If the devil were made incarnate, he would drive a bus.

A while ago I was watching a bloke on telly talking about the evils of driving big cars, especially 4 wheel drives.  The general gist of the article was to persuade us all to travel by public transport or to buy a teeny tiny car powered by 3 AA batteries.

And do you know what?

I think I am a convert.

No, please don't be mistaken.  This chap was completely 100% wrong.  He converted me to the idea that driving and especially driving big cars is a good thing.  I used to feel guilty about driving my 8 seat people carrier with just me in it.  But no more.  I imagine the majority of my readership drive.  I do.  And I drive a big car on occasion.  In fact, from time to time I stick a monster great caravan on the back and pull that as well.  Gross combined weight about 5 tons.  And yes, I do happily hold up other traffic  by not being in a particular hurry.  And it is a good thing.  Why is it such a good thing?  Because I can do it when I want to do it from where I want to leave to where I want to go.  If I had an electric car, even if it would pull the caravan I would have to stop and recharge the battery for about 12 hours every 20 miles or rely on the addition of a petrol engine and I already have one of them.

Alternatively, you could travel by train.  I remember sitting on Gloucester train platform one very early morning when an announcement came over the crackly loudspeaker:

"We are sorry to inform you that the 6:52 to Newcastle has been cancelled"

That's it, end of announcement and a couple of blokes shuffled away.  Of course you're not sorry Mr announcer.  You weren't going to catch that train.  What would you do?  The next train is several hours away and it's a long way.  If you had driven the journey is unlikely to be cancelled.  Add to that the train costs about £250 each.

I don't know about where you live, but on the back of Gloucester buses there is a sign that says "One day Bus travel £2.50.  4 hours car parking £5".  Or something like that.  Now, there are 5 people in my household.  That would be £12.50.  And it will leave not when I want to but at some vague time related or not to the timetable.  I will be guaranteed a grumpy driver and not a seat.  It will be dirty and smelly and stop every 20 yards holding up the traffic behind it.  Chances are it will be a rough ride and desperately uncomfortable.

I shall sign off now.  Grumpfest over and wait for the hate mail from the Green party and associated carrot crunchers.  Politically correct I may not be, but I'm bloody sure I can get where I want to go when I want to go there.

I prefer not to use the word "fail"

Failed is a bad word.   So I shall consider "not quite passed".  And I am in good company.  Allow me to quote Thomas Edison.  I don't consider old Tom to be a failure but he is quoted as saying "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work."  Apart from the sentiment, famous peoples quotes are good for at least two reasons:

1.  It makes me look intellectual and well read (there's a bluff, I still struggle with the advanced Janet and John books)
2.  It saves me from thinking up something clever and witty to say for myself.

So, what is all this talk of not passing?  Last Friday I took my part two (of three) tests to be a driving instructor and, no surprises if you have read this far, I didn't pass.  But did I fail?  Well yes I did, there is a big marked box on the form that says "Fail".  So why did I fail?  Or rather, why did I not pass?  There are lots of categories on the test form that the examiner will put a mark in if you make a fault and I had seven of them although they could all have been scrubbed out and another box added entitled "Russ drove like a dick".  I may be being a little hard on myself but you know the feeling when you do something stupid and you know what you are doing is stupid and you know the examiner knows that you are doing something stupid and you know that the examiner knows that you know you are doing something stupid.  I know the feeling.  A few little stupid mistakes that aren't worth going into here but one big mistake.  One huge great doozy of a mistake that cost me a tick in the pass box.

If you know the roads around Gloucester, you may be aware of the stretch of A38 from Junction 12 of the motorway to the junction at Quedgeley where the Roundabout used to be.  It is a 70 mph limit all the way to the last 600 yards or so where it drops to 30.  I sailed past the 30 sign at about 45mph.  Dumbass.  I am generally familiar with the idiosyncrasies of these sudden changes in speed limit.  In my other life I regularly sit in judgement on people that fall foul of them.  I must therefore consider myself a bad person and take my punishment like a man.  Sitting in the car at the end of the test the Examiner instructs me to turn the engine off:

"I'm sorry to tell you Mr Kirby you haven't succeeded" (see, even the instructor didn't call me a failure)
 "I know"
"Why do you think you failed"
"Because I was dick on the bypass"
"Not quite how I would have put it but...."

Anyway, a bit more revision, a bit more practice and we'll give it another go.  In fact, we will give it another go at 9:30am Monday 1st March.  Happy St David's Day.  I hope the examiner has a good weekend.

Cry God for Harry, England and St George!

I've had a tune stuck in my head for a wee while now.  What is it I hear you ask?
Is it some cultured piece of classical music?
No
Is it a piece of 70s prog rock because that's what I tend to listen to by choice?
No
Is an earworm that was played on the radio recently?
No
Some cheesy piece of pop that the kids were playing?
No.

Give up?

It is actually a piece of music that I shall prefer to refer to as "To Anacreon in Heaven".  Are you familiar with it? I bet you are.  It is actually an ancient British drinking song (so if anyone I know is familiar with it, then it's my brother) but we all probably know the tune better as the Star-Spangled Banner.  I always knew that the tune was British but imagine my unfounded joy when I discovered the origins of the tune.  There's all our American cousins singing along to a tune that would have been familiar in a London drinking club.

This set me thinking though.  What are the origins of our National anthem?  Unfortunately I couldn't find any reference to the origins, although (and I hate to say this as a true patriot) it is a proper dull tune to the point where the Welsh, Irish and Scottish have almost entirely eschewed it and even the English often substitute more rousing tunes such as Jerusalem or the jolly excellent Land of Hope and Glory, I am a big fan of Last Night of The Proms.

Now all this talk of National anthems got me thinking again (Russ you think too much) about patriotism in general.  As previously mentioned, I am a patriotic type of chap, I would even stand if the Queen came to visit and consider the most rousing piece of writing to be Henry V speech at Agincourt (I know it probably isn't historically accurate).  But you may be aware that there is a bit of a football tournament going on this year in South Africa to which some English players will be going to join in.  And what is my biggest fear about this tournament?  It is England winning.  Why?  Two reasons.  One, from my rather limited knowledge of football, they aren't good enough compared to some (many?) of the other national teams and is it right that our patriotic support, neigh fervour, is based on a bit of a lucky break?  The other reason is that I find it hard to believe that thousands of pis55ed up lager louts, lobster red and shirtless represents England or my personal view of what Englishness should be.  My preferred sport is cycling, so imagine my joy when Mark Cavendish and Bradley Wiggins put in such a sterling performance in last year's Tour amongst other races, not because they were lucky - that doesn't work over three weeks of cycling - but because they are genuinely good; or the trouncing that our track riders gave the rest of the world at the last Olympics and World competitions.  Yet this doesn't get even a few column inches in the popular press.

If I were to be a football supporter, I think I would have to support Gloucester FC but even they aren't proper local now, playing as they do 25 miles away in Cirencester.  In fact Cheltenham FC are more local now and we are right down to macro patriotism, if such a thing exists.  If you were to visit the website for our local press and look at the comments for stories with a good list of comments and you will see the local unhealthy competition between Gloucester and Cheltenham so, of course, being a Gloucester boy, how could I ever support Cheltenham?  Maybe we need a Gloucester National anthem (other than:
We can't read and we can't write
But that don't really matter
Cos we comes from Glos'ershire
And we can drive a tractor (pronounced tratter)

But Cheltenham even hijack that to Cheltenhamshire.

The Postman Cometh

Are you superstitious dear reader?  Touch wood, I don't believe in superstition.
Do you believe in fate?  I don't.

But I'm willing to make an exception if it makes me feel better.

The postman came just the other day.  Nothing unusual in that except that there were no bills or final demands or anything of the like.  Rather there was a letter from the Driving Standards Agency.  Now, I'm sure that if you know me or if you have read any of my previous blogs, particularly here, here, here, or here, you will be aware that my chosen path is to become a driving instructor.  Now to do so, one has to pass three tests.  Part one, you may recall, I have aced.  So, back at the end of last year, I sent off to apply for my part two, not dissimilar to the practical test you would need to take when you first learn to drive assuming you started driving after the driving test was introduced.  In the aforementioned post was my test appointment and do you know what?  Of course you don't, I haven't told you.  The date for my test is 12th February.  That may not be significant to my readers but, let me tell you the spooky coincidence here.  Not only is it Abraham Lincoln and Charles Darwin's birthday but let me take you back fourteen years to 12th February 1996.  What were you doing?  You probably don't remember (though I'm sure my average reader is of an age to have been doing something, possibly drawing their pension).  I remember.  I was taking my driving test.  Weird coincidence eh?  It's fate, it must be.  And yes, of course I believe in fate.  Don't listen to anything I said a couple of paragraphs back.

Talking of my post, today I received a whole bunch of letters from the council and I'll tell you some other news.  Despite my moaning and protestation about the whole benefits system and its inadequacies and just plain hassle involved I did reapply for housing benefit.  Apart from trying to scrape back some of the money I have previously, gleefully given to the government, I thought it might be interesting to find out if I could be better off working part time rather than full time scrounger.  The answer?  Probably not.  My annual reduction in Council Tax - try and contain yourself - £17.14.  I can see you all leaping to get out of the rat run for that sort of benefit.

Nerd, Geek

Before I start today's blog, I need to make an addendum to my last blog.  If you read the comment, you may be wondering about the comment Darrel left.  If this is the story that I suspect it is, it goes back several years. 
I received a call from a conservatory sales company in the days when I was young and too polite to tell them to piss off straight away.  The chap was not taking no for an answer so I invited him to come round and measure up, quote me and whatever else they do.  When he arrived, he was quite cross with me.  He seemed to think I was wasting his time.  Why would he think that?  I lived in a first floor flat at the time.  I never did get my quote.

The purpose of this blog, however, is to share one of my fears with you.  I fear I may be a nerd.  It may be something genetic or an illness I picked up some time.  Try as I might, my nerdiness seems to surface whatever I do.  I may need help.

Why this dilemma?  As you know, I was made redundant from a proper techy nerd type job and company and vowed never to get back into the IT business.  As a result, I am doing some very non-IT related stuff.  Training as a driving instructor and working for a property landlord.  Doesn't get much less techy, just what I wanted.  However, a couple of weeks ago my boss approached me:

"Russ"
"Yes boss"
"According to your CV you've got a techy background"
"....yes...."
"I want someone to revamp the computer system across the office, bring it all in together.  You interested?"
Tricky one this.  From day one geek in me wanted to get in to the infrastructure, pull it out and rebuild it.  Now it's being offered to me on a plate but I want out of the IT industry.
"I'll give it some thought"

No Russ, you won't give it very much thought will you?  You know full well that you will do it.  And why will you do it?  Is it purely for the money?  Is it because you can't say no to your boss?  Of course not.  It is because somewhere deep inside no matter how hard I try there is a geek, a nerd trying to make himself known.  It is an addiction for which there is no cure.  No NHS quit geeking programme.  If you give up smoking, you can get patches and stuff to help wean you off nicotine.  You can get scripts to help withdrawal from hard drugs but there is no patch that leaks a bit of nerdiness into your blood stream to wean you off computers.
The rational me has had a go at justifying this.  I am not a nerd.  I am not a geek.  Of course, I am just doing someone a favour because I can aren't I?
I have started.  A good friend of mine, Tony is assisting.  I have identified a server and a few other components which are now on order and, do you know what?  I fear I'm quite enjoying it.  In fact, I'm rather looking forward to delivery day, not excited in a Christmas or birthday sort of way you understand.  But I know why I'm enjoying it over previous proper geek jobs.  It is a small company without acres of bullshit, I am, effectively my own boss and the only technical person on site and, to someone totally non-technical, anyone with any level of technical ability is revered as a god.

And that dear reader is the crux of the matter.  Geek to deity in one easy step.

I'll let you know how it goes maybe in this blog.  In the meantime, I'm considering renting myself out as rent-a-geek.

Charges and Chugging

In the comments of my last blog, Rant and I did briefly discuss the pleasures of the automated answering system which I then extended to paying for the pleasure of listening to the sodding thing by being forced to use the 0845 number that the company puts on the bill and correspondence.  You know the sort of thing:

"Thank you for phoning Faceless Insurance PLC.  Please listen to the following 97 options to choose the correct one.  It is important that you listen to every option as we will not make it possible for you to select the option you require until we have read v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y through every possible option and permutation of possible options from which you may, or may not, want to select.  Do not worry, you are only going to be paying 25p per second for this call and it will not last more than 2 hours.  Oh, and if you want to talk to a real person, then that really is tough shit.  Your call is very important to us."  Select option and wait 3 weeks for a response; all the time, of course, paying for the privilege.

These get up my nose for so many reasons.  I am not a kid, I have been brought up talking to people and aware that communication can be done direct with real people and talking unlike the majority of teenagers and the like that consider Microsoft messenger adorned with those bloody silly little faces and non words (lol) as conversation.  Apart from that, at their conception, 0845 numbers weren't such a bad thing.  Telephone call charging was dependant on whereabouts in the country you were calling, there was no such thing as a plan that included all your calls and 0845 was, I believe, charged at a flat local rate.  No more.   No, they will charge what they like and they can't be included in your phone any landline plan on a conventional or mobile that I am aware of.  However, there is some respite.  Public service that I am, if you are faced with an 0845, 0870 etc number, there is often a normal geographical number for it as well.  You could do worse than looking here.  You probably won't find your favourite purvy call line on there though.

One money making scheme I find even more irritating, however, are the people who stop you on the street to ask for money.  I don't mean real beggars I mean the plethora of charities and utilities companies that harangue you as you walk down the street and try to persuade you to sign up.  You can change your mind within 28 days, if you wish to do so, here is an 0845 number to ring to inform us.  Possibly one of the benefits of no longer working in Cheltenham is that I don't run the gauntlet at lunch time if I walk into town.  Cheltenham High Street must be the worst place in the world for these people.  You start of politely "No thank you" or "Sorry, don't have time".  After an hour of this and about 50 people approaching you, it gradually deteriorates into "Fuck off before I rip your arms off and shove your sodding clipboard where it will never be seen again".  Have you ever been chased by one?  I have.  Inside Regent Arcade, someone selling gas and electric:

"Excuse me sir"
"Sorry not interested" - I carry on walking, salesman follows.
"How do you know, you haven't heard what I am offering"
Still walking - "Nor do I care"
"But I could save you money on your bills".  I have increased my walking pace, the chap is almost jogging.
"Don't care, happy with my current supplier"  Still walking, he is still at my heels.
"Even if I could save you 10%?"
Stop.  "I'd rather pay an extra 100% than buy my sodding electric off a company that employs people like you"

But still, my all time favourite.  Animal lovers look away.  The anti-vivisectionists were out on force, armed with clipboards for petitions and shaky collection tins:
"Excuse me sir, could you sign our petition against animal testing and would you consider a small donation to help"
"No"
"Are you aware of the suffering animals are put through in the sake of research?"
"Yes, pretty much.  And if a few rats or whatever suffer and die so we can find a cure for life-threatening illnesses in humans I'm all for it"
"But even if you agree with that, innocent animals are suffering  for the sake of beauty products"
"Yes and better some rabbits eyes sting than mine or my daughter's when we wash our hair."

They do give up on you eventually.  Tina now bans me from talking to any chuggers and the like now.

New NHS Hotline

Two blogs in one day, I spoil you.  Although the first blog today was of course Russ on a Bike.  Before I start today's blog, firstly let me tell you about a road sign I came across today.  It read "Caution: Mud on road".  Now I'm no expert but we were awfully near a farm and mud, in my experience, doesn't smell like that.

But the real reason for this here blog is that I was looking through some old documents and stuff on my PC and, whilst plagiarism isn't really my style, I read this, nearly wet myself laughing, then nearly keeled over, then nearly wet myself again.  Now, I know mental health is a serious disorder and we mustn't mock the afflicted therefore I am mearly passing this on as an example of things I don't approve of:

"Hello, and welcome to the mental health hotline..."

- If you are obsessive-compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.

- If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2 for you.

- If you have multiple personalities, press 3, 4, 5, and 6.

- If you are paranoid, we know who you are and what you want. Stay on the line so we can trace your call.

- If you are delusional, press 7 and your call will be transferred to the mother ship.

- If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a small voice will tell you which number to press.

- If you are a manic-depressive, it doesn't matter which number you press, no one will answer.

- If you are dyslexic, press 9696969696969696.

- If you have a nervous disorder, please fidget with the pound key until a representative comes on the line.

- If you have amnesia, press 8 and state your name, address, telephone number, date of birth, social security number, and your mother's maiden name.

- If you have post-traumatic stress disorder, s-l-o-w-l-y & c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y press 0 0 0.

- If you have bi-polar disorder, please leave a message after the beep or before the beep or after the beep. Please wait for the beep.

- If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.

- If you have low self-esteem, please hang up. All operators are too busy to talk to you."

- If you are menopausal, hang up, turn on the fan, lie down & cry. You won't be crazy forever.

- If you are a blonde don't press any buttons, you'll just mess it up.