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Kazak Clock Conundrum
No one told my housemate the clocks go back. She stared at me with disbelief at the news that the clocks had gone back. Gone back? Gone back where? Gone back to Clock land? To their Swiss factory perhaps? She is from Kazakstan, where the clocks do not exhibit such strange behaviour as ‘going back’. The poor girl just lost a whole hour somewhere, and yesterday, it seems, was a very confusing day, where people stared at her with incredulity as she arrived one hour early for EVERYTHING. And it seems to have taken her a full 24 hours to click that someone has fiddled with the nations time keeping.
If you have Kazakstan housemates, it’s your duty to tell them the clocks go back. Britain can be a very confusing place as it is when you’re from the windswept badlands of Eurasia, so don’t make it worse by letting them arrive for lectures, buses and appointments one hour early. Remember this for spring too!
Norwich For Churches and Large Multi Nationals
I visited Norwich recently, a place I’d once been to for an interview with a large multi-national. The interview was by and large a colossal failure, but it interested me, on my recreational return, to note that there was an underlying dislike of all things Norwich.
It is so easy to have one’s impression of a place be coloured by one event; everyone in Norwich is a patronising corporate ass wipe, right? Wrong, of course, as my visit demonstrated. It is actually one of the prettiest cities in England, I would say, although it was slightly let down by the fact that my reasonably priced, modern, cosy hotel room was directly above a Metallica tribute band in the pub below.
It has a lot of churches, does Norwich, and a lot of shops. I was accosted, in Norwich Cathedral, by a man who gave me the hard sell on how much it costs to keep the place running. He said it cost £3725 per day to keep it open. Personally, the 12 million pound visitor centre next door was something to do with the huge running costs. It was pretty nice inside however, with loads of old stuff, tombstones and the like. I appreciated the place a lot, and my thoughts were with those hard core fundraisers as I dropped 20p into the donations box.
Corporate Events For Bailiffs
Imagine what it would be like at a bailiff’s convention. Corporate events such as this would be a sight to behold. You’d have hundreds of men in one place who, in a civilised society, couldn’t find any positions as homicidal maniacs – and so became the next best thing, a bailiff.
Imagine if a particular bailiff’s convention took place in a vast country mansion. Those bailiffs would be thinking to themselves “ha ha, they actually invited us in!” That, of course, is the first mistake that anyone can make when they see a bailiff. Those lads would certainly be confused as the door swung open, greeted by a waiter carrying a tray of Champagne glasses. All the black-clad bailiffs would then jam their feet in the doorway expectantly, just in case the waiter tried to close the door.
Some of the bailiffs would try and remind others that they were off duty, pointing out the canopés and free drinks presented to them. But problems would arise, as they stalked through the palatial premises, when they catch sight of the 56 inch TV that hadn’t been nailed to the wall; several of them would cart that off without a second thought.
The more clued up among them would gather round chatting, trying to keep their eagle eyes of the 18th Century artwork. The waiters would insist on serving the bailiffs vol au vants and caviar; and as a reflex action, the bailiffs would serve the waiters, quite rudely, with a series of County Court Judgements.
One or two might notice an open window in the drawing room, and, forgetting that they were already inside the building, would dive out of it, landing heavily in the beautifully landscaped gardens outside, eyeing up the gardener’s expensive-looking wheel barrow. A most unusual corporate event.
Spaniards Kicked Out Of Gatwick
Gatwick Airport, the UK’s second busiest air hub has been sold to GIP – Global Infrastructure Partners for a whopping 1.51 Billion quid. Now Ferrovial, the company who did own it, can get back in their used Honda, (which has cost them several hundred in airport parking fees, but it’s ok coz they have the key to get the money out of the machine) and pay off their debts, which amount to 1 Bill.
The Competition Commission insisted that the Spaniards jack it in a Gatwick, and concentrate on the other UK airports they own, which include Heathrow and Glasgow. But they have to sell either Glasgow or Edinburgh by March 2011, and they have to palm Stansted off to someone by the same date.
Why are British airports so rubbish? We can only blame the Spanish. And possibly ourselves for having such rubbish taste in design. Letting people put up crap, barely functioning buildings that cannot handle these volumes of traffic. Heathrow’s a mess – it’s just been cobbled together over the decades. So what if it’s one of the busiest airports in the world; it provides one of the worst air travel experiences money can buy.
The Scottish Omelette
Spanish Omelette should have been a British invention. We would probably have given it a different name, but we should have nabbed that one. Why didn’t the Scottish invent it? They’re meant to have the highest incidence of genius in the world, but they overlooked the humble potato tortilla.
It is perhaps accurate to observe that none of the many Scottish geniuses focused their talent on advancing food production. John Logie Baird may have eaten plenty of pokes of chips as he was tinkering with his new fangled ‘tv’, but he never turned his attention to inventing a new Scottish food. Rabbie Burns was undoubtedly filling his face with haggis as he penned poems about the small rodents in his room, but he never thought to improve upon it.
One of them should have surely hit on the potato omelette. Potatoes, onions, eggs and salt are all easily available in Scotland. The only missing ingredient is olive oil. True, it’s difficult to make a Spanish Omelette without this low cholesterol olive juice. But what would they have used to make a Scottish Omelette? Beef dripping of course. They put it in everything else.
But we’ll let them off this time for not thinking of it. They gave us so much. They gave us porridge, black pudding, haggis, Edinburgh, Glasgow, and of course, Falkirk.
The Constant Gardner
It only cost £3, and I wasn’t expecting much. But Ralph Fienes delivers a great, understated performance as the High Commission official who takes on a multinational drugs company and the British Government in order to find out who killed his (unbelievably fit) wife, played by Rachel Weiss – a remarkable piece of female product design.
Penned by John Le Carre, it is unsurprising that the film is highly credible. The drugs company in the film is essentially testing a new drug product on the Kenyan population, but are unwilling to address the fact that the formula has lead to many deaths. Ralph’s fit wife starts investigating and is nastily despatched as a result.
The British government was complicit in the murder, as it turns out. But it’s not at all clear-cut – like much of Le Carre’s work. The film certainly reminds one of how governments will behave brutally towards other (especially African) nations in order to protect national interests (1500 UK jobs are secured by the drug not being re-formulated).
For a British film, it was surprisingly action packed; high-paced while being acted by very plausible characters. There was no gung-ho ending, and the film seems to have the main character’s grief threading through it – and yet as with Le Carre’s famous espionage thrillers of the seventies, the often tragic minutiae of tiny lives is interwoven with back-stabbing Whitehall weasels and an overall treacherous big brother atmosphere.
What gives Le Carre’s products his power over, say, Ian Fleming’s work, is the fact that he was actually a spy. While his specialist knowledge of security services and underhand governments might be a few decades past its best, he remains a thrilling writer with his finger firmly on the pulse corrupt western motives.
Autumn Woes
Not a hedgehog, we cannot sleep
Midday wreathed in pale grey cloud, miles deep
A rock, a tree, a bush, a cellar
No place to hide for a small town dweller
The sun she hides, shining elsewhere
No warmth till spring, only weeds do fare
Well, atop broken glass walls, along cracks
Autumn has found us, so grab your Macs
Train V Plane
Flying around Britain might seem like an ultra modern way to travel. For example, it only takes 1 hour to fly from London Stansted to Edinburgh. But is it really that great?
The poor old train takes several hours to get to the Scottish capital from London King’s Cross. For the time conscious, the choice seems obvious. Fly.
But in reality, both in terms of cost and overall time, it isn’t always the case. Railways, after all, are found right in the heart of our towns and cities, meaning you don’t necessarily have to pay for further transport; buses, taxis etc.
But the plane can really bog you down. Unless it is a keenly contested route, coach/train companies charge a lot to get to airports. And after you’ve been ripped off by them, you go through the very drawn out process of check-in, security and finally – waiting for the plane. And it’s true what they say, the airport authorities like to get you to the airport early so you can spend your left over currency on pretend-discount perfume.
What am I saying here? I’m saying that if you book in advance, the train can be a much more pleasant and speedy experience than the plane. One of the main advantages is that you settle in for the entire duration (usually), you don’t get on a bus, then check-in, then go through security, then wait to board the plane – and then do much the same at the other end. With a train, you get on, sit down and you get some genuine quality time with yourself – whether it’s reading, writing or just vegetating as you watch the British countryside flash past.
Don’t forget the train.
It Is Bliss When Others Miss Your Kiss
I really like my new workplace, with its people, desks, computers, colour copiers and stuff, and so in honour of National Poetry Day today, I’m dedicating this little ditty to my new office…
Starting a job is sometimes a worry,
Is this dress right? Do I smell of curry?
It’s a bit like your first day at school,
Will they hate me? Will I be cool?
Seating arrangements are unknown,
Will I be allowed to text on my phone?
But writing all day is not to be scoffed at,
And though I think my new workmates are PHAT,
Maybe I should get a cat. And a hat.
I hope that they like me too,
And now I must go and do a…
poetry course or something.
Go on, write a lovely poem too for National Poetry Day. Let’s all celebrate and make a complete diabolical hash of this wonderful genre.
The main pain about McCain is his refrain to attain a sane brain.
Superb Pieces of Product Design That Make Life Easier
Chairs. Without chairs, life would be literally like sitting on the floor. We’d all be in our little air-conditioned offices sitting on bean bags, trying to reach our PCs on the table. In basic terms, it’s a good thing we have chairs. Wicked product design.
Cups. Imagine trying to have a cup of coffee without a cup? You’d literally be pouring boiling coffee into your cupped hands, which means rather than a pleasant caffeine rush each time you made coffee – you’d have to immediately go to Accident and Emergency and get bandaged up. See? Cups are really great, aren’t they?
People. Imagine trying to have a conversation with someone when there literally aren’t any people. The situation would only be exacerbated by the fact that you yourself wouldn’t exist, so you would have the first building block of a conversation because you wouldn’t be there. Yeah?
The BBC. Imagine going home after a long day at the office and attempting to watch Eastenders without the invention of the BBC? It just wouldn’t happen. You’d have 17.5 million soap addicts just staring at the corners of their living rooms, making half-hearted comments about what inclement weather we’re having. The BBC is a remarkable piece of product design.
Land. If no one had gone to the trouble of making land, we’d all be literally floating around in a rather unimpressive dead way. Just imagine trying to drive cars around and avoid bailiffs without good old land propping your little legs up. Chairs, cups, people, BBC, Land – thank goodness, eh?
