I am afflicted by deformation professionnelle (and before I go further I must say that there would be an acute on the first 'e' if I could find some way of doing it with this programme). The condition is not physiological, as might appear from the name. It translates roughly as occupational hazard. It is, for someone who teaches legal writing and drafting, the tendency to want to correct/sub-edit other's text where there is a mistake.
Thus my pain on seeing a Facebook message nobly promoting a professional tour guiding association in one of London's boroughs. The message describes '...a group of qualified guides which focus on the diverse architecture, tourist attractions and facilities of...' [continues]. Yes, the verb 'focus', used in plural, refers to the subject of the sentence, 'group', which is singular, not to the plural 'guides'. So it should be 'focusses'. Alternatively, in practice you could just about get away with changing 'which' to 'who' to show intention to refer to the collective individuals.
Put in a comment? I did, just to stop more petty-minded like me grumping.
Yawn? I know.
PS I hope that the group is a great success.
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The niceties of the above would not trouble President Biden, who makes dangerous unscripted remarks on public occasions. After the latest shooting horror, he said to a crowd that something would be done. The chances of that are pretty much zilch. The Second Amendment, right to bear arms, is ingrained in the US Constitution. The votes are not there in Congress even to start the process. In contrast to another leader who makes random statements but does not understand the meaning of being held to account, Biden does not in my assessment make deliberately perverse statements, but he is careless, and that is dangerous for the leader of the US. The shame is that it will make even more people dismiss him as doddery Uncle Joe.
Meanwhile, in a gun store in Texas, an assault rifle is being phallically fondled by a father who wonders if it would be a good 18th birthday present for his son......
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Postcard from Spain
It felt almost treasonous to be heading to the airport at the beginning of Queenie's big weekend. However, and wonderful as she is, there was joy in being spared the more sycophantic contributions from those exemplars of pomposity, the Royal correspondents.
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We flew Finn Air...to Valencia. BA has brought in an Alliance partner to do the flight. Service was perfect. And as a further part of my education in life I have found out that not all Finns are blonde-haired and constantly humming Sibelius.
BTW, the arrangement is a confound Brexit wheeze of using EU crews, who do not need visas as the Finnair planes are registered outside the UK. Hee hee.
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We are in Spain primarily for a wedding. It will take place outside Denia, which is about an hour's drive down the coast. The initial impression of Denia is not favourable, as you enter past industrial buildings, on what is effectively a route to the port (ferries to the Balearics). And to follow, there is the experience in 30 degree heat with cases to haul to the hotel, of finding that the doors on your hired SEAT cannot all lock at the same time.
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On a wander through the town, the initial impression is entirely countered by appreciating a pleasant grid of 90% pedestrianised streets in the town centre. Of course there are points of note for awkward people like me. Paddy O'Connell's Bar declares 'Proud to Serve You', and a poster advertises 'Spanish Senior Club Denia - Learn Spanish in a school with quality guarantee'. Tea is included - be still my beating heart.
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And of course the locals all speak English, don't they, because that's what all the Spanish do in the resorts? Rubbish, and I quickly regretted not even re-checking some Spanish I had had classes in a few years back.
As a result of this I fell down one of the deepest holes you can fall down when confusing Spanish and Italian. In desperation at breakfast for something to spread on my toast, I asked for a donkey. If you are unfamiliar with this point, look it up and then have a big laugh at my expense.
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It was possible to get the BBC News Channel in the hotel. A female Scout from a Commonwealth country was being interviewed on the lighting of beacons. A member of the sycophancy brigade asked gushingly whether the girl knew that beacons would be lit in 54 Commonwealth countries. The girl dead-panned back that she did not. Immediate termination of interview on the orders of the producer - not enough gush in the response.
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A day out to Altea, down the coast. It has an old town, as well as the surrounding overdeveloped grot. From a terrace you can see Benidorm. It was as close as I wanted to get, although I was advised that even the latter has an old town. Perhaps an exploration another time. Perhaps not.
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Will not dwell on the wedding, but it was fabulous. To be able to plan it a year in advance with all parts of the celebration held outside? Wow. So not UK, as came home to me when I caught the BBC TV forecast, all about the weather being 'changeable'.
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One wedding snippet. There was an Iranian contingent (resident UK and Canada and including two gynaecologists and a nuclear scientist - don't get the Ayatollah idea) and an Australian contingent. The Iranian (rather Persian) cultural contribution involved Iranians in turn dancing in front of the Bride and Groom holding the wedding cake knife, the idea being that the Groom would pay each person in turn to go away; the Australian contribution involved chaps dropping their trousers during the later bopping around. Nothing needs to be added, although I should say that the Aussies were throughout the celebrations good fun and delightful company.
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Denia grows on you. The last celebration bit was lunch for six in a restaurant run by a chef who dropped his Michelin Star in order to have a place where more folk could afford to eat. Six courses (just one bottle of wine to share). Superb food. Total 187 Euros. Yes, 187 Euros. El Baret de Miguel Ruiz, in case you ever happen to be down that way.
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To recover from the wedding exertions, a few days in Valencia before returning. I would be pushing my luck to report in detail, but what a wonderful City.
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Back in London. Out of so much offered by our capital, there is the chance once again to have a free sauna on the Victoria Line. We all missed that during the pandemic.
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Postcard from Tuscany
Oh go on! Not another trip. 'Only for five days' is not an excuse. An invitation to visit friends (wonderful hosts) with a house there. It would be churlish to refuse. And post-pandemic (although are we?), what the hell!
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In preparation I checked over my Italian phrasebook, just for the vocabulary - years ago I wasn't bad in the language. I found a phrase to use in a shop. In English it was: 'Young man, can you wait on me?'. In translation it sounded even more like an appeal for a toyboy. I may not use it.
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Note to self - never utter the words: 'Well, that was a smooth journey'. Our luggage at Pisa was announced....and then unannounced to be replaced by a Wizz Air flight from Tirana. An airport official had not a clue, and referred to BA as 'Il British'. Sir Tufton Bufton, en route to his Tuscan retreat, would have pulled up the chap and insisted on 'Airways' being pronounced.
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With luggage finally claimed, time for the car hire. After following a sign that sent us to the other end of the airport, we found the location....a stop for a shuttle bus. No bus - it was of course siesta time - so eventually like a murmuration of starlings, the group of Brits rose and set off dragging luggage over a 400m course to find the offices. At least that was a few calories down before the pasta fest began.
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I must correct the defamatory reference to pasta. True enough, Italian waistlines appear to be increasing, but for a pasta course in a restaurant you will not find a mound of the stuff. And it will be cooked 'al dente', to be eaten with respect unless you fancy choking.
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Many fields in the Orcia valley are brown. The wheat harvest is partly responsible. But also responsible is the lack of rain over many months. There are July temperatures in June. Vines are being relocated to higher ground as otherwise the grapes cook in their traditional homes. The grape harvest is creeping into the end of August. Harumphing climate change sceptics should be dragged out here, tied to posts, and left for a day to contemplate their surroundings in temperatures already around 35 degrees.
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Americans on vacation here hunt in packs, and pick on the 'name' towns and villages. Into Montepulciano rode the plucky Brits. Yanks to the right of them, Yanks to the left of them. Though as our hosts correctly pointed out, Americans buy stuff, and they are essential to the tourist economy - thus the misery of no tourism during the pandemic. US guests also appear sold on the theory that if the goods are more expensive then they must be better. Viva gli Americani!
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The flags are out for Siena's first Palio on 2nd July. Riders from local districts compete in a bizarre horse race around the City's Piazza del Campo. For those unfamiliar with the City, do not think oval shape - the course has two 90 degree turns. Horses have died; jockeys have been seriously injured. Palio or Grand National or both or neither?
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And the return from Pisa car hire to airport terminal was equally horrid, but at least this time we knew where to head.
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Despite the attraction of foreign parts, as we used to call them, I am always pleased to come home. On a day off from work there was Superbloom at the Tower of London, all rather lovely even though my flowers knowledge would not cover a postage stamp. Also a smart marketing ploy to get people into the Tower precincts proper (complimentary entry). Very sensible as visitor numbers are apparently massively down post-2020/2021.
On emerging, a bridge lift to allow a boat to go through. Pretty sure it made the day for watching primary pupils on school trip. The grown-ups goggled too.
Despite the Victoria Line sauna, I do still love London.
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In our 'summer of sport', it was inevitable that England's unlikely 3-0 Test Match win over New Zealand would be swiftly followed by early Wimbledon exits for Bionic Andy and Insta Emma. We just don't like too much success at a time. Yet the support cast seem so far to be putting on a good show...
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To finish with something further on sport, and recognising that what follows evinces a pathetic sense of humour, I had to be moved by the headline concerning a Manchester City player's potential change of club:
'Jesus having medical at Arsenal before £45m move'.
Did he fall out with God the Father (aka Pep Guardiola)? Will the medics be asked to check his hands and feet carefully for signs of long-term injury? Will there be a chance of his going AWOL (ascent into Heaven).
Ok. Enough.
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The author is a writer, speaker, historian, occasional tour guide, and former Managing Partner of a City law firm.