A Week On The M4

It occurs to me that making progress through the typical week is rather like a journey on the M4 motorway. I traveled from Swansea to London recently, along the M4, and contemplated this thought as I journeyed.

Monday is like leaving Swansea after a restful weekend, like setting out on your journey. Duty and adventure call and, although you look back longingly at home and a warm bed, you travel with purpose and perhaps some degree of reconciliation. This simply has to be done.

Tuesday is rather like Newport. You feel as though you have already come such a long way but there is yet so much further to go. A sense of resignation sets in as you accept there is no turning back.

Wednesday is like arriving at the Severn Bridge. Surely this is a major stage on your journey, signalling real progress made. Of course, the other side of the bridge is England but, as my mother used to say, you can't have everything and, while the road actually rises from the bridge, you feel as if the hardest part is behind you and you are on the downward ride to your destination.

Thursday is like Swindon. Here is where reality kicks in and reminds you that, despite your effort and perseverance, there is yet some distance to travel. Like someone popping into the pub Thursday evening for a drink and to find consolation with fellow travelers, you pull into the Leigh Delamare service area for a much needed break.

Friday is like the Reading service area. There is a real sense of an end in sight. Soon you will see the familiar signs for Heathrow Airport and you eagerly count down the last few junction numbers. But this part of the motorway proves much busier than at your starting point. People are driving faster, more erratically at times. It is just like a Friday afternoon when the weekend is in sight yet there is still much to before you can to walk away from work and enjoy your destination in peace.

The weekend is like London, your destination and, just like visiting any big city, there are highs and lows, bright lights and dark corners. The weekend, like the city, has its attractions and distractions, fulfillment and disappointment, but seldom lives up to its reputation. The weekend is, in anticipation, more than it is in its in realization. It brings rest, recuperation, and hopefully a fresh resolve to make better of things but, come Monday morning...

Hollywood, Moscow, Idaho

Did you know that there is a Moscow in Idaho, USA? It is in Latah county up there in the North West near Washington State and some distance north west of Salt Lake, Utah. The population of Moscow, Idaho as of July 2008 was 22,798. Moscow boasts among its educational establishments the University of Idaho and Mr Leon’s School of Hair Design. Tourist attractions include the Appaloosa Horse Club and Museum, an Historical Society and a couple of theme parks. Visitors can choose from a selection hotels including The Royal Motor Inn on 120 West 6th Street and Pantry on 1516 West Pullman Road. You can find out more here

There is another Moscow; it is in Russia. The population of Moscow as of March 2009 was 10,514,400. The city of Moscow is one of the world's great cities. Situated on the picturesque Moskva River, the Kremlin and Red Square mark the heart of Russia's capital city.  Gorgeous palaces, churches and historical buildings are among Moscow's many attractions.  For entertainment, one can enjoy a Russian ballet, a river boat cruise or a day excursion to the Trinity Monastery. You can find out more here

Now if I say “Moscow” you might be forgiven for asking which one I had in mind; Moscow Russia or Moscow Idaho. But if I mentioned Moscow in relation to the Kremlin, Red Square and the Bolshoi ballet would I really have to explain? Then why, when I watch American movies, do they feel the need to put up the caption “Moscow, Russia” over a shot of minarets, monasteries and the Moscow Metro?

Why, when I am looking at pictures of the Eifel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs Elysees do they feel it necessary to tell me that this is Paris, France and not Paris, Texas? or when I am looking at Big Ben, black cabs and Red Rover Double-Decker buses do I need to be reminded that this is London, England and not London, Ontario Canada?

What am I? American!

I don’t need these hints so beloved of the Homer Simpsons of this world. I don’t need laughter tracks to tell me when something is funny; I have my own sense of humour. I don’t need long, lingering camera shots of the clue in a detective drama; if I was that disinterested I wouldn’t watch the thing. I don’t need the good guys to wear white hats and the bad guys to wear black hats; I know that life is not as simple as that and the “good guys” do bad things while the “bad guys” can have good motives. But sometimes it is as simple as that, like the fact that Moscow, Idaho doesn’t boast minarets and the Eifel Tower is in Paris, France and always has been; maybe somebody ought to tell Americans? Maybe Americans ought to tell Hollywood?