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.