Weirdo things about Edbo

... I don't appreciate that there doesn't seem to be a slang name for Edinburgh (well, there's Edinbore but that's quite a disparaging term unsuitable for day-to-day use). My thoughts on people who write letters to the Metro I'll reserve for another day.

Every place deserves to have an alternate name that is easier to say and write - particularly for people like me who mangle all their words up when not concentrating. There's Bomo (Bournemouth), the Smoke (London), Lanks (Lancaster) and Dorch (Dorchester). So I will use the term Edbo, even though no-one else does.

So here are some of the unusual things I have discovered about Edbo:

1) No-one thanks the bus driver. You see, no matter how far you travel on the bus, the fare is always a pound. And the bus driver has no change. So you silently drop your cash in the slot (where it must be weighed electronically) or swipe your Ridacard. And then take your seat. Because of this there is no excuse to talk to the bus driver. And since you haven't spoken to him on the way in, for some reason it is more difficult to say something when departing the vehicle. So very few people do. At least that's what I've noticed.

2) You order some chips in a takeaway. The person behind the counter scoops some chips into a tray and asks if you would like salt and vinegar. You reply 'Yes, but not too much, please' bearing in mind what happened to poor Sid the Slug. Then, without asking for any further instruction, the person covers the chips in a very generous helping of brown sauce, completely spoiling them. The first time this happened I played back the scenario in my mind, and assumed that when I answered 'Yes, but not too much, please', she must have heard 'Yes, but could you also smother the chips in brown sauce, please'. Assuming it was my fault, I accepted the chips, but threw most of them away. The second time this happened, in the same shop, I assumed that the person serving the chips remembered me from before, clearly didn't like me and therefore wanted to spitefully ruin my food. Well, I was hurt, but I accepted the chips and decided never to go to that shop again. Well yesterday it happened in a different shop. Apparently it's a tradition.

3) The word 'outwith'. As in:

"I'm sorry your address is outwith the practice area for this surgery"
"What, you mean it's outside the practice area"
"I meant outwith"

I've noticed that in practically every written document produced at work and by civil institutions such as the local council or the university has a ban on the word 'outside'. I think it means the same 'outside', but it doesn't seem right. Probably designed as a way to confuse people. But why it is just this one word that is different?

4) I'm enjoying Newsnight, my second favourite show (after This Week). Suddenly, halfway through transmission (sometimes midway through an item or interview), the programming is inexpertly interrupted and the titles for something called Newsnight Scotland appear. There then follows 20 minutes of sheer tedium where they examine some burning issue of no significance, like the scottish economy has been predicted to grow by 0.2% next year, or whatever. All very interesting, but if I wanted to learn more about local issues I'd read the local newspaper, or watch the local news. In the meantime I'm missing all the exciting Newsnight reports promised in my Newsnight e-mail, sent to me earlier in the day by Jeremy Paxman. The only option is to watch Newsnight on-line, but the live feed is so blocky and stuttery I can conclude that almost everyone else in Scotland has chosen to do the same. I feel a petition to the Scottish Parliament coming on...

Credit cards

I will commence whinging about credit cards... now.

Why oh why am I ineligable for credit?? When you can hardly open a newspaper without reading about some irresponsible bon viveur who is £80,000 in debt it makes no sense that I should be denied a simple card with a modest credit limit of, say £400. Worst of all, the syncophantic rejection letters from the credit card companies read worse than job rejection letters, in that none give ANY SUBSTANTIAL REASON for my lack of creditworthiness.

To quote: 'with each application we consider a number of factors including information from credit reference agencies and the information you provided on your application form. This information is combined to produce a score. Unfortunately, your score did not meet the score required in this instance.'

Translation: 'We punched your info into a computer and computer says no'

But the issue I have is that the form was so short that they could not gather any useful info on me. They wanted to know my income, which was greater than the minimum stated necessary to qualify for the card. They wanted to know my address, which is a very respectable address (rented admittedly) in the capital city of Scotland - a nation of spendthrifts. So the information I provided on the form must have checked out fine. It's down to the credit reference agency then. But I can only think of two things that they have on me:

1. I never pay my bills before the final demand arrives - well really, it would be foolish of me to pay bills before the final demand. Why would anyone who values their money hand it over to a greedy utilites company any earlier than necessary, when it could be earning interest?? Large successful companies such as Sainsbury's defer payment to suppliers as long as is legally possible for just this reason. This should demonstrate I am shrewd with my finances and so more deserving of credit.

2. My bank account is always maxed out on overdraft. Yes, well I know this sounds dodgy, but it is an interest free overdraft for goodness sake. Once again, why should I allocate spare cash to keep my account in the red when it could be making itself useful earning interest in a savings account elsewhere??

So I'm being financially smart but it looks bad to a computer database. And people ask me why I worry that soon a big computer database will be making many more critical decisions about my life once the national identity register is up and running. Unless they let me program the computer of course.

5 things...

Up till 2 or 3 years ago, I only had to check that I had my keys and wallet before leaving the house. That way I would not only be able to buy stuff (if necessary) whilst I was out but I could also easily gain access to my residence on my return.

Then I upgraded by mobile phone from a big 10lb brick model with a painful aerial poking out of it to a cheap, nasty but smaller model. So I started doing the 'keys, wallet, phone' check through my pockets before stepping over the threshold.

Just recently it seems everywhere I go involves a long walk or a tedious journey on public transport. So I take my iPod in my coat pocket to make best use of the time. Since its battery life is pitiful (and Apple charge about £40 to fit a new battery), I also take the charger lead. This means I can also use it as a handy 4Gb hard drive, should the need arise.

So keys, wallet, phone, iPod, charger lead. Five things is much more effort to remember than two, and I'm always forgetting one of those items.

And, like today, it's usually the freakin' keys.

Great cultural minds...

Well I noticed that some famous faces agree with me about the misappropriation of Johny Cash! (ref. my last whinge but 3, made a lifetime ago)

Today I hate...

... searching for a flatshare in Edinbore... sheesh who are these people?? Why do they all want to live here, and why are they either English and called Tarquin or raving Scottish nationists with Saltires bedecked over every item of furniture?? How come I am always asked which country I come from, isn't it obvious or should I too engage in displays of fervent nationalism (dressing as a Beefeater, Morris Dancer or one of the baddies from Braveheart, maybe), to allay any doubt??

Man, they show you to the broom cupboard, explain that this is the room on offer, just as advertised. Just as you are trying to calculate whether there is physically space for all of your belongings when another potential suitor arrives. On the way out you add your name and phone number to the list (already 15 strong) with the promise that they'll make their decision in a day or two, once the interview panel has convened. Well if they offered me the flat I'd turn them down, just to find out and surprised and taken aback they are that maybe their poxy broom cupboard isn't so desirable after all. I'd have to make sure the 15 other people did the same, though, for full effect.

The art of sales

Oh, seems like a residence not so far from where I live is on the market (well, it's fairly much exactly where I live). I like the room descriptions, which play up all of the property's desirable features, such as:

BEDROOM ONE 4.04m(13'3'') x 3.10m(10'2'')
One single glazed window with pleasant outlook over Lancaster towards Lancaster castle. One double panelled radiator with thermostat. Power and light.

After all, up here in t' north, it is unusal for rooms to have single glazed windows (brrrr), power sockets and a light. Shame that the pleasant outlook towards Lancaster castle/prison could soon be blocked by a fancy hotel. This would once have made me very angry.

Call centre tips

I have lately been temping in a call centre. This might seem a strange career move, since I can barely follow my own conversation sometimes, so goodness knows how a total stranger at the other end of a crackly phone line is meant to.

I do, however, have plenty of experience of contacting phone centres to talk to my bank, pay bills, discuss application forms etc. etc. and have found the people who answer the phone to be almost always irritable and unhelpful. Now I know why. Based on experience, here are my tips for a successful call centre experience:

1. Don't assume that you can save time by quoting your customer reference number. This assumes that the person at the call centre has access to a computer to look you up on the database. Sure, I'll pretend to look you up at the database, but when I ask for your full address, phone number and insurance policy details 'for confirmation' it is because I am busy writing it all down on an A4 pad - for a time the only technology that I had at my disposal.
2. When I answer the phone "Good afternoon, Spider speaking, how can I help you?", don't reply sceptically "I wonder if you can....". You will only be the 40th or so person to say that today, and it sets the discussion off to a bad start.
3. It's fine to ask to speak to a Team Leader. I won't be insulted - to be honest they're probably much better placed to deal with your query. They're quite few and far between, though, so I will have to put you on hold for about 10 minutes whilst I go and find one, join the queue to talk to them and finally explain the issue to them, during which time you've hung up.
4. You're welcome to threaten to complain to your MP, the Financial Ombudsman and the European Court of Rights. In fact, that's the kind of thing that I would do in the same situation. I love people power!! But this is usually just a roundabout way of asking to speak to a Team Leader. As you wish, please hold...
5. If you live in a place such as Machynlleth or Ffestiniog, please tell me how to spell it. If you live in Birmingham or Plymouth, I'm sure you mean well, but it comes across as a bit patronising.
6. If you're you're the friendly sort, please keep talking. Note how I deliberately attempt to spin out the conversation, change the subject, maybe even phone you back to save your bill - anything to delay Mr. or Ms. Angry who is waiting on the line to speak to me next...

Anywayz, my placement has now come to an end, so I'm sure I will soon lose my newfound call centre empathy, and return to being rude and impatient.

Hearing from my MP

Hear from your MP is, on the surface, an excellent website that allows ordinary internet uses to talk to their local member of parliament via a special e-mail group. Naturally, I signed up months ago and so imagine my excitement when the first e-mail from Ben Wellace (hon. member for Lancaster and Wyre) appeared in my in-box seeking my considered advice.

I just wish that in my enthusiasm I had taken a bit longer to think through my opinions, or at least check my sentence structure, before hitting 'send'. The poor man is going to look at the replies so far and resolve never to use the service again. Note how I also oh so un-subtlely invited him for a pint at the local, which goes to show how much I would enjoy spending time with politicians, even Conservative ones.

Why I hate ITV

... as is clear, something has to really wind me up to provoke a new blog post. The English Football team have exited the World Cup on penalties - the fifth time they have taken such a route out of a competition in living memory (i.e. since about 1986). It was distressing to watch, but familiarity dulls the pain. I don't think any cities in Germany will be razed to the ground as the media expects, but that the disappointed fans will most likely quietly return to their campsites and pack their tents for the journey home.

What bothers me is that later on, in their highlights package, ITV obviously had to put on a little montage of all the team's peaks and troughs throughout the tournament set to angsty music. Now I like angsty music of all types, and something angsty-light by Coldplay or Robbie Williams would have been a fine choice. Because England going out of a tournament on penalties is painful, but nothing that we haven't all experienced before and will experience many, many times again. But instead ITV went for angsty-heavy by playing Hurt by Johnny Cash (originally Nine Inch Nails), which is one of my favourite angst ridden tunes of all. This song has no place on one of ITV's stupid montages dammit - it is the song of a wizened man probing the bitterness of his soul. Or something.

What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

They could have meant it for Sven, I suppose, but that is rather cruel, even taking his questionable tactics into account. The poor man tried his best, and here he is being likened to the Michael Henchard by some smart alec vision mixer. Grrr.... I haven't felt so patrionised since the BBC nicked a Radiohead track to try to bully people into paying their little poll tax. That also made me cross.

Route optimisation (... or Do I Have Too Much Time)

Just like Clive Woodward at the last World Cup, I have been using some of the world's most sophisticated computer software (that's Paint Shop Pro) to analyse my tactical sporting performance. This is the surest and quickest route to success, and makes a pleasant change from just training really hard.

Last weekend, Lenka and I took part in another adventure race in the Lake District - we have to visit as many checkpoints as possible in 5 hours on foot and by mountain bike, in any order. The team that scores the post points wins, and different checekpoints are worth different numbers of points (denoted by my handwritten markings on the maps, below). We kept a fairly good pace, didn't suffer any mechanical failures or anything, but still only ranked 11th out of 26 teams.

This map shows our MTB route (in orange) and what must be roughly the route taken by the winners (in purple). So we both covered similar distances.

But this is a comparison of the running route - looks like the winners covered a fair bit more ground here!

However, the winners spent about 1hr 45 mins running, whereas we spent just over an hour. So we took longer than them to cover our MTB route, and made more few questionable route choices. We did the running first, but I'm thinking that it would have been better to get all the strenous mountain biking out the way. Hmmm, so many possibilities - still I think that we are close to getting the right formula for Ultimate Success. We've already stormed up the series table by a mathematical quirk.

Oh, and I was 50% wrong in my Apprentice predictions. Ansell was by far the best candidate, but Sir Allen has obviously fallen for Michelle's rags to riches story, which therefore makes her the odds-on favourite for the final next week. You know that a TV series has touched the national consciousness when there are rambling opinion pieces in the newspaper explaining what it says about the state of the nation (not that I agree, which is unusual for the Guardian)

So frustrating

It is a beautiful hot, sunny day and I'm at a loose end. And yet I'm down in the dumps... the TV, newspapers and radio all tell me that there are Important Local Elections taking place up and down the country but in Lancaster there are none to be found.

To an election addict like me it feels like Christmas has been cancelled - but only in the local area. Only on my travels elsewhere I have been able to observe exciting election posters and read all of the interesting leaflets that have been pushed through the doors of people lucky enough to live in more democratic places such as London and Weymouth... after all half the fun of elections is in the build up and I would have enjoyed volunteering to be a canvasser for a party... any party (well maybe not the BNP) and being able to knock on people's doors wearing a smart rosette and surprise them by already knowing their name from a print-out of the electoral roll.

I do have previous experience campaigning for the Tories (mock school election in 1997 - I thought pushing the Nasty Party in their darkest hour would be a challenge but we scored about 65% of the vote, which probably says more about the school than anything else) and the Lib Dems (Oxford local elections 2002, Carfax Ward - we won by forcing people out of the colleges just before the polls closed!). Because of this I would probably have offered my services to the Green Party this time, since Lancaster is one of their little enclaves. But it is not to be.

I was considering travelling all the way to Manchester to cast a vote, if only to demonstrate how easy it is to commit electoral fraud. I know my brother's birthday and his home address, see, and I am also certain that he will not be voting himself. As it is, however, I will have to console myself with the late night electoral coverage on the BBC as the only 'fix' that I will be getting for a while.

Er... I'm a lightweight, I'm fired!

... well it wasn't quite like that, and to be honest I think I managed to cling on to my role at the CPS for longer than they had intended. But a person had been hired permanently to do my role (probably at less cost to them than my wage plus agency fees), so no need for me. I was very pleased to receive a card, lots of chocolate and some Star Wars biscuits as a leaving present. If only that happened after every temping assignment - all I got from Sunterra was a plastic orange pen. But given all the allegations maybe it's wise not to be too closely associated with receiving gifts from that particular organisation.

It was three and a half months of fun, stress and trying not to make too many bumbling mistakes... the problem with that kind of role is that the English criminal justice system creaks along so slowly that mistakes don't come become apparant straight away but only three or four weeks down the line. In the form of a fuming prosecution lawyer. But I enjoyed the atmosphere in the office, thinking up a 'word of the day' and learning about how crime lurks around every corner, even in a bright, happy place like Lancaster. And I don't think I'll ever be venturing north of the Lune again, now I know what goes on there ;-)

The agency were meant to be sorting something out, but surprise, surprise they haven't as yet - so I may well be paying another visit to my friends at Jobcentre Plus and having the luxury of time to write more frequent blog entries!

You're a lightweight, you're fired!

I can't believe that I haven't found time to pass comment on The Apprentice untill now, when the series is reaching its exciting zenith.

I was sad that Sir Alan fired one of my fave candidates, Nargis, in week two, but otherwise 3 of the final four contestants are exactly as I had predicted after watching the first episode. No-one will believe me on this.

Still, since it is pre-filmed, I don't think I could have made any money at the bookies anywayz. Nevertheless, I predict that following the interview round next week, Michelle and Paul will be fired. Michelle seems very quietly competent but I don't think glamourous people sit comfortably in Sir Alan's imagination. Similarly, Paul is a nice guy but sociable, ex-rugby playing, possibly ex-public school people don't really fit well into Sir Alan's corporate culture either. What Sir Alan clearly likes best is vigilant, brutish sales people so the final face-off is obviously going to be between Ruth and Ansell. Now, Ansell apart, it is interesting that the other three remaining candidates are the youngest of all those who started. However, I still think that Ansell will end up as the eventual winner as he has played the game really well. He always keeps a low profile, never says anything controversial, plays the peacemaker in any arguments and has done well in the sales tasks. Furthermore it seems that he used to play for Millwall FC and grew up in edgy South London. Hence good corporate fit for the rough n' ready Amstrad culture that has been criticised by Sir Richard Branson. Branson is clearly the more successful businessman, but his own Apprentice-style TV show was pathetic.

Just wait and see how I will be proved correct - I am becoming an experienced expert in recruitment psychology and just wish I could put some of this knowledge to practical use in the real world!

Democracy in action

It all started with a chance meeting between Lenka and some suits from the Council on the Canal. Plans were afoot to put gravel on the Lancaster cycle path. We thought that cycling on gravel would be worse than cycling on tarmac, and so I set up a simple online petition. At the time of writing, there are 73 signatures (one guy signed twice, but I can't complain).

I also thought that I would write to the local newspapers. I like reading the letters pages on local newspapers, so set out to make my letter suitably pompous, as befits such letters pages. I wrote to the Lancaster Guardian (the broadsheet), which completely ignored me. I also wrote to the Lancaster & Morecambe Citizen, which not only printed my letter, but also printed Lenka's letter directly beneath it. I appreciated that, as it gives readers the impression that two people were sufficiently motivated to independently contact the press in the same week. Alternatively, a more adept reader might suspect a stage-managed stunt, but it's too late now.

Anyway, this week there are two more letters in the Citizen (maybe or maybe not from the same residence...). Clearly we have touched a nerve and have unearthed a burning issue to rank alongside the Palestinian Question (which, strangely, is another very popular topic in the Lancaster & Morecambe Citizen). As Lenka's out of town and I hate to leave a debate hanging in the air I will have to make a reply of some sort. A problem is that I was really hoping that someone from the Council would also write in this week, as Officials are much easier to attack. I'm also really busy (writing this counts as therapy). Still, I've never abandoned a cause yet and I'm interested to see where this will end...

The Apprentice

I'm really looking forward to Wednesday's first episode of what is the only TV show that I enjoy at the mo (apart from Newsnight and Question Time, obviously!). And just as I fruitlessly apply to be in the audience of Question Time whenever I hear that it is going to be within hailing distance (and I count both Edinburgh and Birmingham as being within shouting distance of Lancaster), so I was also disappointed to learn that my application to be on The Apprentice this year was unsuccessful.

The thing that strikes me from browsing through the website is that I am certainly not that much less qualified than any of this year's contestants. Furthermore, as a sometime fan of the genre, I think that appearing on The Apprentice would be an enjoyable way to spend 3 months - living in a pleasant London mansion, taking part in engaging tasks every week and at least minor celebrity status to look forward to when I'm done. However, last night there was a documentary about last year's winner Tim, who as part of his 'prize' was assigned the role of trying to market useless Amstrad electronic tat to a sceptical public. I can't think of anyone I know who would fall for his 'electronic skin stimulation' scam, and quite frankly the criticism he comes in for from Sir Alan Sugar for failing to sell millions of units was unjustified. I can't think of a successful Amstrad product since the CPC 6128 which I used to play computer games when I was about eight years old.

Actually, I think that Sir Alan made the wrong choice in last year's series - if he really wanted someone to sell this useless equipment in bulk he should have chosen natural salesperson Saira as the winner. Tim seems a good natured, talented bloke but I think that the real reason that he was chosen is because he played the 'reality TV' game really well - that is to keep quiet in the early rounds, don't start arguments and generally keep your powder dry. Furthermore, Sir Alan probably saw something of himself in Tim's East End roots. This is a problem that worries me about recruitment - for all the objective tests and assessments, I think recruiters generally choose people with whom they most readily identify. This is why my heart sank when I arrived at an interview to find a panel of ladies from human resources awaiting me (why are all HR people female?). Not that I'm a chauvanist, just that since they were all from a non-technical background I didn't think that we all related that well. Though maybe I'm just paranoid and deluded... :-)

We are deranged

OK, now I'll wind back to last Thursday, where at approximately 4pm I am wandering around the Tate Modern, one of my favourite places in London, waiting to meet a friend at 5. I'd been at a Civil Service open day, and was also feeling worse for wear from the night before. All of the galleries at the Tate have recently been re-hung, and there are several darkened off rooms, with lots of chairs, that show experimental videos. I thought that such a room would be an ideal place to have a quick sleep.

Settling into one of the chairs, I found that my chosen piece of video art was not a relaxing array of rainforest scenes or waves crashing against the shore but a disturbing sequence of dusty hotel rooms, through which almost expressionless men and ladies walked with fixed expressions, ocassionally stopping to throw coats onto the floor, tie people up or adjust their clothing. What I found most unsettling however, was the creepy voiceover, parts of which are still stuck in my mind (I found the rest through a Google search, the piece is called Dictio pii by Markus Schinwald):

(man's voice) We are the perfume of corridors,
unfamiliarised with isolated activity,
traitors of privacy, utopian craftsmen,
pretty beggers not the product of poverty.
(lady's voice) We are pillared by mild sadness and polymorphic history,
eternally sceptical but we believe.
We are illiterates of perfection
We are deranged

It might not sound all that unsettling in black and white, but maybe it just did to me, in my tired state. The dialogue repeats many times over untill it becomes trance inducing, and I certainly wasn't put in the intended nice relaxed mood at all. Also what was interesting is that I've noticed that normally with these kinds of audio/visual installations people walk into the room for a minute or two, decide that they've seen enough and then leave. But I was watching the sequence for maybe twenty minutes, and by the time it was finished the room was packed full with perhaps thirty people, all similarly transfixed. Still wasn't sure what it was all about, though. I really want to know where I can buy it on DVD, to maybe freak people out!

... and he's back! (with a politics rant)

Well, well I think the sizeable gap between weblog postings goes to show that I am not organised enough to both hold down employment of any kind and still find the time to do anything creative. It's too much hard work... still, I have been made aware that there at least four people who loyally check by at regular intervals in hope of fresh tidings, so I thought that I would surprise them.

Anywayz, over the last month or so I have been engaged on various projects which may or may not improve my lot, and I will be reflecting on these in imminent future postings. Right now, however, I shall be whinging on the subject of ID Cards.

As people may know, I have a proud history of fruitlessly campaigning for or against various issues which have included university tuition fees, war on Iraq and global poverty. Modest aims, then. But the whole ID card debate has entirely passed me by, and so now the whole issue has all been sewn up and is safely on the statute books before I've even had the chance to wave a placard in anger. I had to read The Guardian all the way from cover to cover to calm down.

But I don't just object to things because I enjoy going on protests (though that is a factor). My objections in this case are several-fold:

1. The CPS use a lovely great Oracle database called COMPASS to keep a record all past state prosecutions in the country. If the database did not only contain easy to search information about prosecution cases (the purpose for which it was designed), but also debt ratings, education and medical records and even mobile phone and vehicular GPS tracking information I'm sure there would be no end to the fun and games I could have looking up people that I know. I can't assume that everyone who uses databases is as conscientious as me, and even if they were, they could still accidentally end up using personal information in a database inappropriately, that is for reasons other than for that which it was collected. When you have all the info you need in a nice big database it is all to easy to cut corners and save time. The standard reply is that 'if you've done nothing wrong you have nothing to fear'. But I have everything to fear about incompetent officials let loose on their Windows PCs. The technology to track citizens fairly accurately through their mobile phones, for instance, is here already and I can see the day where me and my mobile phone being in the wrong place at the wrong time could automatically make me a suspect and needlessly disrupt my life. Whereas the actual villain will have had the foresight to leave his phone at home on the day of the crime, thus creating an alibi and throwing the police off track. As the Information Commissioner says 'The primary aim of the government with this legislation should be to establish a scheme which allows people to reliably identify themselves rather than one which enhances its ability to identify and record what its citizens do in their lives.'
2. The government claims that the ID cards (and its associated database) will cut down benefit fraud by eliminating multiple identities. But doesn't every person in the UK have a unique National Insurance number for this very reason? I know that some people are assigned 'temporary NI numbers' but this is just because the Inland Revenue are slack.
3. Nobody even tries to claim that ID cards will be a cost-effective way to fight terrorism anymore. The London Transport bombers were carrying excellent, comprehensive ID but quite frankly it didn't stop them that much.
   
4. Most of all, I am consistently losing my wallet, debit cards, keys, whatever. New keys cost about ten pounds from the key cutters. New debit cards are free. The government has proclaimed that a new ID card passport will cost £93 - a suspiciously precise figure that was probably made up on the spot, in an effort to sound authentic. I predict that it will be way, way more than that (as do the LSE, who expect it to be closer to £300), so that everytime I lose my ID card (probably about 3 or 4 times a year), I will have to shell out for a new one. I don't need another thing to lose in my life. Particularly something that I am expected to keep on my person at all times.

With this in mind, I was pleased to see that, in a concession, the new cards will not be compulsory. However, it will not be possible to apply for a British passport without also applying for a card (they will be one and the same document). This means that if I maintain my protest I will never be able to leave the country again. Unless I use my Australian passport. Then I could leave, but maybe not come back... hmmm.

Hmmmm

Ok, so Monday will find me temping for the Crown Prosecution Service. But come Tuesday I will most likely be back on the dole again, because I have just found out that I have an interview that day that cannot be re-arranged. I don't receive any benefits for the first 3 days that I am signed on, so financially I might be better off not going to work at all. Of course, the CPS could be a nice, understanding employer who know what it's like to live in constant uncertainty. It's just they don't sound that way from their website, and I am worried they will be fecked off and find some little known law to prosecute me under for, like, being a pain. Very worried...

Big Bother

I started this weblog back in the dark, cold days of early January. Life seemed so much simpler then. Now it is almost mid-January, and I find thinking of things to write about every day an ever increasing strain... so I will whinge about Celebrity Big Brother.

I do not care that these Celebrities do not hail from the A-List - this is what followers of the genre know to expect. True Celebrities (i.e. people worthy of celebration), such as Rolf Harris and Stephen Hawking, have more important things to do with their time. What bothers me most is the unfair criticism that George Galloway MP has received for allegedly neglecting his political duties whilst in the house.

Here is a man who clearly volunteered to appear on the show in order to raise the level of discussion featured above the usual level of tedious flirting and sniping to worthier matters such as British foreign policy. And what do Channel 4 do but cut out all of the political discussion and only screen the catfights between Barrymore and Jodie Marsh? If I wanted to watch people have arguments about cleaning rotas and the washing up I could arrange that anytime at home, without having to switch on the TV.

Channel 4 have lost a golden chance to feature interesting, opinionated discussion and so help dislodge the national political scene from its current sorry state, where all three main parties agree with each other. It bothers me because I have been faithfully tuning in EVERY DAY for AN HOUR to find out what these famous, influential people think of the Iranian Nuclear Threat, Israel post-Sharon and the Liberal Democrat leadership race only to be cruelly disappointed. It seems that Jodie is the main trouble maker, so she has received my vote for eviction. Hopefully, with her gone, conditions next week will be more conduicive to serious talk and debate.

Learning new things

Things that I have learnt the hard way today (several not for the first time):

1. When you are waiting to see someone at the Job Centre, it is much better to look restless and impatient whilst sitting on the multi-coloured comfortable chairs. If you try to put the waiting time to good use (for instance by reading a book or completing a Soduku) you will be ignored even longer.
2. Green Curry Tuna for 49p at Half Price or Less is not a bargain.*
3. If you are riding your bike, and the back wheel starts to handle as if it has a puncture, it is very unlikely that conditions will improve if you continue to peddle to your destination. It is more likely that air will continue to be lost from the tyre, making the situation worse.
4. Eating a whole box of fresh beetroot on the train home yesterday may have been in accord with my New Year's Resolutions (refer to previous post) but it has unexpected side effects, like turning urine red.
5. I would much rather work in Anarctica than for the Inland Revenue, but I have just noticed that the British Anarctic Survey are hiring :-)
6. When a Recruitment Agency promises to phone you back 'in the afternoon', it doesn't mean that they will.

* unless you like a nasty lingering aftertaste and feeling really bad for several hours.

Yay!

Fantastic! They e-mailed to say that I passed all their computerised tests and can therefore be interviewed! If only there was a job that involved doing nothing but filling out psychometric and numerical reasoning tests (oh, and replying to simulated e-mail messages). I would be so sorted then.

Self-improvement

The same day, same city but much, much later on finds me searching St. Peter's Square for the monument to the Peterloo Massacre that is meant to be there, according to a letter in the Guardian newspaper. Most of my history knowledge from school obviously consists of WWI and WWII, see, so I have been trying to learn more about other periods. Well there were lots of things to look at, including a large War Memorial, a Peace Garden ("Manchester - a nuclear free city"), an enormous statue of a Lady Feeding Some Pigeons and the Central Library (pictured) but the Peterloo monument is very well hidden, if it does, indeed, exist at all. I abandoned the search and went to the Oyster Bar instead.

My head hurts

Where was I today? That vaguely sinister looking building is where I was today - being force-fed psychometric tests for about 4 hours. It is the 'Quaywest' in Salford and is made of tinted bronze glass, resplendent amongst other local landmarks such as Old Trafford, the Lowry Centre and the Imperial War Museum (which I like). I was worried I would not be able to find the way from Harbour City tramstop, but no fear since as I disembarked so did half a dozen other Wannabe Civil Service Drones in suits. It didn't bode well that none of us could penetrate the building - the front doors opened automatically but right behind this was another set of doors which seemed to be broken. It took a good minute of jumping up and down on the floor (to try and activate the pressure pad) before a security guard came and demonstrated that they were old-fashioned doors which had to be, like, pushed and pulled. Stupid building.

Yorkshire Crimewatch

We saw some motorcyclists inexpertly chugging up the path that runs past Whernside in the Yorkshire Dales. Thinking this was probably illegal, I discreetly snapped some shots that I could later present to the local Chief Inspector so that he could make the appropriate arrests. And provide me with a generous financial reward. But sadly the resolution on my camera isn't good enough to make out their number plates. And now I'm thinking that they may have been on a Yorkshire Green Lane which is totally kosher, apparently. The Green Lanes Alliance (which sounds like a cool eco-terrorist group, but unfortunately not) would like to change that.


That's the magnificent Ribblehead Viaduct, which lies at the foot of Whernside, resplendent with its 24 arches. Lenka took about 500 pictures of it.

Resolutions

So they're a bit late, but that's pretty much par for most things I do...

I have kept my resolutions simple. Setting realistic, achievable targets is surely the order of the day:

1. Start a weblog, like this one. Although there is a lack of newsworthy things going on in my life to write about, maybe I will be inspired to actually do interesting stuff in order to broadcast it around the world on-line. Or maybe just make things up.
2. Listen to more BBC 6 Music, and less Capital Disney.
3. Speak more slowly, except when I am deliberately trying to confuse or freak people out (i.e. not during job interviews).
4. Eat less olives (expensive), more beetroot (inexpensive).
5. Finish in the morale-boosting top 10 of an adventure race.
6. Drop the questionable tactic of completely agreeing with what the other person is saying as a swift means to bring a conversation to a close.
7. Drink more tea and water (inexpensive), less Coke (expensive).
8. Oh, and find some stir-crazy organisation that will give me money in exchange for my valuable time.

so one down, seven to go - watch this space!

Kingdom of Morecambe Bay

I took this picture from the top of Clougha Pike (outside Lancaster) on New Year's Day. That's Morecambe Bay in the distance, and the fells of the southern Lake District on the horizon. I was sort of looking for a location nearby on the map called "Castle of Cold Comfort" which sounds like just the sort of jolly, happy place that I would like, but couldn't find it.

First ever post

... and so it begins! Even though I can't see my journal anywhere on the web, I assume that it is working anywayz. It's dark, it's cold, the year is just beginning and I am newly unemployed. I decided to create this journal mainly to prove how I am so capable of coherent thought, even though most people wouldn't believe that from listening to me waffle on about nothing much before coming to a sudden halt mid-sentence...