Foreign 9: Trans-Europe Express

It happened again. The restaurant last night played an excellent Greek pop/rock song, somewhat reminiscent of indie-Natalie Imbruglia, and I have no idea what it was called. Last time that happened I was in the duty-free shop in the airport on Gran Canaria and they kept playing this catchy song. A few months later Las Ketchup topped the charts across Europe. I can only hope the same happens again. I'll recognise it if that happens, but until such a time I'll keep almost remembering how the chorus goes.

Foreign 8: Washed By The Sun, He Puts His Headphones On

I'm lying poolside listening to Ultravox's Passionate Reply - which is as good as its A-side Vienna. However, despite the discomfort and heat, I'm still wearing trainers. At home, indoors, I wear shoes constantly - walking about in socks is for children and slippers are the callsign of middle-age. Shoes are a symbol of readiness, as well as broadcasting that trainers are for exercising, not for walking. I don't like feet; along with capacity for cruelty, it's another horrible reminder we evolved from the great apes. Stumps along the lines of Metal Gear RAY would look far better. Just me?

Alas, this will be the final post before the usual post from 10KM altitude.

Foreign 7: Close to the Edit

Canadair CL-215s over Zakynthos

The parents have been chatting for the past few days with this couple from Leeds. Their eldest son appears to have emerged as the alpha male, gaining access to the pool girl. At least that's how I interpreted their game of tonsil tennis in the empty pool, late yesterday afternoon. Anyway, this afternoon we went down to the beach and rented out a peddle boat for an hour. The sky had been smoky again, so another bush fire. Luckily I brought the camera along.
About half way through, two water bombers passed nearly overhead. The beach was completely quiet, save the distant roar as they touched the water. I didn't get a decent picture of that because I have a medium-priced digital camera, without a telescopic lens, shooting through haze objects more than a kilometre away. They made two passes, but I only captured the first as I'd forgotten to delete the duff photos and ran out of card space - it's also hard to judge quality on a tiny screen when in direct sunlight, and in a rush. My bother (left) and the Padre are visible in the photograph to your right.

I think I got heatstroke, what with doing most of the peddling, being in direct sunlight, and being incredibly thirsty. Fun, nevertheless.

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Foreign 6: Running Still, Standing So Close

If I was still doing Psychology, I'd have good case study material: interactions between several male adolescents in the presence of a single female adolescent. Lots of 'watch me drown this other guy!' Anyway, I've been having 3 dreams a night for a few days now - that is, each is interrupted by a trip to the toilet because I've been drinking a lot of Irn-Bru every night. This morning, one was more disturbing...

Foreign 5: Smoke On The Water

I think the git sitting to my left understands the international gesture for 'piss off you fucking chimney', the forced cough. As fucking inconsiderate as the two dickheads at the next table in the restaurant last night. Lovely view down the main strip yesterday evening - new crescent moon low on the horizon, bush fire on the hills... The one night I didn't have the camera.

Nice to see the fat git puts the cigarette out for my health, but is not so considerate for his children. Now another addict has lit-up on the other side - does Greece present a free-for-all smokefest? I can only speculate at the connection between regular forest fires, and the multitude of smokers. I joyously welcome more public smoking bans.

Foreign 4: Strength to Dream

For the past 2 months of so, I've had this recurring dream - it's not a nightmare, but it doesn't invoke warm, fuzzy feelings of content. It always takes place in my old house; the loft of which was converted into my bedroom in 1996. Everytime, my room is exactly as it was before we moved-out - the two beds, the Velux windows, my old Aptiva in the corner.

Foreign 3: I'm With The High Command

I've managed to get online today for €2.50 and as I understand it, the Great War is all but over - not ending with great victories, but with a cessation of hostilities after 10 days of stalemate. From my vantage-point, Legion appears to have emerged statistically in the lead. As myself and Dobb predicted; Legion, as the only alliance capable of that, would benefit from all 3 positions: the Order, CoaLUEtion or neutral.

Presuming the ceasefire is still in place on my return, post-war CyberNations will be wary of renewed conflict and see a cold-war emerge amongst the Pacifican and CoaLUEtion aligned alliances. The ODN and NAAC, for their actions against the NPO, will not be forgotten by Pacifica. Any future war will likely see both those alliances taken-down as soon as possible. I can't see GATO and the NPO speaking after the latter's about-turn with regards to the luecide issue - condemning it and then attacking Pacifica concerning its response to LUE. Legion will only be forgiven, grudgingly. NPO-Legion relations will likely be quite cold - a lot of nations are very upset with Legion's apparent opportunism, after the assistance in the WSA war.

Don't the best episodes usually come in two parts?

Foreign 2: Sense of Doubt

Religion is the largest jump in logic endemic to civilisation. It is ultimately an attempt to explain the natural world. According to the ancient Greeks, lightning was a sign that Zeus was angry. Science knows it involves the buildup and discharge of static electricity caused by friction between ice particles in clouds.

Foreign 1: Of What Is Known As...

Whereas I would have been content to sit in the departure lounge, someone has decided we should first board the plane and then wait 40 minutes for taxi clearance. We're going fucking nowhere in seating unfit for battery hens and in close proximity to people I neither know nor like. The pilot has the cheek to thank me for my patience and understanding, because I don't remember expressing either of those sentiments. This in addition to my two particular hates of air travel: 1) the inability to move in any direction other than toward the screens showing the latest Hollywood drivel 2) Personal hygiene is hindered by the difficulty of washing hands and face (more so on the 5 hour flights to the Canaries) without having to disturb everyone else and standing directly in everyone's view waiting for the toilets to become free. I do not like, to quote Bender, being "wrapped in grease".