Little prompts me to write on here nowadays. Something has to stir sufficient emotion (normally "anger" is the one of choice) and I have to have sufficient time (I have a breathing space before Christmas, and everything is wrapped...)
But "FOR FIVE MINUTES....!" (as a colleague of mine says to avoid swearing loudly when it wouldn't be appropriate...) "Hasn't John Lewis dropped off...??" (That's me saying that. Not her.)
It seems to be the only place one can buy a "traditional" advent calendar de nos jours. You know, one without the bit of moulded Kake-Brand-style cooking chocolate behind each door; one where you get a Christmassy picture, not one of something hideous and Disney; one where the small robin/star/(God Forbid) Baby Jesus isn't obscured utterly by some foil and 4cm2 transparent shaped plastic tray.
Anyway, I thought I was onto a winner this year, as I'd seen quite a classy 3-D example, having forgiven John Lewis for their advent calendar of a few year back when all the pictures were the bloody same. But the once respected and admired partnership has entered a terminal decline, it seems, and sold me one with two 18s.
I'm not an expert on these matters, but if making advent calendars were a task on The Apprentice, even Stuart Baggs would have worked out that 24 numbers, one of each, was crucial. (Do Amstrad make advent calendars? Just planning ahead for next year...)
Anyway, at this time of year, when peace and harmony become important for several minutes somewhere along the line, I curbed my Aggressive Personality Disorder and instead of marching back to John Lewis and haranguing them, I solved it myself, Blue Peter style. Let's say, in homage to Matt Baker, who should've won Strictly. But didn't.
NB If I'd solved it Blue Peter style in homage to Anthea Turner instead, I could have made the whole bloody thing from scratch. With Flakes. In a layby off the M40.
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Disloyal...
Call Centre: "Hello. As a loyal BT customer, I would like to offer you..."*
Me: "Can I stop you there? I am not a loyal BT customer. I left BT five years ago and took my landline and broadband from Talk Talk because it was half the price. I have been extremely satisfied with Talk Talk and loyalty to BT was not my reason for coming back. I wanted my broadband from o2 and the levels of anti-competitive bureaucracy which still exist in the UK telecoms market mean you have to have a BT line for o2 broadband and you have to have it for 12 months, even though I really want o2 to have my landline too. I could, of course, leave BT early, paying a penalty of around £100, so I am waiting until later this month when the Ofcom ruling which forces you to reduce early termination charges comes into effect and then I will be off again..."
Call Centre: (silence.....) "Erm... oh..." (silence, click, tone....)
(This is an adapted highlight of a call from earlier today. It may not be word for word, but these calls are recorded for training purposes, so I suppose I could always ask for the transcript. If I'm loyal enough.)
(*Also, if BT is reading this, possibly for training purposes "As you are a loyal BT customer, I would like to offer you..." would be better...)
Me: "Can I stop you there? I am not a loyal BT customer. I left BT five years ago and took my landline and broadband from Talk Talk because it was half the price. I have been extremely satisfied with Talk Talk and loyalty to BT was not my reason for coming back. I wanted my broadband from o2 and the levels of anti-competitive bureaucracy which still exist in the UK telecoms market mean you have to have a BT line for o2 broadband and you have to have it for 12 months, even though I really want o2 to have my landline too. I could, of course, leave BT early, paying a penalty of around £100, so I am waiting until later this month when the Ofcom ruling which forces you to reduce early termination charges comes into effect and then I will be off again..."
Call Centre: (silence.....) "Erm... oh..." (silence, click, tone....)
(This is an adapted highlight of a call from earlier today. It may not be word for word, but these calls are recorded for training purposes, so I suppose I could always ask for the transcript. If I'm loyal enough.)
(*Also, if BT is reading this, possibly for training purposes "As you are a loyal BT customer, I would like to offer you..." would be better...)
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Contains spoilers...
OK. So we all know the feeling when something we've really been looking forward to turns out to be less good than expected, or just a bit crap. It's easy to be disappointed and cross and irritated.
But it's equally easy to be irritated when something turns out to be better than you thought it was going to be. If that makes any sense...
I know this to be true because Inearly* went to see Edge of Darkness (The Film) and was mildly annoyed that it was OK. It wasn't brilliant, but I really wanted it to be awful. And it wasn't.
Now, going to see it was probably a risk all along because Edge of Darkness (The Not-Film 80s TV Series) won several BAFTAs and was genuinely dark and shocking. I remember watching it unfold over several weeks and it was a story that could only be told in that way, slowly and deliberately. It was Classic Drama - it says so on the DVD box.
So I knew the film was going to make a hash of it. There would be no comparison.
Well, actually, there would be a whole range of comparisons.
On the way there, we couldn't actually remember the last thing we'd seen Mel Gibson in. Let alone the last thing he'd been any good in. Whereas Bob Peck's performance is still grim and haunting even now. He can easily act most people off the screen, despite having been dead for eleven years.
Ray Winstone as Jedburgh? Maybe not. Presumably, as the whole thing has been imported into Boston, Jedburgh, American in the original, had to be English. But Ray Winstone can only play Ray Winstone. He played Ray Winstone in Robin of Sherwood and in everything since. And Jedburgh should really have watched Strictly Come Dancing... But he didn't.
So, not looking good so far. How would they capture that sense of foreboding which those lingering shots of the nuclear fuel trains and Eric Clapton created? Who would play Clementine? Would we get Time of the Preacher...?
At least we wouldn't have to put up with Joanne Whalley... Arguably the best thing about her appearance in the original was that she was viciously gunned down in the opening episode. (A punishment that really should have come after Willow, rather than before...) But Emma in the film was less convincing than Yorkshire Emma - less of a terrorist, less in control. And less of a guiding vision for her bereaved father.
The civil servants weren't quite right. You have to be British, with Queen's English and possibly a bowler hat, to do the tortuous bureaucracy required to cover up something politically incovenient. And possibly radioactive. You also have to be called Pendleton and Harcourt. Which the American attachés in the film may have been called, but not noticeably.
Plainly, there was so much that wasn't quite right. The cheesy, uplifting end for a start (or for an end...) I won't spoil what it was. But he dies and is happily reunited with Emma in spectral form. (OK, so I have spoiled it, but no more so than the film does...)
None of the uncertainty and ambiguity of the original, in which both Craven and Grogan face a slow, irradiated death. No particularly prescient environmental message. No Zoe Wannamaker. No black flowers...
But it was OK. No more than that. If you've not seen either, I'll lend you the DVD...
* "Nearly" because my sister nearly wasn't able to get the tickets at the cinema because she signed her debit card over the magnetic strip not the signature strip, rendering it useless in the "Collect your own tickets" machine. Or the "Can't collect your own tickets machine", as it's now called...
But it's equally easy to be irritated when something turns out to be better than you thought it was going to be. If that makes any sense...
I know this to be true because I
Now, going to see it was probably a risk all along because Edge of Darkness (The Not-Film 80s TV Series) won several BAFTAs and was genuinely dark and shocking. I remember watching it unfold over several weeks and it was a story that could only be told in that way, slowly and deliberately. It was Classic Drama - it says so on the DVD box.
So I knew the film was going to make a hash of it. There would be no comparison.
Well, actually, there would be a whole range of comparisons.
On the way there, we couldn't actually remember the last thing we'd seen Mel Gibson in. Let alone the last thing he'd been any good in. Whereas Bob Peck's performance is still grim and haunting even now. He can easily act most people off the screen, despite having been dead for eleven years.
Ray Winstone as Jedburgh? Maybe not. Presumably, as the whole thing has been imported into Boston, Jedburgh, American in the original, had to be English. But Ray Winstone can only play Ray Winstone. He played Ray Winstone in Robin of Sherwood and in everything since. And Jedburgh should really have watched Strictly Come Dancing... But he didn't.
So, not looking good so far. How would they capture that sense of foreboding which those lingering shots of the nuclear fuel trains and Eric Clapton created? Who would play Clementine? Would we get Time of the Preacher...?
At least we wouldn't have to put up with Joanne Whalley... Arguably the best thing about her appearance in the original was that she was viciously gunned down in the opening episode. (A punishment that really should have come after Willow, rather than before...) But Emma in the film was less convincing than Yorkshire Emma - less of a terrorist, less in control. And less of a guiding vision for her bereaved father.
The civil servants weren't quite right. You have to be British, with Queen's English and possibly a bowler hat, to do the tortuous bureaucracy required to cover up something politically incovenient. And possibly radioactive. You also have to be called Pendleton and Harcourt. Which the American attachés in the film may have been called, but not noticeably.
Plainly, there was so much that wasn't quite right. The cheesy, uplifting end for a start (or for an end...) I won't spoil what it was. But he dies and is happily reunited with Emma in spectral form. (OK, so I have spoiled it, but no more so than the film does...)
None of the uncertainty and ambiguity of the original, in which both Craven and Grogan face a slow, irradiated death. No particularly prescient environmental message. No Zoe Wannamaker. No black flowers...
But it was OK. No more than that. If you've not seen either, I'll lend you the DVD...
* "Nearly" because my sister nearly wasn't able to get the tickets at the cinema because she signed her debit card over the magnetic strip not the signature strip, rendering it useless in the "Collect your own tickets" machine. Or the "Can't collect your own tickets machine", as it's now called...
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
A Mrs Thatcher moment...
I suppose that I have this in common with a lot of people... I try not to fill my thoughts with Margaret Thatcher. But, earlier today, I thought about something she said 23 years ago.
I'm currently in mainland Europe, where it has snowed a lot...
(This is Mozart, in Salzburg, coping well with the "big freeze". Coping less well with the fact that he appears to be composing with a pencil, something which wasn't invented until 20 years after he died....)
...and here, they deal with the snow really well. It's 6-8 inches deep and the roads and the railways are all fine. Ahem, even the schools were open...
The fast, fairly luxurious, double-decker train from Munich got to Salzburg bang on time...
(...and that's in a different country. Through some Alps. Albeit small ones...)
And, of course, they get it all the time, so they are used to it. But there must be other underlying reasons why we're so rubbish at snow in the UK...
I wondered how, here, the trains were clean and reliable, how there were still conductors and ticket inspectors (plural) on the stations and on the trains, how the snow didn't bring it all to a grinding halt...
(Here at Ostbahnhof in Munich, this man spent the best part of 30 minutes clearing the snow from a platform and looked like he was enjoying it... He had a very substantial looking machine to help, but the two people doing it on our platform just had shovels, so no major investment needed...)
I'd decided that it was probably something to do with it not needing to make a profit; being a nationalised concern for the good of the people! Damn you, Mrs Thatcher, and your privatisation of all the train companies and the break up of the system!!
But it turns out that Deutsche Bahn is a private comany after all, so does need to make a profit. So that can't be it...
Anyway, I aksed Jon, who now lives here in Munich, why he thinks the public transport system is so good, how it manages to employ so many people, make a profit and not let a bit of (the wrong type - any type - of) snow bring it skidding to a halt. He gave a most complete and accurate answer in just three words...
"People use it..." he said.
And of course that makes sense.
When, in 1986, Mrs Thatcher said "A man who, beyond the age of 26, finds himself on a bus can count himself as a failure," she helped to make sure that, if you have to use public transport in the UK, that's in some way shameful - you're just cattle; too crap to have your own car. She also engineered the system which means that it costs £8 to get to Southampton and back from my house, whereas here, you can travel between Munich and Salzburg (and back) - 180 miles, between countries! - for £5.
Bless her.
(On the down side, the snow here is just something you have to get rid of to make the trains run. It's commonplace, so no-one plays with it - no snowmen, no snowball fights. I don't think that's Thatcher's fault. Probably just miserable Europeans...)
I'm currently in mainland Europe, where it has snowed a lot...
(This is Mozart, in Salzburg, coping well with the "big freeze". Coping less well with the fact that he appears to be composing with a pencil, something which wasn't invented until 20 years after he died....)
...and here, they deal with the snow really well. It's 6-8 inches deep and the roads and the railways are all fine. Ahem, even the schools were open...
The fast, fairly luxurious, double-decker train from Munich got to Salzburg bang on time...
(...and that's in a different country. Through some Alps. Albeit small ones...)
And, of course, they get it all the time, so they are used to it. But there must be other underlying reasons why we're so rubbish at snow in the UK...
I wondered how, here, the trains were clean and reliable, how there were still conductors and ticket inspectors (plural) on the stations and on the trains, how the snow didn't bring it all to a grinding halt...
(Here at Ostbahnhof in Munich, this man spent the best part of 30 minutes clearing the snow from a platform and looked like he was enjoying it... He had a very substantial looking machine to help, but the two people doing it on our platform just had shovels, so no major investment needed...)
I'd decided that it was probably something to do with it not needing to make a profit; being a nationalised concern for the good of the people! Damn you, Mrs Thatcher, and your privatisation of all the train companies and the break up of the system!!
But it turns out that Deutsche Bahn is a private comany after all, so does need to make a profit. So that can't be it...
Anyway, I aksed Jon, who now lives here in Munich, why he thinks the public transport system is so good, how it manages to employ so many people, make a profit and not let a bit of (the wrong type - any type - of) snow bring it skidding to a halt. He gave a most complete and accurate answer in just three words...
"People use it..." he said.
And of course that makes sense.
When, in 1986, Mrs Thatcher said "A man who, beyond the age of 26, finds himself on a bus can count himself as a failure," she helped to make sure that, if you have to use public transport in the UK, that's in some way shameful - you're just cattle; too crap to have your own car. She also engineered the system which means that it costs £8 to get to Southampton and back from my house, whereas here, you can travel between Munich and Salzburg (and back) - 180 miles, between countries! - for £5.
Bless her.
(On the down side, the snow here is just something you have to get rid of to make the trains run. It's commonplace, so no-one plays with it - no snowmen, no snowball fights. I don't think that's Thatcher's fault. Probably just miserable Europeans...)
Friday, January 02, 2009
Thursday, January 01, 2009
I was just thinking about you...
Richard Dawkins explained in a book, several back and possibly Unweaving the Rainbow, but possibly not, how Uri Geller (could be David Blaine or the other one...) makes people believe he can mend their old watches with the power of his mind.
It's all to do with mass media and maths.
The fact that most people are taken in by mass media, believing everything and anything ("Eoghan" is pronounced "Owen"), helps him achieve the (effect of the) supernatural. But mainly it's that people are generally thick when it comes to maths which nails it.
The argument goes something like this... (I've probably got the figures wrong; it's a while since I read it...)
Imagine five million people watch Uri and he instructs them all to go and find an old watch from a cupboard somewhere in their house. Imagine only two percent of the people watching that programme go and find their old watch. That's still 100,000 people digging around in their "paper bag, cling film and fuses" drawer. *
Watches work by winding them up, or with a battery. Eventually, the winder winds down or the battery fails. Some end up in the drawer. When these 100,000 people find their watches and Uri says "hold it in your hand, rub it, think deep thoughts" etc, the heat from their hands changes the temperature of the winding mechanism or the battery and, momentarily, and because of physics, not because of Uri, the watch works for a few seconds.
Imagine this only happens to one percent of the people who actually find a watch. That's still 1000 people whose watch suddenly works because "Uri says it will"- It's a Kind of Magic!
Uri then says "if your watch worked, phone us!" A mere one percent of the people whose watches ticked for a bit phone up.
Uri still gets to talk to ten people. Plenty to fill the show and, more importantly, all seen by the five million people watching in the first place.
It all rests on these tiny percentages, where coincidences happen, and their effect on the large percentages of people who are open to any suggestion, however stupid, because of their previous experience, ignorance, personality flaws, special needs, religion etc. (Including the very unlikely scenario in which Uri Geller mends your old watch through the TV by pulling a concentrating face and talking with an accent. **)
"Engineered" coincidences for the purposes of entertainment, coercion, gain etc. are one thing, but I guess coincidences don't arise spontaneously all that often. We only think they do because we're more likely to single them out from the background chaff of our lives and remember them.
I only mention this because I seem to have been the on the receiving end of an unexpectedly high number of them recently. Picking just three, some of them were to my disadvantage...
Perhaps that was just 2008.
But I'm going to be monitoring in 2009... Happy New Year.
(* "Man Drawer" / ** "I'm sorry, I can't do the accent" - Both © Michael McIntyre - unaccountably missed last year and caught only on DVD...)
It's all to do with mass media and maths.
The fact that most people are taken in by mass media, believing everything and anything ("Eoghan" is pronounced "Owen"), helps him achieve the (effect of the) supernatural. But mainly it's that people are generally thick when it comes to maths which nails it.
The argument goes something like this... (I've probably got the figures wrong; it's a while since I read it...)
Imagine five million people watch Uri and he instructs them all to go and find an old watch from a cupboard somewhere in their house. Imagine only two percent of the people watching that programme go and find their old watch. That's still 100,000 people digging around in their "paper bag, cling film and fuses" drawer. *
Watches work by winding them up, or with a battery. Eventually, the winder winds down or the battery fails. Some end up in the drawer. When these 100,000 people find their watches and Uri says "hold it in your hand, rub it, think deep thoughts" etc, the heat from their hands changes the temperature of the winding mechanism or the battery and, momentarily, and because of physics, not because of Uri, the watch works for a few seconds.
Imagine this only happens to one percent of the people who actually find a watch. That's still 1000 people whose watch suddenly works because "Uri says it will"- It's a Kind of Magic!
Uri then says "if your watch worked, phone us!" A mere one percent of the people whose watches ticked for a bit phone up.
Uri still gets to talk to ten people. Plenty to fill the show and, more importantly, all seen by the five million people watching in the first place.
It all rests on these tiny percentages, where coincidences happen, and their effect on the large percentages of people who are open to any suggestion, however stupid, because of their previous experience, ignorance, personality flaws, special needs, religion etc. (Including the very unlikely scenario in which Uri Geller mends your old watch through the TV by pulling a concentrating face and talking with an accent. **)
"Engineered" coincidences for the purposes of entertainment, coercion, gain etc. are one thing, but I guess coincidences don't arise spontaneously all that often. We only think they do because we're more likely to single them out from the background chaff of our lives and remember them.
I only mention this because I seem to have been the on the receiving end of an unexpectedly high number of them recently. Picking just three, some of them were to my disadvantage...
- the woman in the Post Office to whom I complained and whose cloud of "customer un-service" still surrounded her when I saw her again in a restaurant in the evening. So much so that the waiting staff ended up throwing a glass (nearly) at me...
- Someone I sold a raffle ticket to won the very prize he took the piss out of. (If it needs mending, Chris, see above...)
- My nephew was born, unexpectedly, two days ago, in the brief window of time I was around in the North to see him...
Perhaps that was just 2008.
But I'm going to be monitoring in 2009... Happy New Year.
(* "Man Drawer" / ** "I'm sorry, I can't do the accent" - Both © Michael McIntyre - unaccountably missed last year and caught only on DVD...)
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Welcome to Felpersham...
Hereford is a dump.
It's a grotty, featureless hole, masquerading as a city on account of a (rather small, squat, dirty) cathedral.
You know you are in trouble when the Hereford City Council website offers you this:
...a wonky black and white scan of a map from many years back. You can spend many a happy hour trying to locate the Tourist Information Centre. Go on, try it. I imagine that when you get there, the Tourist Information they offer would be "Go anywhere other than Hereford".
(It is helpful, though, to have the toilets categorised into Male & Female; Male, Female & Disabled; Female & Female Disabled; Male.)
Having just come from Cardiff, which is lively and cosmopolitan, Hereford is like being stuck in the 70s. Nothing opens after 5.30pm. The only things that were open after that? McDonalds, a Pizza Express (which I imagine is the height of sophistication for people in Hereford - "if you're celebrating, sit in the window") and a Beefeater.
If you're Welsh and crossing the border into England for a bit of a day out, say from Abergavenny or Monmouth or Brecon or Llandridnod Wells (Google maps...!) then you are going to be very disappointed. Cerys was right - "Every day, when I wake up, I thank the Lord I'm Welsh..."; the little known next line perhaps being, "Because I don't live in Hereford..."
If I ever go there again it will really be too soon.
It's a grotty, featureless hole, masquerading as a city on account of a (rather small, squat, dirty) cathedral.
You know you are in trouble when the Hereford City Council website offers you this:
...a wonky black and white scan of a map from many years back. You can spend many a happy hour trying to locate the Tourist Information Centre. Go on, try it. I imagine that when you get there, the Tourist Information they offer would be "Go anywhere other than Hereford".
(It is helpful, though, to have the toilets categorised into Male & Female; Male, Female & Disabled; Female & Female Disabled; Male.)
Having just come from Cardiff, which is lively and cosmopolitan, Hereford is like being stuck in the 70s. Nothing opens after 5.30pm. The only things that were open after that? McDonalds, a Pizza Express (which I imagine is the height of sophistication for people in Hereford - "if you're celebrating, sit in the window") and a Beefeater.
If you're Welsh and crossing the border into England for a bit of a day out, say from Abergavenny or Monmouth or Brecon or Llandridnod Wells (Google maps...!) then you are going to be very disappointed. Cerys was right - "Every day, when I wake up, I thank the Lord I'm Welsh..."; the little known next line perhaps being, "Because I don't live in Hereford..."
If I ever go there again it will really be too soon.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Urbi et Orbi...
Not your standard Papal Balcony affair, I'm afraid - just a few Easter things I need to get off my chest.
Stop moving it around...
It's confusing and inconvenient. Last Easter Sunday I was here...
(...where, coincidentally, it was also snowing)
...but that's not twelve months ago to the day - it was actually on April 8. Easter Sunday is the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox. This year it's about the earliest it can ever be because the spring equinox was on Thursday and the full moon was on Friday, so here we are. No wonder Tesco had to have their Easter Eggs on display by Boxing Day...
Stop moving it around...
It's confusing and inconvenient. Last Easter Sunday I was here...
(...where, coincidentally, it was also snowing)...but that's not twelve months ago to the day - it was actually on April 8. Easter Sunday is the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox. This year it's about the earliest it can ever be because the spring equinox was on Thursday and the full moon was on Friday, so here we are. No wonder Tesco had to have their Easter Eggs on display by Boxing Day...
It was stolen by Christianity...
As we all know, the days used in the calculation - spring equinox, all druids and Stonehenge; full moon, all witches and werewolves and magic - are totally pagan things and nothing to do with the crucifixion or the resurrection. This is because Easter was happily going on for donkey's years before Christianity hit Britain - as a celebration of spring, new life, fertility etc... hence bunnies, eggs, chicks. It was a celebration of the goddess of spring and fertility Estre (or Oestre or Ishtar) and the word comes from her. As does the word "Oestrogen"...
"Do you wish to remove unused files?"
I went to Church of England primary school, so stored away in my brain, taking up valuable space, is...
There is a green hill far away
Without a city wall
Where the dear Lord was crucified
Who died to save us all.
We may not know, we cannot tell
What pains he had to bear
But we believe it was for us
He hung and suffer'd there.
He died that we might be forgiv'n
He died to make us good,
That we might go at last to heav'n,
Saved by his precious blood.
I will never need this for any useful purpose again in my life (ie. beyond blogging and quizzes)and yet I can remember it verbatim. I didn't look it up. Some kind of brain clean-up facility is needed, along the lines of the excellent example here...
Even at the age of 8, I remember being bothered about "without a city wall" because I thought that it meant it hadn't got one. It was only a green hill far away, why would it have needed one? Only as my grammatical understanding progressed did I realise it meant "outside the city wall..." (Makes mental note to use this construction more often in everyday speech to confuse people... "Where's Starbucks? Just down the way, without the front doors...")
I'm still bother'd by the whole rhyming of "forgiv'n" and "heav'n" and the sing-them-as-if-they've-only-got-one-syllable thing, both of which happen loads in hymns. I suppose it was because the tunes and the words were probably written by different people, maybe centuries apart, and someone had to crowbar it all together. Maybe if Rice and Lloyd-Webber had done it instead...*
Open the bloody shops...
Why are they closed?
It can't be to force people into church, because it doesn't work...
It can't be an objection to making profit, because all the little shops can open...
It can't be an objection to trading per se, because of car boot sales...
It must just be to remind us about suffering...
Sod health and education and social justice, in the next election I'm voting for whoever sorts the Sunday Trading laws out. Or moving to Scotland.
*Oh...
"Tell me Christ how you feel tonight
Do you plan to put up a fight?
Do you feel that you've had the breaks?
What would you say were your big mistakes?"
They did...
Sunday, December 23, 2007
And don't forget the Cornflakes...
I think it's about time there was some widespread defiance of the Sunday Trading laws. Again.
Years ago, when it was still illegal to open your shop on Sunday, the shops opened anyway. So many of them opened, that it was not practical for the local authorities to prosecute them and so, despite the self-righteous bleatings of collected "family" and religious groups, the laws were changed to mirror practice. Well, almost.
Only six hours of shopping allowed, though, so that I still have time to go to church and watch the Antiques Roadshow. Otherwise the fabric of society might crumble. In enlightened Scotland, I could be in John Lewis for ten hours and B&Q for twelve.
Anyway, back to Tesco earlier today, and I would like to say a special Christmas thank you to the woman who let her five year-old son do the scanning at the self-service checkout, even though there was a queue ten deep, and then looked surprised when she had to pay, dithered for five minutes more, reached into her jeans pocket for money, carefully unfolded the notes one by one and tried to feed them into the slot, which steadfastly rejected them because they were too mangled.
I would have gladly sacrificed Clubcard points for security to ship her off somewhere like Aber-bloody-deen, where she and her son would a) be a long way from me and b) have between 6am and 10pm on a Sunday to do their shopping.
That said, Tesco in Mansfield is good if you need breakfast cereal...
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Years ago, when it was still illegal to open your shop on Sunday, the shops opened anyway. So many of them opened, that it was not practical for the local authorities to prosecute them and so, despite the self-righteous bleatings of collected "family" and religious groups, the laws were changed to mirror practice. Well, almost.
Only six hours of shopping allowed, though, so that I still have time to go to church and watch the Antiques Roadshow. Otherwise the fabric of society might crumble. In enlightened Scotland, I could be in John Lewis for ten hours and B&Q for twelve.
Anyway, back to Tesco earlier today, and I would like to say a special Christmas thank you to the woman who let her five year-old son do the scanning at the self-service checkout, even though there was a queue ten deep, and then looked surprised when she had to pay, dithered for five minutes more, reached into her jeans pocket for money, carefully unfolded the notes one by one and tried to feed them into the slot, which steadfastly rejected them because they were too mangled.
I would have gladly sacrificed Clubcard points for security to ship her off somewhere like Aber-bloody-deen, where she and her son would a) be a long way from me and b) have between 6am and 10pm on a Sunday to do their shopping.
That said, Tesco in Mansfield is good if you need breakfast cereal...
.jpg)
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Christmas Repeats....
Penguin...
Reindeer...
Owl...
Polar Bear...
Penguin...
Owl...
Reindeer
Polar Bear...
Polar Bear...
One would have assumed that, with a John Lewis advent calendar, one was investing in quality and, perchance, a little bit of variety.
Seemingly not.
Reindeer...
Owl...
Polar Bear...
Penguin...
Owl...
Reindeer
Polar Bear...
Polar Bear...
One would have assumed that, with a John Lewis advent calendar, one was investing in quality and, perchance, a little bit of variety.
Seemingly not.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Nosh'n'Go...
Didn't see much evidence of corporate health and safety when I was in Amsterdam, but clearly the Dutch giant Unilever thinks we are all capable of stupid mistakes...
(By the way, the conditioner is not mine...)
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
The Emperor's New Clothes...
OK.
In reference to a recent post, sometimes, it takes Marcus Brigstocke from The Now Show to make you see the light...
...and, although it pains me to admit it, he's actually right.*
*About the Marmite, not about America
In reference to a recent post, sometimes, it takes Marcus Brigstocke from The Now Show to make you see the light...
...and, although it pains me to admit it, he's actually right.*
*About the Marmite, not about America
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Anti-Rant (Being Nice for Lent...)
The Church of England says I don't have to give anything up for Lent this year. (Actually, as I have had no pancakes, I wouldn't have to give up anything anyway, would I?)
What I actually have to do is "something helpful" and "good deeds." I can even get text or web reminders in case I forget to be helpful and good which, let's face it, is likely.
Yesterday, I had to "go to a party". Today I have to "spend some time in silence..."
...like that's gonna happen!
But I am slowly buying into the whole "Changing the world a little bit each day" message - I even have a copy of this, and have done some of the things in it. (Well, one of the things - I turn the TV off standy when I go to bed now. However, as I have just bought a big new tv when there was actually nothing particularly wrong with the old one, my "change the world" account is still seriously in the red...)
Anyway, back to the point. I'm going to write a thank you letter to someone. It's one of the things on the CoE list and will make me feel better about myself.
Yesterday in London, I dropped my phone and the slidy front bit slid off completely. The front and back bits hung together precariously on a spring and getting them back together was like being on the Krypton Factor, and involved patience and tweezers. When I got it back together, it didn't work. The screen flashed pretty colours then went black.
The O2 website said I had to take it to an O2 Shop. The woman in the O2 Shop said they would have to send it away to Nokia. She said it could be 28 days. She said they didn't have a loan phone for me. She chewed gum while she spoke.
She helpfully suggested I could take it to the little mobile phone shop on Millbrook Road. They might do it in 48 hours.
Well, they were nothing short of brilliant.
They took the phone in at about 10am. They were polite; they knew what they were talking about; they didn't promise anything they couldn't do; they had a sense of humour. (Take note of all these, girl in O2 Shop...) I went to work. I picked it up at 4pm - all fixed under warranty.
So, I'm going to write to Next Communications in Southampton and thank them for the excellent service. And for the (albeit very small) audience here... Thanks Sam and Chris. I would have been very grumpy without my phone. And I wouldn't want the Church of England texting me about that.*
*Not that they would have been able to...
What I actually have to do is "something helpful" and "good deeds." I can even get text or web reminders in case I forget to be helpful and good which, let's face it, is likely.
Yesterday, I had to "go to a party". Today I have to "spend some time in silence..."
...like that's gonna happen!
But I am slowly buying into the whole "Changing the world a little bit each day" message - I even have a copy of this, and have done some of the things in it. (Well, one of the things - I turn the TV off standy when I go to bed now. However, as I have just bought a big new tv when there was actually nothing particularly wrong with the old one, my "change the world" account is still seriously in the red...)
Anyway, back to the point. I'm going to write a thank you letter to someone. It's one of the things on the CoE list and will make me feel better about myself.
Yesterday in London, I dropped my phone and the slidy front bit slid off completely. The front and back bits hung together precariously on a spring and getting them back together was like being on the Krypton Factor, and involved patience and tweezers. When I got it back together, it didn't work. The screen flashed pretty colours then went black.
The O2 website said I had to take it to an O2 Shop. The woman in the O2 Shop said they would have to send it away to Nokia. She said it could be 28 days. She said they didn't have a loan phone for me. She chewed gum while she spoke.
She helpfully suggested I could take it to the little mobile phone shop on Millbrook Road. They might do it in 48 hours.
Well, they were nothing short of brilliant.
They took the phone in at about 10am. They were polite; they knew what they were talking about; they didn't promise anything they couldn't do; they had a sense of humour. (Take note of all these, girl in O2 Shop...) I went to work. I picked it up at 4pm - all fixed under warranty.
So, I'm going to write to Next Communications in Southampton and thank them for the excellent service. And for the (albeit very small) audience here... Thanks Sam and Chris. I would have been very grumpy without my phone. And I wouldn't want the Church of England texting me about that.*
*Not that they would have been able to...
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Out with the old...
Just a couple of things to get out of the way before the year is over.
Firstly, I'm not looking forward to getting back to Southampton if this weather forecast is anything to go by...
I'm hoping the snow will have gone and the temperature risen by about 20 degrees by the time I get back tomorrow. Or perhaps Google just got it wrong...
Secondly, a bit of a rant. I spent most of yesterday complaining loudly about one particular aspect of the New Year's Honours list. That particular aspect being that June Sarpong, here depicted in all her uselessness...
...has been awarded an MBE. For services to broadcasting. Even though it's the lowest of the BEs, I will remain astounded by this well into January and probably beyond. She will just get on my nerves more and send me diving for the remote control much more quickly than she did before.
Services to broadcasting. I ask you... Obviously being able to speak clearly and coherently and not like you have been on the vodka is no longer a prerequisite for high achievement in broadcasting. Either that, or it was all a terrible mail merge mistake at the Palace - this is my preferred version of events.
I worry that this time next year we might be saluting Dame Heather Small or, as has already been suggested, Sir Jamie Cullum.
Help.
Firstly, I'm not looking forward to getting back to Southampton if this weather forecast is anything to go by...
I'm hoping the snow will have gone and the temperature risen by about 20 degrees by the time I get back tomorrow. Or perhaps Google just got it wrong...
Secondly, a bit of a rant. I spent most of yesterday complaining loudly about one particular aspect of the New Year's Honours list. That particular aspect being that June Sarpong, here depicted in all her uselessness...
...has been awarded an MBE. For services to broadcasting. Even though it's the lowest of the BEs, I will remain astounded by this well into January and probably beyond. She will just get on my nerves more and send me diving for the remote control much more quickly than she did before.
Services to broadcasting. I ask you... Obviously being able to speak clearly and coherently and not like you have been on the vodka is no longer a prerequisite for high achievement in broadcasting. Either that, or it was all a terrible mail merge mistake at the Palace - this is my preferred version of events.
I worry that this time next year we might be saluting Dame Heather Small or, as has already been suggested, Sir Jamie Cullum.
Help.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Fog off...
"We got one of the last slots on the Dover to Calais ferry..." whinged Family A.
"The only thing to do was to drive..." complained Family B.
"This is the first time we have tried to have Christmas with our Italian family..." moaned Famiglia C.
"We'll try tomorrow but otherwise I don't know what we'll do..." grumbled Overindulged Delayed Passenger D, as she clutched a blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Well, its sunny now...
"The only thing to do was to drive..." complained Family B.
"This is the first time we have tried to have Christmas with our Italian family..." moaned Famiglia C.
"We'll try tomorrow but otherwise I don't know what we'll do..." grumbled Overindulged Delayed Passenger D, as she clutched a blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Well, its sunny now...
Sunday, October 29, 2006
A Creative Solution...
Or alternatively, just tell them to stop the hell drawing on the walls!!!
In saner times, if you scribbled on the walls your parents wouldn't write to the Observer in middle-class torment, they would make you scrub it off and give you a clip round the ear.
And quite right too. It never did us any harm, etc. etc.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Off their trolley's...
I have now blogged twice about signs with bad grammar and no-excuse spelling but, worryingly, (or perhaps fortunately?) it seems I'm not the only one.
There's a whole "badgrammar" photostream on flickr where other like-minded people can gather and celebrate their pedantry.
So I'll put any future photo's their and shut up going on about it here.
There's a whole "badgrammar" photostream on flickr where other like-minded people can gather and celebrate their pedantry.
So I'll put any future photo's their and shut up going on about it here.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Are Generious Offer...
I know this is my second post on this theme recently and I could be accused of being obsessive, but I thought you should know that Next in Calcot near Reading has the following vacancy for someone to "relenish" stock...
Make sure you speak to Ben. If you write to him, there could be all sorts of problems...
Make sure you speak to Ben. If you write to him, there could be all sorts of problems...
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