Tesco's wuff attitude towards dogs

Just returned from a short visit to our local Tesco. An over-zealous Advance security box-wallah was po-facedly telling a young woman that she couldn't leave her Jack Russell puppy tied to a rail outside the store. When asked why, he fell into 'more than my job's worth' mode: only following instructions, nothing against dogs, etc. Paid not much more than minimum wage, he probably gets his fair share of crap - and to be fair to the woman, her response was bemused acquiesence, rather than outright hostility or abuse. But since when did it become a no-no to tie a dog up outside a shop? Not very considerate, Tesco. After all, you allow us to insure dogs and probably make a tidy profit selling everything necessary for canine health and welfare, from dog biccies to scented poop bags, so why not let a dog wait outside while its owner is adding to your profits?

King's Lynn, the town that hates to see you leave

Nearly 28 years since my last visit, which I remember being marred somewhat by a one-way system rather lacking adequate turn-off signs, we returned yesterday, having failed to follow the ring-road cum bypass route the A149 takes round the town centre. Taking previous experience into account, I opted for front-seat observer role and Jane drove - both keeping weather eye on the signs. We ended up following the yellow-square with black dot 'all other routes' sign, which duly led us right Morrison's car park. Doubtless it's a really nice spot; my dad's cousin was once lady mayoress, so there is even a tenuous family connection, but it has to be said, signage is not a strong point or a reason to hurry back.

Ever been caught by the Short and Curlies?

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Short-and-Curlies-ebook/dp/B008IDL70I/ref=sr_1_13?ie=UTF8&qid=1342822286&sr=8-13

Mind the Garage

So, you know how it is. You've got the car into a tight spot, but a little manouvering should see you right. That's when I hit the wheelie bin (garbage bin - US English) - twice. Then I went forward - that's when I hit the pebbledashed wall of the garage, and the scraping noise was loud enough to bring out the neighbours. Shit, bugger, arseholes: it's going to cost a fortune to put right. And it's my birthday tomorrow. Told the scratch removal company to make the invoice out for something less embarrassing, such as Ladyboy Massage Service...

The Bishops' Advisor and the Enneagram

The Enneagram is a device used to identify the psychological and spiritual growth potential of nine different personality types. The system is supposedly based on wisdom teachings from a variety of spiritual sources, including Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism and Sufi Islam. From my perspective, however, I rather fear that its principles were used recently to determine that I was an unsuitable candidate for ordination training in the Anglican Church. You see, I was sent to a Bishops’ Advisory Panel (BAP) by my diocese. It had already been decided that I had a vocation by three internal diocesan advisors, but the final decision in these cases is reserved to three advisors who spend two and a half days observing and interviewing candidates. The Enneagram was highlighted as an area of interest by the advisor who had to discern whether I fulfilled the three criteria of “personality and character”, “relationships” and “leadership and collaboration” and there is a degree of overlap here with the character traits that form part of the nine personality types found in the Enneagram. The advisor interviewed me for 35 minutes (the programme allows up to 50 minutes, and this was the shortest of the three) but was highly selective in the use of my comments and responses when compiling the report. Reading it, I get a distinct feeling that my replies were made to fit – even to the extent of being taken out of context in two areas. Given that BAP advisors are entrusted with a decision-making role that cannot be challenged, reviewed or appealed against, I am worried that Enneagram-influenced thought, which has been criticized for its “new age” or Gnostic-based reliance on “whole universe” connectivity to individual birth-originated personality elements, is being given credence by some in the Anglican Church, when Enneagram use has been questioned by the Roman Catholic Church.

Sorry, Derrick

Visited Cheddar Gorge at half-term. This place has always been a tourist magnet but now has upped the ante in marketing terms quite considerably. A £50.00 family ticket (almost as steep as the Gorge...) bought us a short trip on an open-top bus, entry to two show caves and a museum with some graphic depictions of defleshing (an essential precursor to the act of cannibalism, apparently). In an apparent attempt to sweeten the pill, the chap who sold us the ticket was keen to point out that we could return to use up any unused part of of our ticket at any time in the next 10 years! The open-topped tour took us from the village car park up to the top of the Gorge before depositing us at Gough's Cave 0 larger of the two show caves. The visit to Gough's Cave is interesting, though the cod-Somerset Burr of the commentary, delivered via a hand-held audio guide becomes irritating after a while. Cave over, we wandered upstairs where the visitor complex is topped with a large Costa, of which the attraction is inordinately fond. We'd found Costa to be a ubiquitous addition throughout the Bath and Somerset area - from full-blown cafes to filling stations offering mini-Costa self-serve stand, the brand is busily penetrating the West with gay abandon. At Cheddar the large outlet dominates the top end of the most commercialised part of the Gorge. Sitting atop the entrance to Gough's Cave, the cafe boasts an outdoor decked area and the usual corporate-themed mismatch of contrasting furniture overlaid with the maroon and cream colour scheme and a smattering of local sepia prints. The drinks followed the usual Costa format, but the taste was enhanced by the contraband pork pies, sandwiches and fruit we smuggled past the barristas. Leaving Costa, we walked downhill and crossing the road, I saw Derrick's – a much longer-established, family-established coffee house. As we continued downhill, I saw a couple of other cafes, all with the owner-managed feel about them that Costa so obviously lacks. Next time, Derrick, we'll call in – and no contraband, promise. The smaller of the two show caves, Cox's Cave, only opens every 30 minutes, so we queued for 10 minutes before the gate opened. No hand-held device here, rather a full-blown sound system. In the first half, you follow a path that leads between pools filled with stalagmites and corresponding stalagtites hang, dripping from the ceiling. The second part, however, adds a way over the top kitsch, cod-Middle Earth gloss to the cave scenery. Best part of the day? The three mile Gorge-top walk (access only as part of the family ticket): best of the best? The Primitive English Billy Goat charging from the undergrowth to our right. They don't sell tickets for that, and Costa can't guarantee it as part of their refreshment 'experience'.

A Centimetre of Porridge - Putting the 'Little' into Little Chef

We stayed at a Travelodge near Bath for a few days this week. Before setting out for home, my wife and I and two boys went for breakfast to the Little Chef next door.http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

Passing up on the offer of a fry-up, my 13 year-old opted for porridge with maple syrup. When it arrived, we were not amused to see that there was only just over a centimetre covering the bottom of the bowl. When the waiter, a friendly young man wearing the regulation red top and apron, came with the rest of the order, we pointed out the paucity of porridge in my son's bowl. Looking a bit sheepish, he said this was the usual amount. My wife, acknowledging that is might indeed be the case, persisted with the complaint that - Oliver Twist-like - it just wasn't enough for £3.99.

Moving things up a notch, the waiter reported to the manager and returned to tell us that they would give us another helping 'on the house'. We accepted, and another - slightly more generous portion arrived.

LC's menu describes the portion, over-optimistically as 'a bowl of Scottish oats with hot milk'. It isn't, but what arrived at our table represents a hell of a mark-up in terms of raw ingredient cost and the no doubt minimum wage of our waiter. The moral of the story: complain if it's not enough - better yet, don't go to 'Little' Chef.

The Distressed Shepherdess of Raydale

So, there we were, enjoying a peaceful walk around Semerwater, when we were passed by a quad bike driven at high speed just outside the hamlet of Marsett. The rider seemed in a hurry but we thought no more of it and carried on walking. The second pass was faster but this time we merited a glance, on the third pass, she stopped and asked if we'd seen her dog! The rider was a middle-aged woman and her quad was equipped with a home-made scabbard, in which rested a very well-work metal shepherd's crook. The Shepherdess explained that her dog had taken herself off for a walk, not an unusual occurrence, but had failed to return, prompting her high-speed search. She then said that the dog answered to the name of Nell, but then said it was best not to call her if we did see her, as "she's not very nice". Her concern was that the dog had been stolen, as there had been a few cases of this reported in the Dales recently. A young dog, she explained could be worth £5,000. Nell, however, was 8 and "getting a bit old", nonetheless, she might still be worth £1,200 to £1,500 to someone who needed a dog and wasn't too discerning as to where it came from. We took the Shepherdess's phone number and agreed to get in touch if we saw any sign of Nell on our walk. Couldn't help but wonder as to the nature of their relationship; obviously they worked together, but the Shepherdess had little in the way of affection for her co-worker. Had Nell been stolen, or merely taken herself off in search of a more companionable accommodation for her later years?

Send the kids to grammar school - scare the parents

Why do the middle class like to be frightened? Fear drives them, but also saps them of reason. Spent much of this week listening to parents of kids in Years 5 and 6 getting into a state of arse-dripping panic over their choice of high school. In Calderdale (Halifax and its environs), we have two selective grammars. So parents get suckered into private tuition - sometimes for kids as young as 7 - so they can cram their offsprings' little heads with just enough to give them one of the 310 places on offer each year.
To up the ante still further, the grammars offer a pre-test, which, for a fee, they set and mark themselves (nice little earner...) And today 1,500 kids sat it. Now, if they just scrape through, the private tutors will trouser even more cash to make sure they do better come the real thing. The problem is though, there'll still be too many kids passing for the places available. Last year, over 800 "passed": what to do? Raise the nominal pass rate, until just 310 lucky ones hit the magic score. Simple.
I don't like selective education. My year was the first one to go through the comprehensive system back in the late 60s in Leeds. So I didn't have to endure the mystic mog tendency among my primary school teachers, who consoled parents with the age old saw that their 11 year-old wasn't "university material" - as if they could possibly tell at that tender age! The aim was to manage failure - after all nearly two thirds of their pupils were doomed to fail, the age of deference was still with us, so parents could be placated with the brutal truth: "your kid just isn't bright enough".
Yet, every year, we have to endure the same thing here in the less enlightened reaches of the old West Riding, where 11-plus angst stalks the homes of the middle class and their less affluent fellow travellers.
Why don't we just admit the charade doesn't work; why not let the more able go to the same schools as the rest; why not let them be role models for their contemporaries; why not take the fear out of education and let our children learn at their own pace and in keeping with their abilities?
I've seen just too many 10 and 11 year-olds reduced to tears because a classmate has parroted some piece of parental garbage about who will pass the accursed 11-plus to believe for one instant that competition has any place in selecting a high school place. Hubris stalks the homes of the failure: parents of the unsuccessful can be seen haunting the playground when the results are announced, telling no-one in particular that grammar school wouldn't have been right for their child, or that now they'll be with their friends at comprehensive. But it's empty rhetoric for those who heard them trumpeting future academic success earlier in the year. They don't really mean any of it. Their child has failed to deliver in this most important race. Even if they one day manage to win a Nobel prize, the invisible stain of 11-plus failure will still mark them out - all because they had a bad day one Saturday back in the dog days of their last year in primary school.

Americans on Holiday

Toward the end of July we took a two-day journey from Vancouver to Jasper on the Rocky Mountaineer. For the uninitiated, this is a gin palace on rails that travels that offers great scenery and wildlife viewing. So far so scenic. However, when boarding the train at Vancouver and again at Kamloops, the first overnight stop, we encountered pickets. Seemingly, Rocky Mountaineer's management (very slick and scaringly smiley...) had sacked 108 employees and employed cheap replacements. The discarded workers had had the temerity to seek their first pay rise in four years and overtime, many working 16 hour days on the trains.
Having talked to the pickets - who assured us they didn't want to stop people travelling, but rather wanted to put their case to us - I referred to the dispute, and an incident of harrassment I witnessed by RM's security goons, on Tripadvisor.
Now returned from Canada, I check Tripadvisor only to find the following from two hard-of-thinking and resolutely selfish American tourists, who, while saying they found my review "helpful", then go on to urge others to ignore the dispute and party on down like nothing untoward is happening.
First up we have Junetalks from Westlake Village, California, who writes:

Don't let the labor situation deter you from taking this trip. I was worried about this before we left. It is more or less a non event that will not impact your vacation.

http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif
To which I can only say, it certainly should "impact" your conscience: holidays don't come hermetically sealed in value free containers - our enjoyment comes at a price, and for certain members of Teamsters Local 31 that price has proved very high indeed: the least Junetalks could do is to acknowledge the depth of feeling shown on the pickets' placards.
Next up from the Land of the Free industrial relations ignorance cadre, we have Bebecox from Nashville, Georgia (thought it was in Tennessee, but guess they might have two - after all, it's an easy name to spell), BebeCox has an even more right-wing take on this, writing:

Do not let the labor issues with past employess keep you from experiencing this great trip. The replacement workers were a pleasure to travel with and were very qualified to provide excellent service.

Now, the "past employees" thing is particularly offensive: the sacked workers aren't on strike, they were "locked-out" by Rocky Mountaineer, who then recruited replacements to work for even less than the 108 had been paid: this is expressly forbidden under the law of British Columbia, but RM chose to rely on a loophole provided by Canadian federal law - which allows rail companies to lock-out transport workers. Given the essential part rail transport plays to the Canadian economy, you can understand the desire to keep the railways working at all costs. But the point of the exemption is that it's intended to keep the mainly freight-based system running, not to allow holiday tour operators to get rid of expensive (and highly experienced) tour guides, who, let's face it, aren't essential to the running of the Canadian Pacific or Canadian National freight transit networks.
So, Junetalks and BebeCox, while I'm pleased you enjoyed your Rocky Mountaineer journeys, I'm rather hacked-off that you didn't read, or if you did, couldn't work out how much the dispute affected my enjoyment. But, perhaps more importantly, I'm disgusted that you can tell others to disregard a blatant injustice because it might just "impact" on their right to have a good time.

Mordecai Richler? Never heard of him...

Visited the Viewpoint Bookshop in Lake Louise, Alberta and noticed a copy of Barney's Version on the shelf. This was a new edition, carrying a banner that announced "Now a Major Motion Picture". Inside the back cover, the blurb mentioned that a biography of Richler was published on October 2010, so I asked the man behind the counter if they had it in stock. I explained that I was a fan of Richler's and that it was hard to get hold of books by or about him in UK bookshops, I actually referred to him as one of Canada's greatest literary exports. The man replied: "Oh, I didn't know he was Canadian. I only stocked that one 'cos I saw they'd made a movie of it. Does he still live over here and is he still writing?"
I replied, somewhat taken aback, "unfortunately, he died in 2001". The man apologised, and I went on: "You're going to have to catch up on his other stuff as a penance, aren't you?"

Mordecai Richler wrote 10 novels and hundreds of press articles, he won two Governor General's Literary Awards and was made Companion of the Order of Canada. Hard to see how he hadn't crossed the bookshop owner's radar before last night.

A hard lesson for the Institute for Learning?

While Michael Gove gains an unenviable reputation as a meddler in the world of compulsory education, his attitude to the further education sector seems to be http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifambivalent, to say the least. How else to explain both his failure to visit an FE college since taking office and also his willingness to allow a closed-shop to flourish in the form of the Institute for Learning (IfL)?
Having managed to avoid the ‘bonfire of the quangos’ – a fate that befell its sister organisation the General Teaching Council (GTC) - the IfL has now announced that its - generally reluctant – associates, members and fellows, who rejoice in the acronyms AIFL, MIFL and FIFL, will have to stump up £38.00 for the dubious privilege of belonging to an organisation that is, for many, a prerequisite to continued employment in the sector.
The imposition of this levy comes at a very bad time in FE, with colleges and other providers fearing deep cuts to funding with the inevitable loss of courses and jobs. Yet the IfL, which is highly adept at portraying itself as being essential for the career and professional development of teachers and trainers, feels it is justifhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gified in becoming self-funding on the less than auspicious date of April 1 this year. In reality, the move was forced on it as the government has announced it is no longer going to pick up the tab of paying the full cost of all subscriptions, as has been the case since the IfL was formed in 2006.
Needless to say, the lecturers and their union, the UCU, are far from pleased. The UCU is balloting members for a boycott of the IfL, with the result that AIFLs, MIFLs and FIFLs now questioning whether they need the IfL could refuse to stump up £38.00 to belong to an organisation whose much vaunted, and largely self-publicised, benefits and services mainly consist of a pointless online database on which they have to record the endless round of meetings and training events that represent the necessary number of continuous professional development (CPD) hours they have to undertake each year as a pre-condition of retaining their professional status.

Driving licence blues

The request from the Bureau de Change clerk was simple enough: "have you got any photo ID on you?".
"Sure, I've got my driving licence". After moving house last October, I finally swapped my paper licence for the photo-card type and it always stays in my wallet. But not last Friday. A furious pat-down self-search followed, accompanied by "helpful" prompts from spouse and clerk. "I'll have to come back later", I muttered, leaving the Bureau with wife reluctantly in tow behind.
The most obvious question, after turning drawers upside down, was "where did you last have it". "Can't remember" was the equally obvious, but totally useless answer.
The previous evening we'd done last minute shopping for the Canada trip (which includes car hire - hence the need for a driving licence...) and bought clothes and luggage from several shops at Junction 32, a retail outlet near Castleford, West Yorkshire.http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif
So I got out all the credit card slips and shop receipts and we called round thttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifhe shops and cafe we'd visited, plus the centre's security department. All drew a blank. Even called the baker's shop where I'd bought a lunchtime sandwich. Nothing. Next point of call? Driver Vehicle Licensing Agency, Swansea. They were surprising helpful - a new licence could be ordered over the 'phone for a £20 fee. But there was a cost-saving catch: while they could dispatch it the next working day (Monday, as it turned out), DVLA only uses second-class post. No express service or guaranteed next day. Just real snail-mail.
And there you have it. Three days to go and waiting for the Royal Mail to deliver the replacement licence. My wife isn't looking forward to being the only other driver in the group - and I'm not looking forward to accompanying her in that capacity as a licence-less non-driver, when we wend our way through the Rockies from Jasper to Calgary.

Sunday in the Wharfe

Spent yesterday afternoon pratting around with an inflatable boat on the River Wharfe at Burnsall, North http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifYorks.
All the warnings about inflatables can make you feel wary of them. All I got was wet, much to chagrin of wife and sons, who seemed to be expecting the old git to get washed downriver half a mile or so, at the least. Sorry to disappoint, didn't crawl out of the river like a drowned-rat before a barbequing crowd at Appletreewick but bailed out when I realised the strength of the current meant I was going round in circles that were leading me on a spiral course downriver. I got out, in rather ungainly fashion, have to admit, while I still knew how deep the river was.

Xxxx-Box

Another victory for pester-power. I was prevailed upon by my sons to purchase an X-Box last Christmas. While we've had PlayStations and WIIs and Gameboys and PSPs have come and gone, the X-Box has given us a new - and terrifying - dimension that I was unaware of when I parted with my hard-earned.
The first signs were there on Christmas Day, when I was asked for the Router access details. On asking why, when I thought they were busy zapping virtual reality life forms, was so that they could go online. Didn't I realise, they asked, that the X-Box allows you to play with anyone who's online and playing the same game you are!
Now, several things tend to happen when you allow any geek or game-obsessed cyber warrior into your home. Your children turn into angry call-centre clone operatives, with the stupid head set and mouthpiece while they discuss the merits of graphics and tactics with heaven-knows who. They also run the risk of turning into the "last to be picked" for a team, or the first to be picked on if their playing skills are not as developed as the unseen group they've joined.
We've also had to endure the threat of being hacked and the heart-rending reality of being removed from a supposed-friend's playlist for committing some unspoken adolescent cyber-howler.
I suppose I'm open to criticism for not researching the full potential of the thing before buying it. But the danger far-outweighs the benefits. Not so long ago, the school bully stayed at school or followed you down the road home, but would soon give up if the walk was too long; now you can be turned into a slobbering wreck in the discomfort of your own room and in front of your own TV. It's reality gaming but far too real for me.

York amid the tourists

To York for a course from work. Walking from train station to the venue, part of the Theatre Royal that dates from the 13th century and used to form part of the cellar of St Leonard's Hospital, the way kept being blocked by group of Japanese tourists. They were intent of capturing all the city with a digital camera - on a tripod, which they placed on the pavement at regular intervals, slowing everything to a crawl. I was too polite to get in the way of the shot - even though for many of them I couldn't actually see any merit in the view - so that the five minute stroll turned into a fraught stop-start meander.

On the way back to the station I was approached by a middle-aged woman with an eastern European accent wanting directions to the National Railway Museum. I offered to show her, as it was on my route before realising that - at 5.05 pm it would be on the point of closing. The look on her face when I told her, allowing for the time lag in translation, was one of utmost disappointment. Turned out she was doing York in a day. Hard work sightseeing, apparently.

Bargewreck

Overhead this conversation while walking along the Huddersfield Narrow Canal in Slaithwaite, West Yorkshire. I was in a hurry to get back to my car and overtook a family group, at the head of which was a grandfather with his 4-5 year-old grandson.
Grandson: "what happened to your boat?"
Granddad: "a silly person pushed a car into the canal and grandma and granddad sailed over it because we couldn't see it in the water in front of us. Our boat went over onto its side and we had to scramble out back to the bank".

All human life laid bare on the towpath.

A hard lesson for the Institute for Learning?

While Michael Gove gains an unenviable reputation as a meddler in the world of compulsory education, his attitude to the further education sector seems to be ambivalent, to say the least. How else to explain both his failure to visit an FE college since taking office and also his willingness to allow a closed-shop to flourish in the form of the Institute for Learning (IfL)?
Having managed to avoid the ‘bonfire of the quangos’ – a fate that befell its sister organisation the General Teaching Council (GTC) - the IfL has now announced that its - generally reluctant – associates, members and fellows, who rejoice in the acronyms AIFL, MIFL and FIFL, will have to stump up £68.00 for the dubious privilege of belonging to an organisation that is, for many, a prerequisite to continued employment in the sector.
The imposition of this levy comes at a very bad time in FE, with colleges and other providers fearing deep cuts to funding with the inevitable loss of courses and jobs. Yet the IfL, which is highly adept at portraying itself as being essential for the career and professional development of teachers and trainers, feels it is justified in becoming self-funding on the less than auspicious date of April 1 this year. In reality, the move was forced on it as the government has announced it is no longer going to pick up the tab of paying the full cost of all subscriptions, as has been the case since the IfL was formed in 2006.
Needless to say, the lecturers and their union, the UCU, are far from pleased. The UCU is canvassing support for a boycott of the IfL, with the result that AIFLs, MIFLs and FIFLs now questioning whether they need the IfL could refuse to stump up £68.00 to belong to an organisation whose much vaunted, and largely self-publicised, benefits and services mainly consist of a pointless online database on which they have to record the endless round of meetings and training events that represent the necessary number of continuous professional development (CPD) hours they have to undertake each year as a pre-condition of retaining their professional status.

Oxford University Press oppresses freelances

The Oxford University Press (OUP), one of the world's leading academic and professional publishing houses, is imposing a draconian and far-reaching "agreement" on freelances. These are frequently sole traders, with little in the way of financial resources. OUP is insisting that freelances sign the "agreement" by the beginning of Feb as a precondition for continuing to receive work, such as editing, indexing or proofreading.
The reason given for the "agreement" is to prove a freelance's status as an independent contractor for UK tax purposes - something that has traditionally been done by applying the UK tax authorities' "badges of trade". However, the agreement goes much further, in that it contains an indemnity clause, under which freelances have to indemnify OUP against any errors or mistakes that are accidentally introduced into the text of the material they've been working on.
This is both unfair and oppressive, but OUP - stating that it is relying on legal advice - refuses to enter into negotiations about the indemnity clause, or even provide an adequate explanation as to the perceived need for it.
Both the NUJ and the Society for Editors and Proofreaders (SfEP), which represent the interests of freelances in the publishing industry, have approached OUP requesting clarification of the terms of the indemnity clause, but have been rebuffed by OUP.
Let's hope OUP's authors wise-up to what's happening and apply some pressure on OUP, otherwise their work will suffer as experienced freelances refuse to handle their titles because of OUP's unconsionable attitude to the freelances that form the backbone of the publishing industry.

Happy New Year?

How are people who have got used to 'having' things (even if funded by debt) going to react when they find themselves excluded from the consumer society? We've seen the first stirrings of social unrest with the student fee protests but will 2011 see many more taking to the streets in protest?
All very well for Cameron to say the cuts are necessary, and, in time-honoured Tory style that "there is no other way" - but will those about to lose their jobs, their status - possibly even their homes - see it that way. Exclusion is going to hurt and many of us have got used to 'having' all that we want: not 'having' or being excluded from the means of 'having' is going to test many in 2011.