Itisi

In my last post I sent out a request for interview subjects. Thanks to everyone who responded, I was quite surprised so many people took me up on it. I think I have enough people now, and from quite a range of backgrounds so the interviews should be interesting.

In other news: I’m still having trouble with my new isp – Talk Talk in case anyone is thinking of using them – so, as I can’t phone them here are my thoughts about their service on the off chance that someone from the company happens upon this blog.

Dear Talk Talk,

I recently became your customer. Lured by your low prices and promises of excellent service, I signed up and duly received a package from you containing all that I would need to avail myself of your wonders. However, upon opening said package I was a little perplexed when I discovered that instead of a router, you had sent me what appeared to be a sandwich box. Really Talk Talk, I think you’ve been misled by your suppliers because what they are sending you in a box marked ‘router’, is actually an item from the Tupperware catalogue. I understand all this technological stuff can be confusing, so here’s how you tell the difference:

A router is a piece of telecommunications equipment designed to access the internet and various telephony services; a sandwich box is a white, plastic container designed for holding a packed lunch, they can not be used to access the internet. If you think about it I’m sure you’ll see there is a difference.

Anyhow, assuming you must be right and sandwich boxes are internet compatible, I set it all up, but nothing happened. (Of course it didn’t, Tupperware don’t do broadband). Not only did I not have an internet connection, your sandwich box insisted I had no computer. This is odd, because I do have a computer, I bought it in November, I still have the receipt, and unlike your sandwich box, it is actually what it is supposed to be. In other words, it is a computer, and it does computery things, such as: connecting to the internet, but obviously not when a sandwich box is attached to it.

At this point I was more than a little frustrated, so I decided to phone your customer service line to ask for assistance, but it seems you don’t understand the concept of telephones either. I say this because when I plugged my phone in, there was no dial tone, and no, it’s not my phone Talk Talk, I tried three others and they didn’t work either. Maybe, they aren’t real phones and (like my computer) only exist in my (apparently) hallucinatory mind.

Once again I shall explain how things should be: a telephone is used to hold conversations with people who are in other locations. The user dials a number, and then speaks into the receiver and the person on the other end of the line can hear their voice no matter where they are. Heck, you can even speak to people in other countries, how cool is that?! You really should look into this Talk Talk, I hear it’s becoming very popular, people would pay you to offer such a service. Hang on a minute – they already are!

Finally after nearly three days of tweaking and twiddling, the sandwich box sparked into life (who knew) but only on my son’s computer – it still insists mine is a figment of my imagination. Using my wireless card I am able to access the internet, occasionally, but often only at speeds of 6k a second – sub dial-up speed, very retro.

Anyhoo Talk Talk, there I am with no phone and intermittent internet, but guess what happens next? It’s ok, don’t think too hard, I’ll tell you. One of your door-to-door salesmen pops round to ask me if I’d like to sign up. Oh what a bunch of practical jokers you are, you little tinkers you. I informed him as politely as I could that I had already signed up, but found your service unusable. His response? “Oh, it shouldn’t be like that.” No? Really? I thought it was quite normal to pay a monthly fee for, well, practically nothing. You must be recruiting in the top universities to find reason and deduction of that quality.

To sum up: After experiencing your service (I use that term loosely) for over a week I can’t wait to get back to BT. Yes, they do charge nearly four times as much, but I, the customer, get something in return. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Of course, not having a phone is something of an impediment to my plan, but fear not, I shall find a way around that Talk Talk, I’m very resourceful.

Could you do anything to make me stay? Possibly – you could try sending me an actual router that actually connects to the internet, all the time not just now and again; you could drop this months bill (or I could just cancel the direct debit, whatever), oh, and one of your laptops might be nice too. But, as you’ll probably never read this, and won’t care if you do, it looks like I’ll be bidding you adieu. I’m sorry if that hurts, but I’m starting to suspect this is a relationship that will never work. You promise me the earth, but give me nothing; you try to imply I’m delusional (I do so have a computer!) and not only won’t you talk to me, but you refuse to let me speak to other people – I used to have a boyfriend like that, I dumped him too.

yours regretfully,

Kate

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Keeping my fingers crossed this will post – I switched isps this week and the connection with the new one is even more precarious than the last. I’ll tell you about that next time though, because this time I’m looking for volunteers.

I’ve decided I need to develop my interview technique, or to be more accurate: I need to develop a technique in the first place. With that in mind, I’m looking for (victims to interrogate) kind volunteers to practice on so form an orderly queue, thank you. What’s that? You want to know more*.

I was thinking, initially, to stick to email based interviewing until I get the hang of asking interesting questions – no one wants to listen to an interview in which the subject shares such gems as ‘if I could live anywhere …’, and ‘my favourite colour is …’. In other words, I want to ask proper, sensible interview questions, not reblog extracts from old memes. Of course, I promise the questions won’t be mean, or embarrassing***. The interview will then be posted here so readers can marvel at your witty repartee, and mock my lame questions.

If you want to volunteer your services, get some free publicity and win my undying appreciation, just drop me a line by email, or by using the form on the contact page***, telling me who you are (if I don’t know) where you blog (if you do), and any other (gossip fodder) info you’d like to share. If you have a topic you’d like to be interviewed about let me know and I’ll do my best to think up suitable questions.

That’s all, but if you have any questions just let me know.

Now you’re wondering if you should step up and let me experiment on you … go on … oh go on … you know you want to!

I shall now go and give the router a stern glare in the hope it will do something other than sit around looking like a sandwich box. Yes, that thought had occurred to me.

* I must stop asking questions like that; this blog is taking on overtones of pantomime.

** Unless the latter can be used for comic purposes.

*** Let me know if you have any problems with that, it seems a bit temperamental.

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Last year Twitter was ‘discovered’ by celebs and became their new favourite way to ‘talk’ to the little people*.  Now politicians are getting in on the act – it’s not really surprising, they are a bit like celebs, only with mostly unflattering hairstyles. In fact thinking about it, politics is a bit like the embarrassing uncle or aunt who turn up at celebrity’s birthday party and try to impress everyone with their performance of that dance from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. But I digress …

I have a few thoughts about the influx of that would-be trendy Westminster crowd:

1) You know how there are those odd people who throw themselves at celebrity tweeters**? Are we going to see that happening but to politicians? I really hope not. The thought of anyone tweeting something like ‘ooh, Dave your shiny, pink face makes me all hot and bothered’  to @davidcamereron is more than my stomach can take.

An even more appalling thought is that someone might get a bit frisky with Anne Widdecombe sending her into a frenzy, and she’ll then start screeching (to anyone who’ll listen) about her conviction that Twitter is a hot bed of sin and debauchery. Even worse than that, is the thought that she might respond positively to her admirer …

2) This is a serious point. When politicians are only a tweet away they’re more accessible, well, in theory. And not only do we have an almost immediate way to tell them what we think, they have the chance to hear a wider range of views. A lot of people have strong opinions about various issues, but don’t get around to writing a letter,  or sending an email to express them. Tweeting is a lot quicker, so I think more people will contact them.

3) We get to find out which is the friendliest party. Which follow back and which are just there to collect numbers. Who engages with their followers, and who just preaches about how great their policies are.

I made a very, very small start on that: so far I’m following Tom Watson, Nick Clegg, Vince Cable and John Prescott. Prescott is not following me back, I’m not sure if I should be relieved or insulted.

Anyhoo, I decided to draw up a league table for them.

As you can see, Labour are leading the table in my study (which is completely scientific if tiny, and only composed of two parties) due to the efforts of Tom Watson (well worth a follow!) Messrs Clegg*** and Cable tie for second, while Mr Prescott is propping them all up. Oh dear.

To be completely fair, I suppose I should follow more, and probably Tories too. Hmm. I’ll get on to that and report back with my findings.

* No, not hobbits, I mean us, the great unwashed.

** Because one day Ashton Kutcher is so going to leave Demi Moore and run to the waiting arms of @mabelscroggins in Basingstoke.

*** One of the few politicians who doesn’t have unflattering hair. Compare him to Cameron and Brown; one looks like he uses the same barber as his dad, the other like he’d only get a haircut if his wife told him to.

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This did not happen to me, it was another blogger, who may sound very similar to me, but is not me.

On Christmas Eve, a beautiful, and talented blogger (who was not me) was racing around frantically trying to do all things festive. Her preparations had been delayed due to a nasty bout of swine flu, so she was left with only two days to do everything. However, help was at hand in the form of her cat, who, seeing her plight, decided he could help with the menu. But what to contribute? Obviously the usual catty fare of mice and shrews would not do, because although the blogger loved to find them on the doorstep (milk, newspaper, dead shrew – a delightful way to start the day), they would provide meagre fare for Christmas dinner. No, he knew he had to go for big game.

And so it was, he arrived home with his catch – still alive, to prove it was fresh and not just some old thing he’d found lying around – which he deposited on the kitchen floor. Realising it was about to head straight back outside, he ‘despatched’ it, quickly and efficiently. What was it you ask? A rat!

The blogger (who was not me) would like to say she reacted coolly and calmly, but she would be lying. She did, in fact, jump up and down on the spot, waving her hands and screaming something like ‘aargh, uurgh, aargh’. If she had only had the presence of mind to jump on a chair while screaming and jumping and waving, she would have borne a remarkable resemblance to a 1950s cartoon woman when confronted by a rodent.

After several minutes during which the blogger screamed, the cat looked smug, and the rat looked, well, dead, the blogger’s son managed to crawl out of bed and stroll downstairs to enquire why his mother was screaming hysterically. (Was she being murdered? Had the house caught fire? Had the shrouded ghosts of residents past materialised in the kitchen to condemn her criticism of their appalling wallpaper choices?) The following conversation ensued:

Blogger: Uurgh, aaargh.

Son: It’s a rat

Blogger: Aaargh, uuurgh, aaargh

Son: Yes, cats do that

Blogger: Uurgh, aaargh uurgh aargh

Son: No, I can’t dispose of the body, I’m a vegetarian

Eventually, the blogger (who was not me) calmed down enough to make funeral arrangements, and it was only then that she took a proper look at the deceased and noticed something a little alarming. Wild rats look like this, but this poor, dead pile of fur looked more like this. And so, this blogger (still not me) spent Christmas alternating between the thoughts, ‘it must have been wild, but they mate for life – what if there’s a Mrs Rat and 15 babies, how are they coping?’, and ‘it was someone’s pet – what if they’re heartbroken? what if they find out!?’.

So that’s the sorry tale. My condolences to anyone who lost a pet rat on Christmas Eve, but don’t blame my cat or me, we had absolutely nothing to do with it. It was some other blogger and some other cat.

And no, I, I mean, this other blogger didn’t notice if the Death of Rats appeared. I, I mean this other blogger did ask the cat, but he just looked inscrutable and refused to comment.

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Before I begin, a quick note for Michael - haven’t forgotten the post I mentioned, but it’s taking longer than I expected. It’s turned into one of those tricksy posts that just don’t want to be written, but I’ll endeavour to complete it.

For everyone else: I just received a rather intriguing email from a chap called James who promised to help me find a job. How great is that! A search of Google turned up some sites suggesting that James was a spammer, but I dont think so. I mean, really? As if someone is going to go to all the trouble of sending out thousands of emails to random strangers in the hope that someone will bite. According to the doubters, James tempts you in with something free, then tries to sell you a paid service. I think that’s a terrible accusation, and that James is as genuine as Jordan’s boobs. Anyhoo, here is James’ email so you can judge for yourself.

Re: Your Resume

Hello,

I’m James Randall with AMM Associates.  We work with many companies
and recruiters across the US. Your email was passed along to me
through one of our affiliates.

Our network is pretty extensive and we may be able to assist you.

Our online job profiler will ensure that you are active in our
database and also email you matching jobs.  Please visit
www.AMMAssociates.com and fill in the quick job profiler. It
takes less than 30 seconds.

You can go to the job profiler directly at:
www.ammassociates.com/job_profiler.cfm
There is NO FEE for our services.  Our fees are generated by the
employer or 3rd party recruiter upon successful placement.

Thanks,
James Randall
AMMAssociates.com
The Recruiting Specialists

Does that sound dishonest? Of course not. However, just to be on the safe side, and also because I was a little unsure about this resume he mentions, I decided to respond and ask him to be more specific. Here is my response:

Dear James,

Thank you for your kind offer! I’d love to take you up on it, but before I do I wonder if you could answer a few questions.

1) You say you work with companies and recruiters across the US. I do not live in the US, would you be willing to pay for me to commute? I don’t think it would cost you much, air fares from the UK are now very cheap. Also, I am phobic about flying, so would you be willing to travel with me every day in order to hold my hand and mutter soothing words?

2) I’m curious about this affiliate you mention. I’m very careful about who I give my email to, and would certainly not have handed it over to someone without a promise that it would not be passed on to a third party. Obviously I have been mislead by someone! Please let me know who the culprit is so I can exact appropriate revenge – don’t worry, this won’t be anything violent, or illegal. Under the circumstances I’m leaning towards signing them up for a year’s membership of the Spam of the Month club. (You might like to look into that if you’re ever stuck for a present. It’s a great idea; every month the recipient receives a parcel containing 500lbs of spam through the post. Who wouldn’t want that!?)

3) I’m also curious about which resume you are referring to because I have two online. One is for my main job as a jelly juggler, the other for a new venture as an elephantidae stylist, which one of these do you want me to list? It is important that I know because although jelly juggling would fit in the Arts/Entertainment category on your website, I can’t see anywhere to list elephantidae stylist. Incidentally, I do hope you will remedy that because I firmly believe this is a vast and untapped market; there are thousands of elephants across the world who have no access to style advice and consequently spend their whole lives looking rather grey.

Looking forward to hearing from you, and once again, thanks for the offer!

Love and stuff,
Kate x

I bet he emails me right back! What? You don’t think so? Tut, tut! I can’t believe you’re casting aspersions on the good name of my new best friend. James is so going to find me job – you’ll be eating your words when I’m being interviewed by Hello magazine about my role as the world’s leading celebrity elephant stylist.

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Oh the irony! Peter Mandelson, the politician who just will not go away, no matter how much we don’t elect him, is giving advice to parents about their ‘boomerang children’ – recently graduated adults who are living with their parents while they find a job and somewhere affordable to live. Mr Mandelson does not approve of this and has produced a helpful little leaflet explaining how parents should evict these freeloaders. Not surprisingly, he has come in for some criticism, partly because the leaflet is, well, pretty pointless really.

For a start, few parents are likely to throw their own flesh and blood out onto the streets, and also the advice given is not what you’d call useful. For example, parents are told to encourage their children to find a job, but not to encourage them too much, in case it hurts their feelings. Parents are also warned against building up unrealistic expectations in their offspring with the advice:

“Some will make it as actors and film scriptwriters but many just waste away the years.”

Very true! It’s always a good idea to encourage your children to forget whatever it was they spent all those years studying to do. Who needs dreams when working at McDonalds is now considered a career?

Some people have also questioned whether he should even be giving parenting advice when he doesn’t actually have any children. These people are missing a very important point: Mandy is speaking from personal experience.

It’s true Mandelson doesn’t have any children, but he was once a child, and is now relaying what he feels are the finer points of his upbringing. You see, Mandy’s parents wasted absolutely no time in throwing him out and encouraging him to stand on his own two feet. In fact, they didn’t even wait until he’d graduated! Young Peter’s eviction from the family home happened at the tender age of eight when he was sent to live in the garden shed where he survived on a diet of seed potatoes and potting compost. This may sound harsh, but be honest, could you sleep if that creepy, little weirdo was prowling around your house like a reject from the Village of the Dammed*? His parents had no other option, it was either the shed, or a trip to Transylvania to release him into the wild in the hope he’d find his own kind.

So there you have it: parents, evict your children, they too can grow up to be just like Peter Mandelson – isn’t that what you always wanted for them?

Next time: A discussion of David Cameron’s leaflet, ‘Wolves Raising Children’, asking is it a kinder alternative to public school?’

* It’s rumoured that he got his current job by using this aversion to sharing a roof with him to his advantage. The story goes: he turned up at the Browns and refused to leave until Gordon gave in to his demands. Gordon tried to hold out, but by dinner time, Sarah and the children were so scared they hid in the cupboard under the stairs, while Alistair Darling+ was whining pitifully and chasing his own eyebrows, so he was forced to acquiesce.  Apparently, it was a horrendous experience, and Sarah Brown still shudders when she recalls the way Mandy said thank you when she offered him a cup of tea.

+ He lives with them, he’s got his own bowl, beanbag and even a nice little kennel, but he only ever uses that when he does something naughty such as: disagreeing about the economy, or trying to think up his own financial strategy.  If you’re ever in the vicinity of Downing Street early in the morning, you can see Gordon walking him, it’s a lovely sight; Gordon striding purposefully while tiny Alistair scampers happily along at his side, avoiding the urge to sniff other politicians’ bottoms in the hope he’ll be rewarded with an economic reform of his very own.

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Hello Dear Reader I seem to have finally shaken off the dreaded lurgy more commonly known as swine flu, and feel (almost) like a human being again, instead of something that staggered out of a George Romero film. I can sit upright, eat food and (most encouragingly) think coherent thoughts – after spending weeks with my brain feeling like an old 486 processor that is quite an achievement.

On the downside, I really must do something about my hair, all that neglect and lying around means it’s not looking good. How best to describe it? Umm. Imagine if a mad scientist kidnapped Robert Plant and Russell Brand and used their DNA to create some strange hybrid which he called Robsella, or Russberta …. you see what I mean? Alternatively, I could leave it like this and launch a new career – my existing one may be somewhat parlous after ignoring my poor clients for so long. As Robsella/Russberta, I could phone up elderly actors and sing the ruder Led Zep lyrics in a sarf-east accent while implying I’ve been jiggy with their offspring. That could work if I could a) sing and b) knew the phone numbers of elderly actors, otherwise it seems like a flawless plan.

I must also do the whole Christmas thing, because it’s happening quite soon I gather and I only have presents for two people. I’m guessing the others would like some too, so I should crack on with that.

Once I’ve done all that, I’m going to write to the government demanding the sacking of the person who writes the swine flu advice pamphlets because they give the impression that most people don’t become ill if they catch it. While they admit people with underlying medical conditions can become dangerously ill, they imply anyone else will only suffer “mild symptoms”. If the person who writes those leaflets thinks what I had was mild, I would really love to know their definition of  “NEVER FELT SO BLOODY ILL IN MY LIFE!”. I suspect this person may be the same one who issues the pregnancy books which describe giving birth as “somewhat uncomfortable”. Call me pedantic, but I believe sneezing is a mild symptom, and sitting on a lumpy cushion is somewhat uncomfortable. Anyhoo, this person appears to be giving healthcare advice in the style of the Monty Python Yorkshiremen, and they should be stopped!

A little aside: I can picture them, some gruff, jowly Fred Truman type, waffling on about how back in their day swine flu and a fortnight in Skegness* were interchangeable, and squeezing another person out of your nether regions was preferable to getting up three weeks before you went to bed, heading off to be flogged to within an inch of your life, and then paying the boss for his time. I almost wish I’d kept the copious quantity of sick I deposited in the bucket that became my new best friend; I’d send it to them, along with a note suggesting it might make a nice alternative to that shovel-full of warm grit they have for breakfast. (Too much info? Sorry.)

In other news: Not much to report, not moving for weeks on end makes life a bit dull I did do some reading though, – 4 books in 3 weeks which is an indication of how ill I’ve been, usually I could manage at least that number in a week – amongst which was The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, a book I’d heard about but hadn’t got around to reading. (Thanks to Yvonne for the suggestion!) Written in the form of letters between an author and members of the society, it’s set just after World War Two, and relates the story of the occupation of the Channel Islands by the Nazis. It took me a chapter or two to get into it (that’s probably my fault, I wasn’t at my best) but once I did I found it thoroughly engaging. The author, Mary Anne Shaffer, manages to make the story quite light hearted, even humorous, but still deals with the hardship and tragedy suffered by the islanders with respect and a great deal of poignancy. If you fancy something a bit different it’s well worth a look!

Oh, was jolly pleased to see Rage Against the Machine get the Christmas number one I’m sure Joe Elderberry is delightful, but what he does has about as much relevance to real music as, well, my singing of rude Led Zep lyrics would. And I know that’s not his name, but I think it suits him, makes him sound like a cute, little woodland creature who got gobbled up by a big, bad wolf, which, if you think about it, is symbolic of his actual fate.

And that is all

*To be fair, a lot of people probably still think that now.

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