No man's land

Is it only me…but whose responsibility is this bit?

Last weekend I headed north and back to the Motherland. Or is it the Fatherland? Now there’s an interesting question, why are some countries Motherlands and others, Fatherlands? Just thought I would ask.

But I digress.

Now it has always been my belief that England and Scotland are contiguous nations, sharing a common border. And I am sure that this thought will be your belief too. Look on any map and lo you will find that Scotland and England are joined at the hip, placed by an accident of geography right slap bang next door to one another and not even independence is going to change that.

And so you can imagine my surprise when heading up the M6 to discover that the English border sign is a good three hundred yards away from that which marks the border with Scotland. In other words there is a strip of land that lies between the two signs that is neither Scottish nor English. To whom does this strip of land belong?

I find this quite intriguing. Don’t you? And if you don’t believe me, next time you drive up the M6 and just before you cross into Scotland squint your neck round and look behind you to see the England Border Post and then look ahead to see where the Scotland Border Crossing is. I would love to know if this strip of no man’s land runs right across the border.

Now I knew that there was a certain amount of antagonism between the tribes to the north and those who have the misfortune to be based to the south of Hadrian’s Wall but I never realised that the state of affairs had grown so serious as to need a buffer zone between them, a kind of de-militarized zone like you find in the Korean peninsula.

Now maybe it’s only me but this throws up all sorts of questions.

If you live there what nationality are you?

Who governs you?

What will happen if and when Scotland rises and becomes a nation again? Are you Scottish or English? Or maybe you are Scotengland?

What would happen if oil is found in this strip? To whom would it belong?

And the biggest question of all, when England are playing Argentina, whom do you support? The answer to this is always a dead giveaway.

Now I am sure that the politicians, constitutional lawyers and even the UN have looked into this and have it covered off, but it is a fascinating question never the less.

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

That will do nicely, Sir

Is it only me…but, to quote Woody Guthrie, I thought this land was my land.

I have just returned from a wee spot of R&R on an island on the edge of the Eurozone, close to the birthplace of western civilisation. And no I don’t mean Rothesay, though that comes a close second obviously.

On arrival at the airport, along with the swarms of peely wally tourists with whom I had to share my plane, we were met by the sight of one, and I repeat one, olive skinned languid passport official. I feared that my journey across the border and into the troubled Eurozone was going to take hours. And you don’t want that after a sweaty flight spent in close proximity to the heaving masses. I wondered if this Johnny-foreigner Apparatchik might be open to a bribe for a speedy passage through.

But there was no need.

A quick flash of our Passport Burgundy travel documents and we were through. I am sure he just saw the colour and not the photo or our biographical details at the speed with which we passed into the Eurozone and from that single piece of colour coded information alone he deduced we were ok.

Compare and contrast that with our return to the land of our birth.

Here the Praetorian Guard that is the UK Border Agency, dressed para-military style sans balaclavas, treated us all if we were Abu Hamza on a day out from Jordan. Each one of us was eyed up and own, our passports scanned with great diligence and only then with an effort that signalled immense reluctance would the Border Guard Apparatchik signal that it was ok to enter the Land of our Fathers. A process that took the bat of an eyelid in a strange and foreign country took what seemed like an age at the border of our Mother Country. We can learn a lot from Johnny Foreigner, you know.

Now maybe it’s only me but this land is my land and these Guards work for me, for us. Why do we let them get away with this?

I can think of two reasons.

One the uniform gives them power. These people never behaved like that when they all looked and dressed like geography teachers with mismatching flannels and sports jacket combinations. And when you give people power they throw it about, usually in the name of Health and Safety or public security. As if.

And my second reason is down to the Daily Mail and the Daily Express who consistently think that anyone who leaves this country to visit anywhere foreign is consorting with the enemy, has been exposed to dangerous and seditious thoughts, and has become a jihadist. And in this scenario we are letting in hundreds, if not thousands, of people every day who should not be here.

And given that our political masters are so afraid of what the Daily Mail is going to say, they instruct the Apparatchiks to go to extreme lengths to ensure they don’t get a story. The Daily Mail is the real Head of Government in this land.

It is just as well that there is no Daily Mail where I was or my Johnny Foreigner Apparatchik might have to brush up his act and lower his customer service standards to those of our Border Para-Militaries. And that would not be what I call progress.

I really don't see why our Border Police can't just say 'UK Passport-that will do nicely, sir' and wave me through. Unless I have a hook and an eye patch obviously.

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Coffee to go

Is it only me…but most of the country does live beyond the Watford Gap.

It may have escaped your notice, though fortunately my eagle eyes spotted it, that Starbucks is to launch a loyalty scheme for all those with the time to wait while its Baristas pull levers and emit steam to manufacture a cup of coffee.

Nothing wrong with that, I can hear you say. After all many retailers  in a quest to understand who their customers might be and what they are buying have such schemes in place though as a seasoned marketer of many years standing I seriously doubt if these are anything to do with loyalty. I have a walletful of plastic like this and my custom is rarely bought just because I get something for nothing. True loyalty in any event is emotional not mercenary.

But back to Starbucks.

Here the issue is not loyalty but the nature of the bribes-it is offering priority booking to the Natural History Museum and 2 for 1 deals to the ice rink in exchange for the purchase of a tall skinny mochacappucina.

And where are these offers based? Why London of course.

And the Marketing Grand Fromage has the gall to say ‘we want to make sure customers can earn rewards wherever they interact with the brand.”

Sure you might be able to earn them but not to redeem them should you live beyond the Pale or beyond the M25 as the Highways Agency likes to refer to it.

Now maybe it’s only me but why do those with influence in this country assume that everyone worthy of their attention lives within hailing distance of a Black Cab. There is a world beyond the end of the Metropolitan Line, you know.

In history, and especially in Irish history, the phrase ‘beyond the Pale’ was used to denote that part of the country where wild people lived, the barbarians, the savages. Surely Starbucks and quite a few other brands with London-centric promotions and offers do not consider me and countless millions others like me not in possession of an Oyster Card to be barbarians or savages. This is not good for business.

And so if you want my loyalty, or repeat custom might be better a description, I would suggest with the greatest of respect to the Marketing Grand Fromage at Starbucks, and other Marketing Grand Fromages who think and act like him, that he, or maybe she, gives us the right to not only earn rewards wherever we might be but also to redeem them with offers more local, relevant and convenient to us.

I applaud your marketing gimmick to know my name. Now learn where I live. I will give you a clue-you won’t see any red buses in my corner of the Pale.

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus. 

 

Never knowingly undersold

Budgie smugglers

Is it only me…but how can I be inspired when it is out of season. I know that like me, and despite my cynical intentions, you will have enjoyed watching people perform citius, altius, fortius, through the Olympic and Paralympic SportsFest. Indeed I would go further than enjoy. I have been inspired. And as the Olympic caravan packs up its Big Tent and moves on to Rio, I have taken to heart Mr Seb’s ambition and been inspired. I am the legacy. And now I aim for two or three early morning visits per week to my local swimming pool while on my way into my place of employment for a pre-dawn thrash up and down the pool thirty or so times with some very fit superannuated wrinklies. But I am being let down and Mr Seb’s legacy ambition is being thwarted not by the Two Caesar’s policies or by the age of austerity but by Marks and Spencer, my fashion retailer of choice. For to enable to me to perform at my peak and to optimise my performance just like Mr Hoy, Mr Farah and Ms Ennis, I need the right equipment, in my case a stylish, flattering and performance optimising pair of budgie smugglers. Or indeed anything suitable for my aquatic thrash. And so you can imagine my chagrin on enquiring in branch and even looking online to discover that, in the words of one of Twiggy’s little helpers, ‘this was not the right time for selling swimming trunks’. Now maybe it’s only me but it is the small details like that which will undermine Mr Seb’s legacy aspiration. How many people are going to wait until it is the right season before they can fulfil their inspiration? The momentum we have all paid billions to generate will be lost. Messrs Marks and Spencer should surely have anticipated a rush for athletic equipment post the games and strained every sinew to ensure that their shelves and stock cupboards were stuffed to overflowing with sporting clothing for every shape and size. And who says that swimming has a season anyway? It is clearly possible to swim throughout the year as indeed it is well and truly possible for folks to go away at any time of the year. It is not decreed anywhere as far as I know, and I don’t think even Europe has got round to standardising this yet, that you can only swim or even sell swimming gear in certain months. And I even think it possible that you can go on holiday to sunnier climes at any time of the year. Twiggy and her supermodel pals may be cavorting about on our TV screens dressed to the nines in M&S outfits but for me the lack of attention to detail being shown by their employers is seriously hampering my preparations for 2016. And it is bad business for them. If anyone knows where I can find a pair of budgie smugglers for the fashion conscious and athletic aspirant, please do tell. Have a great week. Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

And the winner is...

Is it only me…but I don’t like to see good losers.

Like many of you, and despite my cynical reservations, I have been transfixed by the athletes at this summer’s Olympics and Paralympic Games. They have been magnificent, no matter what flag they have wrapped themselves in.

I was asked the other day what I thought of the tantrums and displays of bad losership being displayed by people like Mark Cavendish who blamed everyone but himself for his failure to win gold; Oscar Pistorius complaining that his legs (false) were too short when compared to the winner; and Jason Cundy who threw a real hissy fit just because he was disqualified and not allowed to re-start. I am sure there are other examples of bad sportsmanship on display through the sports fest but these were the most high profile examples.

Was this a case of the athletes believing the hype about them? Were they becoming as big headed and as ego driven as footballers? Was bad losing becoming endemic?

Now it might only be but I like a bad loser. In my book there is no such thing as a good loser-you are still a loser.

It infuriated me to see athletes coming 7th, 8th, last, coming up to the camera all smiles and laughs and telling us all they tried their best but it wasn’t good enough on the day but they have had a wonderful experience.
‘You might have had a wonderful day, love, but you are still a LOSER’, I scream at the TV, ‘is it any wonder you are 7th with that attitude?’

Losing should hurt. It should be the most pain you will ever experience outside child birth or wisdom tooth extraction without anaesthetic. Losing should sear itself across every fibre in your body. And it is the avoidance of pain that should drive you onto succeed.

And that is why I admire the likes of Cavendish, Pistorius and Cundy. They hate losing. They want to win. And that is what makes them ultimately successful.

They are no egotists. They are not big headed. They are not arrogant. They are winners. They are driven to succeed. They don’t take part to come 7th or 8th. They compete to be first. And I wish more of our (losing) athletes came across like them.

And remember this-there is no 'i' in team but there is in winner.

Have a great week. Win lots. Win strong.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Blackboard jungle

Once again I send greetings and profuse apologies for my absence from the airwaves for the past few weeks. I will not bore you with the details but suffice to say I was unavoidably detained and kept away from you. My excuse is genuine and substantive. You know wild horses would fail to keep me from my devoted fans and followers and seekers of the truth like you.

Now maybe it’s only me but…a wee bit more effort might have solved this problem.

While I was away from you I was following with great interest the row that has blown up over the marking for the GCSEs and the performance of our young people in these exams.

Now it occurs to me, as one who passed their exams when an A pass truly was an A pass, that it is not a God given right that the pass rate should continually rise.

And it also strikes me that if more and more of our young people are passing these exams as the data would appear to suggest, then why are the yoof of today not smarter than we were at their age? And if you really do think that these people have mastered the 3 Rs then you have not come into much contact with these people.

They can’t add up even the most basic sums without a calculator-see them in shops managing a till for proof of this; their understanding of the simplest of grammatical concepts is weak-like the use of apostrophes; and don’t even start me on their understanding of the use of gerunds and gerundives, the need for semi-deponent verbs or the ability to parse a sentence.

I am also shocked that there is such uproar over the marking scheme and whether or not they deserve a C or D grade in English. If the row had been over an important grade like an A or A Star I might have understood. But a C or D-talk about circumcising gnats.

Now it might only be me but surely if they had tried just a wee bit harder then this row could easily have been defused.

You got a D so get over it. It is not the examiners fault. It is not Michael Gove’s problem. It is down to you. Maybe if you had listened more in class or did your homework with a wee bit more diligence or spent more time with your books instead of being on Facebook in the run up the exam you might have got the marks to get a real C or even B or possibly an A.

And to the teachers moaning and whining about the markers, take a long hard look at yourselves. Maybe you should have put in a wee bit more effort to get your pupils away from the danger zone. Blaming the markers is a smoke screen.

I am so glad my schooldays are well behind me.

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

5 Ring Circus

No I didn't drown and now I am back and set yet again to entertain and provoke you. And many thanks for all the messages of concern and worry.

And where to better to start than with a sideways look at the juggernaut that is the London 2012 Olympic Games or The Coe Ego Trip as I like to call it.

Is it only me...but I always think families should stick together.

With only days to go now before The Coe Ego Trip reaches its destination and I have just had the misfortune to spend a couple of days down in our capital city. And you would not believe the traffic chaos. Yes I know there is always chaos on the roads down there but this is far far worse.

Mile after mile of road capacity through this working city have been cordoned off for the privilege use of members of the so called Olympic Family. And woe betides any mere mortal who should inadvertently stray into one of these lanes for should this happen Coe’s Goons will come and get you.

Now the really galling thing about these so called Zil Lanes is, that while the poor sods who are having to pay for The Ego Trip crowd themselves and their vehicles into less and less space, the reserved lanes are for the most part lie empty and devoid of London 2012 BMWs.

Where is the sense in this?

I do accept that we do not want the athletes and other officials snared in some of London's infamous traffic jams for without these people there would be no games. Though why sponsors and the great and good of the Olympic Family cannot slum it with the rest of us is beyond me.

However I have a better suggestion than closing down roads and streets except for the privileged few.

Maybe it is only me but I always thought that families should be together. Families which play and eat together stay together. Why do we not apply this dictum to the Olympic Family?

Instead of causing massive disruption to the lives of ordinary people going about their business by transporting the Olympic Family around and through London, surely it would have made much greater logistical sense to site the travellers closer to the venues. This would have mitigated the need for travel considerably.

In other words accommodate all the Family within the Olympic Village.

Sure I know this would mean that the Head Honchos of the Family and their hangers on would need to forego the 5 star luxury of their grand hotels and slum it with the athletes, but they would be with their Family and as they say blood is thicker than water and family is family.

It is a real surprise that I was not asked to organise the games.

Have a great week. Let the Games commence.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Seat of learning? My ass.

Is it only me.... But are our children really that much smarter than us?

Those of you who know me well, and I am pleased to say that to remain an enigma it is important that few do, will know that I have hold a long held belief that you can only call yourself a university if it was founded before 1500. In my world anything after that date is merely a polytechnic. Sure it may call itself a university but that does not mean that it is one or deserves to take its place alongside the likes of Padua, Heidelberg, Glasgow.

Naturally I was educated at such an ancient site of learning.

Now some of my acquaintance have scoffed at such reactionary views but news has reached me that vindicates my opinion.

Earlier in week I learnt that the child of one who is known to me has just got a first. Now you might think that this should be cause for celebration. And in my day it would be.

But when I tell you that this young man, who is bright but not especially so, managed this awesome feat by failing to turn up for 2 of his final degree exam papers, you do have to question the rigour of the marking and the challenge of the exam.

Oh, yes, and before I forget the 'university' in a question was in a provincial Yorkshire seaside town and was founded barely 10 years ago. It is hardly Baliol, Oriel or Kings, would you not agree? All seats of learning with pedigree, heritage and class. Unlike the University of E Ba Gum.

Quod erat demonstrandum, methinks.

It surely can't just be me who thinks this is right, can it?

In my day when I was really earning my academic spurs, in a class of about 100, no one got a first, not even yours truly; only six got upper seconds; and the bulk got lower seconds. And we had to sit every paper.

Now there is a chance that the current crop of students are just so much brighter and intellectually superior to my graduate cadre. You only have to see the yoof of today in the workplace to perhaps draw that conclusion (and here I am being deeply caustic).

Alternatively we can draw the conclusion that if awesome degrees are being given out like smarties by jumped up polytechnics, then these places should be stripped forthwith of their university title until and unless they learn to behave like one.

In other words they adopt the standards, mores and rigour of those founded before 1500.

Have a great week. I am now off to sail the seas for the next 10 days.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Dedicated follower of fashion

Thank you for last week’s comments on my appreciation of the Two Caesar’s policy of listening to us, The Great British Public. I know not all of you agree with this stance which is fine but I do find it interesting that it is my views on the political situation that gets people stirred up.

No politics this week however.

Is it only me...but some people really do need protecting from themselves.
A few nights back I was travelling home. And standing at a bus stop at the side of the road was a man five feet nothing tall and roughly the same in breadth and depth. He was almost a perfect cube.

However it was not his shape that intrigued me but what he was wearing.

Now before I go on, I acknowledge freely that fashions and clothes are not my strong suit but I do know what goes with what and I do respect some basic rules of society’s dress code.

Sadly this man didn’t.

And too often these days we are seeing men, and women, failing to pay the slightest attention to what they are wearing, how they are wearing and how ridiculous they look.

Let me try describe this man’s outfit.

Firstly he was wearing on his feet a pair of light brown ersatz suede slip-on training shoes. However given this man’s shape the only sport he could possibly be in training for was darts.

Above these shoes he wore a pair of very long baggy shorts in the bri-est of black bri-nylon whose length ballooned down his skinny pale legs to just a couple of inches above his trainers.

And the shirt completed the ensemble. It was a baggy green shirt in the finest polystyrene. However the green was not the green of grass but was a shade of green that you would only see in a Dali painting or when under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs. Indeed the last time I saw this particular shade of puce was after an especially dodgy prawn bhuna.

Get the picture?

I cannot believe that this man thought his dress was acceptable.

Sadly this is a sight we see too often these days on our high streets. And it is not a sight confined to men. Women too have been known to put together some absolutely horrendous collections of colours and styles. Sometimes with women all that happens is they end up looking like mutton dressed as mutton.

And when we see these pictures we only want to scream ‘....what exactly were you thinking of when you bought those clothes? What made you think that that combination of styles and colours made you look good?’

Now maybe it’s only me but I do think that some people need to be stopped from buying certain items of inappropriate clothing before they make a right fool of themselves when out in public. Just like my man.

Those of you who are regular readers of these fine words will be aware that I am not a big fan of nanny-ism but sometimes there is no alternative and it is in some people’s best interests that they are stopped from self harm and self humiliation.

Yes, I do know that fashion is a subjective thing but some people and some wardrobe items just do not mix and even those deemed visually impaired could take steps to stop such obvious fashion faux pas.

To avoid future fashion disasters it might be best if we trained our sales assistants to politely advise their customers that if they wore what they are intent on purchasing they would be committing a crime against human decency and that they would be better buying something else.

Don’t you agree?

Please feel free to share the fashion disasters you have seen.

Have a great week.

Sis Felix. Et sis fortunatus.

You turn if you want to

Well, thank god that the huge extravaganza that was the Jubilee is over. Maybe now we can get back to doing some work and help get Your Queen’s nation back on its feet. Someone has to.

I am not going to prolong the monopolisation of our media by this orgy of obsequious fawning but instead respond to some recent political happenings.

And maybe it’s only me...but I do prefer to be governed by people who listen.

In recent weeks we have seen the Two Caesars, and their Money Man, change tack on tax on pasties, charities and caravans. And every change of tack has been greeted with howls of derision from the Last Lot and accusations of making a u-turn as if this was a very bad thing to do.

The intention to change the tax regime on these items was announced in the Budget and then having listened to the concerns of those affected, the Two Caesars and their supporters decided that these changes would cause more harm than good.

Now maybe it’s only me but I think that is a good thing. It shows that we are governed by people who listen.

So unlike the Last Lot who ploughed on regardless of the damage inflicted by their policies. And boy did they cause some damage. We are in fact still paying for their headlong pursuit of policies on which they believed they were right and everyone else was wrong.

Now it could be argued that maybe those in charge of the tax policy on pasties and the other things should have done their consultation beforehand. How could they? If they had done this, as sure as eggs, their thinking and proposals would have leaked and been attacked by all sorts of crusading lobby groups. Budgets are like sausages and it is not edifying to know how they are made, to mis-quote Bismarck.

Instead they did the right thing. Sharpened their thinking and proposition behind the scenes, as any business developing a new product might, and then road tested the policy with those most affected. Is this not the right way to do things?

If you are out in the car and you come to a dead end. What do you do? Plough on and write off the car? Or U Turn? Surely turning round is the right thing to do in this instance. And no one would criticise you for doing this.

And in my humble opinion our political process and our democracy are better served when listening and responding to the electorate is to be applauded rather than characterised as a humiliating climb-down.

As Maynard Keynes once said ‘’When the facts change, I change my mind. What do you do, sir?’’

Hear hear.

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Can I see your passport?

Is it only me but...we do seem to have one law for the rich and another for the poor.

Did you see the Olympic torch arrive in Britain last week? I know it was a lot of fuss about nothing and you can bet that the 5 Ring Circus soon to kick off will be the subject of many words of wisdom over the coming weeks. But for the moment I want to focus our attention on the wee flame.

With mounting excitement (!) we watched the plane carrying the sacred light arrive from Greece. It landed and drew up in front of the usual Union Flag waving gaggle of school children and assorted dignitaries dressed to the nines in their flummery and regalia.

And then the moment the nation has all (with at least one exception) been looking forward to with great expectation and excitement as Annie Windsor, Seb Coe and David Beckham descended from the plane carrying the fire in its miner’s lamp. It was an impressive moment.

But one thing intrigued me.

As far as I know Greece is not Britain. It is foreign. It is beyond our boundaries. Therefore those carrying the flame had left and re-entered the country. But where were the Passport Apparatchiks to check their passports? Where were the queues for these people?

I know these people are special, they are famous, they are royalty but surely to protect our borders and to maintain security everyone ought to be checked in. How else do we know who is in this country?

I do hope that I have not spotted a relaxation of border controls. Apparatchiks have been fired for less in recent months. Maybe Theresa May should be questioned about this on the floor of the House.

Or maybe the normal rules do not apply if you are special. Heaven forbid that we should expect special people to queue up to share their passport photo with a Passport Apparatchik.

Mow maybe it’s only me but we are never going to see any improvements for ordinary people at our Border while the rich, famous and the privileged manage to skip the stressful parts of international travel that everyone else has to endure. We have no voice.

I always remember being told once that if you want to improve the quality of airline food, serve it in the boardrooms of the airlines for lunch. The same applies here.

Only once the likes of Princess Anne, David Beckham and Lord Coe have endured long waits for the Passport Apparatchiks to decide whether or not you can enter your own country will we see any real improvements in the way our Borders are guarded and patrolled.

It was once said by someone rich that ‘only the poor people pay taxes’. It now seems that only the poor people queue up to get their passports checked too.

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

The Apprentice

Well seemingly my cri de coeur last week chastising people for failing to vote struck a nerve last week. Good. Art should stir the emotions. Maybe I am the Tracy Emin of the blogosphere.

And so to this week’s thought provoking piece.

Is it only I...but I think that this might be another issue for Leveson.

Do you watch The Apprentice?

Yes I know it is just another programme for fame seeking wannabees. And I do appreciate is gives a very unrealistic and unflattering view of the world of business. And yes I know Lord Sugar’s bullying hectoring and ego maniacal management style is Neolithic.

But saying all this it is fascinating how none of the fresh faced sales people who volunteer to take part in return for a ticket to fame and fortune learn the lessons from past series and each new candidate quickly loses reason and resorts to highly primitive and unsubtle backstabbing to try to claw their way to the top. Or at least to get their 15 minutes of fame as Lord Sugar’s Apprentice.

By the by it is interesting to see how few of these who win this so called coveted position are ever heard of again. We never learn just how successful they are as The Apprentice.

But I have another question which really interests me.

As we see the group gather in the Boardroom to learn their fate they all come with their trolley dolly cases, the kind that are a real health hazard when used on the streets and pavements by commuters, travellers and the like.

Now we are expected to believe that these kids are living cheek by jowl in some flash yuppie property for quite a few months. And for every task they turn up suited and booted. All this requires a wardrobe of clothes and for the women shoes, handbags, and a range of chemical and electrical enhancers.
How do they get all this into a wee trolley dolly suitcase?

Maybe it is only me but in my experience when embarking on a trip, whether for business or pleasure, for any period of time, we require to take with us a load of stuff. There is no way that these people can get all their stuff into such a wee case. You need a bigger case just to cart around all the chargers we need these days for everyday living.

This leads me to think that either their cases have been borrowed from the set of Dr Who and the principles of the Tardis have been applied to their manufacture in which case they should apply their business acumen to produce and sell these-they would go like hotcakes; or their clothes are discarded when worn; or they are badly crushed; or just like on line telephone voting for the Blue Peter cat it is rigged. If the latter I think we should let Lord Leveson know. This is not how the media ought to behave.

I will leave you to ponder.

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Vote for me

I am sorry for my lack of wit and wisdom for a week or so now but nothing has really riled me enough to put pen to paper. But now something has, you will no doubt be pleased to know.

Is it only me...but why is it so difficult for many of us to vote?

Last week in many parts of this country we had local elections. And unless you live overseas when you read this or have been away visiting relatives on the moon, you will know by now that the Two Caesars got a bit of a bloody nose. I am however slightly baffled why people think that issues decided and determined on a national scale should influence the election of local busy bodies to local councils. Does it never occur to anyone that your councillor is not in charge of deficit reduction policies, the re-organisation of the NHS or even the tax rate for hot pasties?

This however is not my Gripe of the Week.

It was striking to me that in most parts of the country turnout for the Busy Body Elections barely got above 30%. In other words more than two thirds of those eligible to vote decided that EastEnders and Corrie was more enticing than turning out to put their X on the spot. This is absolutely shocking and a very bad thing. And this shocking figure is readily inflated by fraudulent multiple voting in some areas.

No doubt many will have sound reasons for failing to turn out. The weather, an engaging episode of Emmerdale, a sock drawer to be cleared out or some such excuse. Some might even look to blame the politicians and those local Busy Bodies aspiring to be politicians for not doing enough to engage with us, I certainly make this accusation, but these are excuses for our failure to fulfil our civic responsibilities. The effects of the electoral process are all around us and if we fail to engage then we get the politics and the democracy we deserve.

Now it might only be me but we ought to remember what others gave and did that we might vote. We are prepared to vote in record numbers for some fame wannabee on X FACTOR, Britain’s Got Talent, The Voice, or some other end of pier talent show, who will make one record and then disappear from view, than we are for people who will impact on our lives. Maybe we should resort to text voting.

From Magna Carta through the bloody Civil War to the Bill of Rights and the Suffragettes people died and fought for the right to vote. And if we look across the Pond to Uncle Sam there is plenty more evidence of people, mostly black, who fought, struggled and laid down their life that others might vote. Indeed right around the world the history of many countries is marked, often bloodily, by the struggles of people to earn the right to take part in the democratic process. Think South Africa, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya.

And yet in this country we are put off exercising our democratic right, duty and privilege by a wee bit of rain or a better programme on TV. I would have thought that getting a wee bit damp or foregoing the latest soap shenanigans was not too much of a sacrifice to take part in the electoral process. Others after all have done far more than brave a wee drizzle to further the cause of democracy.

As you can tell I am well agitated by this.

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Singing in the rain

If you have been watching watching to see if I am showing a softer tone now that I have met a real life Health and Safety Gauleiter, I would be interested if any discernible difference has been noted. It is however still early days and we have not yet had the chance to have a substantive discussion on health and safety nanny-ism. I shall of course keep you posted on how the discussions progress. I know you will be waiting with bated breath. Is it only me...but we are never happy even though Shakespeare did refer to us as ‘this happy breed. As I write these musings for your education and enlightenment I can hear and feel the rain battering against the fenestration, or windows if sadly you lack a Classical education. The sky is slate grey and it is clear that we are in the grip of an Atlantic depression which will surely last for a few days bringing with it low slung leaden skies, blowy winds and liquid precipitation or rain. You would think this might make us happy or at least allow us to blow a wee sigh of relief. Heaven forbid. We are never happy. Yet only last week parts of the land were declared arid and in the grip of a dry drought. And in these parts watering with sprinklers and hosepipes was declared verboten. And straightaway people took to the airwaves to complain about the effect such restrictions would have on their gladioli, geraniums and fuchsias. Poor you, was my instant reaction. Livestock might be soon crying out for a drink, people might be trekking miles to the nearest well and Bob Geldof might be needed to swear at us to donate money now to stop famine and drought in Tunbridge Wells, but so long as you can water your plants and gardens, all is well in the world. Now it might only be me but I would have thought that the arrival of the rains on the plains of the Home Counties would be really welcome news. You would have thought that this might mean that we might delay the inevitability of a charity record for a wee bit; that we would not be seeing the sight of the women of Epsom, Ascot and Esher trekking for miles in their Volvos and BMWS to collect water from the nearest artesian well; and most importantly that our herbaceous borders might be saved. This news might have brought a smile to our faces. Fat chance. Instead we have depressed weather girls and meteorological Apparatchiks depressingly announcing the arrival of the depression and without any trace of a smile or relief letting us know that this depression was going to stick around for a wee bit. Come on, people, surely this is good news for once. Let us celebrate, enjoy and exclaim the arrival of the rains. We might not see their like again for a bit. Have a really great week (in the rain). And should you find yourself stuck in doors on a grey and wet day, unable to water the garden, you might find an interesting read at www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com. Learn what Alan Sugar, Ariel and Domestos have in common in ‘You’re Fired’. Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Apathy rules ok!

Is it only me...but some people these days just can't even be bothered.

Anyone who keeps half an eye open for the news will know that the Apparatchiks are a wee bit unhappy about what the Two Caesars are trying to do to their plans for a comfortable taxpayer funded retirement.

Flying in the face of logic, economic reality and our soaring ability for medical science to keep us alive for longer, these people and their Union Barons are insisting that we continue to subsidise a long, happy and wealth retirement even though such benefits and privileges are denied to us mere mortals.

I was intrigued to see that in a recent ballot, 72% of the members of the Apparatchik union, PCS, who voted, agreed to take further industrial action should the Two Caesars not come round to their way of thinking i.e. preserve the status quo.

I am all in favour of democracy, it is a good thing, but the crucial thing here is that it was a only majority of those voting who voted to strike. And here’s the rub, only 33% could be bothered to vote.

How difficult is it to vote? It is not like you are being asked to make a trip out in the cold and dark to put your cross on a wee bit of paper. Instead you get to vote in the warmth, comfort and privacy of your home. And you don’t even need to go and hunt for a stamp. The Apparatchik Union Baron will send you a stamped address envelope to make it even easier. All you have to do is find a pen, mark a cross and put envelope in the post.

They even make it easy for you to decide. You only have too choose between two very black and white options and say yes or no to the proposition that unless the taxpayers continue to generously featherbed your retirement, you will come out on strike. How straightforward can it all be?

And yet 2/3 couldn’t even be bothered to do that. And for something as important and as significant as their long term future.

Apathy rules ok.

It might only be me but I think that if the Apparatchiks can’t be bothered to vote and let us know whether they want to follow the advice of their Union Baron or subscribe to the common sense view of us taxpayers as articulated by the Two Caesars, then why should I bother paying for their pension.

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Giants and pygmies

Is it only me...but some people are too clever for their own good.

I have in past few days learnt that at one venerable academic institution in this country researchers have come to the conclusion that caterpillars are more likely to vomit when alone. This is earth shattering news and no doubt will have significant consequences for those charged with caring for the health and welfare of caterpillars who will now need to provide dark places well away from other caterpillars where they can go to throw up.

I would love to know whether the researchers found any correlation between incidences of projectile vomiting in this caterpillar community and the consumption of lagers and a doner.

This research made me start to wonder what other research was being undertaken in this country to advance human civilisation and knowledge. And so I did a wee bit research myself, at my own expense naturally.

For instance you will be delighted to know that a man with a lot of letters after his name was paid to come up with the perfect formula for toast, identifying with immense academic rigour the optimum temperature for the bread and the butter to maximise taste. My morning toast has tasted so much better now I know that.

And mankind made a huge leap forward when it paid students to test the theory that if you have infinite time and enough monkeys and typewriters you would eventually come up with a Shakespeare play. To test this a single computer was placed in a monkey enclosure at Paignton Zoo to monitor the literary output of six primates. After one month the flaws in the theory were proved when it was revealed that the primates had destroyed the machine, used it as a lavatory, and mostly typed the letter "s". I suppose it beats working for a living.

And you will no doubt be pleased to learn that a research paper published in the very popular ‘Evolution and Human Behaviour’ magazine, I think it’s a bit like Hello! for egg heads, has revealed that lap dancers get higher tips when ovulating. I am not sure how the findings from this research can be put to good and practical use, except by lap dancers though even they may struggle but I am willing to bet that the all male research team mightily enjoyed their field work.

Now maybe it’s only me but surely there are far more important, useful and relevant things for our brightest and best academic minds to study.

I know Isaac Newton pointed out that we are mere pygmies standing on the shoulders of giants but I don’t think he was thinking about better understanding the throwing up habits of caterpillars or the ovulating lapdancers when he said this.

I am sure that out there will be some egg head garlanded cum laude with PhDs and Fellowships and the like who will be able to defend such taxpayer funded largesse but in this day and age when as a nation we are struggling financially and economically I would really love to hear the defence and justification for paying these geeks to find out the best way to make a cheese sandwich. Have these people no shame?

I think it might be time for us to collect such idiocies from around the world to fuel our indignation.

Have a great week. And I am now considering applying for a research grant to investigate what makes a great week and whether or not humans and fruit flies think a week is great for the same reasons.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Stone Age Medicine

I hope you had a great break over Easter. Now it’s time to get back to work and regain the momentum we lost over the Bank Holiday weekend.

And here’s a shocker for you-I have met a real life Health and Safety Gauleiter. You might see a softer tone from me on these hard pressed people doing an important job. Alternatively you might not.

Is it only me...who thinks that the NHS needs to join 21st century?

A very good friend has in recent weeks been subject to the wonders of our NHS. And when I share this story with you you no doubt will come to the same conclusion as me-the Two Caesars are right to seek to reform to this venerable institution and to drag it screaming and kicking into the 21st century, or at least into the latter half of the last century.

Now lest these fine words should be read by my own physician let me say at the outset that I have no and have never had any complaint about the treatment I have received at the hands of the NHS, my beef has always been with NHS Apparatchiks and their lack of efficiency.

But back to my friend.

For reasons of patient confidentiality, and because I don’t know it, I will not disclose the condition but needless to say it was beyond the competence and capability of the GP who needed to refer my friend to a higher authority and be seen by a consultant.

All well so far. But this is where it all began to unravel.

For to see a consultant the GP has to pen a letter of referral which needs to be sent by an Apparatchik at the GP surgery to another Apparatchik who looks after the consultant’s diary-seemingly the medical profession is far too important to have to write their own communications and manage their own diaries. If you want to see how this is done, boys, look at the private sector where PAs and secretaries are becoming as rare as final salary pension pots.

After a short wait my friend hadn’t yet heard anything so she called up to be told that the letter had not yet been faxed to the consultant because the person whose responsibility it was to work the fax machine was away on holiday.

Yes, you were right first time, your eyes are not deceiving you.

It was a good job that my friend’s condition was not life threatening.

Now maybe it’s only me but who in this day and age sends letters by fax. This is like medicine from the Stone Age. Someone ought to tell these people that today is an electronic age and most sensible business people send communications safely, securely and instantaneously via the wonders of the world wide web. Perhaps someone might be able to explain to me why the NHS still persists and insists on using mediaeval technology.

And while we are it, why would any right minded business or organisation think it right and acceptable that communications could only be sent by one person and when this person was ill or on holiday or having a tea break, nothing could be communicated. No one else would tolerate a single point of failure like this or find this acceptable.

And yet still the Apparatchiks claim the NHS doesn’t need reform. Ye gods, if these people were working in my business , we would not be in business by the end of the week if they behaved and thought in an Apparatchik way which they wouldn’t of course should they be seeking to create value to pay for the Apparatchik-ariat.

It’s time to reform this rotten edifice and put a stop to Stone Age medicine being practised by the NHS. At least our medicines and treatments have moved on.

And to think we fund the over generous pension pots of these people.

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Ba ba, black sheep

Is it only me...but it seems to me that there are times when we behave more like sheep than the product of countless millennia of human evolution and development.

Queues have been a lot in the news over recent days but I am not going to share with you my thoughts on the sheer irrationality and madness of people lining up to queue for petrol even though we had plenty of petrol and there was never any likelihood of petrol being in short supply for at least week if we all behaved like me. In other words if we all kept calm and carried on, to paraphrase The Stereophonics....or was it Coldplay?

No instead I want to replay with you a recent experience while boarding a plane.

As usual when boarding a plane there are various stages we have to pass through, nearly all of which involve us standing in line. First there is the check in phase; then the awful so called security check which is really about seen-to-be-doing-something assurance than real security; then the wander through the strategically placed duty free shopping mall; followed by the coffee and eats experience; before being herded to the gate for a final sit down; and then at last we are called to board the plane.
At this point we all jump up and rush to queue up to have our tickets and boarding passes checked yet again before being allowed to proceed to board the plane.

Now it might only be me but it baffles me why we all do this.

Your seat has been allocated to you already so why jump up and queue. It is not as if you are going to get the best seat or even get served by the better looking trolley dolly by being first on. So why rush to queue? Why not linger a wee while longer with your paper and coffee and watch with bemused detached interest your fellow passengers jostle and push for pole position in the queue? It is a pointless and needless activity. The plane is not going to go and leave you behind, especially if you have luggage in the hold. That is deemed a security risk.

It does seem we must have ovine characteristics in the human DNA genome that evolution has failed to dislodge. In other words we behave like sheep and feel obliged to join a queue when we see one. Maybe we fear missing out on something.

I wonder if this is a Brit thing. A northern European Anglo Saxon trait? I can’t imagine the Latinos behaving like this. How did they manage to shift the sheep DNA from their genome? I would like to know.

So my advice if you flying over the holidays-stay seated in your seat when you are invited to board. Wait until the sheep have gone. And then stroll leisurely onto the plane and to your seat which will be sitting there waiting for you and still unoccupied.

Have a great week. And a fabulous Easter.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

More things we say

Is it only me...but seemingly we have the ability to stretch time.

A week or so ago I set out my aim to collect and share some of the stupid and really silly things we all say. Here is another. And as always I am on the lookout for more thoughts and inspired ideas from you.

Earlier this week a colleague of mine slumped into his chair and held his head in his hands and signed with real purposeful intent,

‘Boy, it’s been a long day’.

I am not sure what he expected he me to do but there was no way I felt inclined to mop his weary brow, massage his slumped and sagging frame or softly rub gentle fragrant oils into his exhausted skin.

Instead I parsed his gently uttered moan.

Now it might only be me but I always thought time was a fixed unit and did not vary according to mood or effort applied.

What exactly is a long day? A day is neither short nor long but made up of 24 hours, 1440 minutes, 86,400 seconds. No matter what you are doing, where you are or who you might be, that is the length of the day and from the days of Galileo it has been something to do with the length of time our wee planet takes to orbit the sun. Maybe Brian Cox who once told us that ‘life can only get better’ could confirm that for us.

Of equal stupidity is when those who originate to the North of the Wall of Hadrian ask or tell someone ‘to hold on a wee minute’. In this context of course ‘wee’ means ‘small’. But how long is a wee minute? A minute is exactly 60 seconds, no more, no less. How many seconds are there in a wee minute?

Now I know Man (and woman too for that matter) is clever and there are many things we can do now that we couldn’t do before, not always for that good, but when and how did we acquire the ability to change either up or down the length of time? This was not something I was ever taught.

If you know how to do this, please share.

And please share with us any other stupid things we say.

In meantime, have a great week, long or otherwise.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Lightbulb moment

Is it only me...but I now know why I am making a spectacle of myself these days.

For years and years I had perfect eyesight and while other people were squinting to read things at distance this was never a problem for me.
‘Can you read that?’ many people would say to me with incredulity and surprise.

And my ability to read things whether close up or long distance was done unaided. No spectacles, contact lenses or monocles for me.

It was a gift.

But in recent years my eyesight has rapidly dimmed and reading anything, unless in the biggest of prints, is now only possible with lenses of some sort. This is annoying and inconvenient. A faff and a hassle.

No longer can I just pick something up and read it or quickly skim a piece of paper thrust under my nose. Glasses have to be located now before any reading takes place. And no matter how small the confined space, spectacles have the habit of making themselves scarce when wanted as much as the TV remote does.

For months I put my vision loss down to age. After all my eyes are almost as old as the rest of my body. But now I think I have found the real reason. Last week I had an epiphany, a Eureka, a lighbulb moment. I was wrong.

Now maybe it’s only me but I think my vision loss can be squarely blamed on the enviro-mentalists.

In their drive to save some polar bear on some ice floe somewhere these madmen (and no doubt mad women) cloaked by spurious scientific fundamentalism have deemed it necessary that we all have too much light.
And as a consequence it is now illegal, and yes I do mean illegal, to have light in our homes, offices and factories, which is bright, clear and healthy. Instead we have a kind of neo-light which is dim, grey and unhealthy. But it is low energy, low emitting light so that should put an end to our Wonky Weather-and if you believe that you will believe anything.
You might even believe that the eco-mentalist fundamentalists are right.

And because I do a lot of reading and because in this country there are many times when it is not possible to read by natural light, I am obliged to read by unnatural neo-light which is causing untold damage to my eyes. My eyesight is therefore being sacrificed to save a polar bear. I hope it’s grateful.

Given that the Health and Safety Gauleiters have made more noise about far less, I can assume that at some point they will take a close interest in neo-light before as a nation we run out of cute golden Labradors. For once we can live in hope that these Jobsworths might do something useful. I wouldn’t hold my breath.

In the meantime have a great week and should you be interested in reading what you should study to get ahead in business, check out ‘A question of degree’ at The Marketing Comic (www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com).

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Things we say

Is it only me...but we do say some really stupid things.

Last week I saw someone turn their house upside and down and inside and out looking for their spectacles or their wallet or some other essential accessory. I cannot quite remember what they were looking for but it was important and nothing was going to move until this item was found.

Cupboards were opened and the contents lifted and checked; cushions were thrown asunder as the sofa was ransacked with great ferocity; papers were strewn around various rooms lest the missing item might be lurking beneath. I was fully expecting full body searches to be the next thing to be done when fortunately the lost article was finally found before the Marigolds were donned.

‘It’s always in the last place you look for it’, said my friend mightily relieved to be re-united with their precious accessory.

Now it might only be me but this is a really stupid thing to say.
Of course the thing you are looking for is always going to be in the last place you look. Who in their right mind is going to keep on looking after they thing they are looking for has been found? Why would you?

It is therefore a statement of the bleeding obvious to find that which is lost in the place you looked in last otherwise you will not have found it because you gave up looking before you got to the last place where you found it; or alternatively you kept looking long after you had found it, though what you would be looking for at this point is beyond me.

It is not just the English language that gives rise to such stupidity-my very good friend Catullus coined many a strange phrase in his poetry. Check it out if you don’t believe me though be prepared for some really strong language.

I am sure there are many other stupid sayings that the folk around you say. I am going to collect these and this may be a subject to which we will return in the coming weeks and months. Please feel free to share with me and my devoted following other examples of stupid things people say.

In meantime have a great week.

And don’t forget to take a look at www.themarketingcomic.blogpost.com for more insightful comment. You know it makes sense.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

GI Joe

Is it only me...but are we a nation of men or mice?

No doubt like you would have been appalled by the story of one of Uncle Sam’s finest who ran amok with his gun in the badlands of Afghanistan killing 16 innocent Afghan women and children. Their only crime, I think, though in that country you can never be too sure, was to be Afghan and in the wrong place at the wrong time just as GI Joe was letting rip with his Tommy Gun.

While not making any excuses, I suppose that these things happen in time of war, and no matter how well trained our fighting folk might be, war can do strange things to even the most resilient man or woman wearing a uniform and carrying a gun when most of us just carry a briefcase or Radley.

But you should be equally appalled that Uncle Sam refused to hand over GI Joe to the Afghans and to allow the Afghan courts to try him for this heinous crime. There is no excuse for this. Can you just imagine what would have happened if some Afghan or anyone else for that matter had even bruised someone carrying a US passport? Do you think Mr Obama would allow a third party, i.e. a non US court, to try the perpetrators? No way, Jose.

There is also every chance that should a US citizen break as much as a nail while abroad, anyone within touching distance of the broken nail would not just be tried in the Land of the Free but first would be taken on a tour of third world prisons and experience the delights of water boarding.

Now compare the actions of Uncle Sam whisking an alleged mass murderer back home, with the cases of Chris Tappin and Richard O’Dwyer. These are two Brits alleged to have broken US law on relatively minor offences, who were recently frogmarched out of the country manacled and shackled by US law enforcement officers to face the might of the US legal system. Not one shred of evidence has been placed before a UK court. Not one UK law has been broken. Not one piece of information has been provided to show that the person might have committed the offence. For unlike us, the Yanks are not required to do this. They protect their citizens.

It might just be me but the balance of power here is all wrong and what is sauce for the goose must be sauce for the gander.

I know Mr Tony thought he was Dubya’s lackey and that is why such an inequitable and unbalanced law was drafted and accepted by our legislators but Bush and Blair are now footnotes in the history books. Now it’s time for us to decide if we are mice or men and for us to protect and look after our citizens as well as the Yanks look after theirs. It is time for us to leverage our Special Relationship with them, and what a trite phase that is, and for us to show that we are men not mice nor Mr Obama’s lackeys.

Send us back Tappin and O’Dywer until you can prove in our courts that they have done wrong. And it would be nice if GI Joe was sent back to be dealt with by the Afghans.

As someone else one said ‘we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal....’ Oh yes it was the framers of the American Declaration of Independence. I have checked but at no point did they claim that Yanks were more equal or superior and everyone else inferior with lesser rights.

It is time for those on the other side of the Pond to remember that.

Have a great week.

And if you want even more intellectual stimulation to get you through the week check out www.themarketingcomic.blogpost.com and learn the importance of adding emotion to your customer experience. You won't want to miss it. You know you can trust Cicero.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Shoulder to cry on

Is it only me...but does anyone know what the hard shoulder is for?

The other night I was driving home along some of this country’s finest motorways when lights above me and ahead of me started to flash red. It was a traffic jam. And before you could say Jensen Button we were reduced to travelling at the speed of an arthritic snail with a zimmer frame, on roads designed and built to carry traffic speedily and efficiently from A to B.

Something must be up, I thought, for I can be perceptive like that. No doubt the red lights and slow, slow speeds gave it away.

Mile after mile after mile after mile we proceeded in this fashion, edging our way along the tarmac. At any moment I was expecting to be serenaded by Chris Rea as we crawled along the Road to Hell. And why is it that when the speedo barely touches 10mph the warning signs are exhorting you to do no more than 50mph in these conditions? Fat chance.

And after what seemed an age, time that I would never get back, and at my age all time is becoming increasingly precious, our three line highway squeezed into two lanes.

And then up ahead in the deepening gloom appeared the cause of the motorway chaos-a car had got into some kind of mechanical trouble and had applied its winking, blinking hazard lights and headed onto the hard shoulder. There it had been immediately surrounded by those neo-policemen, popularly known as Wombles, who look like policemen in police cars but who aren’t really and can’t do anything should you speed past them at speeds in excess of 70mph. Do you know who I mean?

Now in case you missed this-the car with the winking and blinking hazards was on the hard shoulder. It was therefore out of the way of all traffic. It was causing no obstruction. It was not in the way. It was not blocking our progress.

However this was not good enough for the Wombles who no doubt to justify their very existence had deemed it necessary for reasons that are beyond me, that the car with the winking and blinking hazards needed to be isolated from the other traffic lest its sparks plugs, cam shaft or alternator might be infected with some auto virus and other otherwise healthy vehicles be struck down. As a consequence the inside lane was also closed and this was in fact the cause of the trouble.

Now it might only be me but when I was taught to drive a car I was told that the hard shoulder was where broken down vehicles were to go. Has this been changed? Must two lanes be closed de rigeuer to satisfy some Health and Safety Gauleiter? Why was this change made? When? And if so exactly what is the purpose of the hard shoulder now?

It does seem rather strange to me that the Wombles,who presumably have it in their Job Description that their number one accountability and responsibility, and if they don’t have this we ought to ask why not, is to keep the traffic moving, should think that by reducing motorway capacity by 33% this would not cause a hold up. Nor can I understand why no one thought that a car parked on the hard shoulder was out of the way and unlikely to cause an obstruction.

To whom are these people accountable? How is their performance measured and evaluated? What does a high performing Womble look like?

Until we get answers to these questions, have a great week.

And don't forget to check out www.themarketingcomic.blogspot for more intellectual stimulation than you might get here.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

On the fiddle

Is it only me ....but this is why we should always listen to a busker.

Last week I came across this story. It is true. And as I thought we could all learn from this, even you, I pass it on unedited, unadorned, unembellished.

A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that 1,100 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

Three minutes went by, and a middle aged man noticed there was musician playing. He slowed his pace, and stopped for a few seconds, and then hurried up to meet his schedule.

A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping, and continued to walk.
A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.

The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tagged him along, hurried, but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally, the mother pushed hard, and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.

In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money, but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the most talented musicians in the world. He had just played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, on a violin worth $3.5 million dollars.

Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theatre in Boston where the seats averaged $100.

This is a real story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste, and priorities of people. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: Do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?

Now it might only be me but my lesson from this story-if we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Caffe latte

Is it only me ...but surely man can carry a cup.

The other day I needed a caffeine hit to revive me and to kick start the neurons in my brain lest it went into idle mode...and we would not want that, would we?

As is the case these days you are never far from a coffee boutique on our retail devastated High Streets so it did not take me long before I was placing my order with the Barista and he went through his ritual of pulling and pushing levers and emitting loud blasts of steam. I sometimes think that a Barista is just a fancy continental name for a stoker.

And once we had gone through the coffee making ritual I was presented with a warm cup of the caffeine nectar. Bliss.

‘No need to put the lid on’, I said helpfully, ‘I need to add milk.’
‘Sorry’, came the reply, ‘we have to apply the lid....’ and then came the kicker ‘.........its health and safety.’

At this statement enough steam was coming from my ears to steam heat the Coffee Stoker’s milk for the rest of the week. And it was only Monday!

So even though I was feet away from the station where the milk was kept, we could not be trusted enough by the Health and Safety Gualeiters, despite millions of years of evolution, homo sapiens is not considered capable of walking as bipeds small and even reasonably long distances while carrying hot liquids without spilling said liquid. These people have a lot to answer for.

I really do not understand why the Health and Safety Gauleiters insist in turning every mundane task into a bureaucratic assault course of regulatory red tape and even the simplest of activity is seen as a threat to life and limb. I sometimes wonder how I got to my advanced age despite the health and safety risks that seemingly I am increasingly being exposed to.

Now it might only be me but once and for all it is time to take a stance against these fascists. They are bullies, pure and simple, and they lurk in the corners of every business. Too often we are afraid of incurring their wrath lest they take action to close us down and thereby we hang on every one of their pronouncements as if they were religious Fatwas or codicils to the Ten Commandments. These people may be zealots but like all bullies they don’t like it when people stand up to them.

Every day of the week most of us, excluding the Health and Safety Gaulieters naturally and their disciples, will successfully manage to carry a cup of coffee from point A to point B without the need for a lid. I am assuming that most of us will do this in our homes at the very least. We will not spill it. We will not cause an accident. We will reach our end destination with all limbs intact. This is maybe something that those who work in the Health and Safety Industry should realise though to combine ‘Health and Safety’ with ‘Industry’ is clearly an oxymoron.

Their job is to advise and it is our job to consider and quantify the likelihood of said risk occurring and to make sensible and common sense judgements on how we should respond. We have common sense, the Gaulieters don’t.

To the Gaulieters I say, advise. To everyone else, I say decide. Believe me their words should not be taken as gospel. Now can I please have a coffee with milk?

Have a great (and safe) week. And for more considered conversation check out this week’s thoughtful piece at www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com.


Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Roadworks ahead

Is it only me...but why can’t I just have my money back?

Have you noticed how many roads are being dug up at the moment? Round where I live it seems like that every road is under construction. And no matter where I seem be going my progress is hindered by temporary traffic lights, road closures and narrow lanes. Motorways, A and B roads, streets, roads, closes, crescents and avenues are all blighted by workmen leaning on shovels and picks.

I thought that maybe in this year of the Olympics we were also hosting the World Road Digging Championships or maybe a Guinness World Record attempt or something.

But no, it seems the answer is maybe a wee bit more prosaic and also stupid at the same time.

For in conversation at the weekend with a Local Authority Apparatchik whom I’m proud to call a friend, it was revealed to me, and this was done without me having to resort to the provisions of the Freedom of Information Act, that roads were being dug up and taxpayers’ journeys disrupted, not for the common good as might have been supposed, but because the Apparatchiks had money left over as they approached the year end and that consequently the money needed spent.

No it doesn’t.

It might only be me but the money doesn’t need to be spent if it is not needed to be spent. I know that Apparatchiks, whether working for local or central government, and addicted as they are to spending other people’s money,cannot see this but it is possible to give the money back or take less from us in the following and subsequent years.

Listen very carefully, I shall say this only once....you do not need to spend my money just because it’s there.

And nor should you base subsequent budgets on what you spent the previous year plus a bit-another reason for spending on unnecessary road works and other stuff being rushed through in the dying days of a financial year.

Have you never heard of zero based budgeting? It is what those of us who are busy creating value each day do when we set budgets. Maybe the Apparatchiks should try it though heaven forbid they should take lessons from the likes of us. Methinks they would rather cut off their arms with a pen knife before they learn from us.

But maybe if they did we wouldn’t have half the country dug up at the same time. It’s just a thought.

Have a great week.

And if these words have got your brain cells working and you want more try www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com for more. Check out ‘Have I got news for you?’.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Our tune

Is it only me...but I thought this was our tune not yours.

Do you remember Simon Bates and ‘Our tune’?

Every day Simon Bates would play some piece of music special to one of his listeners backed by a story which would tear at the heart strings, play with the tear ducts and rip your hair out. It pandered to the worst emotions of the British psyche. I am sure that around the country some folks would be left blubbing around their radios once Simon had spun his daily yarn of pathos and invited all of us to share someone else's emotions and sad moments.

I was reminded of Dear Old Simon while watching the rugby fest at the weekend.

As is the norm, between the players entering the arena and prior to the ball being hoofed skyward to indicate that battle has commenced, the players line up as their National Anthem is played. The Scots warble of the time they sent someone called Edward back home to think again; the Welsh gloriously celebrate the land of their dads; while the Irish not content with one tune have two to croak their way through-one about a soldier and one which is far as I can tell just bellows out the name of their country. And God knows what it is the Italians are singing about.

And have you ever considered this-as individuals most in the crowd will be rank bad singers but collectively the sound is normally wonderfully with perfect pitch and tone. Why is this?

But back to Simon Bates.

As the notes from the song about the Welsh and their dads died away I was most miffed to hear the announcer in the arena that is ‘Twickers’ announce that next up would be the English National Anthem. Sadly this was not a new song but a request for God to give Betty a long and happy life.

Now this might only be me but unless I missed something I thought that this song belonged to all of us who live on this green and sceptered isle and that wee sliver of land that Betty rules over that is badly located on Erin’s isle. It is not England’s National Anthem but our National Anthem.

I know the English have through the centuries got form when it comes to appropriating stuff that doesn’t belong to them-India, a lot of Africa and Scotland for starters. I did think though that, in the words that we Scots sing, ‘these days were past now and in the past they must remain.’

Clearly not.

And so if I may be so bold to make a suggestion to all those living to the south of the Wall of Hadrian and to the east of the Dyke of Offa, get your own song. I’m sure Cliff Richard or Andrew Lloyd Webber or even Adele might be able to knock something off in a spare half hour or so that you could warble to your hearts’ content.

Alternatively you could just set us all free and then you could have Betty and her song all to yourself.

In the meantime stop calling it England’s National Anthem.

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

This is interesting...

Is it only me...but the Tax Apparatchiks didn’t need to do this.

One day last week I got home to find a letter from the Her Maj’s Tax Apparatchiks awaiting my return from a hard day at the coal face trying to earn enough money to pay my taxes to keep this country afloat and awash with hospitals, schools and benefit payments. It was therefore with a sense of trepidation, fear and concern that I opened the letter from Her Maj’s people.

Surely they don’t want more bawbees from me was my instinctive response? Have I not yet fully paid for the local hospital I never use? How many more Apparatchiks’ pensions must I now fund?

You can therefore imagine my delight, pleasure and surprise to be informed that instead of me giving yet more of my hard earned money to the Two Caesars and their legions of Apparatchiks, it had been decided that they owed me. It wasn’t much but in these straightened times every little helps and in my mind I am far better positioned to spend my money more efficiently than some cosseted Apparatchik.

I was a little puzzled as to why I deserved such largesse especially as I was sure that dealings between me and the Tax Apparatchik were all square. You can be assured that I promptly pay every bawbee that I am required by current tax legislation to pay.

And therein lay the problem. I had paid all that was owed promptly. Indeed I had paid too promptly, well in advance of the deadline and therefore I was owed interest.

Now it might only be me but this is an absolute nonsense.

You may have guessed by now that I am not a huge big fan of being deprived of money I have worked hard to earn by whichever lot is in power. (You may have inferred this conclusion by reading between the lines of my writings and musings-and you would be right.)

Notwithstanding this however I do accept the need to pay whatever taxes I am owed and as it suits me to settle up at the earliest opportunity that is what I do. I do not expect to be recompensed or incentivised for doing this. If I wish to pay early then surely all should applaud that-at least it means we don’t have to go cap and hand to borrow from the Chinese to pay for our schools, hospitals, pensions and benefits.

And we also have the rule of double jeopardy at work here-I get some money unexpectedly back and the Apparatchiks have to spend even more money calculating, raising and processing the refund which would far outstrip the face value of the cheque, given the cost of Apparatchiks these days.

No, the money would have been better spent reducing the cost of the National Debt rather than giving me the liquid funds to buy a coffee.
But I did keep the money! Even though this is a national scandal.

Have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

This land is my land

Is it only me...but I think it’s time to set my people free.

As has been said many times before I originate from north of the Wall of Hadrian and because of this one question has dominated conversation with friends and foes in recent weeks-will I vote for independence?

And so this week I want to set everyone’s mind at rest for once and all and broadcast quite clearly my intent. No doubt this shot will be heard around the world just like the one fired at Lexington that triggered the American War of Independence.

I must point one thing out though- as a long term resident of the land to the south of the Wall of Hadrian I will not have a vote in the forthcoming electoral contest despite being as Scottish as haggis and clootie dumpling. There is a therefore a risk that should my fellow country people vote yes and send the Two Caesars homewards to think again, I face the prospect of being effectively stateless. It also means that my considered thoughts and views on the Scots right to self-determination are hypothetical.

And so to answer the question. And just like Meg Ryan in ‘When Harry met Sally’ my answer has to be ‘yes...Yes...YES!’

Now that might come as a surprise to you that I would advocate that the lands north of the Wall of Hadrian should be set free but why shouldn’t they be if that is what the people really really want and I believe that they should want this.

It is a heart thing and not a head thing though there are no doubt plenty of good reasons why we as a nation can stand alone, after all there are many countries smaller than us and with fewer resources who manage perfectly well to stand on their own two feet.

But more importantly we are a nation with a clear and separate identity and with many of the instruments of nationhood. We have a proud and independent history. We are awash in natural resources. We have a highly educated people despite the best efforts of Westminster to ruin this. We have our own church; our own laws, legal system and approach to jurisprudence; and most importantly a distinctive and idiosyncratic culinary experience.

So why should we not seek independent nationhood?

It might only be me but I do find it a certain irony that the Two Caesars are prepared to send Betty’s grandson, William, and our latest piece of naval hardware, half way round the world to defend the right of the Penguins in the South Atlantic to remain British and to uphold the principle of self-determination, and yet when it comes to the peoples of Scotland while we can have self-determination it will be on London’s terms. Could it be something to do with oil? I wonder.

Or maybe it is all about water given that the Scots are up their oxters in stuff while the pampered English in the south east are squealing about droughts. Maybe they should look at the Horn of Africa to see what a drought really looks like.

It is also worth mentioning that by making it difficult for the Scots to exercise their rights the Two Caesars are coming close to flouting international law. I wonder if they know that article 15 of the UN Declaration of Human Rights guarantees that everyone has the right to a nationality and that no one should be arbitrarily deprived of a nationality or denied the right to change nationality. Do you think I should tell them?

But no matter what I think, I hae ma doobts if we will say aye to the chance to run oor ain affairs.

Have a great week.

And if you want to know why tight briefs are preferable to big briefs check out The Marketing Comic at www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com. Go on, you know you want to.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Playing the blues

Is it only me....but even Blue Noses need to pay their taxes.

Now as you might know I originally come from a Celtic Northern Tribe living far to the north of The Wall of Hadrian, from a city dominated by its soccer teams, the Hoops or the Bhoys and the Gers, whose supporters are known affectionally as Blue Noses.

It is important to state for readers of these words, and for those north of the Wall of Hadrian these things are important, that by birth, pedigree and inclination I am a Blue Nose though these days I am a Blue Nose Lite with strong liberal tendencies which is a contradiction in terms to the Blue Nose Taliban.

And for the education of others bemused by what I am talking about, you can never be a Blue Nose or a Bhoy. You have to choose at birth and stick with it. And for many, birth chooses you as a Bhoy or Blue Nose. I hope you following this.

But moving on.

It will not have escaped your attention that in recent days the Gers, or Rangers FC to give them their Sunday name, has gone into administration owing a significant sum of money, and we are talking many millions here, to the Tax Apparatchiks.

This is big bad news. Not just for all who play for and work at the Gers; not just for the legions of Blue Noses worldwide spread like a contagion by the Diaspora to every far flung corner of the world; not just for Scottish football which requires the Gers and the Bhoys to be strong and powerful to keep the money flowing in to support every man, woman, boy and girl who plays the game north of the border; but for the very psyche of the Scots people as it approaches the 700th Anniversary of Bannockburn when it sent the English hordes back home to think again and as it stands on the threshold of independence.

You think I’m kidding.

It is said that the first devolution vote was lost in 1979 because of the damage to our psyche, whatever that might be, caused by the dismal failure of Ally McLeod and his team of Scottish football no hopers to bring home the World Cup from Argentina in 1978. Soccer is that big a deal to us.

Now clearly the Gers could have avoided their wee problem with the Tax Apparatchiks by buying them lunch as some banks and mobile phone companies are alleged to have done. Either the situation was so dire that the Gers did not even have enough loose change or luncheon vouchers lying around to run to lunch; or the Head Tax Apparatchik was a Bhoys fan and hell would have to freeze over before he would be seen tucking in with a Blue Nose.

I have not heard this claimed yet but it won’t be long before we hear a Blue Nose blubbing and greeting (which means crying not saying hello) that his beloved Gers has been made bust for sectarian reasons. And I wouldn’t bet against the religious beliefs of the key Tax Apparatchiks being investigated. Let us hope and pray they are Jewish.

I have however started to hear a few bleeding heart commentators and politicians start to claim special case status for the Gers and requesting that the Tax Apparatchiks go easy on them.

Now it might only be me but this is wrong. Day in, day out the Tax Apparatchiks are taking businesses of all shapes and sizes to court for not paying their tax bills and for taking steps to evade, not avoid, tax. And every day as a result businesses either write large cheques which pays for our schools, hospitals and Apparatchik pensions, or they go bust. And every time a company goes bust there is a human dimension.

It is no different for the Gers. And nor should it have been any different for Vodafone, Goldman Sachs and anyone else who escaped paying their due tax in return for lunch. Just because you employ 11 men who kick a ball around every Saturday does not give you special exemption. After all our schools, hospitals and Apparatchik pensions still need to be paid.

It will be a tragedy if the long history of the Gers should end, in the words of T S Elliott, ‘not with a bang but with a whimper’ but we can’t keep on making special cases. Every case is special to someone. And there is no way that chasing a ball can be deemed a special case.

If there is anyone out there who thinks otherwise please let me know.

And to every Blue Nose out there, and remember before you send the boys round, that includes me, have a great week.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.

Blowing hot and cold

Is it only me...but it seems I might have been right all along.

Devoted readers of my wit and wisdom will know that I am an ardent critic of the causes of Wonky Weather, better known as global warming by eco-and enviro-mentalists who themselves rebranded their spurious science to climate change to explain away freezing winters.

For years these doomsayers have controlled just about every agenda going with their doomsayer pronouncements and apocalyptic warnings of droughts, crop failures, rising sea waters and the loss of ice floes for the polar bear. And they were taken seriously. Unbelievable, I know.

Now it seems they were wrong and I might have been right, though of course this is not a time for intellectual superiority or patrician gloating. And for this point of view I have for once got the best of impeccable sources.

You might not have come across my proof given the stranglehold that the Wonky Weather deniers and the eco and enviro-mentalists have on mainstream media around the globe forbidding and limiting any discussion of alternative points of view. It is therefore my public duty to bring this new knowledge to a wider and more informed audience. This means you.

New research based on Met Office data, so it must be authoritative, has proved without a scintilla of doubt that global temperatures, despite the introduction of wheelie bins, more expensive air travel and charges for carrier bags, have remained flat since 1997. Indeed it now seems that global temperatures have risen by the meagre 0.4C in last 30 years. Not much is it?

And, if more proof was needed, a bunch of scientists wrote to the Wall St Journal pointing out that ‘computer models have greatly exaggerated how much warming additional CO2 can cause’.

In other words global warming or climate change is a myth and is nothing more than Wonky Weather as I have repeatedly pointed out for as long as I have been crafting these words.

Maybe M&S might now give us back all the 5ps they have taken from us all over the years in name of global warming given that the eco-mentalists have been shown to be a bunch of empty shirts. Do you think they will? No neither do I.

It might only be me but maybe this will put an end to the development of public and social policy aiming to fix Wonk Weather on basis of spurious unfounded and plain wrong science. As I have said all along Wonky Weather cannot be controlled. It just happens.

Before William the Conqueror landed on these shores we had a king called Ethelred who in a very public demonstration of his powerlessness proved that he could not control the waves. Now the latest research from the weathermen proves that we cannot control Wonky Weather by getting us to pay more to fly, to drive our cars, dump our rubbish and even to carry our food home from the shops. Green taxes have or will do nothing for Wonky Weather. Best we stop pretending it will.

Have a great week.

And if you interested in reading a love story for our times, check out www.themarketingcomic.blogspot.com.

Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.