All posts in category: Life

If it’s cheap…it will last a lifetime

Why...

Do I have drawers full of cheap reading glasses yet empty Persol, Gucci and Porsche glasses cases?

It seems to be a rule of life when you buy an expensive version along with a few cheap ones on the side, the cheap one sticks to your life like chewing gum to fur, but in an instant the expensive version is lost.

In the kitchen the potato peeler I use was bought from a street urchin in Vietnam years ago but the fancy Alessi one my wife gave me in my stocking for Christmas fell into the waste disposal on Boxing Day.

I cannot begin to count the number of Fox’s umbrellas, Cartier fountain pens, Ray Ban sunglasses, AKG earphones, or fancy schmanzy watches I have lost over the years. However as I sit at my desk there is a biro dated 2006 in front of me, my desk drawer has endless cheap Apple earphones and my car has an umbrella I bought in Hong Kong during a down-pour for HK$1 in 2002. There is even a ten year old Swatch on my wrist.

..and another thing (continue to read this post)

Is Progress overrated?

October 8, 2015
Life
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Why...

Do we still use outdated things? I used to think the business card would go the same way as the Beastie Boys, the cheque book and New Coca-Cola….. However whilst the three I mentioned are pretty well dead and buried I found myself ordering new business cards. It seems so strange that in a paperless world, with the only thing written on a piece of paper are all your passwords (and that’s f&*cked up if you think about it), why do we still persist in handing over a rectangle of cardboard? I suppose it’s giving a physical thing that underlines the fact you have actually met the person. It’s also a chance to make an impression with the card having a clever design or fancy shape. You know as soon as the person is in the tube or taxi leaving the meeting they will enter the details in their phone and throw the card away…..and yet I just recoil when I meet someone and they simply say, “Give me your email and I’ll send over my details.” It’s a synthetic introduction and you just think the relationship will equally be as false. Which is also why I am not sure sex robots will catch on!

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Who you gonna call♫…NOT the Weatherman

Why...

Do we bother with weather forecasts? If ever a group of people would starve to death if they were paid on performance it’s the weathermen. In the UK the forecast is either… ‘Sunny with cloudy spells and occasional rain’. Well excuse me, but apart from adding a plague of locusts and blizzards that describes every kind of possible permutation you can get. That’s not a weather forecast, that’s weather hedge betting. It covers all the bases and is as much use as a rubber hammer Or You download an app with an hour by hour breakdown that changes more often than Miley Cyrus at an MTV Award ceremony. Earlier this month I was going to Goodwood for their annual three day extravaganza of classic cars and racing called the Goodwood Revival. It lasted from a Friday to Sunday. On Thursday there were dire predictions of fire and brimstone (OK rain) all day Saturday and Sunday but Friday would be fine. Needless to say it rained Friday evening but was sunny for the rest of the week-end. I would do better peering at the entrails of a chicken than use App mumbo-jumbo! How is it that a small island that could be carpeted in an afternoon has such unpredictable weather but when you go to Europe or the United States weather over vast distances can be predicted with reasonable success? Predicting weather is essential to sailors so how we ever became a seafaring nation is beyond me. Perhaps that’s why they took along a parrot to listen to what it had to say? I am told that you can convert cricket chirps to degrees Fahrenheit by counting the number of chirrups in 14 seconds then adding 40 to get the temperature! Either of those animals seem more reliable than depending on some presenter with bad hair and worse clothes pointing at a chart that will be as close to the truth as a candidate’s promises if elected President.

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Does your hairdresser’s own hairstyle frighten you?

Why...

Do so many of the top hairdressers have hairstyles that are better suited to Halloween Night? And who cuts and styles their hair? I used to wonder if it was students let loose on their teacher, but then would a plastic surgeon use his face as a student’s first experiment? Nope….. so it must be a conscious decision. Yikes!

On top of my blind trust that a stylist can cut hair normally, (despite the evidence on his or her head to the contrary), nearly every time my hair was cut, it was cut too short. Surely even Haircutting for Dummies must suggest hairdressers should undercut not overcut hair so the customer comes back sooner? My current salon however are perfect….. (I know they read the blog)!

For a cutter, I suppose, their job has a satisfying finality to it. It’s not like a customer can look at the reflection and go:

“Nah, I liked it better before, can you collect up all those hairs and re-attach them.” Maybe that’s why they are supremely confident.

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Keep it simple, stupid

Why...

Do we associate quality with complexity? 95% of mobile phone users understand about 10% of their phones’ capabilities. Does any manufacturer seriously believe we are going to read the handbook (or should I say download it). These things make ‘The Lord of the Rings’ seem like a postcard.

Friends are more useful than a manual and a darn site quicker. We kick ourselves of course but most of their tips are at least helpful. Did you know if you’ve just typed a long sentence and accidentally deleted it on your iPhone, you can give it a shake to bring up the undo/redo button? OK, of course you did, but I didn’t. The point is this useful tip is hidden in a tsunami of useless information.

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Welcome, have a nice day…but I loathe you

Why...

Are we so angry that London is overrun by young Arab men this time of year, squirting their bling-bling hypercars up and down Park Lane? Well, of course it’s because these glitzy tourists have more money than us, have a different culture and so we don’t understand them….Does that sound familiar? Think a bit next time you go somewhere remote on holiday as to how you behave and be thankful most locals treat you with such patience and respect! They must feel just the same as many Londoners do now and yet smile when they see you, not grit their teeth!

It is so easy to cause offense without thinking, even in cultures of similar backgrounds to our own.

I once waited in line at Le Louvre, when in front of me stood an elderly American couple. He was wearing trousers with checks big enough to play chess on and she had hair dye the colour of condemned veal.

"Can you tell us where the Winged Victory of Samothrace, the Venus de Milo, and the Mona Lisa are?" they asked the ticket lady without attempting a single word in French.

Obviously a frequently asked question, the girl pulled out a map and tracing the path they needed to take explained:

"You go up the staircase to the Greek section, there is the Winged Victory then turn right….through the lobby on to the Roman section to see The Venus de Milo….then come back to the staircase and go two floors to the greats masters…. turn left, turn right, walk the entire corridor to finally get to a small room….et voilá, the Mona Lisa."

"Gee Harry, " said the exasperated women, "why don’t these French just put ‘em all in one room. Be much simpler."

And you wonder why you don’t always feel the love of your host country.

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I know what colour knickers you have on...

Why...

Are we allowing drones, those wretched electronic insects, to proliferate practically unchecked? If I climb a tree and start photographing my neighbour as she sunbathes in the nude or hang upside down from a balcony and film the honeymoon couple in the suite below, I expect arrest, lawsuits and bad language to be hurled in equal measure. Yet some halfwit can pop into any branch of Electronic’n’Computershit’R’us and buy an 'eye in the sky' by simply shoving over a credit card (something that took far more scrutiny to obtain than the drone). When first introduced by the U.S. military, I must admit to a frisson of smug satisfaction at the West's ingenuity. A drone, sent by a bloke with a buzz cut in a bunker in Nebraska, could deliver a missile right through Mr. Terrorist’s front door, whether he’s in Timbuktu or Al Ramadi. How’s that for special delivery! Now it seems our privacy and safety is the target; these things follow dogs in the park, boats at sea and even joy riders in stolen cars. The accident waiting to happen (such as a multi-car pileup or worse...an airline crash) is patiently hovering in the corner.

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Smile and say cheese… But, ♫...hey, you, ♫ get off of my cloud…

Why...

Do we take photos we never really intend to keep? It was reported that during 1990 we took 57 billion photos; for 2015 it’s estimated we will take one trillion! In fact 10% of all photos ever taken were in the last twelve months; every two minutes we take more photos than the entire first 80 years of photography…but of what? And where are they? Well three trillion are on some cloud, to be stored forever and rarely viewed. But what the hell is the cloud? Will the sun come along one day and burn it away? In the 1970’s a questionnaire asked if there was a fire and you could save one thing, most chose their photograph album. Yet now we entrust those cherished memories to some electronic jiggery-pokery none of us understand. If the cloud ever disappears so will our past.

Digital storage has become like the ‘lock-up’ we keep furniture in. We hang onto this stuff in the belief that one day we will use the hideous mirror from Auntie Mary or look at that picture of a drunk in a sombrero in Malaga, mooning at the camera. Of course we never will... unless that young man becomes famous; then it’s who wants to pay?

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Dear Mr.Burglar.com….

Why...

In a world obsessed with security are we so crap at our own? I mean apart from the crass self-indulgence of Twitter and/or Facebook, do people really understand that when they post photos of themselves away on holiday every burglar in town says "Thank you, enjoy your break…while I break in?" Sat Nav's. Wonderful things. However when you register your details for ‘home’, maybe it’s not such a good idea to punch in your actual address? If your car gets stolen (especially if it’s something sleek, shiny and expensive) you have given the thief the added bonus of knowing where you live, usually with an electronic garage door opener in the glovebox. So maybe use a nasty neighbour's address close by you instead? Simple security. It’s ironic we are so cavalier on our own but in a crowd will all meekly take off our shoes at airports. At airport security we allow ourselves the indignity of being kneaded like dough despite the infinitesimally small chance of sharing a plane with someone sadly wanting to blow us through the doors of the next world! We hunch up at ATM’s furtively checking over our shoulder for anyone suspicious, yet gladly hand out the same details over the internet to just about anyone. In addition we guard our personal bank account numbers and codes like a poker player hiding his straight flush. However if we get a phone call from someone saying he is from the bank and need to change our security code due to a breach, we never question it. "Before we can proceed with the new code for our security process please first can you give me your current one." We spout down the phone every conceivable security detail known to man….saying thank you whilst doing it! The thank you is reciprocated by the thief you have just given your details to.

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I feel pretty, oh so pretty ......and I pity anyone who isn't me today. Tra-la-la

Why...

Do people laugh at fashion disasters walking down the street? Surely what's funny is the fact these misguided peacocks looked in the mirror before going out and said "Yes, this works."

I am not referring to people unlucky to have been cursed with legs like a billiard table, or who hit every branch of the ugly tree. I applaud people challenging our blinkered idea of beauty. The ones that worry me is anyone who is 'making a statement'. Let's be clear. That statement is "look at me, I am an utter twat."

The only thing worse than people dressed like an explosion in a clothing store, are fashion show commentators. Some stick insect model with a purse string pout, parades down the catwalk wearing a real beehive on her head, a dress made out of a bin liner and Cornish pasties for shoes. Nevertheless some expert says "Yes strange as this may seem, this is what we will all be wearing next summer." Egg on face …. is all they will be wearing.

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Was it good for you? Please, please tell me you love me.

Why...

Is it that any time I ring customer service, I immediately get sent a questionnaire asking if I enjoyed the experience?

The experience better be good or I simply won’t be a customer. How’s that for simple market research. Doh!

All these calls are recorded 'to serve me better' so why not listen to them rather than ask me, the customer, to do the retailer/service company’s job?

Most of the time I have to contact these people because I have a problem. A really good operator’s words can take the sting out of waiting hours to get through, so why undo all that warm fuzzy feeling by pestering me about an experience I would rather never have had in the first place! Having access to my email or sms (text) address should not be a short cut for companies’ customer research.

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So who made you a professional 'offendee'?

Why...

If somebody says something in private that is overheard and reported, someone else not remotely involved seems to get 'offended'? Don't get me wrong, I don't condone any kind of aggressive, hateful, racist or derogatory public statements. In private surely we have the right to say certain things that in the 'open' world are of course inappropriate. Again I am not encouraging hateful diatribe but rude words, blue jokes, clichéd stereotypes can have a role in private conversation. If I tell a joke about a Scotsman, an Irishman and an Englishman, why should some Scotsman I have never met and doesn’t have a clue of the context in which the joke was made be offended? Yes the joke might be offensive if it was a public statement but that’s the whole point. It wasn’t. It’s the 'offendee' who made it public. These offendees not only have had their humour chromosome removed but appear to get their facts wrong. The list is endless and laughable if the consequences were not so serious. Of the examples scattered over the internet one that I found nearly unbelievable was that of Mr. David Howard, who was working for the US Government when he used the word niggardly in a speech to describe a certain expenditure!! People were offended and he was forced to resign. The total lack of understanding of the use of the English Language is the real offence here!

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"Eggs benedict with a tazer stun gun on the side, please."

Why...

Must people feel compelled to have business breakfast meetings?

Breakfast is a time when the brain needs a kick-start of coffee to aid gentle re-entry into reality’s atmosphere. You start by reading about the latest world shattering crisis from the Kardashian family and end with the less trivial matters of Wall Street or Washington.

The idea I would agree to spend those delicious moments of transformation with someone pitching a financing opportunity whilst wearing a tie loud enough to deafen, is ludicrous. The loudest thing I am prepared to listen to is ‘Snap, Crackle and Pop’.

I am pretty certain that all the bad deals were made over breakfast...

"No Josephine, I have made up my mind. We fight at Waterloo tomorrow. Now pass me a croissant." 17th June 1815

"So. All agreed? We change the Coke formula and call the old one Coke Classic. Waffles all round" April 23 1985

"No one will give a shit? Break in if you have to. Just get that stuff out of the Watergate building. More bagels?" October 9th 1972

I imagine evening meals where your brain is fully functioning are therefore so much more successful…

"So Miss Rowling, everyone else has turned down your Harry Potter book? May I offer you more wine?" May 10 1996

"Ok Winston, D-Day is a go. Now another brandy and cigar?" June 4th 1944

"Let’s raise a toast to our little company. And we’ll call it EBay." September 2 1995

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It’s my language, your accent….Mate

Why...

When visiting Texas, can I barely resist the urge to yell ‘Yee-Haw’ (a must if on a horse)? If in Alabama I continually add ‘Y’all’ to every sentence. As for California I cringe as I find myself muttering ‘No problem’, ‘whatever’, ‘I’m good’ or worst of all ‘I’m stoked’. (I should be with a red hot poker up my backside every time I say that). I know to every local I must sound as fake as a flight attendant’s farewell, but I suppose it makes up for the occasional American who greets my English tones with… "Cor blimey stone the crows, do yer want-a-cuppa bloody tea, mate?" Quite apart from sounding like Mary Poppins, chimney sweep Dick Van Dyke, whose accent is as far removed from true cockney as tact is from President Putin, the speaker is also oblivious as to how to actually use the word ‘bloody’ and ‘mate’. (This is a short blog; you’d need an extra memory chip in your computer to be able to download why this is so wrong. Just take it from me, it is). However this person is cheery and thinks his English sounds are welcoming to me. Why? My beloved wife is an American with a delightful lilting Southern Accent. It’s as clear and fresh as a mint julep despite living here for over 20 years. Yet when she goes home they all accuse her of sounding English. At first I thought all her relatives were either stone deaf or making a joke but actually I realised it was not her accent, but her use of words and syntax that made my wife sound ‘furrren’. ‘Lift’ instead of elevator, ‘flat’ instead of ‘apartment’, ‘fag’ instead of ‘cigarette’ (always a dangerous misunderstanding that one) and our curious use of ending a sentence with ‘indeed’. Deny as much as you like but no matter how jingoistic, patriotic or linguistically challenged you are, we all pick up accents and grammatical mannerisms if we are someplace long enough; they stick like gum on a shoe. The reason has to be a subliminal yet natural desire for a human to fit in and be accepted; subconsciously we seem to have this strong desire when we meet someone who is different from us, to try to act and sound like them… even if we cannot speak like their language. I wonder if this knee-jerk urge to communicate is the most powerful argument for our inbuilt resistance against bigotry and illogical racism? We like to fit in, be accepted by strangers, rather than be apart from our fellow man.

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Fill her up please with Starbucks latte and can you check the oil is sun factor 50?

May 14, 2015
Food & Drink Kids/Family/Relations Life Travel/Nature
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Why...

Can I no longer find signs at motorway service stations that say Fuel Only This Way→? They have disappeared over the past few years. Now, before I find the pumps, I am led like a piggy with a ring through my nose past the retail equivalent of a children’s honey trap; an entire village of tat. I feel so sorry for families with kids in the back, who, on seeing these places bounce around like squash balls on heat wanting to get out and empty their parents’ wallet. On entering these cluster of shops I am simply blown away at the kind of stuff you can now buy, as well as what you can’t (i.e. indicator bulbs for your car). Quite apart from just about every franchise that sells you a ‘heart-attack in-a-sack’, there are video games rooms, playpens for toddlers, make-up bars, CD’s, DVDs, clothing and numerous toys….some so large I’d need an articulated truck to take them home. Let’s not forget the wide selection of abandoned puppies. Kids are running around the place screaming and yelling from a massive overdose of sugar yet there is always a solitary Janitor sharing my ablutions in the bathroom along with the triangle warning sign of a slippery floor. Sadly at my age a full tank of fuel lasts much longer than I do so rest stops are quite frequent, but the only time I have ever fallen over in the bathroom was due to alcohol not an attendant’s mop.

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Friend=Foe

Why...

Do I keep getting contacted by people who claim to be my ‘friends’ yet most are as unknown to me as a humour chromosome is to an Immigration official? One of the biggest casualties of the internet has been the murder of the true definition of a favourite noun: Friend. The Oxford Dictionary definition: A person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations. Current definition: Anybody who is able to contact you. ‘Privacy’ would seem to be the digital reverse of ‘friendship’. “Internet friendship sites increase communication between people, ” I hear you cry. Bullsh*t. Friendship is two way; it requires time and continual interaction. These sites are in fact the ultimate expression of the self, the antithesis of communication. The data is nearly always one way. The sender does not care what you think, just that you read them. But he or she is quite happy to blindly impose on your time under the cover of somehow being a friend. I suppose a burglar is always grateful to those people saying they are on holiday or are walking around with an engagement ring. However if I have something really personal I want to enjoy with someone I’d pick up a phone, send an email or, heavens above, even write a letter. Apart from a persistent Jehovah’s Witness who rings my door bell and calls me friend, the digital rot all started with early sites like Friends Reunited. This let loose a bunch of people from the past, mainly old school contempories, who reached out of nowhere and dragged you back to the past. Suddenly I was being tracked down by people I vaguely remembered but had never kept up with…… for good reason. They were never my friends in the first place. I didn’t like them when half size so why would I want to be in contact with them in full adult form? As I went to an all-boys school, these ‘friends’ from the past did not even come with the veiled promise of some quick tryst to make up for what I missed all those years ago. (They say it’s the ones that got away that haunt you forever. I can understand why divorce rates shot up amongst those from mixed schools who were contacted). However at least this bunch could claim to have at one time known me. They were simply guilty of stretching the meaning of acquaintance into friend. Sadly that was just the beginning.

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My ears are much better than Zagat.

April 30, 2015
Entertainment/Media/Arts Food & Drink Life
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Why...

Do I bother with restaurant reviews when really I can hear how good the food will be long before a morsel drops into my mouth? The introduction seduction. “Hi, my name is Randy, and I will be your food co-ordinator tonight. Our special is a free range rodent nestling on a bed of cumquat jello and coffee pesto...” Randy does not write orders on a pad. To show you his deep intellect he assures you he will remember it all, like it's some extra treat to allow you to witness such a prodigious memory.....which always means someone gets the wrong meal. The aircon will be up way too high, the lowbrow art hanging on the walls is on display because it's for sale. The bathrooms are made from black slate, so when you take a leak it’s like peeing in a mausoleum. As for the food, you know damn well that the portions will be microscopic but the price positively gargantuan. And despite giving you liver instead of lamb chops Randy will expect a round of applause as well as a big tip.

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Excuse me, I think you’ll find this is my nuclear shelter

Why...

Of all the businesses thrown up by our world’s increasing fear of impending Armageddon is my favourite for sheer absurdity …ordering your own private nuclear shelter? A snip at around $1million. In Mel Brooke’s wonderful film and musical ‘The Producers’, impresario Max Bialystock keeps selling many multiples of the maximum 100% investment in his new play to unwary investors. “Congratulations you own 75% of Springtime for Hitler…Congratulations you own 60% of Springtime for Hitler…Congratulations you have made a very wise purchase and now own 90% of Springtime for Hitler…” hoping his play would be a flop so he would never have to repay the investors and keep all the oversubscribed funds himself. Whoever investigates loss of profits on a flop? I can hear Max’s pitch. “Congratulations. Here at Fall out Haven, your own super secure home awaits you should the worst happen. Don’t be left behind, become one of the ultimate in-crowd, as you sure as hell don’t want to be out there. With your own personal supply of tinned food and a mountain of Twinkies (the snack cake’s alleged shelf life being infinite) you can wait out eternity in comfort. Due to the unprecedented demand, payments need to be made in full. Make sure of your future with an investment in the present.” These shelters are apparently selling like hot cakes across the Bible belt in the USA. So let me get this straight. Nuclear bombs start dropping like hailstones and the proud owner and family manages to get to the refuge only to find a string of others all with the same key to the only completed bunker. Just exactly what are you going to do? Sue someone? I would imagine the legal system of lawyers and courts might be temporarily out of service, as well as any banking system to pay restitution, let alone the police to make any arrests. If I was a Max Bialystock type of developer I’d have long ago escaped to my own private island far away from the nuclear winter, or decided it is better to be burned to a crisp like the rest of us, having at least enjoyed a bunch of money until the fateful day. In any case I would rather stick needles in my balls than spend years locked in a tomb with a bunch of other self-absorbed short sighted fools who no doubt would be arguing about how this never would have happened if the right President had been voted in and Jesus had done less turning the other cheek and more smiting the enemy.

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Do EuroMillions or the National Lottery owe you more??

February 27, 2015
Entertainment/Media/Arts Finance/Law Life
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Why...

For many £2 for a lottery ticket is just cheap therapy. That jackpot dream allows you to fall asleep at night with the daily problems pushed to one side as you carefully plan out what to do with your imminent win. If you play on line, you might receive this email. “We’ve got some news about the ticket from the draw on Tuesday 17^th February. Please sign into your account as soon as you can for more information. For a brief moment this can revive the night time fantasies until you log into your account and reality bites: “Congratulations! You’ve won £2.60 on EuroMillions ticket number xxxxxxxxx on Tuesday February 17th.” But did you win £2.60? Not by my maths….not by a long way. If the stake to play a game on the EuroMillions or National Lottery is £2 surely it should be deducted from your win? It’s the return of your stake. What you win is on top. Therefore if your stake is £2 you surely don’t ‘win’ £2.60, you actually win £0.60 and get your £2 back? That seems to me to be overvaluing success by around 250%. Anyone out there from Camelot or National Lottery Commission to put me right?

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Life is being blighted by blockers & noisy food

February 21, 2015
Fasion Health & Beauty Food & Drink Life Travel/Nature
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Why...

Whenever the lights go up at the theatre or cinema, why are the people at the ends of my row the last people to file out? I smoulder waiting whilst they gawk at the programme, endlessly check under their seat or simply stand there trying to find their fellow travellers on the bus from Hove who are in other seats sprinkled around the auditorium? They are the same people who seem surprised to get a bill at the check- out and then search for their purse for five minutes, or the 'change monkeys' at coffee shops who insist not only in paying in cash but counting out loose change to the last penny. The driver who texts his mates when the lights go green, the waddler who parks his supermarket trolley sideways in narrow aisles then wanders away, or the escalator riders who stop dead after stepping off so everyone behind piles into them? They are life’s Blockers. They need to identify themselves so we in turn can avoid them. I have an idea of the sign for identification; it starts with W and ends with…….

..and another thing (continue to read this post)

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All posts in category: Life

If it’s cheap…it will last a lifetime

Why...

Is Progress overrated?

Why...

Who you gonna call♫…NOT the Weatherman

Why...

Does your hairdresser’s own hairstyle frighten you?

Why...

Keep it simple, stupid

Why...

Welcome, have a nice day…but I loathe you

Why...

I know what colour knickers you have on...

Why...

Smile and say cheese… But, ♫...hey, you, ♫ get off of my cloud…

Why...

Dear Mr.Burglar.com….

Why...

I feel pretty, oh so pretty ......and I pity anyone who isn't me today. Tra-la-la

Why...

Was it good for you? Please, please tell me you love me.

Why...

So who made you a professional 'offendee'?

Why...

"Eggs benedict with a tazer stun gun on the side, please."

Why...

It’s my language, your accent….Mate

Why...

Fill her up please with Starbucks latte and can you check the oil is sun factor 50?

Why...

Friend=Foe

Why...

My ears are much better than Zagat.

Why...

Excuse me, I think you’ll find this is my nuclear shelter

Why...

Do EuroMillions or the National Lottery owe you more??

Why...

Life is being blighted by blockers & noisy food

Why...