English Humor
This is a rather long
document, so be forewarned. However, having already met Ken Wootton
in an earlier blog on Majorca you may not want to miss his
observations chronicled below. There is apparently a deeply buried
DNA component in the English psyche for unconscious humor. The old
saw that Englishmen have no sense of humor couldn't be more wrong.
Note the public display in Steven Fry, John Cleese, Katherine
Parkinson, and shows such as The Pink Panther, Open All Hours, Dad’s
Army, Rising Damp, Are You Being Served, and on and on. An example from the private sector will serve.
We
were watching TV one evening
in London when a short clip came on the news. It showed a modern
suburban home in South London, one story with an attached garage.
The garage door opened and out came a motorized overstuffed living
room chair with a man seated in it. He turned right into the street
and went speeding away. Apparently the gentleman takes a spin around
the quiet neighborhood after tea each day on the quiet residential
streets, unpatrolled, ,since his vehicle is clearly not street legal equipped. On to Ken Wootton...
DIARY OF A DISABLED
PERSON TRAVELING ON
COACH HOLIDAY EXTENSION
4J5Z
FROM BARCELONA TO
HARWICH
(Word
of explanation: I suffer from arthritic feet and legs, find it
difficult to balance, and can only walk slowly. I use a walking frame
for support but do not have a wheelchair. As can be seen from the
attached correspondence, requests had already been made for rooms
close to the lift or dining room etc. and, from the attached copy
invoice, assurance had been given by your Leicester staff that, out
of the 3 hotels to be used when returning across France, two were
single-storey only – not true)
Wednesday
6th October Barcelona to Arles
As
usual, met with long staircase from ship to disembarkation lounge,
but Page & Moy staff very helpful and carried walking frame for
me and helped me down again in the lift for luggage collection and
boarding coach.
Lunch
stop in Narbonne – coach stopped in centre of town and we soon
found a French café for lunch within easy walking distance. So far,
so good.
Arrival
at Hotel Mercure, Arles (not Hotel Primotel as mentioned on invoice).
No
porterage readily available and passengers had to empty coach of
their own luggage. Entrance to hotel was by steep stairs and no
handrail. Porter eventually appeared and by doing some private
detective work, I found a small lift for use by the handicapped, so I
rode up in style with my walking frame. Despite previous
arrangements, room close to lift not allocated, but hotel kindly
found an alternative.
Before
arrival, courier had told us that dinner would be available any time
between 7 and 10 p.m. and was part of the package. After a week of
luxury and personal attendance on board the Ocean Majesty, it was a
bit of a culture shock to find that we were now the “package tour
poor relations”. We were to be served in a separate room with no
choice on the menu – “eat what is put in front of you, or
else…..” When the first people went down at 7 p.m. they found
that they could not be served until the whole of the party had sat
down together – they could not even order any wine to keep
themselves going until the whole table had ordered. Where is Denise?
Nowhere to be found, so members of the party had to rally round their
fellow travellers and drag them into the dining room so that the
‘early birds’ could be served. And what a meal – something that
looked like chicken swimming in a greasy mess. We had several
diabetics on board, but there was no choice. We would all have
preferred to have paid for our meal than have a ‘freebie’ that
was unpalatable.
(N.B.
A few weeks earlier, my wife had stayed in the Hotel Mercure in
Evreux during a visit to Monet’s Garden. Again this was a small
coach group who had their own menu but were served at any time during
the evening in the main dining room and were given choices; (it can
be done).
Thursday, 7th October
Morning
tour of Arles – this was a walking
tour, so impossible for me to join in. My wife, however, took herself
off individually to find the town. Not too easy since the Hotel
Mercure is on a derelict piece of land on the edge of Arles
surrounded by a building site and a gipsy encampment. OK in daylight
but not so good if looking for an evening meal out.
We
have now become paying guests and what a difference. We can now eat
in the main dining room with coloured tablecloths and napkins. It
happens to be our wedding anniversary so we enjoy a pleasant lunch
with a bottle of French wine.
Afternoon
– coach trip to the Camargue area arranged; very interesting and,
for once, I can join in.
Evening
meal taken in main restaurant again of hotel.
Friday
8th October – Arles to Lyon
First
stop, Avignon. Interesting town if you can get into it and can walk
up steep inclines. We are dropped by the coach on the outside of the
city walls, and Denise suggests I get in through a small gap in the
wall to save walking to the main gate. This brings me to the back of
the buildings, and I have no idea of where the centre of the town is
or how to get there. My wife halts a passing tourist train – a ride
on that looks exciting. The driver gives her a map showing where to
get on the train but that is by the Palais de Papes, which is too far
for me to walk, and he won’t let me board the train at this point.
We have about 3 hours to waste in Avignon; we luckily find a small
café and sit down for coffee; we then find the best public
conveniences I have ever seen in France; and we then have lunch.
Didn’t see much of Avignon itself other than the ‘Pont’.
On
to Lyon and the Best Western Hotel. “This charming hotel is located
near the heart of the city. Rooms have air conditioning, and the
hotel has a lounge/bar and restaurant available for guests” – so
read the notes given to us. The Best Western Magazine in the room
goes even further, “This hotel is situated right in the city centre
and benefits from an ideal location. The charming hotel upholds the
Lyon tradition of hospitality and prestige.” What they don’t say
is that the centre of Lyon is nothing but a building site due to the
replacement of the tramway down the middle of the Cours Charlemagne.
The coach driver has to pull up on the only useable side of the road
and unload as best he can with heavy traffic flowing past him. Once
again no porterage is immediately available and we all have to
struggle in with our own luggage (not me, of course). My main trouble
is to walk in through permanently revolving doors with a walking
frame! Once inside I find there is a lift (so small that if a
wheelchair or frame is put in there is just room for the user but
nobody else to help open the door at the required floor - my wife had
to find the stairs and they were outside – the lift states that it
holds 4 people; obviously for midgets only) To reach the lift,
however, there are 2 or 3 steps with no
hand rail, so once again my wife and/or
fellow passengers have to lift up my frame and also steady me. Also,
of course, no room has been made available close to the lift as
requested; once again the hotel obliges.
We
are assured that there is a lower lift to the dining room for
breakfast – yes, that is true but once out of it one is faced with
two further flights of steps – at least there is a handrail this
time.
Now
for dinner in the “restaurant available for guests,” Today is
Friday and meals are only provided on Mondays to Thursdays. The bar
only serves drinks, and we are all in need of a meal. Where is
Denise? – nowhere to be seen again. Those capable of walking
further into town do so – they certainly wouldn’t want to go in
any of the local bars along the Cours Charlemagne. What shall we do?
From the bedroom window we espy a baker’s shop opposite and it is
still open. How do we get there with all the building work in the
middle of the road? I watch as my wife walks to the next junction,
crosses one street through the road works using temporary lights;
then crosses another and eventually after crossing 3 busy junctions
there she is at the baker’s shop just opposite. This closes at 7.15
p.m. and it is now 7 p.m. The baker has just 2 small quiches left,
which she kindly offers to heat in her microwave; she even provides
two paper plates and with plastic cutlery purchased at the corner
minimarket and paper cups from the bathroom. We eventually dine, in
our bedroom. Why did no one know that meals were not available on
Fridays and Saturdays?
Saturday,
9th October
Sightseeing
tour once again on foot – no use for me. After another picnic lunch
in our room, my wife sets off to find her own way round the city to
see what alternatives there are for an evening meal. She has much
more success this time (having obtained a map from the reception at
the hotel) and discovers an old part of town full of lively
restaurants, and this evening we have a taxi from the hotel and enjoy
an excellent meal sitting outside in the cool of the evening. All of
this with no help from Page & Moy!
Sunday
10th October Lyon to Rheims
Long
journey so early start. No stop to be made at Beaune as planned, but
we did find a suitable service station where several people bought
sandwiches just in case! By lunchtime we had reached Troyes –
another old town mainly pedestrianised but, being a Sunday, Denise
had actually made some arrangement with a local restaurant for a
meal. The coach driver managed to park quite centrally and, having
learnt wit by now, my wife walks with the other disabled passenger in
her wheelchair to the restaurant and then returns with an empty
wheelchair for me. At last I am part of the party!
Soon
after lunch the rain starts and by the time we reach Rheims it is
pouring. The Quality Hotel is quite central (definitely not single
storey) but once again I am faced by a large number of steps to the
main door. The wheelchair passenger and myself are directed to the
back of the hotel where there is a handicapped entrance – what they
meant was go into the underground car park. The door is closed but
there is a button on the wall which, when pressed, allows access –
not for long though; by the time the wheelchair user and Denise have
got in the door starts dropping down again and narrowly misses my
head. Fortunately the sensor realises that my wife and I still have
to get in, so up the door goes again ! We now reach the lifts but
only one is working, and by now the porter is filling up
that
with luggage, so we wait down in the car park for what seems hours.
An “Out of Order” notice is found on the ground floor, but no one
thought to put this on all floors.
This
time Denise has already changed our room to one nearer the lift.
I
quote from your details “Facilities at the hotel include air
conditioning, telephone and TV in the rooms, a bar, and a
gourmet restaurant”.
There
are, however, two other coach parties staying at the hotel, and their
organisers have already booked dinner – there is nothing available
for us! At least this time, as mentioned above, we have had the
foresight to buy some sandwiches, so once again we picnic in our room
– at least we managed to get a tray of coffee from reception.
Monday
11th October - Rheims to UK
As
I remark to my wife over breakfast (served, after gentle persuasion,
in our room), “Tonight we shall be in our own bed, thank goodness”.
However, there was one more day of turmoil and it turned out to be
the worst!
Although
the distance between Rheims and Calais is not overlong, we leave the
hotel promptly at 8.15 a.m. for a Shuttle through the Channel Tunnel
timed at 14.06. In praising us for our promptness, Denise advises us
that we shall be stopping for coffee en route and may also have time
at the terminal for any necessary shopping.
Despite
passing at least two service stations with cafes etc. we do
not stop en route. When passing through
a peage area on the motorway, we are, however, offered the chance to
use the facilities. Since most of us have used such places in the
past, we decline the offer, thinking we shall be stopping shortly
anyway.
On
we go, non-stop, to Calais arriving there at 12 noon (over 2 hours
before our schedule journey through the Tunnel). Oh good, now perhaps
we can use the conveniences and have some lunch (having missed out on
coffee). Oh no – Denise proudly announces that, because we are so
early, we can go on the 12.30 p.m. shuttle. We can, however, have 10
minutes at the terminal building for the necessary toilet and
purchase of our lunch – those people who were hoping to visit the
duty free shop can forget all about that!
Back
on the coach and on to the Shuttle arriving in Folkestone soon after
1 p.m.
Not
everyone had used the facilities at Calais, so another request to
stop at the services on the M20 (there is only one of these near to
Maidstone and nothing more until Victoria Coach Station). Just as
Jaime, the driver, attempts to draw off the M20 towards the services,
people sitting in the front of the bus shout out “No, No” – the
driver rather puzzled pulls back on to the M20 and we have all lost
our chance of any relief.
The
driver it seemed was familiar with the journey to Victoria Coach
Station since he had often done this trip from Dover and, despite
some traffic jams, made good time there. Several people by now are
sitting cross-legged and have to make an urgent visit to the toilets
while Jaime unloads the luggage for those people travelling home from
Victoria. Once again, we are given 10 minutes; when I manage to reach
the toilets, I am allowed in without payment as a disabled person
(suddenly an advantage in being one!) but everyone else, including my
wife, is asked to produce 20p to get in. She still only has Euros in
her purse and is told to go to the Exchange Office for some English
money; on tearing down the concourse to find this office, she is told
that, unless she changes at least 20Euro, she will be charged
commission – a very expensive visit to the toilet. Back she comes,
and this time the attendant takes pity on her and allows her in
(mainly to collect me).
Off
we set again for Harwich. Denise has now left us remaining
passengers in charge to get the driver to Harwich – he has no map
and no English money. My wife and I were born and brought up in East
Anglia and suggest to the driver that he return to the M25 the way he
had come in (he obviously knew that route well). “Oh no” shout
out other people – between us we probably had 6 different routes
mentioned, and the problem couple in the front of the coach who had
prevented us from stopping on the M20, take charge. He speaks no
French or Spanish, and Jaime speaks no English. I have to admire the
driver here – he kept his calm and took no notice of instructions
shouted out to him in English and just carried on the way he had come
in. En route we managed to find a filling station with shop and
facilities, and the driver could now fill up with diesel (something
he had been trying to do earlier near Maidstone).
At
last we reach the M25 – but there is a further problem. We need to
pay to go through the Dartford tunnel and Jaime, of course, has no
English money (he had bought the fuel etc. with a credit card which
cannot be used at the toll booths). Between us passengers we pay the
necessary £1.80 and, by the M25, A12 and A120, we reach Harwich (a
route completely unknown to Jamie) promptly at 6 p.m., the original
estimated time of arrival. Had we not been caught in traffic and
stopped at the filling station, we could well have reached Harwich
before that time – what would we have done if the car park
attendant had not been there to let us get our cars out? As it was,
he arrived in his little van just as we did – our cars being the
only ones left in the parking area.
It
was obvious from the start of that day that Denise wished to get home
as fast as possible. She had spent some time in Spain and was keen to
get back. However, I do not feel that that was her role – she
should have cared for her passengers and made sure they all arrived
back safely at their final destination.
Of
course, there was one other final problem to sort out – driver
Jaime would need to cross the Dartford Bridge again on his way back
to Dover. Another £1.80 had to be produced by the passengers. What
a trip! Charlie Chaplin or Fred Karno could have made a wonderful
film of it – I don’t think either of us has fully recovered yet,
but we have made one decision never to use Page & Moy again for a
coach trip. Stick to cruises in future – they are well run and
comfortable, but don’t tag on any extensions unless you have done
your homework properly.
Kenneth
Wootton
End
of Ken’s wonderfu l account. Barbara and I have taken package
tours from England so we know a littlee about it. He is not
exaggerating.
It’s a hoot if you have a strong constitution and a broad
appreciation of slapstick.
