Losing My Damn Cool

I like to think that there's not much that gets me annoyed. OK, apart from the news, perhaps. But apart from that, generally speaking I try to not get stressed about too many things.

But I've noticed I seem to have an exception to that. And that exception is.. door to door salesmen.

Of course, they're "not actually here to sell you anything", they're "not here to change anything", they're usually "just checking that you've registered for your discount" on your gas, electricity, phone service, etc. And you see that's where it starts to go wrong.

Call me stupid - I kind of take exception to people arriving at my front door and lying straight to my face. "I'm not here to sell you anything" - yes you are. "I'm not here to change anything" - yes you are, you're trying to swap my gas/electricity/phone provider. "Just checking you've registered for your discount" - no you're not, because you're not from the company that I already pay.

That's how it started today, when a chap in a cheap pin stripe suit arrived at my door. He is from Talk Talk (owned by Carphone Warehouse, CEO Charles Dunstone, stage left.) "You do have a telephone, I take it?" - OK, not the best way to start proceedings. Having established that I do indeed have a BT phone line and not a cable one (because TalkTalk can't take over cable lines) he started off with his diligent checking to "make sure that I've registered for my discount." - strike one.

I shut him down. "I don't want to change, quite happy with what I've got, thanks."

He didn't take it for an answer. "I'm not here to change anything." - strike two. "I'm not here to change anything, BT won't let you change your phone company." - Interesting! Strike three.

"I've already got a cheap phone company, really not interested, honestly, thanks."

"BT won't let you change your phone company!" - He seemed hung up on this. This is where I made the number one mistake of being drawn into the conversation by even explaining how things worked, and that thanks very much, but I'm not interested.

Suddenly he's telling me that TalkTalk will pay me £1,000 if they're not the cheapest phone company. I'm fairly sure this isn't true, and I suggest to him that I bet he has no leaflets saying that.

"Don't carry no leaflets, mate." - Strike four. All salesmen say that. In fact so did the last salesman I had an almighty on-doorstep argument with. He was from Npower. I wouldn't recommend them either.

But eventually he looks in his folder and finds a laminate - "£1,000 if we're not cheaper than BT!". "Ah, cheaper than BT, not cheaper than anyone", I point out. He tuts and tries to suggest that his laminate must be out of date.

I re-iterate that I'm not interested. He's getting annoyed now, and tries some reverse psychology. "Well, you obviously don't qualify for these savings. You don't qualify." My mistake number two, because I'm not letting that one slip by. "What, you think you can turn me around like that, as if I'm going to say 'Oh no, I don't qualify! Please let me have your fabulous offer?'"

"You don't qualify! You obviously don't qualify." He's on the run but he is still annoying the hell out of me. Suddenly inspiration hits him. "I expect you're still paying for your broadband as well, then!"

I'm not quite quick enough to dismiss this one. "Yes!", I reply. At this point he actually starts laughing. I try reasoning with him. "Look, I don't mind you trying to sell me something, but take the hint - I'm NOT interested!"

"Well you don't qualify!"

"Then why are you wasting your time even talking to me? Get out of here."

"I'm just going. Are you really still paying for broadband? Ha ha ha ha.. You don't qualify."

"I'm glad you're leaving. And not nearly soon enough."

I read him the name off the front of his ID card, just to make sure I've got it right for when I complain. But he doesn't care, and you wouldn't expect him to, because he's just doing his job and while he hasn't made a sale, he's ticked all the correct boxes for conning people into swapping their phone service.

Meanwhile, I'm sufficiently furious that Charles Dunstone himself gets an email off me. Well, at least, his office does. But will they care either? Doubt it, somehow. After all, Charles himself is probably a little busy because in addition to owning Talk Talk, this week he just bought AOL UK.

…. aah, crap!

Modern-day note from October 2008: Of course now that AOL has, in accordance with prophecy, been totally and entirely turned to crap, and this blog is no longer hosted there, it doesn't seem like such a conflict of interest any more.

I Heard The News Today, Oh Boy

I despair at the criminal state of news reporting in this country. I'm quite sure that all news broadcasts are now officially "News For The Stupid." On TV, on radio, on the internet.. it's coming in through the walls - you can't avoid it.

I have nothing against the news. I do actually quite like knowing what's going on. The problem is that most news broadcasts today finish with me less informed than I was when I first tuned in. To say nothing of additionally annoyed.

I used to quite like Big Brother. Now that's not news, but my point, and I do have one, is this: In recent years Big Brother went to hell because the producers seemed to spend all their time trying to synthesise artificial "conflict" in the belief that this is what the viewers wanted. The depressing thing is that they may have actually been right - which raises a whole separate issue about the intelligence of the fellow people we're sharing the planet with - but more depressing still, the news is heading in exactly the same direction.

"Here's the news this morning, somebody has said something, and we're going to get a reaction from someone who will disagree. Mr Disagree, what are your thoughts? Great, now we've got a fight. Here is the news, somebody else has disagreed with what somebody said." - Assuming that somebody has actually said it and it's not one of these artificial "Later today, somebody IS GOING TO SAY.."-type stories that also pass for news in today's society.

And once you've got a fight going, why keep it to yourself? It used to be that the news was the news, and that was that. But no, not any more. Now all the news programmes are urging me to "have your say on our message boards", to "talk back" with my "reaction" to the day's news.

You know something, I don't WANT to know what other people think, I don't WANT to hear "reaction" from largely uninformed members of the public. I don't want this pompous "reflecting the opinions of everyday people" rubbish you see on the BBC. I want to hear some actual NEWS, perhaps written by a proper JOURNALIST or REPORTER, someone who can UNDERSTAND a story, maybe even RESEARCH it, and present it to me as a finished news report, an accurate and factual account of what has happened and what it means.

Won't somebody just tell me what's going on? Is this too much to ask? Am I just turning into a grumpy old man?

The horrifying thing about news is when you actually, personally, know something about the subject being reported on. And that's when you see the reporting of the subject is just so badly mistaken - or just flat-out wrong - that you're amazed something so WRONG is being broadcast to other people. And if that's what the reports about things you know about are like.. what about the other ones?

The worst kind of "news", if you can even call it that any more, is that which actually interferes with the natural course of events.

"Well, a controversial decision was handed down today by a Judge and Jury at a court somewhere, when someone was sentenced to go to jail but maybe not for long enough. The move has attracted criticism from the moronic, ignorant, and Daily Mail journalists, none of whom were actually in the court, heard any of the evidence, or know anything about the case, but still feel more qualified to pass judgement than those people who actually were. Why don't you have your say on our message boards. And the results of our "News Poll" show that 84% of you agree that the sentence should have been longer. Even though none of you were actually in the court, heard any of the evidence, or even know ONE DAMN THING about the case, apart from the misleading and emotive snippets which we could be bothered to report to you. And now some weather."

And it goes on and on and on for weeks, until some brainless politician announces a "crackdown" on "this sort of thing", or someone resigns, or just chucks themselves off a cliff in despair. If they're lucky there'll be more cases just like this one, so "the issue" can fill up hours of airtime for months at a stretch. "And some more people have been bitten by dogs today, a Government minister announced a crackdown, but some have said that it doesn't go far enough...."

No, actually today has changed my mind, the worst kind of news is the peddling of racism under the guise of "national debate".

"Our top story tonight, former politician Jack Backside said that people who have a different religion should not be allowed to express their beliefs. Other politicians agreed, saying that people who are different are deliberately not being the same and they should be. Minister Phil Dillo said that one person who was useful, but was different, should be sacked - like it's anything to do with him. Have your say on our message boards. The Department For Can't We All Just Get Along (Apart From Those Different People) said that "It's far better to debate the issues than sweep them under the carpet". In other news, British Airways has been condemned for not allowing its employees to express their religious beliefs. Politician Mr Peter Peter Peter said that this was obviously different, since the religion being inhibited was likely to be more popular with voters, and so he didn't suggest that anyone should lose their jobs for being different at all."

It's like this all over the world. We are all going to hell. It's just so thoroughly depressing.

Sell it, Scan It, or Throw It Away

I need more order in my life. See the picture? That's where I live, taken a few years ago. It's even worse now. I keep meaning to tidy up, but somehow I just never have the time.. I mean, I work all week, and by the weekend, when I do actually have a little free time.. well, I'm kind of knackered. And despite my best intentions, nothing gets done.

But this can't go on. While I'm sure it's nothing other than a sign of raw genius, too much clutter could easily be a problem - so things must change before I go the way of Mr. Trebus. A new policy is called for, and I have named that policy "Sell it, Scan It, or Throw It Away."

Under the new regime, all items which I live with will be ruthlessly scrutinised. Nearly everything I have is unusable since it's underneath, or between, other things. Hence, if I'm not using it right now, I probably don't need it. So, I must sell it (watch for my forthcoming garage sale on eBay), scan it (a great way to get rid of bulky paper documents), or throw it away (which may include 'giving it away' in the event that an item cannot be sold.)

My first thoughts are for technological ways to save space. I could copy all my CD-Rs to DVD-R. I could fit 13 CDs on a DVD. And if I could copy all my VHS tapes to DVD then that would save space too. However, that's what I told myself several years ago and I didn't really get very far into that project. And I'd probably want to keep the originals as well, just in case something happened to the copies, so that wouldn't save much space at all. No, I must not be distracted. Tapes and discs can be dealt with separately - my first priority must be boxes, and things, and stuff. Everything must go.

How do you think I'll do?

My Diet Is Not What It Should Be

I still like to think that I invented Blogging. Here's something I wrote back in September 1996:

Do you remember Jesse from 'The Fast Show" ? ... It made me think that I should take a bit of notice of what I was mostly eating, so today I made a careful mental note.

My eating for today goes something like this: One can of Lucozade, one Lion bar, A Whopper Jr. and fries. One bag of buttered toffee popcorn. Some toast with marmite. Chocolate ice cream. (Two bowls). And this talk of food is giving me a hankering for some ready salted crisps...

It has become apparent that my diet is not what it should be.

Still, that reminds me of that exciting yoghurt I came across in the supermarket the other day. It caught my eye because it was in a brown pot. Brown is not a colour I associate with yoghurt. Blue, perhaps, or a nice strawberry pink.. Even green or yellow. Any colour but brown, which would be the last on the list.

Still, this brown-potted yoghurt (I'm sure Alexei Sayle could do quite a routine about it) was a flavour I hadn't come across before. "Melon & Ginger".

Now I obviously don't get out enough, because Melon is not something I've ever sampled before. In search of new experiences, I purchased the yoghurt and some days later gave it a field test in the comfort of my own home.

And it was horrible! The Melon taste was really quite pleasant for the few fractions of a second that it lasted until Captain Ginger and his cavalry of brown horses kicked in. Eww!

One spoon was enough, and it was all over. I won't be adventurous like that again, certainly not with yoghurts anyway. Can I interest anyone in a second hand opened yoghurt, only one previous owner?

Things What I Wrote III: Shaken Down By Mobsters and Hoodlums

First written: 21st September 2004 (Two years and three weeks ago)

My credit card has been stolen by hoodlums! Not a face-to-face mugging or anything like that, but some kind of internet fraudster somewhere has somehow made off with my credit card number and is using it to try to buy things!

Needless to say this has not made me happy. Alarm bells started to ring when I got a phone call from a company who wanted to check some details on a huge computer that I'd ordered. Er.. no? But they had my name. They obviously had my phone number, on account of the fact that they had phoned me. And they were able to tell me the number on my credit card. I was unimpressed with this situation - nice of the company to phone me, though, and tip me off to the shakedown what was occuring in dimly lit rooms half way across the world.

A call to my credit card company connected me with a nice lady in a call centre in India. I relayed my sorry tale to her, and while at first placated by her suggestion that I do nothing and just wait for my next statement to come in the post, a few minutes later I phoned back and was more forceful. That's not how it's going to go down, see? We're going to go through my statement on the phone, right, and any fraudy transactions is going to be nailed right away, see? I could tell they were impressed by the way they started reading out my recent spending. Sainsburys, £54.15.. yes.. Sky Television, £19.50.. yes.. Amazon.co.uk, £12.85.. yes.. Napster, £9.99.. yep.. Bent Warehouse, America, $2000.. ye.. what? No! That wasn't me! I was not there. And where spending on my credit card is concerned, nothing goes down unless I'm involved. I am quite strict on that.

My credit card company promise that they will track down the mobsters who are misusing my card, and put them out of commission for good, see? At least I think they said that, they might have been trying to sell me travellers cheques again. I will phone them back tomorrow.

Ppl

There’s a famous song which goes “People… People who need people… Are the luckiest people… in the world.” I can’t remember what it’s called. But I wonder if its hypothesis is correct.

 

I’m not sure if “People who need people” are indeed lucky – speaking from the point of view of a staunch bachelor, anyway. Surely, needing other people is a hazardous and perilous situation.

 

Other people can be strange, curious, and unreliable. Is it lucky to need such a wandering force of nature? What happens if they’re busy? Suddenly, those “luckiest people in the world” are people who need something they don’t have. Is that a good thing? I’m not sure I can say – clearly the whole thing is outside my realm of experience.

 

Incidentally, while researching this important piece of writing, I found the following text on Wikipedia regarding the historical treatment of bachelors:

 

“At Sparta, citizens who remained unmarried after a certain age suffered various penalties. They were not allowed to witness the gymnastic exercises of the maidens; and during winter they were compelled to march naked round the market-place, singing a song composed against themselves and expressing the justice of their punishment.”

 

I can report that naked songwriting does not feature significantly in society’s treatment of today’s singletons, although the prohibition against perving on the gymnastic maidens still holds good today, and in fact hardly seems unreasonable.

 

But back to the people principle. There does indeed seem to be something about people that the luckiest people appear to need. I guess phenomenons like CuddleParty.com show that maybe today, people need people more than ever before.

 

What is it that those luckiest people seek from other people? Is it purely something that can be detected with the senses? Shape, texture, warmth? What do other people bring that you can’t bring to yourself? Warmth can be had from a hot water bottle. And the feel of your own body is almost certainly going to be much the same as anyone else’s.

 

And yet…

 

Maybe it is the unpredictability that makes it different. Perhaps the difference is the difference. After all, you can’t tickle yourself – it just doesn’t work. Why is it different when someone else does it – even when you’re expecting it? It just is.

 

I was about to say “I notice there isn’t a TickleParty.com”, but actually there is, and it’s one of those rude sites on the internet which has pictures of ladies showing their bottoms. I’m fairly sure that bachelors are not allowed to look at such things, so I will not do so.

 

So are people who need people really the luckiest people in the world? I’m not sure. I guess I can see the advantages, especially if you like being tickled. It all seemed so innocent when we were younger…

Things What I Wrote II: Last Christmas

Date: 7th December 2005

We had a 'secret santa' thing at 'the work lunch' today. For reasons I am at a loss to explain, my carefully selected present, a pack of 16 double A Energizer batteries, was greeted with much laughter from around the table and even from the recipient himself.

Owing to the secret nature of the event, I was of course unable to inform my colleagues of the excellent deal which I had obtained, in order to be able to supply said batteries in such impressive quantity. Nor was I able to respond to the allegations that such a gift was "cold", was "probably from someone with a sense of humour", and was "not even proper Duracells."

Now I could understand if the recipient was a woman - giving batteries to the fairer sex is obviously forbidden and just about the highest crime which a man could commit. But I thought that 'the man who has everything' would surely need many batteries to power it all. Alas, it seems that my useful present was not accepted in the spirit which I had intended.

Maybe next year I will be less generous.

The Power Of Deadlines

This blog has really re-awakened my interest in writing. I miss writing - really writing - for a living. There was a time in my life where every week I had to come up with the goods. 700 words about this.. 1500 words about that.. every month.. every week.. today. While I can now look back on most of what I wrote at that time and wonder how I ever got away with it, I still miss writing to deadlines.

My job still involves me in some writing - not nearly as much as it used to, though - and in today's modern world, there's not really a lot that stops anyone from writing anything they want to. Writing is, perhaps, less exclusive than it used to be. Time was when I could walk into any branch of WH Smiths, pick up a magazine, flick through the pages, and say "I wrote that, and there is my name." A brief opportunity for me to show off which I doubt will return, not unless I can wangle my name into the credits of a TV show any time soon, anyway.

That said, maybe the world of print is still ripe. This evening I picked up a copy of "thelondonpaper", which is one of the (two) free newspapers people try to stuff into your hands when you set foot into the nation's capital. It has an essentially unpaid column called "the columnist" (since capital letters are simply not the style any more) and each day the great residents of London vote as to whether that day's columnist should write for the paper again, or not. Want to be a columnist yourself? Just write 400 words and send it to this email address, thanks very much. So far I haven't seen anyone last more than a day.

It's been a long time since I had to write 400 words about something. Well, not strictly true, I was commissioned for a series of ten 500 word narratives not so long ago, but the final results were so horrendously embarrassing that neither I nor the commissioner ever mentioned them again - probably quite rightly so.

But as a diversion, I like the idea of writing something which might just appear in a "hard to reach" place again. Aside from reading "thelondonpaper" this evening, (since spaces are apparently not the style any more either) I spent much of the train journey back home wondering what I could write about. And it wouldn't matter if it didn't get printed because at least it would fill up the space in my blog, making me appear prolific and interesting.

Itwould be nice to have some deadlines again. Maybe I should hold myself to at least 400 words a day, for the blog or otherwise. I don't know if self-imposed deadlines work or not.. I'm pretty sure I'd stop within days. But maybe I'll give it a try. Maybe.

Light Reading

Scott Adams is best known as the maker of Dilbert, the cynical cartoon strip particularly popular with office workers and IT nerds like.. well.. me. But like any good genius, having achieved fame and fortune with Dilbert, Scott goes "No! Wait! I'm more than that", and suddenly he's writing weird books that nobody understands, without any cartoons in them at all.

I don't remember seeing it in any best-seller lists, but it seems that now the publishers of the book have started giving it away, in the hope that it might reach the right kind of people who'd really really like it.

I read it a while ago and was moderately amused, baffled, and bored in almost equal measure. But for free, it's very much worth reading. Scott's blog has millions of readers so I doubt he needs the publicity.. but if you might like it, take a read of God's Debris.

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I remember how I hated being left alone, and cried and cried and cried.

I remember watching The Muppet Show.

 

I remember reading the 1972 Beano annual.

 

I remember having a toy box.

 

I remember my grandad’s shed at the bottom of the garden.

 

I remember being scared of the dark.

 

I remember discovering how awful toothache was.

 

I remember the dentist that I didn’t like.

 

I remember the interesting toys available at that place called ‘school’.

 

I remember the thrill when our class swapped our Mr Men books with the next class.

 

I remember making things with glue and tinsel and shiny coloured paper.

 

I remember Lenny the Lion.

 

I remember little bottles of warm milk that we had to drink before morning break.

 

I remember being the tallest person in my class.

 

I remember trying to pass off my teddy as a brother.

 

I remember assembly.

 

I remember when I moved house, and left my friends behind.

 

I remember how long it took to make new ones again.

 

I remember how soon I forgot the old ones.

 

I remember when hometime meant work was over until the next day.

 

I remember deciding that someone was my girlfriend, and giving her a bag of sherbet lemons because she liked them.

 

I remember her liking me less.

 

I remember when they didn’t have breakfast television.

I remember the sweet shops I walked past every morning.

 

I remember what those other kids used to call me.

 

I remember when Wham! were quite new.

 

I remember when I didn’t really know how good Culture Club were.

 

I remember T-shirts about what ‘Frankie Says…’

 

I remember what it was like to want my own computer.

 

I remember how getting one took almost everything else from my life.

 

I remember typing with two fingers, and I was still faster than anyone else.

 

I remember six weeks holiday in the middle of the year.

 

I remember all that time I spent in hospital.

 

I remember that day I finally left school.

 

I remember having money of my own, and how it made me happy.

 

I remember how unhappy my first job made me.

 

I remember the single day I spent trying to sell newspapers.

 

I remember all that weight I lost, that one time.

 

I remember bacon sandwiches in the office, and when people seemed to appreciate me.

 

I remember being able to type with both hands.

 

I remember when I was young enough not to forget anything.