New faces and old praise

Well Tuesday was day one of having staff in the pub, its a day that has taken 9 months to arrive so I think that it is noteworthy.

Those of you who know what a perfectionist I am will. perhaps, understand just what a roller coaster employing staff has been for me. I am lucky that I have been able to find staff by recommendation which has taken away some of the stress of actually selecting someone but it’s still hard going.

Over the last few weeks I have written contracts, signed up with HMRC, started new payroll systems, produced staff training packages and so much more. In fairness the paperwork is the easy bit the complicated stuff is the personal side of things. The Plough is my baby and I am the only person that has been seen behind the bar since I opened.

How do you explain the various eccentricities and foibles that make up the regular trade at the Plough? how do you document the decision-making process that means that one person gets tea but another gets told that we don’t do hot drinks? How do you identify that dry sense of humour that can come across as rude if you don’t understand it? All of which is before things like all dogs having to be on a lead with the exception of Luna who resides on my shoulder.

It felt incredibly strange to see somebody else behind my bar. That is not to say that it felt wrong, it was a nice indication of progress, it just felt odd. Everything that somebody else does takes longer when they are new and they ask what drinks people want when I appear to have learnt them all. As shifts go it was a very quiet one so it was good to see a the new fella making his best attempts to look busy although at times I felt sorry for him. According to the law of Murphy it did, of course, get busier in the evening after he went home.

So that is one of my big hurdles breached, I am now sharing my bar with another person despite the fact that many people thought that it would never happen. The next big step is to leave the pub during trading, something made much easier by the arrival of my amended licence this morning.

My next big push, as we come into the summer season, is to ensure that we retain the sensible adult environment that is the Plough. Whilst the island council is bankrupt they still provide public toilets (just) and public parks the pub however does not. If your children want to run around and cause chaos or you simply want an environment where you can ignore them whilst drinking can I suggest that you use either your garden or a local park.

I must also share what may be the greatest praise that I have received to date. On Tuesday an elderly couple came into the pub and it was immediately obvious that they had been in the trade, it transpired that the fella had retired 15 months ago but was returning to another pub imminently. His partner fondly recalled that she had held the White Lion in Niton which is sadly closed and they recalled other venues that they had held on the island back in the day.

I was told that the pub looked good, my beer was well-kept and I “run a good pub” which is nice to hear along with the conspiratorial “you will do well here”. What really made me smile though, and what escalated this to a compliment of the highest order was what the gentleman said to his partner “Jack would be pleased”. Jack’s daughter was the elderly lady who I met last year just before I opened, the family were here from 1952 into the seventies. How wonderful to hear that the pub is still trading in a style which would be approved of by a landlord here before I was born.

Life at the end of the wire, powered cotton buds and blue TV

In a world of automated telephone services and foreign call centres it is easy to forget the compassion of a human voice. This week I made an online purchase, of itself this is not news as, believe it or not, I am quite proficient at this interweb thing. There were some difficulties with the purchase, in the main these revolved around delivery schedules. I wanted the product delivered to my home address on Saturday or, if Royal Mail was involved, then Friday. Eventually I tracked down a retailer that had a sensible price and could meet my schedule by means of a 48 hour parcel force delivery ordered on Wednesday, I know that parcel force don’t make my end until afternoon so I would be home for them.

Entering all of my credit card details I received a message telling me that the payment had failed, odd because the same credit card had been used that very morning with no problems. Emboldened by the “no money has been charged” message I tried again and a third time but the same stubborn message greeted me each time. I telephoned the retailer who told me that since he used the same system it must be my card so I should call the bank, my protestations that it had worked earlier fell on death ears. Having gone through the 300 options to reach the security people at the credit card they confirmed that they had multiple fraud alerts against the retailer. I was told not to worry that this was normally a result of the retailer “being a victim” because buying things online with a stolen credit card is a favoured means of converting the card to cash.

The security person lifted the bar and I put the transaction through successfully only to receive a call from the retailer requesting that I called the bank and obtained an authorisation code. The reason that they gave for this unusual step was that because I had made three unsuccessful attempts it triggered their fraud alert! Protesting that the credit card company had a fraud alert on the retailer which was what had cause the whole issue met the same death ears as my earlier protestations so I complied.

On calling back with the authorisation code I was told all was well and “we’ll get that out for tomorrow” oh no, said I, I’ve selected the 48 hour option so it will arrive on Friday. Having confirmed this I was still a little dubious and asked for a tracking number “no problem sir, I will email it to you tomorrow (Thursday) afternoon. I didn’t realise that I had not received a tracking number until after business hours on Thursday so I called today and was both relived and a little surprised to get a tracking number. Apparently there was an issue with the parcel force website so they didn’t dispatch until Thursday “No worries I didn’t expect it until today” said I and ended the call.

Entering the tracking details I wondered briefly if they would have had the sense to put it back to next day but quickly discounted it, of course they would. You may be ahead of me now but just in case, a check revealed that it was on 48 hour delivery so would be with me on Monday. I called parcel force and after pressing 3 or 4 options was greeted by an English, human voice, I had met my light at the end of the tunnel, well one of them. A quick check on his side revealed that I would not see my parcel today, I enquired as to whether I could upgrade it to a Saturday delivery “oh yes sir but there is a charge”. It transpired that I needed to speak to the local depot who would take my payment details for the £12 fee but only charge it when the product was sent out for delivery. This all seemed rather fair and my human friend put me through, or he tried to there was no answer. Not a problem for this super customer service man, he would call them and get them to call me back, I was so taken aback by good service that I may have overdone the thanks.

After a couple of hours with no call back I called again and a helpful young lady gave me not only the number for the North Essex depot but the secret code to avoid the automated questions. The phone was answered promptly and I recounted my issue “I would rather wait and see if it comes down to us overnight sir otherwise I may charge you and then find out it didn’t get here”. I explained that she should take my details and charge when/if the item went out “oh no I’ve never heard of that, who told you that?” I explained that it was the first person that I had spoken to. By this stage I was beginning to think that I had imagined the earlier helpful person, maybe a dream sequence back to many years ago, could I hold while she spoke to someone? of course.

When she came back on the line we had a deal that I thought was no longer possible in a world where Microsoft has consumed our souls. She would advise the night man to put my parcel out for delivery tomorrow if it arrived overnight but she wouldn’t take any payment details from me now. I gave my phone number and she explained that she would call me on Monday when she came in, if the parcel had been delivered. No security, no bond, no signing over my first-born as a deposit just a simple call to collect. I was so astounded I got my telephone number wrong and had to correct myself. I didn’t realise that there were any humans available on 0844 prefix numbers after the great call centre slaughter. I have an image of these two people scurrying through dark service corridors taking a call when and where they can and avoiding the thought police that seem to run the call centres. Surviving on biscuits they fight to maintain the proud traditions of customer service, god bless them one and all. Let’s see if tomorrow’s posts are happy ones.

In other news I have to report an objection to a piece of electronics which seems to have been designed by a blind Liberace. The object in question is my freesat box which sits rather naturally, under the television. The problem that I have with this innocuous piece of equipment is the blinding blue searchlight that advises me that it is operating. I am not exaggerating this thing lights up the room as if some mad beardy weirdy is trying to save the environment by burning my retina to punish me for daring to use the thing. The red standby light is bright, the blue ‘not in standby’ light can be seen from the ocean and when you actually select a channel it steps up in brightness, I am seriously concerned that the coast guard are going to complain.

Whilst it is true that the box enables me to receive lots of channels they are all bathed in blue which is rather disconcerting. I imagine that this is what it would be like to try to watch the TV in a store window whilst the police break up a riot behind you.The interweb has confirmed that there is a modification that resolves this problem, black tape. I am afraid that this is not for me and the box will survive only until I can obtain a replacement.

I would also like to share something from one of our morons  MPs who stated today, when talking about the elderly, that loneliness has the same effect on a person’s health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. This is one of the pack of expense guzzling idiots that leads our country, has he ever read anything about smoking?. You do not get cancer from being lonely, if you are alone and don’t smoke then there is, statistically, very little risk that you will accidentally set fire to your bed and burn to death. What an idiotic comparison what’s next? “driving at 20 MPH over the limit is as dangerous as unprotected sex with a Somali hooker” perhaps? or “drinking alcohol is the equivalent of falling out of a fifth floor window one a month”? Anyway we are talking about the elderly who, by their very nature, are at higher risk of getting ill and dying than younger people so can somebody get hold of the MP and get him to make a similar comparison for those that are not alone. My guess is that it will be “still being married at 70 has the same effect on your health as using a Black and Decker to clean your ears!”.

 

Today’s number is 17076

The union of disaffected body parts

The wonders of advertising were revealed to me again on the train this morning. Three elderly ladies were comparing insurance quotes for their houses. The issue that they had was not the cost of their policy, like most they were resigned to that. The concern was the extras and in particular worldwide travel cover “that covers the whole world”. Not just European cover you understand, these policies covered the whole world! Firstly I have to say that no insurance covers the whole world, they tend to exclude places that start with Ira. . . But more importantly these are people whose biggest trip is an annual visit to London! Nonetheless they were looking to change policies because they could get more for the same cost with someone else. It’s amazing how successful the lure of ‘free’ can be.

I didn’t report that on Friday I indulged in a favoured game of misinformation. As I went to get off the train a couple were studying my arm and asked “what does it say?”. In truth the tattoo in question proclaims “British and Best” but a better answer seemed to be “Baghdad 2005”. After some brief comments on the misery of war the doors opened and we went our separate ways. Funny that they never commented on the scar on righty. . . .

Ms Nature has me firmly in her sights of late. I think I may have angered her as I start to think about getting my life restarted and drawing a line under the accident. In yet more evidence that she is a malevolent force, all injuries are playing up in unison. It is like Ms Nature has contacted the union of disaffected body parts and they are taking action. The wrists are aching and I have noticed an increase in stabbing pains but that has always been on the cards. My left shoulder and knee seem to plot failure overnight along with the wrists.

Getting up in the morning now involves exercises to get the feeling back into my left arm. I then take tenuous steps on the left leg as it tries to collapse. Even lifting the kettle is a two handed operation first thing in the morning. The real pearler amongst this is the donor site on my right leg which has come out in sympathy! The scar has toned down no end and is generally well behaved but it is now red, angry and sore. Just in case Ms Nature should read my blog I would like to remind her that this remains my body, I’ve had it for forty years and I am the boss.

The psychology of married diets and your TV is just that

I finally succumbed to the lure of Desperados on Thursday, thanks to Dave and Jo for getting me hooked. I wandered over the road to the kinkychinky or however it is spelt. I took a table outside with my beer and was entertained by a table of three women. It is one of the few advantages to being alone in a bar, you get to watch people. Have you ever watched a group of women? They have none of the social battle guys have. Men battle rounds and drinking speeds, there is none of that with girls. Having debated their way through their drinks nobody raced to get a round. They kept talking around empty glasses for a good five minutes before the drink debate started. The alpha female (yes there is such a thing) proclaimed that she would have ‘one more’ and went about persuading the others.

Mission achieved she shot off to the bar and returned with her drink. That was it, no round, no whip, just a single pint (see told you she was the alpha). They then continued to talk around the other’s empty glasses. These were young women and so I guess they didn’t have the mothers meeting history it must be some innate ability. This also have me the opportunity to practice avoiding attention, still a wonderful game. As I sat I was in casual line of sight of the alpha female but not once did I look at her. How marvellous to behold the preening and frustration that results. It just seems unnatural to a good looking girl that a clearly heterosexual man isn’t looking at her. Don’t misunderstand me, she was debating getting married and clearly had no aspirations towards a single old man but she hated not being seen. I think she already had the chastising look or comment prepared and was simply annoyed at not being able to use it. The advantage of shades is that I could see her looking over more frequently and becoming angrier that she wasn’t ‘catching’ me looking at her. Psychology is truly a marvellous thing.

I was entertained on Friday watching an elderly couple engaging in ‘married dieting’ on the train home. They had a sandwich each in a Tupperware case and when the trolley came through the man ordered two teas and “would you like some crisps dear?”. She decided on cheese and onion but the man refused on account of watching his weight. Having consumed sandwiches the fella leaned over and asked to look at the crisp packet, this obviously involved a handful of crisps. Having concluded that they were ok he proceeded to study the front of the packet whilst eating the contents. He would return them and then think of a something that meant he had to pick them back up and read the front, each time a handful went in his mouth. There are only two things on the front, the flavour and the brand, how many times do you need to read this? Having eaten all of three crisps the wife dutifully offered the now nearly empty packet back to her husband and said “you can finish these”. The reply? “Oh ok I guess some crumbs won’t hurt” It’s nice to see that even into your sixties you can play the married diet game where one partner purchases and the other consumes, good on them.

I would like to share, for all the girls that read the blog including my elusive sister, a piece of information. I shared this recently on Facebook but think it is worthy of a larger audience based on debates that I have overheard in the week. If you buy an Apple product then, quite apart from the fact that you are mad, it will be an apple product. Of you buy a BMW it will be a BMW no matter what you tell it. Buy a Sony TV and, despite your best intentions, you will never be able to race it around a horse track. If you, as a lady, find yourself with a man well quite possibly they will be a man. It really shouldn’t be a shock when you discover that your partner is just what he was when you set out to capture him. Funny old thing that, just saying…..

The age of change and top jobs

I had a nice weekend,spent with friends. Great to catch up with people and the glorious weather frames the coast at its best. I awoke early this morning to streaming sunshine reflecting off an ocean as calm as glass. As I drank my tea and looked out at the beach I saw the street cleaner busily returning escaped sand back to the beach. I have seen this guy loose this battle repeatedly, fighting the elements to keep the sand in place. Like painting the forth bridge or writing lines the task seems thankless and more than a little soul destroying. But on a morning like this morning this man is one of the luckiest out there. Not for him the rush of the commute, the office gossip does not call to him. The money might not be great and I guess the sense of achievement is not so much but today this man has the best job. Just in case you think that I have lost it I will continue my observations. As a beautiful sunseeker lazily ploughed the surf I realised that there are better jobs. Hell I love the coast but it always looks better from several million pounds worth of yacht!

While catching up with friends this weekend I realised, once again, how privileged I am to have the friends that I have. My friendships, like my life, are unique. The conversations that I have had over the weekend would not sit naturally with anyone else I am sure. I love where I live, I love my friends and I love my job. I am in fact a very lucky guy, despite the obvious evidence to the contrary. I guess that some of us are pre-programmed to look for change though, it’s not about being unsatisfied it’s just about change. And so it is that my mornings this weekend were spent looking through local news and property for the next location.

One snippet of news that hit me this weekend was that if your single at 40 then you will remain that way. Obviously this is worked out by statistical analysis but the numbers were pretty convincing. Given the train wreck that is my relationship history this is fairly reassuring and it certainly supports my experience. Whilst writing this I did look for the article in question but had no luck, it was one of those silly search engine ads. Scarily I did find a plethora of results explaining that single over 40s are a lost cause. I have to tip my hat to the guy who commented on an article saying that single over 40s were damaged goods. He noted that whenever he is asked ‘why is a good looking successful guy like you single?’ he cuts straight to the chase with “I’m damaged goods”. That has to save so much wasted time!

I close this morning’s post with a conversation that I had with the elderly lady that boards the train with me. When you are as approachable as me it takes some time to build up to conversation. I think we were 4 or 5 months in before exchanging salutations. This morning I was asked if I was ‘off to that place I would love to be in’. We had a faltering conversation while I tried to work out where she had confused my destination with. I realised that she hears me purchase my ticket and therefore knows that I am going to Stratford, does she think this is Stratford upon Avon perhaps?

Apparently not, this elderly lady would love to win the lottery and reverse what she claims to be her biggest regret, moving to the coast. I can’t imagine how many years ago she moved from town, I have no fond memories of it and I’m 40. The lady in question takes the train 6 days a week. Colchester is the closest town that she can reach and she spends the day wandering around the shops. A couple of times a month she extends her trip to Chelmsford as a treat. I have no reason to believe that this ladies mind is anything less than pin sharp and I must presume that the move was made when she was younger anyway. Did she not realise that the shopping experience would be less? Did she not evaluate the move? Surely the lure of the open coast and fresh air had delivered on the promise? But then perhaps she moved at 39 years of age in a desperate attempt to avoid the single at forty curse. . . .

Old legs and vivid carpet as glory days sweep by

On my route home I pass an ageing building long abandoned. The type of building that was wood clad to look more permanent, nature challenging that now, with some measure of success. Once square, solid walls now bow at an unbelievable angle as if the roof has become a monstrous load on elderly legs no longer able to support it. Dark wood turned green with mold and windows retained in wooden frames more by luck than structure. This is an old man of a building, the walls his arthritic legs, the mold the liver spots and wrinkles and the windows the once sparkling teeth.  Thousands of people pass this structure every day, silently ignoring its anonymous decline in the irrepressible face of nature. Like an old man in a home it’s left to decay, to buckle under what were once negligible loads. No longer able to resist the intrusion of natures forces it slowly sinks waiting for the death knell of a heavy storm to end its days.

Like that old man though this building has a history, a story and figures in so many lives. This was a training facility in it’s day. A proud bastion of standards that intimidated the young and  inexperienced. A place of learning that watched hundreds of men develop and go out into the harsh world, to fight nature’s erosion of  the system. This was where Bob would tear into any man that disturbed his cup. John would not start his day without a ‘BR standard’* and Arthur tended the gardens for no pay other than company of his fellow man, having retired many years previously to the solitude of old age alone. Collections for retirements, birthdays and new arrivals were held within these walls. Grandchildren and new wives had sneaky visits here, their purposes different but neither fully authorised. Careers were started, progressed and ended here, lives forever changed by the experiences imparted within the walls. On those most hellish of nights when nature fought to beat back man, the doors were opened to provide desperately needed shelter to drenched, frozen and exhausted men.

For years, indeed for generations, this building was the stable rock known as ‘work’. This was the place to escape family or drama but also the place that funded the life outside of its walls for many. Protected by high fences and strongly worded signs this building was a key part of an organisation, needed and essential. Nobody tends the building now as it sits forlornly waiting its inevitable fate, nobody remembers. It’s passing won’t be marked, there will be no collection. This is a railway building, it is no longer needed and has been abandoned like so many others. I cannot remember the names of all of the people but I remember the characters, from when I was one of the young men intimidated by its contents, I remember the carpet and can still recollect the scents.

I don’t share this story out of love for an inanimate object although as a working man I mourn the passing of days of higher employment. I share this story because this old building is one of many and the analogy with old men is poignantly accurate. I have said before that I am creating now the stories that I will recount when I am older and I hope that I won’t be muttering them alone as Ms Nature has her victory. That is one of the reasons that I never pass an opportunity to listen to my peers, we all have a history after all.

* Tea, strong, milk, two sugars aka builders/British standard

Apparently it is me or perhaps my team……

It’s really odd to wrap up in a heavy coat for a trip to the store only to find that the town is full, in one week we go from tumbleweed to busy. Every parking space is now hotly contested and the narrow streets mean we spend most of the time walking in the road to avoid tourists who are excited to see what they can’t buy in this backwater of Essex, hey that’s just what it is.

Often in life we ask ‘is it me?’ Well today I think I had that answered and it most definitely is. I left from the back of my building and had cause to pass an elderly couple who were having some difficulty with their car, not my business so I took little notice until they accosted me. What was the service that they required from me? What assistance could I offer? Perhaps the use of my cell phone? Knowledge of a local garage? Or perhaps assistance pushing since neither of them looked capable, oh no I was asked “could you break into this for us, we have locked our keys in the boot”. My first feeling was sympathy because I have had those heart stopping moments when you use the auto boot release, slam it then pat the pockets with a cold chill creeping down your spine, but this was quickly suppressed as other thoughts crowded in. Was it their car or some police sting? These people were tourists which means they were from a more urban conurbation so do they really put their self preservation skills to the side when they enter town? If so I must print my wallet inspector card out and laminate it, but seriously would you ask a stranger to break into your vehicle?

Then the real issue hit home, why on earth did you select me, apparently at random, as the most likely to agree to help? The manner in which they asked seemed to presume that I could achieve the task the only question was whether I was willing to assist them. Needless to say I declined to assist them and exited stage left as quickly as possible but I have been thinking, I am not young anymore, what made these people think I was a master car criminal? Surely if I spent my time ‘boosting’ cars then I wouldn’t have been walking past them? But really that’s quite offensive and I think a more appropriate response would have been “well I could but clearly your too old to drive” after all we can all judge by appearance can’t we? Perhaps I’m just the wrong generation, if I was younger and wilder I could have said ‘why no problem at all’ before launching a brick through the window and walking off.

This morning, at some point when I was not looking, somebody ‘wrote’ a 3′ high tribute to Team GB in the sand outside my flat, well nearly, they actually missed the B off so I saw ‘Team G’. I cannot tell you how proud I was of the support for team G, if you guys read this then your kind gesture made my morning there may only be one of me but its good to know your out there rooting for me – Gav

Commuters and unwanted DNA

Sometimes I wonder whether the I Pod takes something away from travelling, this morning before I had unwrapped the little lead that takes me to my own happy world was one of those moments. There is an elderly lady that travels on this train who seems to have spent her life breathing helium so every word is a shrill squeak, thinking about it this may be some reaction to salt air because there is a similarly afflicted gentlemen engaging in Karoake in the town but that’s for another day. This morning the elderly squeak was consumed by the subject of the upcoming budget and the state of the economy, her travelling companion made it very clear that she thought the subject was rubbish after all ‘if you have money today it will be money tomorrow so you can still pay bills’* Ms Squeak clearly was not going to be outdone so she brought out the following pearl:

“I read in the newspaper this morning that they are changing the level of money where you have to pay for your own care, of course I don’t know if I got it right because I don’t read newspapers”
I was instantly reminded of a joke from the weekend:
Wife watching a documentary on alzheimer’s turns to husband and says “If I ever get like that shoot me please dear”
As the husband snaps the shotgun closed he whispers “that’s the second time you’ve said that in 5 minutes honey”
On second thoughts a morning of music seemed a sensible and reasoned choice.

Todays words that you don’t want to hear on a Monday come courtesy of Neil, my CSC tech, whenever you hear ‘that’s a bloody strange issue’ you know its bad. On the plus side his support team have sent me a new machine so if anyone wants to cover up a criminal act I have several different samples amounting to multiple different DNA strands. Aside from the fact that I remain astonished that laptops are not cleaned before dispatch I am thinking that if we dumped one of these at a crime scene it would make NCIS seem easy, seriously how would they cope when the victims laptop had bodily fluids from three people?

*Note that this is a house to Rob, the cash will definitely be under the bed!

Animals real and dressed up

Whilst thoroughly enjoying catching up with Geoff yesterday we hit upon the subject of horses, Geoff’s Mrs you see is in the middle of reviving her horse riding days. We carefully considered the metrics of horse riding, the population of the equine community and the popularity of these animals and I think we agreed, without a shadow of  a doubt, that horses are for women not men. I have tried several times over the years to counter my belief that men and horses are natural partners but on each occasion I have failed, for me its a simple issue of orientation, what the horse sees as ‘up’ I see as ‘down’ which results in compression of parts of my body not intended for compression. Both of my children enjoy horses, although my Son came to it later, but I think this is because at their ages horses are one of the few means of mobility that are not-self powered, I have no doubt that it is my daughter who will continue this relationship in the long-term. It would seem that Geoff’s experience with horses is due to come to an end soon as June seems to want an animal that is more suited to petting and curling up on laps than her Dale pony, I hope it’s before he has mashed body parts.

The hotel this evening has gone mad, or perhaps American? I checked in, walked to my room, boiled the kettle and sat down only to have to get up because the telephone rang. I answered the telephone to reception asking if everything was alright, if I needed anything and if there was anything else they could do, why? what was the point in this call? I checked in, at which time you secured my payment mechanism and provided me with the details of my room at this stage our interaction was successfully concluded. If my room had some defect or error then I am wholly capable of picking up the telephone and informing you, in fact in my experience the biggest issue in any hotel is key card failure and if mine had failed you would have been calling the room at the very same time that I trekked back to get a new key card. I am not sure where this ‘just checking’ form of customer service originates but my best guess is our American cousins, I am not sure that I am ready to adopt the gift. I am an adult, if I ask for goods or services then I am more than capable of communicating  any problems with them and I will, I don’t need checking up on like a child. There are some occasions when it is reasonable to ask over an experience, a meal in a restaurant would be a good example or perhaps when checking out of a hotel but this was too much.

Perhaps it is just that I am not a ‘people person’ because I have also been hugely irritated by what seems to be a sudden growth in idiots dressed up with buckets collecting cash. It is not that I am against charity, although in the UK we seem fixated with it, but these people are everywhere and if my pockets were big enough to give them all change then I would not be able to walk in the first place. There are a growing number of occasions in the calendar when we expect to be accosted by the red nose/Pudsy brigades, but it seems that the buckets are in constant use now by people collecting for things that I don’t even understand. A journey home now involves walking through charity collectors at Stratford underpass, again at the top of the station and then at Colchester, all of these I see on entrance and exit so that is 6 separate times.  I see people desperately struggling for change because it is so ingrained in us that we have to give money when you shake a bucket at us, if they do the same journey as me their commute is being subject to quite a high charity tax. I am well equipped to walk past this people with impunity but I am concerned that the elderly are simply being mugged by the latest breed of ‘hoody’, these people are thoroughly disguised and essentially demanding money with menaces. Can I suggest that we update the old concept of helping elderly people across the road to ‘helping the elderly past the charity collectors’?

Having had a long discussion with my sis yesterday I have to make mention of the marvelous way in which DL* has dropped into her imagination, it really is quite astounding. I am not sure how much of this is female logic, how much is too much time at home and how much is inability to accept that I am resolutely single and therefore present no threat to any of my female friends, but hey its entertaining. Between Jo and DL* they have formed the perfect relationship DL* has the passion nailed and has a great take on the intimate details while Jo has the romance and thrill buttoned down, seriously if you merged their thoughts you would have a match made in heaven, ladies your minds are wonderful tools and I enjoy my time in them.

 

*Dream Lover

Is there an App for that?

I just took a tentative stroll to my local store, I say tentative because the wind is such that the snow here is barely settling and instead we have a slippery slush affair going on. Now its at this time of year that we are reminded of the need to take care of the elderly and infirm but I think that I shall have to challenge this advice.

I saw several elderly residents going about their business with impunity and certainly no sign of abject fear or trepidation but the younger generation not only caused me some concern in their perambulation but also in their apparent absence of concern

As if to confirm my fears I looked up to hear a young lady talking, not to me but to her I phone which she held out in front of her as she stormed down the road. Although her feet kept slipping she maintained the phone at the correct distance with a level of dexterity and speed of response that was nothing short of astounding,

And then came the slip, the one that passes the front of your foot and reaches your heal and more critically the slight edge at the rear of your heel that has no grip. The leg went out in front of her, she stumbled and for a minute I was preparing to go and assist her back to her feet, but following several wobbles she recovered her balance and was back in her stride.

As she passed me I just heard her say “bloody snow is terrible I nearly slipped over, why don’t they sweep the streets?” She honestly seemed to think that it was some greater authority’s problem that she was unable to walk and talk at the same time when it was snowing. I had to wonder if there was some app on her phone that was directing her to maintain the phone in the appropriate position and whether an upgrade will be available to extend this facility to the operator herself?

The thing that really astounds me about this ‘always connected’ generation is that they are able to survive where I live. My cell phone regularly loses all signal and quite frequently replaces it with a Dutch network which is of course no use to me whatsoever. My internet connection has dropped out at least 6 times whilst I have been writing this which is probably as a result of the data slipping on the snow or something equally unbelievable.

And so I must say, in defence of the younger generation, they are not lazy or idle they are simply waiting for a connection to tell them what to do! I think that we should re brand groups of hood rats hanging around street corners as ‘hot spots’ since they are probably just sharing data and after all it sounds a lot less threatening.