Less than ideal

Sometimes I think that the "skills" section on my newly-reinvigorated CV (that's the very short bit at the bottom of page 2) should include "making rods for my own back". The more I blog about grammar, the more grammatical infringements get on my nerves. Which is partly why this blog has been a bit light in that regard lately.

Chief offender just at the moment is the old less than/fewer chestnut, and its close relation more than/over.

Exhibit A: Transport for London's current Congestion Charge campaign



Exhibit B: Tesco's C-list-studded TV effort (mpeg) to promote their new plastic bag initiative, in which an unthreatening female voiceover opines "Carrier bags. We all know we're using too many", and exhorts us to "Earn more points when you use less bags at Tesco". Aaarrghh.

It's a simple rule, really: If you have too much of something then you need less of it. Too many requires fewer. A lesson that has yet to be learned in the advertising industry, clearly.

The over/more than thing is even more straightforward: things are over, numbers are more than. So: I have been in this job for more than five years, which is way over the expectations* I had when I started it, let me tell you.

* admittedly not the most elegant of sentence structures, but you get the point.


tags: grammar, pedantry, advertising

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Ever since my boss made the announcement of my imminent departure (in an email that included the phrase "she has wisely decided to take a break and get a life"), my conversations at work have tended to run something like this:

Colleague [wary, slightly concerned look]: Soooo... When's your last day then?
Me [manic grin to indicate how excited I am]: Thursday
Colleague: Wow! So soon! What are you going to do?
Me: Oh, you know. This and that. I'm doing some courses. And we're supposed to be moving house.
Colleague: Oh that's really great.
Me: Yes, it is, isn't it? I'm really excited.
Colleague [palpably relieved]: Oh you are. Great. That's really great.

The best bit, frankly, has been the naked envy in the eyes of pretty much everyone who's been here as long as I have (way, way too long). "I can't believe you've got redundancy out of them. I'd love to be made redundant".

There are other great bits, of course. Clearing out my desk, chucking away those bits of paper that have lain, festering, in my 'in' tray for several years now because I never really knew what to with them or, if I did know, with which just I couldn't be arsed. Because nobody's taking over my job as such, nobody's asked me for a handover*. Thanks to the expertise of my blogging chums, I've exported all my personal emails and re-imported them at home. I've sold half the contents of my desk drawers on Amazon and eBay. I've drafted all my "so long, suckers" emails. I've even written my "out of office" message. It's been fantastically liberating, like the best kind of spring clean.

The question is: what in god's name am I going to do with all this newly-acquired free time?

Obviously this is a rhetorical question. Being me, I have lists. I have a list of "things I don't really want to do but ought to now I've got time" (copy all my videos onto DVD, sort out the last two years' worth of photos), a list of "things I've always said I'll do when I have the time" (go to the gym, do some volunteering), a list of "things I actually want to do" (sleep more, have a manicure). Mr P has a list for me, too. His runs something like this:

1) Get a new job
2) Get a new job
3) Get a new job

However my darkest fear is that my new, work-free days, will run something like this:

9.30am: Get up. Potter about the flat for a bit. Make some coffee. Eat cereal.
10.30am: Realise it's halfway through Woman's Hour. Have shower.
11.30am: Switch on telly in hope of finding black & white film on Channel 4, like in the old days.
2.00pm: Hungry. Search fridge for food. Realise have none. Go to supermarket
3.30pm: Return from supermarket. Eat food.
5.00pm: Sudden panic that husband will be home soon and wonder what I've been doing all day.
5.05pm: Turn on computer. Read blogs.
7.00pm: Husband comes in. Asks what I've been doing all day. Tell him I went to the supermarket.


* though now I've actually said that out loud, clearly I'll get the fateful phone call this afternoon and be expected to magic up some 20-page document by tomorrow lunchtime.


tags: leaving, too many choices

Extraneous

Dictionary.com's word of the day is sui generis. Is it even possible to use the phrase "sui generis" without sounding unutterably pretentious?

Take, for instance, the three examples used to illustrate the word of the day:

This man, in fact, was sui generis, a true original.-- Ruth Lord, Henry F. du Pont and Winterthur

They're a special case, a category of their own, sui generis.-- Eric Kraft, Leaving Small's Hotel

In the degree of their alienation from their society and of their impact on it, the Russian intelligentsia of the nineteenth century were a phenomenon almost sui generis.-- Aileen M. Kelly, Toward Another Shore

William Randolph Hearst did not speak often of his father. He preferred to think of himself as sui generis and self-created, which in many ways he was.-- David Nasaw, The Chief

In all but one case the author has deemed it necessary to tautologise the phrase by way either of clarification or rhetorical effect. I am hard pressed to think of a single use of sui generis for which the word "unique" would not be an entirely adequate and less affected substitute.

I am all for foreign phrases where there is no easy English equivalent; schadenfreude, for example: a lovely, meaty word with a good, precise meaning for which, given our national proclivity for carping at the misfortunes of others, it's frankly astonishing we didn't have our own word before we appropriated the German one. Actually, thinking about it, maybe it's just the Latin that annoys me - sine qua non, anybody?

So yes, er: Latin. Handle with care.

tags: clichés, Latin, dictums

Poor show

Apologies for lack of recent posting, for some reason there's a lot of Real World stuff going on this week. I offer, for your delectation, a small sample - a telephone conversation from earlier today:

Me: Hello, [Mr Surveyor], I was just wondering when to expect my buildings survey report?
Surveyor: What buildings survery report?
Me: The one you did last week.
Surveyor: Oh no, I didn't do a buildings survey last week. I did your mortgage valuation.
Me: What do you mean you didn't do a buildings survey? I paid [frighteningly huge amount of money] for a buildings survey!
Surveyor: Oh well nobody asked me to do one.

It seems to me that there are two types of chartered surveyors in this world: the lovely helpful ones who ring me on their holidays to discuss my lease extension, or who agree to carry out surveys for me at short notice (and even to ring me from the flat to let me know what they think); and the utter bastards who refuse to value the house I'm trying to buy, thus scuppering my chances of getting a mortgage, or who claim never to have heard of my buildings survey.

Top tip: if you ever even contemplate handing over a large chunk of your monthly salary to a man (and it nearly always is a man) who says he can tell if the roof on the flat you want to buy is about to fall down, have a little chat to him on the phone first. Innate bastard tendencies will out.

tags: surveyors, how not to move house

Modern-day dilemma

Someone whose name I don't recognise at all is trying to invite me to join an instant messaging service. What's the etiquette for these things? I don't want to email them and say "sorry, but who are you?" in case it turns out to be someone I actually know quite well and who would be mortally offended that I didn't know them right away.

The alias bears no relation that I can make out to any kind of real world name (at least I hope not, for my would-be correspondent's sake). I am, however, reluctant to virtually connect myself to this person without knowing who it is. In truth I think it's a case of mistaken email identity (it wouldn't be the first time), but need to find a polite way of confirming my suspicions...

Of course, in posting this I could have solved my own problem. If you're reading this, unknown would-be IM buddy, then unmask yourself!


tag: internet etiquette

Tales from the property coalface

I don't feel I've really posted enough about my house-purchasing trauma lately. Actually just at the moment it seems to be ticking along OK, but I'm not getting my hopes up.

In the meantime, I have just received the following email from one of West Hampstead's many estate agents (neither my selling agent nor the one I'm buying through, thankfully). I take no responsibility for punctuation, or rather lack of it.

Hi
We are in the middle of the holiday season at the moment so there is a lack of new properties to the market.

In other words "The office is dead, I'm bored and I've got no flats to sell, and the temp had this great idea for an email"

September is a traditional time in the UK to sell; I will keep you up to date with new properties that become available.

"Please god let the market pick up soon"

I would like to take this opportunity to check to see if you are still looking for a property and whether your criteria has changed whilst you have been searching.

"Prices have gone up so much this year already that you probably can't afford what you want any more. Have you asked yourself if you really need a separate bedroom?"

If this is the case, please feel free to email me the changes in your criteria, alternatively if you have found or are no longer looking then please just email the word remove and we will take you off our list.

"I'm a busy man. Usually. Don't waste my time"

A few pointers to buyers:
1.Try to get into properties as quickly as possible, many properties are receiving offers within 24 hours.

"A little light breaking and entering might be useful here"

2. Have your Mortgage agreed in principle before you offer.

Yeah, because mortgage companies are great at doing that, aren't they? In my experience most of them won't lift a finger till you've had an offer accepted somwhere.

3. Have a good quality London Solicitor organised before you offer.

Clearly without the benefit of this kind agent's infinite wisdom, we'd all be going for really crap solicitors on purpose.

4. Once you have been successful in securing a property you will need to instruct your Solicitor and mortgage company ASAP.

Yes, yes, all right - we get the message. There's been bugger all coming onto the market all year now and anything that does come on gets sold in the property equivalent of a nanosecond (unless your estate agent is really rubbish). Speed is of the essence. We understand that now!

If you need any help or advice on the above please feel free to contact me.
Best of luck with your search.
Thanks

But that's not it. Oh no. He's saved the best bit till last:

NB. We are offering a Voucher Incentive Scheme, should you recommend any one to [desperate estate agency with no properties to sell] who instructs us to sell there [sic] property, you will get £200 of vouchers for a shop of your choice.

Apart from the ever-popular "there/their" mix-up, and the fact I think he needs a "PS" rather than an "NB", my favourite part of this fantastic offer is the vouchers. What's wrong with good, honest cash, exactly? Or would a bundle of used tenners smack a little too much of the brown envelope? God forbid they should call it anything as vulgar as a "finder's fee". All suggestions for the least appropriate shop for which to demand your vouchers gratefully recieved.

If any readers are contemplating selling or purchasing property in the NW6 area, and would like to know which agency employs this modern genius in order that they may steer well clear (or indeed if you just want to set up a scam to get £200 off them), please feel free to email me.

tags: estate agents, stating the obvious

Cheat's post

There's shaping up to be a bit of a theme to this week's posts. It's "ideas I've nicked off other people". This is because I'm a bit too busy with Important Life Developments this week to be wildly inventive. Anyway, here's the Random Question Meme, via Annie Slaminsky (and Billy's done it too).

Have you had sex in the past 24 hours? I doubt it.
Are you gay? Having given it due consideration over the years, I think it unlikely that I am.
Do you have hairy legs? Never. At least not in the summer.
Do you smoke anything? Not any more...
Do you like monkeys? Not especially. I'm not much of an animal person.
How many fillings do you have? More than I'm happy to count. Bad teeth run in the family.
Would you rather swim in the ocean or a lake? Ocean. I abhor stagnant water.
Have you ever licked one of those square batteries? Why on earth would anyone want to do that?
Have you ever read the Bible? What, all of it? What do you think I am, a rabbi?
Did you ever go to Sunday School? Yes. Mainly because my best friend and I fancied a couple of brothers who also went… Inevitably, not long afterwards they moved back to America and we were stuck with the classes. Clearly they weren't very effective though, they were of a Presbyterian nature.
Do you wear a lot of black? Yes, but only in season.
Did you ever bring a weapon to school? Funnily enough flicknives weren't big in North London private girls' schools in the '80s.
Have you ever hugged a tree? I was all set to make a sarcastic response here when I remembered that there's a very good chance I tried to hug the ash tree in my parents' garden when I was about four…
Do you know what a sphincter actually is? I do, yes.
Describe your hair? Too much of it, wrong colour (brown, but not dark enough), habit of looking great immediately before I step out of my front door and appalling ninety seconds later. But I'd miss it if it weren't there.
Are you a wildbeast? No, I am a human female.
Do you like to have fun? I like to enjoy myself. I do not like being told to have fun, or asked if I am having it.
Do you like drama? On television or film, yes; on the stage, occasionally; in actual life, mostly, especially if it's happening to other people. Preferably other people about whom I don't really care all that much.
Have you ever taken a bong hit? Those were the days....
Do you like mayonnaise? Mmmmmayonnaise… and chips, please.
Are you afraid to die? Put it this way: I'd rather not be conscious when it happens.
Do you like playing in leaves? As specified above, I am a woman not a puppy.
Have you ever peed your pants as an adult? Not that I can recall. And I have a pretty good memory.
Have you ever thrown up on somebody as an adult? No, but I know some funny stories about people who have
Are you an adult? I think it would be disingenuous to deny it.
Ever won a spelling bee? Not that I've ever entered one, but I so would.
Do you ever eat because you’re depressed? Not any more.
Are you a television addict? I love telly, but am perfectly capable of switching it off when necessary, thank you.
Do you think OJ was guilty? Probably. But it's not something that keeps me awake at night.
Do you enjoy spending time with your mother? It very much depends on what kind of mood she's in.
Have you ever had sex in a hot tub? I am not now, nor have I ever been, a contestant on Big Brother.
On a swing? I get motion sickness.
Do you like Elvis? Up to a point.
Do you enjoy watching animals "do it" on the Discovery channel? I don't have the Discovery channel. Actually I'm not really one for the natural history programmes anyway (it goes with not being an animal person), so even if I had it I almost certanly wouldn't watch it.
Ever been hit on at a zoo? No. Once again, I'm not really an animal person.
Have you ever had sex with a total stranger? Erm… That depends on how you define "total stranger"…
Do you enjoy the calming effects of turkeys? It takes more than a turkey to calm me down.
Does your mom [sic] think someone is hot? Gregory Peck, James Mason and Alan Price, I believe. The first two are now dead, so things aren't looking so great for my mother (or "mum" as I like to call her).
Are you a sugar freak? I am not a "freak" about anything.
Ever been arrested? I once stole some traffic cones (I know, I know...) at university in full view of a couple of policemen. They looked at me witheringly and told me to put them back. I did.
Ever commit a crime and get away with it? Nothing that would get me jailed. I think.
Do you like orange juice? Yes, but only if it's freshly squeezed. I am very fussy like that.
What sign are you? Gemini, but horoscopes are all bollocks and you know it.
Ever do the party boy dance in front of the elderly? Do what now?
Where do you wish you were right now? In Regent's Park, with a picnic, my book, and a companion.
Did you enjoy this? I did, actually. God I am such an egomaniac.


tags: me me me, meme

My Manor

Long-term readers of this blog may be aware, despite my pitiful efforts not to bang on constantly about how much I despise property professionals, that I've been trying to move house for - ooh - about a year now. Unlike the Great She Elephant, however, I am trying to move house within my neighbourhood, even though doing so is going to cripple me financially. This is because I really like West Hampstead. And here, in a post nicked wholesale from Billy, is for why:



Firstly, some orientation. The area defined as "West Hampstead" is loosely bounded by Finchley Road to the east, the railway lines to the south and west, and Fortune Green to the north. Strictly speaking, anything south of the tube lines is South Hampstead, but in practice anyone who lives around Sheriff Road or Broadhurst Gardens tends to say they live West rather than South. As indeed shall I when I (fingers crossed) move in that direction myself.

To the north west, just to the south of Mill Lane, is a network of very pretty and therefore rather expensive residential streets, with their very own blog at Northwest Six, which recently featured a less verbose equivalent of this post for Mill Lane. I live a bit further down the road, so instead let's start with:

West Hampstead tube station (in an excellent photograph not taken by me), the start and finish of my commute.



Trains appear to call at West Hampstead station about every 2 minutes at most times of day, which is very handy. After around 11.00pm it turns into some kind of scene from Logan's Run, as hordes of under-35s stream off the trains and back to their rented flats, usually located around...



...West End Lane, the beating heart of West Hampstead. Our lone bank (Barclay's) on the right. Unremarkable, isn't it?



Here we see West End Green (currently not very green at all thanks to that heatwave I keep hearing we had last month), which has the distinction of being small enough not to register on the map but at the same time big enough to act as one of the perennial favourite footballs of local politics. Particularly when people want to put mobile phone masts on it.

Just past that tree on the far left, you may glimpse the eau-de-nil signage of the smartest of the (many) local restaurants...



... highly regarded by Time Out and, more importantly, by me.



There are, by anyone's standards, a few too many cafés along West End Lane and not enough decent pubs. More of that later. My breakfast spot of choice, however, is the West Fish Café, purveyor of good coffee and great smoothies.



The current owners have kept the original wet fish shop sign and tiling inside. The local bourgeoisie (me, for example) love that.



Just down from Walnut and before you get to the Wet Fish is Roni's Bagel Bakery. Officially a Thing to like about West Hampstead, it stays open late, sells really good bagels (more New York than Brick Lane, but we'll let that pass) and Mr P rates the rye bread. To the right is its sister café, Moment, notorious locally for consistently and imperviously flouting its licence.



The only decent pub on or off West End Lane is The Gallery, down near the station on Broadhurst Gardens, and even that's basically a tiny bar with a restaurant in the basement. Unfortunately I forgot to take a picture of The Gallery at the weekend, so instead here's Eclipse, which styles itself a cocktail bar, and which used to be a ghastly meat-market with leather cube seating and a bag-snatching problem called Cane. Before that it was an Irish theme pub. Before that it was a really great local called The Arkwright's Wheel, which ten years or so ago was so much the best pub in the area that I used to traipse over from my flat in Kilburn to go to it.

Update: Ponytail has rightfully picked up, in the comments, the glaring omission (which probably occurred around the same time Blogger lost almost the entire first draft of this post) of the Czech Club, a local institution much loved for its plentiful, and cheap, Czech beer and stodgy food. Scenes of general mayhem abound whenever either the Czech Republic or Slovakia play an important game of football or hockey.



Amidst the slew of cafés and charity shops on West End Lane is Social, the clothes'n'gifty-things emporium aimed at, and beloved by, the Logan's Run crowd. Further down is the distinctly more boho Penguin Boutique, which has survived for years despite being situated in a particularly unlovely stretch of shops, of which the best that can be said is that it might pick up some of the trade dashing between the Thameslink station and the tube.



Next we have West End Lane Books, which has recently extended its opening hours to 9.00pm (not necessarily a good indication for the health of the business), and which, despite being the size of a postage stamp, has only once failed to have the book I was after in stock. Two doors to the left is La Brocca, decent wine bar on the ground floor, yet another restaurant in the basement, and an owner who's a bit of a West Hampstead "character".

So much for the shops. Here are some services:



The fire station. Sandwiched, inevitably, between a couple of restaurants at the top of West End Lane. Saving lives since 1901.



West Hampstead Library. Saving me a fortune since 2000.

Apart from restaurants and charity shops the business type with which West Hampstead is most over-supplied is estate agencies. There are at least a dozen on West End Lane alone, and for the most part they're the usual mix of callow youths and utter shysters. One local company even had a BBC docusoap dedicated to it a couple of years ago, which was, let's say, illuminating.



This however is the nicest and most trustworthy estate agency in West Hampstead, Dutch & Dutch. Every time I put my flat on the market, they sell it within days. Most people who work there now recognise my voice on the phone. They probably can't wait to get rid of me.



Not strictly in West Hampstead, because it's actually on the other side of Finchley Road, but deserving of a mention anyway (not least because it's virtually at the end of my street), is the Camden Arts Centre. The contemporary arts installations tend to soar way over my head, and on weekdays it is populated mostly by children and Hampstead yummy mummies, but it has a great arty bookshop and a lovely café (yes, another one), in the quiet and secluded (considering it's right by the A41) garden of which it's possible to linger undisturbed on a Sunday morning with a cup of really excellent coffee and the papers.



Nearly home.

Complete West Hampstead Flickr set here.

tags: my manor, West Hampstead, London, NW6

Free festival in "very popular" shock

Saturday was Fruitstock - a lovely day, spent mainly lounging around in the Penguin deckchairs, drinking Pimm's and re-reading old favourites, before wandering over to the stage to hear Nouvelle Vague. Unfortunately for them, the Vagues' impact was lessened rather by the earlier apperance of the Puppini Sisters, whose schtick is very much in a similar vein (in concept, if not execution) of "in-the-style-of" cover versions. The Puppinis' repertoire includes Panic and Wuthering Heights. Nouvelle Vague do Love Will Tear Us Apart and Heart of Glass. They were on about two and a half hours apart. You get the idea.

The whole thing was well-organised, had the right level of corporate sponsorship with appropriate brands (Ocado, Ecover, Greenpeace, Cath Kidston, Green & Black's...) and was still reassuringly middle-class. Carluccio's were doing pre-reserved picnic hampers, for god's sake. With every group having brought their own picnic blanket to spread out on the already dried-up grass, manoeuvring anywhere involved picking your way around other people's hampers and trying to avoid treading on the detritus of their lunches. Neither easy nor particularly pleasant. So I hope it's not the victim of its own success, but I wouldn't be surprised if this were the last year for Fruitstock, or at least the last in Regent's Park...


Fruitstock 2005


Fruitstock 2006


tag: Fruitstock

Clarkson update

Because, clearly, this stuff is important. Jeremy writes on his plans for mayordom. Probably.
(via The Londonist)

Still with the bags

It's no secret that I don't have much time for supermarket behemoth Tesco. But if there's one thing I hate more than the corporate giants of food retail, it's the conversation I have every single time I buy anything from one of them (or indeed from any of their slightly smaller competitiors):

CHECKOUT ASSISTANT: Hello
ME: Hello

CA starts to scan my shopping with one hand, whilst reaching towards the pile of plastic bags by the till with the other.

ME (unfurling the packaway shopper contained within my handbag At. All. Times.): It's OK, thanks, I've got a bag.

CA begins to insert my groceries into his plastic bag. I raise mine a little higher to bring it more directly into his/her line of vision.

ME (a little louder): I've got a bag, thanks.

I reach for the next grocery item. CA stops, looks startled.

CA: Oh, do you want to use that bag?

Every time, I tell you. Drives me nuts.

So anyway, it's with mixed feelings that I see on BBC Online that "Tesco shoppers will be able to earn loyalty points by not using new plastic bags". This is clearly the "carrot" approach, as opposed to Ikea's "stick" method, and to be honest it's the latter I prefer personally, but it will be interesting to see which is more effective, assuming each store's press & PR department bothers to let us know about these things. The bag tax in Ireland seems to have worked on the whole, and though anecdotal evidence suggests that (untaxed) bin bag sales have rocketed there since the tax was introduced, it's unrealistic to think that some people won't always work out how to get around restrictions they don't like.

Let's see how it works out, and a cautious thumbs up, for once, to Tesco. If nothing else, where they lead, the other retailers who like to think of themselves as having superior ethical credentials are likely to follow. Fingers crossed.

Special mention should be made of the star letter in this month's Red magazine (I don't have a copy here, so forgive me if I paraphrase):

I read that feature you did last month about how much damage all those plastic bags are doing to the environment, and I thought: Oh my god, I use, like, loads of plastic bags every week. And then I thought: Oh my god, I've got a cupboard full of bags that've been freebies from Red over the years. And then I thought: Oh my god, I could, like, use some of those instead!

Someone give that woman a medal. Actually I think they gave her some bubble bath or something. Seriously, what else has she been doing with them all? Incidentally, it has been agreed that August's Red freebie isn't half as good as it looks in the picture. Don't bother.


* I'm going to stop referring to myself in the third person in these little scenes until I can figure out how to remove the word "P*shm*na" from my word cloud. It's getting embarrassing.


tags: Tesco, supermarkets, bag tax, no-brainer

Salewatch

Ollie & Nic have long been favoured handbag retailers 'round these parts, not least because their sales are always excellent, and the St Christopher's Place shop is currently stacked high (but neatly, which makes a pleasant change) with Spring/Summer '06 stock at what are now frankly ridiculous prices.

Happily for anyone not within hitting distance of W1, their sales is also online, including the capacious Costa Rica shoulder bag, in soft, slouchy leather and six colours, reduced from £125 to £37, and the natty, two-pocket canvas Coco in chocolate or coral down from £40 to a mere £12. That is what I call a bargain.

I shan't be partaking myself, but not, as you might expect, in anticipation of a thumping great new mortgage*, nor to the perilous nature of my current employment situation. Oh no. It's because I've already got a lovely new bag in the sales:


Lovely new bag

Today is its debut and, like some kind of amateur muppet, I took it out this morning without clocking that a) it was raining; and b) the trim and handle are both leather, which I have therefore uncharacteristically failed to spray with that stuff you put on new shoes to make them "rainproof" [hollow laugh]. That my beautiful new bag has recovered from the fine spray of drizzle it received en route to the tube to a heartening degree is, I like to think, testament to the quality of the leather Orla Kiely (who else?) uses. Which does in itself go some way towards explaining the extraordinarily high prices for her bags.

Mind you, having said that, despite the fact I missed the special sale preview evening** at the Covent Garden shop last week [sob], there's a general 30% discount down there at the moment and some online specials on the website. Still not what you'd call cheap, though.


* survey booked in for next Monday, folks!
** apparently this was a complete and utter bun-fight in 35° heat. Some people will do anything for an extra 15% off.


tags: Ollie & Nic, Orla Kiely, sales, handbags

The oldest advice in the world

"If you don't like Jeremy Clarkson", says the BBC, "don't watch Top Gear".

(via theguardian)


In other news, it's really starting to bug me that my entire blog archive pre-July 06 is still in flamboyant, eye-hurting (apparently) Marimekko mode. Possibly I should be happy about this, as an echt representation of what the blog used to look like, but my need for cleanliness, discipline and order has won out. I've changed the bloody template! I don't see what else I can do!

And for everyone who expressed reservations about the colour scheme, there will be more tinkering with it at some stage, but I'd rather spend time writing stuff on here than fiddling about with html colour codes. Mind you, if the new job thing doesn't work out then there will be time a-plenty in which to study the Dulux chart for inspiration...


Update: Turns out today is Clarkson day. The Indy has news that there is a "campaign to persuade" the be-denimed one to challenge Mayor Ken on behalf of the Tories. BBC Entertainment's man-of-the-moment Richard Hammond, better known as David Tennant's mini-me (any excuse to link to a picture of David Tennant...), apparently thinks that "If he stood he would win it". *shudder*


tags: Jeremy Clarkson, BBC, stating the obvious

Why I hate HR people

INT. OFFICE. DAY.

PASHMINA is on the phone to POTENTIAL EMPLOYER. This is a first conversation, and an exploratory one.

PASHMINA: So, can I just ask - because it doesn't say in the ad - what's the salary for this post?

POTENTIAL EMPLOYER: Oh. Err. Can you hang on a minute?

There are sounds on the other end of the line. The handset is put down. Footsteps. A door is shut. A few seconds later, POTENTIAL EMPLOYER returns to the phone.

PE: Yes... well... Um...

Pause.

PE: I think we'd better say, to be on the safe side [really quite satisfactory figure], plus.

PASHMINA: Oh-kayy. Thanks. Now, the other thing I wanted to ask was...

FADE. And cut to:

INT. OFFICE. DAY.

The next day, 9.30am exactly. PASHMINA'S phone rings.

PASHMINA: Hello?

PE: Ah, hello. Can I speak to [Pashmina] please?

PASHMINA: Speaking.

PE: Hello. It's [Potential Employer] here. I wanted to ring you straight away because I've spoken to our HR department. And... err... I think I may have got the wires crossed. When we spoke yesterday. About the salary.

PASHMINA: Ah.

PE: Yes. Um. Actually HR have said that the starting salary will be [considerably less satisfactory figure]. But there is a management bonus.

PASHMINA (guardedly): Oh yes?

PE: Yes, [small] per cent.

PASHMINA does some mental calculations. These do not take long. [Small] per cent is quite a lot less than her current bonus.

PASHMINA: Ah. Well. Yes. That certainly gives me food for thought.




Leaving aside the fact I used the phrase "food for thought" in conversation with a potential employer, I have of course leapt to my own conclusions as to the reason for these "crossed wires". Turns out I'm quite the conspiracy theorist.

Oh I'm so glad I came back from holiday for this.