A week in the North

It's funny how culture shock hits you when you are least expecting it, but I guess the hint should be in the "shock" part of the phrase…

If I believed in signs, I should've had an inkling from the mornings attempt at bomb defusal at Kings Cross.  Well not really, but it certainly felt like it as when I typed in my ticket reference code and it didn't work.  Starting a count down of 15 mins to try and sort it out and get on the train.  I must've looked rather odd camped on the floor with my bag open trying to connect both of my laptops to my iphone hotspot, in a desperate attempt to find the reference code somewhere in my work mail.  I'm sad to say had it been a real bomb defusal I would've been blown up.

On the other end, half an hour later than expected, I got into a taxi at Leeds train station.  Hoping the distinct odour of booze and cigarettes was due to the previous occupant and not the driver, I tried to start up a conversation.  From my previous experience up north I've always found the people to be very friendly and talkative. One supermarket attendant once exclaimed over my purchase of wasabi peas,  "What are these?",  "Oh are they any good?", another told me about his weekly martial arts class.  However this driver didn't seem in the mood to partake. At first I thought he was finding it hard to hear me due to the large plastic "driver protection" barrier surrounding his seat,  but I discovered, when I had to ask for the receipt 5 times, the problem was more that he didn't understand my antipodean version of English!

Walking into Morrisons was my next shock.  Happy to find that, although the office was in the middle of nowhere, the interior was actually quite open and sunny.  This was quickly overtaken by the shock of seeing a sea of blue and grey of literally thousands of people dressed in suits quietly beavering away, not talking to each other.  I later discovered the office was purposely designed in the layout of a shopping mall, so it could be easily sold if Morrisons was to go under.   My first task, from my desk, in the corridor, with a view of a wall which is adorned with a picture of a giant chilli,  was to fill in a document full of check boxes, assuring them that my desk was at the right level and that I would not partake in chain mail over the internet.  I must say the tune "Run run as fast as you can!  You can't catch me I'm the gingerbread man" started to cycle in my head. 

As the week's worn on I've got used to the suits, the 10 year old technology, the security checks that wouldn't stop a kindergarten kid from infiltrating the building, and an IT help desk that can't fix anything.  All stuff I've seen before, and unfortunately is still not uncommon in the UK. But the nightlife is not much more inspiring! We are staying in a suburb called Shipley, in which our serviced apartment complex, really just a large cluster of modern looking buildings, is a local highlight!  The Fagley taxi driver, yes that's right there is a suburb is called "Fagley", one to challenge the infamous Whakatane (Fuck-a-ta-ne) in NZ, was amazed.  Driving into the complex he exclaimed "Wow!  Wow so big!".  And this was only the beginning of a chorus of  "Wows" as he drove through to the building we were in.

Not being impressed by my colleagues form of night time entertainment, a sandwich and an evening working on his calculator app,  I am going to run!  To Leeds at least.  

Roll on next week.   Leeds I hope you have more to offer to keep me sane.

Shipley Highstreet