Okay, in short, it was a working trip to UK. Rolls Royce, eager to show their new airplane engine - the Trent 900 - brought a bunch of carefully selected journalists to their plant in Derby. To have me included should show you how careful they were. Hey, they are all human beings after all.

All right, this was my first international flight. I have taken a few domestic flights and they have not been particularly joyful as the seats were narrow and our beverages were mostly limited to orange juice. It may have contributed to vitamin C in my body and it did nothing to make me enjoy the flight.

It was MAS, and I was told that they have one of the best service in the world. What more, we were given business class (Bless late Mr. Rolls and Mr. Royce). It was a Boeing 747. Yup, that's the plane with a big head. It is funny that what was beautiful when you were a kid, starts to look vulgar when you are an adult.

The take off was smooth. I requested for a glass of red wine and relaxed. Apart from the fellow journalist (eight of us) and the girl from Grayling Public Relations (Jay, quite a babe. And a quiet babe for a PR personnel), there were a smattering of white folks, all who never got drunk or behaved like a British football fan.

The stewards and the stewardess were all excellent. Joseph Raj (The Star) remarked, "don't worry, they will pamper you". And pamper they did. First thing first was the meal. I had some cold prawn for appetiser, before moving on to err...prawn again. There was the usual menu of Chicken, Fish and prawn and I chose prawn. They were huge mothers and honestly I got tired of chewing them, even if they were soft. Must be the pressure in the air.

It was terribly hot in the plane. Joseph explained that we were right below the roof. I thought I made a mistake by wearing a black turtleneck. He said it is okay, since it will be colder once we are up in the air.

Anyway, like the flights before, I was never nervous. I had always the comforting knowledge that if you die of air crash, it will be quick and painless. Perhaps a few seconds of fear and that's it. So, I never really had fear of flying, unless I am in the cockpit. Imagine the pilot saying, "so Rakesh, which button I should be pressing next? Haha, kidding!"

There were slight turbulences and again, the comforting thought was that if it gets very bad, I can at least grab one of the stewardess and grant her last wish of making love to a 31 year old, balding Malaysian Indian writer. Hmmm....

The in-flight movies were okay. In quick succession I watched Scooby Doo 2, Starsky And Hutch, Miracle and Spartan. The latter was damned good. Also, I watched some other TV shows and listened to the Golden Era radio station. After listening to the extended version of The Doors Light My Fire, I tried to sleep. Too bad, I couldn’t. I tried reading, but I couldn't concentrate. I tried to ogle at the stewardess, but - save my reading light - it was too dark. Back to flicking between the channels and ordering more wine and snacks.

In between the movies, thanks to wine and water that I consumed, I made trips to the loo. Others might have thought that I am having some kind serious plumbing problem. But they were asleep, anyway. So, in the loo I did my business and flushed. The flush shocked the bejesus outta me. It was not an ordinary splash, mind you, but a huge explosion. Vacuum power. That itself ought to scare terrorists. So, I did some mild exercise in there, to keep my blood flowing. I don't want to die in the plane: "Malaysian Journalist Dies with Blood Clot in His Ass". Nosirree. Not a nice way to go.

Landing was smooth. And guess what? It is drizzling in London. 18 degrees. Great, eh? Oh, mommy...

But a great surprise was waiting for me in the airport. No, not a stripper jumping out of a giant cake. Rolls-Royce is not going to be THAT kind. No. What I saw really surprised me, shocked me, and made me reach out for the Great One and surrender my earthly body to a monastery.

Okay, I overdid that.

If there is a place that is referred to as Melting Pot of Culture, and London is IT. The Heathrow airport confirms that. There they were. Everyone from all corners of the earth (I know, earth is not flat); Indians, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis; folks from Southeast Asia, European - east and west; Americans - North, Central and South; Indians and Pakistanis; African -North, south, east, three o'clock, Tag Huer; Indians and Pakistanis; Romulans, Klingons, Singaporeans; and I forgot to mention, Indians and Pakistanis. All attired in all kinds of costumes you can find in this world, except for a few like the Hawaiian grass skirts.

So, in short, we didn't feel like strangers ourselves. Come on, London is filled with strangers from all over the world. Indeed a strange city. And it must be difficult to be a racist in London. So many races to hate, so little time.

Checking out was easy. Because of the Business class ticket, we had an express counter. We were soon face to face with an English accented Indian girl - an immigration officer. We checked out as a group. A couple of bad jokes from fellow journalists (some very senior) and I had this 'Beam me up, Scotty' moment. My officemate knows what that is.

There was a long period of waiting in the airport, merely because one of our fellow journalists had trouble with her ticket. It’s a long story. We finally decided to go on, leaving Jay (the PR babe, remember?) to bring the rest to the hotel.

Then, it was a long ride (in what they call a eight-seater) to central London. My oh my, I really enjoyed the view. So green, the plants, shrubs, and bushes, and so red, were the houses. 90 percent of the building we saw was built in red bricks (some could have been brown - read the disclaimer), and were unpainted. It was beautiful. Most of the houses were bungalows on their own, with a plot of land surrounding, and there were also terrace houses, semi-detached ones, as well as stretches of shop houses. Not that I will call them shop houses, they were far too beautiful and classy.

Some houses had small brick walls around them - with no gate. No fear for burglars, I suppose. And I saw a van outside a home, with men working on burglary system. If I am not mistaken, the sign on the van said, "We almost stop the burglary" or something to that effect. Talk about honesty.

Our driver was an Afghan who had lived in England too long - long enough to carry the accent. He looked like an ex-wrestler, bald, fiery, with a nasty sense of sarcasm. He drove like a Kluangian (that's folks from Kluang, my hometown), and I was thinking about writing my will.

Note: Forgot to tell the time. We left KLIA at 12pm on Sunday 27th June 2004. We reached London on Monday 5.45pm.

We checked-in in The Central Plaza. Outside, it just looked like a front of a three star hotel, in between shops, but the damned thing goes on and on at the back, as I discovered irritatingly when I walked to my room. It was one looooooooooooong endless narrow passage. You can shoot good chase scene here. Have the bad guy shot near the lift or simply have him die of exhaustion.

My room was okay. Hell. It was damned good. Actually it is a luxury hotel. The TV welcomed Mr. Premakumaran. That's right. My dad's name is the surname. Throughout the trip, with the exception of the Rolls-Royce folks, I was referred to as Mr. Premakumaran. Never in my life had a lot of people calling out my dad's name in full that frequently.

The furniture in the hotel is mostly new. The mini bar was really stacked up well but I didn't dare to use any of the stuff there. Paying for them may have myself working as a waiter to collect enough money to go back.

Once unpacked, I quickly came down to have dinner with the rest. I had, if I can recall correctly, fish! Baked, I suspect. I have an experimental tongue (hey, no dirty thoughts), so I guess I liked it. I will not write in details on what I had throughout the trip, as I never noted them down. Also, I have once failed as a food critic (had food poisoning and had trouble finding various versions of the word 'delicious'), so writing about food sort of leaves a err...bad taste in my mouth.

There were some customary lousy conversations around the dining table. I paid little attention to them. Rather, I looked around and noticed that it was actually French restaurants. I noticed too, that the waiters were not English. A friendly waitress turned out to be from Cuba. A bit on the mature side, but pleasant nevertheless. Service is not bad here.

And yes, the most important point - the daylight that won't go away. I believe it was almost ten at night, when it actually got dark. Weird. Not weird for them. But for us definitely weird.

Dinner was over, and some wanted to go out. I was too tired. Also, I wanted to check out the TV. I showered first. And believe it, the water was damned hot. Since, winter was just over (beginning of summer now), the water has been fixed that way I guess. It took me sometime to get the temperature right for my Southeast Asian body - testing it at back of my hand. When all right, I stood right under and almost screamed. Still hot as hell.

Once finish with the quick shower, I wore bathrobe and jumped onto the bed. Switch on the TV. It was BBC, BBC2, ITV, some hotel channels, MTV, Discovery, Al Jazeera, Some Russian channel, some Spanish, and Zee TV (Indian) and some Asian Channel. After behaving like a proper couch potato, I went to sleep.

It was a deep slumber, all right. Until I woke up suddenly and panicked. It was bright as day, and I was supposed to wake up to join the others for breakfast and leave to Derby. What to do? What to do? I checked my watch. Blast!!!! It was only five am. Bright as day. What more surprises?

I couldn't sleep and ended up watching TV. Now here is my comment about the TV programmes that you should wisely skip if not interested.

So, it was almost seven, so I brushed, got into shower, screamed a little again and dashed out as soon as the soaps were washed off.

The breakfast was good. I never tasted scrambled eggs and sausages (Lincoln something I think) anywhere else. Alas, the coffee was a big disappointment. It will be so throughout the trip.

Another eight seater waited for us to take us to Derby, where Rolls-Royce plant is. We were joined by Grayling's MD, James Acheson-Gray. James felt that the eight seater was too small for us, even though on average all of us were medium sized. So, two of us volunteered to stay behind with James and take an alternate transport. James suggested the train. Brilliant!

To get to the railway station, we took a cab. And on the way, James pointed out some of the London landmarks, though he admitted that he is a bad guide as he had mostly been staying in Singapore the last five years.

The cab is the famous London cab. I forgot what car it is, but the design is that of 50 years ago. The back seat is large enough for three (with small asses I mean) and there was two pull down seats - facing the back seat - at the dividing board between the passengers and the driver. It was very comfortable.

I recall this piece of conversation we had with David during the ride. He wanted our opinion on our PM Abdullah Badawi. My colleague gave some expert view. As for me I remember saying, "It's like the actors who played Bond. Mahathir was like Connery. Abdullah is like Roger Moore, just doing a good job of carrying the tradition until others come along." And James noted, "Interesting analogy." Of course, I reminded myself to hit myself with an old shoe once I get back.

It was a one-hour and a half ride to Derby. And it was one of the most visually appealing train ride I had ever had in my life. Countryside, countryside and more countryside. There were magnificent spreads of wheat, grass - some curious looking types with yellow flowers. Can anyone enlighten me what they are?

More red brick buildings, houses, shophouses, and factories. There were Jersey cows, and sheep (newly shorn I think) grazing the grasses. And there were horses and horses. All those things I have read about and seen on movies were alive, right in front of my corrected eyesight. I am not a poet, or I could have bored you with great poems on the splendour I had witnesses.

The jungle, bushes and shrubs looked beautiful, unlike the tropical ones where the sight alone makes you sweat and itchy. There were conversation in the train, but I could not take my sights from the view. What a magnificent view! Magnificent! When we reached Derby, one side of my neck ached terribly.

The Derby station was right next to the hotel we were supposed to be staying in, The Midlands, but since we were late we were immediately dispatched to the Rolls-Royce place.

Immediately in that place, called the Airlines Building, we were treated to buffet lunch, while and Neil Williams made intro briefing - more on him later.

After the intro, we went to the hotel. It was a smaller hotel and I didn't have problem finding my room.

We had the afternoon off, so some of us took to the task of checking Derby out. Yup, I desperately wanted to hit the streets and check the babes out too.

The following is about babes - a bit frank, so you might want to skip them:

Got carried away, sorry.

So, we had a slow walk down the town, checked out the stores, shops, shopping complex and noted that the prices were cheap for Britons and is about as painful as impalement for us Malaysians.

One place we decided to visit was the Pickford House Museum. This is a typical house of a British - aristocrats mostly - modelled on the Georgian era. Yup, you must have read about these houses in the works of the masters like Dickens, Thackeray, Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, etc.

I mean, you can recognise the drawing room, the study, the kitchen, the dining room, and would be able to appreciate it more if you had read some of the literature by those writers. That's the exposure that we, from far away, are used to - apart from some movies. My colleagues - and forgive me if I am too judgmental - are not too familiar with what they are seeing. I kept my opinions to myself - not wanting to be seen as pompous, arrogant, know-it-all.

On top of that, they showcased the costume (including all those horrible wigs), the children's toy of that era, the kitchen utensils, and the brewery! Phew, what an eye candy those things were. But I am afraid this will only appeal to those who have a knack for history.

Aside: The weather, oh the glorious weather. It can be sunny, and yet still cold. The air is fresh, and with exception of one occasion, I did not have sinus problem at all. Strange, eh? There was one chilly night, and that quite gave the picture of how the winter would be like. Horrifying. End of aside.

Then, it was a long walk back to the hotel. On the way I bought Dr. Pepper, a drink you can't get in Malaysia. Needless to say I am not crazy about it.

Shower, this time, was not a terrifying experience like in Central Plaza. But still you have to work on the whatchamacallit-dials-that-control-the-temprature like working on rocket gyroscope.

Downstairs, James and Neil were waiting for us. And I had a pint of bitter for the first time. It was delicious. James commented it was a bit creamy. Tatly's. I guess I had a couple more.

Dinner was good. I think I had Tuna steak this time. And wine. And Gaelic Coffee, which is not unsimilar to Irish coffee. The hot and cold mixture tasted funny, but it was delicious (see, I can't find variation to word 'delicious')

During the dinner I learned that Neil, who is the Communications manager for civil aerospace, is a Welsh. James asked our opinion about technology in UK. Someone answered that nothing significant came out of UK, and I sort of disagreed on that. Maybe I got him wrong. I proceeded to say that "the English_", and that was when Neil interrupted me. He wanted the country to be addressed as Great Britain, and they are British. Heh.

You see, he is Welsh. And I can understand his bitterness. We had a long conversation about Wales, and on being Welsh. Neil mentioned that Wales actually meant 'strangers', and has no relation to that sea mammal. Which is ironic, considering that they were the original inhabitants of the Island, not the Anglo Saxons.

Anyway, I gave my piece about how much we owe to the Brits on the technology bit, and they were too busy grappling with political problems (lost of colonies) during the most part of last century to actually bother marketing their technology. I was honest there, not carrying the British you-know-what. It is true. We owe it to them - the steam engine, the railway, the TV, and not to mention their greatest exports (as far as my religion is concerned - James Bond and Sherlock Holmes).

Everyone retired early, save me and the girl from TV3, Puspa, as we were busy talking about feminism in Tamil movies. Great, talking Tamil movies in UK. It was getting inconclusive, and I was getting arrogant, so I thought that we should quit.

The scrambled egg and the sausage were not as good as in Central Plaza. Breakfast was not memorable. And the service in the hotel restaurant was quite bad. One of the journalists bragged earlier that service is better in Asia. I didn't believe in him first. Now I think I should.

Back to Rolls-Royce building and briefings started early. But it was not as boring as I would have expected. There were plenty of refreshment in between and I was mostly indulging in their bad coffee. Hey, coffee is coffee, no matter how bad it is - with exception of those served by our Indian/Mamak restaurant. Those piece of shit taste like they were filtered through some used socks. Yuck!!

Before lunch, we had a tour of the engine assembly and became the first Asian to actually seen the new Trent 900 engine. I was awed and felt very small. The size of those machines. Man had always been dreaming to fly and Da Vinci might have been happy to note we have actually succeeded in creating flying machines. Never mind the fact that nobody used his blueprints. Er-hem.

Right after that we went to the test bed. That's were they put the used engine to bed and bid good bye. Hehe.

Bad joke.

Test bed is where the new engine is punished to the maximum. This huge shaft is used to place the engine and then, they will blast water, heat, throw objects to hit the fan blade and make sure that the engine continues running. The maximum punishment is when one of the fan blades is exploded. We didn't actually get to witness this, albeit in video which they showed later. Quite an ordinary corporate video, though those who fear flying might think otherwise.

We later left to their museum called The Heritage, where the buffet lunch was also served. They had this sweet duck meat wrapped in corn bread. I forgot what it is. While munching I strolled alone looking at the old engines. As I said, it takes someone who has interest in history to appreciate old these. I am not sure about the other journalist, but several times I almost dropped the lunch I was chewing, getting awed. The best was the engine for the vertical take of and landing (VTOL) fighter aircraft (Harrier, I think), which was not as big as I imagined. Cool shit, that stuff.

I was done with the visit but not the other journalists. God knows what they were doing. Probably hunting for Nasi Lemak. Sorry, that was rude. Anyway, when the eight-seater came, I got in with one colleague. The others were still busy loitering, or smoking. Neil popped in and said, "I'd like to congratulate you for having the courage to step into the vehicle." Talk about British sarcasm.

Punctuality will, one day, be truly a Malaysian property as was demonstrated throughout this visit. More on that when I feel safe.

We left toe the conference room of the main building, where another briefing was offered. One thing about all the briefing (why brief? They are usually not brief), they are not boring. The speakers are all greatly knowledgeable and possessed good sense of humour. They did their homework on dealing with the Malaysian journalists, which is tolerance and ignoring ignorance.

An interesting incident outside of the building, a couple of my colleagues were there. When Neil and James stepped out, the journalist friend - apparently looking very triumphant - approached Neil (of all people, I tell you later why) and said that they have just moved the trash can. Puzzled?

Okay, on the wall outside the building, they have placed this huge Rolls-Royce sing. Good looking sign. Right below it is this rocket shaped trash can. According to this journalist colleague of mine (he is more than a journalist in his paper) this was a bad Feng-Shui. The point of the can was poking the Rolls-Royce sign. I believe this friend of mine have seen a rather vulgar image to that. So, he moved the sharp, hostile thing.

I hope I am correct in quoting Neil's reaction: "God, there goes our hundred years of hard work." Bless their sense of humour.

So, back to the hotel, and the evening promised us something exciting - visit to the country side.

Surprisingly, everyone was on time in the evening and we left to the trip to countryside. On the way we stopped in a little town called Ashburn.

David Jones, the Malaysian Rep, said that the place was his "Campong". After some explanation, I realised that he didn't really know what err...Campong means. His Kampung is actually a place where he has a home and stayed for sometimes. That's it. Not as in hometown in real sense. I decided not to explain to him what real Kampung means. IT might be difficult for him to comprehend that. As it is, I believe he is still trying to figure out the difference Nasi Kandar from Nasi Campur. I do.

But that is the very thing that Jones doesn’t know. Otherwise, he could relate to many things in Malaysian term. He was a very, very useful guide over there.

Ashburn, like every other goddam town in UK, is beautiful. More cobbled path (it is nice to hear my Cuban Heel boots knocking on them), slate tiles over the roof and the only a handful of the building were built in the last century. Everything else is historical monument. I can never get tired of gazing at them and drooling, if that is allowed in present civilisation.

Then back into the eight-seater and a long, winding road that would remind Malaysian of the road to Cameron Highland, except that it is much, much less hostile. It was green, green and green all the way. Sheep, horses and the beautiful Jersey cow, first appeared sporadically, and grew in numbers as we edged closer to the Mountain Peak hotel.

The Mountain Peak hotel was not exactly in the peak, but at the side of the hill. Right outside of his, you see flocks of sheep, with blue ink on the back. "Branding," explained James. Hey, not the commercial branding done to loathing level in the media. This is a very ancient form of branding. Remember the cowboys' way of branding? They heat the brand (metal logo of the owner) and 'brand' it on the cow's body. Yes, branding was just as cruel those days.

We then had dinner in the hotel. It was one of the most surreal moments in my life. It was 9 in the evening, and there was sunlight, and while I was wolfing down my chicken wrapped in crispy bacon, the sheep stared at us right through the glass wall. Creepy. Thank god I was not having lamb chop or something.

We went back to the hotel, feeling full. Very satisfied.

Cut to the chase.

We were chauffeured back to London in a smallish bus that could accommodate 20 something. Everyone dozed off. Me too. God knows what we are tired from.

London traffic was bad that day. But the slow ride offered us more glimpse of life on the street. Again, it only confirmed us what a great pot of melting culture London is.

Back in the hotel (hey, I am hurrying to finish this write-up, it is even boring for me), and to the Admin office of Rolls-Royce for presentation by Martin Brodie, their Head of International Media Relations. Hey, Brodie looked like (and he admitted that) Steve Martin. In some ways, he was funny too.

Briefing was over quick and we were invited to take a ride on London Eye.

Okay, London Eye is this huge Ferris wheel, which moves a few millimetres an hour. Or that how slow it was. It took like half an hour to make a complete circle. But the huge from high up there is breathless. Got some good photograph from there.

But I guess, I was very tired by then. Just can't wait to go back to the hotel. It was going to be a long walk for us. One thing is sure; it is not easy to get lost in London. Or should I say it is easy to go around in London. It is a very old city and well-planned, unlike our KL, which just grew on its own.

Back to hotel, and I had one hour free for myself. One hour! I rushed to Victoria Street (where I spotted two bookshops) to get myself a book. Pushpa (the TV3 babe) followed me. But the prices of the book there disappointed me terribly. How could you, London? Again, it is cheap for them. I didn't buy anything there. I was deeply hurt and disappointed. And I am known to exaggerate in my writing, hehe.

Brodie was in charge of the evening. There was a Euro cup game that evening. Portugal and Holland. Honest. It was nice, exclusive club called Sports Cafe. It is perhaps the closest experience of watching the English's enthusiasm for Football. People roared and screamed. During the opening, where national anthem was played, a group sitting next to our table (obviously Portuguese) stood up and placed their hands on their heart. Either they are patriotic, or just wanted to get beamed up. Heh. Okay, they were patriotic. You should have seen them when the final whistle was blown and Portugal won. Phew.

Anyway, I had the same bitter and spaghetti Bolognaise. And the pasta was delicious. And there were too much. Till today I regret that I didn't finish them. In fact, I have nightmares about it.

After the game, Brodie took us to the London Street and after hours (it seemed) of walking, suddenly we were at the back alley. Yes, the very places where the likes of Jack The Ripper prowled. He walked us into this place and voila! It was a very typical London pub. Brodie said that the building was at least 400 years old, and the pub, maybe, a hundred years younger than that. You should check out the loo in this place. It was a tiny circular staircase that leads us underground. Scary. Classic.

And guess what. I forgot what the pub is called. What a journalist.

Back to the hotel and I slept like a log. Not web logs. They make you sleep. Log. Timber. Remember?

Morning, as uneventful as the previous mornings, greeted us with good weather. It was really sunny. Yes, I even sweat a little. Can you believe that?

We were chauffeured back to the airport. A bunch of folks, including the PR people, stayed behind.