Posts in category "UK"

The scheduling goddess has granted me a second successive week in Birmingham; West Bromwich to be precise. I was shocked to discover that, following my unfavourable review last December, the Days Inn Hotel has subsequently been taken over by the budget chain, Premier Travel Inn.

My greeting at reception wasn't too promising: 'Ah - Good evening Mr. Brightside. A double smoking room, I believe'. 'Err no. I booked a single, non-smoking room if you have one please.'

I entered my room which was very hot, in fact, it was 'smoking'. The 'Info' button on the thermostat revealed the temperature was a stifling 29.5'C.

I went to open the windows but they were sealed. I went to turn down the thermostat - to a more reasonable 18'C. Ah - that's better. Just unpack and wait for the room to cool down.

Then, unusually for me, I read the small print in the fine manual.

'Set room temperature with 'Up' and 'Down' buttons. This controls the heater operation but cannot cool the room.'

I think it's time to see what price, and temperature, the Boddingtons is served at.

Take my advice. Never buy flowers for your wife. Ever.

I am working at home, trying to finish a report. I don't have a home office so I work on the kitchen table.

For the last couple of days, two things have been slowly nagging away at me like a dripping tap.

My wireless mouse sometimes loses the will to carry on working at such a frantic pace. It squeakily demands a cup of coffee or just half an hour of 'Richard and Judy'. I stoutly refuse so the mouse pointer slowly descends vertically down the screen which is fairly irritating and virus-like.

So I took the poorly rodent for a 'Well-Mouse Executive Health Check' and the vet insisted that the mouse is in perfect health and the battery level is 'High'. I changed the battery anyway to no avail so now we have to adjourn for 'Richard and Judy' with a coffee every morning. After that, the mouse works fine.

Secondly, there was a horrible, persistent odour disturbing my concentration. I opened the windows. I opened the doors. I even had a shower and used deodorant. Eventually, I capitulated and cleaned the downstairs toilet. But the lingering smell stubbornly persisted.

Finally, I gave in, summoned my daughter and cleaned the gerbil out. The full works. Clean water, new sawdust, change of food, full steam valet and high pressure jet wash on the windows.

Phew - that's better. Sit down to check my email...

God - what is that damned smell ?

And then it struck me. Right under my nose (literally) for the past few days. A vase of (dead) flowers sitting in smelly, stagnant water.

So, next time, beautiful, colourful, fragrant flowers appear on the kitchen table and it turns out Julia brought them when she came round for coffee, don't say 'Oh - how lovely, darling' but 'Just make sure you chuck them out when they're dead.'

Last nights Money Program was about the increasing consumer demand for broadband services and the various options available from the suppliers.

Broadband services from the major players (Carphone Warehouse, BT, NTL and newcomer Sky) were all reviewed for various households with different requirements.

British Telecom has an incredibly strong brand with the older generation. One grandmother on the show simply opted for a BT Video Phone because she implicitly trusts that the service will work because 'it is from BT'.

Another family opted for 'Free Broadband For Life' from Carphone Warehouse. The kids were excited - lightning downloads, more MSN'ing, online gaming. Mum was excited - she could actually use the phone again for hours on end. Even Dad was excited - he was going to save £36 every single month. Quite why he was still paying £15 per month for dial-up wasn't clear.

In fact, they all thought it was too good to be true. And so it proved. They are still waiting for the engineer to arrive despite Charles Dunstone moving them to the top of the massive waiting list.

I have had broadband (Telewest) for so long I had to go and look it up - April 2002.

I just watched this but I am starting to wish I hadn't.

Arrived at a clients offices in Birmingham this morning just as Radio Five news reported a major power cut affecting businesses and homes in the area.

Apparently, vandals had set fire to two tyres and rolled them into the electricity sub-station last night.

Whatever happened to the good old days of getting drunk, singing songs and placing red cones on top of traffic lights.

Still, the outage freed up two hours for an interesting discussion about disaster recovery.

As predicted, another fantastic weekend.

Quelle horreur !

A female UK blogger is sacked by a French company, supposedly for 'gross misconduct'.

I went to look at the actual blog to discover what juicy office gossip she had revealed, but the blog is such an incoherent, rambling mess of disjointed thoughts using pseudonyms to conceal her true identity, I simply gave up.

Inevitably, Robert Scoble thinks this is very, very important. I don't.

My long suffering wife and I celebrate our wedding anniversary every year in July.

To mark this momentous milestone, I buy her flowers, chocolate, champagne and book a corner table at our favourite restaurant, the wife takes the kids camping in the New Forest with her girlfriends while I make the annual pilgrimage to the Hook Norton Festival of Fine Ales with my mates.

So, if you'd like to read something from me in a different style, full match reports for the 2002 and 2003 festivals are already available online together with photos of a human pyramid. We even have our own stalker.

So, it transpires that my first blog article was actually written four years ago - not just a personal web journal but collaborative blogging (Blogger) and social networking (Flickr) and I didn't even know it.

Look at this gentleman's very amusing profile on LinkedIn.

Look at his modest, self-deprecating description - 'I hate it when our friends become successful'. Such a refreshing change from some of the pretentiousness you usually find.

This is the title of one of my favourite Morrissey songs. If only space had permitted the author to add 'especially when they're Northern'.

Now look at his employment record and the impressive list of high powered job roles he has fulfilled for major blue chips in an exciting and varied career spanning over 20 years in IT:

• Junior Programmer (AmberPoint)
• Dogsbody (Kenamea)
• Ringleader (Sun)
• Plumber (Forte)
• Fitter (Sybase)
• Jack of All Trades (Ingres)

Now take a look at the same gentleman's blog and profile picture. At last, you have encountered an American with a sense of humour.

Until you realise he's another music and football loving Brit who crossed the water.

Prizegiving ceremonies at school are a similar experience when you are a parent as when you were a child.

The event seems to last a long time. The tedium is punctuated by the odd, brief moment of excitement when little Norma (or someone loosely known to you) walks up to receive her book token.

Your mind starts to wander asking such important questions as: 'What exactly did Christine Baverstock-Davis do to merit the award of "Outstanding effort in 'resistant materials" ?'. Did she spend countless hours after school bashing iron, steel and rocks with hammers, mallets and pickaxes ?' You start to wonder why your wife neglected to attend this years 3 hour marathon in stifling heat. Must remind her that it's her turn next year.

Of course, as a parent, you feel immensely proud when your child steps up for their book tokens on three separate occasions (Exceptional Student, Effort in Food Technology and Surrey Schools Trampolining). In fact, you are so proud, you nudge your two immediate neighbours urging them to clap a little bit louder.

You furtively reach for those humorous red and white inflatable hands with England flags on and raise them aloft. As your offspring is carefully marshalled back though the aisles by a prefect to their assigned seat, they look absolutely mortified, go beetroot red and whisper 'Dad - put those down - NOW'.

Two hours later, just as the keynote speaker (first ever Head Girl from 1964) nervously steps up for the main speech, there is a kerfuffle outside as some ruffian runs past the open double-doors singing 'Ole - Ole - Ole - Ole. Eng-LAND. Eng-LAND'. You smile to yourself as six teachers simultaneously arise from their seats and run menacingly (while skilfully appearing to be walking fast) to identify and silence the culprit (using force).

You decide to seek the individual out later, give him a lift to hospital and reward him with the inflatable England gloves.

After the event, you are once again immensely proud when your child tells you:

'Dad - when Alistair Barnstormworth did that stupid singing outside, I started to laugh. When I looked round. you were the only mum or dad in the whole hall of 700 people who was also laughing.'