Gripes & Graplings

I've Had Enough so I've Moved!

2006-09-08T16:29:00.000+01:00

For those who are interested, I can now be found by following this link.

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General Grappling

2006-07-11T20:21:00.000+01:00

Tonight marks the end of ten days of peace. My youngest child has been in Norway but is returning tomorrow, with oldest daughter (middle child) in tow. Noisy music will once again be heard throughout the homestead.

I've too much work to do. I know that's better than not having enough and that I shouldn't moan but bugger it all, I want to moan. Right now it feels good.

Am writing a romantic novel [ducks to avoid flying custard tarts]. Am also enjoying it. It's.... wait for it.... a Mills & Boon! [ducks to avoid flying turds]. Look, I'm gonna say this once and only once. If you haven't read one, don't knock 'em, right? My grandad always said, "if you don't know what you're talking about then keep your gob shut" and that's what I'm repeating to you.

Am getting a new kitchen soon. This is a good thing. Am also getting new interior doors. This is also a good thing.

Am writing my memoirs here. Mostly rubbish because that's what I tend to remember.

That's it.

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British Horse Slaughter

2006-07-01T11:14:00.000+01:00

Horses. Not my favourite animals but undoubtedly beautiful and intelligent creatures that absolutely do not deserve to die horrible and cruel deaths at the hands of humans.

Every four minutes a horse is slaughtered in this country. A horse that has done nothing wrong. A horse that simply isn't fast enough for the racing industry, is semi-feral and unwanted, a pregnant mare, an innocent foal. 35,000 every year, most sold abroad for human consumption.

Approximately 15000 horses are bred for the racing industry every year. Only 5000 make it. The remaining 10000 are left to face an uncertain fate, for many that means slaughter. Not by humane euthanasia--even though that costs no more than around £35--but by a stun bolt. The animals are stunned and then hung to bleed before being disembowelled and prepared for sale. For every bet that's placed on horse racing, we're helping fund this abysmal practise.

If you care about horses, take a look at the following website. There's lots of information available and a petition you can sign.

British Horse Slaughter

Sometimes I feel ashamed to call myself human.

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horse racing

Designer Babies & Gender Choice

2006-06-28T14:36:00.000+01:00

Should we be able to choose the sex of our children?

What are the two sides of the coin and which is most likely to fall with its face up?

Is there a possibility of a populace imbalance? Is it likely that couples (individuals) will choose one sex over the other? How many designer babies will need to be born before they have any impact on the gender balance?

Will prospective parents in countries like China, where only one child per couple is allowed, be more likely to choose a boy over a girl? Girls, as we know, are not favoured in Chinese society, and the law controlling births have led to girls being "done away with" at birth to make way for a boy. Will designer babies at least ensure that girl babies will no longer need to suffer drowning and other unpleasant deaths?

Is it better that we're able to choose the gender of our children and bestow love on them rather than put up with a child we didn't want? Is this just another step onwards from abortion? Give birth but only to those children we truly desire?

Me? I'm definitely against it. Leave well alone. We've messed around with nature far too much as it is. Boys will be boys and girls will be girls and that's how it's supposed to be.

Yes, some children will suffer for being the wrong sex and that's a terrible thing, but designer babies isn't the answer. Education is what's needed. An understanding that for the world to function, both sexes are needed. After all, if that wasn't the case, wouldn't we all be born hermaphrodite?

Ok, so designer babies could perhaps stop us from becoming a frail and sickly species that's unable to survive the diseases we're surrounded by, but that's another argument entirely.

Related Link: What Are Designer Babies?

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Designer Babies

Step Fathers Are Important People, Too!

2006-06-18T14:57:00.000+01:00

So it's Father's Day again. And once again my daughter wanted to get a card that said "To my Step-father" rather than to "Dad" or "My Father" but do you think she could find one?

We looked in three shops, one of which had a huge selection, but not one lousy Step-Father card did we find!

With the divorce rate as high as it is these days and lots of second-marriages, surely there are almost just as many children living with a step-parent as there are living with both their natural parents? So why make it so difficult for those kids to show they appreciate what their step-father's done for them throughout the year? In some cases, it may even be more important than showing gratitude to a father because a step-father's job can be far more difficult. They have to cope with kids who don't want a step-parent in their lives, who see them as a threat to their parents ever getting back together again, and whereas a father has a legal responsibility to care for his kids, a step-father doesn't, and yet many (most?) still do. They clear up their vomit if they're sick in the night, hold their hands when they're scared, and help them with their algebra homework. All of this should be celebrated, surely?

Richard tells me he saw lots of step-father cards in the shop next to the post-office (you know the one I mean, don't you?) but that place must be an exception in this town. LM was quite peeved at not being able to get one and had to settle for something neutral in the end. A funny one that she thought Richard would appreciate.

I know it shouldn't matter, that it's just a card, but for the kids who want to show their appreciation to their step-fathers along the same lines as they'd show it to their fathers (and remember that a lot of them have fathers who show little or no interest in them), it can be quite an issue. Isn't it enough that they live in an 'untraditional' family unit, without having it rubbed in by the card industry?

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PS: Spent the morning at the boot market. Couldn't find a pair anywhere!

The End of the World is Nigh

2006-06-05T15:02:00.000+01:00

Or so say the doom merchants who believe that 6.6.06 will be the date for the apocalypse.

I'm not sure where they get their data from although judging by the numbers I'd hazard a guess that there's some kind of connection with 'The Beast' going on. The number 666, as mentioned in Revelations, has now become the date for us to kiss our loved ones goodbye.

So what's going to happen? Are Satanists planning to dissolve the planet in a huge acid bath? Where will they get it from? And what will happen to it afterwards?

Evidently, people in the US are so certain that the world's about to end tomorrow that they've been rushing to the bookies in order to place their bets. 10-1's being offered at the moment.

What I want to know though is, if this prophecy does come true and we're all history by tomorrow midnight, who's going to make the pay outs on the wagers? And who'll be left to spend it?

Some folks just don't think things through, do they?

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If You Watch TV You'll Lose Your Marbles!

2006-05-29T12:12:00.000+01:00

I read something interesting t'other day. Interesting because it seems, for once, I'm doing something right. It's not often I discover that, but luck was with me on this particular occasion.

I was flicking through a magazine (Good Housekeeping, I believe) when I came across an article that caught my eye. Basically, it said that those who watch a lot of TV are more likely to suffer from Altzheimer's in old age than those who engage in intellectual activities. Three hours or more of TV a day was particularly bad.

The brain, of course, is a muscle, and like any other muscle, it needs to be exercised if it's to be kept in tip-top condition. For every hour we spend veging in front of the TV in a semi-conscious state, (a state where we're not actually learning anything, just being fed information - there's a difference), we're increasing our chances of Altzheimer's.

I'd imagine that those who work in mind-numbing jobs like call-centres where they do nothing but follow a script all day, or production lines in factories, must be practically guaranteed to be heading for Altzheimer's.

Anyway, I thought I'd have a mooch round the old Internet and see if I could find any additional information on this, and came up with some stuff that a Dr Friedland and his team of researchers at a couple of US universities have said. Evidently, of those studied, people with Altzheimer's were less likely to have had intellectual hobbies and were unlikely to have had such a wide range of interests as their healthy peers. They also all watched a lot of TV.

While watching TV is a passive activity, both physically and mentally, intellectual activities include reading, solving crosswords, doing jigsaw puzzles, knitting, and woodworking.

Physical activity also plays its role. Those who are less active are three times more likely to develop Altzheimer's than those who partake in activities such as gardening, sports, or playing a musical instrument.

The good news is that, as far as intellectual activities go, its never too late to get started.

Luckily, although I can't take much physical exercise anymore, I watch very little TV and have a crossword book in the loo to pass the time with when "finishing off" takes a little longer than usual. I read, I knit, I do jigsaws. I wonder whether surfing the Net falls into the intellectual category or not?

This is serious research so next time you sit there being served by Murdoch's miserable brain mushing tripe, give some thought to how your carers are going to feel when you can no longer remember where the toilet is let alone solve a crossword while you're in there!

Related Link: Findings presented on Alzheimer's disease, brain gymnastics, and lead

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Altzheimers's Disease

Chicklit and Other Bookish Stuff

2006-05-24T12:10:00.000+01:00

Why is it such a bad thing to like chicklit? Everywhere I go, I see women reading them (you can almost always tell by the cover, can't you?) and yet whenever I tell anybody I like them, I'm almost always met with a look of disapproval.

What is all this snobbery? Why should only certain types of books be acceptable for reading when millions of chicklit and other types of romantic fiction stories are sold and enjoyed by people from all walks of life? Who's to say that chicklit books are just trashy, mind-numbing garbage that should never be allowed to see the light of day? All I can say is that those people who insist on sticking two fingers up at anything other than just the one kind of book they believe to be intellectually acceptable are missing out on a lot of entertainment. The same goes for music and films. I'm afraid I can't be doing with all that snobbery. I like lots of different types of books, lots of different types of music and, although I'm not big into films, will watch them from a variety of genres.

Surely reading from just one genre is like only ever eating one type of cake? I don’t know about you but I'd get sick to death of walnut slice, even though it's my favourite, if I had to eat that every time I fancied some cake. Fruit cake and sponge cake are nice, too. Lemon cake's good, as is carrot cake and cheese cake. I might eat more walnut slice than any other kind but I'll be damned if I'm going to eat ONLY walnut slice.

Chicklit makes me smile. It's light entertainment where women (many of which I can relate to) are put into situations that could possibly be solved in a reasonably easy way but for the sake of entertainment, the author has them tripping up and making tits of themselves along the way. The same goes for the men who appear in the stories. And let's face it, whether it's a romance, a murder mystery or a horror story, there's nothing entertaining about a story where everything goes smoothly, is there?

Comedy's good for us. There's enough to be miserable about in this world as it is so if escaping into chicklit helps bring a smile to my face, what's the problem? I really don't get it. If I want to be frightened, I'll read a horror. If I want suspense, I'll read a mystery. If I want to cry, I'll read a soppy romance. And if I want to laugh, I'll read a comedy.

I don't read sci-fi or fantasy. I've tried but I can't stand it. But do I tell those who enjoy it that they're making some kind of literary mistake? Of course not. It's up to them what they want to read.

So next time you give me that "down the nose" look just because I happen to be reading chicklit (or -- dare I say it -- Mills & Boon!!!), please remember that it's my choice and, unlike you, I'm capable of enjoying different things on different levels for different reasons.

Whatever happened to live and let live?

Rant over.

Related Link: ChickLit Books

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Reading

Don't Look Down!

2006-05-18T04:20:00.000+01:00

According to some scientist or another -- or maybe even several, I'm not sure -- people suffering from depression are more likely to look down whilst walking.

Well quite honestly, is it surprising they're depressed? I'd be bloody depressed, too, if I kept bumping into things because I wasn't looking where I was going, wouldn't you?

Actually I have suffered from depression. Still do if I don't take my 'loony juice', as Richard calls it. It's real name's Fluoxetine, otherwise known as Prozac. I don't think it had anything to do with bumping into things, though. Probably more the fact that I was learning to live with -- still am learning to live with -- my medical situation, being stuck in this poxy little house after being used to having plenty of room, having my freedom removed (evidently I can't move away from this borough as no other health authority is likely to take me because of the cost of my medical needs) and not being particular happy about being in England. A few other things were mixed in for good measure but I don't need to go into them all. One very big one was, and still is, that I'm no longer sure who the hell I am.

I left England when I was 19 and came back as a 36 year old woman. People change a lot during that time, right? Only I came back and found myself confused - almost as though that part of my life hadn't happened because I couldn't relate to the things a 36 year old normally would be able to. I didn't know how the tax system worked, how to claim financial help for my son, or even how to pay my bills (yes, something as simple as that is done differently in Norway). And then there were the friends I'd had when I left. Some were still around and again, I felt confused. They didn't know me, the person I'd grown into. They knew the Sharon that left 18 years earlier and I felt as though I was still expected to be that person. They hadn't changed much -- I suppose because they had the same influences the whole time -- but I had. Did I really fit in? I didn't know. I kept trying but all the while I kept losing more of myself.

My depression, I suppose, was a culmination of all of those things. It isn't something I talk about much - in fact, I don't think I've really spoken about it to anybody. Not even my closest friends really know how I feel. Why? Stop asking such difficult questions!

What's the point in writing this? I DON'T BLOODY WELL KNOW! It all started off with bumping into stuff so blame the scientists! It's gotta be somebody else's fault. Right?

Related Link:
Fluoxetine

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Depression

Blogger's Broken.... AGAIN!!

2006-05-14T14:55:00.000+01:00

Bloody place! I take the time to update my sidebar with some fancy banner type adverts to take the place of those boring Google ads and what happens? The bloody thing's broken! You can post but you can't update your template! Grrrrrr (make sure you hear that sound properly - it's a cross between a Pit Bull and a White Tiger).

Am I allowed to swear?

I bet it's because I didn't forward that email with the photos of the soldiers cuddling kittens and what-have-ya the other day. Damn! I knew it'd come back to haunt me.

Read This or Something Bad Will Happen!

2006-05-08T18:51:00.000+01:00

I mean it. If you don't continue to read this post right to the end without missing a single word, something really awful will happen to you. Within 5 days of skipping this post you'll start scratching your backside and no amount of worm powders will cure it. Your life will be spent squeezing your buttocks together in some vain hope that the itch might just be relieved. But it won't.

So I dare you to try it. Go on... skip to the end and see what happens. You're not superstitious are you? You don't care whether you'll have a lifetime of good luck if you guide at least 5 visitors to this post, and a guaranteed lottery win of at least £50,000 if you bump that up to at least 10 visitors, do you? No, of course not. Because you don’t believe any of that baloney, do you?

For the umpteenth time this year I've received one of those "Send this mail to 10 people within an hour and blah blah blah but break the chain and your grandmother will wet the bed tonight whilst wearing her best wynciette nightie" type emails, and they're all from the same person.

I keep telling her that although some of them contain sweet messages like "25 reasons why men should be eradicated from the planet", I'd rather not receive them. Why? Because I'm bloody superstitious, that's why. And if you admit it, so are you. Because if you weren't, you'd have skipped all this and gone straight to the bottom, just to prove to yourself that you don't give a monkey's armpit about potential embarrassing itches or £50,000. Wouldn't you? Eh?

I don't like to see myself as a superstitious person - in fact if people ask, I always say I'm not, but if the truth be known, whenever I get to the end of a humorous email only to discover that my toe-nails are going to rot if I don't forward it to at least 10 people, a nasty shiver goes up my spine. I mean, what if it really does happen? How can you be sure it isn't possible? Strange things are happening all the time after all, and if anybody can bring themselves to have an affair with John Prescott, then surely there must be people out there who are able to send curses via email?

Please... if you're ever considering sending me one of those emails, stop a moment and consider just what kind of dreadful situation you're putting me in. I don't know 10 people I can send the damned thing to so you're dooming me to a life of pus-filled spots, constipation, unpaid bills and loneliness. Do you really hate me that much?

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Chain Mail

Lady Muck Comes of Age

2006-05-05T14:49:00.000+01:00

The world now has more female millionaires under the age of 45 than there are male millionaires of the same age, and it's predicted that within twenty years women will control 60 percent of the world's finances. Take a look at this article for more on the subject.

How does that make you feel, guys? I spent 10 years living with a man who found it very difficult to accept that women were even part of management let alone actually running their own businesses, because strong women threatened his leadership position, both in the workplace and in the home. It's hardly surprising I left him, is it?

I particularly liked the last part of the article - the bit relating to the red sports car. How true that is! I admit I have my eye on an Audi TT but that's hardly a Maserati, is it?

And for the record, even though I'm too late to be one of the under-45s, I have every intention of becoming a female millionaire. I just have to figure out how first.

Related Link: Identified Wealth of Individuals in The United Kingdom (pdf)

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Female Millionaires

New & Blue

2006-04-29T23:37:00.000+01:00

This made a change.

I almost wrote that it made a welcome change, but that would be telling porkies. It did honestly make a nice change, though.

I'm sure you get tired of seeing the same old ads for viagra landing in your inbox every day? I now I do. To the point, in fact, where seeing this new and very blue ad almost made me smile.

I can't help wondering about the rabbit hole. The mind boggles.

Going To The Chapel and We're Gonna Get Married

2006-04-27T23:55:00.000+01:00

You're supposed to sing that title, by the way.

Not that we're actually going to a chapel, nor have we made any definite plans, but Richard popped the question today so we're now officially engaged.

Yes, that's the ring.

He bought it at an antiques fair today and right there, bang in the middle of the hall, he asked me to marry him. And who said romance is dead?

I think maybe the fact that Tom was flirting with me on Richard's GoatFood might have swung it ;-)

Nerdiness

2006-04-27T02:19:00.000+01:00

It's official! I wannabe a nerd!

Who's A Lucky Girl?

2006-04-20T12:48:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I won 2.5 million Euros in a Dutch lottery - twice! I won 1 million pounds in The National Lottery email draw and was offered a share of 38 million dollars if I let a Russian heir to some fortune or another place his money in my bank account for 3 months. Boy have I got it made! So much so that the Chase Bank of America seem to think I have an account with them that's being hacked several times a day.

Should I need Viagra, I've been offered it at a huge 75% discount and I can even get a pack of 3 condoms absolutely free of charge when I order more than 30 of the same. I've also been offered Zoloft, but as I'm not sure what that is, I think I'll give that one a miss.

The unnamed Indian pain relief medication sounds interesting, as does the Prilosec, but only because I like the name and it ends with the initials I had as an unmarried girl.

What I don't understand, though, is why anybody would think I should need to enlarge my penis. Isn't it big enough as it is? Yes, I know it's non-existent but that's the point! I don't have one so why should it be bigger? Maybe they think I'll buy their 'Sensational Revolution in Medicine' for Richard? It'd certainly make an unusual gift idea but somehow I can't see him thanking me for it.

Isn't email a wonderful thing?

Flat Pack Men

2006-04-08T14:27:00.000+01:00

I've just been listening to Future Radio, a local Norfolk radio that, thanks to the wonders of the Interweb, I can listen to whilst sat at home in Crewe.

The afternoon show was hosted by two girls who, quite honestly, reminded me of a pair of teenagers acting silly because they've been given some precious air-time, but they had a couple of interesting things to say. Not things they'd thought of themselves though.

One point that interested me was that, evidently, hairy men are quicker at putting up IKEA flat pack furniture than men with little body hair. I've no idea how this was measured or who was behind the study because, these girls being silly and boring, I wasn't listening much.

I imagine there's some link to testosterone. Men are traditionally hairy and once upon a time, women loved that. But now we hear girls like these two saying "would I want a hairy man putting up my flatpacks? I think not." Things have changed. We don't want MEN anymore, we want effeminate boys who are easily controlled.

I'm not quite sure why I'm writing this or where I actually wanted to go but there must have been a point. I think it had something to do with cavemen. Although I doubt they had flat-pack furniture.

Related Links:
Future Radio
Ikea

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Gene Pitney Dead and Gone

2006-04-05T15:58:00.000+01:00

I didn't even know he was touring in the UK until I saw the news at lunch time. Aged just 65, Gene Pitney had been found dead in his bed this morning at a hotel in Cardiff. He'd shown no signs of illness and the cause of death is, as yet, unknown. The police aren't considering it suspicious.

I won't pretend I was a fan of Pitney. I wasn't. I don't have any CDs by the man and can only name two of his songs: "Twenty Four Hours From Tulsa" and then, much later, "Something's Got A Hold of My Heart".

The reason it saddens me a little that he's gone is because I remember my mum singing "Twenty Four Hours..." when I was a little girl. She always sang while she was cooking or doing the housework, and that was one of her favourites.

That's it really. I've nothing more to say on the subject. I won't be sending flowers.

Related Link:
BBC News Story

Don't You Need To Know The Alphabet To Write A Book?

2006-03-30T17:22:00.000+01:00

There's a new book scheduled to hit the shelves this autumn and guess who's written it? Victoria--"I've never read a book"--Beckham!

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the knowledge of how books work one of the basic requirements of writing one? I mean, surely Victoria Beckham writing a book would be like me walking into a recording studio and whacking out a number one, wouldn't it? Mind you, she isn't capable of that either and she's a star! How??? The woman has admitted to never having read a book and yet... [sigh]

The book's about fashion (now didn't that surprise you?) and will undoubtedly make her lots of money, or at least the kind of money most of us would call lots. I doubt it'll even make a noticeable difference to Victoria's bank account, though. When you can afford to buy your partner a car that costs more than the average house and your son a pair of earrings that cost more than I've spent on all my three children's birthdays throughout their entire lives, you're not exactly hard up for a bob or two.

Oh well, back to writing my book and hoping I'll still have enough money at the end of the month to pay the council tax.

Jealous? Me? Never!

Related Link:
Victorian Beckham Has Never Read A Book

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I Work From Home - Geddit?

2006-03-19T20:24:00.000Z

Why is it that the world and his gerbil seem to think that because a person works from home, they're available 24/7 for long telephone conversations about relationship problems/diets that don't work/boredom at work etc?

These people seem to be missing one vital point. Working from home means that one is working whilst in their home. Not all the time, obviously, but a lot of the time. Probably 8 hours a day and often more.

For every hour I spend jawing on the phone, that's an hour longer I have to work that day in order to finish my work load.

"But everybody has to have a break" I'm told. Sure they do. But why should I be forced to spend my break on the phone? I'd like to spend it eating my lunch, thank you very much.

Don't get me wrong. I don't mind the occasional break in the day spent chatting on the phone, in fact there are times when I positively welcome it, but 15 minutes is enough. Anything more starts eating into too much of my working time, especially when more than one person calls in the course of the day.

I get paid for the number of jobs I can complete and return to my clients. The fewer finished jobs I have in a week, the less money I earn. That's not too difficult to understand, is it? No money = no bills paid = family tossed out into the gutter.

Please. When I say "I'm working", try to understand that I can't shorten my working day just because your boyfriend called you a tart, you've put on two pounds in a week, or have caught VD for the fifth time this year.

Sigh.

Organ Donar Complaints??

2006-03-15T11:52:00.000Z

Don't go getting your knickers in a twist; I know I've misspelled 'donor'. It was deliberate. Just bear with me, will you?

Every now and then I pop over to Bravenet in order to check my stats. Like most, when visitors come knocking on my virtual door, I want to know how they found me.

This morning I discovered that one visitor had searched for 'Organ Donar Complaints' through MSN so off I went to give it a try. Sure enough, in 7th position was my gripes and graplings, which of course have absolutely nothing to do with organ donation. Not one post has so much as touched on the subject. Why? I asked myself, whilst sipping at my Bovril, kindly provided by Richard along with a selection of cheese and biscuits for breakfast. Why would my blog have appeared on the search results?

Well, the fact that the searcher probably didn't pay proper attention to at least one of the three Rs whilst at school certainly hasn't helped him find appropriate results. Although it's obvious that Mr Searcher (I'm going to be sexist here - like it or lump it) was actually looking for organ donor complaints, the fact that he's misspelled the middle word brought him to me.

Three words: ORGAN - a quick glance up at the top, right-hand corner and you'll see the word used in my 'about me'. This, according to the Blogger search thingy, is the only time the word appears. DONAR - a clear misspelling of donor, this one appears on a post about take-away food. Now, I'm not entirely sure whether any internal organs are used during the process of making the huge chunk of lamb's meat that's sliced into pita bread and sold as a 'donar kebab', but I'm reasonably sure that this wasn't what Mr Searcher was looking for. COMPLAINTS - appears once, in a very short post about Firefox 1.5.

Mr Searcher may have been in luck, though. Several of the links above that to this blog were actually about organ donation, but like Mr Searcher himself, the owners of those sites had also misspelled donor. I guess it's a matter of the 'spelling challenged' finding each other.

Related Links:
UK Organ Transplant

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Disability Living Allowance - Mobility Component

2006-03-14T14:45:00.000Z

The DWP (Department of Work and Pensions) has a handy scheme available that offers those who are disabled to chance to be awarded a sum of money that's meant to help them get about. This is called the mobility component of Disability Living Allowance.

It's a good idea and one that, for many, can mean the difference between isolation and a social life.

The mobility component is awarded on two levels, the lower level being worth £16.05 per week and the higher level a whopping £42.30. Yes, that's all of nearly £2,200 per year. A huge amount, isn't it? Well no, it isn't, but because the majority of those in receipt of it aren't high earners (we're disabled, remember?), the money makes a huge difference to our ability to get out and enjoy life on par with the rest of the population.

What's unfortunate is that there are still thousands of disabled people out there who aren't getting the highest level of mobility because they don't fulfil the criteria, one of which is that you shouldn't be able to walk more than 100 yards without severe discomfort. Let's take a closer look at what that means.

Let's say somebody has a problem with their hips/back/legs but that the problem allows them to walk 150 yards before they experience what can be described as extreme discomfort. They live in an area where their nearest bus-stop is 500 yards from their home and there are no local shops. This person won't be able to receive the highest rate of mobility but where does being able to walk 150 yards get him? Nowhere. He still won't be able to catch a bus or do any shopping, and as he'll have already used up his walking quota, just how is he supposed to get home again?

Then let's say there's another somebody who can only walk 80 yards but has a bus-stop right outside her door and can take the bus to a large shopping centre that supplies mobility scooters to help disabled customers get around. The bus also goes to the train station and the bus station. This somebody is in a far better position to be able to get around without either owning a car or using taxis, and yet, as long as doctors agree that she meets the correct criteria, she'll be automatically awarded the higher rate.

The bloody bureaucracy in this country is so boxed in that those who decide who can and cannot be awarded the higher rate of the mobility component aren't able to offer any consideration to the bigger picture. And if you're over 65, you can forget any ideas you may have had of ever receiving any DLA component.

Sure, if you were awarded it before your 65th birthday then you can continue receiving it (assuming you still meet the criteria, of course), but if you're unlucky enough to have an accident or develop a medical condition that makes walking painful or even impossible after you become 65, they'll give you sod all. Even if you have to have both your legs amputated you'll still get nothing. If that isn't discrimination, what is? How can anybody imagine that a person who became disabled at a later age is less in need of getting out of the house than one that has been so for a while already?

Admittedly they government have been looking at changing this but abolishing the upper age limit would cost the taxpayer an estimated £3.1 billion a year, so they're loath to do it. After all, we all know how selfish Joe England can be when it comes to how his taxes are spent!

Some would probably describe me as one of the lucky ones because I was awarded the higher rate of mobility without having to see a panel of judges (see Colin's post for more on this). The DWP accepted the opinions of my specialist and my GP. My son, on the other hand, was born with severe learning difficulties and a variety of physical problems. He can walk. In fact, he can walk for miles and miles and at speed. But - and this is where the DWP are unable to move out of their cosy little boxes, even though they insisted on sending him to see several doctors - he doesn't have a snowball's chance of going anywhere alone and even when he has somebody with him, he's still prone to knock people over and generally upset the apple cart.

The good people at the DWP awarded him the lower rate because he requires "guidance from somebody" when he's out. Yes, they're quite right. He does indeed need guidance. I've lost count of the number of times I've been busy paying for the bus ticket while Paul has been 'busy' telling the other passengers where to sit, where to put their shopping etc., and knocking things, and sometimes people, over in the process. I've also had to run up the street after a bus where he's jumped on through the back door before I could stop him, thinking that this must be our bus, and moving off into the distance whilst waving to me through the back window. Oh dear... what with him and his antics and me and my dodgy legs, you can imagine what a tizwoz we could get into, can't you? Surely all this would generally be described as "severe behavioural problems"? That's another of the criteria that can be applied to a higher rate award.

And what about "severely mentally impaired"? Yes, that's another that qualifies. What's the difference between "severe learning difficulties" and "severely mentally impaired", exactly? His problems don't stop at not being able to read. He has no understanding of consequences, has no sense of direction, doesn't understand traffic, he can't speak and... well, I won't bore you with the whole list.

As it happens it doesn't matter too much because I use the car I took through the motability scheme (you can only do that if you have the higher rate of mobility) to ferry him about too, but I'm not supposed to. I'm only really supposed to use it for my own needs. But then I can't take Paul on the bus anymore because I can't walk far enough to get to the bus-stop in the first place so surely ferrying Paul is also covering my need? According to the DWP: no, it isn't. Doh!

Draw your own conclusions.

Related Links:
DirectGov - DLA and Who Can Get It
The DWP website

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Word Verification

2006-03-11T18:17:00.000Z

Like most people who use Blogger.com to host their blog, I've turned on word verification.

Unless you're one of the few who has yet to discover how one would employ viagra, or that it's available on t'internet, word verification is a good thing. This is also the case for those who are able to resist the urge to be led into the underworld of casinos and animal sex (not that one necessarily relates to the other, you understand).

Word verification is a good thing because, by and large, it stops those dreadful people who take pleasure in spamming the likes of you and I. I'd love to be able to tell you how much return they enjoy for their efforts but, not being in possession of such information, I'm afraid you'll have to find out for yourself (assuming you're interested).

What truly amazes me is that anybody would be interested in any of the rubbish that we're regularly spammed with. If you want viagra, you go to your GP. Right? If you want to play poker, you either go to a real world casino, invite some mates round for an evening of beer, cards and cigars, or type "casino" into Google. Don't you? And if you want animal sex... well, you bugger off to Amsterdam, presumably.

But the point I wanted to make was that Blogger's word verification could, I'm sure, be made better. Why on earth did they have to design the system such that the letters are sometimes so damned difficult to read? Note: only sometimes. There are times when they come up nice and clearly - no problemo, Jose - so what's with the "somebody threw a handful of spaghetti at the screen and we're supposed to interpret the meaning of it" lark? Is it some sort of hidden test like the ink splodge things that psychologists use? I'm crap at 'em. If I have to type in VMKLLOPUMW once more, only to be told that I now have to type in KLPJAMUX instead, I'll cry.

There are bright spots amongst the grey, though. Yesterday I got to type in QUIM as part of the word verification. Well it brightened my day, anyway. Weyhey!

Related Links:
For Those Who Have No Understanding Of The Word Quim

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Main Meal Salads

2006-03-08T17:26:00.000Z

A distant relative has recently announced that my explanation of the origination of salad as a main meal is, as he so eloquently put it, bollocks.

The problem, you see, is that this particular fifth cousin once removed had been unable to grasp why anybody would want to have such items as salad plates amongst their kitchenalia. Having only ever experienced salads served on full-size dinner plates, he's obviously never been in a position to be educated regarding the finer side of salad serving.

Being from a considerably better line of the family than my poor relative, it's understandable that he wouldn't have the same kind of extensive knowledge of dining etiquette as one would hope and that was taught me by my mother's servant. If he had been in possession of the necessary knowledge he would have immediately understood that salad plates measuring six inches in diameter are used for side-salads and not main meals. Side salads, for those who aren't familiar with the finer points of dining, are generally served from a large ~~bowel~~ bowl out of which the diner chooses a selection of greenery, and are eaten as an accompaniment to cold buffets. Or yesterday's leftovers.

Salads as a main meal developed out of necessity during the Second World War. The working classes grew lettuce, cucumber, radish, onions and a variety of other vegetables in their small back gardens and, as a means of saving energy, began serving copious amounts of them in their raw state. The salad as 'lunch' was born.

Should you be in the unlucky position that you find yourself disagreeing with me on this, please leave a comment either explaining your reasons or point me in the direction of your truth. It might also be worth procuring a sleeping bag, especially if you're 'almost' family.

Thank you and [enter rude work for testicles here] to it all.

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Take Away Inconvenience

2006-03-05T16:35:00.000Z

The inhabitants of our house all enjoy a take away at some point during the week, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, as it means nobody has to cook that night. Or rather, it means Richard, my partner, doesn't have to cook that night. This pleases Richard.

But as with much of life, having a take away isn't without its problems, the ones attached to our family being that it's a rare occasion that we all agree to having something from the same outlet. Richard may well be up for a Biriyani or a Tikka, while I might fancy a chow mein. Paul, my 28 year old still living at home, non-independent son would much rather have fish and chips, and the youngest of those still residing here will probably opt for a donar kebab. Pizza and cheeseburgers also feature regularly.

So, do you see where the problem lurks? Yes, that's right. Whoever has the responsibility of procuring our evening meal (and by rights that should be the hunter, should it not?) has to visit up to four different establishments, often situated in vastly different areas of our town. Yes, we're a fussy family, I know, but luckily we don't live in a particularly large town - just large-ish.

However, during yesterday's venture into the night in search of our take away meals, we discovered an Indian takeaway, a Chinese takeaway (also offering a limited choice of English meals) and a kebab/pizza/burger place, all lined up in a row. How convenient is that? All that was missing was a fish n' chip shop and we'd have been totally made up.

Why has nobody thought of this before? Four food outlets that are leased to four take away restaurants offering the whole range of fast food types. Surely they'd be on to a winner?

Now all that remains is to test the kebab/pizza/burger place on the 17 year old, and hope she gives it the thumbs up. Fish and chips can always be had from the chippy we pass on the way back.

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Democratic Blogging Pt II

2006-03-04T13:28:00.000Z

It appears I've upset a pigeon or two amongst the English Democrats.

I posted an opinion a while ago, based on the fact that this particular party only allows comments from pre-authorised members of their blog, something that I considered un-democratic. Their response and my response to their response (getting complicated now) can be seen here.

I admit that I was mistaken when it comes to the ability to register without pre-authorisation, but the blog really doesn't make that clear. When a message reading: "Sorry but only registered users can post comments, and 'Sharon Jacobsen' is not recognized as valid member" appeared when I tried to post a comment, with no mention of where or how one can register, I found it somewhat misleading.

However, I still don't understand why they feel the need to moderate comments from supporters of other parties. Quote: However as you may imagine we do get spammed, from people wishing to sell viagra, insurance and of course supporters of other parties. Therefore regrettably we do have a censorship policy.

That's not very democratic, is it? But then I was once accused of being a Blairite by one of the EDP's candidates even though I've never voted New Labour. It's obviously not unusual for them to aggress if a member of the electorate happens to use their right to free speech in a manner that isn't beneficial to them so I really shouldn't have been surprised.

Is it any wonder that opposing political opinion is behind so many wars?

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Three Golliwogs

2006-03-03T13:52:00.000Z

To quote the wonderful Victor Meldrew, I don't believe it!

Police have only gone and raided a shop in Bromyard, Herefordshire because the owner had three golliwogs in a window display!

What on earth is this country coming to?

Evidently a member of the public had complained that they were offensive so our boys in blue, ever ready and willing to protect Joe Public from harm, marched into the shop and snatched the golliwogs out of the display, leaving the owner in a state of severe flabbergastation!

While I understand that the original Golliwog, developed in the US during the late 1800s, was based on the Negro minstrels with the name incorporating the word 'wog', an obviously derogotory term once used to describe black people, surely our society has moved on since then? Modern Golliwogs are just rag dolls that happen to be black. There are plenty of white faced rag dolls around; maybe we should take offence at them, too? But ok, let's be a little more politically correct and call them "Gollies". Surely that's not offensive?

I'm not racist, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I sometimes think we're doing minority groups an injustice through the kid glove treatment we tend to give them. Ultimately, doesn't this kind of behaviour actually increase racist tendencies? Remember do-gooders demanding that blackboards be replaced with whiteboards, black bin bags replaced with green bags, and black out blinds renamed light eradicating blinds? Dear, oh dear!

Anyway, it's just as well that red compliments blue, because some very red faces had to return the black faced soft toys to the shop because, regardless of how offended the member of the public felt, it isn't actually illegal to either sell, display or own a golliwog. However, section 5 of the Public Order Act does outlaw the display of material that might cause or is likely to lead to alarm, harassment or distress. Fair enough, but what would happen if I called the police and told them I felt distressed because a local toy shop was displaying naked dolls that might excite paedophiles, for example? How do we actually decide what is and isn't offensive, etc.?

But all of this still begs the question: why the raid? Wouldn't you have thought the police would have perhaps had a word with the shopkeeper about his display rather than doing the heavy mob bit? Maybe it was just a quiet day and for the want of something better to do, they figured it'd kill some time? No doubt they'll be cursing over the paperwork, though!

And there was me thinking the police were there to fight crime! Easy enough mistake to make, I s'pose.

Related Links:
Golliwogs.com
Save Our Golliwogs
News Story from The Telegraph

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Accident & Emergency

2006-02-22T16:10:00.000Z

I have a Broviac line inserted in my chest. This is a central line designed to provide long-term intravenous (IV) access. I have 'short bowel syndrome' and since I can't absorb nutrition through the bowel, I'm on lifetime TPN (total parenteral nutrition) which is given to me via my line. Sounds icky but you get used to it.

Anyway, from what I've understood, it lays in my subclavian vein and leads down to my heart. What I know for certain is that it's imperative that the very highest standards of hygiene are adhered to whenever I need to remove the line from it's sterile covering, regardless of the reason or where I might be. An infection in my line could be fatal and I'm not ready to die.

With that in mind, I wonder if anybody can explain why, during a recent visit to A&E, three doctors asked "can I just take a look at your line?" whilst approaching it with outstretched fingers, ready to unpack it, WITHOUT SO MUCH AS WASHING THEIR HANDS!!??

Not one of them bothered to go anywhere near the sink, let alone use alco gel and sterile gloves, even though there are posters hung on just about every available wall space warning of the dangers of spreading MRSA and other infections through poor hand hygiene!

How do doctors manage to pass their exams if they can't read? Those preparing the sandwiches in "Subway" have better hand hygiene than either of the doctors I encountered.

On each occasion I had to stop the doctor and tell him/her that "no, you can't look at my line as I only allow it to be unwrapped in situations where it's absolutely necessary and then only under aseptic conditions".

Neither of these doctors had any reason to see or touch my line other than to satisfy their own curiosity. Seeing/touching it would have made no difference at all to my diagnosis but could have, quite literally, cost me my life.

How dare they?!

Related Links:
British Association for Parenteral and Enteral Nutrition

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Democratic Blogging

2006-02-04T23:44:00.000Z

Whilst plodding through Blogland earlier today I stumbled across a blog owned by the English Democrats. Whoopee!

For those who've never heard of them before, they're a political party that were formed about 3 years ago in response to Gordon Brown's proposal to split England into districts. The English Democrats want an undivided England. Not only do they want an undivided England; they want an England that's independent of Scotland and Wales. No more Great Britain - just three countries standing alone.

But they're happy to settle for an English parliament, for the time being at least.

It just so happens that a friend is a candidate for the English Democrats (or at least, she was a friend until I refused to wish her luck in the last election and was then given an earful of abuse about being a Blair-ist, which I'm not), so having landed on their blog, I thought I'd have a look around and see what they're getting up to these days.

I found one post particularly interesting and, as is often the case when reading others' opinions, I had something I wanted to say.

As is the norm around Blogland, I hit the comments button and was presented with two fields for my name and email address as well as a big text box designed to accommodate my comment. So far so good. I wrote and wrote and wrote. And then I wrote some more. I had issues, after all. When I felt I'd said what I needed to say, I hit the 'post' button, happy to have got my opinion off my chest.

WRONG! Nothing had gone from my chest!

"Only registered users may post comments to this blog".

What? I could hardly believe it. The English Democrats will only accept comments from those who they've pre-approved? Silly me - I'd only thought that, judging by the name they've chosen,they'd be advocates of equality and respect for the individual and his opinions. How wrong I was.

And my 'friend' wondered why I didn't feel able to give her my political support?

Related Links:
The English Democrats
We Are The English
Campaign for an English Parliament

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Happy Slapping

2006-01-25T13:21:00.000Z

Three boys and a girl were recently jailed for manslaughter after severely beating and kicking an innocent man whilst filming the attack on a mobile phone.

The boys were aged 16, 17 and 19 at the time of the attack. The girl just 14. All four came from unstable family backgrounds and spent a great deal of their time roaming the streets of London, making their own entertainment. Yes, entertainment. That's how they see the humiliation and pain they inflicted on innocent people. You see, 37 year old David Morley, wasn't the first victim they'd filmed; he just happened to be the one they attacked while the gang was being filmed by CCTV. He also happened to be the one who died.

As if what happened wasn't bad enough, UK law rubbed salt into the wound by acquitting them of murder, finding them guilty of manslaughter and conspiring to cause grievous bodily harm instead. The boys received a 12 year prison sentence each. The girl just 7 years. All have been told they'll have to serve two thirds of their sentence before being released on license. Just eight years and those monsters will be back on our streets, the thought of which makes me shudder. The girl? Just four years or so inside is all she has to get behind her before her liberty's reinstated.

What kind of message is this sending? That the life of an innocent man being taken in the most despicable manner is worth no more than 8 years loss of freedom for the killer(s)?

But what's more frightening than even the way our courts have handled these youths is the fact that it could even happen. Y'see, this isn't an isolated case. "Happy Slapping" is a trend amongst a youths who enjoy the adrenaline rush the receive through inflicting pain on innocent victims that they can re-live again and again as they watch the film at a later point, laughing at the fear their victims show.

I cry for nation that breeds these creatures and I cry for the
babes they once were. Where did it all go wrong?

What Mr. Morley's father felt about the efficiency of our justice system as he emerged from the court to be met by a group of youths directing throat-cutting gestures toward him and shouting abuse is anybody's guess.

There but for the grace of God...

Related Links:
The Origin of The Phase "Happy Slapping"
What Is Happy Slapping?

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Firefox Warning

2006-01-21T12:42:00.000Z

Whatever you do, DO NOT install Firefox 1.5.

It's full of bugs - BIG bugs.

I'll come back to this when I've more time but in the meantime you can look through the forum at the number of problems and complaints. I'm surprised they released it.

~~+~~

What's With The Post Office?

2006-01-18T19:04:00.000Z

Once upon a time I could take a leisurely ten minute stroll to a local post office, or sub post office as they're officially called.

Apart from doing the usual post officely things like selling stamps and postal orders, cashing social security giros, and taking care of bill payments, they sold all sorts of weird and wonderful things, some useful, others not so.

Milk, cans of baked beans, sewing needles, tights, sweets, cheap watches, ornaments and greeting cards were all there, as were stuffed toys, porcelain dolls, candles and light bulbs. Of course, they also had a reasonable selection of the things you'd expect to find in a post office such as brown paper, envelopes, string, cellotape and writing pads.

But that was then.

Even though there are around 17,000 local post offices in the UK, over the past year or so most of those in our part of Crewe have been closed down deeming it necessary for us to jump into our cars and head for town instead. Yes, there is a bus that goes there too, but buying a stamp might take a while being as you'll have to wait about half an hour after you've finished your errand before you can get a bus back again. Mind you, by the time you've messed around trying to find a parking space, it might be just as well to wait for the bus. Unfortunately, for those on a low income, the bus fare to and from town in order to buy a 30 pence first-class stamp can make a nasty dent in their disposable funds. But then again, so can the 70p parking charge. Whatever way you look at it, a visit to the post office isn't going to be cheap.

Anyway, yesterday I needed a greeting card and as Richard already had an errand at the post office, I decided to pop along with him as the main post office has always had a nice selection.

But that was then.

It isn't that long since I was last in the post office but my how it's changed. Gone are the racks of greeting cards, the selection of envelopes and other post related merchandise and in their place are... wait for it... hair straightening irons, electric toasters, satellite digi boxes, dvd players and more. There are also lots of films and computer games. Greeting cards? A pitiful selection. I needed a "Congratulations on the Birth of Your Baby Boy" card. There were three. Ok, at least I got one but even our tiny old local post office would have carried a bigger selection.

Now I realise that businesses have to branch out in order to keep up with competition but I wonder how many people think "I need an electric food chopper so I'll pop along to the post office". Not many. But does it matter? According to the counter assistant, most of their sales are spontaneous; people come in for a stamp and go out with curling tongs.

Oh well. Times are obviously changing.

Must dash. We're having fish and chips for tea so I'm off to the newsagents to get it.

Related links:
The Post Office
The National Federation of Sub-Postmasters

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Writers For Sale! Bargain!

2006-01-07T16:03:00.000Z

What is it with writers? Who's convinced them that their worth is non-existent?

As a writer, I often have to put in a quote for work. My quote is based on the rates I need in order to make a viable living. I have bills to pay, food to buy and, when all the necessities are paid for, I'd like to have a bit left over to have fun with, too. Is that too much to expect?

But actually making enough money to meet those needs is becoming increasingly difficult, even though I work 12 hour days. And there's one group of people I blame for it. Writers!

Yes, writers!

I'm not talking about professional, full-time freelancers; I'm talking about those who are looking to earn themselves some pin money while they stay at home taking care of the children. Or those who live in Asia and believe that because they can speak English, they can make a living as writers earning £2.50 for a 500 word article. Yes, you read that right. Two pounds and fifty pence for a five hundred word article!

Now, by the time I've done the necessary research, a 500 word article will generally take me at least an hour to write. The average is probably closer to 2 1/2 hours. If I were to compete with the £2.50 mob, I'd earn an average of £10 a day by working 10 hours without any breaks. No lunch and no coffee! Just flat out working. If I were to work every week of the year, that would give me a grand total of £2,600. Could you live off of that? Of course not! At least I wouldn't have to worry about not having time for holidays - I couldn't afford them anyway!

Maybe I should be blaming the editors of websites and tuppenny bit magazines for pressing prices down this low, but I'm afraid I have to leave the responsibility with the writers. Any businessman will try to keep his outgoings as low as possible, and only when writers start demanding the kind of fees they're worth will anything improve.

Writers should be proud of their profession and stop selling themselves short. If you're one of those who are undercutting the market, I suggest you reconsider your position and ask yourself why you're writing. Do you want to knock the rest of us out of the market, or do you want to be able to earn the kind of money we should be earning? Bid what you're worth!

If you're not worth enough to demand a decent rate for your work then you shouldn't be writing in the first place. Go sweep the streets instead - you'll earn more!

Related links:
The National Union of Journalists' Rates Guide

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Bloody TV Commercials

2005-12-12T16:30:00.000Z

While I appreciate that "free" television channels are dependant on advertising in order to survive, is it really necessary to increase the number of broadcasting decibels so radically whenever they're aired?

I'm assuming that they're assuming that most people will get up and make the tea, go to the toilet (please, not more toilet related Google ads) or clean out the hamster's cage, and therefore they need to blare out their messages in order for them to be heard.

Well doesn't the fact that nobody is going to sit around watching them say something? Make them more entertaining and we may just watch them without having them forced down our throats!

I'm sick to death of having to turn the TV down every time there's a commercial break. You can't hold a conversation, not even to discuss the merits of the program you're watching, because the sound of some bloody advert is just too deafening. If I really wanted to hear Goldfrapp, I'd put the CD on - I don't need to have it forced on me just because some mobile telephone company has chosen one their tunes to set their advert to. Or I'd turn it up myself.

This is pissing me off so much that it's getting to the point where I don't want to watch anything on ITV anymore because I know what they're going to do when the ads come on and if I don't have the remote handy, I'm going to be deafened.

Give us some decent ads and turn the sound down, eh?

~~+~~

Bonfire Night

2005-11-05T20:19:00.000Z

I’m sitting in the bedroom and all around me are explosions. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a war going on. But it’s just Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawke’s Night, depending on which name you generally give it.

Why do we build bonfires and shoot up fireworks every 5th November? What are we celebrating, exactly? The fact that Guy Fawke’s didn’t manage to blow up parliament, or the fact that he tried? I suppose that depends on how you feel about our government. Right now, I’m sort of glad he didn’t do it, although there were times during the 80s when I would have quite happily seen the whole damn place blasted to smithereens.

It does seem a shame that so much money is spent on making the sky look pretty for one night, though. I can’t be bothered to do any research to find out how many millions go whoosh every year, but it's quite a few, I know that much. BUT, on the other hand, I’d usually be over the park enjoying the pretty lights along with thousands of other locals. But it’s raining tonight, so we didn’t bother. Apart from my teenage daughter who, along with a friend, polished off half a bottle of vodka before venturing forth into the night. Still, it’ll be hot around the huge bonfire they have over there.

I remember one bonfire night, about 8 years ago it must’ve been, when we went to a display in Manchester. It was in a field – right at the bottom as far away from the entrance as you could get. It was literally chucking it down, and the place was just one huge mud bath. We slipped and slid all over the show and eventually one of the girls went arse over head and was top to toe in brown sludge. Our shoes got stuck in the mud so walking was difficult and everybody wanted the toilet, but the port-a-cabin loos they’d put up were, of course, by the entrance. Very clever, I don’t think.

We were also as broke as it’s possible to be, so there was no money for a hot-dog, let alone a go on any of the amusements they’d hired in for the evening. We were cold, hungry and miserable.

In that respect, I’m happier sat here in my warm house, listening to the bangs and blasts going on outside. Stuff the fireworks, I’ll stick with my knitting! I don’t need to freeze my tits off to have fun!

Related Links:
The Story of The Gunpowder Plot and Guy Fawkes
Fireworks UK

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British Toilets

2005-10-31T21:26:00.000Z

What is it with the British and toilet hygiene? If I had a pound for every British toilet I’ve visited that’s a disgrace to the country, I’d be rich by now!

I’m talking about public toilets here, of course. Not that I’m saying that toilets in people’s homes are always clean, I’m sure some aren’t, but as I rarely use private toilets apart from in the homes of close friends—whose bathroom facilities are generally clean—it’s the state of our public toilets I’m concerned about.

This all kicked off during yesterday’s trip to Blackpool. I desperately needed the loo so, rather than use a public toilet, I asked to use the toilet at the café where we ate. Expecting to be directed to a nice, cosy toilet, instead I was sent out onto the street to a toilet at the side of the building. Ok... so maybe they had no way of providing access from the inside of the building but had it been raining, I wouldn’t have been too happy. But it wasn’t, so no harm done.

No harm until I actually stepped inside the toilet, that is.

I really shouldn’t have been shocked having seen so many disgusting British toilets but this one belonged to an FOOD establishment, and as such I would have expected at least a modicum of cleanliness. But, no - it was filthy!

The toilet bowl itself had deep tan layer below the waterline where many a person has peed but few, if any, have cleaned. The dirty sink was home to a sad looking, wet bar of soap and the tap was so loose that it went spun on the edge of the sink. The floor could have done with a good scrub and if I’m going to be really fussy, it would have been nice if the toilet paper had been in its holder, rather than on the floor with damp edges!

Good points? The hand dryer worked and there was a bolt on the inside of the door!

Now, bear in mind that although accessed from the street, this wasn’t a public toilet as such. You had to buzz your way in so I don’t imagine just any old Tom, Dick or Harry off the street could go wandering in there, leaving all sorts of mess behind. This place was dirty because whoever is responsible for cleaning obviously doesn’t see toilet hygiene as a priority.

Quite honestly, after seeing the toilet, it made me wonder what the standards in the kitchen might be like! Needless to say, I didn’t finish my meal.

What I really can’t understand is why the British have such little pride in the surroundings. Yesterday’s experience was just one of many similar experiences I’ve had, and some have been a whole lot worse. I’ve seen excrement wiped on walls, blood on toilet seats, and it’s certainly not uncommon to see puddles of urine on the floor. Neither of these problems are caused by a cleaner’s lack of enthusiasm, either! In fact, if I were a toilet cleaner, I’d seriously consider jacking the job in if I had to face those kinds of conditions every day!

I spent 18 years in Norway and not once did I see anything even remotely similar to the kind of filth I’ve experience in British toilets. I’m ashamed to invite friends to our country because, as a nation, we’ve little to be proud of when it comes to cleanliness!

Cool Britannia? There’s nothing cool about filth!

Related Links:
The British Toilet Association
The 2005 World Toilet Summit

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Blackpool Illuminations

2005-10-30T15:53:00.000Z

Have you ever been to Blackpool? You know, that tacky seaside town in the North West? What’s more, have you ever seen the Blackpool illuminations?

Today was wet and relatively windy – the perfect day for taking a car ride out to see the lights, especially as Richard had never seen them before and Paul loves anything that’s pretty. By our reasoning, with the weather being what it was, not too many people would bother to venture to Blackpool to see the illuminations and we’d sail through quickly.

Wrong!

Bumper to bumper traffic moving at an average of 2 miles an hour is what we encountered. Either several thousand other families had the same idea as us, or the fact that this weekend was the last chance to see this year’s display had brought fans of the illuminations out in droves.

Linn Marie, who’s 16 and surly at the best of times, had come along for the ride. As soon as she saw the queue her face took on one of those looks that could turn a strawberry sour with one glance, and every comment was along the lines of “are we really going to drive through the whole thing?” and “when are we going to stop and eat?”

We’d planned to have dinner in Blackpool but the heavy traffic meant that parking anywhere remotely close enough to decent looking food establishments was anything but easy. Eventually, with hunger pains plaguing several members of the group, we opted for a New York style diner. Well that’s what it advertised itself as being, anyway. Whether or not they’d serve deep fried burgers and charge 15p extra for a sachet of ketchup in a real New York diner is debatable, and somehow I can’t imagine them sending their clientele onto the street in order to access the loo, either.

Fed and watered, we persevered and eventually saw the entire six miles of lights strung across the main road that runs parallel to Blackpool beach – its famous ‘Golden Mile’. From just before the Pleasure Beach, home to the ‘Big One’ - the UK’s highest roller coaster ride, to well past the South Shore, the lights shone and sparkled in every conceivable colour and portrayed all sorts of themes from mermaids and photography to Blackpool Rock and one-eyed jelly babies. Yes, you read that right. Illuminations depicting Cyclops babies with tubby tums that looked oh-so pokeable.

Richard’s favourite was the ‘Haunted House’ because it had “Draclia” looking out of the window. Linn Marie was impressed by the ‘My Little Pony’ set-up and Paul like a tree that had big balls of light at the ends of its branches. Me? The ‘Pig Disco’ because it reminded me of my clubbing days.

One thing I can’t help wondering about is where do they store all those lights for the rest of the year? In a lock-up at the end of a dark alley? Or maybe at the back of the mayor’s garage? I’m blowed if I know!

Two and half hours we spent in Blackpool, two of them just to see the illuminations. And to think I’d already seen them, just three weeks ago! I guess I must be a glutton for punishment!

Related Links:
Blackpool Illuminations
Blackpool Illuminations II

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