Samizdata

From a literal reading of this, one would think that the Citibank 24 hour banking centre is only open for six hours a day. However, I suppose the distinction between am and pm is subtle for people who are not used to the English language. In truth the Citibank 24 hour banking centre is open for a full 18 hours a day, which makes perfect sense.

(These photographs are of the Citibank branch just across the square from Brussels Central railway station in Belgium. They have read exactly this way for years, as I first discovered when trying to withdraw money at 1am in 2002).

…this is rather odd.

On Saturday evening I checked into a hotel in Odense in Denmark. The Danes are fairly relaxed, and I was not asked to produce my passport as I might be in some European countries. They did ask me for “something with my name on it”. I handed them my “Barclaycard Premiership Mastercard” (ie a credit card with English soccer logos on it) and my English driver’s licence. I did not show them my passport (it was in the car) and I did not mention my nationality.

However, the next day I got my receipt and it had “Michael John Jennings. Australia”. written on the top.

I am intrigued as to how they figured this out. It is true that my licence does have the endorsement “70AUS” amongst the fine print on the back, indicating that I did not ever have an English driving test, but was issued an English licence on the basis of having an Australian one already. However, I did not see the hotel clerk study the fine print on the back of my licence, and I would have been impressed had he known what that endorsement means.

Perhaps it was my accent? However, I have lived in England for nine of the last thirteen years, and English and Australians often cannot figure out my accent. (Often they can, too, but mistakes are often made). The Danes are excellent linguists, but I didn’t realise they were that good.

Or perhaps Australians just give off some vibe. Perhaps it is one that annoys British immigration officials, makes the French like us, and is instantly visible to Danish hotel clerks. Who knows?

France has been attacked by an infestation of frogs! I know, the metaphors are even now exploding inside your head.

A campaign in France to exterminate frogs may sound like the beginning of a civil war, but these are no ordinary frogs.

The frogs are big, inedible, and Californian!

Since the frogs were first released, as a joke, on a private pond near Libourne in 1968, they have colonised ponds, lakes, marshes and gravel pits all over the département of the Gironde. They have been found in the Landes area to the south and in the Dordogne, Lot-et-Garonne and Loir-et-Cher départements, further north.

Some joke.

It turns out that the only way to kill these fearsome and deeply un-French frogs is to shoot them.

Its enough to make you believe in parallel universes colliding, or something:

Doctors fear that the identity of a mysterious mute pianist found wandering on an English beach in April might never be known, a British newspaper reported on Monday.

[snip]

The so-called “Piano Man”, a tall blonde-haired stranger thought to be in his 20s or early 30s, was found on April 7 on the beach at Minster, on the south coast of England, soaking wet but fully dressed in a black suit and tie, with no clue as to his origin.

He has not spoken since and has not responded to written appeals while being kept under observation in the psychiatric hospital.

But he has fascinated social workers, the British media and the general public over his one means of communication: playing classical piano music.

When given a pencil and paper by hospital staff, he drew a grand piano — and then, when shown a piano at the hospital chapel, he impressed his carers with a remarkable virtuoso performance.

There are no leads.

Now, I am an imaginative guy, and I work with a major inner city hospital where all kinds of strange shit comes down, but I have a hard time coming up with any scenario at all that would explain this one.