So a gentle week being introduced to working in London is over, and what have I learnt? Well, for one, I catch flies when I'm asleep on the train. For another, it's significantly less stressful getting to work when you get the train.
I don't have to worry abour peak times, so I always get a seat, plus I haven't had to get up before 0730 this week, unless woken by the human alarm clock that is my daughter.
Lookin forward to a 52 hour week next week. At least that gives me 17 hours overtime, which should pay for all the Double Deckers I've been eating in the meantime.
It's been a fun week, I've walked across Hyde Park four times, met a lot of nice people and not broken anything. And yet in all the time I've been in London I haven't seen a single cashpoint. No wonder we are in a recession. As one of the also-rans in Mock The Week said last night "I have a limited understanding of economics, but it's got a lot to do with consumer spending. And maybe we've all just realised that wev'e got enough stuff already, and we don't need any more."
Makes me wonder how my client is going to get on selling its stuff to people who think they've got enough stuff already.
Friday 31 July 2009
Tuesday 28 July 2009
Think Bike, Think Tosser
One of my favourite Clarksonian rants is how, if his kids ever buy a motorcycle, he will burn it. And if they go and buy another one, he will burn that one too.
I have a real issue with bikers. It's not their attitude towards cars, nor is it their ability to weave through the carnage of the M5 on the first week of the summer holidays. It's their prominence in all the road safety campaigns you ever see.
"Think Safe, Think Bike" is the one you see on the motorways.
"Beware of Bikers in Your Blindspot" screams sign after sign on the road out of Newton Abbott towards Torquay.
The one off the telly where the car pulls out and the biker drives straight into him.
Why the hell are we being constantly reminded to look out for bikers? Where are the signs telling bikers not to be imbeciles?
"Bikers - stop undertaking in heavy traffic"
"Bikers - you won't get hit by a car overtaking if you stay in line"
"Bikers - stop driving like tossers"
I was reminded of this by an interview with Richard Hammond by Simon Mayo at Christmas, where the one rule is "Don't drive like a cretin". Speed doesn't kill, driving like an idiot kills. And almost every single biker I've ever seen drives like an idiot.
I have a real issue with bikers. It's not their attitude towards cars, nor is it their ability to weave through the carnage of the M5 on the first week of the summer holidays. It's their prominence in all the road safety campaigns you ever see.
"Think Safe, Think Bike" is the one you see on the motorways.
"Beware of Bikers in Your Blindspot" screams sign after sign on the road out of Newton Abbott towards Torquay.
The one off the telly where the car pulls out and the biker drives straight into him.
Why the hell are we being constantly reminded to look out for bikers? Where are the signs telling bikers not to be imbeciles?
"Bikers - stop undertaking in heavy traffic"
"Bikers - you won't get hit by a car overtaking if you stay in line"
"Bikers - stop driving like tossers"
I was reminded of this by an interview with Richard Hammond by Simon Mayo at Christmas, where the one rule is "Don't drive like a cretin". Speed doesn't kill, driving like an idiot kills. And almost every single biker I've ever seen drives like an idiot.
Wednesday 22 July 2009
The Price Of Bacon
Now, I’m as much of a fan of knee jerk reactionist journalism as everyone else, but even I am foaming at the mouth at the latest round of gibberish that Fleet Street (and the BBC) have been churning out.
In amongst the stories of Michael Jackson’s love-children, Jordan’s imploding breasts and The Ashes, the biggest story has been swine flu.
GP and child with swine flu die, screamed the headline on 13th July 2009. We’re all going to hell in a pigskin handbag, and Fergus Walsh is on hand to tell us all about it.
His “measured blog” contained one update called “Time for concern, not panic” and another called “What are the chances of dying from swine flu?”
Turns out that neither the GP nor the child died directly of swine flu, but this information is strangely lacking from the subsequent blogs. The general consensus is that if you’re already poorly, contracting swine flu is pretty bad news. But that’s nothing compared to the advice if you’re pregnant.
The advice that suddenly appeared everywhere was that pregnant women should not go out in big crowds, as they might contract swine flu. They might just as well have advised them not to step out into roads, because there might be cars coming. In the end, shock horror, the advice was to use common sense.
To quote Bill Hicks “You are free to do as we tell you”.
In amongst the stories of Michael Jackson’s love-children, Jordan’s imploding breasts and The Ashes, the biggest story has been swine flu.
GP and child with swine flu die, screamed the headline on 13th July 2009. We’re all going to hell in a pigskin handbag, and Fergus Walsh is on hand to tell us all about it.
His “measured blog” contained one update called “Time for concern, not panic” and another called “What are the chances of dying from swine flu?”
Turns out that neither the GP nor the child died directly of swine flu, but this information is strangely lacking from the subsequent blogs. The general consensus is that if you’re already poorly, contracting swine flu is pretty bad news. But that’s nothing compared to the advice if you’re pregnant.
The advice that suddenly appeared everywhere was that pregnant women should not go out in big crowds, as they might contract swine flu. They might just as well have advised them not to step out into roads, because there might be cars coming. In the end, shock horror, the advice was to use common sense.
To quote Bill Hicks “You are free to do as we tell you”.
Tuesday 21 July 2009
London Loves The Misery Of A Speeding Heart
The two days I've spent in London have been reasonably pleasant. Lots of glass and lifts, and a stone's throw from the station. All good.
An enjoyable weekend spending money and watching golf on TV. But the golf annoyed me; more specifically the BBC annoyed me. Having spent 3 and a half days blithering on about a 59 year old who was somehow better than golfers half his age, they suddenly had a realisation that he wasn't going to win. And rather than give credit where it is due, they went into mourning that Tom Watson didn't win.
Well I'm sorry but the rules are the same regardless of your age. Just because you're coming up to bus pass age, doesn't give you special privileges, and at the end of the day the best player won.
Gary Lineker stated that the whole thing had become an anti-climax. Well whose fault is that? Be impartial in your opinion and there will never be an anti-climax.
Meanwhile the cricket came to an epic climax, in that peculiar English way, on a Monday. Another example of media-hyped nonsense, where a step towards victory is billed as the Second Coming, and a step back is as though we have descended into the fires of Hades. But at least the English team won for once, leading to my wife to say "but I don't understand, they've played twice, but it's only 1-0" and "they haven't won The Ashes though have they?" which was a fair question, given the schtick George Aligayah was giving it.
Anyway, this is still a great photo.
An enjoyable weekend spending money and watching golf on TV. But the golf annoyed me; more specifically the BBC annoyed me. Having spent 3 and a half days blithering on about a 59 year old who was somehow better than golfers half his age, they suddenly had a realisation that he wasn't going to win. And rather than give credit where it is due, they went into mourning that Tom Watson didn't win.
Well I'm sorry but the rules are the same regardless of your age. Just because you're coming up to bus pass age, doesn't give you special privileges, and at the end of the day the best player won.
Gary Lineker stated that the whole thing had become an anti-climax. Well whose fault is that? Be impartial in your opinion and there will never be an anti-climax.
Meanwhile the cricket came to an epic climax, in that peculiar English way, on a Monday. Another example of media-hyped nonsense, where a step towards victory is billed as the Second Coming, and a step back is as though we have descended into the fires of Hades. But at least the English team won for once, leading to my wife to say "but I don't understand, they've played twice, but it's only 1-0" and "they haven't won The Ashes though have they?" which was a fair question, given the schtick George Aligayah was giving it.
Anyway, this is still a great photo.
Friday 17 July 2009
The Friday Feeling
You'd expect that Friday would bring joy and jubilation to the average working man. A day away from two days of bliss, without work, or early mornings, or stress.
Well aside from the fact that I only suffer from one of the three, this isn't a great Friday. One look out of the window is testament to that.
I have my posh Sennheiser earphones in my ears today. I'm not even listening to anything at the moment, but it's all I can do to drown out the booming thunderstorm outside.
Only a few weeks after the government told us what to do in a heatwave, we are hours away from Huw Edwards telling us about a rural town that used to be near a river, now becoming a rural town in the middle of a river.
We are constantly being ridiculed for not being able to cope in any weather conditions, but this is because we are stuck in an area where the weather conditions are never predictable. In six months we have had temperatures in the 30s, 2 inches of rain in a day, and 3 feet of snow.
It's no wonder we struggle, and no wonder we complain.
"The government is not doing enough to help rural towns cope with the lack of rain/too much rain/snow/ice".
"When we bought this house by the river, we were told this river never floods."
In other news, I read that kid's authors are boycotting schools because they don't want to be subject to the same child protection regulations as everyone else. I'm not entirely sure why they have such a problem with this; everyone else who goes within 10 yards of a school has to go through this ridiculous routine, so I don't see why Phillip Pullman should be any different.
This scheme costs £64. I think he can afford it. And besides, it's only applicable if they spend a lot of time with the same children.
Having said that, if he's in a school by a river today, he might find himself spending the weekend with them, waiting for Farmer Giles in his tractor to turn up.
Well aside from the fact that I only suffer from one of the three, this isn't a great Friday. One look out of the window is testament to that.
I have my posh Sennheiser earphones in my ears today. I'm not even listening to anything at the moment, but it's all I can do to drown out the booming thunderstorm outside.
Only a few weeks after the government told us what to do in a heatwave, we are hours away from Huw Edwards telling us about a rural town that used to be near a river, now becoming a rural town in the middle of a river.
We are constantly being ridiculed for not being able to cope in any weather conditions, but this is because we are stuck in an area where the weather conditions are never predictable. In six months we have had temperatures in the 30s, 2 inches of rain in a day, and 3 feet of snow.
It's no wonder we struggle, and no wonder we complain.
"The government is not doing enough to help rural towns cope with the lack of rain/too much rain/snow/ice".
"When we bought this house by the river, we were told this river never floods."
In other news, I read that kid's authors are boycotting schools because they don't want to be subject to the same child protection regulations as everyone else. I'm not entirely sure why they have such a problem with this; everyone else who goes within 10 yards of a school has to go through this ridiculous routine, so I don't see why Phillip Pullman should be any different.
This scheme costs £64. I think he can afford it. And besides, it's only applicable if they spend a lot of time with the same children.
Having said that, if he's in a school by a river today, he might find himself spending the weekend with them, waiting for Farmer Giles in his tractor to turn up.
Thursday 16 July 2009
Write Something, Anything
On a day like today, there is no other choice than to write. Write something, anything, to take my mind off the boredom that is professional life.
While people around me drink coffee, eat pastries, and talk nonsense about things I will never understand, I sit perched on a stool, waiting for the phone to ring.
This is the life I lead for eight hours a day. While those around me work for corporate recognition, discussing the share price, market share; I just hope something breaks so I can go fix it. The call I’m waiting for won’t be from anyone particularly important, nor will its content be of a life-saving nature, but it will be the most important thing in the world. Briefly.
It’s been a slow day, not least because the entire network in my office has gone down. It’s now been over three hours since I arrived at work, and so far I’ve not been able to access the internet. It’s no wonder I’ve succumbed to drivelling self-indulgence.
Oooh, a phone call. Exciting, but brief. I thought for a minute I might have to get out of my chair, but sadly not.
God, some of these people are fat. I mean properly fat. I often wonder how people reach that point. There’s a bloke just walked passed who is the spitting image of Mike McShane. With a slab of millionaire’s shortbread in his hand. I saw a report on BBC that said that obese mothers are more likely to produce obese daughters, and likewise fathers and sons.
Three words sprang to mind, the third of which was “Sherlock.”
If pubs are allowed to stop selling alcohol to people who are too drunk, why can’t supermarkets do something similar with “stomachally challenged” people? “I’m sorry madam, but you are too overweight to buy any Goodfellas pizzas”.
I think the reason why I’ve started writing this is because my daughter, who’s four, asks me every day “what did you do at work today?” and I really don’t have anything to say to her. In fact, my answers have become so mundane, that’s she’s stopped asking recently, and I don’t want to live like that. Question is: what to do instead? I can’t be a builder because I am rubbish at DIY. I have trouble assembling furniture from Homebase, let alone Ikea. I think I’ve left it a bit late in the day to be a doctor.
I suppose I could sit here and eat junk food all day. At least I’d fit in better.
While people around me drink coffee, eat pastries, and talk nonsense about things I will never understand, I sit perched on a stool, waiting for the phone to ring.
This is the life I lead for eight hours a day. While those around me work for corporate recognition, discussing the share price, market share; I just hope something breaks so I can go fix it. The call I’m waiting for won’t be from anyone particularly important, nor will its content be of a life-saving nature, but it will be the most important thing in the world. Briefly.
It’s been a slow day, not least because the entire network in my office has gone down. It’s now been over three hours since I arrived at work, and so far I’ve not been able to access the internet. It’s no wonder I’ve succumbed to drivelling self-indulgence.
Oooh, a phone call. Exciting, but brief. I thought for a minute I might have to get out of my chair, but sadly not.
God, some of these people are fat. I mean properly fat. I often wonder how people reach that point. There’s a bloke just walked passed who is the spitting image of Mike McShane. With a slab of millionaire’s shortbread in his hand. I saw a report on BBC that said that obese mothers are more likely to produce obese daughters, and likewise fathers and sons.
Three words sprang to mind, the third of which was “Sherlock.”
If pubs are allowed to stop selling alcohol to people who are too drunk, why can’t supermarkets do something similar with “stomachally challenged” people? “I’m sorry madam, but you are too overweight to buy any Goodfellas pizzas”.
I think the reason why I’ve started writing this is because my daughter, who’s four, asks me every day “what did you do at work today?” and I really don’t have anything to say to her. In fact, my answers have become so mundane, that’s she’s stopped asking recently, and I don’t want to live like that. Question is: what to do instead? I can’t be a builder because I am rubbish at DIY. I have trouble assembling furniture from Homebase, let alone Ikea. I think I’ve left it a bit late in the day to be a doctor.
I suppose I could sit here and eat junk food all day. At least I’d fit in better.
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