Posts in category "UK"

Im not really a betting man. Mainly because Im a scientist.

On Grand National day, we normally nominate two or three horses each and someone wanders to place our bets at the bookies round the corner. My daughter normally wins.

Also, we might cut up the runners from the Daily Mail supplement and do a lucky dip sweepstake.

I also used to routinely bet on the final score and first scorer in the FA Cup Final to add some interest (if United weren't involved).

I don't do 'Accumulators'. I don't do 'in-match betting' (despite the repeated urging from Ray Winstone) aired during every single live football match.

I don't buy scratchcards. I don't do the lottery. I have never visited a casino. I don't play poker.

I prefer to gamble any spare money on the stock market or cryptocurrencies.

However, some years ago, a mate was talking about short-term, real-time, matched betting on the General Election outcome and making some money which piqued my interest.

I opened a BetFair account and placed some long term bets about United and the Premiership. I was interested in the possibility of cashing out before the bet expired.

I won two bets and lost three but using the 'FREE MATCHED BET WHEN YOU OPEN AN ACCOUNT', I came out even and forgot about it.

Today, I received an email from BetFair inviting me to 'Verify my account'. Even though, this account has been dormant for two years, they still had to verify it.

I went to login, not to verify my account but to check the balance was zero and then close it.

I'd forgotten my password. No problem. Click the 'Reset password' link but no joy - 'Your account has been suspended pending Verification'

Go to hunt on the Web site for an email address (which is quite rare these days) or a Contact Form (also quite rare) so had to content myself with 'Online Chat'.

15 minutes before an agent responds due to 'Exceptional demand'.

I explain the Catch-22 situation. I want to verify my account but I can't login to verify my account. I can't reset my password until I verify my account.

The customer service agent (eventually) starts to assist me by asking for 'Proof of address' and 'Proof of identify'. This requires a scan of my driving licence and a water bill.

The driving licence fails 'Validation' - presumably because it's the old style 'Classic' paper driving licence and doesn't contain a photo of me at 22 years old.

So I am forced to upload more personal data - a scan of my passport. This is acceptable. Hurrah !

He then sent me a 'Reset Password' link and I have now regained control of my BetFair account.

As I suspected, the account balance is zero so I can go ahead and close it. Look around for 'Close account'. Nothing. Google tells me that 'Contact customer service if you want to close your BetFair account'.

Thankfully, the chat window is still open so I politely ask the gentleman that, instead of loading my account with £100 to bet on tonight's Europa League fixtures, I just want to close my account.

'Yes. I can help you with this but company policy demands that you provide a reason'.

Well, I initiated this process a full 90 minutes ago so I was a little frustrated but it was a background activity so I just replied:

'Sure. 90 minutes to reset my password. The invasive and unnecessary requirements to share personal data over an insecure channel - simply to verify a dormant account to then close it'.

'Thanks'.

'Oh and also add - The fact you can't close your account from the Web site and customers are are forced to contact Customer Service. Imagine if I was a problem gambler struggling with debt and desperately trying to close all my online betting accounts. BetFair deliberately make this hard for me'.

'I am pleased to confirm your account is now closed'.

And all the online betting companies have the gall to post that 'Gamble Aware' logo on their sites and adverts.

[ This post doesn't contain any affiliate links to BetFair as I truly believe the gambling industry is immoral, insidious, untruthful and responsible for a lot of personal heartache, significant debt and in cases, people being driven to despair and ultimately taking their own lives ]

Saturday 18 July

A beautiful, sunny Saturday morning but instead of sitting in a field in Hook Norton, drinking real ale, laughing, chatting rubbish and analysing the football season with my mates, instead we enjoyed a long overdue visit from my wife's hairdresser. She is self-employed and a mobile hairdresser. We opened up the garage door and prepared chairs, black bin liners (to avoid using her capes) and an extension cable for her hairdryer and clippers.

She looked aghast as she entered:

'I honestly thought Norma was joking when she said 'Use the side entrance'.

As we chatted outside, she said 'It's going to be sweltering out here. Can't we just go into the kitchen ?'

It was 10:00am in the shade and perfectly fine.

She didn't want us to wear masks - 'Well I can't cut your hair if you're wearing a mask, can I ?'

Well, actually, you probably could, if we held our masks on by hand when you needed to access the areas around the ears. Or had given the subject any thought whatsoever.

She also steadfastly refused to don a mask. She did pay us the courtesy of donning gloves however but she always did this as she's handling chemical bleaching agents.

I was relatively straightforward and quick - short back and sides but my wife has her hair coloured which takes longer.

As she finished up and was packing away, she told us that her brother lives in Portugal and she was flying out there this week to visit him.

I asked 'Isn't Portugal on the red list ?'

'No, no. My brother said it'll be fine and, anyway, I've got tickets for free using my vouchers'.

'But won't you be asked to self quarantine for 14 days on your return ?'

'No, no, it's fine now'.

Fair enough. I let it go and assumed the guidance had recently changed. I checked later and it hadn't but that won't bother her as if airlines are flying to Porto, ergo, it must be safe.

After leaving us, she was going to visit a 70 year old lady in her home. She had booked and cancelled on multiple occasions because her son had reservations. I nearly asked for her phone number so I could forewarn her.

Later, as we admired our smart new haircuts, my wife quietly said 'I've known Janet for 18 years and I really like her but, if she doesn't change her working practices or the restrictions aren't relaxed before her next visit, I don't think I'll use her again'.

Same evening, two long-standing friends come over for a barbecue. The lady is a primary school teacher and was telling us about the health precautions and detailed measures in place at her school.

Talk turned to the previous day (Friday) which was the last day of term. As is tradition (apparently), the teachers adjourned to a local pub for a bite to eat and cocktails.

The pub landlord sensibly split the large group of 20 teachers into four separate groups on separate tables outside in the beer garden to comply with the guidelines.

'But it didn't matter, when the staff weren't looking, we rotated tables so we could all spend time with each other'.

Long, deep sigh, Long, deep slug on my Stella.

Inevitably, some teachers wanted another drink and visited a tapas bar at the top of our road. The group couldn't be accommodated outside but the owner kindly (or stupidly) offered to seat them all inside.

An older lady in her 60's said 'I'm not comfortable with this so I'm going home'.

The rest sat down in a single group, indoors and gleefully perused the cocktail menu.

Awkward silence. A furtive glance exchanged with the missus. Another long, deep sigh, Another long, deep slug on my Stella.

When our teacher friend first arrived, she insightfully remarked that some parents 'simply don't get and won't ever get it until their Auntie is hospitalised or dies from Covid'. Obviously, her Auntie is still alive and well.

Then to top it all off, her husband who is an intelligent man, double first from Cambridge, worked as a scientist for Shell for 25 years, a man who can lucidly discuss, argue and offer thought provoking ideas about politics, current affairs and anything else.

I don't know if he was embarrassed or couldn't take his alcohol but he baldly stated:

'Yes - of course it was alright because, essentially, they have formed an extended work related bubble'.

I was so stunned I just sat there in silence. I wish I'd been quick witted enough to say (lifted from Stewart Lee's These Days sketch).

'Sorry, you're saying that it's alright to sit indoors in a restaurant in a group of 20. When did this come in ?'

A lot of people write in and ask Norman - whatever happened to that SIPP you started 10 years ago ? Has it produced enough to retire on ? Was it a lot of work ? Did it outperform the FTSE100 ?

I took the 'long term buy and hold forever and 'strategic ignorance' ethos to its logical extreme and forgot about the SIPP completely. Once all the pension funds were transferred and a collection of high yielding UK shares purchased, I forgot about it. I didn't sell any shares. I didn't feverishly check the balance daily. I didn't panic during the banking crisis of 2008. I didn't respond to any corporate actions. Occasionally, I bought a new share once enough funds had accumulated from dividend payments.

The long term performance of my SIPP versus the FTSE also interested me so recently, I endured the time consuming, arduous and rather tedious exercise of reconstructing the detailed transaction and dividend history, spanning 11 years, of my pension portfolio which produced an interesting graph (courtesy of ft.com).

Not enough to retire on but getting there.

Update: A better comparison is with the FTSE100 (accumulation units) where dividend income is automatically re-invested.

The Arundel House Hotel is a decent, clean, tidy and reasonably priced hotel in Cambridge. The hotel is ideally located adjacent to Jesus Green so you can easily walk into Cambridge for sight-seeing. In addition, it has a large car park which is free to residents.

However, one unfortunate incident at breakfast means that I will probably never return there or honestly be able to unreservedly recommend it.

I am grabbing some fruit and yogurt and returning to our table in the light and airy conservatory. As I pass the 'Please wait here to be seated' sign, I am surprised to see Norma standing there, waiting to be seated as she already has a seat allocated. With me. In the conservatory. Was it something I said ?

I am even more surprised to hear her raising her voice slightly at a waiter. My wife rarely gets cross or raises her voice. When she does, she doesn't really sound angry, loud or intimidating but her voice quivers slightly.

Anyway, she said 'Listen - I just want a cup of tea. I am a customer in your hotel and I have paid for breakfast. Is that really too much to ask ?'

The waiter nodded and replied 'Not at all madam, I will have some tea brought over immediately'.

When we both sat down, my wife explained the background to this little outburst.

Tea and coffee wasn't served to your table. Instead it was available for self-service in two large coffee pots. Fine.

The coffee pot containing tea was empty. Norma politely asked a waitress if she could bring a fresh pot out.

My wife ate some cereal. The tea didn't arrive. She ate some toast. The tea didn't arrive. She got up again and politely asked for some tea. Again.

A waitress rather forcefully told her - 'Yes - I know. It's coming. It's coming. Look - here he is now'.

My wife poured some tea into her cup from the freshly brewed, steaming pot of tea. Some grey liquid entered her cup. She frowned - waited 30 seconds, sluiced the content of the large pot around in an effort to strengthen it up and tried again. She go the same grey liquid - this time with a pinkish tinge.

She asked another waitress for a single pot of tea. She was told, rather forcefully, 'No - tea is served from the table in the conservatory'.

Norma is now getting officially pissed off so she grabs a small teapot from an empty or vacated table and asks a waiter - 'The tea from the large pot isn't very nice. Please can I have a pot of tea in here ?' (helpfully points at teapot).

Waiter responds - 'No - that teapot is only for Green Tea' and dismissively walks away.

Wife is now verging on enraged which is where I originally saw her at 'Waiting to be seated' sign, blissfully unaware as I sipped at my perfectly acceptable filter coffee.

The saga ends when a waitress finally comes to our table brandishing a teapot.

Or, it would have ended there, if she had not slammed the teapot down on the table with such force that the plates with mini-jars of marmalade and honey shook and a table leg nearly gave way.

I looked at the waitress. She looked cross, very cross. If looks could kill, there would have been a massacre.

Screw this - this has gone far enough. She's not insulting my wife like this.

I gestured to the cup of grey liquid in the teacup (with a strange pinkish tinge) which looked so unappetising, I daren't even try it.

'Look at that tea - it's disgusting'.

'Looks alright to me', the sullen waitress replied.

'Are you serious ? Would you drink that ?'

'Yeah - I would drink it' and she glared at me for that little extra touch of customer service.

She was lucky she wasn't wearing the damned cup of grey slops when she departed with a face like a kid who had been denied sweeties, had her phone taken away and grounded for a week.

I think it is entirely right and proper that Sir Fred Goodwin has been stripped of his knighthood.

After all, I am a shareholder in the Royal Bank of Scotland and his incompetence has cost me a significant amount of money and pushed back my retirement age to 87.

In fact, why stop there ? Personally, I find it objectionable that Freddie's surname includes the word 'Good'. This man is not good - in fact, he is a very bad man so I suggest he should henceforth be known as 'Fred Win'.

Oh no. Wait hang on - the word 'win' also has positive connotations associated with victory and happiness (see also Charlie Sheen and 'Winning'). This will never do so I insist the word 'Win' is also stripped from his legal name.

So now, the former head of RBS should simply be known as 'Fred'.

Investigations continue into whether Fred has a middle name.

BBC Breakfast ran a story this morning about the sale of woodlands. The gentlemen responsible for selling woodlands was quite a comedian. He started his act with:

'In these difficult economic times, people are looking to invest in woodlands to hedge their bets...'

and then, referring to the potential investment opportunity and without a glimmer of a smile, he delivered the immaculate line

'In a few years time, once the wood has matured, people will see that you can get income from trees'.

The ticket allocations for the London 2012 Olympics havent been announced yet so I dont know whether Ill be watching Tom Daley competing in the 10m platform diving semi final on 9th August.

If I do, I'll be sparing a thought and probably shedding a quiet tear for Tom Daley's dad, Rob, who lost his 5 year battle against a brain tumour yesterday.

Last year, I enjoyed a BBC documentary about Tom Daley where his Dad interrupted a formal press conference to give his son a big hug, thoroughly embarrassing him in the process. You could just sense the immense sense of love and pride Rob Daley had in his son.

Sadly, he will never get to see him compete at the London Olympics. 40 years old. Sometimes life just isn't bloody fair.

Chatting with a good friend over dinner last night, he recounted how his son ambushed him late one Sunday night with some economics homework that hed somehow manage to overlook and which simply had to be submitted the following morning.

Annoyed, and after dispensing a severe bollocking, he reluctantly sat down and gave his son some lengthy help with the complex and thorny topic of

'How does monetary policy affect the economy ?'

A week later, his son mumbled 'Oh yeah - I got that Eco essay back today and got a 'C' for it'.

My friend has a first class honours degree in Economics from the University of Warwick, has spent 26 years working in finance and banking and is currently a senior economic analyst for the leading fund manager, Gartmore.

My - how we laughed.

These are indeed exciting times in the Brightside household:

• Norma Jeane will be taking part in the 125th Lawn Tennis Championships to be held at Wimbledon between 20 June and 3 July. Her precise role isn't known yet but may include 'Waiting On (Silver Service)' - fawning over loud, overbearing sales people out on a corporate jolly, 'Bar staff' (serving jugs of Pimms to middle aged Daily Mail readers) or tantalisingly, 'Courtesy car driver' (ferrying a morose Andy Murray around). This represents a rapid promotion from her initial placement two years ago, where she started out on 'Litter collection surrounding courts 10 and 11' before being promoted to 'Housekeeping duties' or, as she so eloquently put it - 'Cleaning the bogs'.
• Norma will be visiting Holloway prison in April. She claims this is part of her District Nursing course but I have my doubts. She seems to be watching a lot of those legal dramas recently and taking copious notes.
• Norman Junior III is recuperating from fracturing his right arm for the second time. Note to self - any activity containing the word 'roller' that takes place on a concrete road is potentially hazardous. He is soldiering on quite well and only needs assistance with his socks. He has subsequently changed his XBox nickname to 'OneArmedBandit' and is experimenting using his toes to manipulate the controller.
• I had a brush with West Midlands traffic police last week in Solihull after daring to consult a old fashioned map while driving. After 15 minutes of being patronised by a fascist pig and being forced to beg and scrape on bended knee, I managed to escape with a verbal warning instead of the threatened '6 point penalty for careless driving'. However, I am still puzzling over the 'correct' answer to the copper's deep, probing question: 'Sir, please could you tell me why were you travelling at 25 miles per hour in a 30 zone ?'

Sarah Baskerville is a civil servant who works for the Department of Transport in London.

Back in November, there was a minor storm in a teacup when the Daily Mail caught Sarah caught posting the shocking revelation to Twitter that she 'Had a hangover' whilst at work. In addition, she occasionally had the temerity to dare to question Government policy.

Unless you are a Daily Mail reader, none of this is very newsworthy. I suspect the vast majority of people with a Twitter account have posted inane drivel along the lines of 'At work. Hungover. Need coffee'.

It's clear from reading her blog that Sarah Baskerville is an intelligent, educated, experienced lady who cares about her job and is passionate about improving things. Why - she even gave up her own time on a Sunday to attend a work related conference so I certainly don't begrudge her tweeting from her workplace. There, but for the grace of God, and all that.

Nor do I really care that she dares to criticise Government policy - I'd rather that than some mindless, faceless drone implementing Government policy unquestioningly - or that she admits she is looking forward to going home after a hard day. Who doesn't ?

What I find interesting about this story is the fact that Sarah Baskerville then proceeded to lodge two complaints with the Press Complaints Commission (PCC) about the Independent on Sunday's (not the Daily Mail) subsequent coverage of a small selection of Sarah's postings on Twitter.

In her complaint, Baskerville claimed that she had a 'reasonable expectation that my [Twitter] messages...would be published only to my followers'.

As someone active in multiple social networks (Baskerville's Web site portal lists a total of 20 social networks), it is simply inconceivable that she didn't know how the Twitter service worked and a Tweet was immediately posted and visible on a public Web site on the Internet.

Baskerville has even written an excellent article about the use of social netwoking tools in Government and how they could be used to engage more openly with the public so she clearly understands how Twitter et al function and how these services disseminate information quickly to a wide audience.

Sarah Baskerville isn't some 16 year old school leaver working in Greggs bakery posting on Facebook that 'Mr. Grimsdyke told me off for being late again. I hate that man' and then being surprised when she subsequently receives a complimentary 'steak bake' together with her P45.

If Sarah Baskerville truly wanted her messages to be visible to her Followers, she could have easily have achieved this using a private Twitter feed but I suspect she simply didn't bother because she thought no-one was listening.

Of course, not many people click through to read the small print when they rush over to sign up on Twitter to follow Jonathan Ross. However, maybe Sarah should take time to read the full version of the Twitter Terms of Service

The Content you submit, post, or display will be able to be viewed by other users of the Services and through third party services and websites (go to the > account settings page to control who sees your Content).

The same warning is even summarised in a top tip - 'What you say on Twitter may be viewed all around the world instantly' which, for most people, is exactly the point.

I suspect Sarah Baskerville was fully aware of this possibility but didn't bother as she freely admits she simply didn't expect to be 'targeted' (her words) by the Daily Mail and subsequently by the Independent on Sunday.

The original news story broke in November and it appears Sarah Baskerville still has her job and I sincerely hope she doesn't get dismissed over this episode.

Yesterday, the PCC rejected both of Baskerville's complaints agreeing with the Independent's damning assertion:

The complainant was not, said the newspaper, "someone who for some reason was able to use the technology but unable to realise the consequences of making her life so public.

However, I also suspect Sarah Baskerville lodged her complaint with the PCC in order to prolong her 15 minutes of fame, thinking that she was striking a hammer blow for freedom on behalf of all individual bloggers and workplace tweeters everywhere. Winning her case would result in media coverage, worldwide gratitude and acclaim and somehow make a name for herself.

She certainly succeeded in doing that. The name is 'idiot'.