While correcting my 12 year old neice's grammar on an exceedingly boring essay she was to submit for a school project on the flora and fauna of the Amazonian rain forests I could not help feeling that the present generation are missing out on yet another of the delights of a bygone age - Tippex. For many a pen or pencil is simply an implement for extracting the accumulated wax from one's ear.
I hate to think how many gallons of Tippex I used throughout my school years. All those notes and essays that I would need to alter because of a glaring mistake, a change of heart or a fresh idea that had entered my head. I often wondered if the manufacturer would not have been better served had they introduced an industrial size bottle of the correcting fluid but, given the speed with which the fluid hardened this probably was not such a great idea. Was I actually making more mistakes than I needed to? I don't know. Certainly there was part of me that rose to the challenge of gaining maximum use from each bottle before it turned to concrete.
Once I had left school and entered the vast employment pool I was aware that this was a completely different ballgame. The whole population must have been just as incompetent as me since 2 entire shelves of the stationery cupboard were given over to these small white bottles. Not only was the fluid available in white but there were other colours. For some reason there was only ever a very small supply of the thinner that was used to prolong the life of each bottle. You would have thought it to be the other way around since I usually managed to get through at least 3 bottles of thinners with each bottle of the fluid. I guessed it may have been a Health and Safety issue, thinner being flammable as it is. I thought that the young girl tasked with manning the stationery cupboard was naturally cross-eyed and simply elated with the joy of her work as Stationery Officer / Filing Clerk (grade 1) - it never crossed my mind that she was as high as a kite on most days from sniffing thinners. Maybe I am naturally naive but the only solvent abuse I was aware of in my school days was pouring colourless glue on some nerd's seat.
I must admit that I too am now more likely to reach for my keyboard than I am a pen but I do miss the messiness of eradicating one's errors with copious amounts of white, or other pastel shades of fluid. My fingers used to be permanently caked in the stuff, bringing out my rebellious streak - my parents having banned me from wearing nail polish. So much of the time would be spent rushing to put thoughts down on paper that a pause to correct a mistake was often a welcome distraction to reflect on what you had just written.
23 March 2010
17 February 2010
The Karate Kid
I recently had cause to visit a former work colleague with whom I had numerous, unresolved differences. It was not long before I was introduced to the fruit of his loins, a hyperactive young lad of about 8, who bounced into the lounge resplendent in what I imagined to be his karate kit. We were introduced and I was informed that the child had just returned from this evening’s class at the local sports centre. Encouraged by his proud father he was requested to demonstrate some of the techniques he had learned, at which point he started to throw 'haymakers' in the direction of the aforementioned loins. His mother kindly corrected him, suggesting that he should in fact be aiming rapier-like thrusts at his intended target. With the obedience becoming a drill sargeant he continued to pummel his father's nether region accompanied by the obligatory high pitched squawks (or was that coming from his father). Not being a particularly child-friendly person I have to admit that I was quickly warming to this child’s charms, smiling enthusiastically as each punch landed. It was a most impressive display that I insisted he repeat several times, so that I might gain greater insight into the demands of the sport. Not wishing to displease his son dad was forced to stand his ground wincing through gritted teeth.
My colleague and I did not resolve our differences though I did come away that evening having learned 3 valuable lessons: - one – Pride comes before a fall, two - there is a God and three – never let your child take karate lessons until they are at least 4 foot tall.
My colleague and I did not resolve our differences though I did come away that evening having learned 3 valuable lessons: - one – Pride comes before a fall, two - there is a God and three – never let your child take karate lessons until they are at least 4 foot tall.
10 February 2010
Trailer troubles
Spring may be just around the corner (for those with a more positive disposition) which unfortunately signals the return of the universally unwelcome breed of numpkin to the British countryside. I refer to that peculiar section of society that chooses to travel the length and breadth of this Fair Isle with an oversized sardine tin attached to the rear of their family saloon. You may have noticed that the extreme practitioners of this sect view clogging up our arteries as an all-year-round pastime.
Are their lives so vacuous that they feel the need to jump into the car and drive to some far flung location at every available opportunity? What do they do when they get to their destination and how long do they stay there?
The cost of these things would suggest they need to work around the clock to pay for them, so I am guessing that no sooner have they reached their destination and settled in than it is time to decamp and begin the homeward journey.
I once watched a TV interview where a member of this sect enthused about the joys of sitting around all day drinking tea and using a chemical toilet. Surely both these questionable benefits could be achieved at a fraction of the cost within the comfort of one's own home. You can’t tell me the experience of using a chemical toilet is any different in Doncaster from Dorset or Dundalk.
For those who argue that they are escaping the rat race I would suggest that they are simply replacing one form of rat race with another. They are escaping nothing, not even the household chores, the gardening, the DIY and car-washing that the majority of the population are forced to do at weekends. These people are not nomads, gypsies or road warriors, they simply enjoy sitting in soggy fields, exchanging stories of fuel costs, journey times and one-upmanship with groups of similar minded tea loving chemical toilet aficionados.
Weighted down with the fridge, the kitchen sink, the barbecue, the satellite TV, the dog and the family bikes these leviathans of the road trundle up and down the motorways bringing misery to millions of other road users whose simple purpose in life is to get from point A to point B in reasonable time, and with the minimum of inconvenience.
Stuck in traffic, surrounded by hundreds of these tin monstrosities one realises that they all have names such as ‘Rapide’ or ‘Vitesse’, ‘Sprint’, ‘Galaxy’, ‘Swift’, ‘Velos', 'Mistral', ’Cougar'. Even the manufacturers are taking the proverbial – these vehicles, whether they be caravan or camper van, were never built for speed. A sports car or racing bike you could understand. Why aren’t these people up in court under the Trade Description Act? Surely a more representative naming convention would still allow brand names to trip off the tongue effortlessly – how about the ‘Slo-go’ or ‘Dumpster', ‘Compact’, ‘Fridge’, ‘Snail’ or ‘Bollard’. The only downside to this idea, as I see it, would be the thought of being overtaken by a ‘Suzuki Snail’ bombing down the fast lane of the motorway with its 60 mph max sticker flapping in its wake.
Thankfully my disposition tends towards the bleak so I can look forward to another couple of months ensconced beneath my duvet. Wake me up when Summer is here.
20 January 2010
Recession - By Royal appointment?
The prospect of a Royal wedding is a pretty good sign that things in the country are not going too well -
Can't let the British stiff upper lip begin to quiver, so better give the masses a dose of the 'feel good factor'. To this end we could:
1: Hope for a Take That / Robbie Williams reunion tour
2: Win the World Cup at any sport (unlikely)
3: Discover that the UK will not be affected by climate change
4: Marry off one of the Royals
Will and Harry you have been warned.
Can't let the British stiff upper lip begin to quiver, so better give the masses a dose of the 'feel good factor'. To this end we could:
1: Hope for a Take That / Robbie Williams reunion tour
2: Win the World Cup at any sport (unlikely)
3: Discover that the UK will not be affected by climate change
4: Marry off one of the Royals
Will and Harry you have been warned.
11 January 2010
New Year Resolution?
Regrettably I have worn a hole in my soap box over recent years and am now having to resort to step ladders in order to get my voice heard. Undoubtedly it is a case that the older I get the more there is that irritates and I am of a disposition of fighting for causes I believe in rather than tamely capitulating and allowing all and sundry to get away with blatant injustice.
I recognise that this is a futile gesture given that the world is in such an appalling state, but I would rather put my two-penny-worth into the pot whilst I still have the energy to put up a fight.
I am still itching for the first silicon-enhanced Barbie doll shop assistant to utter those dreaded words “Ah, bless him” in my direction. Not that I have any propensity for violence but I am curious to know whether botox would improve or lessen the appearance of a black eye.
I have avoided the January Sales, just as I have done for every other month in the calendar, on grounds that it might be tempting fate. This cold snap has enabled me to catch up on some of my studies, watch a few DVDs, see a few friends and play the old Christmas game of spotting the actors in classic films that are still alive. Not that I watch a lot of TV these days. I particularly detest the way that TV presenters address the issue of the day as if the entire population existed in the same rarefied atmosphere that they do. Sadly, we do not all live in penthouse apartments in the city and employ our own nanny and personal fitness trainer. Anyone who can regularly blow 20 quid on a cappuccino and a sarnie is not a fit person to convey news of global atrocities or economic realities to the bewildered masses.
By the BBC reckoning anyone living in a house worth less than £500,000 is living beneath the poverty line. Heaven for betsy! There are even some presenters who don’t earn that amount in annual expenses. Poor things!
It makes me furious listening to these jibbering buffoons and their guests ranting on about how we are coming out of recession. Every day it seems there is yet another major employer going bust or laying off 1000s, can’t these politicians read or are they just so pre-occupied with filling in their expenses claims. ‘Green shoots’ they say; the only green shooting I’m interested in involves a blank wall, a handful of politicians and a loaded ouzi.
I also can’t see that the BBC is doing much to help with educating future generations, though I accept that the role of TV has changed thanks to the influence of computer games and other distractions. ‘Yoof’ TV seems to be an endless procession of bizarre music videos, comic book cartoons and American imports cobbled together by hyperactive continuity presenters who, if they behaved the way they do anywhere else other than in a TV studio, would almost certainly be locked up for their own protection. I assume that these individuals are recruited from drama schools since there seem to be few discernable characteristics that would link them with the kids one encounters daily in the street.
I am fully conversant that anyone between the age of 10 and 25 is physically incapable of communicating in anything other than primeval grunts. I am told that some have become accomplished in the art of texting, which is nice for them, even if they have yet to master the art of spelling and have very little to say to one another. It never ceases to amaze me that these very people, who are seemingly unable to string together a sentence of more than 10 words, can talk for hours given the opportunity to phone someone (often a complete stranger and usually at someone else’s expense). Even allowing for the fact that 30% of all conversation is ‘dead air’, that is still a lot of small talk in anyone’s language.
Still, I would not wish to be a teenager these days, the prospects seem very bleak in terms of employment opportunities and getting onto the housing ladder. I, now in my 50s, am still studying, because my industry has a shortage of qualified people. And where have my qualifications got me? Well, I spent 2 days before Christmas sitting in a client’s office making a note of the number of faulty telephone calls the company receives on a spreadsheet. It is a job that a 16 year old could do yet, the company insisted they need someone with my technical experience to do the work. I was even told that I was not to be pro-active meaning that I had to wait for users to come to me with their problems. I had 2 faults reported in a day and a half, neither of which has anything to do with the telephone system!
1. Can the volume on the headsets be adjusted? – No, because users then turn the sound down in order that the phone can’t be heard ringing. Quite an important factor you would have thought within a call centre.
2. Why does the department lose so many calls when an incoming call moves from a designated extension to a group call? - Simple, when someone is away from their desk it means that the call is diverted and someone else needs to pick the phone up, which no one does.
It is very typical within the IT industry to find people in such a situation as mine, being utilised to do work that has nothing to do with their particular skill set. The number of places I have worked where the software engineer is a web designer by trade, or the network administrator trained as a programmer. It is a total waste of resources, but you take what work you can get these days. You wouldn’t expect to ask Simon Rattle if he could play the spoons because you already had too many conductors with the BBC Symphony Orchestra.
As far as I can see the only growth industry in this country is in training, an industry that is normally the first to be hit during a recession. No matter what your trade there will be a necessary qualification. Usually it is a case that once you have achieved that qualification you will either be informed that the qualification is no longer relevant and you need to take an upgraded version of the exam or, alternatively, you will be advised that the qualification will need to be renewed within 2 years. It is a self-perpetuating cycle that guarantees a regular income to the exam provider and eternal poverty to the unfortunate employee.
I can foresee the day when no one will have a career any more and the entire workforce will be on a continual cycle of retraining for industries that can’t attract anybody to work in it, the chief reason being because everybody is on training courses.
Forget all idea of being able to walk into a £40k+ job on the back of a degree. There are only so many opportunities for media consultants and marketing analysts. The best hope for most is a £14K job in a call centre. Perhaps my niece’s generation had it right all along – most of her peers wanted to become hairdressers, though I guess that most of them will now be single mums, living in social housing with their 4 x 4’s (4 kids by 4 different fathers).
Given that most employers operate a flexi-time policy I can’t see what all the fuss is about yoof having problems getting off their backsides in the morning. Most of the graduates I have had the misfortune to work with have displayed a marked indifference to personal hygiene, poor communication skills and a lack of basic common sense that should place them on the ‘at risk’ register.
Exactly what type of degree do you require to become a media consultant? Surely a quick flick through a few the tabloids would teach you all the skills you would need. What more valuable tool in life can one want than a degree in ancient Celtic dialects. Would King Canute have been more successful had he possessed a degree in wave management? – You can tell that I am getting bored now, since I can’t think of any rational explanation of why King Canute should enter my mind.
I better go and make a snowman and cool off.
I recognise that this is a futile gesture given that the world is in such an appalling state, but I would rather put my two-penny-worth into the pot whilst I still have the energy to put up a fight.
I am still itching for the first silicon-enhanced Barbie doll shop assistant to utter those dreaded words “Ah, bless him” in my direction. Not that I have any propensity for violence but I am curious to know whether botox would improve or lessen the appearance of a black eye.
I have avoided the January Sales, just as I have done for every other month in the calendar, on grounds that it might be tempting fate. This cold snap has enabled me to catch up on some of my studies, watch a few DVDs, see a few friends and play the old Christmas game of spotting the actors in classic films that are still alive. Not that I watch a lot of TV these days. I particularly detest the way that TV presenters address the issue of the day as if the entire population existed in the same rarefied atmosphere that they do. Sadly, we do not all live in penthouse apartments in the city and employ our own nanny and personal fitness trainer. Anyone who can regularly blow 20 quid on a cappuccino and a sarnie is not a fit person to convey news of global atrocities or economic realities to the bewildered masses.
By the BBC reckoning anyone living in a house worth less than £500,000 is living beneath the poverty line. Heaven for betsy! There are even some presenters who don’t earn that amount in annual expenses. Poor things!
It makes me furious listening to these jibbering buffoons and their guests ranting on about how we are coming out of recession. Every day it seems there is yet another major employer going bust or laying off 1000s, can’t these politicians read or are they just so pre-occupied with filling in their expenses claims. ‘Green shoots’ they say; the only green shooting I’m interested in involves a blank wall, a handful of politicians and a loaded ouzi.
I also can’t see that the BBC is doing much to help with educating future generations, though I accept that the role of TV has changed thanks to the influence of computer games and other distractions. ‘Yoof’ TV seems to be an endless procession of bizarre music videos, comic book cartoons and American imports cobbled together by hyperactive continuity presenters who, if they behaved the way they do anywhere else other than in a TV studio, would almost certainly be locked up for their own protection. I assume that these individuals are recruited from drama schools since there seem to be few discernable characteristics that would link them with the kids one encounters daily in the street.
I am fully conversant that anyone between the age of 10 and 25 is physically incapable of communicating in anything other than primeval grunts. I am told that some have become accomplished in the art of texting, which is nice for them, even if they have yet to master the art of spelling and have very little to say to one another. It never ceases to amaze me that these very people, who are seemingly unable to string together a sentence of more than 10 words, can talk for hours given the opportunity to phone someone (often a complete stranger and usually at someone else’s expense). Even allowing for the fact that 30% of all conversation is ‘dead air’, that is still a lot of small talk in anyone’s language.
Still, I would not wish to be a teenager these days, the prospects seem very bleak in terms of employment opportunities and getting onto the housing ladder. I, now in my 50s, am still studying, because my industry has a shortage of qualified people. And where have my qualifications got me? Well, I spent 2 days before Christmas sitting in a client’s office making a note of the number of faulty telephone calls the company receives on a spreadsheet. It is a job that a 16 year old could do yet, the company insisted they need someone with my technical experience to do the work. I was even told that I was not to be pro-active meaning that I had to wait for users to come to me with their problems. I had 2 faults reported in a day and a half, neither of which has anything to do with the telephone system!
1. Can the volume on the headsets be adjusted? – No, because users then turn the sound down in order that the phone can’t be heard ringing. Quite an important factor you would have thought within a call centre.
2. Why does the department lose so many calls when an incoming call moves from a designated extension to a group call? - Simple, when someone is away from their desk it means that the call is diverted and someone else needs to pick the phone up, which no one does.
It is very typical within the IT industry to find people in such a situation as mine, being utilised to do work that has nothing to do with their particular skill set. The number of places I have worked where the software engineer is a web designer by trade, or the network administrator trained as a programmer. It is a total waste of resources, but you take what work you can get these days. You wouldn’t expect to ask Simon Rattle if he could play the spoons because you already had too many conductors with the BBC Symphony Orchestra.
As far as I can see the only growth industry in this country is in training, an industry that is normally the first to be hit during a recession. No matter what your trade there will be a necessary qualification. Usually it is a case that once you have achieved that qualification you will either be informed that the qualification is no longer relevant and you need to take an upgraded version of the exam or, alternatively, you will be advised that the qualification will need to be renewed within 2 years. It is a self-perpetuating cycle that guarantees a regular income to the exam provider and eternal poverty to the unfortunate employee.
I can foresee the day when no one will have a career any more and the entire workforce will be on a continual cycle of retraining for industries that can’t attract anybody to work in it, the chief reason being because everybody is on training courses.
Forget all idea of being able to walk into a £40k+ job on the back of a degree. There are only so many opportunities for media consultants and marketing analysts. The best hope for most is a £14K job in a call centre. Perhaps my niece’s generation had it right all along – most of her peers wanted to become hairdressers, though I guess that most of them will now be single mums, living in social housing with their 4 x 4’s (4 kids by 4 different fathers).
Given that most employers operate a flexi-time policy I can’t see what all the fuss is about yoof having problems getting off their backsides in the morning. Most of the graduates I have had the misfortune to work with have displayed a marked indifference to personal hygiene, poor communication skills and a lack of basic common sense that should place them on the ‘at risk’ register.
Exactly what type of degree do you require to become a media consultant? Surely a quick flick through a few the tabloids would teach you all the skills you would need. What more valuable tool in life can one want than a degree in ancient Celtic dialects. Would King Canute have been more successful had he possessed a degree in wave management? – You can tell that I am getting bored now, since I can’t think of any rational explanation of why King Canute should enter my mind.
I better go and make a snowman and cool off.
20 December 2009
Festive Frolics!
Festive frolics, Funlovers! Welcome to the Annual Yuletide Yawn, that glorious celebration of excess that now extends from the MidSummer Equinox through to Lent. We are about to reach the centrepiece of that extravaganza where for 12 whole days all sensibilities are suspended as we embrace the myth that The Nativity was an Andrew Lloyd Webber production.
Last year my ‘celebrations’ were interrupted by ‘carol singers’ or should I say a callow youth of a neighbour who sang ‘Hark the Herald angels…’ but then forgot the words. Since he had spent the greater part of the Summer kicking a football into my parked car I restricted my appreciation to a single walnut which I suggested he share with his ‘backing singers’, a group of fellow acne-ridden, tuneless warblers who were skulking behind the hedge. That was perhaps the highlight of the entertainment last year. In anticipation of a lean and unedifying diet of TV I shall be forsaking the box in favour of collection of DVDs that I have been saving for just such an occasion.
I will no longer have to watch a stream of holiday ads for places that no one can afford to go to any longer. Nor will I have to watch 2 weeks of ads from celebrities for their latest offerings, interspersed with programmes of celebrities promoting the self-same offerings (most of which will be pulped come February).
It is not that I am anti-Christmas, I used to enjoy Morecambe and Wise, the 2 Ronnies, Turkey dinners, Top of the Pops and falling asleep before the Queen’s speech had finished. It is just that I preferred things the traditional way – My version of Cinderella never ended with Prince Charming and Buttons entering into a Civil Partnership. It was not Jack and the Beansprout, due to arts council underfunding or failure to secure planning permission and Widow Twanky never ran an eco-friendly laundrette. Peter Pan, I understand, has been banned by some councils because of the drugs connotations.
At least I grew up in an age when I could appreciate the difference between real life and fiction, I am not so sure that the younger generation will be allowed to learn that there is a difference given that they are being spoon-fed a diet of soaps and reality programs which they perceive to be the way that normal people behave. Crash test TV may be good for audience ratings but is it really entertainment?
And now we learn that Simon Cowell wants to bring the X-factor to politics! If anyone knows how to take a group of talentless no-hopers, milk them for all they are worth and leave them as a group of talentless no-hopers then he can, but I for one will not be watching.
Why stop there, let’s have ‘Politics Swap’ – Gordon Brown and Robert Mugabe swap places for a month! Why not give Parliamentary Question Time the World Wrestling Federation treatment – take hype to the extreme.
It will take more than Simon Cowell to persuade me to turn out at a polling station on a wet Thursday in March to vote for an overpaid self-promoting peacock of any political affiliation. If they wanted to make politics more interesting then perhaps they could start by having a Celebrity Guest Speaker of the House, that way they could save on John Bercow’s generous salary (unless they were to employ Jonathan Ross for a day). Letting Kim and Aggie, John Sargeant, Kermit, Bruce Forsyth, the Teletubbies or Timmy Mallet loose in the House of Commons might be fun. I’m sure Christopher Biggins would be itching to get his wig and tights on. In hindsight Brucie is probably not a good choice, he might feel too at home with all those doddery old farts.
Here’s hoping that the next decade will be better than the one we are soon to be leaving.
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