The Dude abides (just!)

"They say every man needs protection, they say every man must fall."

2009-05-07T04:15:00.003+01:00

I say everyone needs breakfast.

Some people like porridge in the morning. Others prefer a bacon butty.

Personally, I like a cup of coffee. But my day is ruined if I don't have my biscuit.

Funny old life isn’t it?

Problem²

2009-05-06T00:23:00.003+01:00

How do you respond if someone comes to you just for a listening ear, when what you normally do is give advice and offer solutions?

Well, what I do is I give them my advice anyway and then try to persuade them into taking it. And if at first they seem reluctant to get a move on, I persuade a little more, thereby in all probability adding to their stress rather than alleviating it. There is a word for this - and the word is “irritating.”

Maybe it’s because my environment in the past ten years, firstly through failing physical health and latterly working as an equality activist, has forced me (against my lazy nature) to confront and solve problems on a daily basis, but I only seem to have one mode of operation now – which is to charge in with all guns blazing.

So, while I am quite good at empathy, I am rubbish at sympathy and find it very hard to give patient, unqualified support.

But life is teaching me. The hard way.

Maybe in another 50 or so years, I’ll have got the hang of it!

From Worse To BADD

2009-05-02T11:50:00.005+01:00

OK folks. Tempted back in to the blogosphere by the irresistible lure of BADD, I have three anecdotes to share which emphasise just how far we haven’t come in the fight for social justice:

A friend of mine who is in the army had a serious accident while on manoeuvres which resulted in a permanent loss of function, as well as persistent chronic pain, in his shoulder and upper back.
His end-of year performance appraisal was one of the most shocking things I have read in a long while, jam packed with disablist rhetoric and attributing alleged poor attendance for the ensuing year to the “fact” that he had “injured himself” (not sustained an injury) and was “using this” to get out of things he didn’t want to do. This is the kind of discrimination that DDA would prohibit – if only the army wasn’t exempt.
Actually what troubled me at least as much is the number of people who, on hearing this story, agree that the armed forces should be exempt because “you can’t have people in wheelchairs on the front line.” This is of course quite true in most cases, but singularly fails to grasp the meaning of either “reasonable” or “adjustment”.

Tee hee. Reporting for duty, Sah!

And then, last night, when I was playing in the house band at a charity event - which explains the belated nature of these bloggings - I found that I had arrived too late to use the single accessible parking bay at the venue, as there was already someone parked there. So, after unpacking the equipment from the car, I announced that I was just going a couple of miles down the road(!) in the hope of finding a parking space. Whereupon, a nice young lady said, “That’s my car in the disabled bay – hang on a second and I’ll move it”
Having, of course, checked said car on the way in, and spotting that it did in fact have a blue badge in the windscreen, I responded that she needn’t bother; after all she was as entitled to use the bay as I am. To which she replied “No, it’s OK. It’s not my badge; I only put it on display because I was in that bay.”

Of course, some abuses are more permissible than others...

And finally, a story about the local office of a UK Government department, which has come up with a new policy which – whether by accident or design – places all sorts of cumbersome and unfair bureaucratic obstacles in the way of staff and visitors who are genuinely mobility-impaired, covered by DDA and need accessible close-proximity parking spaces.
When challenged about the equity of the policy, the senior manager responsible for it said, “Well, the disabled get such an enormous financial advantage from our provision of parking bays that they must be prepared to put up with some inconvenience. These are the rules, and I’m not changing them.”

To which the local trade union representative responded “Oh yeah? We’ll see about that!”
Well, I wasn’t looking for career progression anyway ;<)

Tara. See you next May (if not before)!

Disabili'y, innit?

2009-02-20T09:31:00.004Z

One step forward… and two steps back!

Up with the lark (who, fortunately, had a bit of a lie-in) this morning, I found myself running an early(ish) errand which, in turn, led me to the house of Ronald McDonald for sticky sustenance in the form of pancakes and syrup.

Preferring the human interface to place my order, rather than discuss my nutritional requirements with the disembodied voice emanating from atop a metal pole, I parked the Rolls in the car park prior to toddling in to the emporium.

Now, it’s been quite a long time since I last visited a “Maccies”, (as the esteemed outlet is known around these parts) so imagine my delight on discovering that the extra wide parking bays adorned with a wheelchair symbol, which I habitually use, are now designated as “Accessible Parking”.

All of which leads me to a phrase which I never thought I would utter, namely “Respect to McDonalds.”

Considerably fewer Brownie Points though to the syndicated news reader who last night informed his radio audience that the ineffably dim but ultimately harmless Jade Goody is to marry her boyfriend on Saturday – "despite suffering from terminal cancer!”
I still can’t decide whether we are winning the battle or losing.

More Monkey Business...

2009-02-19T11:42:00.004Z

If this isn't true, it should be!

Monkeys like bananas...

Put eight monkeys into a room in the middle of which is a ladder leading to a bunch of bananas hanging from the ceiling.

Each time a monkey tries to climb the ladder, spray all of the monkeys with ice-cold water. This makes them miserable. Soon enough, whenever a monkey attempts to climb the ladder, all of the other monkeys, not wanting to be sprayed, set upon him and beat him up. It is not long until none of the eight monkeys ever attempts to climb the ladder.

Then remove one of the original monkeys and replace him with a new monkey who has not yet been involved. Seeing the bananas and the ladder, the new monkey will wonder why none of the others is doing the obvious and begin to climb the ladder.

The other monkeys will immediately fall upon him and beat him silly. He has no idea why. However, he will no longer attempt to climb the ladder.

Now remove and replace a second original monkey . Again, the newcomer will attempt to climb the ladder, but all the other monkeys will hammer the crap out of him - including the previous new monkey, who, grateful that he's not on the receiving end this time, participates in the beating because all the other monkeys are doing it. However, he has no idea why he's attacking the new monkey.

One by one, replace all of the original monkeys. Eight new monkeys are now in the room. None of them has ever been sprayed by ice water. None of them will attempt to climb the ladder. All of them will enthusiastically beat up any new monkey who tries, without having the faintest idea why.

And that is how most company policies are formulated.

Not the only fruit...

2009-02-04T01:27:00.006Z

I have a mobile phone. However, unlike those of most people I know, mine is quite elderly. It doesn’t have a colour screen, nor will it play MP3s as ring tones. It has no camera, no Internet access and is on “Pay-as-you-go” rather than a contract. I use it, not for chatting but for making essential phone calls when I am out of the house plus occasional text messages. When our beloved chancellor reduced the rate of VAT last year, I kind of thought that for my standard top-up I would now get a couple of extra minutes or an extra text for my money. But oh no; not with my service provider!

However, after two months, the good folk at Orange have finally broken silence to announce that, instead of passing on the reduction in VAT, they are running a promotion called ‘The Orange Phone Fund’ which will allow me to get a posh new phone at a knock-down price.

Essentially, what this amounts to is an involuntary, contributory savings scheme. For every £10 I spend, they will kindly set aside £1 in my name which I can put towards the purchase of a new phone from the Orange Shop. This, I accept, is equivalent to 4 times the VAT rebate, so I presume they have calculated that less than a quarter of their customers will avail themselves of this promotional offer in the allotted time. However, the amount thus hypothecated must be used within 12 months or it will be lost.

Fact: My present phone is 5 years old and cost £15. It works just fine.

Fact: I “top up” at a rate of approximately £10 per month so, after the first year, I will start to lose as much as I gain each month and my total “saving” will never rise above £12.

Fact: After the fuss the local Orange franchise caused me last time with their hype and lies during the week before I bought my present phone from Dixon's, I will never, ever, buy a phone from an Orange shop even if I do stay on their network.

So the modest rebate from the chancellor remains firmly in Orange’s pockets, which should help to boost their modest operating profits if not thrill their customers.

Incidentally, I first signed up to Orange when they were offering double credits for every top up over £20. So a one-off £50 top-up got me £100 credit and lasted nearly a year. Over time however, the “juicy worm rate” 100% bonus decreased to 20% and then disappeared all together.

I noticed tonight that Tesco Mobile Network is currently offering a 200% bonus on top-ups of over £15 - which means that I could fund my present annual expenditure for just £40.Here, Wormy Wormy!!

Computer Maintenance

2009-01-27T00:40:00.005Z

I don't often read computer magazines, as they seem to be frequented mainly by people who ... err... don't get out much!

However I was attracted to one recently by its "cover disc" which seemed to contain some useful utilities, one of which was so impressive I have embedded it in this posting for you to use. It takes seconds to use and I guarantee that it will improve the operation of your mouse or mouse-pad, irrespective of brand or type. Don't worry, it's freeware and is fully virus checked.

You should recalibrate your mouse at least once a year; more often if you spend a lot of time on the computer.

I was shocked to see how well this works, and how far off mine was!

To re-calibrate your mouse, click and hold on the I below, then move the mouse toward the T.
If it doesn't work immediately, you might want to clean your mouse or pad, as the calibration is off.

I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU FELL FOR THAT, YOU IDIOT

I'm sure you will also recommend this to all your friends once you see how much more smoothly and effectively your mouse works after this simple recalibration.

Feeling Stressed?

2009-01-17T19:27:00.004Z

Yay! Click here for some therapy.

Aaaaaah. That's better!

A terribly British recession

2009-01-14T01:18:00.005Z

Heartfelt words written on finest quality paper using the most beautiful imported Indian ink...

Paper exquisitely and lovingly folded by hand then tenderly placed into a crisp clean ivory parchment envelope...

Topped with a precisely placed first class Royal Mail postage stamp and placed in a bright red post old-fashioned box for personal next-day delivery...

This is not just a P45...

... this is a Marks & Spencer P45.

Robbing Peter…

2009-01-06T09:09:00.004Z

Our esteemed and charismatic prime minister has, just this week, pledged to help people to retain their jobs by kick-starting lending to firms in financial difficulties so that they don’t have to lay off staff. He recognises that employment is the route to prosperity and that getting rid of staff pushes the economy (not to mention the affected families) further into the doldrums.

He has also promised a massive programme of public spending which will create “tens of thousands” of new jobs, paid for out of the public purse. Excellent. I can certainly think of many worse ways of dealing with a recession.

"This is the best idea I've had in ages"

However... Ahem…. Excuse me….

Has anyone else noticed that he is doing this against a backdrop of laying off tens of thousands of his own staff across the civil service?

"Oh no! They've realised"

The Greeks has a word for that kind of behaviour…

Amicable E-Felicitations

2009-01-04T18:36:00.003Z

Sent to me by a f(r)iend recently. I have seen it before and maybe you have too. Nevertheless I enjoyed revisiting it and thought you might also.

Dear Friends.

As we are now in the beginning of the new year I thought I would wish you a pleasant and successful start with great dreams for 2009.

My thanks to all those who have sent me emails this past year...........

In particular, I must send my thanks to whoever sent me the one about rat shit in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet towel with every envelope that needs sealing.

Also, I now have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.

I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl (Penny Brown); who is about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time.

Indeed, I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the £15, 000 that Bill Gates/Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special e-mail program....and my share of the $7 million from a senior bank clerk in Nigeria who wants to split it with me for pretending to be a long lost relative of a customer who died intestate.

Thanks to you, I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward e-mail to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes. However I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me, and St. Theresa's novena has granted my every wish.

I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.

Because of your concern:

I no longer drink Coca-Cola because it can remove toilet stains.
I no longer can buy petrol without taking a friend along to watch the car so a serial killer won't crawl in my back seat when I'm filling up.
I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.
I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore and Uzbekistan.

And, thanks to your great advice, I can't even pick up the £50.00 I found dropped in the car park because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg.

If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhoea will land on your head at 5:00pm this afternoon and the fleas from 12 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbour's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician's relative once removed.

By the way....a South American scientist after a lengthy study has discovered that people with low IQ who have infrequent sexual activity always read their e-mails with their hand on the mouse.

Don't bother taking it off now, it's too late!

Belatedly Happy...

2009-01-03T20:08:00.004Z

Gentle Readers

When I started blogging (against my better judgement, it must be said) I promised myself that it would never descend into a trivial account of the life and times of a Dude; rather I would comment on issues and maybe add a dash of humour, with perhaps just a soupcon of questionable taste. This is partly because I have no intention of compromising my secret identity and partly because I doubt that my life would be sufficiently spellbinding to hold your attention. Certainly blogs which follow the “Dear Diary” formula tend not to hold mine – unless they relate to someone I already know outside the blogosphere.

So suffice it to say that I have had a pretty hectic month since the last entry (for what I choose to describe as “family reasons”) and that normality has only just about now been restored.

Therefore, somewhat later than intended, may I just take this opportunity to wish both of you a very

Happy New Year!

Come back soon. I have stuff to tell you… as soon as I can find the time.

Sincerely

Dude

Sofa, so good.

2008-12-01T17:33:00.003Z

As we all know, the one absolutely essential pre-Christmas purchase which every household needs to make is a new settee. The esteemed Lady Bracknell has blogged copiously on this matter in previous years.

This presents the Dude household with something of a dilemma, as the current 3-piece is rather shabby and “so 2007” but I am totally strapped for cash. Of course, borrowing the necessary £800 before heading off to the year-round sales at “Suites ‘R’ Us” or “Land Of Leatherette” is completely out of the question in the present financial climate.

So let’s hear it for the great benefactor. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you, former International Marxist and British Trotskyist, one-time Transport Minister, representing Edinburgh South West, the Right Hon Alastair Maclean Darling MP, LL.B.

Thanks to his astute intervention in reducing VAT to only 15%, the settee will now cost me just £780, a sum which, of course, I can well afford! Even that £10,000 car is within my grasp now that it will only cost £9,750!!

And so the ultimate seasonal accessory, in the form of a beautiful, sleek and, above all, modern piece of British luxury design and craftsmanship, hand-tooled from exquisite quality mass-produced Polish fabric and Malaysian hardware in a converted abattoir near Budapest, could now be mine in time for the festivities.

If only I could afford to celebrate, now that all the excise duties have gone up to compensate.

Thanks Al.

... and he's back!

2008-11-26T00:41:00.005Z

Despite suggestions posted by my very good friends Dame Honoria and Lily in comments on the previous item, I have been neither monkeying around nor indeed having too much fun to blog.

Au contraire, I have actually had a pretty rotten time and been through what can only be described as something of an emotional crisis.

Still, having been there, tried that and worn the T shirt for the worst part of a month, it's time for a change (literally!). I have (I hope) emerged at the other side relatively unscathed and possibly slightly wiser. Indeed it may be said that the Dude has abided... er... abiden... um... abid? Aboded??

Whatever, I am back and, to prove it, I am here. Posts may be somewhat sporadic at first as I am on a phased return to blogging. However, normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, here is a picture of some trees and a small lake:

Thankyou for your patience and (you know who you are) your kindness, support and encouragement.

Dude xx

Monkey Business

2008-10-28T23:30:00.002Z

Once upon a time in a place overrun with monkeys, a man appeared and announced to the villagers that he would buy monkeys for £10 each. The villagers, seeing that there were many monkeys around, went out to the forest, and started catching them. The man bought thousands at £10 and as supply started to diminish, they became harder to catch, so the villagers stopped their effort.

The man then announced that he would now pay £20 for each one. This renewed the efforts of the villagers and they started catching monkeys again. But soon the supply diminished even further and they were ever harder to catch, so people started going back to their farms and forgot about monkey catching. The man increased his price to £25 each and the supply of monkeys became so sparse that it was an effort to even see a monkey, much less catch one.

The man now announced that he would buy monkeys for £50! However, since he had to go to the city on some business, his assistant would now buy on his behalf. While the man was away the assistant told the villagers, 'Look at all these monkeys in the big cage that the man has bought. I will sell them to you a £35 each and when the man returns from the city, you can sell them to him for £50 each.'

The villagers rounded up all their savings and bought all the monkeys. They never saw the man or his assistant again and once again there were monkeys everywhere.

Now you know how the stock market works.

Financial Update

2008-10-24T00:46:00.002+01:00

Latest news regarding the credit crunch comes from Canada, where the Bank of Labrador has just collapsed.

Officials have called in the retrievers!

Is It Me? (episode #2)

2008-10-11T21:17:00.004+01:00

Those arbiters of good taste and exemplars of every reason why the American Colonies should never have gained independence – the Disney Corporation – have finally announce the dates on which Christmas will be celebrated this year.

24th – 26th December? Nope!

15th - 30th December? Don’t be silly; this is a commercial opportunity (sorry – “opportoonity”)

Yes folks. This years Christmas at Disney Land Paris can be experienced from 8th November to 6th January 2009!

Never let it be said that the true meaning of Christmas has been lost amidst all the religious paraphernalia that surrounds it.

What's the capital of Iceland...?

2008-10-11T10:55:00.000+01:00

... About £3.50!

Tragedy

2008-10-01T00:45:00.005+01:00

The Right Honourable Gordon Brown, PC, MP was visiting a primary school, and taken into the room of a class discussing words and their meanings. The teacher asked Mr Brown whether he would care to lead discussion on the word 'tragedy'; so the Prime Minister asked the class to give him an example.

A little boy stood up, and said, ‘If my best friend, who lives on a farm, was playing in the field, and a tractor ran over him, and killed him, that would be a tragedy’. ‘No,’ said the Prime Minister, ‘that wouldn’t be a tragedy: that would be an accident’.

A little girl raised her hand: ‘If the school bus had fifty boys and girls in it, and drove over a cliff, killing everyone inside, that would be a tragedy’. ‘I’m afraid not’, explained Mr Brown; ‘That is what we would call a great loss’.

The room went silent. No child volunteered. The Prime Minister’s eyes searched the room. ‘Can no one here give me an example of a tragedy?’ At the back of the room, a little hand went up, and a quiet voice said, ‘If a plane carrying you and Mr Darling was struck by friendly fire, and blown to smithereens, that would be a tragedy’.

‘Magnificent!’ exclaimed Mr Brown—’that’s right! And can you tell me why that would be tragedy?’

‘Well,’ said the quiet voice, ‘it has to be a tragedy, because it certainly wouldn’t be a great loss, and it probably wouldn’t be an accident’.

Avast Behind

2008-09-19T09:40:00.007+01:00

In this week's news...

Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae ran out of money; HBOS ran scared; the UK Government, who only last week told hundreds of thousands of public sector workers that it can’t make exceptions to fiscal policy just because the financial climate has become a bit unstable of late, ignored its own rules on corporate merger; and the value of my hovel has apparently halved in the last fortnight.

However, the good news is that I have finally found something of significance about which to blog.

Yes, or should I say “Yarrr” indeed, today be International 'Talk like a Pirate' Day.

I am only sorry that I am not at work to spread the joy amongst me colleagues - though I suspects they are heartily relieved. Instead, I be sittin’ here in front of the haunted fishtank which some folks calls a ‘puter, tryin’ to conquer level 8 in a devilish game called “Zuma”. Shiver me timbers, that’s a timewaster an’ no mistake.

Anyway, if ye be thinkin’ o’ joinin’ the fun an’ frolics, get yerself over to yarr.org where Mad (or should that be “differently cognitive”?) Cap’n Tom be waitin’ to tell ye all about it. He’ll even give ye some free piratical ringtones without all the usual rigmarole and ensuin’ spam. ‘Tis a good place for us cripples to hang out, cos everyone’s either missin’ a leg or an eye or havin’ a hooky hand, so ye won’t stand out in the crowd!

Also, thanks to Her Ladyship “Bluestick Bracknell”, as fierce a pirate as ever paced the decks (despite bein’ o’ the female persuasion), I can tell ye how to get to the quartermaster's stores, which be stockin’ all sorts o’ shirts, stickers, badges and other pirate essentials - my favourites bein’

And

Have a good day’s swashbucklin’ an’ pillagin’… or I’ll keelhaul the lot o’ ye, scurvy dogs an’ ragamuffins that ye are!!!

I’m off to Roger, the cabin-boy, now.

I'll be seein' ye anon, me hearties!

Dude

PS Yarrrrrr!!

Just Inn Time

2008-09-06T22:12:00.002+01:00

According to the news this week, pubs across the length and breadth of the UK are experiencing a serious downturn in trade. Apparently this is partly due to supermarket pricing policy and the resultant changes in British drinking habits (why make the effort to go and socialise in your local when you can stay home and get p*ss*d much more cheaply on your own) and partly because so many pubs no longer offer a convivial atmosphere for local drinkers to enjoy each other’s company if they wanted to.

So, imagine that you are the regional business development manager of Daniel Thwaites Brewery Plc. You hear that the young couple whom you installed less than a year ago in a run down village pub has increased business to the point where trade has doubled in a matter of months and then remained consistently at that new higher level.

They have started all sorts of initiatives to bring people in, such as music nights and occasional family themed evenings, and the locals love it. They have got the pub into the CAMRA Good Beer guide for the first time in ages. They have forged excellent links with the church opposite and contributed facilities and refreshments to some of their fundraising events. Furthermore, they have plans to increase turnover by opening the kitchens and selling good basic local food which they cook themselves at lunchtimes - but these haven’t come to fruition in the first 9 months because they have been so busy getting the place straight.

Then it comes to your attention that, right now, they are struggling to make ends meet, because their slim profit margin has been completely eroded by two price rises imposed by the brewery from whom they must buy all their stock. You have never visited them in all the time since you placed them in the pub but, as they appear to be in trouble now, you decide to pay them a visit.

Remember, you are the business development manager. What would you do when you arrive on your visit?

Copper(sulphate)head Road?

2008-08-28T20:40:00.005+01:00

And my favourite moment of the afore-mentioned music festival? A Goth take on the song Galway Girl by Steve Earle, which has been made popular by the Magner’s Cider advert:

“And I ask you, friend, what's a fella to do; 'Cause her eyes were black and her hair was blue!”

More Pleasantries

2008-08-26T20:23:00.006+01:00

Gracious little twit. The idea that manners makyth man clearly went out of the educational system before he went into it. [Robert Barnard – The Missing Bronte(1983)]

Alas gentle reader, yet again am I forced to discourse on the subject of common courtesy.

Regular visitors to these pages – and those of my learned friends Lady Bracknell and Dame Glossop - will be aware that, in common with those two delightful ladies, I am somewhat tragically crippled in respect of mobility; and all the more so this morning, notwithstanding snatched opportunities for brief repose in the back of the Rolls, for having spent the better part of 9 hours on my hind legs yesterday at an all-day music festival at a soon-to-be-closed pub* in a local village. Therefore I found myself at work today perambulating with even more than accustomed sluggishness.

So picture, if you will the unpleasant scene which unfolded earlier at my place of employment:-

Upon leaving the cold, dark cell which is my office, in order to reach any destination I am confronted in quick succession by five pairs of heavy fire doors, all closed and most of which open towards me. I find these quite a strain to negotiate so I am heartily relieved to see that, as I am yet five paces from the second pair, a young man emerges through them and then holds them open. However as I quicken my gait and begin to form the words “thank you”, he obviously judges that I am taking too long (or at least longer than he had bargained for) and so, as I am no more than two paces distant, he lets the door go and strides off past me in the opposite direction.

Now I am not complaining that this is in any way disablist; that he saw my condition and intentionally allowed the door to close because of it. This is not specifically a disability issue. However, had can hardly have failed to notice my gnarly stick and, in any case, his actions comprised a display of extremely poor manners.

Obviously he was young – about 12 if I am any judge – and he works in a contact centre which means he was almost inevitably having a bad day. He is also born of a generation which believes that 5 seconds for a screen to load on a PC is unforgivably tardy and which resents the time it takes to stir a cuppa-soup. What I hadn't realised is that common courtesy amongst the young also comes with inbuilt, and exceedingly short, time limits.

Frankly I think I would have preferred it had he reinforced my pre-existing prejudice by simply not holding the door open at all.

* of which more in a subsequent posting.

PS What is the shortest measurable unit of time known to humankind?

The Joy of Shopping

2008-08-06T13:16:00.011+01:00

In which the irresistible force meets the immovable object

I was going to post this anecdote on my very good friend Dame Honoria's blog in response to her latest offering, but it occurred to me that, in view of its length, it may look like I was staging a takeover bid.
So here, for your reading pleasure, I present my own recent experience of attempting to engage with someone who apparently had before them only a single line of script:

The Background
When purchasing electronic games, DVDs and the like in my local branch of... er… (Shall I name & shame? Yes why not!) Morrison’s supermarket, more often than not one is required to select from the display an empty box which is then filled by the checkout supervisor whilst one is busy at the checkout.

It was thus, on a recent Friday evening grocery shopping expedition, that I purchased a game but, as you can probably guess, when I reached home I discovered that the wrong game and accompanying booklet had been inserted into the case. "Fair enough," I thought. "it was undoubtedly an innocent mistake and could happen to anyone.

I was busy all day Saturday so it was at about 10.40, in the few moments of Sunday morning which remained to me before commencing the 'long drive in an unsuitable car', that I popped back to the same emporium to attempt a swap.
I bounded through their doors and approached the customer service desk with a big smile and asked the nice lady if she would be so very kind etc etc. The conversation then went on:

The Encounter
Nice customer service lady: “We are only open for “browsing”. We don’t start trading until 11.00 o’clock” (a fact of which I was well aware, having waited for her to complete an announcement to this effect on the shop PA before approaching her).
Dude: "I know; I just heard the announcement. All I want to do is swap this game for the right one. "
Nice customer service lady: “We don’t start trading until 11.00 o’clock."
Dude: “Quite so. However, I bought a game from this very boutique not 48 hours ago and the supervisor inserted the wrong contents in the box. All I want is to exchange the contents so that they match the box”
Nice customer service lady: “We don’t start trading until 11.00 o’clock."
Dude: "Yes. Yes. I believe you. However I am not asking you to trade. I just want you to… "
Increasingly less pleasant customer service lady: “We don’t start trading until 11.00 o’clock." Dude: “Look, this is getting silly. All relevant trading activity was completed on Friday during lawful business hours. I am not asking you to trade now. All I want is for you to rectify your employer’s mistake and give me the goods I paid for.”
Really quite hostile customer service lady: “We don’t start trading until 11.00 o’clock."

We continued in a similar vein for another minute or two, during which time she departed from her part of the script by neither jot nor tittle. Eventually, being anxious to set off on my extended travels ere dusk, and fearing that I may regret my actions if I remained there much longer, I finally retreated and went home with the same wrong goods with which I had arrived.

A simple “I’m sorry but…” would have sufficed!

How soon they forget

2008-08-03T19:56:00.004+01:00

The Rolls Canardly runs on diesel fuel.

In recent months, I have watched the price of a litre (whatever one of those is) climb from around 90p to £1.34. This, I am told, equates to £6.09 per gallon.

So why then am I so pleased that my local supermarket has just dropped its price to £1.24 a litre?

I am just going outside and may be some time

2008-07-25T12:02:00.003+01:00

Tomorrow, I am off to Wigan to perform as part of the "Music For The Heart" festival weekend in aid of the Cardiac Unit of Wigan Hospital.

On Sunday I will be driving 300+ miles in an unsuitable car and then, on Monday, doing the same journey in reverse - but this time in cattle-class on the great British railway network.

Normal service will be resumed on Tuesday when I get home from work, although I may not have much to say apart from "Ow, ow, my *#@!** back, ow!!!

Happy Now?

2008-07-25T11:36:00.005+01:00

After seconds of intensive Googling, I finally came up with this picture

which, as you will see from the link, fulfils the search critera for "chocolate cat shoes";

As does this delightful item...

Does this mean I am now a true blogger?

Mosaic Madness

2008-07-24T00:18:00.004+01:00

OK. Here's the other one I did.

Same questions and same answers as last time but slightly different search criteria - some were from page 2 and others were from the first page but after I had asked for them by "most interesting" instead of "most relevant."

Despite being a great big cynical old Hector most of the time, I cannot overstate how much I enjoyed doing this.

Why just manage when you can micro-manage?

2008-07-23T09:47:00.002+01:00

It appears that NHS doctors are next in line for the Government’s one-size-fits-all policy regarding annual appraisal of its servants against performance targets. This, allegedly, will provide assurance of their competencies (sic)* and ‘allow them to develop their careers.’ Undoubtedly it will follow the public sector model in putting a high premium on skills whilst attributing absolutely no significance whatever to knowledge.

“Quite right too!” ascends the cry from vast swathes of the D@!ly M@!l-reading public. “It’s about time we were able to be certain that our GP is a decent chap. The Government must eliminate fraudsters, wastrels and murderers from the medical community.”

Trouble is though; annual appraisal doesn’t achieve any of this. Even the ubiquitous ‘Government spokesperson’ conceded that the proposed regime wouldn’t have caught Harold Shipman. After all he was a perfectly competent clinical practitioner – he just happened also to be a mass murderer!

What annual performance appraisal does is to divert resource and concentration away from the core job and into defensive record-keeping, clock-watching and general paranoid behaviour. The knowledge that your future income, or indeed career, rests entirely on the subjective judgement of one or two people whose sole motive in under-reporting you could well be nothing more than self-aggrandisement, seldom does much to inspire genuinely improved performance. And, take it from me, “moderating processes” are powerless in the face of someone who is determined to put you down.

So the most likely outcome of annual performance appraisal for GPs, far from driving up standards, improving bedside manner or rooting out the rotten apples, will be to make my doctor as miserable as I am - which, when I go to him hoping for a positive, proactive stance on managing my deteriorating health, I need like the proverbial cranial crater.

*but not their competence – which is an entirely different matter

In today's Radio 4 morning news

2008-07-22T08:28:00.002+01:00

Health

Men at risk – Today I shall be mostly standing up. It may hurt my back but hopefully it will reduce my exposure to the risk of prostrate cancer.

Healthy ex-cons – Apparently re-offending rates are on the rise amongst those who have been imprisoned previously for their crimes against society. But at least the environment is being protected. As an opposition spokesman told us this morning, “More ex-offenders are now cycling back into the prison system.”

Today, I have mostly been doing...

2008-07-16T23:41:00.004+01:00

... nothing very much.

However, much to my surprise, I did enjoy several moments creating this...

With grateful thanks to Honoria and, in turn to Purple Pigeon etc. for this marvellous and informative waste of time.

I think I shall do another one soon.

Turned out nice again

2008-07-16T01:59:00.002+01:00

St Swithun's day if thou dost rain
For forty days it will remain
St Swithun's day if thou be fair
For forty days 'twill rain na mair

Well, despite the gloom, it didn’t rain yesterday. So we should be OK until nearly the end of August!

In today’s news...

2008-07-16T01:28:00.003+01:00

Culture

1. Gus O’Donnell, head of the UK Civil Service stated that the plethora of data losses by Government department and agencies has led to a major cultural change in those organisations. How right he is. I have it on good authority that morale amongst staff has never been lower, that frantic and gratuitous “sheep-dip” training and indoctrination has never been so widespread and that a culture of blame, persecution, fear and loathing has never been more evident.

2. Boris “Bloody nice chap” Johnson, interrogated in committee about knife crime on the streets of London was asked about how to change the culture of glamour which surrounds the carrying of such lethal implements. He stated that people needed to see how provocative and stupid carrying knives really is and went on to say, “it is not as if we are witnessing the death of Mercutio on our streets”. At this point, he was loudly interrupted by a smart-arse politician who claimed that his education had not been as expensive as Mr Johnson’s and therefore he needed to have this remark explained to him. Boris responded that he was referring to one of the less obscure works by William Shakespeare, available for a modest price from all good booksellers, and to commend the text to the committee for further study.

What concerns me most in all this is the attitude of inverted snobbery from yer average Brit as soon as something vaguely classical is mentioned. Frankly, if I hadn’t known what the Mayor was on about, I think I would have kept quiet and then gone away to find out. I would certainly not have been half so eager to proclaim my ignorance to the watching gentleman of the press and thence to the world. But apparently it’s hip to be thick.*

*Incidentally, as the victim of a “progressive” education, everything I know about Shakespeare I learned from Frankie Howerd or the cast of “Hello Cheeky” and “I’m Sorry I’ll Read That Again.” But at least I know who Mercutio is.

Is it me? (The first in an occasional series of bemused observations on the decline in standards of the modern world)

2008-07-11T09:43:00.003+01:00

A news item on Radio 4 (no less) this morning caused me a sharp intake of breath when a reporter announced, “The public have no idea what their data is being used for.”

Three errors in once sentence – surely this is the province of commercial radio?

As the esteemed Lady Bracknell reminded me just two days ago, “I am the grammar snob about whom your mother warned you”!!

A Massage from the Dude

2008-07-11T00:55:00.003+01:00

You know those e-mails which end up "Send this on to everyone you know / love / care about / etc...?

Well, I have to confess I don't normally comply, even in the unusual event that I get one which gives me a bit of a warm glow. They normally go straight to the round filing cabinet.

However, as with most things in life, I don't have hard and fast rules or indeed principles. So today, from just such an e-mail which I received from a good friend, I offer this snippet of advice to my reader and to anyone else who stumbles across this blog....

Life is short:
Break the rules, Forgive quickly, Kiss slowly, Love truly, Laugh uncontrollably,
Never regret anything that made you smile.

I can think of worse ways to live!

Every time I tried to tell you, the words just came out wrong

2008-07-09T01:18:00.003+01:00

Just wrote a piece about about what I've been up to recently

... but deleted it on the grounds that even I wasn't interested in reading it.

Then I wrote something very maudlin about the blogging experience and how hard I am finding it to come up with anything which might interest you, gentle reader

... and deleted that too!!

Not that I find my life boring - indeed there's frequently far too much of it to fit comfortably into a 24hr day. But it is hardly the stuff of great journalism

"Went to garden centre; bought a new water butt; came home; had tea; watched 'Music & Lyrics' (with Drew Barrymore - yummeeee!!!); went to bed"

and I'm waaay too tired and drugged up right now to produce any pithy insights or scathing social commentary.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Of the posts I have penned in recent weeks, most have sprung unbidden to mind at inopportune moments and not when I was thinking about them at all.

Well I'm back to work in a few hours after a couple of days out of the office and, I guarantee, as soon as I get there I'll stop thinking. So who knows what profound insights might follow?.

For now, as the great Tom Lehrer once said, bemoaning the fact that so many song lyrics are about the balladeer's inability to articulate, "I think that if people can't communicate, the least they can do is to shut up!"

England expects....

2008-06-30T10:20:00.002+01:00

I have decided to institute an occasional series of awards for things which irritate me. These shall be known as the “Dudies”.

Today is the turn of TV advertisements.

I suppose, to an extent, these featurettes have achieved an objective insofar as they have embedded in the Dude consciousness the name of a product which might otherwise have escaped his attention. However, they could only be considered as having been entirely successful if their creator’s intent was to ensure that, having become aware of them, this particular potential customer vowed never to go near them.

So ladies and gentlemen, [cue fanfare], let us without further ado go straight to the winners in the 2008 TV Advertisement Dudies:-

In 3rd place:
For their ghastly, maudlin and cynical attempt to con money out of the old and fearful and, in particular, those who can probably least afford it… the insurer formerly known as Liverpool Victoria - now much more funkily called “LV” (which, it would appear, we are supposed to equate with LoVe”).

In their advertisement, the formerly vivacious Miss Cilla Black gets all nostalgic about “The Sixties” and goes on to conclude that, because she once “lost” someone precious to her, that we should all set aside money to cover our funeral expenses by taking out an open-ended insurance policy with her business associate.
This policy will relieve you of an agreed amount each and every month until you die – at which point, a pre-ordained amount of money will be paid out to your grieving relatives. Just for “fun”, I got a quote and, assuming I took out the smallest policy available (£8 per month) at the age of 50, I would have to kill myself at the age of 73 to break even. Anything paid in after that would be wasted as the redemption value will not increase any further and, if I were to decide to stop paying in order to cut my losses, the policy would become void and the accrued amount forfeit.

In second place:
For their use of a spokesman who resembles nothing more than a 1970’s TV villain straight out of “The Sweeney” or “Minder” in their promotional campaign to persuade us to engage the professional services of a legal advisor – the aptly named ambulance chasers “InjuryLawyers4U” (American name, American ethics).
Now, don’t get me wrong Guv’nor, I’m sure these are all very nice people who only have my best interests at heart. But all their talk about justice and empowerment, by suing the nether regions off anyone I am minded to blame the next time I have an accident, makes me uneasy – as does the general advance of the compensation culture and abdication of personal responsibility which is becoming increasingly prevalent, even in polite English society.

And the winner:
For no better reason that it features an extraoridinarily annoying little….. er…. child...., taunting 'Chummie' the dog with his inferior 'chocolate flavour' biscuits (or should that be 'chocolate flavored cookies'?), I present, the winner of the 2008 Dudies for TV Advertising: Nabisco Oreos.
It’s not that Oreos are unpleasant (although, if you have ever tasted one, you will know that they are quite vile) or that I have anything against dogs or small children as such. I think it’s just that this whole package signally fails to achieve what it apparently set out to do, which is to be cute and amusing.
There are some “interesting” comments on the You-Tube site though.

Incidentally, one of my favourite TV ads at present also has a biscuit theme – or should I say “bis-cwit”? Fox’s of course, also happen to make the most excellent biccies on the planet. And Vinnie is cute in a way that the Oreo brat never could be.

Dear Diary

2008-06-25T22:24:00.001+01:00

Yesterday: Surprisingly and unexpectedly good;

Today: Absolutely nothing good about today;

Tomorrow: Who knows? But I remain optimistic.

Jolly Boating Weather

2008-06-24T02:48:00.004+01:00

The family Dude met up with some old chums from dahn Sarf at the weekend. We met in Blackpool – Britain’s premier seaside resort and location of most excellent 2004 BBC drama series "Blackpool" – on midsummer’s day.

Actually I have no idea what time the sun rose and set on the longest day, as we didn’t see it once all day through the low clouds and driving rain. Honestly, why people go abroad for their hols, I’ll never understand!

Still, a good time was had by all as we visited the Tower (including ballroom and circus – which, I am pleased to report was well up to its usual standard), saw the wreck of the Riverdance on the beach off Cleveleys and dined handsomely at the Bispham Kitchen - the best chippy in the world (IMHO).

There was only one niggle in an otherwise splendid day. But I'll tell you about that later.

Acquired Impairments – One Man’s Story *

2008-06-18T02:08:00.009+01:00

The other evening I was sitting in a dockside pub, enjoying the last few rays of sunshine and a pint of 'Old Soak's Fallover' when in came a gentleman bearing more physical disfigurements than are normally evident in one person. He walked with a crutch on account of his left lower limb terminating in a crude prosthetic peg, had a metal hook in place of one hand and sported an eye-patch.

Because I have a keen interest in disability issues, as soon as I saw he was alone, I wandered across to make his acquaintance and we got to talking about things such as accessibility and reasonable adjustment – both of which subjects led him to express very strong opinions, mainly negative and particularly with regard to his employer.

Finally, I could contain my curiosity no longer and so I asked him how he had acquired his many impairments, starting with the leg.

“Well,” he said “you see I am a pirate by profession. One day when we were sailing the Southern Seas, our vessel was attacked by a dreadful sea monster. Terrible it was with huge eyes, a vicious hook-beaked maw and massive long tentacles. Hour after hour we fought it but it held its own and was beginning to look like it had the better of us. Then suddenly it started to withdraw as a fatal blow was struck to one of its evil eyes by a brave shipmate. But, as it slid back into the briny deep, it wrapped a tentacle as thick as a tree trunk round my leg and threatened to pull me in. The only escape was to cut off my own leg with my cutlass. And so I lived to tell the tale but with this crude wooden leg, which was knocked up by the ship’s carpenter, as a permanent reminder of that fateful day.”

“That’s quite a story” I ventured. “So what about your hook then? How did that come about?”

“Well” he said, “one day, just after we had put to sea having plundered a buried treasure which had taken us years of hardship and deprivation to find, we fell into a bit of a celebration. What with all the rum we drank and whacky-baccy we smoked, it was only a matter of time before someone fell overboard... and that someone turned out to be me. Fortunately, young Cedric the cabin boy was alert, as he was too young to smoke or to drink anything stronger than orange juice, so he was able to throw me a rope and haul me back on board - but not before the biggest Great White you have ever seen took my hand for his lunch. This sharp metal hook, which was kindly fitted by the ships cook (what with the carpenter being unconscious and all), serves as a permanent reminder of both my good luck and my misfortune.”

“So how about your eye? Was it another monster of the deep which deprived you of that too?” I enquired.

“Arrrrrr no!” he responded, really getting into character now. “That were a monster o’ the air, me proud beauty!”

I blushed prettily, having never before been called anything of the sort.

“There I was above decks in an uncharted Oriental Sea, beautiful weather, a stiff breeze and barely a cloud in the sky. I was in the crow’s-nest on the lookout for anything which might interest the Cap’n; another pirate vessel, a wealthy merchant’s ship laden with fine wines, silk or precious jewels, uncharted islands overflowing with ripe fruits and beautiful dusky native women…” he tailed off dreamily.

“Ahem!!” I interjected. “Your missing eye?”

“Yarr!” he came back to earth with a jolt. “My eye indeed! Well, like I said, I was in the crow’s-nest on the lookout for anything which might interest the cap’n…”

“Yes, yes. And what happened?”

“Well, I heard a noise overhead and looked up. And that was when a seagull pooped in me eye.”

“A seagull? Yes, I can see how that might happen. But, messy though it must have been, I can’t understand how that would have cost you your sight! What happened?”

“Well, this was only a couple of days after we had found the treasure and I had my encounter with the shark. So I hadn’t really had time to get used to the hook…”

(*with thanks to His Eminence, the Cardinal Archbishop for the inspiration to recount this story)

Zing went the strings...

2008-06-10T12:55:00.003+01:00

… of my back!

Did I mention that I was (part of) the entertainment at the wedding? You see I am a wandering minstrel, part of a small group of similarly-inclined fellows, and I play a variety of string-ed instruments for the entertainment of others. This means lugging, not to mention humping, instruments, amplification equipment and boxes of sundry leads, microphones etc. across the North West and beyond, at all sorts of odd times of the day and night. Not that I do it all myself, you understand; but I play my part and will continue to do so right up to the point where we are sufficiently rich and famous to employ roadies,

So gentle reader, after the exertions of the weekend – hands well and truly fasted, masses thoroughly entertained and pay-she-os properly laid – I was beginning to feel invincible. I went to the day job on Monday with a spring in my step and a song (probably by Van Morrison or Martyn Joseph) in my heart.

Then yesterday evening, due to a surfeit of enthusiasm on the part of our bookings secretary, it came to pass that we were engaged to perform at a local hostelry.

“No problem”, said I, as I threw the gear once again into the back of the Rolls Canardly and drove off to collect our non-driving drummer. And that’s where it all went pear-shaped.

With percussion loaded, and being ready to depart, I bent - no more than 5 degrees from the vertical - to move an errant extension lead which had fallen out of a box when suddenly….

…. “Kapow”, “thuunk”, “kerrrrunch”, - and several other Adam West expostulations - went something small but vital at the base of my spine.

Although I was in no small amount of discomfort at this point, because the first rule of ‘the Biz’ is that the show must go on, I drove to the gig, the show went on and the evening was a resounding success. We were even joined for a few numbers by a former member who had left a couple of years ago and were thus able to resurrect some songs which, because of her singular talents, we have been unable to perform recently.

However I am now approximately 30 centimetres shorter than I was this time yesterday and have acquired a distinct list to port. So I will be spending the next few days lying down in a darkened room, eating Smarties as if they were Tramadol.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

So why have I dragged myself to the vertical in order to post this update? Well, as an avid reader of certain blogs, I know how frustrating it can be when nothing new is posted for several days. You start to imagine the worst about the health and whereabouts of your E-chum and wish there was something you could do - firstly to find out where they are and what ails them and, secondly, to make them feel better. I have no wish to inflict this kind of mental anguish upon my loyal reader.

Of course, should you wish to attempt to make me feel better during my confinement, please feel free to send:-

Best wishes
Cards
Grapes
Chocolate
Intimate photos; or
Anything else you think might cheer me up.

If you want me, I shall be in my room…

in agony…

on a bed of pain…

Ow!

The torture never stops

2008-06-09T01:09:00.002+01:00

Last Saturday I went to a wedding (well a handfasting to be precise) in North Wales. Everyone was in medieval costume, a hog was roasted, much ale was quaffed and a good time was had by all. Long drive home though.

Then on Sunday I helped* to lay a patio (which, I discovered, rhymes with "Horatio"). Actually, it's been a long time since I spent a peaceful Sunday afternoon in the garden and this was no exception. Our genteel suburban neighbourhood was buzzing softly with the tranquil sounds of Summer - electric strimmers, hover-mowers, children screaming in paddling pools, mothers screaming at children, dogs barking and the police helicopter circling lazily overhead. Bliss!!

I'll be glad to get back to work later today for some peace and quiet and a rest!

Next weekend, I shall be off to my local independent garden accessories stockist, Paddy O'Furniture, for some new recliners and then attending a retirement do on Saturday evening. Regrettably the 'do' will not be my own :<(

* by which I mean I drank tea and made sarky comments along the lines of "You've missed a bit" and "That's never level!"

You don't have to be mad to work here...

2008-06-04T02:06:00.002+01:00

I am not a great fan of lists, and I particularly dislike “Best of… (this year)” proclamations which are made when there are still several months to go.

I mean, how can you possibly know that “Anorexic American A” is going to be this year’s ‘Best Dressed Woman in the Universe” when it’s only March? And how can the quadruple CD compilation of the best Acid House Hardcore Trance Mashup remixes of 2008 be in the shops a week before Christmas 2007?

However, that is not going to stop me announcing the Best Disability Quote of 2008 right now, because it just doesn’t get any better than this.

At a recent national Trade Union disability conference which I had the pleasure of attending, the whole issue of mental health in the workplace was being discussed. The debate was heated and the contributors passionate, none more so than the lady who wanted to talk about the problems of disclosing mental health problems to one’s employer.

It seems that, even more than is the case with physical impairment, telling your employer that you have depression, or that you are bipolar or that you have schizophrenia, is a pretty sure-fire way to effectively hand in your notice – no matter what might be your right to protection under the law. The trouble appears to be that people in general – and employers in particular – are ill informed and consequently scared of mental health issues and thus prefer not associate, or be associated with, the scary people who “suffer” with them. After all, you never know what they might do and that makes them unreliable, unproductive and unemployable.

Thing is though that, in order for you to be protected against disability discrimination in the workplace, your employer must be aware of your condition and this probably means that you are going to have to tell them.

So the dilemma is whether to

1. Tell your employer and thus enjoy all the “reasonable adjustments” to which you are legally entitled - but run the risk of discovering that your boss’s number one priority has just become to find a legitimate means of getting rid of you (probably through the tried and trusted means of referring you for an “Occupational Health Assessment” where a nurse will be instructed to find that you can’t cope); or
2. Keep quiet and hope nobody notices.

As the speaker at conference put it, “Nobody in their right mind would declare a mental health impairment.”

To my eternal shame, I was the only person in a hall of over 200 people who laughed out loud!

Hello World

2008-06-02T00:49:00.002+01:00

Finally succumbing to the kind of peer pressure which even the strongest could only resist for about three years, he parted his long floppy fringe and, raising his spectacles above his eyes, announced to a waiting world "...... 'Tis I, The Dude!!"