Posts in category "UK"

In recent weeks, I have been peppered with increasing amounts of spam to my Blueyonder account despite the fact that I rarely use or divulge this email address.

I guess I have become spoiled by Akismet and Gmail which both do such a sterling job of automatically detecting spam.

Anyway, it turns out Blueyonder do have a spam filtering capability. If you log onto Webmail, under Options, there is a section called 'Anti-spam and Antivirus Preferences'.

Make sure the 'Enable Spam Checking' box is checked. You can alter the default spam sensitivity to be 'High' and set the option to tag the email subject with [SPAM].

Then you can create a message filter in Outlook Express or Thunderbird to automatically dump such messages to a separate folder for periodic review.

Yesterday afternoon at 16:09, in Surrey, a sales rep in a red Vauxhall Vectra shunted a plumber driving a white van on the middle lane of the M25. Twenty years ago, the following cars would have quickly stopped to allow the protagonists to pull over to the hard shoulder.

Twenty years ago, a heated exchange would ensue. Then both parties would calm down and exchange insurance details. Twenty years ago, the white van driver would resume his journey while the Vectra owner waited for a tow from The AA to a local garage to replace his pierced radiator.

In 2007, Surrey Traffic Police handle minor traffic incidents very differently. The busiest motorway in England is completely closed while Surrey Traffic Police determine precisely how many lanes need to be closed in order to handle this earth shattering incident.

Eventually, after 19 minutes analysis involving 7 officers and a Chief Superintendent, Surrey Traffic Police decide that, in the interests of public safety, just two lanes need to be closed so the outer lane is slowly re-opened on Britain's busiest motorway. This is now the start of the rush-hour so the queues are building fast but Surrey Traffic Police are completely oblivious to this element of the unfolding drama.

Surrey Traffic Police continue to call for reinforcements from other regions while they carefully and thoroughly evaluate this very dangerous situation. Both drivers are instructed to remain in their vehicles while paramedics are summoned. Counsellors are invited to diagnose and remedy post-traumatic stress disorder.

Chemical engineers are dispatched from a secret government research laboratory to conduct experiments on the liquid spilled on to the carriageway. A high priority call to building contractors is made in case the roadway surface needs to be replaced which would mean a very welcome overnight closure (and overtime). A newly qualified cone engineer arrives to check no plastic cones have been damaged.

Early evening is the height of the rush-hour. The tailback is now 6 miles in both directions and growing. The M3, A30 and surrounding roads are now also affected. Four hours after the original incident, 8pm sees a shift change for Surrey Traffic Police. Three policemen volunteer for overtime to see this major incident through to a successful conclusion. Another decides he will miss Dragon's Den so fires up the siren and speeds off at 70 mph down the hard shoulder.

The chemical engineer decides the liquid from the car radiator is water with a small element of anti-freeze. Surrey Traffic Police decide to wait a further 25 minutes to let the lukewarm water cool down. The driver is cautioned and a sample of windscreen washer fluid is sent for analysis.

All three lanes of the motorway are now completely gridlocked so, unsurprisingly, The AA recovery vehicle can not get through. Surrey Traffic Police decide to use their powers to expedite the situation and summon their own recovery vehicles instead. Due to operational difficulties, they are summoned from Birmingham.

Eventually, at 21:15, the middle lane is carefully re-opened and a trickle of traffic starts to flow. A policeman makes calming gestures to the impatient drivers and is met with a volley of V-signs.

After another two hours, the motorway is fully re-opened and the UK can breathe again. Thanks to Surrey Traffic Police for averting yet another major traffic incident and keeping Britain's roads safe.

Last year, I went to Norway and was enjoying a scenic five hour drive from Bergen to the fjords through a multitude of dark, narrow, winding tunnels carved through solid rock. Suddenly, the traffic came to a halt shortly before the entrance to another tunnel

To my horror, I could make out a collision between a car and a coach with a solitary policeman in attendance. As I waited, I consulted my Phillips Map of Europe; when this tunnel was closed, we would have to make a diversion which would turn a pleasant scenic 5 hour drive into a nightmare, 12 hour drive.

After 7 minutes, a breakdown truck arrived and towed the car out of the tunnel. The coach then exited the tunnel and parked in a lay-by. The policeman ran (take note Surrey Traffic Police - yes he ran) to his patrol car, fetched a brush, ran (yes ran) into the tunnel and frantically brushed debris and glass to the side.

As he emerged from the tunnel, he frantically waved his brush at cars and lorries to get moving quickly in an effort to get the traffic flowing again as soon as humanly possible.

Student fined £80 for making a 4 foot penis in the snow.

Despite a scattering of snow in London that normally brings the country to a complete halt, my return flight from Copenhagen was on time and blissfully uneventful.

Unusually, I was hoping for lengthy queues at passport control in T3. I was praying for four flights to land simultaneously and for the resulting queues to snake around the corner and past the toilets.

Why ? Because today it is finally going to happen. After, inexplicably not flying abroad for 6 months, I had finally managed to arrange my rendezvous with Iris. Tonight was the our first date.

I was a little nervous as I separated from the crowds and waltzed up to approach the Iris barrier. The lady in front of me was already having problems. She was staring blankly into a blank screen. The camera appeared to be off and certainly wasn't scanning her face (or anything else).

An immigration official came over to help: 'Use the lower camera'. The lady dipped her head and stared into the middle screen. Still nothing. How embarrassing. Is it too late to rejoin the queue for passport control ? The assistant said 'No. No. Look into the bottom screen.'

This meant the lady virtually had to squat on her knees and look into a screen positioned three feet from the ground. Finally, the advanced computer system recognised her credentials (and simultaneously sent her personal details to the FBI and Mossad). Rather flustered, she got up from the carpet and proceeded through the exit barrier exclaiming 'Well I don't think much of that system.'

Actually, the lady had made a schoolboy error that was covered on day 2 of the Iris Certified Professional (ICP) Training course. Advanced sensors on the entry barriers electronically scan to determine the height of the incoming body mass. If you enter, swinging your bag first, then the sensors mistakenly think you are a toddler or a dwarf.

Nervously, I entered the zone with my bag behind me. Iris was great fun. You look into a screen with your own image and have to precisely align your eyes with two green dots. This sounds easy but isn't. The computer helps you with 'Move your head to the left', 'Move backwards' and 'Look - a fraction to the right. Now just stay still !' so the whole exercise turns into a game of 3D 'Golden Shot'.

When the system recognises your retinal scan, you are free to proceed, waving at your colleagues waiting to clear immigration and guaranteed to be the first person waiting 25 minutes at the baggage carousel. During the trial period, you get presented with a 'I came through IRIS in 17 seconds' or 'IRIS thinks I am a dwarf' badge of honour.

I completed a feedback form with a couple of enhancement requests:

'Can the screen be upgraded to colour ?' 'Can the green dots be replaced with cross-hair rifle sights ?'

'How does Iris cope with bloodshot eyes ?'

'Can a sound effect (gun shot, hurrah, round of applause) be sounded on successful recognition ?'

'Can the system flash red lights and sirens with 'YOU ARE AN ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT' if the individual takes more than 2 minutes ?'

Blueyonder Webmail is down which is unusual. Welcome to the brand new, exciting world of Virgin Media.

Still, at least they have a nice friendly, Web 2.0 style apology. The marketeers must be busy planning the launch party and deciding which dress Richard Branson will wear.

I was vaguely aware that NTL merged with Telewest last year but a glossy black/red envelope, announcing the brave new world of Virgin Media, took me a little off guard this morning.

I sincerely hope that my existing Telewest service is not affected by NTL's recent acquisition of Virgin Mobile.

My Telewest broadband service works fine (apart from the occasional self-inflicted glitch with my wireless router).

My Telewest email works fine (apart from a recent problem where the POP3 server times out on the first connection and works perfectly thereafter).

My Telewest Digital TV service works fine (apart from that outage on Millennium Eve that my mother-in-law keeps reminding me about).

And now, thousands of pounds will be spent on an expensive rebranding exercise, a public launch party, personal communications from Richard Branson to all customers and a spiffy new Web ~~site~~ media portal with quotes like

'Watch it, surf it, talk it, walk it. We're there with you every step of the way. Love The Virgin Media Team x'

Worse, they are are promising me a brand new email address. Please prepare to update your address books to 'norman@virginmedia.net'. Another example is the jokey, friendly marketing flyer I am now reading 'Small print that you can actually see' with a pledge for plain English speaking.

The T&C's is titled 'Boring (but important) stuff for you to read' and contains 10, yes 10, pages of very small print that I can't be bothered to read.

Another source of unease is that, many years ago in the days of 28.8 dial-up modems, bulletin boards and extension cables trailing across the bedroom, I was a customer of Virgin.net where I received some appalling service and was eventually forced to go elsewhere.

I was intrigued by the detailed infrastructure and sophisticated AI techniques powering the world-wide computer network that was supposedly hunting down my lost bag.

I had a persistent mental image of a person sitting in a dingy, dark corner office buried in the dungeons at Heathrow airport, lazily typing into an old-fashioned, amber, VT220 terminal:

Bag Reference: 'AHL LHRBD70414'

BRU-LHR: Confirm : 'Yes'

Is the bag at BRU ? : 'No'

Is the bag at LHR ? : 'Dunno'

Is the bag stuck on the conveyor belt ? : 'Dunno'

Did some idiotic passenger take the wrong bag ? : 'Possibly'

Has the bag been delivered to another carousel (Bug 6695423) ? : 'No'

Have you asked Barry, the baggage handler Supervisor ? : 'Yes'

Have you looked behind the sofa ? : 'Yes. No bag but we did find the TV remote.'

Computer says: 'Tell customer the search has now been widened to US and APAC. Wait 3 months before telling the customer it is now too late to submit an insurance claim.'

The illusion has just been cruelly shattered. In the early hours, I received a text message

'Luggage received. Delivery time will follow.'

promptly followed by another

'Your luggage should be delivered before 10:00'

Half an hour ago, the doorbell rang and I was reunited with my razor and boxer shorts. Much to the surprise of the delivery driver, we hugged and enjoyed an emotional, tearful reunion.

Unfortunately, I had to tear up the fraudulent insurance claim for a new digital camera, Timberland boots, iPod, wireless headphones, Treo, 3 crates of chocolates, Hercule Poirot moustache, full size replica of the Atomium and electric guitar.

27 years ago, in an fruitless attempt to save money, my wife and I hired a function room above a pub to celebrate our joint 40th birthday. With a free bar.

We invited friends (both of them), members of the book club and close family, blew up our own red and white balloons, paid extortionate prices for prawn volavons and, in an extravagant measure, even hired a DJ with a Karaoke machine.

In an effort to get things going, I submitted my request at 21:39 (Oasis - Wonderwall)

Unfortunately, the premium strength lager on offer that night was Kronenburg 1664 (not Grolsch).

At 23:57, I was summoned to the stage where I grabbed the microphone and prepared for my moment of glory.

I eagerly sang out the words on the monitor screen

'Introduction. Introduction..'

The middle-aged DJ's looked aghast and frantically started gesturing to me. I kept going to a round of perplexed silence.

In tribute to the world's most famous Ciddy fans, I spontaneously changed the words of the final chorus:

'And, after all, United won f**k all'

People looked perplexed. My mate (who was drinking bitter) said 'This is the best 40th I have ever been to.'

More songs were played. We drank more beer. We eventually went home.

The United States of America proudly presents the candidates for Big Brother (World Series SmackDown)

[Via Marshall Kirkpatrick]

I am not overly surprised the Al Qaeda training camp in Afghanistan educates people about how to assemble explosive devices and avoid detection by security forces in addition to tips on identifying soft targets. The hands-on lab exercises (days 4-5) will undoubtedly assist with providing riveting content for suicide notes and how to get the soft lighting right for your exit video.

All of this hard work will be ultimately worthwhile because there is the promise of eternal martyrdom and 99 vestal virgins dressed in white lingerie. The highly prestigious Terrorist Certificated Professional (TCP) qualification will also be presented to all successful candidates on completion of the course.

However, I am a little surprised the terrorist training course also includes 'How to negotiate a discount for bulk purchases of hydrogen peroxide.'

Turning your back, as you prepare to meet your maker and detonate your device, to face a mother with a baby in a push-chair is pretty mean hearted too.

In most civilised countries, a mob would have pursued and savagely attacked the fleeing bombers. In London, a middle-aged lady said 'Excuse me. You appear to have dropped something out of your rucksack' and held up a 6 inch nail and ball bearing.