation Products
www.globalchange.com Values really matter. People want to make a difference and feel proud of who they work for. Aditya Birla example of corporate responsibility and community involvement. Increasing motivation, winning war for talent, staff and customer retention and stronger brand and corporate image. Work of AIDS charity ACET as expression of corporate responsibility. Conference keynote speaker and Futurist Dr Patrick Dixon.How to make things happen in Business. Connect with passion, keys to motivation, leadership and change management in business. Managing uncertainty with rapid change. Leadership styles. Why people get out of bed in the morning. How to motivate teams at work to do great things. Business management. Secret of leadership and ultimate leadership speech. Business ethics and values in corporations. Secrets of business success and increased productivity. Cutting costs. Increasing output. Adding shareholder value. Sustainable business success. Work life balance and lessons from non profits volunteering. Why building a better world is such a powerful motivation. Lecture by Dr Patrick Dixon for MTN, author of Building a Better Business, Futurewise and conference speaker.Motivation at work. Leadership. Leadership purpose, aims, strategy and objectives. Profits and profitability. Motivation to succeed and secrets of business success. Productivity and efficiency key. Workplace morale. Team dynamics and leadership styles. Business mission and vision. Business …
Jeezy Let Me Handle My Business (produced by Shawty Redd) [Tm-103]
www.globalchange.com Motivation at work. Leadership styles and how to lead teams. Motivational leadership, recruitment, retention and winning war for talent. Change management tools for business leaders. Motivate people to action. Psychology of leading people. How to make people follow you. How to make things happen in Business. Connect with passion, keys to motivation, leadership and change management in business. Managing uncertainty with rapid change. Leadership styles. Why people get out of bed in the morning. How to motivate teams at work to do great things. Business management. Secret of leadership and ultimate leadership speech. Business ethics and values in corporations. Secrets of business success and increased productivity. Cutting costs. Increasing output. Adding shareholder value. Sustainable business success. Work life balance and lessons from non profits volunteering. Why building a better world is such a powerful motivation. Lecture by Dr Patrick Dixon for MTN, author of Building a Better Business, Futurewise and conference speaker.Motivation at work. Leadership. Leadership purpose, aims, strategy and objectives. Profits and profitability. Motivation to succeed and secrets of business success. Productivity and efficiency key. Workplace morale. Team dynamics and leadership styles. Business mission and vision. Business values and office culture. Leadership purpose, aims, strategy and objectives. Profits and profitability. Motivation to succeed and secrets of …
Video Rating: 4 / 5
How A Business Motivational Speaker Can Motivate Your Employees
Any endeavor in business needs motivation. Highly motivated employees of a company can improve the bottom line of any company. Unmotivated or dull employees can pose a serious threat to the existence of the company and it’s the responsibility of the management to keep them motivated all the time. Though lots of effort is made, most of the times they go in vain.
There are many professional motivational speakers who employ unique methods to motivate the employees through motivational speaking workshops and interactive motivational presentations while imparting business goals of the company in a fun way. Most of the companies these days hire good motivational speakers to be as emcees and speakers in corporate events.
Motivational speakers just don’t educate the audience, apart from imparting business goals, they make connection between people and the company using their own tried and trusted methods in a way that the message reaches in their minds. The best business motivational speaker is the one who can influence the employees and change the way they thing about the company and work.
A true business motivational speaker is a true Business Rock star. He/she has the ability to bring out the energy from the audiences and make them scream like those who watch a rock show. He/she brings true rock concert energy to any event, conference or themed party so that the attendees are not just listeners of what the host says, but active participants and that is what the goal of the event is is.
A true business rock star is just not a motivational speaker, but also a peak performance coach, edu-tainer, musical entertainer, performer, humorist, favorite front man, master of ceremonies, interactive emcee, team building leader, event master, energy expert, guitar hero host, character actor and disc jockey. He/she will act as a true entertainer or the “glue” to the event so that the attendees are glued to the event enthusiastically.
Motivational speaking has become one of the most important aspects of any event where he/she inspires the attendees and makes them more involved in the ensuing core event. As most of the companies conduct some kind of a meeting every month, many companies are hiring motivational speakers to make the parties more fun as well as productive. Though you might think your leaders could try to do it, professionals can’t be beaten as they are multi-faceted and experts in many fields to convincingly entertain the people while imparting the core message.
Do you want to boost the morale of your employees and improve productivity? Marvelless Mark is Florida Motivational Speaker, corporate team builder and much more.
Just check www.marvellessmark.com to know more about him and his unique techniques and why he is called the Business Rock Star.
One of the keys to success in business is to affirm positive thoughts to yourself. This video will help you rewire your brain to think positive and attract valuable customers and business partners. It is my intention to inspire and motivate others to become successful in their business…For more information, articles, and resources, visit: www.onlinebizresources.info
Some cool business motivation images:
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Feel free to name this Wallpaper whatever you want. Commandments, Motivator, Rules…
Sixteen fundamentals which help motivate me every day, pursuing my plans and making my dreams become reality. Brought together from Quotes, Motivational Speeches and other Sources. No Sacrifice, no victory. Feel free to comment and leave your opinion, add your quotes and thoughts. Let’s succeed!
113/365 Success
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"Success" magazine is one of my favorite magazines! I was excited to see that this edition was out today and really excited to see that John Maxwell is being featured on the cover! Maxwell is an amazing author and speaker and I own several of his books. I have been inspired by him for many years!
Success magazine has amazing articles and each issue contains a DVD/CD with inspirational teachings from successful people.
Workplace Note
Image by Mike Licht, NotionsCapital.com
Mike Licht, NotionsCapital.com
Extraordinary Weight Loss Motivation
A powerful workbook of inspirational quotes transformed to change the way you look, think and feel. The author lost over 100lbs and shows you how to get motivated and stay motivated. The book includes thought-provoking questions, quotes, and affirmations.
Extraordinary Weight Loss Motivation
As the world’s most successful leaders of their people to do the things inspire great secrets of motivation great leaders explored the leadership styles of many of the most influential world leaders of industry, military, sports, politics, and extracts and powerful lessons to make the executives can work in their organizations. Based on his many years of leadership experience as a consultant, visionary and coach, John Baldoni, author of the highly successful Great Communication Secrets
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Christians have difficulties with the business in the life of faith, since Paul’s days as a tent maker. How to cut the field of private devotion and public business in a meaningful way? Paul Stevens examining this issue since the first days of his father’s steel company. Doing Business God tells his readers how to find lasting significance and to satisfy market integration in the light of Christian faith and tradition
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List Price: $ 16:00 Price: $ 7.41 The motivations Lettres Gà © NiAl. Version Franà § aise du La Gà © nà © The tors may Lettres motivation Gà © niale The Jimmy Sweeney. Cliquez pour Obtenir Pointez Et Une lettre de motivation en Super Juste quelques minutes. (The French version of Jimmy Sweeney’s Amazing Cover Letters.). Lettres Motivations Gà © NiAl. lack of motivation means wait. A free motivational technique is Forever Yours. lack of motivation help. More Motivation Business Products
Toastmasters International voted Peter Legge Golden Gavel Award Winner and Top Speaker in North America. He lives his life dream as an internationally acclaimed professional speaker, and as president and CEO of the largest, independently owned magazine publishing company in Western Canada. His presentations are based on his everyday experiences as a community leader, husband, father and CEO. With humour, Peter motivates people to achieve excellence and identifies the obstacles they need to overcome in order to achieve their goals. www.speakers.ca This video is brought to you by Speaker’s Spotlight – www.speakers.ca – Canada’s leading speakers’ bureau. Book Peter Legge as a keynote speaker for your next event by contacting info@speakers.ca.
Video Rating: 5 / 5
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Image taken on 2009-04-14 18:52:35 by Wootang01.
I am starting a new business and I need to keep focus. So I thought I should also get movies that show successes in innovation, entreprenueral spirit and ultimate risk taking for teh benefit. . . that is what I call motivation.
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Image taken on 2005-04-04 20:16:06 by Mr. Wright.
Just a hypothetical short and sweet question. If you are going to school for a bachelors degree in business management, how likely are you to get a job right out of college? Does it depend on your motivation or on the “contacts” you have? Or does it usually take a while and you have to move up into that type of position? Thanks.
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Image taken on 2009-10-16 19:42:48 by dhammza.
new business sales including the sales and reasons for CD Rom, training people how to sell, and money management on a CD, training people how to take control of your finances? WWW. atcob. COM
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Image taken on 2009-10-16 19:42:48 by dhammza.
Should we keep plowing through the process of creating a business or need to take a month to go now, developers, and maybe get some different perspectives? I am a young entrepreneur who has had success in the past. I want to do something complicated but I think the economy is in rough shape is dampered my motivation. Any advice?
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Image taken on 2008-09-23 15:40:28 by Mike Licht, NotionsCapital.com.
We started the company together, and all bureaucracy is patya.Sega seems like I’m in this with me si.Am I work too hard? Or are they just lazy, unmotivated & partners? I will not be so uptight about things, how to communicate that I am impatient about the lack of interest in the partnership?
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Image taken on 2008-06-21 10:47:16 by D.C.Atty.
Im finishing a book and create incentives seminar and need to invest in this business. I’ve been CEO and president of high-tech C-type leveling management. Took Bjarni R. Einarsson in real estate in recent years starting with seminars and book sales. Anybody out there interested?
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Image taken on 2010-02-19 19:59:36 by the|G|™.
I always wanted to open it, but never be interested. I’m always procrastinating and not doing it down. I need motivation about how well this little company is. Are people who are this is the station that has space. I think that will mint the $ $ if you can open there. But how to approach the owner? What can I say? Business plan that? This could change my life
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Mega-resource Giving Servant Leaders Proven Strategies And Inspirations Of How To Motivate Their Members To Be Actively Involved In The Homeschool Group And Their Volunteers To Happily Keep Coming Back To Help The Group.
One By One: Homeschool Group Leader’s Guide To Motivating Members.
Image taken on 2009-04-13 20:53:15 by Wootang01.
Why people do not like other people rich, but not work for the company and instead to start their own business? Get jealous (jealous of rich people)? Or is it just motivation to make more money by starting your own business?
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Image taken on 2009-04-13 22:51:03 by Wootang01.
You can enter a cover letter done, but I do not know how, except for a few tips here and there, you must use a formal business letter format or not it falls into something else?
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Image taken on 2009-04-11 21:22:05 by Wootang01.
Im Clueless major, but my company is next to me to choose. I am an entrepreneur hardcore spirit, not Mana Gent skills or motivation is difficult, any ideas about what a particular degree in business administration?
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How To Write A Business Plan… Made Easy, Is Broken Down So That Anyone Can Do It, Easy And Fast.
Business Plan Made Easy.
Image taken on 2009-03-19 16:26:44 by Marc_Smith.
I do not want to be mostly (though I sometimes) but I think the job opportunities and do not encourage collecting business. I’ve always done quite well, but my motivation for various reasons has disappeared. Have you been in this position? What did you do?
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Image taken on 2009-04-13 16:16:04 by Wootang01.
My husband has been brain washed to believe that business fraud when he sells goods, but also receives money to convince others to sell the same product. They encourage him and other business partners to take an interest in this course that they themselves have to pay $ 300 each way to attend (most profit for business owners who do not watch out, but by cheating people like my husband). How can I convince my husband to give up without him directly? Make more money than he does and he has no money. I refuse to pay for “his motivational seminars and this is making it do not support it and I’m going to manage, because I am one with the financial power in their homes. I already tried to convince the business is a scam, but he is still confident. Or maybe you just have to give him money, which wants the company, although only cheating this is not a fight about it? I do not know about it can cause permanent annoy me.
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