The last post

I am retiring this blog, sad news for you all I know but wait, dry those eyes, wipe away those tears.  A new blog is on the horizon.  Redundancy is no more so a new blog is up and running.  To all my loyal followers (all three of you), you will find the new blog here.  I hope this beautiful relationship lasts.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Just in case you have been off on a mission to Mars or in a coma for the last couple of months, you can't help but notice that we are now firmly in advent.  Christmas is just around the corner, turkeys and other tasty animals are being fattened ready for the oven.  Let's get one thing straight before we start; I love Christmas.  It doesn't make me grumpy and I don't go all Ebeneezer Scrooge.  It might be because of the kids and all the excitement that goes with them, it might be the gifts or it might just be the food and drink.  We have put the decorations up and Victoria has turned our hall and stairs into Santa's grotto, and before you ask, yes the big fella is real, of that there can be no doubt.  It is fair to say, there is a certain amount of competition in our house as to who is the biggest kid - me or the kids; I think I generally win.  This year we also have the added bonus that we aren't cooking Christmas dinner (although Tina might feel at a bit of a loose end), we have generously been invited to my brother and sister in law's to celebrate with them, kids and all.  Look up "gluttons for punishment" in the dictionary and it will likely read "Darrel and Sharon, Christmas 2009".  Or rather it will when I write the dictionary for all those words I use that other people accuse me of having made up.


So what is my quandary?  It's an odd thing really.  Despite my absolute passion for Christmas, come Boxing day, or thereabouts, I'm itching to get all the decorations put away.  It's a strange thing.  The tree looks pretty, all the decorations are jolly and festive and I will drag the Christmas celebrations out as long as possible - even enjoying Christmas specials reruns on the BBC.  I enjoy putting the decorations up but a couple or three weeks later I've had enough of them.

So here's to Christmas, however you celebrate.  Whether you see it as the Christian(ish) festival or if you're stuck firmly in Briton's druid past and prefer Yule or if you have no religion nor belief, just have a couple of days off, after all, who really needs a reason or excuse to celebrate?

I know that people who know me may well be a little surprised by this blog post, you expect a full on grumpy Christmas, or maybe you suspect I have employed a ghost writer but no, I promise you, this is all me.

Vive La Différence

In true celebratory style, it is my month-iversary at my new (part time) job which I took on after being made redundant and, as I'm sure you are aware, leaves me time to train as a driving instructor.  To celebrate this milestone, I decided it is time for a little reflection.  I am now working for a small company rather than a messy sprawling company with fingers in several international pies so naturally comparing the two seems a good way to reflect.  Please don't consider this to be any form of career advice, if you are young, naive and looking for a job, you will find no guidance here as to the type of company you should consider.  These are simply the views of a jaded and cynical grumpy.  So lets consider a few things:


1.  Bullshit.  Right, we need some blue sky thinking here.  Let's put some ideas in the mental microwave and wait for it to ping.  Run the flag up the flagpole, see who shoots it.  I'm actually quite good at bullshit.  It's just a kind of corporate or technical waffle.  Ten years in the civil service gives you a good grounding.  In fact, in many respects, I quite like bullshit you can use it to your advantage in all sorts of situations.  What I don't like though is that poor cover up type bullshit that managers use to cover up their inadequacies.  The amount of bullshit produced is, no doubt, absolutely proportional to the size of the organisation.  After all, they do say shit floats upwards.


2.  Sycophancy.  We're at the opposite end of the scale now.  I would never do well in a large organisation because I must have been off school they day they taught sucking up.  Big company, in my experience, watch your step so you don't trip over people bowing down to management.  Smaller companies tend to work much more on an everyone getting on together kind of a way.  There's little point getting your nose brown because there isn't the structure to worm promotion in to.


3.  Camaraderie.  I've struggled over this one because the differences aren't quite so obvious.  There is the same camaraderie, in my experience, in any size company; after all we're all working towards the same common goal aren't we? (sorry slipped into bullshit then).  The only difference is in a big company there are more people to relate with and, just by simple laws of chance, there is a higher chance that there will be someone who gets so far up your nose they're wandering around in your brain.  In a big company though, you can often hide from them.  Woe betide some irritating oik in a small company - there is no escape.  Then again, perhaps my ambition could be to be that oik.


4.  Hiding.  Big company, several people doing the same thing, oodles of opportunity to use lines such as "It was him", "He told me to", "Well, I may have done, but you'll never guess what SHE did", "Maybe but at least I didn't....", "Not my responsibility".  You get the picture.  Not that I would ever slope shoulders and pass the buck of course not.  Well, maybe a little, but at least I didn't do what he did.


5.  Technology.  Sorry, I've slipped into my old life now.  Big company, usually big budget for technology.  Small company, bring your own string and baked bean can.  However, there are common issues here as well.  I remember in the eighties talk about the paperless office.  Computers and technology generate paperwork, they don't save it.  And that's true in a one man company or multinational.


6.  Money.  Again, common ground, both large and small companies will probably pay you.   However, don't expect big bucks in a small company.  Come to that, there didn't seem to be big bucks in the big companies either.


7.  Offshoring.  There are two issues here.  Firstly, small company most unlikely to transfer huge chunks of its operation to foreign parts thereby making you redundant.  And anyway, offshore for UK is only onshoring somewhere else?  Second issue, offshoring isn't a real word.  Nor is onshoring come to that (I may have just made it up, if so baggsy the copyright).  Even my spell checker underlines it with a wiggly red line.  And this is the tip of the iceberg.  Don't have a word for it?  make one up or use another word that doesn't really work.  Networking, benchmarking and, my all time anti-favourite - solutioning.


Anyhow, nothing to do with small vs big companies, but in case it has escaped your attention, we have slipped into advent.  Little over three weeks to go till the big fella slips down your chimney.  In an unnatural and unlikely state of organisation we are prepared for Christmas in the Kirby household.  That's it bragging over.  I am, however, desperately excited about Christmas this year.  Any day now it will be time to start winding the kids into a frenzy of excitement.  Then regret it several minutes later.


Finally, a cause célèbre.  I have discovered that I can create sort of sub blogs.  This means I can retire the redundancy blog just as soon as I have a title.  I'm so excited you wouldn't believe it.  I have created another blog-ette.  You may recall that I have got the bike out of the shed and started riding it.  I have created a blog that will, eventually I'm sure, waffle on about my rides and include some pictures of buildings, views and old stuff that will interest me and no-one else.  If you're masochistic enough to take a shufty, you can find it by clicking here.

That's it for today, thanks for your time, I hope this was an enhancing experience for all.  We must touch base sometime and check the methodology to circumvent the pinch points that might just disintermediate the client base and ensure we are in the right ball park.  Remember this blog is available 24/7 24/365.

Is there anything more pointless than a rhetorical question?

Or is this a rhetorical question?  Go on think about it?  Who answered no?  Wrong.  Today I shall be considering the pointless, naturally one's definition of pointless will vary on a number of factors; age, interests and general grumpiness to name a few.  So shall we begin?

1. Facebook.  Oooh controversial this one as I'm sure many readers (assuming there are many) will have come across this blog via Facebook.  Now, please don't get me wrong, Facebook isn't all pointless.  It isn't a bad way of keeping in touch and finding people you haven't seen for ages.  Now add on all those statuses (stati?) that say stuff like "didn't want to write anything", "good morning" and other meaningless, pointless stuff.  Even worse are the damned games, that isn't social networking, that's a games site, pointless on Facebook.  Although I'm quite chuffed with myself, I've managed to work out how to turn off the news feed entries that say somebody has done something pointless in another pointless game.
Finally, for Facebook anyway, is the whole I'm a fan of thing.  I understand being a fan of a sportsman, real cause, music/musician/band, celebrity and similar, in fact I have subscribed to a couple of these.  What I don't understand, and these are genuine, are the likes of '63 Notifications Later and I regret Liking Your Status', 'Laughing When You Shouldn't', 'What Goes Around Comes Around', 'I Hate Getting Texts That Only Say "k'.  Unless someone can correct me, they are completely pointless.

2. Reality Television.  Maybe not pointless if you are a Z list celebrity desperate for publicity.  However the pointless point I wish to make is that it is far from reality.  Whose rather warped idea of reality is it to be locked away in a large house with a dozen hand picked irritants or to be apparently stranded in the Australian jungle or whisked away to a relatively genuine celebrity's house to sing until the general public get pi**ed off with you?  Has anyone seen the Trueman show?  One of the worst (and most pointless) ever pieces of cinematography ever but, if I understand the plot correctly, the main character spends a chunk of his life unknowingly being filmed.  Do it for real to real people and that's reality TV.  No, I don't mean CCTV which, isn't like Orwell's Big Brother, anyone who uses the line has, quite obviously never read the book.

3. The Gym.  It is completely pointless.  It is a well known proven (although possibly completely made up) fact that 99.9% of gym memberships are used no more than about 10% of their true value.  Save your gym membership for about 3 hours and buy a bike, go ride it.  Jog, Swim, do press ups, join a sports club, don't put yourself through the pain and cost.  Do you think I got my svelte racing snake figure by slogging my guts out on a treadmill or weight machine?  I really don't see the point of static bikes or treadmills where you put in all that effort and go nowhere.  That being said, I do rather like the Concept II rowers.

4. Blogs and blogging.  Quite frankly, blogging is akin to masturbation.  Pleasure largely only for the person doing the blogging.  Who really wants to read the irrelevant, pointless ramblings of a middle aged man?  After all, if that's your particular bag then you would be reading my brother's blog.  Mine is, of course, completely not pointless.  Very pointy in fact.

So to a completely non pointless event.  It is very exciting, we saw Father Christmas turn the lights on in Gloucester last night.  Yes, he is real.  He must be, he had real reindeer and everything (sorry, don't know who the kid is).  So it is officially nearly Christmas and I am, rarely, getting excited.  God help you all.

Haunted by the ghost of unemployment

Have you been paying attention?  If so, you will know that I am now working, albeit part time.  During my brief spell of redundancy, I decided to try and reclaim some of that hard earned cash that I have been haemorrhaging into the social security coffers for the last 25 years.  I think I regret it now.  Approximately six weeks after making my claim for benefits and the like, I received a cheque through the post.  Hurrah I hear you cry.  Calm yourself now, it wasn't for that much, also a reduction on my remaining council tax.  Hurrah I hear you cry again. Now, for clarity the total of these sums isn't enough to retire on.  Shortly later, a letter arrives from Inland Revenue telling me they are going to give us more money.  I'm almost giddy with excitement by now.  It seems the system is giving me money!  Now, before we get too carried away, let's hit the brakes for just a moment.  Working tax credit is considered as an income so far as benefits agency are concerned and by now I have a job that I will be starting imminently.  So, as a good honest citizen, it's back off to the Council offices to tell them everything.  So I do.  That's the best part of an afternoon gone being honest and appeasing my conscience; but as a consolation I leave with the warm glow of an honest man.


About 36 seconds later, several million letters appear through my door from Gloucester City Council.
1. A cheque for back payment of housing benefit.  Hurrah!
2. A letter telling me all about my claim that looks much the same as previous letters.  Hurrah!
3. A big fat letter explaining why I am no longer entitled to housing or council tax benefit and indeed haven't been since tax credits went up so I've been overpaid.  Boo hiss!
4. An invoice asking for everything back, including the value of the cheque above all bar about three shillings.  Boo hiss!
5. A new council tax bill, hiking it up to pre benefits levels and wanting the overpayment back.  Boo hiss again.


All the letters arrived on the same day and indeed 1-4 all have the same date and 2 and 3 are from the same person.  My head spins.  There is only one thing for it.  Phone.  Talk to someone, find out what's going on.  So I do. About a week later.  Desperately helpful cheery bloke confirms that I do indeed need to give them money back.
"How would you like to pay it Mr Kirby"
"Well, I wouldn't really but what are my options"
"I can take it over the phone now, pay over three or four months, couple of other options blah blah blah"
I pay in full, they'll probably only write to me again if I don't. "D'you realise I was probably better off on the dole"
"I couldn't possibly comment sir"
"Ah, go on"
"I can't"
"Ah, go on"

"I can't"

He wouldn't be goaded.  Good professional chap.  Not that good however, his name was on letter 4.


So, I am now considering revisiting my own honesty and conscience.  Seriously though, in the same metaphorical boat again, would I bother?  I really don't know.  Claiming dole was easy and quite an experience every fortnight, the rest is hassle.  Benefit fraud must be a full time job and as much work as a real job.


Anyway, how are you all?  Been up to anything interesting?  If you have, blog it, I might give it a read.  Brother, take note, your blog is barren.  That being said, I do know my brother is drinking hard to get his book complete, and a fine book I'm sure it will be.  Shameless plug, where's my commission?
In amongst the benefits melee, I have also been on my first practical driving lesson.  I'm being taught one instructor to two trainees so we get a bit of practice trying to teach and getting used to how much it is necessary to say.  It is possible that my co-trainee was hand picked to make me feel better about my own efforts.  Feel free to draw your own inference.  Over a two(ish) hour drive, notwithstanding I didn't do any manoeuvres, I did drive well enough to probably pass a normal driving test.  Considering it is 13 years since I was last taught to drive, I'm quite happy with that although I have naturally been swotting up. Things on the road and driving best practice has changed in the time I've been driving so I reckon there is a case for refresher courses.  Give it a couple of months, tell me you saw it here and I'll do you a deal.

So if you see a heavy liveried Vauxhall Corsa on the streets of Cheltenham or Gloucester, give it a wave, it might be me...

Given that the spectre of redundancy still hangs, the blog title has a reprieve, giving you all more chance to win the exciting prize I spoke of in my previous blog.  OK, truth is I still haven't worked out how to change the title yet.

My indecision is final

I used to be indecisive but I'm not so sure now. Ah, the old jokes are the best; my brother has, after all been dining out on them for years.

Today's blog entry is all about those indecisions that you make then decide on an option then change your mind and so on ad infinitum until it becomes either irrelevant or a matter of life and death. Fortunately, the decisions I am faced with tend more to the former category.

Firstly, as previously discussed, the title of my blog. Take a glance at the top of the page and you will see that it still refers to redundancy. I am now gainfully (though part time) employed; dole have washed their hands of me so time to retitle. I have decided to prove that I support the whole principle of democracy and throw open the new title to the public vote, Simon Cowell eat your heart out. Suggestions please to the comments on here, Facebook or, if you know me well enough feel free to email me. Please don't come round knocking at my door at the dead of night to tell me your idea. To add some excitement I have decided to throw all cost to the wind and the person who makes the best suggestion could win an (optional) prize of an autographed photo of me. Contain your excitement, please.

My other indecision I had (note the past tense here) made a full on, no turning back decision on so no democracy here. Remember I was debating the idea of two jobs, 12 hour day? Second job being at Royal Mail doing the Christmas cover? Now, I had decided to give it a go notwithstanding a couple of days I couldn't do, then what happens? I'll tell you what. The buggers write to me and say I won't be needed until 2nd December, some 10 days after my original start date giving me about 10 working days. It's barely worth me getting tired for. I have therefore resigned before I start. The deed poll will be stopped, my name will not be Pat. It does make me wonder though if Royal Mail have lost business for Christmas and they don't see so much of a need for Christmas cover? I'll let you mull that one over yourself, I don't feel the

need to debate my feelings about unions and strike action here.

That's it for my indecision but I haven't finished yet, oh no, I couldn't let you down.

I have been thinking. When I was a kid, what I generally do in my blog would have simply been called a diary (not the sort you keep your meetings and dentist appointments in) and, historically, no one would ever be allowed within 100 feet of your diary let alone read it. This whole blog for the world to see is a bit of a turn about eh?

So to my week. How have you all been? I've been fine thanks for asking. I have noticed though that I've been quite inactive and increasingly rotund of late so I have decided to get my bike out of the shed. I stuck it in the back of the car and went for a ride after work, another bonus of working half day. Weather was OK so I thought it would be rather pleasant to go have lunch at

Witcombe Roman Villa, just a couple of miles from the office. Now, I rather like the villa, it is always peaceful and very picturesque. I have been there many times before although only in the car or by walking across the Cotswold way in dry weather. Never did it occur to me that the access road is, essentially, a working farm track. My bicycle is a lovely slick racing machine with tyres no wider than a gnat's pube. It now looks like a rough old cyclo-cross thing. Still, a pleasant meander, 25ish miles and feeling the affects after not riding for a few weeks. Reminds me of a David Letterman interview with Lance Armstrong after winning his 487th (or thereabouts) Tour de France:

"So Lance, how do you feel after winning the tour again"

"I've got a sore arse Dave"

There ends the similarity.

Yesterday saw me on a night out to see Seasick Steve at the O2 in Birmingham. We took reliable information that the O2 is what was the Carling Academy. It isn't. Although there were a goodly number of other people milling about equally misinformed. Once we found the place, still on time, it was a cracking evening. If you haven't come across the fella before, look him up, listen to his music if you like Southern States blues stuff but either way an interesting biography you can read about it on his website www.seasicksteve.com - some music downloads on there too or a good biog on Wikipedia.

Right, I'm off for now. If you see me tonight in the pitch black with a camera on a tripod in my living room, there's nothing kinky I'll just be taking photos of ghosts on my sofa. Check here again in a couple of days, if it works I'll blog the results. If not, I'll crawl into a corner and sob inconsolably.

The end of an era

Have you missed me? It's been a while since I last blogged but that's because I have been busy. Busy doing what? you ask. Go on feel free to ask. Actually, it makes no difference whatsoever whether you ask or not because I'm going to tell you unless I have lost you already.

Last week I made the long last walk to the dole office. I broke my normal routine by checking in with the greeter just a few minutes before my appointment and not going and looking at the rather useless computer things that advertise the non-jobs. This did, however, give me the new opportunity of watching other people using them. In particular a girl with her boyfriend, I presume, who printed off just about every job on the system. In 5 minutes they must have come away with 20 job details each. There are a

couple of possibilities here by my reckoning. Either they were very keen to get a job or they were trying to show their Job centre chap that they were looking for a job and binning the details on the way out or they were just in competition, who could print out the most details in a set time. Whichever way, an odd couple.

So to my interview:

"Good afternoon Mr Kirby"

"Hello"

"How's the job hunting?"

"I've stopped. Not looking now"

"Pardon?"

"I've stopped. Not looking now"

"Can I ask why? You know you must be looking for work to claim job seekers"

"Yes"

........

"I have a job now"

So what happens? Someone rushes on with flowers? Fireworks? Spontaneous, rapturous applause? At least a hug from the job centre staff, after all we have become friends over the last couple of months haven't we?

"You'll have to fill in this section to sign off then"

That's it. I have given many hours of my life to the job centre now I'm fobbed off with a wee form to sign off. No tears, nothing. I filled in the necessary paperwork and left, deflated, disappointed.

The rest of the week is half term. Tina is off work so we have half a week of family time. A rare treat including a trip to Weston. Strange, we went to Weston right at the end of October and experienced better weather than when we went in the summer; and we saw the start of the work on the new pier.

Saturday was Hallowe'en. Now, historically I have been a proper grumpy about Hallowe'en but this year in an attempt to be happy jolly dad and shake off, at least temporarily, the Grumpy Old Man image, we take a trip to Over farm and get pumpkins which are duly carved into jack o' lanterns that looked a bit like these on the left. We don't like waste so decided to make pumpkin pie from the flesh taken out of the pumpkin. Want my advice? Do you? If not look away now because I'm going to give it. If you ever carve pumpkins, please, for the love of god throw away the flesh. Pumpkin pie has to join the very short list of food I really can't stand. It is truly grim.

The kids dressed up to go trick or treating with some very strict rules and, I must confess, I was impressed by the haul they came back with. I did assume that most people were as grumpy as I typically am about Hallowe'en. Maybe I misjudged people or just tarred them with my own brush.

Monday was new job day one. It is a complete change for me. A rare foray into working for a small, non techy company. Very relaxed, very chilled but everyone gets the job done.

And finally to the highlight of the last week. Can we have a drum roll please? After several weeks of study the time came to sit my driving theory test, the first part to qualify to becoming a driving instructor. And, can you be discrete? I was probably more nervous than I can remember having been for an awfully long time. The morning spent on the toilet. So what happens? 96% in the theory and 63/75 in the hazard perception. I blitzed it. I rock. I am great. Here's to the practical training and the next two tests.