I know it's been a while, but there are reasons for that. I'll let you know soon.
Cheers.
x
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
AmsterDAM!
Hello everybody.
I have just returned form a weekend in Amsterdam, hosted by the charming and affable Kenneth and Vandi. First up I'd like to extend a hearty public thank-you to them for putting us up and showing us a great time.
Next up I want to wax lyrical about the intriguing and spectacular city of Amsterdam. Upon arrival in The Netherlands I was struck by the flat and almost completely featureless geography of the place. Even coming from Melbourne, whose suburban landscape is mostly devoid of contours, it was strange to encounter a place that seemed to stretch forever with not so much as a bump on any horizon. I could suggest that the topography of Holland is boring, but that doesn't convey the eerie feeling of being in a place completely different from anywhere else I have ever visited.
I will also suggest that the social differences of Amsterdam contrast directly with its unspectacular geography. In fact I will go so far as to suggest that the current conservative elements in Dutch society that are lobbying to rid Amsterdam of its other liberal attractions are in danger of turning The Netherlands into the most boring place on the planet.
A visit into town to showcase these attractions, whilst altogether too brief, was an enlightening experience. We caught the train into Amsterdam Central and walked to the museum district past canals and marketplaces. Like my recent trip to Sweden I was exhilarated by the bicycling culture there. It is such a way of life that the bicycles mix with pedestrians and automobiles without incident. As a newcomer you really have to be alert to avoid the darting cyclists, but I did not witness a single incident where any antagonism existed between any cyclist and a driver or pedestrian. It is possible, and Melbourne especially can learn a lesson in how to share public roadways.
But the thing that attracts the many tourists to Amsterdam town isn't the bikes. It is, of course, the sex and the drugs - the scourge of modern society elsewhere. Governments around the world are intent on clamping down on people's personal freedom to explore the limits of indulgence and desire, yet Amsterdam, at least for the present, is able to function as a modern, thriving, cosmopolitan city whilst exercising tolerance - even promotion - of these vices.
I am not for a moment suggesting that the place is perfect. I was not there long enough to gather enough evidence to mount a contrary opinion. But what evidence I did gather was, for me at least, compelling. There may be a down side to the drug culture in Amsterdam. But I didn't see it. There may be deep rooted social problems with regards to prostitution and sex slavery. But I didn't see it. I'm not going to pretend these things don't exist, but what I did see was happiness. Everywhere. I'm not kidding, or being glib. I have never, ever, ever been to a place where people were so openly and undeniable happy. Walking the streets of not only the red-light district, but much of the entire city, I have never seen so many smiling faces. Not in Sweden or Denmark, where the living seems easy, were the people so content as to wipe the serious, rat-raced, too-busy-to-care blank looks from their faces. In Australia, the lucky country in so many ways, the urban population, whilst friendly, do not exude the same delight whilst just getting about their business. Granted the day I visited was a picture postcard post-summer delight, but that surely was not the only reason for the relaxed countenances of the general population.
No. What we have in Amsterdam, at least to my casual observance, is something approaching a modern utopia. Was everyone high? No. Was everyone visiting the ladies (and ladyboys) of the red-light district? No. But the fact that the Dutch are trusted to indulge in mind altering (mind soothing?) drugs and pleasures of the flesh empowers them to exist in a tolerant and carefree state. My visit to The Grasshopper and subsequent sojourn through the red-light district and past the shopfront booths of ladies of ill-repute was entirely devoid of shame or fear. Contrast this with London's Soho district, where the atmosphere is dirty, cheap and threatening, and you have a window on what the world could be like if governments allowed people to exist without arbitrary restriction. I have long believed that prohibition, in almost any context, serves no other purpose than to criminalise behaviour and make it dangerous. If something is illegal there is nothing to stop those that control it (usually organised crime syndicates) from employing further criminal activity to secure their control and profitability. Remove the criminal element and you allow people to find their own limits. Are people spending too much time and money on drugs and hookers in Amsterdam? Very likely. Yet I cannot fathom that the Dutch spend any more of either because of their free access to both. I would argue that people everywhere else are more susceptible to the evils of the sins due to the criminality and illicit nature of the acts where they live. Indeed, in my new hometown city of Inverness I see many more junkies upon every street than I saw in the whole of the Amsterdam red-light district, where I saw a grand total of one guy who looked like he might have been on smack. Maybe.
I took only a few photographs of Amsterdam on the weekend. There was very little to capture my imagination as an amateur travel photographer. Amsterdam's visual charms (if you don't count some of the stunning examples of femalehood on display in the windows) are few. It is what Amsterdam contains, what it stands for, and what it proves to the rest of the world that make it such an amazing place to visit. And I hope I will have the opportunity to visit again soon.
Until next time.
x.
I have just returned form a weekend in Amsterdam, hosted by the charming and affable Kenneth and Vandi. First up I'd like to extend a hearty public thank-you to them for putting us up and showing us a great time.
Next up I want to wax lyrical about the intriguing and spectacular city of Amsterdam. Upon arrival in The Netherlands I was struck by the flat and almost completely featureless geography of the place. Even coming from Melbourne, whose suburban landscape is mostly devoid of contours, it was strange to encounter a place that seemed to stretch forever with not so much as a bump on any horizon. I could suggest that the topography of Holland is boring, but that doesn't convey the eerie feeling of being in a place completely different from anywhere else I have ever visited.
I will also suggest that the social differences of Amsterdam contrast directly with its unspectacular geography. In fact I will go so far as to suggest that the current conservative elements in Dutch society that are lobbying to rid Amsterdam of its other liberal attractions are in danger of turning The Netherlands into the most boring place on the planet.
A visit into town to showcase these attractions, whilst altogether too brief, was an enlightening experience. We caught the train into Amsterdam Central and walked to the museum district past canals and marketplaces. Like my recent trip to Sweden I was exhilarated by the bicycling culture there. It is such a way of life that the bicycles mix with pedestrians and automobiles without incident. As a newcomer you really have to be alert to avoid the darting cyclists, but I did not witness a single incident where any antagonism existed between any cyclist and a driver or pedestrian. It is possible, and Melbourne especially can learn a lesson in how to share public roadways.
But the thing that attracts the many tourists to Amsterdam town isn't the bikes. It is, of course, the sex and the drugs - the scourge of modern society elsewhere. Governments around the world are intent on clamping down on people's personal freedom to explore the limits of indulgence and desire, yet Amsterdam, at least for the present, is able to function as a modern, thriving, cosmopolitan city whilst exercising tolerance - even promotion - of these vices.
I am not for a moment suggesting that the place is perfect. I was not there long enough to gather enough evidence to mount a contrary opinion. But what evidence I did gather was, for me at least, compelling. There may be a down side to the drug culture in Amsterdam. But I didn't see it. There may be deep rooted social problems with regards to prostitution and sex slavery. But I didn't see it. I'm not going to pretend these things don't exist, but what I did see was happiness. Everywhere. I'm not kidding, or being glib. I have never, ever, ever been to a place where people were so openly and undeniable happy. Walking the streets of not only the red-light district, but much of the entire city, I have never seen so many smiling faces. Not in Sweden or Denmark, where the living seems easy, were the people so content as to wipe the serious, rat-raced, too-busy-to-care blank looks from their faces. In Australia, the lucky country in so many ways, the urban population, whilst friendly, do not exude the same delight whilst just getting about their business. Granted the day I visited was a picture postcard post-summer delight, but that surely was not the only reason for the relaxed countenances of the general population.
No. What we have in Amsterdam, at least to my casual observance, is something approaching a modern utopia. Was everyone high? No. Was everyone visiting the ladies (and ladyboys) of the red-light district? No. But the fact that the Dutch are trusted to indulge in mind altering (mind soothing?) drugs and pleasures of the flesh empowers them to exist in a tolerant and carefree state. My visit to The Grasshopper and subsequent sojourn through the red-light district and past the shopfront booths of ladies of ill-repute was entirely devoid of shame or fear. Contrast this with London's Soho district, where the atmosphere is dirty, cheap and threatening, and you have a window on what the world could be like if governments allowed people to exist without arbitrary restriction. I have long believed that prohibition, in almost any context, serves no other purpose than to criminalise behaviour and make it dangerous. If something is illegal there is nothing to stop those that control it (usually organised crime syndicates) from employing further criminal activity to secure their control and profitability. Remove the criminal element and you allow people to find their own limits. Are people spending too much time and money on drugs and hookers in Amsterdam? Very likely. Yet I cannot fathom that the Dutch spend any more of either because of their free access to both. I would argue that people everywhere else are more susceptible to the evils of the sins due to the criminality and illicit nature of the acts where they live. Indeed, in my new home
I took only a few photographs of Amsterdam on the weekend. There was very little to capture my imagination as an amateur travel photographer. Amsterdam's visual charms (if you don't count some of the stunning examples of femalehood on display in the windows) are few. It is what Amsterdam contains, what it stands for, and what it proves to the rest of the world that make it such an amazing place to visit. And I hope I will have the opportunity to visit again soon.
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| Local Market Colour |
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| Mmm. . . Boobies. |
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| The Happiest Place on earth? |
Until next time.
x.
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
Witness the Fitness MkIII
Just a quick update to let you know that another 'fun' run has come and gone, and I've survived.
Despite the rest of the UK sweltering from heatwave conditions, and a forecast for fine weather up here, Inverness turned on a typically dreary and misty day. You might say perfect for running. You might.
As my previous post indicated I held no great hope for my time for this 5k. Like I said, I was happy to just finish. And I did it comfortably under 30 minutes and was pretty fresh at the end. If I had have known how fresh I might have pushed a little harder to get my time down, but I did want to make sure I made it to the end in one go and in one piece.
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| I totally destroyed that little kid in the pink. |
I'm pretty sure I was spot on 28 minutes. I was about fifteen seconds out from the line when the gun went off, and the clock said 28:15 as I crossed the line. My Runkeeper™app didn't do me any favours - it took almost a minute for me to press 'completed' with my phone holder all wet from the mist.
As I crossed the line I was 'awarded' another medallion to add to my collection:
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| The award that says 'Everyone's a WINNER!' |
I also got a showbag with a few random goodies and a dinky little t-shirt with a picture of the Loch Ness Monster on it.
All in all I'm considering the whole excursion a moderate success.
I promise another update soon.
x.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Crystalassis perfectamiossis
My fitness regime commenced again in ernest after the whirlwind of moving house had subsided. Living on the beach presents me with a perfect, scenic daily run. It is too good for words.
Next on the running agenda is the Loch Ness Marathon. Don't be stupid, I'm not doing the marathon! I'm doing the 5k. I was on track to do the 10k before what little of summer we had distracted me. There was a lot that stopped me running for a couple of months but now, damnit, I'm back on track.
Well, I was back on track before an acute case of Crystalassis perfectamiossis struck. Crystalassis perfectamiossis? I hear you ask. Well, I could tell you that I had a recurrent bout of gout. See what I did there? No? Well, I was shocked to discover that I have been ashamed to tell people of my gout. why should I be ashamed? It is historically the affliction of the well-to-do. Kings get gout. The landed gentry get gout. Damn it, I get gout! But there is something about it that makes it difficult to confess. It sounds so . . . so . . . shameful.
Let me give you brief description of the condition. Foods high in purine (good stuff, like salmon, anchovies, red meat, mushrooms, spinach) causes an increase of uric acid in the bloodstream that crystalizes in the joints. Long story short, this feels like somebody has crushed glass in your toe. Right in there in the joint. It is incredibly painful (at worst - the first time I had it), and very uncomfortable (at best - this second time).
But the name sucks. It is so blah. It is not at all descriptive of the condition (in fact, gout in the big toe - like mine - is called Podagra, WTF?). So I've invented my own name for it. Crystalassis perfectamiossis.
What's in a name?
So, despite the fact (has anyone counted how many times I say that?) that the condition has interrupted my training, I've been in a fair bit of discomfort this week. Not helped by the NHS. I didn't have to go to the GP in order to obtain a prescription for pain relief. I phoned the practise, played a bit of phone chasey, and ended up having a telephone consultation. That bit was fine. In fact, it was great. I knew it was Crystalassis perfectamiossis and already know the symptoms and treatment. So it would have been a waste, not only of my time, but of the precious resources of the NHS if I had have been required to attend the surgery.
Brilliant! Well, not exactly. Hang on . . . I know I promised a good news story and here I am lapsing into a defacto rant. Well, I guess over here even the good things don't come without a cost. But bear with me. Where was I? Oh yeah . . . things were going brilliantly. The GP promised to fax my prescription to my local pharmacy by the next day (Saturday). So come Saturday (and at the point of my affliction when I was suffering the most pain) I had to hobble down the street (funny, someone else didn't offer to go for me) to the chemist to get some relief. But the pharmacist had not received any faxed prescription. We discussed my options at length, which included attending a hospital emergency department; an option I was unwilling to consider, even with the pain I was enduring. I decided I would just return home and phone the medical practise and have them re-fax the prescription through.
'Oh, you won't be able to do that,' says the pharmacist.
'And why not?' I reply.
It seems that medical centres are not open AT ALL on the weekends over here. What? Are you joking? No? If you want any sort of medical attention over the weekend you have to go to an emergency ward. I'm not making this stuff up. No wonder the system is barely coping. No wonder it costs so much to run.
So I limp home and suffer in (relative) silence through the pain for the remainder of the weekend.
I call the medical practise on Monday and they (re?)fax the prescription through. So I limp down the road again (only the symptoms are much less severe by now) and collect the drugs I have been prescribed. I pull out my wallet and get out my debit card and try to hand it to the pharmacist who looks at me incredulously.
'Oh, you don't need to do that,' says the pharmacist.
'And why not?' I reply.
It seems that nobody has to pay for their prescriptions here. Not anybody. Not ever. What? Are you joking? No? I'm not making this stuff up. No wonder the system is barely coping. No wonder it costs so much to run.
So anyway . . . it might not have seem like a story of big ups, but there it is. FREE MEDICINES! I seriously cannot believe it. But I guess it's something that's worth celebrating!
Meanwhile I recommence training by the sea tomorrow, barely in time to get enough miles in the legs to make it to 5kms next weekend. Oh, don't worry. I will be sure to let you all know how that goes*.
x.
* A good time for me for 5kms is 26mins. At this stage a really good time for me will be 27:30. Realistically, I'll be moderately pleased to do it in under 30 mins. Ah, who am I kidding? If I manage to finish at all without the intervention of the paramedics I can consider myself to have succeeded.
Can't Resist the RANT!
Hallo fiends.
The requests for an update have been overwhelming (no, really, for once I'm not making this up) so, in lieu of anything major to report, it's time for one of my patented 'one size fits all' rants.
The move into the new home is complete. It's unfair of me to gloat, but we really have lucked out with our house and everything about it. A close friend describe our existence as 'idyllic' and it's hard to disagree. Apart from the fact that one of us has to go to work (practically) each day is beside the point. That it is both 'apart from the fact' and 'beside the point' would indicate that it is important nonetheless.
So what do I have to rant about? I'm glad you asked, but I fear you soon won't be.
Firstly (yes, there's going to be more than one) I return to a previous rant about everyone's favourite telco - BT. FFS! I'll get the thumbs up out of the way early; the move of house (as far as our phone/interweb is concerned) went without a hitch. Thank you BT. But her parents came to stay a couple of weeks ago. Her parents cannot live without television. So, while we could care less and have done splendidly without it, we decided to hook up to a BT Vision package in order to entertain the 'in-laws' during their stay. Yeah, 'sif! I ordered our BT Vision a week or more before they were due to arrive only to be informed that the 'activation period' (WTF?) would be ten days. Brilliant. So we're going to have to talk with them for three days of their stay, but's that's alright I suppose. So I order it anyway. The day before the equipment is due to arrive she says 'You don't really expect it to arrive on time, do you?' to which I replied, 'Of course I do, what could possibly go wrong?'.
I am obviously an idiot.
The morning of our BT Vision activation comes and goes with no sign of our equipment. So I go online to check the status of the order. As is de rigeur for such interweb sites I get a message saying the website is unable to provide details of the status of my order, so I'll need to call them on the phone. A chill runs down my spine. I've tried phoning BT before, and the results still terrify me. Anyway, long story short and all that, they tell me that my order was move to their credit department for a credit check. What? That's right, a credit check. Despite me paying our phone and internet to BT on time every month for the past six months via direct debit they decide to ping me for a credit check. WTF? Obviously our recent change of address has flagged something, but my previous credit check and account status apparently means nothing. And it's not just the fact that I've been credit checked again, but the fact that (despite giving them my phone number - which THEY gave me remember - and my email address) they failed to advise of this development made me steaming with rage. Add to this the fact that not only had my order been transferred to the credit department, but the credit department had not processed my credit check and had somehow forgotten all about it. To say nothing of the fact (except that I'm actually now saying something about it) that after they phoned me back to explain what was going on they advised me that they could proceed with the order but would have to charge me a ₤50 deposit. Apparently I'm now a greater credit risk in a home I have just bought after paying them on time for six months. Are they mental?
So furious, I concede to their burning hoops and ask for them to proceed with my order. Great, let's just leave all of this nastiness behind us, shall we? However I am then informed that, because my order was in credit check, it never actually proceeded in the first place, meaning they have to schedule a new activation date. Some seven days away. WTF? The 'in-laws' will be gone by then. I ask to speak to managers up the line (I know you call centre people hate folks who do this, but I was livid and was going to exhaust every avenue) who all assured me that there was nothing they could do to expedite the activation period. So, because the 'in-laws' were going to be gone by then I had no need for their televimetric broadcast reception device and could they please cease with my order. And then they had the gall to talk to me as if I was being unreasonable. FFS!
BT, you are a joke. A ridiculous, brain-squeezing, stress-inducing JOKE! Where do I get compensation for having to speak to the 'in-laws' every single day of their stay? Oh, the HUMANITY!
Which brings me neatly (some would say segues) to my next rant. Television Licensing. For my Australian (and other international) readers, the BBC is partially funded by the issuing of television licenses to (almost all) UK households. It's not exactly cheap. It's around ₤150pa. But for those who can't afford it all in one go there is the option to pay in instalments. Brilliant! Now, because we've incurred a few incidental charges lately (like buying a frikken HOUSE!) I decide we'll opt to pay by instalments. I was going to pay upfront, but it made some sense to spread it out. That is until I got to the online checkout. Having chosen 'pay monthly' the site paid me the courtesy of listing the scheduled monthly deductions before I hit 'confirm'. I glad they did. My maths isn't terrible. I can do most sums in me 'ed. I don't always get the perfect answer to problems arithmetic, but my approximations are always pretty close. So I figured I'd be up for around ₤12 per month. However, this TV licensing website was going to charge me closer to ₤30 per month. WTF? My maths isn't that bad! It took me ages looking at various websites (not all of the relevant information was easily to hand on the TV Licensing site) to discover that the penalty you pay to pay via monthly deductions is to be charged six months in advance. Whose idea was this? The people who are most likely to have to opt to pay in instalments are those that are less likely to be able to afford to pay more than those who would likely choose to pay the fee upfront. Am I wrong? so why are you charging them six months extra? And don't try to tell my that it's a one-off advance. It's forever. You are NEVER going to get that six months advance back. You are always going to paying an advance in your TV License. Do they refund it to you AFTER YOU HAVE DIED? Seriously?
Deep breath.
After by BT debacle I have saved the TV License fee. But not before they have sent letters resembling court summonses threatening me with prison unless I fork over the cash. Pfft.
Thirdly, and finally for now, I will rant about car insurance. I have been driving for around twenty years. I have never had an accident. Ever. I have had a couple of minor (and a couple of major) indiscretions during my driving career, but nothing that has resulted in an insurance claim. I drive like a granny - usually. I have had advanced driver training whilst obtaining my motorcycle license (via an intensive, competency-based program). I am also over (well over) the age that insurance companies deem that I am an automatic threat to society given that I possess a penis (although I hear that that form of mandatory discrimination is now illegal). So I have just obtained my UK drivers license in order to be added to her car insurance - in the unlikely event that she would ever let me drive her car. I couldn't be added without a UK drivers license. So now I've got it (complete with the obligatory photograph that makes me look like a criminal) we phone the AA to get me added. so after all of the questions and back and forth, some 30-40 minutes (thank your non-existent god it wasn't me on the phone) the deal is done. Then she tells me that it cost an extra ₤400pa to add me to her insurance. Her insurance was originally ₤600. Now it's ₤1,000! That's a 66.6% increase (I told you my maths wasn't bad). WTF? It's the same car. It's not like it can be driven twice simultaneously. It didn't suddenly increase in value (in fact I guarantee you that car isn't worth half what she paid for it - but don't tell her I told you that). There is nothing that adding me as a driver could possibly add to the risk concerning an insurance company. Nothing. I would have gotten in a lather had they added ₤100 as some kind of 'administrative charge'. But no, they are extorting us out of an extra ₤400pa. I think I've got a right to pop a freaken nerve. ₤400? They have got to be joking? And it's not a one-off charge, either. It's a charge that will exist (decreasing incrementally for each year I hold a UK license) for around ten years. This theft is enshrined in law. It is illegal to drive without insurance. The insurance companies are all colluding to ensure that you cannot escape these charges. It is not only immoral, it is unjustifiable.
And I'll give you a quick lesson in insurance for anyone that may doubt me. Insurance companies don't hold your money in a box ready to pay you when something goes wrong. They invest it. They earn money (BIG money) on all of the premiums they collect. But it's not like they are some benevolent care givers earning revenue to distribute to people forced to make claims. No! Insurance companies actively (and in some cases menacingly) seek restitution of the monies they pay out in claims from those responsible for the claim. This means that when you are in an accident and the insurance company pays money for repairs it is not the end of the action as far as the insurance company is concerned, even if it is the end of the transaction as far as you are concerned. The insurance company will HUNT DOWN those responsible and take COURT ACTION against them to recover the funds. So in fact the insurance company rarely, if ever, pays for the cost of the claims out of the money they have collected (and subsequently invested) from you. and this extortionate profiteering is all sanctioned by government legislation (as opposed to any other random kinds of legislation).
Another deep breath.
Before I resort to extreme profanity I am going to curtail this ranting post. I've got a lot of things off my chest, and I thank you for listening. I am about to go and pour myself another coffee and promise to return with a post of EPIC WIN. Really. It's not all bad news.
Until about an hour or so . . .
x.
The requests for an update have been overwhelming (no, really, for once I'm not making this up) so, in lieu of anything major to report, it's time for one of my patented 'one size fits all' rants.
The move into the new home is complete. It's unfair of me to gloat, but we really have lucked out with our house and everything about it. A close friend describe our existence as 'idyllic' and it's hard to disagree. Apart from the fact that one of us has to go to work (practically) each day is beside the point. That it is both 'apart from the fact' and 'beside the point' would indicate that it is important nonetheless.
So what do I have to rant about? I'm glad you asked, but I fear you soon won't be.
Firstly (yes, there's going to be more than one) I return to a previous rant about everyone's favourite telco - BT. FFS! I'll get the thumbs up out of the way early; the move of house (as far as our phone/interweb is concerned) went without a hitch. Thank you BT. But her parents came to stay a couple of weeks ago. Her parents cannot live without television. So, while we could care less and have done splendidly without it, we decided to hook up to a BT Vision package in order to entertain the 'in-laws' during their stay. Yeah, 'sif! I ordered our BT Vision a week or more before they were due to arrive only to be informed that the 'activation period' (WTF?) would be ten days. Brilliant. So we're going to have to talk with them for three days of their stay, but's that's alright I suppose. So I order it anyway. The day before the equipment is due to arrive she says 'You don't really expect it to arrive on time, do you?' to which I replied, 'Of course I do, what could possibly go wrong?'.
I am obviously an idiot.
The morning of our BT Vision activation comes and goes with no sign of our equipment. So I go online to check the status of the order. As is de rigeur for such interweb sites I get a message saying the website is unable to provide details of the status of my order, so I'll need to call them on the phone. A chill runs down my spine. I've tried phoning BT before, and the results still terrify me. Anyway, long story short and all that, they tell me that my order was move to their credit department for a credit check. What? That's right, a credit check. Despite me paying our phone and internet to BT on time every month for the past six months via direct debit they decide to ping me for a credit check. WTF? Obviously our recent change of address has flagged something, but my previous credit check and account status apparently means nothing. And it's not just the fact that I've been credit checked again, but the fact that (despite giving them my phone number - which THEY gave me remember - and my email address) they failed to advise of this development made me steaming with rage. Add to this the fact that not only had my order been transferred to the credit department, but the credit department had not processed my credit check and had somehow forgotten all about it. To say nothing of the fact (except that I'm actually now saying something about it) that after they phoned me back to explain what was going on they advised me that they could proceed with the order but would have to charge me a ₤50 deposit. Apparently I'm now a greater credit risk in a home I have just bought after paying them on time for six months. Are they mental?
So furious, I concede to their burning hoops and ask for them to proceed with my order. Great, let's just leave all of this nastiness behind us, shall we? However I am then informed that, because my order was in credit check, it never actually proceeded in the first place, meaning they have to schedule a new activation date. Some seven days away. WTF? The 'in-laws' will be gone by then. I ask to speak to managers up the line (I know you call centre people hate folks who do this, but I was livid and was going to exhaust every avenue) who all assured me that there was nothing they could do to expedite the activation period. So, because the 'in-laws' were going to be gone by then I had no need for their televimetric broadcast reception device and could they please cease with my order. And then they had the gall to talk to me as if I was being unreasonable. FFS!
BT, you are a joke. A ridiculous, brain-squeezing, stress-inducing JOKE! Where do I get compensation for having to speak to the 'in-laws' every single day of their stay? Oh, the HUMANITY!
Which brings me neatly (some would say segues) to my next rant. Television Licensing. For my Australian (and other international) readers, the BBC is partially funded by the issuing of television licenses to (almost all) UK households. It's not exactly cheap. It's around ₤150pa. But for those who can't afford it all in one go there is the option to pay in instalments. Brilliant! Now, because we've incurred a few incidental charges lately (like buying a frikken HOUSE!) I decide we'll opt to pay by instalments. I was going to pay upfront, but it made some sense to spread it out. That is until I got to the online checkout. Having chosen 'pay monthly' the site paid me the courtesy of listing the scheduled monthly deductions before I hit 'confirm'. I glad they did. My maths isn't terrible. I can do most sums in me 'ed. I don't always get the perfect answer to problems arithmetic, but my approximations are always pretty close. So I figured I'd be up for around ₤12 per month. However, this TV licensing website was going to charge me closer to ₤30 per month. WTF? My maths isn't that bad! It took me ages looking at various websites (not all of the relevant information was easily to hand on the TV Licensing site) to discover that the penalty you pay to pay via monthly deductions is to be charged six months in advance. Whose idea was this? The people who are most likely to have to opt to pay in instalments are those that are less likely to be able to afford to pay more than those who would likely choose to pay the fee upfront. Am I wrong? so why are you charging them six months extra? And don't try to tell my that it's a one-off advance. It's forever. You are NEVER going to get that six months advance back. You are always going to paying an advance in your TV License. Do they refund it to you AFTER YOU HAVE DIED? Seriously?
Deep breath.
After by BT debacle I have saved the TV License fee. But not before they have sent letters resembling court summonses threatening me with prison unless I fork over the cash. Pfft.
Thirdly, and finally for now, I will rant about car insurance. I have been driving for around twenty years. I have never had an accident. Ever. I have had a couple of minor (and a couple of major) indiscretions during my driving career, but nothing that has resulted in an insurance claim. I drive like a granny - usually. I have had advanced driver training whilst obtaining my motorcycle license (via an intensive, competency-based program). I am also over (well over) the age that insurance companies deem that I am an automatic threat to society given that I possess a penis (although I hear that that form of mandatory discrimination is now illegal). So I have just obtained my UK drivers license in order to be added to her car insurance - in the unlikely event that she would ever let me drive her car. I couldn't be added without a UK drivers license. So now I've got it (complete with the obligatory photograph that makes me look like a criminal) we phone the AA to get me added. so after all of the questions and back and forth, some 30-40 minutes (thank your non-existent god it wasn't me on the phone) the deal is done. Then she tells me that it cost an extra ₤400pa to add me to her insurance. Her insurance was originally ₤600. Now it's ₤1,000! That's a 66.6% increase (I told you my maths wasn't bad). WTF? It's the same car. It's not like it can be driven twice simultaneously. It didn't suddenly increase in value (in fact I guarantee you that car isn't worth half what she paid for it - but don't tell her I told you that). There is nothing that adding me as a driver could possibly add to the risk concerning an insurance company. Nothing. I would have gotten in a lather had they added ₤100 as some kind of 'administrative charge'. But no, they are extorting us out of an extra ₤400pa. I think I've got a right to pop a freaken nerve. ₤400? They have got to be joking? And it's not a one-off charge, either. It's a charge that will exist (decreasing incrementally for each year I hold a UK license) for around ten years. This theft is enshrined in law. It is illegal to drive without insurance. The insurance companies are all colluding to ensure that you cannot escape these charges. It is not only immoral, it is unjustifiable.
And I'll give you a quick lesson in insurance for anyone that may doubt me. Insurance companies don't hold your money in a box ready to pay you when something goes wrong. They invest it. They earn money (BIG money) on all of the premiums they collect. But it's not like they are some benevolent care givers earning revenue to distribute to people forced to make claims. No! Insurance companies actively (and in some cases menacingly) seek restitution of the monies they pay out in claims from those responsible for the claim. This means that when you are in an accident and the insurance company pays money for repairs it is not the end of the action as far as the insurance company is concerned, even if it is the end of the transaction as far as you are concerned. The insurance company will HUNT DOWN those responsible and take COURT ACTION against them to recover the funds. So in fact the insurance company rarely, if ever, pays for the cost of the claims out of the money they have collected (and subsequently invested) from you. and this extortionate profiteering is all sanctioned by government legislation (as opposed to any other random kinds of legislation).
Another deep breath.
Before I resort to extreme profanity I am going to curtail this ranting post. I've got a lot of things off my chest, and I thank you for listening. I am about to go and pour myself another coffee and promise to return with a post of EPIC WIN. Really. It's not all bad news.
Until about an hour or so . . .
x.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
August Stuff
Greetings everybody,
Well as you know the house move has gone well. Well enough that I'm back writing, which is nice. So I figure if I'm back writing I may as well reflect on recent events. Random events.
First I'll share with you a few shots from an event held on our street a few weeks ago. Let me explain. High Street Ardersier runs through to Fort George. Fort George is an 18th century fortress that remains in use today. It is a magnificent piece of kit and well worth the visit if you're in the area. It is situated on a peninsula that extends into the Moray Firth. The whole of the peninsula is occupied by the fort, but you can wander around pretty much at your lesiure any time you like - except for when the red flags are displayed. his, apparently, is when they are shooting live rounds of ammunition. The shooting ranges are quite surreal.
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| Shooting Range - also used to help soldiers learn to count all the way up to 12 |
Anyway, there is just heaps of land that will likely never be sold or built out. It is kind of like having our very own National Park at the end of the street.
So where was I? Oh yes . . . a few weeks ago Historic Scotland put on a(n) (h)istoric weekend complete with military recreations from the ages, as well as mediaeval displays and modern weaponry demonstrations. It really was rather good. The highlight, of course, was the recreation dogfight between a Spitfire and a Messerschmidt (which we were able to preview on the Saturday from our backyard).
The photography of the dogfight was best left to the professionals, my camera phone just was not able to capture the majesty of the spectacle. You can see how close these things were getting to the ground from the above shot - but not much else.
There was a lot to see. Many
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| Ye Olde Midiaeval Army Camp |
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| Shoots Actual Arrows |
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| Shoots Actual Cannons |
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| Does my bum look big in this? |
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| Mmm... bombs look delicious. |
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| A kite - no military relevance whatsoever. |
I suggested that we may not be able to do this. The ticket we had was clearly marked. But no, good old-fashioned British train etiquette won out. We would just try our luck. Signs seemed doubtful when it was apparent that not a single person was not sitting in an allocated seat. Had this been Birmingham-London or Aberdeen-Inverness you'd just have to take your chances. If any of the reserved seats aren't taken it's probably because those with reserved seats are sitting in non-reserved seats. Or that the reserved seat you paid for is now on a train that no longer has a policy of reserved seats. Or there is a family of chavs drinking Tennents and Buckfast in what were supposed to be your seats. Either way, you'll be leaning against a rail opposite the toilet for the length of your British journey. Sorry, did I get distracted? Anyway, here we are on a SWEDISH train that has EXCLUSIVELY reserved seats. Boarding such a train without a valid ticket is apparently such an uncommon occurrence that the ticket inspector lady had no idea what to do with us. This resulted in us making it all the way to Lund without being booted off the train, but it was a close run thing, and of course what you want from your holiday is all that stress, especially after already purchasing the wrong bus ticket.
But we made it safely to Lund, so I guess I should be grateful. Another thing this incident taught me was that (similar to my Zurich experience) everyone can speak English to varying degrees (and varying levels of American accents) and most are only too happy to help you in English (I guess as a simple way of brushing up on their language skills). This is nice.
So Lund. Lund is beautiful little city. It is about the perfect size. Described as a university town, Lund is small enough that you can walk (or cycle) comfortably from one side of town to the other in little time at all. And boy do they like to cycle! From wikipedia: "Lund has been praised for its cycling infrastructure. There are 5000 bike parking spaces in the town, including a multi-storey facility, 160 km of cyclepaths, and 45% of commuters travel by bicycle. There has been no increase in car usage for the past 10 years." Just fantastic. My kind of town. And the bikes were all way cool. Many were like my pride and joy old Indian town bike. I was in bike heaven. There was a bike in a shop window in Copenhagen (where we visited for a day) that was made of leather.
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| Yes. Freaken LEATHER! |
So here are a few random shots, helped once again by my friend Mr Caption.
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| I did say random pictures. What could be more random than shop window piglets? |
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| Lund University. Rather majestic. |
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| Gustav or Leon. |
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| Leon or Gustav. Or is it the same one? |
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| Jen's summerhouse, where we divided our time, was here on the other side of town. Nice. |
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| Malmo Police Station. Thankfully I only saw the outside. |
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| Watchmaker in Malmo. |
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| The lovely Jen at a lovely cafe in lovely Copenhagen flanked by a lovely flower. Feel the love. |
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| I probably should have read the history of this little guy in Stockholm. He's undoubtedly someone famous, if only for having a statue of himself in Stockholm. |
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| Shop window - Stockholm. |
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| Gorgeous laneway in Old Town - Stockholm. |
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| Street Art - Stockholm. |
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| Fountain thingy - Stockholm. |
The most remarkable thing occurred whilst we were walking through Stockholm (our only day in Stockholm) on the last day of our holiday. We took a couple of turns and vaguely followed some music, only to discover hundreds of American cars doing a street circuit of one of Stockholm's main streets. It was hilarious. I was like it was AMERICA DAY or something. Some cars had loudspeakers blaring out bad music, there were girls in rock-a-billy outfits, there was big hair, there were tattoos. In fact the only thing missing was AFB and Eddie Best. I miss you guys! Anyway, here's a couple of the gas guzzlers on display.
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| Civic building - Stockholm |
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| Station architecture - Malmo |
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| Station architecture #2 - Malmo |
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| Street Art - Copenhagen |
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| Department store shopping - Copenhagen |
Department store shopping? Are you kidding? I go to Copenhagen for one day in my life and we end up in a major department store, doing the same thing we could have been doing anywhere else in the world. Sense of humour was not able to get out intact.
Copenhagen was kinda cool. Kinda grungier than Sweden, but wherever we went (especially the cafes) everyone looked like an architect or industrial designer. Could they all be any more cool?
Anyway, I've bored you all senseless by now without mentioning all of the good stuff, so I'll leave this off with big ups to Jen and her kids Lulach and Saorla for the most magnificent hospitality we could have hoped for. We will be doing it again sometime.
Until next time.
x.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
It's not a House, it's a Home.
Greetings loyal subjects,
First post in a while, with the usual excuses. But the good news is that everything that's been keeping me from updating will be the subject of an update.
First things first: our new house.
To demonstrate the fact that we are now settled in our new abode I will reveal some shots of the little things. Those things that help make a house a home. Those things, for all of you men who've shared a house with a woman, that just appear as if by magic overnight. Those little things that mark your territory as shared. Don't ask questions; don't move them; don't put them back in the box from whence they came.
Here are a few examples:
There are a couple of my things about: my magic roundabout; my Astroboy; my lucky gold Chinese waving cat. However I'll gladly pack them away for the chance to never have to look at girly tat just sitting there because, well, just because it can.
In an attempt to make this house a home I have succeeded in turning the back door into a chalkboard. It was an inspired bit of home handy decorating. Fun, too.
I shall provide further updates soon, including our magical trip to Sweden.
Warmest regards,
x
First post in a while, with the usual excuses. But the good news is that everything that's been keeping me from updating will be the subject of an update.
First things first: our new house.
To demonstrate the fact that we are now settled in our new abode I will reveal some shots of the little things. Those things that help make a house a home. Those things, for all of you men who've shared a house with a woman, that just appear as if by magic overnight. Those little things that mark your territory as shared. Don't ask questions; don't move them; don't put them back in the box from whence they came.
Here are a few examples:
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| This is a bird made out of wood. I think it's supposed to be an Oystercatcher. It's just sitting there on the windowsill. |
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| This is the world's smallest and most out-of-proportioned Babooshka doll in the world. She looks like she's wearing a space helmet. She just sits there and watches me brush my teeth. |
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| This is a snow-globe of Melbourne - featuring a tram and Flinders St Station. I think it's there to remind me that I don't have a tram at my door, and that it never snows in Melbourne. Or something. |
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| This is a little crystal angel. Or a ghost. It just hangs from the window announcing to the world that 'a girl lives here'. |
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| There appears to be an old lady with a dustbin on her head taking a wooden dump on the windowsill. |
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| I think this is a tiny Chinese scarecrow. Only I think it is better suited to scaring off insects - of which it is doing an appalling job. A genie has yet to materialise out of the bottle, no matter how hard I rub it. |
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| This bird was a Christmas present from her mother. When it's switched on it chirps as you pass. This thing will never be switched on again. Not unless it wants to join the birds in the trees outside. |
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| Here we have another bird. Are the birds in the window to torment the birds outside? 'Hi, look at me, I'm IN the house!' How about 'Hi, I'm made of porcelain and will smash into a hundred pieces when Craig kicks me off the windowsill'. |
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| I don't even know what we've got here on the bookcase. Inspector Clouseau seems to be looking for something by lamplight whilst whatever that thing is does whatever that thing is doing. |
In an attempt to make this house a home I have succeeded in turning the back door into a chalkboard. It was an inspired bit of home handy decorating. Fun, too.
I shall provide further updates soon, including our magical trip to Sweden.
Warmest regards,
x
Monday, June 20, 2011
Sneak Preview
Hallo!
I didn't want to alarm you, what with posting twice on the same day, but I have got a few photos to share with you of our new house.
Yep, we are now happy homeowners. All of the official stuff is complete and it's just a matter of signing mortgage papers on Friday.
So here it is, 32 High Street, Ardersier.
What these photos don't show you is the lovely bare stone at the front of the house. We move in on July 28th, so if you could start sending us your travel plans early we'll try to make sure you are booked in.
Can't wait to see youse.
x
I didn't want to alarm you, what with posting twice on the same day, but I have got a few photos to share with you of our new house.
Yep, we are now happy homeowners. All of the official stuff is complete and it's just a matter of signing mortgage papers on Friday.
So here it is, 32 High Street, Ardersier.
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| The back of the house and yard with shed. |
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| Stunning, uninterrupted and never to be built out view of the Moray Firth and Black Isle. |
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| Perfect for teh BBQOMGZLOL!!!1!FTW! |
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| Back of kitchen and second shed. Yes, TWO SHEDS! Stain is on neighbour's wall. |
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| Back door. |
Can't wait to see youse.
x
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