Diggerland June 11

Diggerland June 11, a set on Flickr.

Diggerland trip for Hannah's birthday. If you haven't been, you should (Rochester in Kent and elsewhere around the UK).

Confession

It's Saturday evening and if I were religious I might be preparing a confession.

I'm not religious but here's a confession anyway.

To the owner of the Seat parked outside my house, registration number ND07 KUJ, I'm sorry.

I called the police and reported it as abandoned. It was Lesley's fault really.

I'd spotted your car after it had acquired the parking ticket. I noticed that the car stayed there for a few days after the ticket was stuck to the windscreen.

Lesley deliberately bumped into me to discuss the car, suggesting I should report it.

I'm easily led and, after inspecting the car (6 month tax disc expiring at the end of the month and some collision damage on the driver's side), I called the local bobby who was a woman. What's the feminine of bobby or is it just bobby?

Nothing has happened. There's been no activity to slap an offensive "POLICE AWARE" sticker on the vehicle so I assume it's not stolen or abandoned.

And I bumped into Patrick. He'd also reported it, but to the Council, who have equally taken no action. Do the Council call the Police? Who should be notified? Where should nosey neighbours turn when their inner Neighbourhood watch emerges?

Patrick had the best idea. We should phone webuyanycar.com and make a bit of money. Now there's a thought.

Stupid design

I sometimes take pills.

Sometimes they're the compressed powder ones (like Paracetamol or Aspirin), sometimes they are the sugar coated ones (like Ibuprofen) and sometimes they are the caplets (made up word) (like Co-codamol or Fluoxetine).  (Haven't taken Fluoxetine for a while although I keep threatening to.)

The compressed powder tablets are disgusting and dry and have to be taken with water.

The sugar coated ones are yummy but only if quickly swallowed with water because as soon as that sugar coating wears off you're left with the foul taste of the drug.

The plastic caplet things are the worst by far.  In the first instance they are usually huge (except Fluoxetine which was quite modest in size).  The dumb thing about these is that they also need to be taken with water but they float.  They float!!!

You pop a caplet in your mouth and add some water and the damn caplet is floating on top of the water in your mouth and when it's floating it's further away from where it needs to be which is the throat.  All of this means that it's harder to take the medicine to the point that the caplet starts to dissolve.  And that's just gross.  You're left panicking and desperate to swallow the drugs.

Anyway all of this explains why I actually (madness and toothache apart) try and avoid pill popping.

The ultimate strapless bra

Strapless bras are generally useless.  I've lost track of the number I've bought and discarded soon after because they simply don't work.

The first issue is that generally, in order to provide support that isn't there because of the lack of straps, they are very substantial.  This means that a low neckline can't be accommodated.

Some strapless bras are constructed of such heavyweight materials, in an attempt to provide support, that they don't mould to the body and the wearer spends all day hoiking the bra back in place.

Then there are the multiway bras which are the worst of all strapless bras.  As a bra worn with straps they are overly bulky and cumbersome and as a strapless bra they usually lack shape and support.

Wonderbra has the answer and they call it the Ultimate Strapless Bra.

I've used it, more than once, and it is, quite simply, brilliant and well worth the money (about £34).

The first this that impressed me was its ability to stay in place.  All day.  Once it's on, that's it until you, or someone else, decides it needs to come off.  And it's as comfortable as any other bra but so much better than any other strapless bra I have ever bought.

The second thing is that it can be worn with low top.  It sits quite low which means that the dip at the cleavage point is quite low.

The last thing is either a plus point or a negative depending upon your point of view.  It enhances cleavage.  I don't need or want that and I think it makes me look like a matron but there are plenty of cleavage enhancing bras on the market which tells me there's a demand.  As far as I'm concerned it's a disadvantage I'm happy to live with and I know others will see it as a bonus.

A new use for Twitter

Today I took several of Hannah's friends off to Diggerland.

I understand that when someone else is taking your child somewhere there's some nervousness on the part of the parent.  You want to know your child is safe and having fun.

I could have texted parents regularly.  I could have tweeted our progress using my usual Twitter account but the tweets would have been meaningless and overly numerous for people who follow that account.  So I decided to set up an event Twitter account.

The Twitter account @260611 was created for today.  To follow it parents didn't need to set up a Twitter account they could just go straight to twitter.com/260611.

This provided, almost, real time reporting of activity, except where I needed my hands for driving or eating or whatever.

As well as reassurance for parents it provides the children with a record of the day.

The only issue was relying on the 3G network to upload images.  This was suboptimal but not a project killer.  And the next time I need a similar facility I just need to change the account name.

Root canal myth buster

Scary isn't it?  You're recoiling at the thought.  You're perhaps imagining pain travelling like electricity along nerves, causing the worst pain imaginable.

Well I've been there, and I have a few myths to bust.

This morning I went to the dentist with a dental abscess.  I'd obviously googled the condition and after reading the words "can be fatal" and "should see dentist as soon as possible" I was outside the dental surgery at 8:00am this morning to obtain an emergency appointment at 8:50am.

The dentist had a quick look, took three x-rays (that's what the bill said but I swear he only took one), and told me I needed a root canal treatment.

I broke out into a cold sweat and adrenalin coursed through my veins.  The flight response was stronger than the fight response but my body was definitely responding to a threat.

I asked the dentist lots of questions and he told me he was going to drill a hole in the back of the tooth, put some antibiotics in the drilled hole (despite the fact I'd already started a course of antibiotics) and then apply a temporary filling.

I asked if he was going to give me an anaesthetic injection (because those can really hurt) and he said "No" which worried me.  He explained the nerve was dead and I wouldn't feel a thing.

I was unbelievably nervous. Root canal treatment has a bad reputation, but today I discovered that, if the nerve has died, then root canal treatment is painless and really quick.

Granted my body was full of adrenalin and that natural inbuilt pain relief wore off after about an hour, but a dose of Nurofen was all it took to put me back into a pain-free state.

I was at work by 9:20am.  I certainly didn't expect that.

So if your dentist uses the words root canal treatment, don't panic.  It'll be OK*.

 

*providing the nerve is dead

The NHS is sick

On Thursday I needed a doctor's appointment.  I thought I was suffering from Bruxism and was controlling the resultant pain with painkillers which was proving to be a moderately successful strategy.  When I was told my doctor wasn't available until Tuesday I thought I could wait and manage with painkillers until the appointment.

On Saturday I reached a point where the painkillers were no longer working, the pain was intense and I needed help.

It wasn't an emergency because I hadn't broken anything and I wasn't going to die so A&E was out of the question.  I didn't want to trouble an out of hours doctor who might be on call so, in tears, I drove to the local Community Hospital.  There was a sign pointing to the side of the building for the Out of Hours service.  I went though the doors and was met with advice to use antibac gel to keep germs at bay.  There was no gel dispenser to be seen.

The Out of Hours service seemed to be through doors that were locked.  There was a sign on the door stating that it was a wheelchair and ambulance access only and all others were to use the main entrance.  I walked, in tears and in the rain, round to the main entrance to find that was also locked.  A security chap poked his head through a window and when I explained what I was looking for he pointed me in the direction of the doors I'd tried initially.  I walked, frustrated, in tears and in the rain, back to the first set of doors and used the intercom.

I was asked what I wanted and I explained.  I was asked whether I had an appointment and when I said "No." I was told I needed to call my doctor to get an appointment.  He offered to come out and explain.

In tears and very frustrated and called my doctor and handed over my details for an appointment at the Out of Hours doctor based at the Community Hospital.  I was told I'd get a call.

The chap at the hospital came to find me mid call to the Out of Hours service and let me in.  He explained my details needed to come through on the system before I could see the doctor.  I could tell he thought I was a case deserving pity and I heard him talking to someone in an office who needed to know I was already there and in a lot of pain.  He was right, by the way, I was pitiful.

About a minute later my details popped through onto the hospital system and I was in seeing the doctor with the bad body odour.  The BO is immaterial but when you're in pain and want to get better being overpowered by BO isn't great.

He told me he didn't think it was an abscess (which was the result of my own self-diagnosis) but he wrote me a prescription for antibiotics anyway.  He told me I needed to see a dentist.  You see if it was an abscess then I would need to see a dentist but bruxism is caused by mental health factors which can't be fixed by a dentist.  It probably can't be fixed by a doctor either but he has more of a chance of knowing what needs doing.

I asked if there was an out of hours dental service and he laughed and said getting to see a dentist was a nightmare.  He told me that if I turned up at A&E they might have a dentist on duty.  This wasn't overly reassuring.

I left, having had no sight of any antibac gel, with a useless prescription and a growing sense of despair.

I still have pain.  The painkillers are barely touching the surface.

I'm off to see Derren Brown tonight.  You might think I'm mad but distraction is a good cure for pain.  Additionally there is just a tiny bit of me that is hoping that Derren might somehow hypnotise me and make the pain go away.  This may seem like clutching at straws and you'd be right, but sometime straws are the only things left.

Orange and date muffins and indignant rage

I made these the other day because I needed to make something and happened to have both oranges and dates in the house.

I was feeling guilty about not having baked anything for the School Sports Day cake sale so, in the small window of time I have on Thursdays between leaving work and doing the school run, I got baking.
I took these, fresh from the oven to the school office.  I went to the Infant School office first and was met with a blank look.  They weren't expecting any bakes but wanted a quick peek to see what I'd made.  Freshly baked orange and date muffin aroma filled the office and was quickly followed by the request for a sample.  We agreed I ought to check the Junior School office.
As I handed over my wares to the Junior School office they said "Thanks.  If it's rained off can we have these in the staff room?"
What would you have said?  I used a small window of time in a busy week to bake muffins for a cake sale to raise funds for the school and the office staff fancied diverting them to the staffroom.  What I thought and what I said differed.  What I said, through gritted teeth, was "Only if you give some money to charity."
Anyway, Sports Day was rained off but the cake sale went ahead. My indignant rage wasn't required.
But we digress.  Easy peasy orange and date muffins.
Ingredients

• 280g plain flour
• 1 1/2 baking powder
• 1/2 soda bicarbonate
• pinch of salt
• 110g sugar (caster or granulated)
• 1 egg
• 4 tsps of orange rind, roughly what you'd get from two large oranges
• 180ml orange juice (from the grated oranges and topped up with stuff from a carton)
• 90ml corn oil
• 85g chopped dates (I used posh medjool dates but only because they were in the fridge taking up space and needed eating/cooking.  I'm sure any dates would be just fine.)

Optional, but oh so sticky and gooey, glaze

• 85g icing sugar
• 4 tsps orange juice
• 1/4 tsp grated orange rind

Method

• This recipe makes about 11 muffins so pop your muffin cases in your muffin tin and crank the oven up to 160°C.
• In a large bowl stir flour, baking powder soda bicarb, salt and sugar.
• In another bowl, beat egg and add grated rind, juice and oil.
• Pour wet mixture into dry and stir until no dry flour remains.  Add dates in final few strokes.
• Spoon into muffin cases and bake for 20 minutes ish, until they are a lovely golden brown.
• Wile the muffins are baking combine the glaze ingredients and then drizzle over hot muffins when they come out of the oven.
• These muffins freeze well (as I told the lady in the school office.)

Enjoy.

Ginger loaf (with butter icing)

I made this for the first time the other week and it worked first time.  I didn't do the butter icing because it seemed messy and overly complicated for an office bake.  For home consumption where there's time, crockery, cutlery etc and not just cake tins and napkins, then the butter icing might be a nice add.

I have to say it was on a table next to the cherry and pecan muffins and nobody chose the ginger loaf except me.  Their loss.  I thought it was yummy.

Ingredients

• 450g plain flour
• 1 1/2 tsp ground ginger
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
• pinch of salt
• 6 fat knobs of stem ginger in syrup, roughly chopped
• 220g soft brown sugar
• 170g unsalted butter
• 350g golden syrup
• 280ml milk
• 1 egg
• (150g unsalted butter at room temperature and 200g icing sugar for butter icing)

Method

• Grease and line two 900g (large) loaf tins.  This means buttering the tins, lining with baking parchment and buttering the baking parchment.  I hate this part of baking but it is worth the effort.
• Preheat fan oven to 160°C.
• Stir flour, ground ginger, baking powder, bicarb and salt.  Add chopped ginger and stir again.
• Tip butter, sugar and golden syrup into a saucepan and warm through.  It helps to chop the butter and you are warming everything through, not cooking it.  You just need to get it to the point where the syrup is running.
• Remove from heat and stir in milk and then lightly beat in the egg.
• Tip this wet mixture into the dry ingredients and beat until well mixed.
• Pour mixture into the two tins and bake for 60-70 minutes until a skewer can be inserted and removed and remain clean.  If, during cooking, you are concerned that the top is getting too brown, then loosely cover with foil.
• If you fancy making butter icing as an accompaniment then beat the butter at room temperature until light and fluffy and then beat in the icing sugar.

 

 

Cherry and Pecan Muffins

Makes 10-12 muffins

Ingredients

• 250g plain flour
• 3 tsps baking powder
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 85g sugar (caster or granulated)
• 1 egg
• 240ml milk
• 90ml corn oil
• 110g chopped glacé cherries
• 60g chopped pecans (you can use walnuts if you want to)

Method

• Put muffin cases in muffin tin
• Preheat oven to 160°C if fan oven.
• In a large bowl stir flour, salt, baking powder and sugar.  You can sift the flour if you really want to (I don't think it makes much of a difference).
• In a separate bowl beat egg with a fork.  Stir in milk, oil and cherries.
• Pour liquid ingredients into dry and stir until just combined.  Add the chopped walnuts during the last few strokes.
• Spoon into muffin cases and pop in the oven for 20 minutes.  Our oven doesn't cook evenly so at 17 minutes I turn the muffin tin through 180 degrees.  At 20 minutes if they look like they need a couple of extra minutes then leave the muffins in for a little longer.
• These muffins freeze well and a 30 second blast of a frozen muffin in the microwave makes it the perfect accompaniment to a cup of coffee.

Windows scam

I received a telephone call from a scam artist yesterday and I thought I'd share the experience because, although I figured out what was going on, I think it would be useful to let you know what to avoid.

The call is from 24seven PC Care who are (NOT) a Microsoft partner.  It's an Indian accent you'll hear and the person who calls you is based in Manchester (NOT).

If you have caller id then the number may show as 0123456789 but when you ask your caller they'll explain that's because they're using VOIP, except they don't call it VOIP because they assume you're an idiot.  I have no idea whether they used VOIP.

Normally with this type of call I string them along for a bit and then end the call.  I did start by doing that but we had just recently bought some Windows software.  Whilst I started as an extreme sceptic I did start to wonder if the call was valid.

My caller had an Indian accent, and because so many companies have call centres in India I wasn't surprised by the accent.  I was surprised when he said he was based in Manchester, and gave me a Manchester telephone number 0161 408 4448.   Clearly an Indian accent in Manchester isn't impossible but this individual was so difficult to understand I was amazed he'd passed any interview for a job in a call centre.  And he said his name was Michael Davies.  Again this isn't impossible for someone in Manchester with a heavy Indian accent, but it is unlikely.

As the call was just a conversation I decided to give the caller the benefit of the doubt to the point of switching on the PC and following some simple instructions.  I knew that nothing I was doing was changing anything on my machine.  I can't recall what I was looking at, it's in a convoluted menu area that you wouldn't normally access.  The point of this exercise was to persuade me that my PC was infected by a virus.

Once I was wondering whether my machine really was infected I was told to go to the following web address: www.24sevenpccare.com.  I didn't, and neither should you.  At this point I said I was going to leave the call and check the credentials of the company and my caller.

The caller then became quite agitated and insisted he was trying to help me.  He told me it was clear I didn't know anything about computers and my computer was dangerously infected.  I told him he was rude and aggressive and that, if the call was legitimate he'd have no problem with me ending the call, checking credentials and calling back.  And then I put the phone down.

And then I googled "24sevenpccare scam" and found a plethora of information.  You can find it too, here.

 

Ryan's Daughter

This isn't a blog about a film starring Robert Mitchum, it's about a different Ryan and his daughter Liberty, son Zachary and wife Stacey. It's about the Welsh dragon Ryan Giggs and the very messy super injunction.

I've been thinking about why Giggs has continued to try and prevent this story entering the public domain and it might be because of his wife.

Imagine what's been going on in the Giggs household.

Ryan knows he's been found out and he knows he needs to tell his wife before she finds out from somewhere else. She can't bear the thought of the loss of face.

She wants to try and preserve the marriage but she can't bear the thought of the tabloid press and gossip magazines splashing this salacious tittle tattle all over their front pages, especially as she and Ryan are trying to patch things up.

Or maybe I'm wrong and Giggs has been so stupid that he's honestly felt that a super injunction can prevent his wife from finding out about his indiscretion.

Charity

My donations to charity fall into several categories: large one-off donations, regular direct debit, sponsorship and small adhoc donations.  I like to choose the charities that will receive my money in my own time and I don't like the so-called chuggers who approach you in the street, tell you about a terrible injustice somewhere in the world, and then ask you to sign up for a direct debit benefiting the charity for whom they work.

I understand why charities want people to sign up for direct debits.  Once you've signed up it's a pretty much guaranteed regular income with no more effort or resource on the part of the charity fundraising department.

But chugging is intrusive and it has a very negative approach that requires that the victim feel guilty.  Giving to charity should be something that is done willingly without coercion and it should be something that makes the giver feel good.  Channel 4's Secret Millionaire programme highlights very well how giving is good for the soul.

Earlier this year I made a large donation to UNICEF.  I'm sure the money will be put to good use.

Today I received a call from UNICEF.  They were grovelingly grateful for my donation which made me feel uncomfortable.  The tone of the conversation was deferential which I don't like.  I prefer conversations that are on an even footing and have balance.

The call then turned into a telephone chugging that involved asking me to sign up for a direct debit after telling me about the paucity of childhood vaccinations in third world countries.

I've signed up to the telephone preference service at home because I don't like uninvited intrusion into my home life.  I despise the High Street chugging activity and was very unimpressed that UNICEF choose to spend money on telephone chugging existing supporters in their own homes.

So UNICEF, if you're listening, please spend time on researching and profiling your supporters because if you carry on approaching supporters inappropriately you will tarnish your brand image which is likely to lead to less support in the future.

Speed Awareness Course - Part 2

The course was scheduled for four and a half hours in Aylesford Rugby Club.

Gratuitous shot of rugby players from Aylesford Rugby Club:

Anyway it's not quite the venue I imagined for a Speed Awareness Course but the venue was as unexpected as the offender list.  Speeders, it seems, are young, old, very old, male, female, white collar, blue collar, unemployed.

So what does a Speed Awareness Course cover?  Well I think that depends on the course provider and the area that the course is in.  So anything you read here applies to rugby clubs in Kent.

The first thing we did was write our names on the tent cards on our table.  The joker on our table wrote his name as "Speedy".  How we laughed.

The second thing we did was a bit of an ice breaker.  In groups we had to identify some road signs.  This served to highlight the general ignorance in the room.  I didn't find my own ignorance too surprising as the Highway Code is a book I haven't opened for a lot of years, and actually I knew more than the rest of my group, but still not enough.

There then followed a similar exercise in which we had to identify the speed limit for different roads without the aid of visual stimulus.  I got into a bit of an argument then because the instructor told us that Transit vans weren't one tonne vans.  I said they were available as one and two tonne vans.  I almost started to go into wheelbase and drive options but realised I was there to learn.  (She was wrong, I think).

The rest of the course is a bit of a blur.  I sort of started to lose interest when they stopped testing us.  We were forced to watch one of those hideous adverts promoting the message "Think! Kill your speed."  There then followed extended over-analysis of the video and some pseudo role play in which we assumed the role of the characters in the film.  I mean I love am dram and did Drama 'O' Level but in a room of adults that don't want to know one another and who only have "being naughty" in common, it's just inappropriate.

I think we were treated to some road casualty stats that I already knew and then we did some defensive driver classroom training which isn't a patch on defensive driver training in a car.

Did I mention I walked out with a new copy of the Highway Code and a pen.  I didn't steal these, they were being given away.  I'm not a criminal.

Speed Awareness Course - Part 1

I took part in the new Ford Focus launch in February.  It took place "oop north" near Rotherham, based at the Magna Science Centre.

The day was structured with classroom sessions around a drive section.  The drive followed a predefined route that was followed with a clever thingy that used GPS and the car's speakers to tell me about the features of the vehicle and give me directions.

Before the drive we were paired up for the drive and received a safety briefing that reminded us not to speed.  We were told there were speed cameras en route and the police had been advised of our route specifically.

I wasn't worried as I had no intention of speeding.

My drive partner drove the first half of the route and after an extended halfway break I took over the driving.  At this point I was having a conversation, driving an unfamiliar car, listening to a description of vehicle features and also driving instructions and directions.  I was of course also paying attention to speed limits.

It was a good day and the new Ford Focus is very impressive.  I think it might be my next car, in Candy Red.

Anyway, two weeks later I received details of a speeding ticket.  I knew it couldn't possibly be mine so I queried the time of the ticket.  It tallied with the time I was driving.  I asked whether there was a photo and was told that there was but it wouldn't show who was driving.

I even went as far as trying to re-drive the route using Google Streetview to spot speed limit signs because I was so convinced I hadn't exceeded the speed limit.  As  didn't know the area well this last desperate attempt proved to be futile as it was too difficult to recall the route and "drive" it online.

Either South Yorkshire Police had screwed up, or I had.  Respect for authority and an acknowledgment of my fallibility meant I completed the paperwork that acknowledged my guilt.  Guilty of travelling at 36mph in a 30mph limit (except I still think it must have been a 40mph limit).

I was offered the option of a Speed Awareness Course at a cost of £80 and no points or I could take the three points and pay a £60 fine.  I opted for the former.

After explaining that a course in Rotherham wasn't that convenient I was offered a course in Kent.  The admin involved in booking the course was quite painful and frustrating.  Despite completing a form with my details and returning it I received a confirmation addressed to the wrong person and with the wrong offence date.  The name was a small mistake, but if you're doing this because of an offence it's important the details are correct.  The offence date error wasn't an error at all, simply the only way the Kent system could process my information.  I was told "not to worry" but I wasn't very comfortable.  In the future would someone understand that the Kent system doesn't work properly and doesn't always have a record of the correct offence date?  After several telephone calls with perhaps the most patronising man ever, I gave up and paid my money.

A few months later I went on the course...

 

Hannah's sandals

This is perhaps not my most inspiring blog title.  Perhaps I could do better, but maybe there's a reason I'm not giving it 100%.  Maybe the subject has drained my imagination.

I bought Hannah some sandals on May 1st and yesterday, May 11th, they broke.  Hannah had to walk from the breakfast club (not at the school) to school wearing sandals that she couldn't do up because the buckle prong had fallen off.  Once at school she then had the foresight to change into her P.E. trainers and spent the rest of the school day wearing them.

Today Hannah was back wearing black shoes to school and this afternoon I traipsed into town with offending sandals.

There was an assistant at the checkout.  Initially she seemed preoccupied because she didn't acknowledge me.  I took the sandals and receipt out of the bag and placed them on the counter.

Eventually I was greeted with eye contact.  There wasn't an "Hello" or "Can I help you?" so I started the conversation with "Hi.  I bought these less than a fortnight ago and they've broken." and was met with a blunt "Well whaddya wanna do?"  I said I'd like a replacement pair as Hannah didn't have any sandals to wear to school.  She said nothing, peered at the receipt and went off to the stock room.

When she returned I discovered I'd have to order a replacement pair.  As she went through the re-ordering process there was a lot of mumbling and grumbling about how slow and unresponsive the system was.  This noise wasn't directed at me but at a colleague, but I couldn't help hear every whinging detail.

She paused to ask me for my address and looked closer at my receipt for some details before giving me the receipt for the order.

I asked for my receipt back and she said "Are you sure?  It's only got shoe cream left on it."  "Actually" I said "there's another pair of sandals on there."  "Oh, really.  I'm sorry, I didn't see that.  Oh well if you want to take that back I'll need your details on here" and she pushed a form under my nose that needed name and address details that I'd already provided for the order.  I pointed out that she already had my details and she said "Well you can always decline but...." and frankly I stopped listening, filled in my details, thanked her and left.

I'm not an expert in retail but the minimum I would expect in these circumstances, if I ran Clarks, would be:

• Customers receive a friendly greeting at the beginning of a conversation.
• If nobody is available to help someone looking for assistance then the customer should be told that someone will be available soon.
• If goods are faulty then the first thing that should happen is that the customer should receive an apology. Then the customer should be offered a replacement or, if this is declined, a refund.
• If an order is necessary to provide a replacement then a customer should only have to provide details once.
• As the customer is leaving they should be thanked for taking the time to bring the item into the shop.

I forgive Clarks for the faulty footwear but I don't forgive sloppy, unwelcoming, unfriendly, lazy customer service.

Come on Clarks.  You can do better.

Local Councils and consultations

The Council are conducting a "Neighbourhood Consultation" about the Brentwood Local Plan.  I knew about this because there was a leaflet that came through the door, probably as a local paper insert.

The leaflet didn't look like something from the council, in fact it looked more like it was promoting a party supply shop.

The "party supply shop" leaflet advised that the Council would be holding public consultations in a variety of places, one of which would be Brentwood High Street, on May 7th.

I turned up today expecting to find enthusiastic Council employees eager to solicit the public's views on Planning policy and potential future development.  What I found was somewhat different.

A gazebo over a table was surrounded by "nice young people" who were both nice and young but not directly employed by the Council.  The Consultation appears to have been outsourced to a group who have run consultations elsewhere and so are very versed in planning policy and how to gather opinion.  What they don't know is Brentwood or anything about the particular planning concerns that are relevant to this area.

The method for obtaining opinion varied depending upon the member of the public with whom they were dealing.  People who knew about the process and the current planning policy were invited to write their thoughts on small post-it notes and this was the category into which I seemed to fall.  Other people who just happened to be passing were encouraged to talk with their views being captured by the nice young folk who were writing on small post-it notes.  None of the ideas on the post-it notes were being attributed to any particular individual.  There was no data capture for future follow up.

I decided this was rather inefficient and asked for an e-mail address so I could send in my extensive thoughts on the matter.  The woman I was talking to looked startled by my request and told me she thought she'd seen one somewhere.  There were some leaflets on display and I suggested that an e-mail address might be there and she "didn't think so."  I looked and there was an e-mail address for further information but it was email@brentwood.gov.uk which is an e-mail address for all manner of general enquiries and perhaps not the best for a targeted consultation.  She then mentioned that there were some questionnaires "somewhere" and, sure enough, after a rummage around under the table she found a questionnaire with all of the information I needed.

If you do want to participate in this consultation, and you do want to have your details attributed to your input, then visit www.brentwood.gov.uk/your neighbourhood. For some strange reason this link is configured such that it won't work without the www.  And you can also e-mail planning.policy@brentwood.gov.uk for more copies of questionnaires or to find out more about the consultation.  There's also a telephone number 01277 312610.

You have until July 1st and by completing a questionnaire you could win £50 of shopping vouchers (there are no terms and conditions that explain which shops so it could be for multiple copies of the Mayor's 2011 calendar, who knows.)  There is also no privacy statement on the form despite the collection of personal data, but perhaps I'm expecting too much of our highly paid Council employees and their even more highly paid consultants.  So you need to be prepared for your details to be sold to the highest bidder....probably double glazing and kitchen salespeople.

I encourage you to get involved and not just via the yellow sticky note process because it's your town and you deserve a say*.

 

 

 

*obviously only your town if you live in Brentwood.

What to do?

At the age of 15 I had a bit of advice from my mum.  She told me that I should start applying moisturiser daily to avoid wrinkles.  I ignored that advice until some point in my twenties and am now a wrinkled old hag.  Moral of the story is listen to your mum because she knows what's best for you.

Hannah has fair skin and, just like her mother, that skin is dry.  Hannah has sore patches on her face where the skin is super dry.  Whenever I go near Hannah with a cream to try and make her better she cowers, flinches and resists.

It's like a phobia.

I've tried persuasion and that hasn't worked.  I've tried all sorts of different creams and that hasn't worked.  When I say hasn't worked, the cream has been fine it's just that I still get the objections.  I've resorted to just telling her what's going to happen and ignoring her remonstrations.

I don't like doing this.  I'd much rather have a willing patient.  Does anyone have advice?

WLTM

Today at work I was asked to write a personal ad.  I've not done that before and I cheated.  On this blog and elsewhere on t'internet I use this to describe myself "Average on the surface, just don't scratch the surface." So I used this and appended it with my Twitter account @a4ann.  I thought it might have some stand and might encourage curiosity.  The Twitter acocunt also provided a way for people to find out more about me and served as a response mechanism.

It was interesting to hear other people's attempts and to see how different mine was.

I wondered whether there were some good examples on the net, and of course there are.  I thought I'd share a few.

Imp and angel. Disembodied head in jar, 24, seeks pixie goddess to fiddle with while Rome burns. You bring marshmallows. No. I make joke. You like laugh? I like comebacks and confessions. Send photo of someone else.

Three toed mango peeler searching for wicked lesbian infielder. Like screaming and marking territory with urine? Let's make banana enchiladas together in my bathtub. You bring the salsa.

I like eating mayonnaise and peanut butter sandwiches in the rain, watching Barney Miller reruns, peeing on birds in the park and licking strangers on the subway; you eat beets raw, have climbed Kilimanjaro, and sweat freely and often. Must wear size five shoes.

Small lumpy squid monkey seeks healthy woman with no identifying scars, any age. Must have all limbs. Recommend appreciation of high-pitched, screeching noises. Must like being bored and lonely. Must not touch the squids, EVER. No tongue.

I am spitting kitty. Ftt Fttttttt. I am angry bear. Grrrrr. I am large watermelon seed stuck in your nose. Zermmmmmmmmmm. I am small biting spider in your underwear. Yub yub yub. No mimes.

Bitter, unsuccessful middle aged loser wallowing in an unending sea of inert, drooping loneliness looking for 24 year old needy leech-like hanger-on to abuse with dull stories, tired sex and Herb Alpert albums. Baby, you are my Tijuana Taxi.

Me -- trying to sleep on the bus station bench, pleading with you to give me a cigarette; you -- choking on my odor, tripping over your purse trying to get away; at the last moment, our eyes meeting. Yours were blue. Can I have a dollar?

There is a little place in the jumbled sock drawer of my heart where you match up all the pairs, throw out the ones with holes in them, and buy me some of those neat dressy ones with the weird black and red geometrical designs on them.

Mmmm, Pez! Rabid Wonder Woman fan looking for someone in satin tights, fighting for our rights and the old red, white 'n blue. You look like Linda Carter? Big plus. Know all words to theme song? Marry me.

Angry, simple-minded, balding, partially blind ex-circus flipper boy with a passion for covering lovers in sour cream and gravy seeks exotic, heavily tattooed piercing fanatic, preferably hairy and stinky, either sex, for whippings, bizarre sex and fashion consulting. No freaks.

Morbidly overweight, seriously competitive computer gamer with creative genius wrt online persona... seeking svelte, kinky sex vixen for impossible fantasy roleplay. Some willingness to assist with basic bodily functions required.

Gentle, middle-aged teddy bear with unfortunate flatulence challenge seeking olfaction-impaired ourdoors girl for good times and possible matrimony. Must enjoy open-air activities and prefer spending time alone as a couple. 

Hey you! Yes you, Snootch Mama! Onto the bike, Beeyotch, grab hold (you know where!) and lets rumble on to the log slide of love to ride the ol skin boat to tuna town. Yah, Baby, you've got male!

Ho hum.

You bitch!

Sometimes I post stuff on Twitter and Facebook and it's not true.  For example I give the impression I drink way more than I actually do.  I'm no saint but I'm not the sinner that I portray.

I can hear you saying "She needs to admit she has a problem.  She's in denial."  Well maybe, but only I know the truth.  Let me give you an insight into a little conversation I had this evening.  I'm paraphrasing because I didn't write this down as it happened.

As I'm opening a bar of chocolate I say to Dave "I might just have a glass of wine."

"You bitch! I was trying to be good."

"Well you don't have to have a glass."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen."

"Well I'd be just as happy with a cup of tea."

"Well I'm not opening a bottle, but if you did....  I'm weak."

"I know."

I didn't.  I didn't need a drink, I just thought a drink might be nice or useful.  I didn't need it and was just as happy with my cup of tea.

But what the conversation did do was affect Dave.  He now wanted a glass/bottle of wine and he didn't want to do the work that he'd persuaded himself he would do tonight.