Making the world a better place – Part one

Bloody hippies. Sitting there in their kaftans with their long hair and beards, weaving yogurts and floating vaginas. Why can’t they be pissed off and angry like everyone else.

Yes. Why not? I mean its such a lovely world isn’t it. People hating each other, blaming each other, being nasty to each other and complaining about anything to anybody who will listen and then complaining further when people don’t listen.

 

We have just had elections. Elections where every person who is angry with the current state of affairs in Europe and the UK took out their frustrations on the government by either not voting or by voting for far right loons. Great job! I’m sure we’ll laugh about it when jackbooted fucktards come a knocking to evict us from our homes for none compliance.

 

Of course there is a saying. Empty vessels make the most noise. Indeed,  this saying when applied to the current political landscape seems to ring true. Furthermore, this saying applies across all aspects of society. Just look at any newspaper (or news website) and you’ll read about how bad things are. How people in power are horrid. How people who do things do things selfishly or for the rubbing of their own ego, gain and gratification.

 

But what’s the one thing you don’t read about?

 

Nice people.

 

People doing good things.

 

Years ago, and I think I’ve already written about this before, people with lots and lots of money would look about and say:

“Fuck me, I have so much money from building railways/transporting slaves/eating jam <delete as applicable> I don’t know what to do with it!”

 

Then, armed with wads of cash they would do good things like building churches, hospitals, libraries, club houses or starting mutual societies and cooperatives. Benevolence. Generosity. All for eternal recognition.

 

In the UK at least, one only has to take a trip into their nearest town and find monuments to people who have donated or sacrificed something for the benefit of others. Did people moan about that then I wonder? Did the newspapers of the time bemoan the fact that some great benefactor donated land for use as a municipal park? Did people tut and mutter about it? Surely that land would be better used as a factory? Maybe? Who knows? I can’t be arsed to do the research but I imagine it wasn’t like that.

 

These days, being nasty gets you fame. Being awful and frightful gets you instant celebrity status, or so it seems. To me it seems that being awful and frightful is de rigueur . Think about it, companies don’t have compliments departments do they? Why is this? It is because there is more benefit in providing a shit service and employing people who spend all their day depleting their self-worth levels by listening to people blame them personally for the lack of service or whatever. I know, I used to be one of those employees.

 

So how can we turn the world into a better place? How can I get people to be nicer to each other? How can I get recognition for good deeds done to humanity?

 

You’ll just have to come back later and read all about it.

They’re all out to get me

Sometimes I can’t help feeling singled out.

Of course I know it’s nonsense but I like to think that the reason some things happen is because of a greater conspiracy. One involving the “Powers that be” be that the illuminati, the Government, MI5, Tescos, the man in the post office that looked like Elvis or whom-so-ever is in favour this week and Me. Of course, if you know me well you’ll know I really dont believe half the shit I spout but I gain great pleasure from trying to convince people that the fruits of my overactive imagination are real. Again those that know me well join in and make even more outlandish suggestions. Those that don’t look at me bewildered, confused and even concerned for my mental well being. But I assure you as I said, most of the conspiracy stuff is utter bollocks and I know it.

Anyway, today I mentioned in a comment on one of poggs‘ posts about buses how whenever I’m waiting for a bus none will show yet when Im not you cant move for the buggers. Which made me think. I’ve never really written about this side to me. Ok some people love it. Of course others hate it (probably because they think I really do believe the shite I spout) some even become hostile, which I find sad.

So. After that windfilled explanation on with the show….Here for your delight and mind to chew over, are how they are trying to undermine me….why? I haven’t a clue….possibly because Im the real heir to the throne….

Comes in threes

1. When I’m waiting for a bus or train :-

• a) millions of buses or trains that I can’t get will sail past empty yet mine will always be chockablock and infrequent.


• b) The bus or train I want will only come every 3 years even though


• c) The line of buses I cant get will go so far down the road from the bus stop that the bus I want cant see me and will go sailing past on its merry way.


• d) Some old myopic biddy (who is of course a secret agent for the sinister organisation) will flag my bus down and then wave it on because she doesn’t want it (without ANY consideration for others that may be waiting for it)

2. I’ll find some food/hair product I really like. Then mysteriously (like almost over night) it will disappear from the shop shelves. An example of this is Heinz Pepperoni Pizza’s. Yumtastic. Now you cant find them for love nor money.

3. I’ll find a restaurant that does really good quality food with really excellent service. When I take others to impress them the service is shite, the food substandard or its closed or changed management.

4. When in a rush I’ll always end up behind Mr “Slow and considerate” and in front of Mr “Im in a rush get a move on you twat”

5. Some fucker will go into my bag and discharge the battery on my MP3 Player the day I need to listen to it. The same fucker will do the same to my mobile phone when I’ve not got my charger.

6. Whenever I’m waiting for an important piece of mail. The postman (who is in the employ of the “sinister” organisation behind my persecution) will hold on to the post or accidently lose it on purpose.

People phone me

7. If I get excited over a particular TV listing, like so excited I cant wait and am bubbling with anticipation like a bottle of Grand Prix Mumm

• Some fucker will call on the phone when its on


• Some fucker will call round when its on


• Some famous fucker will die and it will be rescheduled (or delayed thus fucking up any video settings)


• Some fucker will do something tasteless and the program/film will be indefinitely postponed on the grounds of taste

8. If I get into a TV serial:-

• Be assured that someone will distract me and drag me away during a crucial moment


• I will forget (due to the mind rays that they beam at me) and miss key episodes


• It will be rescheduled to a time
  
  
  
  • - when I cant be bothered to stay up
  
  
  • - thats abhorrent to God
  
  
  • - when I’m at work
  
  
  • - when I’m otherwise occupied
  
  
  
  

9. When I really fancy a cup of tea, a bowl of cornflakes or something milk involved, sinister agents raid my fridge or turn any milk in it sour.

10. The expensive electrical gadget I covet for months turns out to be a turkey when I finally get the thing. Either that or I’ll buy it and a week later it’ll be like 50p for 3.

There are more….but they’ve turned the brain rays onto me again and I can’t remember what they are….

–

This post originally appeared in May 2005 on Livejournal. It has been reposted here for new audiences. When they arrive. One day….perhaps….

Holidays

While going through and updating old posts, I came across this one. I thought it apt seeing as I am off on my jollies soon.

Please enjoy this entry from 2008

—-

So there I am lapping up Council-by-Sea thinking to myself just how did the British seaside get into such an appalling state of grotesqueness. When it struck me. In the 70′s/80′s when package holidays to Magaluf and Torremolinos cost about ten shillings, those that previously lapped it up in the likes of Butlins and Pontins legged it to these sunnier climes.

Thus the rot started. Less people spending money at the seaside means less money for the attractions. Old people retire to these once bustling resorts, too old and poor to maintain the once grand 4 storey Victorian and Edwardian terraces, the area looks shabby. Because the place looks shabby nobody wants to go and eventually you end up with the likes of Llandudno or Rhos-On-Sea or New Brighton. A sad state of affairs.

So like I said, I’m musing on this and it struck me like a bag of wasps. How come, during this lull, nobody ever thought of rebranding the seaside? I mean like strolling down the promenade being assaulted with the sickly stench of fish and chips, doughnuts and last nights vomit is not everybody’s cup of tea really now is it? I mean yeah I wax lyrical about the joy one can experience by rolling up ones trousers to the knees, donning a knotted hankerchief on ones head while sitting in a red and white striped deckchair on Blackpool seafront in the piss cold rain. I know poncing about on the dodgems makes some people think they’re James Dean or some other teen icon. But really, those days have passed. What is needed is a careful bit of rebranding. Instead of Council-on-Sea, maybe there should be Gated-Community-Le-Mer. Instead of the Sun readers flocking in their hordes to resorts like Skegness and Scarborough, try and attract those nice Guardian readers instead. Something which should have been done during the lull in trade in the 80′s. The reinvention of the British Seaside.

Of course the wife said I was being daft because the concept of rebranding is only a recent thing. I disagreed though, saying that the reason resorts didn’t rebrand was purely because of those in control of the local council. Nobody, especially a British person, likes change. As local councils are full of old fuddyduddies the likelihood of change in such circumstances is virtually nil. Indeed some councils went through the good old “whoops what a shame the lido caught fire so now we have to pull it down and build luxury apartments on it” strategy but this too is self defeating, like who would want to live in a seaside town where there isn’t anything to do? Not me!

So in my new rebranded seaside gone are the old and in with the new.

The pier – totally refurbished, instead of tack and rock shops – designer boutiques

Tatty victorian terraces and guest houses – replaced by luxurious, totally serviced apartments with self contained gyms, spas and creches

Icecream – Icecream, as you know is fattening and not everybody can eat it. Instead, healthy frozen fruit juices, sorbets and fruit on a stick.

Amusement arcades – These tend to attract the wrong sort of people so they’ll be bulldozed. Of course the penny cascade things can stay as they’re harmless enough but the noisy modern arcade games can go. Instead of arcades, however, a change to small, members only casinos.

Fish and Chips – Everybody knows, fish and chips are really bad for you. They make you fat and can cause heart disease. Instead stylish culinary delights in the form of swanky but affordable seafood restuarants. A whole new dining experience. Similar to those you might see in resorts on the continent. Where passers-by have to wrestle with the waiters attempting to lure them in with promises of a good meal.

Kiss-Me-Quick hats – In this day and age of paedophiles, rapists and shifty men with greasy hair and sweat stained tshirts such things should not be encouraged. Instead Kiss me and you’ll receive an assault charge hats. Designed, of course, by Gucci or maybe even Gok Wan.

Donkey rides – Riding donkeys, as every decent person knows, is exploitative and cruel so such a recreation would not be available in Gated-Community-le-Mer. Besides which it is much healthier to walk places.

Y List Celebrities from yesteryear in end of pier shows – Sadly it comes to every performer that they will spend their remaining working life on an end of pier show before disappearing into obscurity. Ant and Dec are heading that way as is Simon Cowell. So why prolong their agony (and indeed the risk of being rediscovered) and banish such crap. Besides, the type of show that goes on at the end of the pier normally involves some blue humour, weak family jokes and some bloke pulling knotted hankies out of a hat. Bollocks. Nobody wants to see that anymore. So instead, Broadway shows; Profound political or philosophical plays; lively debates and maybe some nice music from whichever artist is trendy to have in ones collection these days.

Screaming kids – the seaside, as every parent knows, is not a safe place for children. What with sand allergies, the risk of jellyfish stings, sea monsters and even people taking pictures of their own family which might capture your kids image too trapping their soul forever in some 2 dimensional vortex like in Superman II or that episode of Sapphire and Steel. Indeed while freedom of expression is healthy for a child, the seaside is not the place for them. Far too many dangers. Instead the rotting chalets and beach huts can be converted into soundproof, paedophile safe, allergy free, hermetic containers for children. Simply place the child in and leave until such time as you need to return. Of course you could just not bring the little shit in the first place.

Old People – Old people don’t belong at the seaside. In Gated-Community-la-Mer, old people will be restricted to certain “oodyarememberwen” zones. Safe. Warm. Miles away.

Fairgrounds – Fairgrounds attract the unwashed. Bulldozing them (or accidentally on purpose setting them on fire (the fairgrounds that is, not the unwashed)) would solve this problem. In their place, delightful formal gardens to promenade around. Of course the gardens would have to cater for those with allergies so any flower within would, of course, be artificial.

See even with just a few paragraphs I have turned an atypical British Seaside resort into a place where YOU would want to go. Yes YOU because that is what market research has shown and as we all know nobody can argue with market research.

If I go….I’ll send you a postcard email.

---

Abridged version

Seasides -> Bulldoze them.

Spare not the children, lest the evil persist

The other week, Zoefruitcake and I visited our local Frankie and Benny's for a bit of a post payday treat.

It was busy; mostly because it was Halloween but also because it was the day after pay day and the world, his wife, their neighbours and their best friend's uncle's favourite mechanic's son also had the same idea.

Because it was Halloween weekend there were many children present. A good deal of these children were sat, well behaved and happy to be out with their family. There was, however, a pair of little shits present whose parents obviously went to the "freedom of expression" school of parenting. These delightful little darlings thought it fun to run rampant around the restaurant squealing with glee instead of remaining seated and only speaking when spoken to.

Spoilt shits.

You know the type. They usually have traditionally cheeky scamp names like Bob or Tommy. The type of names traditionally apportioned to working class flat cap wearing, roll-up cigarette smoking betting shop regulars but, for some bizarre reason only known to fashionable middle class Guardian readers, deemed preferable to Tarquin, Charles and Gordon.

The type whose parents, as stated previously, believe in "freedom of expression". The same parents who probably inexplicably develop a "cough" when walking near smokers. Or fuss about their children and whatever food allergy or intollerance may be fashionable at the time. The type of parent that any normal person would want to smash into a granite table face first before flushing their head repeatedly down a particularly dirty toilet.

The type of child who runs around restaurants unbidden. Screaming and tripping up waitresses. Any accidents that arise are clearly the fault of the waiting staff not taking care when carrying a tureen of boiling soup or molten lard.

That got me thinking.

Bloody kids.

When I was a kid at a restaurant (or, more likely, a Berni Inn) , if I didn't sit straight, shut up and eat my greens provided with my scampi and chips the likelihood of eating out again would diminish to the point of never again. But no, not these chuffing days. Noooo. These days it seems it is totally socially acceptable to allow your child to run rampant with no regard for other diners or waiting staff.

All in the name of "freedom of expression".

So to express my own freedom, I rose from my chair, went over to the little shits, grabbed them by the collars. Dragged them over to their parents who were sat, jaws agape in protest. Threw them into their seats and said: "If you don't fucking control your children I will pickle them and feed them to the tramps."

"Oh but they're only expressing themselves" came the protest.

"Yeah well I'm expressing myself freely too." I retorted as I stabbed the father in the nose with his blunt steak knife and forced the mother to swallow her barbequed rib bones whole. Sideways.

"Do you want a starter?" Zoe asked, snapping me out of my daydream.

"No, let's get straight to mains" I replied.

Mustard is like Custard without the sea

Visiting the olds often brings mixed feelings. I enjoy seeing them. I enjoy going into town to meet up with the chaps. I enjoy sitting, drinking, chatting about any old bollocks. Then I go about the area, doing general chores,  shopping and revisiting old haunts.

I suppose once you’re away from an area, when you return you notice things that you probably wouldn’t notice in your own environment. Like the shufflers in the supermarket; the fat couples with zombie like expressions continuing with their socially prescribed existentiality; the dodgy underclass being generally shifty. Then my euphoria sinks. Like some sort of shit on the toilet pan of existence being washed away by the bleach of reality.

What has happened to us as a society? Why have we become so vacuous, narcissistically self obsessed and  abhorrent? You may deny this, hell I would too, but with true introspection and examination of how we, as a society, follow the subliminal instructions from those who feel they are our superior, we can quickly recognise how awful this culture we have created has become.

It is then we become reviled by ourselves. Kid ourselves that “No! I’m not like that at all!”. Yet deep inside, we know we are. It feels bad. So we numb the pain, ignore the state of affairs and distract ourselves with shopping, computer games, Facebork or other such trivialities. We should be ashamed.

Bogs

When did you last use a public loo? Today? Last week? Last month?

I think my last visit to a public loo was when I went to Tenbury Wells with Z.

 

Usually, when caught short, I’ll try to sneak into a pub, pretend that I’m looking for someone and do my business there. Well...not in the pub lounge...more like in the pub’s bog. But you get my meaning. This, I must explain, is only for number ones. NEVER for number twos. And only recently, number ones in urinals.

You see, I have this dislike of public bogs; Dirty, smelly and dingy cathedrals of cess and unease. Or at least that is my experience of them. Every man that enters a public loo is potentially a murderer, a druggie or a rapist. Every drop of water on the floor a potential plague bearer and every surface the path to dysentery.

Not very nice.

I suppose this began at primary school. School for me was in a Victorian building. Ageing. Falling apart at the seams. Paint peeling from the high vaulted ceilings. Wooden floors. Creepy corridors. That kind of thing. The toilets reflected a similar age. Buffed greenish brown stone urinals. The trough caked with strange solid matter and verdigris encrusted plumbing. The stalls contained low porcelain thrones that wouldn’t look out of place in a retro-furbished bathroom with rising chain operated flushers. One of the thrones was permanently blocked with matter that I care not to describe and the whole room had an odorous miasma of cheap bleach, urinary infections and damp staleness.

This was probably not the thing that kick-started my dislike of public toilets. I think it was the characters that tended to loiter in this palaces of piss stink. Mostly the bullies, the ne’er-do-wells and the feckless. You know the type, they probably grew up to be successful “business men” who peddle drugs and traffic women in their vast criminal empires or, they’re locked up in prison.

The toilets were always the last place I’d want to be. I had even been known to hold off from going to the toilet until I had returned home. Something I still kind of do. British public toilets nearly always remind me of those awful facilities at St Mary’s. Sometimes even the ones in the pubs do that too. It’s like people are not proud of toilets. They’re places that, left untended, seem to rapidly decline into dirty horrid holes.

I’ve been in nightclub toilets where the floors were sodden with liquid. I’ve been to restaurants where I’ve refused to eat because of the condition of their toilet facilities. I’ve seen sights you would never believe in platform toilets on railway stations. Even abroad, I’ve used manned conveniences that I’ve paid to use where a swish of the mop wouldn’t have made the slightest difference in cleanliness.

Now, before anyone starts kicking off about how not all toilets are like that. Let me agree with you. Not all toilets that are for public usage are like that. I’ve been in pristine bogs. So clean they smell of roses. Clean enough to pass as a toilet in a private stately home. I’ve also been in adequate bogs that, though free to use, are manned by a maintenance person who spends time ensuring that any puddles of piss are swiftly mopped up.

Then today, there came the news that a number of councils in the UK are selling off or closing their public lavs because they are no longer used or they have fallen in to disrepair. A look on the internet will uncover no end of tribute sites dedicated to the grand old public lavs that once graced UK townships. These days they are few and far between as councils cut back on budgets and sanitary services suffer.

If I had the money I’d buy one. I’d refurbish the place and charge £1 to use it. I’d ensure that the place was light, airy, clean and safe for people to use without fear of a penis being stuck through a hole in the partition. Users would not have to worry about stepping into anything unpleasant and maybe even buy themselves a freshly made coffee on their way out. The attendant would be proud of their work and rewarded for such. Maybe even make it a members only place for an annual fee of say £20. Each stall would be cleaned by the attendant after each use. No fear of druggies or buggery.

Sadly I doubt I could raise the funds.

Outtamawae

The youth of today. Perfect in every measure, in the eyes of their parents. Educated to the max and ne’er a want to be denied. Bliss.

 

The same could, no doubt, be said of the youth of my day. We were educated often beyond that which our parents had been. Needs met, fed’ and watered. Entertained for free by television and the infant home computing industry. But today’s youth have one subtle difference. They are afflicted with narcissism, an affliction which, had my studies in media been allowed to continue, could probably be attributed to social media.

 

It seems to me, as I walk about the educational establishment where I work, that the youth of today have this ability, or belief, that as long as they do not acknowledge your existence you do not exist and therefore their lives can continue unhindered by such inconveniences.

 

I should elaborate. I have noticed a phenomenon during my travels around the corridors, where youths sit, legs out stretched, oblivious to anyone else’s existence. It’s as if they believe that if they don’t acknowledge or notice you, you will simply pass through their legs with your trolley and life will continue to allow them to remain as they were undisturbed. Indeed, such is not limited to youths sat legs outstretched. Nay, for it has also been noticed that the youth of today also behave this way when they themselves are walking through the corridors too. They should not make way for you unless they acknowledge you, rather than by denying your existence you should pass straight through them ethereally else step aside yourself for their majesty and self importance out weighs any stature or presence you may hold yourself.

 

This does not just apply to lowly trolley pushing IT technicians, this also applies to members of teaching staff, other students and even disabled people in wheelchairs. Moreover, the same tactic is used by the youth crossing roads. As long as the car is not seen, it does not exist and will either stop or pass through you like a dose of senna. This only adds to the woe for future generations.

 

However, take comfort. For although will you cease to exist in your old age unless acknowledged by others, you can be sure of a perfect haircut, outstanding beauty treatment, stunning photography and advice on the holiday of your dreams. For, it seems, the most popular courses remain photography, art, music, tourism and beauty treatment.

 

Those that know me will probably recall a similar cry of woe from me when I worked in a Yorkshire sixth form college. There the most popular courses were tourism, media and photography. I recall feeling horrified at the realisation that instead of the doctors, nurses and care workers to look after me in my frailty; instead of the pharmacists, accountants and legal people to ensure my health, wealth and freedoms, today’s youth were going to flood the employment market with out of work photographers, beauticians and air hostesses. No engineers to fix the bridges and roads and no mathematicians to count the stars. Just beautiful hair styles, perfectly designed web pages and well performed music.

 

Still, it will take my mind off the disgruntled Polish male nurse force feeding me puréed parsnips in between commode visits eh?

A levels? Arse levels

When I left compulsory education back in 1992 A levels were hard. I’m sure they are still hard but back in the day, they were hard. If more than 20 people at your school got A grade A level results fingers would have been pointed and investigations into cheating conducted.

At that time we were told about the various career options open to us. Either you stayed on after GCSE and did A levels with a view to getting a job afterwards or moving on to university. Or you left school, did an apprenticeship if you could find one or joined the armed forces. Because I was bright I was told that my future lay beyond university and that I should focus on what I wanted to do.

Difficulty was, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. To some extent I still don’t know what I want to do. So it frequently amuses me how it is universally accepted that 16-19 year olds should some how decide what career they want to pursue and make life changing decisions.

I left school with basic job search skills. I had several ideas what I wanted to do, mostly become a customs officer, but the careers department at school wasn’t all that clued up on careers that didn’t involve a pack of Happy Family cards. All well and good if you considered the police, the ambulance service, being a butcher or baker or an estate agent. However, woe betide any pupil set on a non-typical career such as Customs Officer.

It should be remembered that the Internet in those days was basic if not non-existent. There was no vast careers database available to people at home. You would have to attend at careers service offices who would shrug and tell you that there was no work and that you might as well give up and just sign on until something comes along you fancy.

Over the years that followed, so did my career choice. Customs seemed like a nigh impossible career to break into, few vacancy adverts were placed in the local press and by 1995 my appetite for a career in Law had started to develop.
With a few months of experience in a law office I was convinced, mostly by the assurances of the adults around me, that getting an entry level job in a legal firm would be a breeze. Home printers were few and far between in those days. So all applications would have to be hand written and all vacancies sourced through either the job centre or through the local press.

Bored of life on the dole and constant rejection letters (yes, in those days companies replied to you even if it was just with a “no thanks”) I attempted to make the move into a career in law by enrolling on the only suitable course I could find in the area. That being an ILEX course based at Southport college, more than 20 miles away from my home.

It ran one day a week. Every Thursday I would travel the distance on the train and return on the last night train to leave Southport. This I did until a month from the end of the course the Job Centre told me that they would not fund the following year and besides that they had an interview for me to attend, failure to attend said interview would result in cessation of benefits.

I attended, got the job and stayed in the post for about three and a half years.
Unfortunately, it was not what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted a career in Law. “Fear not” I was told “It’ll give you relevant experience”. Desperate to escape the daily humdrum of no hope of promotion and dead end job, I bailed at the first opportunity. Following the advice that it was best to remain in employment than to leave and look again.
That was a stupid thing to do.

The next 10 years involved working in ICT. I never wanted to be a computer technician. Fuck, I’ve never met anyone who works in ICT that set out to work in ICT. In those days, jobs in IT were easy to get into because few people had the qualifications or experience. Thing was, every day I spent in ICT meant that I was limiting my future prospects to that of ICT related careers. Recruitment agencies would only offer call centre work. Applications for career changes would go without response. Those that did said “No relevant experience” or “Insufficient qualifications”.

Aware that the job market was flooding with graduates with far less work experience than myself I plunged into a Journalism degree on the advice of a career consultant. I now find myself struggling to compete in a shrunken jobs market despite the assurances of my tutors that my worldly experience should make me more employable than my contemporaries. I am back working in ICT. For less than before.

I guess having a career plan  helps. Problem is I am reluctant to fix on one specific career choice. The avenues that lie before me mostly involve further study. Applications to entry level graduate careers receive “No relevant experience” and “inappropriate qualifications”, responses I believe are veiled “You’re too old” replies. And that’s only those firms polite enough to reply.

It’s hard not to think that I’m on some employment blacklist. Even recruitment agencies do not respond. Those that do give the usual “Nothing on our books as yet”. Firing off CV after CV into cyberspace results in nothing. All the time the clock is ticking. Unable to gain relevant experience because I have insufficient experience. I’m 36. I have experience. I can manage a team of administrators and teams of media students. I can type, use HTML, instruct, use computers, communicate via telephone, email and inter-personally. But no. Nobody wants me.

It’s plain to my sight that even when you take into account the lack of jobs out there, there must be something about my CV or work experience, that puts potential employers/HR departments off. Even my companion, who was recently made redundant, gets more recruitment agencies calling than I do.
I bet it’s cos I’m ginger.

Or old.

Regardless, I am conscious of the approaching wave of 2011 graduates. The flood of students with “good” A levels (better grades than me!) up to and including 2015. The lack of industry and opportunity in the UK and the fact that each day I spend in ICT I am making myself more unemployable to my chosen career change.

TV For sale

Last night I thought I'd watch some TV. So I picked up the TV guide and thumbed through it with the express intention of finding something to watch. My head exploded with despair. After I picked up the pieces of skull and brain I had splattered all over the living room I analysed the scheduled programmes I had missed.

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UK TV

For the benefit of our Merrycan and European cousins let me explain how TV works in the UK. If you want a television receiver in your house you must have a licence. You can have a black and white CCTV monitor without a licence as long as the equipment is not capable of receiving a television signal. To have video recorders, TV's or even a Computer with a TV card, regardless of whether they are connected to an aerial or not, in the UK you must have a TV licence.

The proceeds of which go to fund the BBC who make great TV programmes when they try. Furthermore, the BBC are also allowed to raise revenue by selling their programming to other networks worldwide. However, they are unable to make revenue by advertising so unlike in Merrycar where…

<Commercial Break>

Join the army from stegzy gnomepants on Vimeo.

Buy this car, it will make you seem more financially bouyant than your friends. Encourage your partner to buy one too that way you can feel more superior to your neighbour who never seem to invite you their kinky sex parties

</commercial break>

you get adverts every two minutes and the programmes are really just advertising space fillers

<Commercial Break>

Slurpro from stegzy gnomepants on Vimeo.

Have no life? Text "Mugme" to 833434 and get a free ringtone every 20 minutes (The ringtone is free but the text will cost you £4305 a letter) Go on! Your life will seem pointless and might as well end unless you have these ringtones!

</commercial break>

which can get a bit annoying after a while. Anyway because I pay just over £100 a year to the government BBC I get to watch a handful of advertisement free channels. Further more, if I feel I want to be sold to or have every intricate moment of a drama explained to me as though I am a thicko with no clue whatsoever then I can watch ITV who gain their revenue mostly from the sale of advertising space, or I can enjoy the relative "I'm immune to advertising but I'll watch this interestingly subversive factual current affairs programme aimed at the 20-45 age bracket" chinstrokery of Channel 4 (when they are not showing Big Pervert or something). Indeed, if I feel that I haven't had enough Americanisation I can tune into Channel 5 and get a fix of syrupy slush whenever I feel like it.

That is until recently. When the powers that be decided that 5 channels isn't enough and we needed to fall inline with the rest of the world and have Digital TV. Behold Freeview. A multi channel sewer of creativity, behold several other BBC channels (for free) such as BBC3, BBC4, BBC News 24, CBBC (for kiddies), CBeebies (for kiddies that don't know they are kiddies yet), ITV2, ITV 3 and ITV-somewhere-near-the-bottom-of-the-list-so-you-never-remember-its-there-4, More4, E4 (for yoofs that do EEE's man), Film Four, UKTV Hitler Coast Alan Titchmarsh's Natural History History, Q-PVC, Bid up, Bid down, Bid sideways all manner of shite and dirge.

All for free.

Because I pay just over £140 a year.

Good that isn't it?

What's more is some people pay a further £400 a year for the privilege of watching everything that has been shown on the free channels in the past again and again, more American TV and the experience of being sold to every 15 minutes (yet more adverts).

Ace.

I dont agree with paying twice for something I've already paid for so instead I tend to download illegally programmes I really want to watch (ie reruns of old Dr Who and Lost) or rent and rip via LOVEFilm. But each to their own I suppose.

---

Anyway I read the TV schedule and this is some of the "quality" televisual treats available for the general British public:-

My Dog is Fat and So am I    

Fat people and their fat dogs. Gripping reality TV.

NOT

Freaky Foods

- Fat? Watching telly? Hell you'll never eat again after watching this (Though you'll still watch telly...wont you?)

Celebrity Dog Superstars

- the public vote for their favourite celebrity so that the rescued dog they are looking after doesn't get put down

Celebrity Knitwork

The public vote on their favourite celebrities knitting patterns. This week Imoelda Staunton knits a spectacle case out of her own navel fluff

Something without that annoying prick Patrick Keilty -

A programme, possibly the news, without Patrick Keilty. His mum will be disappointed

Something with Ben Fogel in it 

He's not on telly enough these days so slap a repeat on and nobody will notice.

I was a Celebrity But I Bummed Some Rabbits in Michael Barrymore's Swimming Pool While off my face on Crystal Meth Make Me Famous Again (Please)

Washed up has-beens vie to be famous once more for 15 weeks while they try to rebuild their career by doing things they wouldn't normally lower themselves to do had they still had some self respect left.

Don't Poke Me with a Spoon -

Situation comedy, probably about a married couple who secretly hate each other and the trials and tribulations of everyday life with teenagers. With canned laughter in case you don't know where to laugh.

Holidays you'll never afford

- Watch dreamily as a washed up public school ponce that used to be an interior designer shows you "holidays you'll never afford unless you sell your children for medical experiments and maybe burn your house down for the insurance" in far off countries you've never heard of and are probably made up anyway.

IF...The World Still Had Protozoan Sludge

- Popular science scientists and people crying out for research grants discuss what 21st century life might be like if the world was still covered in Protozoan sludge in an effort to justify the millions of pounds already wasted on them by popular Universities.

My Mother was Adolf Hitler -

Someone like Adam Hart-Davies bumbles about the countryside on a unicycle interviewing friends of Nelly Bainbridge of Stithians who always claimed to be Adolf Hitler who escaped occupied Germany in a shoe box and had a sex change to disguise his identity.

Old King Coal

Soap Opera set in Yorkshire following the fortunes and struggles of a typical family during the Arthur Scargill era. Cunningly set at a time where if the soap isn't popular they can end the series by closing darn t'pit. Starring Dr Who's David Tennant as Arthur Scargill.

Dead Hicks -

Science fiction drama for thirty-somethings filmed in and around Solihull where every week parts of which are substitute for far off places such as Delhi, New York and Birmingham. This week the team are visited by their arch-nemesis, the sinister Tax Inspector (played by Patrick Keilty)

 

I'm so grateful I spend £142 a year on this quality programming. Its like Waitrose selling Kwiksave No Frills Bread. After all it must be good if Waitrose sell it!

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This post was originally posted on my Livejournal in 2007

Stegzy's Customer Service School

Hello! Thank you for coming to Stegzy Gnomepants' Customer Service School. Today I am going to show you the key skills required to succeed in this line of work^*

1. Always give your friends first class service -

  If your friends are happy they will tell their friends about the good service they have had. Word of mouth is more powerful than advertising. Advertising costs lots. More money means wealthier bosses - wealthier bosses mean better working environment - better working environment means longer toilet breaks for you - you go home happy. So if your friend comes in treat them right. Chat to them for as long as you like. It doesn't matter about anybody else just make sure you look after your mates. If anyone complains then that's because they have no mates and they have no mates because they complain all the time.

 

2. Never Smile -

Smiling means you are being friendly. Remember the customer is the enemy and should not be befriended. Befriending a customer means everyone gets first class service. This costs money and time especially if you talk to every customer you come into contact with. Time = money

Also remember

Under no circumstances engage the customer in conversation -

Even the slightest hint of chumminess means one of the saddos will start calling in regularly. Regular contact develops into friendship and before long the saddo will be inviting you along to chess or bingo evenings and Star Trek Conventions and then every Colin, Barry and Douglas will be lining up expecting excellent service.

 

3. Never make Eye contact -

Customers are naturally stupid. Remember you are in charge not them. The only people allowed to make eye contact are highly skilled sales people. They have special one way contact lenses and eye contact is an excellent tool for breaking down defences. Making eye contact can reassure a customer that the piece of shit they are buying is a quality bargain but it can also show weakness to the unskilled CSRep.

REMEMBER :- Eye contact should only be made by highly skilled sales people except in confrontational situations in which case a mighty glare can make anyone have weak knees.

For more on eye contact see Appendix R. Tibetan Eye Combat Skills

 

4. They need you more than you need them -

The only reason you are in contact with a customer is because they think they want something you have. In reality they have something you want - MONEY and lots of it. No matter how many times someone protests or complains in reality they want to give you their money. Short of a good kicking most customers will happily part with their hard earned loot without second thought to the true cost therefore remember the following:-

1. Gauge your customers wealth status - The more money they appear to have the less they are likely to want to spend unless they appear to be competitive or "Keeping up with the Jones'" types. They will more than likely want the middle of the range product so show them that one and then try and push them up the range. They probably wont buy the better product but they will leave thinking "I should have got that more expensive product" and probably come back.
   
   
2. Less well off customers are more likely to pay double - They want the better products so that they look swish when their pals come round. Push the product that they can't afford and mention credit services. Remember the words "Interest" and "APR" mean little to most people under 40
   
   
3. If someone wants to complain give them to the customer complaints department - These people are highly skilled individuals and can convince customers they are getting something for nothing when in reality they aren't. Do not attempt to placate a pissed off customer with offers of goodies unless you are trained in the dark arts.

5. The Customer is always wrong -

 

No matter how right they think they are. Remember you are more knowledgeable of the products and services you can provide to them even if you actually know nothing about them at all. They may think they know the subtle nuances but they don't, unless of course they are an ex-member of staff in which case they should be referred to a manager who will dispose of them in a recognised place of refuse. The only exceptions to these rules are people who work in motor factor/ accessories shops (e.g. Halfords) and in High Street computer retailers (e.g. PC World, Time, Tiny etc) - If the customer had any knowledge of the subtle nuances of the product in the first place they would have gone to a specialist and bought the right thing in the first place.

 

6. Your time is more valuable than theirs -

Customers have bags of time as well as cash otherwise they wouldn't be bothering you with insignificant requests. Show your disdain for their wasting your time by tutting and sighing when they can't make up their mind. This will embarrass them into hurrying up and, although they will probably moan to their friends about how rude you were, they will probably buy the wrong thing and end up having to return. Besides you are unlikely to ever see them again anyway so what should you care?

7. The longer you postpone a problem the quicker it goes away -

This is especially true in CS in IT. The IT Monkey rule of "Ignore a problem long enough it will fix itself" is universal through out all areas of CS. So, if you are presented with a problem you don't think you can solve yourself or you think may reveal more shoddiness on behalf of your co-workers, ignore it; it will go away.

If paper work is involved, shove it in the bin inside something such as an envelope of a chip wrapper;

If there is an electronic record of the transaction or contact make sure you hide it well.

Electronic resources are easily traced so check within your department for the approved method of evidence disposal.

8. Only be pleasant when funds are changing hands -

Remember, the customer pays your wages, if you are unpleasant at the critical time the may go elsewhere with their funds.

This is true right up until the end of their period of statutory rights after which they are not your problem.

Remember you are welcome to postpone dealing with anything other than transfer of funds as long as it doesn't point back at you.

9. Every customer is stupid unless they speak to you in a civil tone

Phrases like "I don't know anything about xxxx", "You! Help me out with this" or "I'm too busy to be coming in", name dropping and airs of superiority by customers should be dealt with utter contempt. Only stupid customers would dare use such tactics.

Remember the customer doesn't know why they want something, it is up to you to tell them. It often helps if you explain in simple language or by pointing to diagrams.

Remember also that 80% of what you say to a customer will be forgotten an hour after the contact therefore when explaining important contractual obligations or financial things speed up your speech or bury the terms and conditions on the back of a piece of paper which they will never read until it is too late.

Rude customers are out to make money from your company or better their own means to an end. So if contact is in any shape or form uncivil you are well within your right to drag out any processes and make things three times as difficult for the customer than if they were pleasant to begin with. Eventually they will learn of their error and eventually, at some future point, calm down on advice of their doctor or start attending anger management sessions.

Finally,

10. Be smart with your rudeness -

A skilled CSRep can always insult a customer without them even knowing. This could be by indirect reference or by subtle ways i.e. misspelling of their name. In this day and age everyone gets offended easily so there are numerous methods of insult on the market.

However, if your insult is too direct or obvious you may be faced with difficulty and possibly reprimand so it is important that the insult is untraceable and can be easily reinterpreted by a third or independent party.

We would like to remind candidates that these rules are widely known amongst CS centre Workers and any discussion of these secrets is considered taboo though some will discuss their own methods and rules of successful CS after their period of employment has ended or if they work for a different contact/call centre than you.

So follow these guidelines and you will keep both the customer and your employers happy. Oh yes....indeedy ;-)

 

Thank you for reading.

---

^* - Disclaimer - This is entirely for fun and not indicative of all customer service in the UK. No offence, implication or accusation should be taken with anything described.

This post was originally posted on Livejournal

Money

It makes the world go round. Or so they say.

Personally I was under the impression it was the gravitational pull of the celestial spheres but then I’m not a physicist.

The news in the UK today is a buzz with talk about the BBC, “commercial sensitivity” and the salaries they pay to the presenters and stars.

Now, some background. If you’ve been paying attention you can skip this bit and go a bit further down, unless you don’t know what the BBC is in which case keep reading.

 

What happened was, some enterprising hack requested the expenses details of parliamentary MPs. The MPs didn’t like this because it showed some of them were up to dodgy doings and basically having it away with public money. So. To try and deflect the attention in an almost “Yeah but they’re worse” kind of way, the MPs and those critical of the BBC say “Well what about good old Auntie Beeb?”

Now if you didn’t know, the BBC is a public body funded by a television licence fee. If you own a telly in the UK, you buy a licence. This gives you permission to watch telly and you get 5 terrestrial channels and, more recently, a zillion digital channels for about £150 ($240)  a year. The majority of this fee goes to fund the two terrestrial BBC channels, the numerous BBC backed digital channels, the BBC radio stations (Local and national), BBC drama, films and whatnot. Which, if you think about it, is a bally good deal. The other terrestrial public service channels, Channel 4, ITV and Channel 5 get a tiny bit of this licence fee and the rest of their money comes from advertising. The satellite stuff is on top of that and you pay something like £360 a year for a load of American dramas which are endlessly repeated ad nauseam. Which is a bit shit really, when you think about it.

So as the BBC is a public body, the MPs and critics have been saying “Tell us what you do with the money you get from the public then”. This is partly a distraction, but also a way of gaining the favour of Mr Murdoch (who owns the satellite broadcasting services in the UK, most of the newspapers and is a vitriolic critic of the BBC Licence fee).

First came the expenses. Nothing too controversial in a “Yaa boo sucks to you” kind of way.

Then some tried to make a fuss about £100 for a bunch of flowers but they were jolly nice flowers and so really you couldn’t complain really as they weren’t a duck house.

Then others pointed out that there was a substantial amount of cash going to the presenters in salaries.

Which brings us to today. The BBC finally admitted paying a total sum of £230million to artists, presenters, musicians and other contributors. [Source] but refused to disclose how much individual salaries were because such information is “Commercially sensitive”.

It is rumoured that the likes of Jonathan Ross command salaries in the millions. Not bad for a bit of prerecorded radio babbling and an hour worth of chit chat with your mates. Not bad at all. Is it? But I’m sure Mr Ross puts a lot of his talent into this and it must strain him and wear him out at the end of the day so he must surely deserve such a high figure.

However, being the selfless chap that I like to portray myself as, if I was a celeb reliant on the pay of Auntie Beeb I’d want to do all I could for my paymasters. In a selfless act I would publish my salary just to show that I don’t get paid all that much really for my amazing talents and that I deserve more. And that the fact that I am working for the BBC in a celebrity capacity is only out of charity and respect for a great and innovative British institution.

So that’s what I’m calling on the celebs to do. Don’t wait for the BBC to announce how much you earn. Get in there first. Think of the publicity. Think about how publishing details about your low salary will just highlight how much respect, charity and selflessness you have. The media, which you so adore and who put you were you are today, will be most grateful too and will no doubt show you as humble talented people deserving much much more than you are worth.

That way, struggling talentless media students and other wannabees can also admire your sacrifice and aspire to be just like you too. They can stop moaning about not being able to get their first foot on the ladder and perhaps realise that being in the spot light isn’t worth all that much really.

Unless….of course….that’s all bollocks and you do actually command ridiculous salaries for your vacuous pathetic talentlessness as you ponce about in the public eye getting people to send their money into help those less fortunate than themselves before fucking off to the Seychelles for the weekend on your private jet…..In which case…you should be bloody ashamed of yourself for ripping off the public that pay your salary and not offering to take a fraction of the bank filling sum you receive out of the public pot each year. That way the BBC can pay the behind the scenes people (ie those that actually matter) better salaries and get on with making better and more programmes which they can showcase on the world stage…..Strictly Come Dancing my arse….

Bah Humbug - Part 9

Blah Blah blah, to finish essays, blah blah hiatus blah blah sorry blah fish blah blah bumsex blah Christmas.

Day 9 – Christmas TV

There was a time when I would rush out to the newsagent and buy copies of the Christmas editions of TV Times and Radio Times.

These were days long ago when in the UK we were so poor we only had 3 TV channels. Of course, when this went up to 4 channels that didn’t stop the annual trip to the newsagent for the magazines. Gosh no.

So, once I had the television listings in my hands I would pour over each day looking to see what was going to be shown that festive period and highlight the programmes I would watch, carefully colour coded so that lime green would be “watch” and hot pink would be “video tape”.

Of course these were the days before DVD, the internet and being able to stay up late (Yes, there was such a time).

I remember being awed at the choice of excellent programming, the dilemma of do I watch this or do I watch that and the awful paradox of having to decide what to do if four programmes were on at the same time.

Those days went in 2001.

Television programming started to suffer in the UK and the choice of “Do I watch the fiftieth repeat of Back to the Future” or “Do I watch that episode of Only Fools and Horses where Del Boy falls through the bar for the 90th time” got tiring. TV listings had lost their sparkle.

These days I don’t bother. A lot of this stems from having to work over the Christmas period and missing all the great films and stuff because I was at work but it is also the fault of TV stations for not showing anything more compelling than the Doctor Who Christmas Special.  In fact, if it wasn’t for the Doctor Who Christmas Special the telly probably wouldnt go on at Christmas.

My brothers still do this annual habit. I’m pleased to say I have out grown it, or maybe I have matured enough to realise that Del Boy falling through the bar is not funny anymore. Nor is watching family breakdowns on Eastenders  compelling enough. Has it really come to this? Has TV really had its day? Will generations to follow simply look to see what the latest government approved Youtube upload is? Or what?

I cannot recall I time when I’ve seen something advertised on the Christmas listings as something I must not miss. Even this year, with the choices of Abba The Movie,  Gladiator, and the thousandth showing of Speed I am frankly underwhelmed.

I suppose there’s always Del Boy falling through the bar….

People on the bus

So I'm driving home from a hard 3.5 hours work (did I mention I only work 7 hours a week these days?) and I'm listening to the wireless and the Home service Radio 4. The programme being broadcast was about a newspaper editor from Zimbabwe and how he is adapting to life as an asylum seeker in the UK. One of the main differences, he pointed out, between Harare and the UK was how people didn't seem to talk to each other on public transport.









Now surprisingly, this guy lives in Leeds which is a good deal away from London where I believe such practices as ignoring ones fellow passengers is common place. It kind of shocked me and my Northern mind set because I'd always thought of the south as being a bit....well you know....insular when it comes to talking to complete strangers. Indeed, I'm happy to sit there with my earphones in (sometimes without anything attached at the other end) to avoid the weirdo on the bus.




And that got me thinking. Sometimes I don't mind talking to complete strangers on the bus or in the pub or where ever. Sometimes it's nice to get chatting about things. Ok, I think the reason for our inherent phobia of talking to people on public transport, is fear of extreme views. A case in point could be when
and I went to the Brewery Tap at the Cains Brewery in Liverpool and got chatting to a seemingly jovial chap at the bar. The chat, however, swiftly switched from idle banter to a strong antisemetic nationalist rant with the man at the bar sounding remarkably like someone at the Nuremberg Rally. Another case in point is the guy who once cornered me on the 78 and started talking about how the government controls the populace through the covert use of prescription medication.




So yeah, I can understand that people don't really want to talk to each other on the bus for those reasons in illustration. But surely not everyone is like that. It seems people's first reaction to someone talking to them on the bus or train or in the pub is one of suspicion and distrust. Who is this weird person? How dare they talk to me? Are they going to knife me or bum me or stick me in a dark cellar where I will be forced to eat marmite and parsnips until the day I die? But I know I'm not likely to force anyone into eating parsnips or marmite. I don't even have a cellar. I suppose that coupled with the fear of being attacked by marmite wielding weirdos comes the fear that they themselves would be labelled a weirdo. Fear, as they say in Dune, is the mind killer.




Then I thought, what is needed is a kind of badge system. Like say a green badge for "I'm happy to talk to anyone" and a red badge for "Fuck off weirdo". So those with green badges can sit and yatter away to their hearts content and the red badge wearers can scowl and frown and listen to their music or whatever without interruption. It could even be a registered thing so that should you like talking to someone then you take down the number on the badge and look them up on the internet when you get home or what ever. Of course there could also be a voting system like say badge wearer #473083 is very interesting and like prawns so people who like to talk about prawns (there are a lot of people that do) can look out for #473083 on their travels. Furthermore, one might get talking to #23932 and find out they are one of those religious zealot types that want to turn everything into some discussion about Jesus or whatever. You know, like :-




Person #48909823 - "So do you like tea?"


Person #23932 - "I do. In fact in the book of Ba'at chapter 30 it says 'And the lord didst partake in tea and verily there was much rejoicing'. I like tea almost as much as I like Jesus. Jesus can be your friend. Oh yes he can. Do you know Jesus? He is your friend. He is you know."




So the person #48909823 could go and say person #23932 likes to turn everything you talk about into something about Jesus and then people who prefer to talk about Jesus all the time can talk happily to #23932 while those that don't can talk to whoever else.




Of course such a scheme would require some more thinking out. But I reckon it would work well. Especially with the technology of the day.




What do you think?

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