A good craic

Off to Dublin last week!  My partner this time was young Richie from the Development Office whom Julian had let off the leash for once (fortunately, he's not a sheepdog).

Our event was held at the Gresham hotel on O’Connell Street, and very nice it was too, and by 7.30pm it was well served with Aber Alumni. Everyone who said they were coming turned up, even some people that didn’t tell us they were coming came along. The more the merrier I say!

Many of the guests were telling me that they had taken distance learning courses which means that while they were students they would have had the pleasure of studying in Aber for a week or two during the summer. Lucky them!

This was the first time we’d held a reunion in Dublin: our Irish cousins certainly seemed pleased to see us and the car stickers and fridge magnets went down a storm. The venue was great, the conversation was lively, songs were sung and a certain amount of wine was drunk. I didn’t get to bed until after midnight, having I managed to stay up through shear determination!

To be contin-ewed…....

The Mighty Finn

When Julian told me to pack my bags and accompany Louise to the international librarians’ conference 2012, I nearly skipped around the field!  All those dozens of Aber librarians from all around the world gathered in one place – how could I resist?  I’m sure you already know that Aber librarians are to be found in most of the world’s greatest libraries, so you can understand that I was keen to meet them.
Travelling with Louise is a different experience to my usual squash into Julian’s luggage – this time I had the luxury of a spacious handbag, although I didn’t look too closely at some of the other stuff in there.   Helsinki is a beautiful city combining historic traditional quayside buildings with a modern city centre, a tram system and wide open streets, which I was told was so that the snow could be ploughed to the sides in winter.  However, there was unlimited sunshine for our Aber librarians in August, unlike at home where Wales had unlimited rain. 

Locals were very friendly and helpful to Louise (poor thing can only speak English, no Welsh or Finnish at all) and managed not to laugh too obviously when she could find the hotel but not the entrance to it and had to ask a barman for directions.  I was slightly disappointed that she didn’t manage to find a nice little meadow for me, but there were some tasty little parks and hidden gardens between the buildings for quiet snacking.

During the conference I held a bit of a party for our alumni and was delighted to find not only librarians but also a couple of international politics alumni had come along.  Rebecca Davies, Pro Vice-Chancellor and a librarian too, gave an update on Aber and we had some amazing Finnish nibbles.  My favourite were green, sugar coated apple flavoured jellies.  I was hoping for grass flavour when I saw them, but apple’s nearly as good.

It was only a couple of days, but I was exhausted with chatting to all those bookish types (and not a dusty tome in sight; they’re well ahead of the game with digital archives and all sorts of electronic data-keeping) so I slept all the way back in the handbag ready for the next stop on the list. 

Look out Dublin, here I come!

Bloomberg tones it down?

Having survived the nail-biting purgatory of flying in an aircraft only wide enough for three seats and a gangway, we deplaned at JFK Airport and headed for our hotel in downtown New York. Why we “deplaned” rather than just “got off” was never explained.

New York has never been one of Julian’s favourite cities since he is a naturally unsociable animal who is easily frightened by loud noises. Thus, the huge throngs of people and the requirement of all drivers of automobiles, vans, pick-up trucks and lorries in Manhattan to beep their horns at regular intervals combined to keep his nerves on edge. Or at least that used to be the case. I don’t know whether there has been an edict from Mayor Bloomberg restricting the honking, but it was definitely a quieter visit than heretofore.

 Unchanged, however, was the level of knowledge and comprehension of the local taxi drivers. Having tried unsuccessfully to get “Water Street and Wall Street” across to the cabbie eight times, Julian finally put the address into his iPhone and leaned through the small Perspex window into the driver’s seat and showed him.

 New York hotels are usually either somewhat tatty or only affordable if you can live off the interest on your interest. For once, a happy medium was found in the bijoux hotel in the financial district that the ever-reliable Hotwire.com managed to come up with. True, a swinging cat would have a sore head if visiting, but everything was new, clean and, more importantly, worked. The hotel was just over the road from Pier 17 where the tall ships are moored and we were therefore able to have a very pleasant wander down the riverfront.

The next day was a different matter. Julian was in Midtown for a breakfast meeting and for the next fourteen hours was walking up and down from 39th to 46th streets seeing alumnus after alumnus prior to the event which, this year, was held at the Penn Club – thanks to the kind sponsorship by member Max Goodwin. Having had previous contact with the Welsh Government’s team in the US, not only were we very well served with Aber alumni, but also various luminaries of the Welsh ex-pat community were kind enough to attend. The venue was excellent , the conversation animated and the Vice-Chancellor’s message went down very well indeed. The only fly in the cowpat was a period during which, having been knocked onto the floor behind the entrance table, I was completely stranded and ignored. Hardly a dignified moment but I suppose, for once, I wasn't the guest of honour so it was slightly more understandable.

And then it was back to JFK for the red-eye home.  It is always a great deal easier to get out of the USA than it is to get in, so the queues were short, the grilling by officials non-existent, and Julian ignored the rules on livestock yet again by sticking me into his sock-bag.  I'm off to cooler climes shortly, and without Julian (for which relief much thanks).  Look out for my next blog from Helsinki!

 

The case of the missing shower gel

America is a truly wonderful place.  As we flew into Washington DC I was, as usual, flabbergasted by the range of services and utilities available to the discerning and not-so-discerning consumer.   In a society which has taken the Victorian concept of entrepreneurism to unimaginable heights, business opportunities for manufacturing and/or services to make one’s life easier abound.  If one wanted to set up a booth in an airport wherein one could have one’s nose-hairs trimmed before that all-important business meeting, they would make a space available.  One almost gets the feeling that anything that happens which irritates is not seen as an annoyance but as an opportunity to invent something to ensure that whatever it was doesn’t happen to anyone else.
Upon arrival at our hotel, therefore, and checking into our room, I was suddenly struck by something which, in Houston, I had presumed to be a local foible but which turns out to be endemic to the country:  no shower gel.  Compared to the usual Holiday Inn Express on the M4 corridor near Slough, of course, the bathroom is the very lap of luxury and conspicuous consumption.  There are shoe-cleaning kits, cotton buds, sewing kits, mouthwash, numerous sizes of bars of soap, body lotion, hand lotion, eyewash, exfoliants and make-up remover.  But no shower gel. 

Is there a reason for this?  Was a laboratory mouse washed for sixty days continually with shower gel and then developed a tumour leading to the immediate Federal banning of the product?  Is shower gel the property of a cartel that has overpriced the licence to manufacture?  Given that Americans shower more than the rest of the world put together, what can explain this absence of the most important invention since the espresso machine?
Perhaps more importantly, is this an opportunity which the US business school professors have missed?  Should the School of Management & Business at Aber be fast-tracking a new course in liquid soap manufacturing?  If someone does crack this market, does this blog serve as a patent-pending on the idea?

But I digress ... as usual.  Far more important than chasing a bar of soap round the shower cubicle (as I don’t have fingers this is more difficult than might first appear) was the arrival in DC of the Vice Chancellor, Prof April McMahon.  Given the circumstances – two powerful women sharing the same stage – we got on famously.   An eminent linguistics professor, April learnt Welsh in the three months between her appointment and arrival and we were able to natter away to each other without Julian, a fey Saesneg who has enough trouble making himself understood in English, being able to follow the conversation.

Our alumni event took place at the offices of the Promontory Group in central Washington, thanks once again to the generosity of Debra Cope.  The assembled throng hung on every word of the VC in DC as she spoke about the changes taking place at Aber and, most excitingly, of the plans for the future of Old College.   As so often happens, the event overran by nearly an hour and only the arrival of security and the imminent threat of overtime for the cleaning staff brought the evening to a close.

Now it’s off to the Big Apple.  The VC and her team have an impossible schedule as they visit current and potential institutional partners all over the north-east as well as attend our alumni events.  In comparison, we have it easy as all of Julian’s meetings are in the major conurbations.  The downside is that the tiny commuter aircraft flying between DC and NYC (think: flying pencil) always give me the heebie-jeebies. 

Don't mess with Texas

What, you may well ask, does the title of this latest installment of the ongoing saga of my wanderings mean? That's what Julian, my malodorous companion on my current trip to the US, asked himself as well. The phrase adorns roadside hoardings, bumper stickers, t-shirts and even a pack of playing cards in the hotel gift shop.

Since the petite and enormously polite young girl in the local coffee shop seemed unintimidating, and was therefore unlikely to pull out a .357 Magnum and blow a hole in him, Julian decided to bite the bullet, so to speak, and ask her. "Oh," she said, "I'm sure I don't know. Isn't it something about litter control?" The Texas oilman in the hotel bar was unequivocal: "It's telling them *#^%#* in Washington to keep their cotton-pickin' hands of our inalienable and constitutional rights," he boomed. "We don't want them thar carpetbaggin' sunzovbitches telling' us God-fearin' Texicans how to run our business." Julian and I were none the wiser.

The litter theory seemed to be the official version, but there is the secondary libertarian undertone which makes it witty and which can frighten the fleece off of a pacifist sheep. At the end of the day we just couldn't imagine the Holiday Inn in Slough having a pack of cards in their lobby with the phrase "Keep Britain Tidy" emblazoned upon it.

Lest there be any misapprehension that we are not feeling right at home in Houston, this is one of the most welcoming of American cities and everyone is continually wishing us a pleasant next twenty-four hours. More importantly, this is the home of the original and much-beloved FOB (the Feisty Old Broad) - Jane Stilley. Jane is the nicest lady in Texas, and also one of my biggest fans (she puts up with Julian and even pretends she likes him but it is only me she really bonds with). She organised the truly memorable reunion we held at the Rainbow Lodge in Houston and both collected us and returned us to our hotel. What a girl!

The reunion/gathering was a huge success, with old friends and new coming together and, despite having to listen to Julian pontificate about strategic plans and new initiatives, everyone seemed to enjoy themselves immensely. Now it's off to College Station, the home to Texas A&M University, and a chance for Julian to get very depressed about the resources his opposite number at this most successful of Texan universities has at his disposal to keep their alumni happy. I have pointed out that the Aggies, as they are called, don't have a sheep like me, but he merely retorts that we don't have 85,000 alumni coming to every home match to watch the 1st XV stuff Bangor. There's no pleasing some people.

It ain't half hot, Mum

Gawd it's hot in 'ere.  I gather in Aber its about 40 degrees at the moment.  So it is in Perth, merely with a different temperature measuring system, or so Julian says.  He has tried to explain to me the difference between Fahrenheit and Centigrade, or is it Celsius, or does it matter if they are the same ... except Fahrenheit isn't the same, or so I'm told.  Anyway, I'm roast lamb and you lot in Wales are cold as mutton, I gather.

Anyway, it's off to the University Club of Western Australia (calling another university UWA is bound to cause loads of problems even though we are desperately trying to get everyone to call us Aberystwyth University these days and still finding embarrassing examples of our not having updated some of our signs and documents yet) where the facilities are wonderful, the beer cold, and the welcome predictably warm.  John Watts was our saviour for the evening, having sorted out the venue and helped us navigate some of the interesting bureaucracy.  He was joined by stalwart supporters Don and Anne Boyer, not to mention Roger Dean and Michael Hession - to name but two.  There were lots of newcomers too and even a lost sheep (a somewhat inappropriate metaphor I would suggest) who turned up out of the blue and much appreciated for all that (Good on yer, Stefan).

Of course, being Perth, 90% of those present were Geologists.  Now, I need to digress briefly:  Western Australia is undergoing a natural resources boom with massive labour shortages and ridiculous amounts of money being available for anyone from kitchen helpers via truck drivers to petrochemists willing to be flown into the outback to help dig up anything that doesn't move on a two week on, two week off, basis.  Cue the geologists, aka Gods in their own lunchtimes.  If they say dig in a place, it gets dug.

Imagine the incredulity, therefore, when we found a geologist within the room who was working for a bank!  In any event, Julian was saved from lynching as the representative of the place that had merged its geology department with the hated geographers for the second year running (thanks to some nifty footwork and a hatload of blarney) and the evening rolled on very pleasantly indeed.  Again, Anne Boyer held me for the photograph as last year and was just as respectful as before.  Julian got sunburnt, the friends that put him up wished he had gone to the hotel, and his hosts small hairy dog was looking at me with a mixture of hunger and lust which I am now glad to be away from.

Now just the final venue of this trip - Dubai.  It's been a year - I wonder if we'll recognise the skyline?

If we hold it, they will come

Sydney is a slightly odd place, primarily because people live, work and visit here for so many and various reasons.  Australia generally tries hard not to have class distinctions (with varying degrees of success) and their city centres did not grow up over hundreds of years like in Blighty.  Thus, pinstripes vie with flip flops as the dress code, and major company office blocks are often right next door to a backpackers' hostel.  For a sheep, it is a cosmopolitan wonderland of differing cultures, costumes, attitudes and behaviour.

Our venue for the evening, a wonderful little "boutique" beer temple called the Redoak, played host to a similarly varied group of Aberites, young and old, old hands and recent arrivals, academics and commercial types.  More importantly, we tripled the attendance from just a year ago.  If we hold it, they will come indeed.

We were particularly honoured to have Richard Morris as our guest, the Consul General for New South Wales and the Director General of UK Trade and Investment in Australasia.  Refreshingly, he would rather for the evening just be a fellow Aber grad and was treated as such, and a great companion he proved to be.  Roger Donbavand, a member of Aber's Development Advisory Board had but recently arrived in Australia, and Simon Ashley was, as ever, our most genial of hosts.  He also took Julian for a "nightcap" afterwards, but wiser counsel prevailed for once and my intrepid companion was tucked up in bed in time for a modicum of sleep before the early departure to the airport for the flight to Perth.

I had been treated to a suitably respectful audience with Richard during the afternoon at the British Consulate where the view over Sydney Harbour was truly breathtaking.  Not as good as the view from Consti, you understand, but close!