Posts in category "UK"

Hows your curry, darling ?

A blog post in the classic retro style of Dear Diary. Stay tuned next week for relationship woes, football reports, psychotherapy, unexpunged details on my health, teenage angst, my current mood, the music I am listening to and why I am going to be quiet for the next 13 days.

Or, as Mark E. Smith of The Fall, once said to requests for 'Bingo Masters Breakout'

'Are you still doing what you did 5 years ago ?' 'Yeah - well don't make a career out of it.'

Stagger downstairs for breakfast to find an early morning problem. The Virgin Media V+ box has rebooted overnight only it didn't reboot cleanly and is stuck on the 'Powering up' screen. Norman Junior III and Norma Jean have already initiated a disaster recovery plan and are glued to the standby database (2nd STB).

This is a major worry as the TV must be working by 19:45 tonight otherwise I face the prospect of watching AC Milan vs MUFC in the pub with a load of ABU's (Anyone But United). Politely ask the wife if she can call '150' to try to get it sorted.

Drive to Oracle's offices in Thames Valley Park near Reading. I have done a lot of commuting to customer sites recently but I can't work at home today as I am too nervous. In addition, my wife is also at home and I need to get some work done (rather than mow the lawn, take a tempting lunch in a sunny beer garden or diagnose a faulty smoke alarm).

Listen to TalkSport who are dissecting last night's game between Chelsea and Liverpool. My abiding memory of 120 minutes of tedious football is a fat Scouser holding 6 fingers up and another holding aloft a plastic European Cup.

Plastic Scousers. Plastic treble.

Power the laptop up and yesterday's mysterious Windows warning message 'You may have been a subject of counterfeiting' has disappeared as miraculously as it appeared.

Sign into Oracle Instant Chat. I am making a conscious effort to use this tool more regularly and more effectively.

Check email using Thunderbird. Nothing too important. A colleague is asking for help with a Siebel query from hell that runs fast in UAT and, wait for it, slow in production. The query plan and costs are almost identical so the solution isn't immediately obvious. Offer a couple of suggestions (check data volumes, check statistics and histograms, 10053 trace, Alert 1162).

Quick scan of RSS feeds using Google Reader. Couple of quick blog posts about 'Leeds, Leeds, Leeds' and contaminated curry.

Update document following a comprehensive and thorough peer review. Deliver final document to account manager. Add a couple of useful notes to TiddlyWiki: Metalink Note 391116.1 (10.2.0.3 Release Notes) and bug 5131645 (high parse times in Oracle 10.1.0.4).

Microsoft Word livens the morning up by crashing as I click 'Save' for the last time. I am not sure what the question is but I am convinced Microsoft Word is not the answer. I loathe the program with a vengeance.

During the Siebel takeover, rumours were rife that Oracle do not use any Microsoft products at all. This was supposedly because Larry Ellison steadfastly refused to pay Bill Gates a single cent in license revenues.

Guess what - this didn't prove to be the case. Most desktops and laptops at Oracle run Windows XP pre-loaded with Microsoft Office. However, Oracle do use open standards so employees are free to use the email client of their choice. Oracle also provide software (Oracle Connector) to provide an email interface from Microsoft Outlook to accommodate the sales and marketing department.

Update a second document. This is a much shorter document (site visit report) with thankfully fewer comments and corrections.

Book flights to Oslo using the online travel system for next two weeks. I get an 'Exception Report' because I booked a slightly more expensive direct flight rather than going via Amsterdam and arriving 3 hours later.

I am going to Norway on a 'deep dive' but I have subsequently learned this is a technical training exercise run by, err, me to provide knowledge transfer and actually perform some real-life data migration with a Siebel integrator rather than scuba diving. I have visited this customer before and they specifically asked for me to return which was a welcome compliment.

Return the favour by reviewing a colleague's document (yes I do read and write a lot of words in my job). He scratches my back and I scratch his even though it is a little hairy for my taste.

It is now 11:40 and I suddenly realise I have forgotten to turn my mobile phone on. 2 messages. The first is a scary, schizophrenic, psychotic madman saying in a dull, menacing monotone 'Get some bloody work done'. This unsettles me so much I think it is a Leeds fan, my manager or a disgruntled Web 2.0 'A' lister and I immediately consider turning the phone off again.

I also have two text messages and a voicemail from my lovely wife, Norma. 'TV not working. Phone now broken. InterWeb down. Virgin man coming. Call me'. This is serious - a complete and catastrophic loss of digital services. On the night of the European Cup semi-final.

Then I remember. The phone line was very crackly last night so the 'Get some work done' message was a test message from myself to myself. Phew. I am not being stalked after all.

Resume document review.

Interrupted by a call from Frank, the Virgin Media engineer. He is initially puzzled by my professional business-like greeting: 'Norman Brightside - Oracle Expert Services. How may I help you grow your business ?'

Frank is in his white van, en route to my house and calls me to clarify which services are working. He wondered if all services are down and whether some idiot had been doing some overzealous gardening and simply severed the cable.

I tell him that I am at work but my wife is at home and she reports that the second TV is still working. I inform him that the last time I did any gardening was September 1991 but I do possess an axe.

Once again, I stress the importance of the main TV being functional by 19:45 for the most important match of the season. He roars with laughter and replies he is a very happy Liverpudlian and understands the importance of the task. I gently enquire whether his tools are made of plastic. He roars with laughter and holds 6 fingers up (which I can't see).

I work in building 550 alongside a group called 'License Renewals' who just do what it says on the tin. The people working here probably bring more revenue into the company during a single telephone call than I do in a calendar year.

Then I call the wife and tell her to prepare the metal shackles and heavy chains. I suggest that she deflates the tyres on Frank's van while claiming to be making him a lovely cup of coffee.

Back to the document review. This is a very detailed review about tuning Siebel data loads on Oracle 10g. A excellent, comprehensive document packed with technical information and useful strategies. Make a mental note to plagiarise most of this material and claim the credit for myself.

Norma calls again. Frank has fixed the V+ box already. This is absolutely amazing customer service. What on earth is going on at Virgin Media ? A engineer onsite within 2 hours of the call and he has already fixed the first problem.

Frank has also noted some error codes on the diagnostics screen and offers to replace the V+ box. Before he does so, he wants to ensure I am happy to re-enter my 'Planned Recordings' which will be lost. I tell him to swap the box and I will reluctantly re-program 'Relocation, Relocation, Relocation', 'American Idol' and 'Dragon's Den'.

Skip lunch in favour of water as I have 4 stone of blubber to sustain myself.

Stop procrastinating and embark on 4 weeks worth of expenses. A tedious, unbelievably time-consuming but necessary task involving lots of receipts, paper jams, printing, sellotape, envelopes and photocopying.

Courtesy call to customer I am visiting tomorrow (LoadRunner performance testing which is normally great fun).

Wife calls. Our hero, Frank, has now resolved the issue with the telephone line. Apparently, water had damaged one set of cables so he has re-routed to use the second set. The root cause remains unknown. Frank suspects the ongoing building work outside which seems a likely candidate although, confusingly, he agrees the builders have not interfered with the cables from the road to the house.

Finally prepare to leave office. Need to allow extra contingency of 3 hours to allow for traffic delays, earthquakes, road rage attacks, acts of God, or M3 lane closures that could prevent me getting back to my armchair before 19:45.

Everything was just going too well. Inevitably, fate suddenly dealt me a cruel and unexpected card. I was thwarted by a schoolboy error. In my rush, I foolishly fed a hotel bill together with a stapled credit card receipt into the office photocopier. The inevitable paper jam (Lift tray 3, turn green knob, release paper jam) meant lengthy and serious internal surgery. By the time, I finally extracted the bill, it was in 73 separate pieces. So was the photocopier. So was I.

I called the delightful Malmaison hotel in Oxford to ask for a copy of my bill. Thankfully, for once, technology came to my rescue. The kind lady faxed the bill directly to my office extension and it miraculously appeared in my Inbox as a TIF attachment. I noted that the Malmaison bill is headed 'DAMAGE'. Pretentious, moi ?

Conference call with customer about clustering and high availability options for Siebel.

Finally, the expenses are submitted, the ToDo list and the Inbox are both empty and I am free to go home. I pick up my complimentary copy of Oracle Scene on the way out. Yet another perk of working for Oracle. At least, I hope it's complimentary.

With no more distractions, the nerves, the tension, the excitement and the sense of anticipation slowly continue to build.

I received a summons yesterday for non-payment of council tax. Ah well. It was good while it lasted. I reckon at £1,000 each year for 10 years residence at this address, I probably saved in excess of £10,000.

Still, all good things must come to an end. What a pity those rotters at the council caught up with me.

Then I realised - I already pay my council tax automatically by direct debit to fund the firemen, refuse collectors, recycling collections, the lengthy queues at the tip on a Sunday morning, the multitude of speed bumps and liquid lunches for the fine councillors of this parish.

I read the letter more carefully and then I remembered. This demand for council tax was for a property in Dover. I do not own a property in Dover. I do not want to own a property in Dover. In addition, the named person on the summons was not actually me.

Then I remembered. I had already received an initial bill from Dover City Council which I ignored followed by a red letter which I 'annotated' and returned to sender. Finally, I received a final demand from Dover City Council so I had to write yet another letter explaining the situation.

At this point, Norma started to worry that I might be sent to prison (and be molested in the showers by hard-core criminals) so now I was forced to call Dover City Council on the telephone to explain the situation to a human being.

I was assured by a helpful lady with a funny accent that they would update their records accordingly and she even apologised for the inconvenience and upset caused. Then she passed me onto 'Debt Recovery' where a menacing, softly spoken gentleman demanded to know if I knew where 'Andrew Henderson' actually lived.

This communication ended the whole administrative nightmare and I forgot about it until the summons arrived yesterday.

Now Norma is locked in the house armed with a shotgun, living in fear of the bailiffs arriving to seize goods to the values of £548.21. I told her my United programs were absolutely sacrosanct and maybe consider wearing a short skirt, a wide smile and negotiate 'payment in kind'. This strategy worked very well with the driving examiner.

However, I suspect when I return home, I will discover that she will have buried all our valuables (both of them) in the garden and deposited all our money (£17.89 and some dollars) in the loft.

I only hope she doesn't shoot the window cleaner who calls every other Thursday.

I am very lazy. It takes a gargantuan effort for me to maintain motivation and continue making material up for this blog.

Therefore, actually sitting down, in my own time, to compose a letter to appeal against a £20 fine imposed by Transport For London on my 14 year old daughter, Norma Jean, was not a task I undertook lightly.

I didn't appeal because I can't afford the £20.

I didn't appeal because I think my daughter is above the law.

I didn't appeal because I disputed a similar case five years ago when I was caught on a train without my monthly travel card and successfully got the fine waived 'without prejudice'.

I didn't appeal because I think I will be successful.

I didn't appeal because I want my daughter to conduct her own defence in a court of law.

I didn't appeal because I want to get in the local paper.

I appealed because my daughter is entitled to free bus travel and applied for an OysterCard to prove it.

I appealed because a £20 penalty fine for the heinous crime of dodging a bus fare of, err, zero pounds and zero pence is completely disproportionate and utterly ridiculous.

So, when my daughter hangs herself from a light fitting using a pair of tights in Feltham Young Offenders Institute, don't blame me, blame the Nazi Bus Inspector who asked her

'Do you have an OysterCard ?'

'Yes.'

'Do you have your OysterCard on you ?'

'Yea - oh no - err, wait a minute, hang on, no, sorry. I left it at home.'

to which he replied

'Excellent'.

After my recent holiday, I have been sent on the road for two weeks. I am currently staying at the (heinously overpriced) Malmaison hotel in Oxford.

This place is very expensive and seems like a gaol for the vertically challenged. You emerge from reception into a prison wing. If you are over 5' 8'' tall, you are forced to duck under the door to enter your room.

Oxford is not car friendly. That is why you have to pay £20 to park your vehicle.

Watched Manchester United beat Sheffield United 2-0 at the Market Tavern hostelry.

The Market Tavern is a curious mix of pretentious Oxford students, dressed in shorts and flip-flops, discussing philosophy contrasted with threatening, tattooed hard-cases from the Blackbird Leas estate.

I feared for my life until I spotted the referee of the inevitable battle who was heavily tattooed but also sported khaki shorts and flip-flops.

A band was simultaneously playing (practising ?) upstairs. They had more fans then Sheffield United and played a curious mix of blues and indie rock-n-roll until an ill-advised cover of 'Never Mind' forced their 23 female groupies to depart en-masse for McDonalds.

Inevitably, my new best friend, Michael, the Virgin Media engineer didnt return on Friday afternoon to complete the installation of V+ or to reinstate my original, functional set top box to provide me with a TV service over the weekend.

Instead, he hurriedly telephoned me to say he had transferred this issue to the 'networks team' who would call me later to resolve it. Surprise, surprise, the 'networks team' didn't call me to resolve it so I had to call them (on three separate occasions) to make another appointment.

I was trying to do the engineer a favour by suggesting he went off to his other jobs on Friday. I trusted him. With hindsight, I was probably naive, gullible and stupid.

A word of warning to the engineer who is scheduled to appear on Tuesday afternoon. My wife is taking time off work to accommodate your visit which she is already unhappy about. My wife doesn't know (or care) what V+ is.

She is also 'bitterly disappointed' (she actually used different words) that Virgin Media can only specify an four hour window for an afternoon visit. As she works locally, she would have preferred the engineer to call her directly with an hours notice.

My wife is not naive, gullible or stupid so don't be surprised if you don't get offered a cup of coffee. There is a possibility that she will not offer you a visitors parking permit for your van which consequently may get clamped.

If there are any further problems this time, don't just stand staring at a diagnostics screen saying 'I think the Hit will download in a few minutes' or swap one brand new functional box for another brand new functional box, do something to try to fix it.

Otherwise, there is a danger that you will be locked up in chains, thrown into the depths of the cellar and fed on a diet of crackers and water until the V+ service is actually working.

This afternoon, a Virgin Media engineer has arrived to upgrade my existing set top box to a V+ (TV drive).

This is a straightforward box swap. No additional wiring or drilling is required. However, the new box failed to initialise. We both stared expectantly at the following screen for an eternity:

Card Status: No T-Stream

IPPV Status: BLANK

He then called technical services who initiated the operation. He double checked the serial numbers of the V+ box and the card. He tried to bamboozle me with science 'Hits must be slow today'.

Eventually, he gave up and fetched a second V+ box from his van. I reciprocated with a visitor's parking permit. It now looks unlikely that this simple box upgrade will be finished within the original 5 minute period.

We made more polite smalltalk like a couple on their first date. We waited. And waited. The 'IPPV Status' stubbornly remained 'BLANK'. He showed me the User Guide - a booklet cunningly disguised in a DVD box.

We waited a little longer. We both pretended to admire the new black V+ remote control.

Suddenly, he exclaimed 'At last !'. He seemed very pleased the see the 'Credit Limit' field change to £105.00. 'Oh good - it's finally starting to come through. Shouldn't be much longer now.'

But it was. We waited. I offered him a cup of tea ('Ta. Milk, two sugars').

He called the service centre yet again to quadruple check the serial numbers had been entered correctly. He seemed a little frustrated and annoyed to discover the numbers were not 'paired off' (mismatch between STB and SmartCard) correctly.

This news seemed to disappoint him as he said quite forcefully 'I have been waiting around for 45 minutes for this TV Drive reset'. However, he now seemed supremely confident that this time, the box would be initialised properly in the next 5 minutes.

It wasn't. We talked. I showed him my holiday photos from Norway. We finished our tea. My wife asked if he 'would be stopping for tea.'

Eventually, I suggested that he went off to his other three jobs and return later this afternoon. He politely rejected this suggestion, saying 'No let's just give it another 5 minutes.'

15 minutes later, he gave up and went off to his remaining jobs, promising to call me later to confirm that the V+ box is finally ready.

However, another 45 minutes has passed and the 'Card Status' is still 'No T-Stream' so I have a feeling he will be returning but only to reinstate my original set top box.

Ladies and gentlemen. Please be upstanding and don your ear protectors for this unique version of God Save The Queen.

Im not sure Im cut out for a career in pre-sales as I have an irritating tendency to blush and my left eye twitches horribly when I tell half-truths.

However, on Sunday afternoon, in order to welcome my loved ones back from Holland, I donned a smart dark suit with a crisp white shirt and business-like grey tie. I then loitered around the lower level of Heathrow Terminal 1. I chose to invest the money I saved on the standard taxi fare in a very stylish (and not stupid looking) Bluetooth headset offering hands free operation.

As the incoming flight was inevitably delayed by two spaced out students who checked in and then spent another hour checking out every single item for sale in every single retail outlet at Schipol, I had an unexpected 75 minutes to kill so I wandered around keeping an eye out for celebrities, potential terrorists or weirdos.

A lovely, foreign lady approached me and asked how to get to 'Terminal 2 Lufthansa, please' so I consulted the information board and directed her to Bus Stop 1 for the courtesy bus. Curiously, this selfless act human kindness and my authoritative presence led to a flurry of more people approaching asking for assistance: 'Where to check-in for BMI to Copenhagen ?', 'Where to get English money ?', 'When will BA74 from Brussels arrive ?' and 'Why are the toilets so (expletive deleted) filthy ?'

I cheerfully answered the questions free of charge: 'Upstairs', 'Currency Exchange or that cashpoint might be cheaper', 'Sorry - no idea' and 'Don't know where you come from but that's spotless by British standards'.

Finally, after an overpriced medium Latte, the flight landed and the monitor changed from 'BD108 Amsterdam: Expected ~~16:17~~, ~~16:24~~, 16:37' to 'Landed 16:45' and finally to 'Baggage in hall'.

I carefully pulled out a sheet of A4 paper and inscribed 'BRIGHTSIDE' in blue marker pen. I quickly called my son at home, told him to get the roast out of the oven, hoover throughout, wash the toilets, air the washing and call me back immediately.

My glorious headset illuminated 'Blue' and I told my controller 'Yeah - I'm just picking up at T1 now. Can make Wimbledon in 55 minutes. Roger. Over and out.'

I then identified prime position on the metal barrier and squeezed in next to a young lady keenly waiting for her boyfriend who had been ski-ing (and unfaithful) in Austria. I unzipped my jacket and extracted my outsize A4 sign which I held aloft. The lady muttered 'Bloody minicab drivers.'

New arrivals from India, America and Western Europe looked enquiringly at my sign but I shook my head with disdain. Tall people riding bicycles, smoking tulips and carrying joints emerged. At last, the Amsterdam flight was here.

Finally, Norma and Norma Jean arrived. My daughter's face went bright pink, she frowned and nudged her mother who was completely oblivious. I proudly held the 'BRIGHTSIDE' sign even higher and fiddled with the volume on my Borg headset.

After hearing about Anne Frank's house, the red light area and the 'coffee shops', I helped to unload the heavy suitcase and opened the front door for the excited but exhausted European globetrotters. When I politely asked about the possibility of a tip, Norma replied:

'Yeah. I'll give you an excellent tip. Never eat yellow snow.'

What could possibly be better than a romantic city break in Amsterdam with your loved one in the glorious spring sunshine ?

That would be lovely but, unfortunately, Norma has chosen to take her loved one, Norma- Jean to Holland to indulge in culture, canals, Anne Frank, trampolining, tulips and space-cake.

Never mind. What could possibly be better than a lazy weekend dedicated to father-son bonding ? A chance to catch up in the beer garden on all the events of the week at work and school respectively. A chance to hire 'Borat' on DVD and laugh helplessly.

A chance to order pizza with garlic bread instead of defrosting that meal in the freezer. A chance to go to bed whenever we damn well please. A chance to play music loud. A chance for father and son to go to see a real football match, err, well Charlton v Newcastle.

That would be lovely but, unfortunately, Norman Junior III has foolishly spurned this glorious opportunity in favour of a 'sleepover' followed by paint-balling with his real mates.

Oh well. What could be better than a night in the pub followed by a curry with your mates ?

Nothing.