Posts in category "UK"

Norman - Your next post will be in the style of Micro-Blogging...

Monday - NSCR. Plaintive request from a customer to truncate a Siebel intersection table. Siebels official stance on the use of any direct SQL to modify data in Siebel base tables is well documented. However, for reasons that are too lengthy and tedious to divulge here, this particular request was approved. Mainly because they deposited £2500 into my offshore account.

Tuesday - Team Meeting at BVP. Interesting to hear what my counterparts on eBusiness Suite do. Ate here. Not as dire as the reviews suggested. Few beers in the interests of team morale.

Wednesday - Try (and fail) to avoid being dispatched abroad on my birthday. Cristiano Ronaldo keeps going till the very last minute and gets his reward. A lesson to us all.

Thursday - Early start. Sleep downstairs on the sofa bed. Wake up 3 hours early. Fly to Amsterdam. Mundane Production Health Check for Siebel 7.7 on SQL Server. Set up various monitoring tools (perfmon, OM logging and Profiler) to identify low hanging fruit. There wasn't any. Staying close to Schipol (good), far away from the city (bad).

Back to hotel. Tired. Process email while thinking about lyrics to 'Sappy' and listening to 'Low' on a tight loop.

On May 21 2007, this newspaper published an article that was somehow misconstrued by some idiotic readers to imply that the funds raised to assist with the search for the missing girl, Madeleine McCann, were being misused by Gerry and Kate McCann to fund baby sitting services and countless bottles of Rioja (Gran Reserve 1987 vintage) for British holidaymakers (aka Tapas Bar 7) in sunny Portugal.

In the light of several hundred complaints from outraged readers and the threat of legal action from the McCann's Press Office (which is absolutely not funded from the Find Madeleine fund whatsoever), this newspaper is pleased to offer a full and unequivocal apology to Gerry and Kate McCann on today's front page.

After clarifying the original story with the unnamed sources, this esteemed organ will now restate the facts of the matter once and for all.

Not one penny of the funds raised (currently standing at over 1 million pounds) have been misused in any way, shape or form by the McCanns.

We know this for a fact because the money in question has, in fact, been used to make mortgage payments on the McCann's 5 bedroom detached property in Leicester, near Rothley.

Another in this award winning and ever popular series.

Hello John. Can I ask you a quick question ?

'Well I'm onsite at a Red account in deepest Kazbakistan about to go into a crisis meeting. But, as it's you (again). Go on. Fire away.'

'Well I have a really strange problem. I'm currently at Asda and I can't get...'

'Yeah. Hurry up. What's the actual problem ? Installation, performance, database, network, security, clustering, defect, LDAP - what is it ?'

'Well it's an unusual one. It's the milk.'

'The milk. What on earth are you talking about ? Did you really say milk ?'

'Well, as I said, I'm currently in Asda and there is no milk.'

'For Christ's sake, you're calling to ask me a question about your grocery shopping.'

'Yeah. I really need milk and there isn't any.'

'Well obviously all the milk is sold out. Get fully skimmed or get 2 pints from the newsagent or the Total garage.'

'But the milk isn't actually sold out. That's the weird thing.'

'Well if it isn't sold out, why is there no milk there ?'

'That's why I am calling you. Although there's no milk, there is a sign on the refrigerator where the milk should be and the sign mentions you.'

'Mentions me. What do you mean - the sign mentions me ?'

'Shut up and listen'

'Due to circumstances beyond our control, the milk chiller is currently out of service. We hope to have the unit working again as soon as poss-'

'Look - can you hurry up ? The council of war is starting'

'Well just shut up and listen then.'

'We hope to have the unit working again as soon as possible. We sincerely apologise to all our loyal customers for the inconvenience caused. Until then, may we suggest you ask a colleague for advice.'

When your children ask for a pet hamster, always follow your gut instincts and refuse.

Last night, I entered the bathroom to find my wife had suddenly and unexpectedly replaced the tile lino with bare floorboards. She was on her knees sanding the boards for that perfect Victorian antique looking finish.

I carefully navigated my way to the sink and noticed my two children huddled under the pedestal, feverishly yanking at floorboards and ripping up plywood with their bare hands.

'Stop it. What do you think you're doing ? For the last time, it's bedtime. I'm trying to brush my teeth here.'

'Dad - it's Gromit. He's trapped under the floorboards.'

My wife politely interjected...

'Put that bloody toothbrush down and get me a claw hammer. Now.'

And so it continued. The stylish, ivory and cream, fake Italian lino got torn, pieces of plywood got raised and more floorboards got levered up. Still, there was no access to the little, cuddly, brown hamster who was squealing from under the sink pedestal. I could have sworn he was singing 'A song from under the floorboards' by Magazine.

I resigned myself to his imminent death and yet another pet funeral in my garden. I tried to sneak out without brushing my teeth, claiming I was looking for creative solutions on the Internet. I slipped and broke my ankle on pine nuts that were liberally scattered on the floor.

'Get me a pair of pliers. Now.'

Oh no. Not the torture by pliers. My wife proferred a coat hanger which I severed in two places. She then bent the wire into an improvised corkscrew style, helter-skelter type device for small rodents.

Thankfully, with more coaxing, the hamster managed to achieve yet another miraculous escape. This was a tremendous relief as I suspect my wife's next strategy was to start drilling up through the lounge ceiling perilously close to multiple water pipes.

Later in bed, I remarked 'When those hamsters are dead, we are not getting any more pets. Ever.'

Norma replied 'Oh come on. Could you really stand there every morning and night brushing your teeth knowing that Gromit's dead body lay just four feet away under the floorboards ?'

'You know what Norma. You're right. He's such a lovable little hamster I don't think I could have possibly lived with myself.'

'There you are. So you do have a heart after all. You do care.'

'I suppose I would have ended up using the downstairs loo instead.'

An inquest has reached an open verdict on the death of a judge, six years ago.

This story caught the media interest in the UK because

1. The victim was a judge hence plenty of scope for pictures of him wearing his robes and his silly wig.
2. The victim was having an affair with a glamorous mistress.
3. The storyline was identical to an episode of 'Midsomer Murders' aired in March 2003.
4. The wife was arrested but later released without charge.
5. The mistress was also under suspicion for blackmail.

However, what I found interesting (it's not really appropriate to say hilarious) about this case was the sequence of events after the judge told his wife of the affair and the fact he wanted a divorce. After dropping this bombshell to his wife of 34 years, he then went upstairs to, wait for it, change into his gardening clothes and prepared to mow the lawn.

The man went to the garden shed to mount his expensive, deluxe ride-on lawn-mower, when a stray spark ignited petrol fumes causing a massive explosion.

The distraught wife, in a very British way, ran outside and, horrified at the blazing inferno ~~dialled 999 in an attempt to save the life of her unfaithful husband~~ hurriedly gathered in her washing.

Many years ago, Norma and I bought my son a Formula 1 racing car. The car cost £230,000 and the wrapping paper cost £47.50. It was really difficult to conceal the present prior to the big day and the mystery gift somewhat dwarfed the other presents around the Christmas tree.

No seriously, this particular Formula 1 racing car was actually a child's bed. The racing car was fantastic, tastefully coloured in white and red with large black (wet weather) tyres and the headboard was the cockpit.

My son loved the bed too but, as with all things, his interest slowly dwindled with the passing of time. From being proud and excited to show it off to his friends, he became a little embarrassed when pals entered his room and saw his novelty bed.

Finally, he convinced us to replace the bed with some anonymous, bland divan with a supportive mattress and drawers (instead of gigantic, silver exhaust pipes) underneath. He kept moaning that he banged his head on the aerofoil every morning, his legs dangled over the end of the front spoiler and that he was now 23 years old, after all.

As this was prior to the days of eBay, we advertised the bed in the small ads section of the local paper. On the day the paper was published, a gentleman called and expressed an interest and said he would come round on Friday night.

Friday came and went. The gentleman didn't come round. Surprisingly, we didn't get any more telephone calls. Reluctantly, we prepared to take to bed to the tip as we had not been able to access the lavatory for four whole days as a Formula 1 racing car was completely blocking the upstairs landing.

Norma and I managed to manhandle the bed down the narrow staircase where it perched vertically and precariously in the hallway. Dinner guests looked perplexed and politely enquired: 'Do you know you have a Formula 1 racing car in your hallway ?'

Fortunately, the gentleman called again, this time promising to come round on Sunday. This time, he did come round with his young son whose eyes immediately lit up at the sight that greeted him in the hallway. The gentleman agreed to take the bed and he didn't even attempt to haggle me down from the £40 price tag.

The prospective buyer was a builder and, because he was working on a big job where he wasn't getting paid until tomorrow, he asked if he could pop round tomorrow night with the money.

He was happy to return and collect the bed then but as he had his van with him, he wondered if he could possibly take the bed now. As his lad was so excited, I agreed and, with a tear in my eye, I helped him lug the Formula 1 Racing car outside and secure it on his van.

Off he went, with his lad beaming in the passenger seat, proudly looking back at his new acquisition, the best present he had ever had from the best dad in the world.

Inevitably, the builder didn't pop round on Monday with the money. Or Tuesday. So I summoned up the courage and rang him at home. His daughter told me 'My Dad says he's working in Cleethorpes on another big job and isn't coming back. Ever.'

I fleetingly contemplated tracing the gentleman to his home address and demanding what was rightfully mine. I thought better of it when I remembered how the burly builder had broken my middle finger with his very firm handshake.

Then I remembered the look on his son's face when he walked in and saw the Formula 1 Racing car cunningly disguised a bed, so I put it down to experience and thought

'That was the best £40 I ever spent.'

When my daughter went to secondary school, like every other dutiful parent, we religiously completed all the necessary forms and paperwork.

As part of this, I must have divulged my mobile phone number. Now this must have been intended for emergency use only because I don't divulge my mobile number (07723 431768) lightly.

So, imagine my surprise when I received the following text message yesterday:

'This is Hogwarts Girls' School. This is a reminder that Autumn Term starts on Wednesday 5th September at 8:40am. Hope you had a good summer. Thank you.'

I was gratified to see the correct positioning of the apostrophe and replied:

'Many thanks for your recent text message. I was so busy enjoying my summer holidays that I had completely forgotten the fact I attended school so your reminder was very timely. I am sure my mum probably would have reminded me at some point because she is so annoying like that. Rest assured I have purchased a brand new compass and protractor set for the challenges in the coming year. However, thus far, I have resisted my mum's overtures to buy a new skirt that conforms to the new 'Length Guidelines' published in May 2007.

CU L8TR M8. Norma-Jean Brightside (aged 14 3/4)'.

Steve has an admirable habit of titling (almost) all of his posts with a line from a song.

Just went to the post office. I was in luck. Just one lady, with a baby in a pushchair, posting a small parcel. Or so I thought.

'First class, please'

'That's £2.57 please'.

'Oh - hang on. Do you think I should send this recorded ?'

[ She didn't ask what benefits recorded delivery offered versus registered or plain first class. Even more odd was the postmaster's reply ]

'Yes. I think you should.'

[ without asking about the contents of the parcel or outlining what recorded delivery offers ]

'Yes. That will be £3.74 for recorded'

Delay as he prints out the necessary orange labels

Delay as the lady takes an eon to complete the necessary labels.

Delay as the lady dutifully sticks the labels on the small parcel.

Delay as the lady coos to the baby 'There - that's all our jobs done. Isn't that good ? All our jobs are done. Haven't we both done well ?' Well, yours might be but I am still waiting.

Further delay as the lady unbelievably plucks out a debit card to pay the massive sum of £3.74.

Coincidentally, I am posting two parcels abroad but resist the temptation to ask

'Hmm. Do you think I should send these recorded ?'

After all my jobs are complete (didn't I do well) in the Post Office, I need some cash as I was perilously close to annoying the eight people behind me in the queue by paying by debit card for a transaction totalling £7.68.

And so to the cashpoint. Again, I am in luck. Just one gentleman ahead of me. Or so I thought.

He completes his transaction, withdraws his card so I make my advance. I nearly bump into him as he submits his card again for another transaction. He must be checking his balance.

Again, he finally completes this transaction and I nearly walk into him as he pauses and initiates a third (well three that I have witnessed) transaction.

Finally, after what seems an eternity he turns and walks away. I catch his eye because I am wondering whether the machine has run out of cash but no. Unbelievably, he mutters

'Nope. Doesn't want to give me any cash today. I'll have to try again later.'

5 seconds later, I have successfully withdrawn £100 so the gentleman was either overdrawn and polling every 30 seconds to see whether additional funds might have miraculously cleared or he was a complete idiot.

Morwenna Banks, who plays Vicky in Saxondale, is superb. While she gets some of the best lines in the comedy series, co-written by Steve Coogan like

'Tell him to put some jam on his shoes and invite his trousers down for tea.'

...her delivery and timing is absolutely brilliant.

After recent horrific events, I was forced to flee the country so I took my family (and a couple of young hangers-on) for a relaxing break at CenterParcs near Eindhoven.

For those readers with (young) families, CenterParcs in Holland is very similar to the setup in the UK except that the prices are lower and staff are actually friendly and helpful.

For those readers without families, CenterParcs is probably not for you.

Anyway, I have returned refreshed, invigorated and raring to go. I am currently wading through my backlog of email. Then I will quickly review the week's football news and my Fantasy League team selections, watch 'Saxondale' and then normal blogging service will be resumed as I ease myself gently back into work and scale my ivory tower.

Oh, hang on a minute, the scheduling goddess has helpfully seen fit to send me straight back to Holland (Rotterdam, to be precise) to spend the remainder of my Euros so I need to quickly iron a shirt, pack my last two pairs of clean undergarments, order a taxi and get to Heathrow Terminal 4 immediately.