The chaplaincy of Chortles-upon-Whereitsat

Cameras at the ready

On many occasions, I find myself taking funny orders, inconspicuously traipsing the streets of Manchester, and accosted by some who commend my sartorial taste to the extent of being asked to be photographed.

I was in a conversation on my phone at St Peter’s Square when a man decked out in full Rastafari garb, lots of Jamaican colours from head to toe came into my purview and as I remonstrated that I was otherwise engaged, with hand signals and gestures, I obliged a picture. Then he sat beside me while his partner snapped away, then he gave a wave and left.

Dressing up is an art

On a Sunday afternoon, I could acknowledge five variations of dapper or looking good from the hat to the whole ensemble, it is like I cannot dress down. Interestingly, if I do have to visit an office, in my life of work where I have had many suits, shirts and ties, I would rather wear them than leave them to feed moths.

For all the easing of formalities, having once worked in the city, the business capital of the United Kingdom, I am quite a reminder of a bygone age, with a bowler hat too for the cold and frigid winter days.

A chaplaincy I assume

This evening, I was at church for the valedictory service in honour of the outgoing Archdeacon of Rochdale, it was a well-attended event with all the trappings of Anglican traditions and all the extant clergy of the diocese and beyond. Quite a fine service before a small reception of hot beverages and cake.

As I was making my way to the table to be served, I was approached by a parson who I had met before at another event, he came with the familiarity of a bear hug, before he began to discuss clerical opportunities in the diocese, I guess I was being confused with someone else. I however could not reject such due consideration for the chaplaincy of Chortles-upon-Whereitsat.

A chortle we did have when I suggested, I could consider taking holy orders, as for where and when, I would have been expected to wear a dog collar for the event rather than a day cravat, or had I inadvertently converted one into the other? A conversation about doppelgangers ensued, they look nothing like me, and an unfortunate case of prosopagnosia becomes more humorous than to be maligned.

South Africa: From Sandton to Melrose Arch through Sandton

In any case

There is a more important blog I wanted to write that I have been ruminating over for days already and have not been able to write the first word of a sentence, yet it is working and forming in my mind as it is not ready to be birthed and given the light of expression.

On a lighter note, however, I hailed an Uber ride from my hotel to Melrose Arch, the driver decided to take the back roads through Sandton and it was quite revealing.

I would have loved to take pictures, but this might have been considered a security risk and probably endangered my life before I was given the opportunity to explain my interest.

Prisons of defence

Whilst I find the security at my hotel a bit superfluous and cumbersome because it requires all drivers of vehicles into the grounds sign in apart from the fact that gates are manned and have barriers, what obtains in residential Sandton is quite enhanced.

Literally all compounds have high walls topped with barbed wire fenced that I believe is also electrified. To my English mind, the affluent literally lived in the equivalent of prisons, if not fearful, at least, concerned about the world beyond their walls that is violent and so far removed from wealth and access to opportunity.

The walls themselves are architectural pieces and there are some notices that suggest that there are armed response units ready to tackle any trespassers.

Overwrought oasis

On arriving at this apparently exciting Melrose Arch that exudes affluence so alien to the generality of South Africa served by many from the townships spruced up to slave in genuflection to the presumably sophisticated or nouveau riche, it looked very much like an oasis in a vast desert, the appearance of Melrose Arch from the motorway read true in reality.

I first stopped at Sunglass Hut where I asked for lens cleaners having forgotten to pack any for my journey and the store assistant quickly offered a luxury case with a refillable spray cleaner, a washable ‘Microfiber’ cloth and a jeweller’s screwdriver. Meanwhile, he offered to clean my glasses.

When it came to paying for the goods, he could not operate the till, and after fumbling for minutes, he called his boss who was out of the shop on some business and he immediately appeared to sort things out. Why Sunglass Hut needs to have a mobile phone number to conclude a transaction escapes me, and if not because I felt a bit amenable since I was paying cash, I would not have parted with any information about me.

Cavalier cravats and more

My view was almost coloured by this experience until I was accosted further on by some affable gentlemen who looked rather dandier than I was. They run the Cavalier gentlemen’s fitters shop where for once they seemed to have everything that exuded class, taste and sophistication.

They had seen me walk by and came out to compliment my dressing and even averred that they have never seen someone as smartly dressed as I come by their shop before. They had me when they said they also had day cravats. This considering that last time I asked for cravats in Sandton, I was presented with a Velcro-fastened bib. The horror.

The variety of colours and quality of the stuff, I could not resist, yet I restrained myself, I left with two beautiful cravats, and to their recommendation of getting matching pocket squares, I intimated them of the fashion faux pas of matching pocket squares to ties, it should never be done.

Yet, I did like the way they wore their pocket squares, much like a blooming origami rose, I should have asked to be shown how to do that. I might well be inclined to have a bespoke Savile Row suit made for South African prices made for me. We’ll see.

After shopping at Woolworths a brand that looks a bit classy in South Africa though long since extinct in the UK and probably never really related to the one that once rules the shopping precincts of the UK, I hail an Uber ride back to my hotel having learnt again of the great disparities that ail South Africa.

Postscript: I have since learnt Woolworths of South Africa is modelled after Marks and Spencer of the UK and has never been related to the old Woolworth’s brand in the UK.

Travel: Denuded by cravat

A principle to keep

I always wish I have nothing to complain about when I am travelling. I appreciate the fact that my standards for travel can be exacting, this is because if leaving my home will not be more comfortable than my being at home, I have no business leaving home.

Once people understand that basic requirement, it is the end of all disputes. Now, my journey to Johannesburg is as circuitous as you can get travelling from Manchester.

Loyalty pays

Manchester is hardly a hub, and whilst budget airlines and charter flights can do point-to-point connections, if you are to travel by scheduled commercial flights, you will probably have to transit through London Heathrow if you are flying the Oneworld fleet that includes British Airways, through Frankfurt on the Star Alliance fleet which includes Lufthansa or either Paris or Amsterdam for the SkyTeam fleet which includes AirFrance or KLM.

My preference is for the SkyTeam because I have a longstanding loyalty scheme with them having lived in the Netherlands and really compared to other fleets, they appear to be much more affordable.

Besides, I believe in loyalty schemes for travel purposes, sticking with SkyTeam meant I had enough miles to fly to India in 2011 and when it comes to hotels, I now use Hotels.com for all my accommodation needs. In the past two years, I have had 5 free nights in various hotels, just keeping with one scheme rather than shopping around for cheap deals and consequently building no custom that could be nicely rewarded.

Stripped of my dignified appearance

However, on getting to Amsterdam after the first leg of my three-leg trip to Johannesburg, the transfer to my Amsterdam–Paris leg required going through passport control and security checks again.

I emptied my pockets, took off my watch, laid out my laptops and took my jacket and hat off, as we all do with the music-less striptease that has become the standard airport passenger routine.

That indignity is hard enough until the security personnel asked that I also take off my cravat. Take of my cravat? Well, the uncultured Philistine called it a scarf. It made me wonder if they were also required to take off their ties when navigating security.

In my 20 or so years of passing through Amsterdam Schiphol Airport, I have never ever been as publicly denuded as I did experience this evening, I was beyond exasperated in disbelief.

So there

I will not want to go into the mind of whoever or whatever informed this new security requirement. I obliged, throwing up my hands in perplexity and collected my things after they had been scanned.

I retired to the lounge licking my wounds, the thought that sanctity of high culture could be so contemned is a reflection of the world we now live in.

There is another 15 hours of travel to go.

Holiday Snaps: Cravats and Carbonara

Las Palmas again

No holiday to Gran Canaria is complete without a visit to Las Palmas de Gran Canaria the capital city. The bus ride from Playa del Inglés is about 45 minutes and the bus was running late this morning.

As usual, there is always something I want to get from El Corte Inglés, the upscale department store and the day is closed with a meal at the El Muelle shopping mall.

El Corte Inglés is no easy store to navigate when looking for something particular and though it is well staffed very few speak English.

Caveat cravat

I went looking for an Ascot cravat, the silk ones I have are not sturdy enough, they crumple and deform easily, I got one made of sterner stuff in July so I thought I would get a few more today.

I basically made the rounds of menswear area about 3 times before I asked for help but none of the men fully understood what I wanted, there were thousands of ties but no cravats in sight.

In the end, I went on the Internet with my phone and got an image of an Ascot cravat, showed it to one of the stewards and I was taken to the tie section where the cravats are ready-made to be worn like stick-on ties – now I might wear a ready-made bow-tie because I have not learnt how to tie one properly but definitely not an Ascot cravat.

Besides, these were supposed to be worn on the collar when what I want was to be worn on the neck beneath the collar.

I decided to look around that section and just close to the scarves on that big store of 6 floors on both sides of the road there were probably 12 Ascot cravats out of which I selected two satisfied that I had found what I was looking for.

Piping cold and too off for eating

For lunch, I made for Ginos, an Italian restaurant on the 3^rd floor of El Muelle, I had been there twice before, their entrees are just too big to allow for the plat principal to go down well, so I ordered a main course with drinks.

Spaghetti Carbonara, surely, that should be one of the easiest pasta dishes to make, I was served within 10 minutes. I settled to it but something was wrong, it was lukewarm and it had just come from the kitchen.

I told the waiter, he took it away and brought it back a few minutes later, it was not steaming, there was hardly any heat radiation. I’ll be damned if I sent the dish back for me to receive the meal as ashes.

I asked for my bill and I was presented with the full cost which did not matter to me, I could not be bothered with making a fuss, I was too hungry for an argument to ensue, I paid but the manager got involved and I was given change with no charge for the pasta dish.

That became my first complaint in 2011 and it was really unnecessary, Ginos will not see my shadow again, if I could help it – that was a complete let down.