Bigging up Harold Wilson

An interesting late afternoon in Huddersfield's St George's Square with the Labour for EU bus tour.
A group of young 'Thick of It' wannabes handed out placards, stickers and balloons before a warm up speech by the town's long-standing Labour MP Barry Shearman climbed onto the plinth of Harold Wilson's statue. Having invoked the late Prime Minister's name as a blessing for the Remain campaign, Shearman handed over to Wakefield MP Mary Creagh, who made a rather strange speech. Referencing Godfrey Blood's infamous 'slut' speech before going on to say how she'd found 4 steak knives when she did clean behind her fridge, she then handed over to Labour Deputy Leader Tom Watson. His speech tied Wilson's legacy of the 1975 Euro referendum, equality legislation and employment rights, before going on to contrast this with Tory EU disunity, the perfidity of Johnson's EU volte face and the dangers an EU-free, unrestrained right-wing Tory party would undoubtedly pose to employment rights and the manufacturing industries.
The speakers were accompanied by Linda, an MEP with unspecified surname and Paula Sherrif, MP for Dewsbury. Conspicuous by her absence was the clearly still unforgiven Jo Cox, MP for Spen Valley and recent Corbyn critic of 'Knifing' infamy.
Stage-managed to a tee, the event did at least provoke applause in the right places for a northern Labour audience, but a low turnout (why a Friday afternoon and only 24 hours' notice) might not exactly have the Brexiters quaking in their boots - even if Watson did take a couple of swipes at UKIP.

The Royal Mail - a guide for teenagers: is there an FAQ for that?

For me, one of the most depressing phrases I have to deal with is: "we are currently experiencing higher than normal call volumes...". And when it trickled into my ear barely 15 minutes after the advertised start of business at the mobile phone insurance company's call centre - on a Monday morning - I saw more than a hint of red. On visiting the website - where all claims can be managed (apparently) and taking a glance through the FAQ, only to find that my AQ hadn't made it into the Frequent category, I then found the only way to interact with a human - aside from making an open-ended time commitment to Vivaldi - was to write a letter. The problem was (and still is) my son's phone. It was returned to us last on Thursday of last week after having a new screen fitted owing to a distressing pocket fall, pavement impact scenario - made no less distressing by the fact that it took place out the front door, as he tried to retrieve his key from the same pocket as his phone. By Friday, the repaired/replacement phone (can't tell which) had ceased to play sounds via the earphone jack (thereby rendering the device utterly useless to anyone under the age of 30). On Saturday evening, the screen froze - meaning that all control was thereby eliminated and the phone then went on to emit a series of alarm signals. As the battery was by this time at 75% capacity, my son decided the only way to deal with the issue was to lock the phone away in the garage, where it could emit whatever the bloody hell it liked until its sodding battery ran down. Now, while I appreciate that a FAQ specific to this precise train of events could be somewhat difficult to put into words, I do think the company was being overly optimistic by not providing generic instructions as to what a policyholder should do in the event that they need to return a repaired/replaced handset if the repair/replacement itself doesn't come up to snuff. My letter pointing out a) the problem and b) the shortfall in FAQ information was duly typed, printed out, signed and enveloped before being handed to my son, who was on his way out to College. He looked quizzically at the stamped addressed envelope and asked what he should do with it (he's a bright guy, but it was Monday morning and he is sitting an exam today, so might be forgiven for not being up to speed with older forms of written communication). I answered by pointing out that red pillar boxes can be found on most streets and that there is an added sense of excitement in that they come in both free-standing or wall mounted forms. The week, I fear, has not started well...

'Hiring for free' - oxymoron or HR inspired nightmare?

Judging by the BBC report, Sainsbury's in Camden look to have got the kicking they so richly deserved by advertising for a local artist to decorate the store's staff canteen for free. But when did expecting things to be done for nothing become an accepted part of the employer-employee relationship or commercial life in general? Is this something that has crept in from the egregious practice of unpaid work experience/internships? Or has the employer-employee relationship now become so slewed in favour of the former that the latter is expected to receive no consideration in return for expending their skill and labour? Either way, the practice is contrary to the rules governing formation of a contract - where there is a presumption in favour of creating legal relations where a person (be they employee or contractor) is taken to have entered into a binding contract if the circumstances are those where payment is usual. In this case, an artist would expect payment for carrying out a commission (or a painter and decorator would expect to be paid if they painted the walls or hung some wallpaper). I suppose you could try to see if the opposite applied: see how Sainsbury's would react if several hundred Camden folk entered the store, loaded their trolleys and then left without paying?

Leeds - the Northern Powerhouse?

After the rejection of its planned (and long needed) supertram system, Leeds went all out on a trolleybus replacement. However, this has just been rejected by Tory Transport Secretary, Patrick McLouglin. As city councillors and rapid transit supporters go back to the drawing board, the 'northern powerhouse' seems to have relegated Leeds to the status of cramped garden shed. Another fine mess, and more years of choking in traffic. I can remember when Leeds styled itself 'Motorway city of the seventies' - it's now 'Gridlocked city going nowhere'.

High horse or high heels - HR disaster for Portico

This all seems so obvious. It's sexist to demand that female temporary workers/colleagues/staff (delete as appropriate) wear shoes with a heel of between 2-4 inches when male temporary workers/colleagues/staff don't. It's also - arguably - discriminatory on disability grounds, so why did the outsourcer Portico stick to its guns - even to the point of sending Nicola Thorp home without pay when she refused? Presumably we're now going to see hordes of HR types hastily checking employment handbooks and policies - shame it took a temp to teach them what should, after all, have been the bleeding obvious. Oh, and if the temporary worker/colleagues/staff member showing you to your important business meeting or corporate function appears a bit tottery or unsteady on their pins, you might just want to ask HR/temp agency (delete as appropriate) a few questions.

Brenda, in her own words

Royal protocol apparently dictates that the Queen's conversations should not be revealed, so if Brenda said nasty things about the Chinese at her garden party that were picked up by the only camera crew there (on the Palace's instructions, presumably) then either she or one of her flunkies must have authorised the leak. Similarly, Cameron's unintentionally ironic corruption comment must also have been known to her Maj - it was recorded in Buckingham Palace after all. Aside therefore, from Nicholas Witchell and a few other professional toadying sycophants, neither 'indiscretions' (if that's what they were) merit anywhere near the media coverage they're getting. This has all the feel of a late Summer silly season, rather than serious political cock-up.

Up to London to (not) see the Queen

Journey back from London saw me fall prey to guilty pleasure of listening in to the conversation of four people seated at the opposite table. Dressed in their finery, the two couples had been invitees to a Buck House garden party. Of the four, however, it soon transpired that only on had managed a glimpse of the Queen. All in all, it sounded quite a rigmarole to go through to stand around in the rain to munch on cucumber sarnies.

Time wasty McTime faces

The House of Commons Science and Technology Committee is going to review the process by which the public voted overwhelmingly to name the new Arctic and Antarctic exploration vessel Boaty McBoatface, even though the aptly named Nerc (the Natural Environment Research Council to use its Sunday name) - shades of Fletcher's great Porridge putdown - has decided to depart from democratic precedent. Do they really want to waste time and money trying to justify what is, after all, merely the great British sense of humour having a communal laugh at their expense?

Senior moment at the Chippy

How many carrier bags does it take to hold fish and chips three times, a sausage, three lots of curry sauce and a portion of mushy peas? I plainly thought just the one, because as it was handed over, I turned on my heel and left Blakeley's fish and chip emporium in Ship St, Brighouse.
On my arrival back at home, however, it was pointed out to me - somewhat harshly I feel - that my solitary carrier only contained three portions of chips and one fish. A hasty phone call to the shop revealed two further bags were still there. At this point the owner offered to bring them round for us, and I was able to thank him in person, albeit rather embarrassed for my momentary lapse into a senior/craft moment.

My ideal Sky TV bundle, apparently

Junk mail from Murdoch's minions urging me to 'discover' my 'perfect Sky TV Bundle'. I very much doubt it. In my case, it would be an endless loop of Rupe being bundled into a van (shades of the Night Manager finale), intercut with Kelvin being doorstepped by Channel 4.

Peaked too soon?

Not yet 10 and I've already had Twitter exchange with Ian McMillan on the dangers of food debris from onboard train catering.
Fear the rest of the week's going to be something of an anti-climax...

Nidderdale rambling

Good walk today with Leeds Ramblers from Hampsthwaite to Birstwith in Nidderdale. A 5.5 mile circular walk in great company with fields full of lambs and dozens of wild rabbits on the homeward leg beside the River Nidd. They seem to like their Cricket in Birstwith, judging from the two matches taking place simultaneously in adjacent fields, the match in the field closest to the village centre had a bit of an after-thought feel to it, being played, as it was, on a strip of recently mowed grass to the right of a marked out rugby pitch,the fielders keeping an eye out for the H posts as they went about their task. On our return to the start on Hampsthwaite's village green, the group rounded off an enjoyable afternoon with tea/coffee and cake at Sophie's Coffee Shop and Delicatessen cum Bed and Breakfast further along Hampsthwaite's main street.

. The scones were of an enviable height, and so substantial in heft and mass that a few dozen would provide an effective road block, should the revolution ever come to Nidderdale. The only discordant note of the afternoon was provided by the waiter when he queried my pronunciation of scone (forget the 'e', it rhymes with Ron - as enunciated beautifully by Michael Palin in his brilliant rendition of the Lumberjack Song,listen and learn my be-pinnyed friend, listen and learn...

Rhubarb lurking amongst the apples - if you can't trust pies, what hope is there?

Arrived back from Tesco to find that my impulse buy - an apple pie for a quid is actually rhubarb. And I hate rhubarb... As a child, my rhubarb-loving parents often tried to pass rhubarb off as plum. I soon learned that plums aren't cube-shaped and don't change the inside of a pan when you 'stew' them. Rhubarb is cubed and 'stewed' - left to simmer in boiled water with a large amount of sugar, in an attempt to make the vegetable (oh, yes it is) vaguely edible. Not even the 'clearing out' properties of rhubarb (as my Dad was keen to proclaim - roughage was important in our house) made it a substance even remotely suitable for human consumption If this damnable imposter of a pie is going to be rendered even remotely edible it's going to need custard in a quantity sufficient to float a battleship.

The Pirate of Olympia

Last Tuesday, I attended the first day of the London Book Fair, keen to explore the myriad intricacies of e-book production and online archiving, with, perhaps, a sidelong glance or two at marketing and more traditional forms of book selling. Imagine my surprise, then, on entering an exhibition hall to be met by a man in pirate costume, waving a toy sword and generally making free with such stock phrases as 'shiver my timbers' 'pieces of eight' and asking if I wanted my photograph taken with him! Short of slamming my bodily extremities in a chest of drawer or signing the national anthem in public, I couldn't think of anything I'd like or need to do less, although I didn't couch my refusal in such absolute terms. I did, however, check the identity of the stall he was associated with, and was surprised to see that it was one that only seemed to sell books by one particular author: L Ron Hubbard. Now, Scientology's choice of a pirate theme seems rather strange - given their recent run-ins with others who adopt that style and title. Then again, the decision to book a stall at the LBF by the Scientologists also struck me as rather unusual, given the general air of liberal enquiry and hard nosed, hard sell commercialism that seemed to pervade the rest of the attenders and exhibitors.

Four Yorkshiremen versus Six Londoners

My Norman no-mates table-for-one dinner in a Bloomsbury curry house was unwittingly enlivened by the table chat of an early evening work outing. Six Londoners, all male, held forth on their favourite strip and lap dancing joints. Enlivened by a few Cobras, a couple of them then went on to describe the services they'd enjoyed from their favourite sex workers before the k member of the group broke into the hackneyed refrain about satellite TV owning benefit claimants. The conversation then took an unexpected turn as they then did a High Fidelity-esque list compilation of their favourite violent and supernatural films.
All in all, I prefer the Python parody. The London boys were a loud, grotesque throwback to Viz's Cockney Wanker character.

Sights and sounds of London

Just did an impromptu King's Cross tour guide routine for 2 Californians on a viewing platform overlooking the plaza and Regents Canal. One thanked me for using miles as a distance measurement. Had to explain that we always use them. Feel a bit ashamed for pointing out the spot where Churchill fell in as he was chased by King George for farting at teatime but you can't be nice to them all the time, can you?

DIY blind fitting sends blood pressure soaring

Came home from pleasant week in Cornwall to a re-hanging blind situation. I'd set off knowing the fitting connecting blind to ceiling had come off, causing the blind to fall and hit spouse on the way down but gave the issue little thought until I ventured into the back bedroom soon after we arrived home, to find the blind laying on the bed. So today, out came the drill and rawlplugs. To get a good 'fixing' I tried to drill up into the top of the window reveal, only to find that, even using a masonry drill bit with the drill on 'hammer' setting, I was getting nowhere. Then I spotted a second hole at a right angle to the first, that allowed for a wall fixing alternative.
Things went swimmingly for a while. New hole drilled, fitting screwed to the wall. All that remained was to re-hang the blind. And that's when disaster struck. Attempting to lever the blind into position between the two retaining clips, I managed to snap the flimsy plastic connector on the left hand side (see photo), sending the blind back down onto the bed, to the accompaniment of several choice Anglo Saxon epithets from my self as balanced on the bed in the recently acquired knowledge that the re-fitting is going to cost more time and money.
I need a holiday.

Cycling the tramway

Spent a pleasant couple of hours cycling around Portreath on north Cornwall coast. This is, or rather was, mining country and the area is littered with former mine workings and engine houses pepper the landscape. Many of the mines were linked by a tramway that took the ore from the inhospitable - and frequently storm-tossed north coast - to the more sheltered and deep waters of the Carrick Roads at Devoran, between Falmouth and Truro. Bike rental from Elm Farm at Nancekuke came to £30 for three adults. The Farm also has a cafe, licensed bar and a camp site. Good times in Cornwall.

Interviewed and dumped

Had a interview for work at a university with a big white tower in Leeds last Thursday. Four member panel questioned me for an hour for a job I was more then amply qualified for. Got the rejection this morning. Apparently I can 'phone next week for feedback. Hope no-one waits in for the call.

A word about our Patron...

Time was, being asked to be a patron of a charity was nice gesture to a local big-wig. Or maybe an automatic response if you were a large charity and the sovereign deigned to grace your letterhead. However, some Tory MPs - particularly those who decided to toe the party line and support the £30 weekly reduction in Employment Support Allowance - are now finding their charitable patronage of disabled groups facing serious and sustained opposition. None more so, it seems, that Stephen Crabb MP, the replacement for the suddenly principled IBS at the Department for Work and Pensions. Crabb is Patron of the Pembrokeshire branch of Mencap, even though he supported the ESA cut and has some rather strange views on 'curing' homosexuality. Suddenly being a figurehead is nowhere near as much of a safe sinecure that it used to be.