Breakfast in America

It doesn’t take long to remind me of one of the reasons I like America.  You just have to go out for breakfast and you’re immediately given a comprehensive experience of what the “Land of the Free” is all about.

Politeness – straight away a friendly greeting.  Next come endless choices – sit at the counter and talk to another diner, sit in the window with a view of the sidewalk, sit at the back wall quietly out of view, or sit at the centre tables and watch everyone entering – you decide – decisions this early in the morning are never easy.

No sooner do you get sat down than you have a glass of iced water and the offer of coffee – regular or decaf?  There are lots of other options but coffee is the assumed default choice. 

In the USA, it’s hot, it’s there straight away and you are offered a refill almost as soon as you have taken your first sip.  More refills will follow at five minute intervals throughout your stay.

Now you come to the supreme challenge – choosing your meal from the 1,000 items on the menu.  An alphabet of fruit juices – apple, blackcurrant, cranberry, damson, elderberry – I am sure it goes up to Zebraberry juice. 

Then we go to the corn flakes, bran flakes, oat flakes, rice crispies of my childhood, and granola of my Disney visits with hot milk, cold milk, low fat milk, semi-skimmed milk, skimmed milk        – it’s amazing what cows can produce these days.  Now we come to chickens and eggs – one egg, two eggs or three eggs – boiled, poached, scrambled, fried – sunny side up or easy over.   P.S. – all the yolks are perfectly cooked and runny, not like the rubbery, greasy hard yolked eggs we only seem to be able to make in UK motorway service stations.   Bacon – American thin and crispy – English just the way we are used to – Canadian more like gammon.      They don’t usually have Indonesian bacon but I’d bet they would get it for you if you are prepared to wait.

Fifteen varieties of sausage, mushrooms and beans all follow.  Then there are the “sides” – upsides, down sides, insides and outsides – onion rings, corn, hash browns, corned beef hash – it never stops.  This is like third-degree interrogation – everything you say is written down and used in evidence later.

Forget the rest – we haven’t even got to the omelets nor the pancakes.       Pancakes for breakfast !  Next thing you know they will be offering me maple syrup.  How on earth do they eat this sweet and savoury combination – maybe they just get mixed up with all the questions, and don’t remember what they have ordered?  You have to be a quiz champion to order breakfast in America, but when it arrives it is uniquely yours – no two customers can conceivably ever make the same choice.

I forgot to mention the bread, white or brown is the most difficult choice you’re faced with in the UK.  No, here you get white bread, wholemeal, rye, sour dough, granary, whole grain, croissants – you need to come back another day to hear the rest of the list.

Meanwhile, check out the upside down sauce (ketchup) bottle an obvious way of avoiding all that shaking and splashes on your shirt – so why didn’t we think of it ?

So what has this got to do with Grumblesmiles?

Well this was just a small diner in New York – one of many.  The food was excellent, the service first class and it all cost less than £10 a head to set you up for the day.  The diner had enough tables for about 100 people but only 20 or so were there – although it was a public holiday.  This small restaurant employed at least 8 people – 3 waiters all turned out in black trousers, white shirts, pads and pens in their pockets – one guy at the counter and four more I can see in the kitchen.  Most are no doubt on minimum wage and depend on tips to make up their pay but this one little operation creates a lot of employment, and by the way at least half the staff were over 60.  Maybe this is a portent of the future pattern of employment in England.  A low wage economy and people working well beyond current pension age.

One of my first jobs when I as young was as a part-time waiter in a pub restaurant.  Wages were low but the tips were good if you were polite and attentive to customers’ needs.  I learned a lot from meeting and talking to all sorts of people and gained a lot of confidence.  Confidence building and reassurance that they are still able to make a valued contribution is something many retired people need as well as the opportunity to phase themselves gradually into not working full-time.  The pin-money to top up small pensions is an added bonus.

I think the Government should look at how it could stimulate significant growth in the service sector by removing tax and beaurocratic barriers to low paid part-time work.

Who out there has had experience in this sector ?

Is it a good idea or is it demeaning to older people?

 

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Magic of New York’s Central Park

On the 19 May I was writing about Westminster City Council’s attempt at trying to enhance Hyde Park in London for older people with exercise equipment.  Perhaps they could take some pensioners to New York and do some park benchmarking, there is a lot they could learn.

Today, I had a walker’s map given to me by my hotel just off Central Park.  It’s 843 acres according to a plaque on a seat.  Most of the seats have inscriptions with wonderful memories of people who have loved this place over the years.  All the walks are specified precisely to the nearest one hundredth of a mile – always assuming you stick to the route and don’t get lost !  A footnote on the map says that the paths are “maintained by the Road Runners Club of New York.  Oops I wonder if I am letting them down by walking?  Anyway, why should I care, their map is no b***** good anyway.  It’s comprehensive and incomprehensible !  After less than 5 minutes walking I am already lost        .  Perhaps the hotel didn’t want me back ?  I have found there are far more paths in the park than on the map.  Perhaps the Road Runners are paying to maintain more paths than they think !

For a while I try to get back on the beaten track, but I quickly give up and accept that it’s a voyage of discovery to not know where you are heading or where you will end up.

It’s 98º and very, very hot in the sun so it’s not long before I need to rest on a bench in the shade.  Nearby is a sign which greets you at all the gates with the PARK RULES.  You would need an hour to read them all.  The children I am watching obviously haven’t read all the rules.  Then again they are all under 5.  Bikes and pushchairs cast aside like yesterday’s toys; they are running around like a ring-a-ring-a-roses game under the elusive shower of a rotating sprinkler; totally soaked; inhibited screams of enjoyment; an occasional tear when someone falls over; mum steps into the shower to give un-needed comfort to a child whose tears are quickly washed away by the excitement of the returning rain.

Meanwhile free entertainment is being provided to the Amphitheatre of on-looking parents basking in the sun and their pride in their offspring.  The grassy ground is saturated now and puddles are waiting to be jumped in.  A NEW JOY !

I wonder if all the rules stopped all the adults running around in the sprinklers in the park ?  What a pity we all stop being children and have to grow up.         Perhaps Hyde Park could have a water play area for grannies, granddads and children?

Time for another walk and in no time at all what’s this?  It’s Alice sitting on a large bronze mushroom surrounded by the White Rabbit, the Cheshire Cat and the Mad Hatter, complete with oversized Top Hat.  The hat I used to wear at so many ExtraCare events.  I liked that hat and dressing up.  Maybe sometimes – the best times – I am still a child after all.

Queues of children waiting to sit on a mushroom and have their photos taken by mum or dad.  I remember that too, only they were grannies and granddads waiting to have their photo taken with me and my top hat.  Maybe they can still be children too.

Just around the corner another new adventure.  A boating lake full of radio controlled yachts navigating the Atlantic, the Pacific and the Indian Ocean.  Not many children here, I guess they know the water is too calm to be an ocean.  The sea-faring dads are all sailing round the world of their lost youth.  Admiral Nelson winning Trafalgar again, Captain Bligh fighting off the mutineers, Black Beard finally finding lost treasure or a courageous Captain Ahab at last catching and killing Moby Dick.  No lost galleons here.  All success and happy-ever-after endings.  Perhaps there are lots of children here after all.

Up and off rambling again I come across a stroller folded up and dumped in a little bin.  Was this the occasion of a child suddenly learning to walk?  And then realising they will not need another pushchair for at least 70 years!

The next strange scene I pass is a young girl who walks by talking to herself – an imaginary friend?  Schizophrenia?  Early onset of dementia?  The plug in her ear (providing she is not deaf) means she is on the mobile phone to someone else, somewhere else.  Is this what they mean by “you’ll never walk alone”?

From one Liverpool song to another, I have now arrived at Strawberry Fields.  I can see why John Lennon liked this area.  His New York exile ended here in Dakota mansions overlooking this magical place.  Strawberry Fields “where nothing is real” was right outside his apartment.  His songs still echo around New York.  Only yesterday he was singing “twist and shout” on a dinner cruise boat on the Hudson River to celebrate Independence Day.  What a shame he was not able to celebrate his own independence here for longer.

As my walk nears its end I find myself looking at another beautiful larger than life figure sitting on a bench with an open book in hand and yet another top hat.  A duckling at his feet wistfully looking up for hope and inspiration ………… Hans Christian Anderson.  I honestly could not make this up!

It’s a fairy-tale storytelling area where every Saturday someone comes and reads to an assembled throne of children.  Tales of our childhood:- Thumbalina – the Red Shoes – The Princess – The Tinderbox – The Snow Queen – The Little Tin Solider – The Emporers Clothes and everyone favourite happy ending story – The Ugly Duckling.  What a great job for grannies and granddads.  I’d love to do it myself – all these eager and excited listeners.

I hope I succeeded in getting some of that children’s wonderment across to my staff when I was working with so many interesting older people.  There is a world of living history in the lifetime stories of elderly people which would intrigue the young of today.

So come on Westminster City Council, maybe Hyde Park could become a living history experience with older people sharing their experiences with London’s children.

Wouldn’t that be better than 6 exercise bikes ?  Children and older people playing together ? 

 

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Cleanliness is next to Godliness – Follow up to “No Gumption”

6.45 am – looking out of my sixth floor window of the Carlyle Hotel on Madison Avenue in New York – still not yet adjusted to American time.  The city is just waking up.  A few taxis racing by but no people walking, which is why one elderly man has all the time in the world to jet wash the pavement.  Like most little boys I love playing with water, especially with a hose.

An elderly man looks like he is taking great pride in cleaning the pavement outside of a hotel restaurant where shortly tables and chairs will be laid out for a business breakfast on the side street.

Yesterday I saw another younger man walking the same street pushing a bin on wheels and emptying all the static bins at every street corner.  In spite of 9/11, in the city that lost 3,000 people in the collapse of the Twin Towers, they still have rubbish bins everywhere, which is one reason why New York feels cleaner than London.  Observing the street cleaning from my privileged lofty perch, I can see he is taking real care with dust pan and brush to collect up every cigarette end and all the discarded scraps of paper.  A much more effective job than the privatised street cleaning lorry with its battery of rotating brushes that occasionally attempts to clean just one foot of the roadside kerb around most UK streets.

Now come the “professional” window cleaners pulling up in their white van, roof adorned with every type of lightweight steps, telescopic ladders and even sections of tower scaffolding.  As well as 57 varieties of brush, squeegee mop and extending pole.  The two specialists emerge from the van with rags and sponges hanging from every pocket.  Aerosols attached to their belts like six guns and knee pads.  They look like skateboarding scarecrow cowboys, ready for a showdown at the shop front window.

No George Formbys here.  No time for cheeky eyes to peer at ladies through the glass panes.  It’s all over in a few seconds – if you know what I mean.  Quicker than you can say “draw”.  Showdown on Madison Avenue.

Makes me think back to another holiday – 40 years ago cycling on the English South Coast with 3 school friends.  All the way from South Wales via the Aust Ferry across the River Severn – no bikes strapped on the roof of cars in those days.  When we arrived at the seaside town of Lyme Regis, we were fascinated to see the rubbish collection cart with a team of bin men all wearing top hats.  I am sure I didn’t imagine it.

So what’s this all about?  To suggest that old people are consigned to cleaning the streets would hardly be greeted with enthusiasm even if they were paid a minimum wage for doing it.  Neither would it be very politically correct to require all the young graffiti artists, chewing gum chewers, street corner hoodies, long term unemployed and petty criminals on community service to wear high visibility clothing and spend 8 hours of every day very publicly spring cleaning our towns and cities.

There is the germ of good idea in there somewhere; if only we stopped long enough to think it through and extract the good things:-

Pride in doing a good job

Giving back something positive to society

Flexible hours working

? a tax free paid service to the Community

The old and the young working together

A pristine Britain in Bloom.  The flowers are the next step.

 

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Walking the Dog

At 7am in New York, the street walkers come out – not the late night variety.

First are the power walkers – trainers, shorts and one, two or three unwashed, unpressed, faded, baggy tee-shirts.  Bottle of water in hand, rushing to nowhere in particular.

Next come the dog walkers.  Most being dragged along by over eager pets with sleepy reluctantly-exercising owners.  The dogs’ path dictated by the next corner.  Rest breaks determined by the location of the next lamp-post.  Then there is the sudden pull on the lead and a head long diversive rush in the arbitrary direction of a new foe or little friend passing by.

Dapper little dogs trotting like a horse in a dressage event hoping to be awarded a rosette by a Cruft’s judge who happens to be traveling the same path.  An elegant grey Weimarinar evenly paced, oblivious to its owner and everyone else but aware that it’s being admired.  Then come 5 dogs – 5 leads all attached to one owner who appears to have left behind his sledge.  It’s only a matter of time before he his hung, drawn and quartered!

The next early morning group are the delivery men.  Their truck awkwardly parked further up the street than they would like.  Out of the back doors comes their two wheeled trolley on to which they proceed to load box after box after box after box.  Finally they add an extra bag just so that they won’t be able to see where they are going. That’s not necessary because they assume as important delivery people they have an automatic right of way on all roads and pavements.  Approaching cars have to stop suddenly and pedestrians are expected to scatter.  No time for pleasantries – there is a job to be done and the next delivery to be rushed to like a white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland – no time to say hello – goodye – I’m late, I’m late, I’m late.

Finally in this early morning pre-rush hour come the office receptionists and other early impress-the-boss starters.  Coffee in one hand, latest mobile telephone in the other ringing up all the friends they can think of to tell them they are already on their way to work.  Knapsack on their back but no time for wandering – they are always in a hurry.

If they all started out 10 minutes earlier, they would have time to say “good morning” and city life would be less frenetic.

Maybe we should have elderly people on street corners as “meeters” and “greeters” just to start everyone’s day off with a smile; an army of lollipop ladies and gentlemen ?

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Icebergs don’t have ears!

Travelling across the Atlantic to New York on the Queen Mary 2– a voyage to a new life of retirement.  Following in the long lost wake of the Titanic, and shortly to pass over her last resting place.

It’s been foggy all day yesterday and all night, and still there is no visibility as the dawn breaks on today.  The passengers on board never can see where they are going, they just have to have blind faith in the Captain, his crew and technology!

To older people who grew up without it, whenever is technology reassuring ?     

If we can see in the dark with it, why does the fog horn have to be sounded relentlessly day and night every two minutes  ?                                                                                                                                       

What’s out there in our way?

Why did I watch all those old films?  You would not call a film about Titanic “A Night to Remember” if you were on a ship crossing the Atlantic.

In this day and age, surely all other ships have radar and can see us coming and will get out of the way.

As I look out of the cabin window, I can see the lifeboats – but that’s not very reassuring.

If in spite of all the technology we still need fog horns for ships at sea, maybe we should go back to having men with red flags walking in front of cars to avoid accidents on the roads?

THE FOG HORN IS STILL SOUNDING BUT ICEBERGS DON’T HAVE EARS DO THEY ?

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Cast Adrift

On board with 2000 others in the luxury of Queen Mary 2.  Endless free, excellent food served by the politest of waiters.  Indeed the service for everything is first class.

The average age of the passengers must be at least 70, probably more.  They are probably the only age group who can afford the time and cost of traveling in this leisurely way; an up market seafaring Billy Butlin.  Complete with afternoon entertainment – quizzes, ballroom dancing, films, bridge, tutored classes in water colour painting and lectures in everything from jewelery to the history of the warfare state.

Thousands of retirees are paying thousands of pounds for this aimless cruising lifestyle.  A rootless self-indulgence or just reward for a life well spent.  Spending the kids’ inheritance or just cast adrift frittering it away.  Surely there is more to later life than turning in on oneself.  What were all those years of gathering the experiences of success and failure, if not to pass on that learning, so that those who follow can gain and go further.

Maybe all these grannies and granddads could be given a complementary grandchild to accompany them on their world travels so that both generations could return home the richer for having shared their experience of past lives and new ventures.

Really, this is not about cruising or spending our pension savings, nor does it require travel.  The opportunity for the young to learn from the old, and for the elderly to pass on their lifetime of lessons sits on our doorstep every day, waiting to be taken up.

Can anybody add to this idea of grandparents and children working together ?

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American Tea Party

After throwing a shipfull of tea into the harbour at Boston, it’s perhaps not surprising that the Americans can’t make tea.  Maybe in a country renowned for good service, it’s more a statement of their independence from a very British tradition.

Otherwise by now several hundred years after that rebellious act they would have learned that:

A tea bag, a pot of tepid water and a jug of milk doesn’t constitute a cup of tea.

Nor do British people expect to make their own tea – surely that is an integral part of the service.

The first step to making a cup of tea is to pour the milk in the cup.  So it’s annoying when the next step is to pour the tea from the teapot into the teacup only to find the teapot only contains hot water and no tea!

Too late now to add the tea bag into the cup of luke warm milky water.  So start again!

With luck you have enough water left in the teapot to put in the teabag.  Now let it “mash” for a while.  Meanwhile try explaining to a bemused waiter what “mash” means.  (Or “steep” or “brew” or “stew”).

        A few other footnotes:-

        – A coffee cup is too small for tea.

        – Hot milk is for coffee not tea.

        – And lemon is for gin & tonic.

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No Gumption

Westminster City Council, presumably in a quiet moment when there was nothing more important to do, worked out that it costs £100,000 to remove chewing gum from their streets each year; 10p a time apparently.  A deep clean would cost around £9m – quite a good investment in these times of austerity don’t you think?

Maybe they should appoint some Gum Wardens to patrol the streets and catch the offenders and then get them to clean up their mess.

SAGA Magazine with the aid of their “popular panel” attempted to turn this information into a more strategic policy.  Over 80% of their respondents supported a gum levy.  Someone then worked out that a 1p tax per piece of gum would raise £10m.  A larger tax of 10p would raise £100m.

I guess that means a £1 levy would raise £1 billion; now we are on our way to solving the debt crisis.  Alex Ferguson eat your heart out – we are on to you.

The Wrigley Company commissioned their own research into this idea and (surprise, surprise) found that more people would be likely to drop their gum if they were taxed on paying for the clean up.  Looks like we are all coming to a sticky end.

How many more things that we don’t like could we tax to solve the credit crunch ?

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Take the money or open the box

James Dyson must have been a fan of the old TV quiz game “Take your Pick”.  We bought one of his acclaimed cyclone vacuum cleaners today but did not realise that unwrapping the box the vacuum cleaner came in would be such a challenge.

Step 1      Instructions on how to open the box are on top of the box.  First instruction, lay the box on its side.  Now I can’t see the instructions any more.

Step 2.     Flip the lid – no mention of the crow bar required.

Step 3.     Lift the monster out of the box – be sure your lifting certificate is up to date.

Step 4.     Carefully dispose of the unnecessary polythene bag inside the box – it’s a danger to babies and children – it says so in English / French / German / Italian / Spanish / Chinese.  If it’s that dangerous, why use it?       And certainly don’t speak any other language.

Step 5.     The user guide – also in polythene with a warning in even more languages – some unsuspecting Russian must have put their head in this one.

The good news is the guide is only 10 pages long – the bad news is that the writing is so small you need a microscope to read the instructions.  Nice pictures though.

At this stage I still have not got our new toy off the floor!  It won’t stand up.      Ah! Remove the polystyrene      and some purple bits in a bag with another warning that I will look at later.

Still on step 5!  The user guide page 2, assembly instructions.  Yippee.      First, close the wand cap cover – what’s the wand cap?      I should have read page 1 – it’s a list of all the goodies in the box – wand cap / cable winder / cyclone release catch / shroud (worrying) / sole plate (no fish included) / airway inspection u-bend (must be something to do with those plastic bags).  It’s a pity the small print stopped me getting the Degree in Engineering I am going to need to operate this supersonic thing.

GSDYSONCLR (5)

Back to step 5!  Slide the hose into the runners – what hose?  Must be the one still in the bottom of the box.  Oh! and there is the wand.       No Paul Daniels included!  The wand has extra cardboard wrapping complete with impossible to undo cellotape.      Careful with the scissors (also not included).  Perhaps they should have used magic tape around the wand.  Surprise, surprise, attached to the wand (with a plastic tie that needs the scissors again     ) is a QUICK START booklet.

Two hours ago this would have been very useful – no words, just pictures of how to assemble the beast in 3 EASY CLICKS.

What a pity they were packed in the bottom of the box.

Next time Mr Dyson “I will take the money”.  Now I’ll get rid of all the packaging, have a cup of tea and maybe then and will feel up to opening the purple bits in the plastic bags.

And finally, maybe when I get to bed, I will have time to read the little book given away free with every purchase “The Story of Dyson” – the man who likes to make things work better!

p.s.  If you still need help, ring the Dyson Customer Helpline – the number is on the back page of the user guide.  Just find your magnifying glass first!

 

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“Tensions between generations?”

An insightful and inciting article in The Times by economics correspondent Anatoly Kaletsky poses a challenging question for us all in the years ahead.  He rightly points out that the current difficult economic crisis is nothing compared to the full cost we will all eventually have to pay for the under-funded pensioners and longer lives of the Baby Boomer generation. 

It’s an extended view of the future economic outlook which few people have seriously contemplated.  Kaletsky suggests that this will lead to significant conflict between generations of the old and the young, while society struggles to fund the dramatically increased cost of health care for the elderly at the expense of paying for education for the young.

If the figures quoted in the article are correct, the future cost of providing for our ageing population will be six times the amount which has been spent bailing the banks out of the recent credit crunch.

It is at this point that the very good economic analysis starts to deteriorate into more provocative and divisive solutions.  Kaletsky’s suggested “rational solution” (an echo of the ‘final solution’) is for Government to cut back on pensions, healthcare and long-term care.

I would agree that the Government’s resources need to be focused on only supporting those in greatest need, which means that those people who have saved and bought their own homes will need to cash them in to pay for their own future healthcare.  Kaletsky’s proposition is that the Baby Boomer generation, who have had a feather-bedded life so far will not do this voluntarily.  In a later life demonstration of grey power, they will vote for self-interest at the expense of the younger generation. 

What I think he is overlooking is that the younger generation are the children and grand-children of the Baby Boomers.  I believe these family ties still bind the generations together, especially in adversity.

Panicked by the enormity of the funding problem ahead, certainly our politicians have failed us so far by burying their heads in the sand rather than facing the task. 

Lack of leadership on this issue could mean the “glass half empty” conclusions of Kaletsky’s article could become reality:-

Tensions between young and old in terms of tax and spending.

        A crystallised view of the elderly as a burden on society.

        Ever more rationed health and social care services.

Life prolonging drugs and treatments denied as an NHS free service.  (This has already started).

Retirement age being extended to 70 and beyond.

The right to vote being denied to old people over the age of 75.  (Kaletsky’s suggestion).

And unspoken:-

Widespread assisted suicide encouraged with free bus passes to Swiss clinics.

Or just continue with the current system which already includes social isolation and neglect.

Fortunately there is a “glass half full” happier alternative we could follow which has a less cynical view of Baby Boomers:-

They could release the unearned equity in their houses to buy themselves new life styles in later life.

More active and socially involved lives could lead to healthier lifestyles and lower demand on health services.

Older people would be seen to be socially valuable if there were more organized ways for them to give back to society.

The Government could pay higher state pensions to those who complete two years of part-time voluntary service.

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