Posts in category "UK"

Three, err, lucky people won the following, err, prize at the recent Oracle Partner Network day at UKOUG in Birmingham.

3 lucky winners have won a Virgin Experience Voucher to the value of £140.

Norman. Come here. I have a crisis. Quickly.

Whats up ?

'I have a flat tyre.'

It is dark. Mainly because it is 7.30 at night. I sigh inwardly and get a torch.

'Hmm. You're right. That tyre really is flat. Didn't you notice the car pulling to the right ?'

'No. The car was driving fine. Norman Junior did say that the car was leaning and he kept falling over though.'

'Hmm.'

'Look. I really need the car for work tomorrow. Shall we just re-inflate it ?'

'No. It will just be completely flat again by morning. Just drive round to the tyre place first thing and get it replaced.

'I'm not driving on that tyre. It's on the rims and might make things worse'

'Don't worry. The tyre place is only 800 yards away. I've driven with a flat tyre on the rims before. Just drive slowly.'

'No. Let's put the spare on.'

So we get a Swiss army penknife out of the boot. The multi-purpose device includes a red warning triangle, a first aid kit, a car jack, several spanners and a foldaway picnic table. After several hours, after inadvertently firing two distress flares, we work out how to assemble the jack and extract the spare tyre.

'What does that yellow sticker say ?'

'It's a temporary tyre. You're not supposed to drive long distances using it.'

'What does that massive '80' mean ?' 'You're not supposed to drive over 80 miles per hour but that won't be a problem for you tomorrow morning.'

We locate the jacking point and replace the tyre.

'Why is this tyre so small ? Look at it compared with that one !'

'It's an emergency tyre designed just to get you to a garage. It will be fine for work in the morning and then you can get it changed later.'

'Oh. I don't know. I'm not happy driving on this. I think I will just drive round to the tyre place first thing and get it changed.'

'OK. So we just changed this tyre in the dark and rain for no reason.'

Last night, I enjoyed a pleasant evening in this pub with a few friends. We watched a mediocre team in white draw with a mediocre team in orange and blue socks.

Beer arrived on a regular basis from the downstairs bar via the dumb waiter.

Inexplicably, towards the end of the evening, conversation turned to songs about the death of a father:-

• The Verve - Drugs Don't Work
• The Streets - Never Went To Church
• Mike And The Mechanics - The Living Years
• U2 - Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own
• Billy Bragg - Tank Park Salute

We finally left the pub and someone asked 'What are the chances of finding a curry house around here ?'. We looked across the street and our prayers were answered. Weird.

This beautiful photograph of a deserted station concourse captures an unusual sense of peaceful isolation and a rare moment of tranquillity at London Waterloo.

Yes. I missed the last train for the sake of a large bottle of Cobra but it was worth it.

Next year, I will be attending an unusual fireworks display in Sunderland.

A long trip from London, admittedly but I am absolutely certain it will be worth it.

‘The body naturally produces methane gas, so combine that with the firework and the exploding effect with methane’s flammability...’

I never used to work from home much. When the kids were younger, my wife was at home and without an office, quiet room or even a shed, I found it difficult to concentrate. Accessing the work network over dial-up also was a significant constraint.

Now things are different. My children are both at secondary school and leave the house before I do. My wife also works and I have a broadband connection and VPN access to the office network. So, occasionally, I can save two hours commuting, sit down with a decent cup of tea, be productive and still be back home in time for tea.

Apart from today, that is. My wife isn't working today but worse than that, a pet hamster has effected a miraculous escape overnight. I had noticed that he was looking deeply upset after United's shock defeat at Southend and chewing frantically at the bars but I never thought he would do anything like this.

The rodent is now on the loose so all floor fittings have been detached and every dark nook and cranny has been examined with a high powered flashlight.

Of course, the hamster hasn't been found. He probably got too inquisitive and is starving to death somewhere under the floorboards. That is, if he managed to avoid the mouse poison.

So the search is called off (by me) and suspended by my wife who has gone to share the terrible news with friends over an overpriced Cappuccino.

Peace at last. Until my daughter sends me a text 'found him yet ?'. Plagued by guilt, I get a torch out and scan under the furniture and fireplace yet again. Then I put his cage on the floor with a tasty pumpkin seed placed outside to tempt him back to his metal prison.

Peace at last. Back to what I should be working on. Music on. Oh no, I forgot. No music is allowed as I am supposed to be listening for hamster-like rustling noises. Funny how the washing machine is exempt from this noise curfew.

Peace at last. Knock at the front door. Some delivery from Next. Sign. Thanks.

Peace at last. Another knock at the door. Two female religious nuts who, thankfully (for their sake) decide not to preach at me for ten minutes but instead just push a leaflet into my hand titled 'THE END OF FALSE RELIGION IS NEAR !' with the intriguing bullet points

• What is false religion ?
• How will it end ?
• How will you be affected ?

This is clearly a sign from God. I tell the ladies that my wife is out, I have the house all to myself and the kettle has just boiled. I invite them in and ask whether they are qualified to officiate over a funeral for a hamster. Curiously, they look aghast and leave. Maybe I shouldn't have flicked my dressing gown so wide open.

Finally, peace at last. Check my email. Curiously, I have a voicemail from my office extension. This is strange because hardly anyone has access to this number. I can never remember it without looking at my business card. My wife doesn't know it and hardly anyone I know has ever used it.

I play the WAV that is consuming 500KB of disk space. Inevitably, it is a recruitment consultant who 'has spoken to some people who know me very well, think very highly of me and just happen to think I might just be interested in some vacuous pre-sales role dealing with some of the biggest blue chip companies in, not just the UK, but Europe.' Thanks but no thanks. Delete the message and return to the document I should be writing.

Peace at last. Until the telephone rings. Some direct marketeer brings me tidings of great joy. My wife and I have won a Christmas Hamper. I am immediately suspicious and ask if this is surplus stock from Farepak. She assures me that it isn't and tells me that my wife and I just need to come to a local hotel on Saturday to collect this hamper.

I ask why they can't just send it. Because I have to collect it with my wife. Can't my wife just pop over and collect it ? No. My wife and I must both collect it. Why - is the hamper really that heavy ? No. I ask if there is any type of 'presentation' involved. No there isn't. It is just a free Christmas hamper. What's in the hamper ? I can't tell you. Finally, I say I am not interested and hang up.

Wife returns. She asks whether Julia has called to confirm the appointment about the Christmas Hamper. I tell her the bad news. She then asks whether I have heard any hamster-like noises and I tell her more bad news. No hamster-like rustlings but plenty of interruptions.

I finally give up. I put a collared shirt on, and drive to the office. Peace at last.

A few years ago, on a Saturday morning, I was crossing the road to the local shop with my daughter, Norma Jean. We held hands to cross halfway and paused. Suddenly, spontaneously, without warning, Norma Jean decided to burst across the road.

Unfortunately, a car simultaneously decided to sharply turn left without indicating. It all happened quickly - very quickly. The car ran over Norma's foot and she collapsed. The car stopped and the lady pleaded: 'Oh God. I didn't see her. I didn't see her. I'm sorry. She just ran out.'

I picked my daughter up in my arms and ran home. Her face was ashen white. Mine was red. I was in shock. I was nearly in tears. My wife, a nurse, calmly took stock of the situation and asked: 'Did you remember to get the cornflakes ?'. We skipped breakfast and immediately went to casualty. Thankfully, my daughter's ankle wasn't broken, just badly bruised. Well a very heavy car had ran over it so that diagnosis wasn't entirely unexpected.

A couple of years later, I returned home from work on a balmy summer evening and a neighbour informed me: 'Oh Norma's just taken Norma Jean to hospital. You might catch them if you're quick'. I arrived in casualty to discover that Norma Jean had jumped off the front wall wearing pink flip-flops and 'hurt her arm'. Well, the truth was she had broken her arm close to the elbow and, if you looked really close, you could see the bare bone.

We waited patiently to be seen. My daughter was ashen white. She was in shock. My wife asked for some painkillers for Norma Jean while we waited and waited. When the nurse came over and briefly glanced at the injury, she quickly said 'Err - I think you had better come through to see the consultant. Now.'

In the early hours, a clever, experienced surgeon repaired my daughter's arm. I was at home all night wide awake. I visited the hospital in the morning and the consultant reassured me thus: 'I have been an orthopaedic surgeon for 23 years and that was the second most difficult fracture, I have ever seen.' I nearly fainted so I neglected to ask him about the nature of the award winning injury.

Thankfully, Norman Jean made a full recovery and was able to resume her sporting activities although wall jumping in flip-flops was banned.

My third visit to the casualty unit came when my son was forced to take his turn in goal during a normal Sunday morning for U10's Little League. Norman Junior III dived to his right and turned a pile-driver around the post (traffic cone) for a corner. Not a bad effort for a midfield player.

I continued to follow the play upfield but another parent interrupted me: 'Is your lad OK ?'. I looked back towards to the goalmouth and Norman was gingerly holding his arm. I reluctantly walked over and he said 'Dad - my arm really hurts.' I told him to grit his teeth, think of Bert Trautmann and just get through 5 minutes to half-time when he would be an outfield player again.

At half-time, he was now squatting down, holding his arm, in tears. 'My arm still really hurts, Dad'. Ashamedly, I made my excuses and took my son home, leaving his team down to ten men in a crucial end of season game. Norma forced him to put his kit in the washing machine, have a shower, asked him to finish his History homework and finally dosed him up with Calpol.

At tea time, Norman Junior III didn't eat his tea and was obviously spoiling to miss school on Monday. Very inconvenient as both of us are working. 'But Mum - my arm still really hurts.' So we decided to call his bluff, even though it meant missing 'Antiques Roadshow' and prepared for yet another long wait in casualty.

We were mortified to be told he had a 'green stick' fracture of his right arm from saving a shot. We were even more mortified when trying to explain to the social worker why we didn't bring him to hospital for a full 8 hours after the original incident. We were even more mortified when she asked if we had ever had reason to bring either of our children to hospital in the past 5 years.

For Sale: 1.8 kg of assorted sweets. The surplus of confectionery is the result of an unfortunate trick or treat incident a few years ago.

The wife and I had argued for many hours over who was going to escort our two young children, dressed up in Halloween outfits, carrying pumpkins to demand money with menaces from neighbours. The alternative was even worse - to stay at home and answer the door to similar young, lovable street urchins.

When I realised United were playing in Europe, I quickly opted for the latter. The doorbell kept ringing and I dutifully kept answering the door, said 'Ooh what a lovely outfit' and proffered the tray of treats.

The game started. The doorbell kept ringing incessantly. I answered the door for the thousandth time. When I returned, United had scored. The doorbell rang again. I ignored it. The doorbell rang again. I turned the lights off and went into the back room. The doorbell rang again - constantly.

I opened the door. 'Happy Halloween ! Trick or treat'. 'You know what lads. I think I'll take my chances and go for a trick.' 'Oh come on mister. Can't we just have some of those sweets or a quid ?'. 'No. I'm sorry. Good-bye'.

Next morning, I was relieved to see no eggs splattered on my windows and no excrement lying with the morning post.

However, I did notice some minor graffiti chalked on the front wall. I quickly washed it off. Only it didn't come off. It wasn't chalk but looked like wax. I washed it off with hot water and detergent. Only it didn't come off. I tried bicarbonate of soda with neighbours watching me. Finally I got gloves and a face mask and used hydrochloric acid but the single word stubbornly remained.

Still, my kids and wife thought this was absolutely hilarious and there was a silver lining to this cloud. When we gave people directions to our house, we closed with

'Turn right. Our house is half way down on the left, after the tree with IDIOT written on the front wall.'

Doug Burns posts a typically honest article about the art of self-promotion and the issue of references. Personally, I think Doug's blog is itself an excellent tribute to his technical competence, his ability to communicate and share information as well as offering an insight into his personality.

I must confess that my manager's Inbox is not overflowing with glowing testimonials from colleagues and customers, let alone unsolicited ones. I used to reassure myself that this was because IT managers are exceptionally busy people with (justifiably) high expectations when paying for expensive consultants. Nowadays I just put it down to my lack of technical ability.

However, occasionally a customer will say a heartfelt 'Thank you. That was really useful' after a onsite visit which is probably the most satisfying part of my job.

Recently, a person commented on this blog asking about issues with Siebel and UTC. I tried to help directly via email and received a reply thanking me for taking the time to answer his questions. Of course, I deleted the original comment as I have no desire to turn this site into 'asknorman.siebel.com' but his words of thanks were much appreciated.

Many years ago, during an IT slump, I was trying to secure a contract as a Unix/C programmer. I had an interview at Ingres but was unsuccessful. A week later, the agent called me. The opportunity was suddenly and unexpectedly back on and 'could I possibly start on Monday ?'.

Unusually, the agent insisted on meeting me in person and told me that, for various reasons, the first choice candidate didn't really work out. Consequently, he was let go after one week and I was to be on probation for one week with this very demanding client.

The agent proceeded to call me every lunchtime and again at home every single night to discuss progress, technical issues, clamouring for any verbal, implied or written feedback from the client about my technical abilities.

Judgment day duly arrived on Friday. As I nervously approached to get the verdict, the manager said 'I've got to leave now, Norman but thanks for all your efforts this week. See you on Monday'. Probably the best reference I never had.

Many thanks for your lovely, thought provoking email.

Unfortunately, I am currently on annual leave (although I couldnt resist the temptation to check my work email when the wife wasnt looking tonight).

I will reply to your email on my return on Monday 30 October.

Well, actually I won't. If it was sent to a mailing list, I will probably skip it but may dig it out from the archives in a few months when I am onsite desperately looking for a solution to the identical problem.

If your communication was spam then, I regret to inform you that, your kind offer of a 16" penis didn't get past the corporate spam barrier. Hard to believe but it's true, three and a half years and a single (yes, count them - one) spam email has reached my Inbox.

Alternatively, if your email matches one of my filters, then your amusing joke about The Killers new LP, MUFC or that unfortunate incident in the pub last Thursday will be ignored (for now).

If your email is work related and directed to me personally, then it will either be acted upon (if it takes less than 2 minutes), delegated (problematic as no-one is stupid enough to report to me) or deferred for action at some point in the future (honest).

And if you were the idiot who inadvertently called me to enquire about my availability during my brief chance to forget all about work and spend quality time with my family, I gave your name, mobile number and address to my wife.

Something I didnt watch: Longford

Something I did listen to: The Smiths Troy Tate sessions