Dullsville , UK II

I could hardly believe my misfortune today. After the debacle of yesterday I had forgotten that today I was booked on a Line Managers workshop headed up by The Beachbabe. Another day of Corporate Gobbledygook Bollocks talk, faux thanks, Corporate Arslikhan and blow jobs, faux praise and stirring "rouse the troops" type speeches. How bad is the planning behind that? And me, working in a planning team as well. Anyway, it was the usual bollocks, with the usual "inter-active fun" element and the obligatory brainstorming session (or thought-shower as the facilitator called it....wanker). The difference however was that The Beachbabe is obviously well versed and expert in presenting to an audience. She was funny, slick, and dare I say it almost believable and almost inspiring. Perhaps if I wasn't permanently saddled with a Mask of Cynicism as part of my psyche, I would have fallen for it in the same way many of the David Brent wannabees did (whooping? What the fuck is that about? They're not American, or in sales, so why do it?...even The Beachbabe looked faintly embarrassed by it). I say David Brent and I mean it. These guys and in some cases women actually must have

a.) missed The Office

or......

b.) thought it was a training film

Anyway, despite being full of the usual shit I can't honestly say it was boring. The Beachbabe ran each session, invited open and honest comment. You barely noticed her touch the keyboard to flip each new slide over. Even the slides were succinct and to the point! Of course me being a Gobby Gobshite I was of course volunteered to present the key points from our table from a "brainstorming interactive fun bonding networking....lets do lunch sometime" session. And so, being "dressed down" (due to it being dress down Friday at the office...but we weren't in the office today, ergo I was the only one in jeans, biker boots and Chelsea T-shirt!) I stood in front of the 100 or so crowd, a mouth full of razor wire (see posts passim) and ...well...pretty much knocked them dead. I became Ben Elton like in my delivery, fast, furious and bloody funny. It was a moment where everything came out right and everything right came out. I berated myself for my dress code, I caveated that by saying that anyone who disliked it could meet me in the car park but needed to be aware that it was a shirt that signified being a member of The Chelsea Headhunters, about revenge from a former boss who is a Spurs fan plus lots of other bits including a "little bit of politics ladies and gentlemen", interspersed with hypocritical Corporate Gobbledygook Bollocks messages of my own. It was a moment I actually ENJOYED. It made me SMILE. And to cap it all The Beachbabe sought me out personally and took me to one side and said "Well done Jack (by name!), that was bloody brilliant". I smiled, went red, and stuttered some sort of crap reply, but really I was quite chuffed.

I showed some of the "presenters" from yesterday, including The Shepherd and The Schoolteacher, how to grab a crowd without any script, any prompting, just using sheer bloody belligerence and a "what the fuck" attitude that meant if I fucked up then so be it. I took a risk and it won't pay off job wise, but it will self confidence wise. What was the worst that could happen? Does this sound arrogant? Or is it just a surge in my own self belief that proves to me, if no-one else, that I'm not yet washed up.

If it is arrogance then my riposte will follow that of one of the finest TV characters ever created, Mister Anton Meyer, Surgical Consultant from Holby City, who in one episode said "There's nothing wrong with being arrogant....if you're right!" And so tonight its off for some Guinness raised in slight tribute to The Beachbabe, a fellow spirit in the field of keeping people interested whilst delivering Corporate Gobbledygook Bollocks. An unlikely and unsought kindred spirit removed by several levels of career hierarchy.

Later, PuffedUpJack

Dullsville, UK

The title is the conclusion I've come to about my place of work. Once upon a time I thought I was in gainful employment, working for a dynamic, forward thinking company which embraced articulate people like me, encouraged us to think freely, to innovate, to challenge and gave us purpose in our daily existence. This was largely true until about 2 years ago when we underwent a "transformation" which is business process bollocks talk for jazzing up and spinning what we called "re-organisation" and hence redundancies. I escaped the axe that time to be offered a new role which allegedly underlined our flexibility and capability to adapt in a changing business and increasingly competitive environment.

Sorry.....lapsed into some Corporate Gobbledygook Bollocks talk myself then.........(note to self : must remember to be human once leaving the office). I was shifted sideways is what I meant to say.........

Since then it's been pretty much all about being passed over whilst being told how good I am, or how effective I am or what a valuable employee I am (etc ad infinitum). It's a bit like getting a blow job and finding out its been given by Margaret Thatcher, makes you feel good at first but then makes you sick. Then of course, I went through my "darkest night" period toward the end of last year (see posts passim) as the full realisation of my impending career impotence struck home. There were some dark times I can tell you. However, things brightened up a bit, not by virtue of anything anyone at work did to help me, although my boss, The Schoolteacher, did try, but by the fact that despite everything we all adapt to our circumstances at the time. Some might call it a "victim" mentality, others might just accept that once you reach your mid-forties, society on the whole considers you to be past your prime, and consequently having less worth and less to offer of any use. This view is propagated by the media, employers and the government as a whole. Once you accept this, you learn to play the game differently and in my case I decided to shut the shop and do my job ADEQUATELY whilst ligging and loafing wherever possible. All my ambition was locked away in a drawer marked "Potential unused - do not open for foreseeable future". That's fine and now the summers here it should mean more working from home, hence more golf, hence lower handicap and hence a more relaxed and carefree Jack. The "dark night" of realization that career options at The Company are over, that others are still climbing the greasy corporate pole, giving the corporate blow-jobs, that youth is the key to success, that talking is worth more than doing, that the policy of "arslikhan" is what gets you ahead has led me to a mental dawn/twilight state. I still can't see much brightness career wise, no "summer day" again but I am happy to exist on the dimly-lit fringes of the "career day" so to speak.

So, having to attend today what can only be described as the single most condescending, shambolic, amateurish, patronizing ""team building" off-site I have ever had the misfortune of observing, really opens the wounds of spitefulness and petty envy that lurks below the surface of my tacit acceptance of my situation. We were in effect told that attendance was mandatory for the morning session, but that the afternoon session (ominously dubbed "the fun part" and consequently would not be anyone's real idea of fun, least not those with any semblance of lives outside of work) was voluntary. The afternoon session was a "magical mystery tour" on a hired Vintage Diesel train with Pullman coaches (I've no idea what this means). I would ordinarily enjoy a trip by train that was free and didn't involve The Trainline.com (see posts passim) as at heart I still have the 10 year old unsullied and unembittered boy hidden deep in my psyche. I would enjoy this with close friends or family, but not with some of the people it is my misfortune to work with. It's a sad indictment of my current situation that there isn't one person at work I would class as mate now that Mr Argumentative has moved onto greater Global glories and I no longer see Dee or Scary as much as I used to. No, they are at best "colleagues" or "acquaintances", but there isn't a single one I'd willingly have a beer with, or even share a meal with. So I decided last night that I would make my polite excuses and disappear after the morning session.

The morning session was as I have described it above. The presentations were started by The Shepherd, talking to his flock and making little jokes that he and his DR's (direct reports) understood from meetings of his power cabal. It wasn't funny, nor was it informative and it was light years from being 10 million miles from even remotely approaching inspirational. This was followed by my boss, The Schoolteacher, a nice bloke who struggles to finish sentences in his own head let alone when faced with an audience of 150 plus. Couple this with him having to present The Technology Plan for High-Tech Pipes, Tubes and Strings and you have the equivalent of having a presentation on The Structures of Safe Paving Slab Configuration presented by John Major. My friend, Private Godfrey tried to follow this with the role of her new "group", Operations. It was a valiant attempt but riddled with an inability to use the Technology at hand when trying to bring in a "video" to make certain points. Too many ummms and aaahs here showing a lack of presenting experience to this size of audience. Original yes, flawed ...yes, but she's new to this and maybe as she does more it'll improve. The others have no such excuse and several more painful and dull presentations followed, and only one redeemed itself by virtue of adding a very irreverent and funny Billy Connolly sound clip at the end. A rare moment of brightness in a sea of turgid drudgery. It made you want to play Russian Roulette with 5 bullets in the gun.

Lastly, the big promised Q&A session was trimmed from 45 minutes to 10 because the unprofessionalism of the presenters had caused an overrun. To cap it all the room was long and thin and the slides were shown on a projector at one end of the rectangle thus excluding at least half the audience from seeing the slides, rather than the more sensible option of presenting from the centre of one of the long sides of the room. Not a problem if the presenter is good, but such was the paucity of the information and interest level that the loss of any visual stimulation or guide made it as effective as Elton John's dick when being offered a chance with Madonna and Catherine Zeta-Jones in a threesome. What this amateurism tells me is that the Management Team of The Shepherd and friends have paid lip service to making the whole thing interesting and bearable. Which in itself is contemptuous of the audience you are forcing to attend. To me its simple. If you're going to do this then book the venue for the day before and "dry run" the presentations. Invite critique from your peers who are also presenting. Try and get some sample "floor" questions from the audience prior to the day to rehearse your responses and the way in which you respond. Look at how Question Time does things. You can work out the PA system, work out what keys to press to bring in clips and sounds, you can determine the best seating arrangements and the logistics of deploying floor microphones for the audience questions. Then take the presenting group to a Hotel overnight, discuss changes, agree schedules and rules on timings etc and then all get pissed to make everyone feel part of something worthwhile instead of them giving the impression that they are also there under duress. How difficult would that be, and how much more value to the audience would that give even if they just felt that some real effort had been put in on their behalf.

Of course that might be me just applying my additional experience gained ,by being 44 years of age, to my jaundiced view of this event. It is undoubtedly a streak of envy in me that these young bucks are valued more highly than me despite my somewhat selfish and undeniably arrogant view that I am better, more experienced, more practical, more worldly-wise and more intelligent than them.

But to paraphrase Mandy Rice-Davies "I would say that, wouldn't I?"

Later, GrocerJack

No foul play here then.....

So, Nicholas Blake, QC, concludes that there is no need for a public enquiry into the deaths of 4 young soldiers at Deepcut. He has instead recommended an inquiry led by an "armed forces ombudsman". Well, considering one of the soldiers had to shoot himself five times to die, and one of the others somehow managed to shoot himslef in the head twice it does seem a tad surprising that no-one thinks any real further investigation is required. One wonders in which world people like Blake, and Adam Ingram, the Armed forces minister serving in this increasingly corrupt and discredited goverment, actually exist. In this weird world that they reside in they seem to think its perfectly feasible to shoot yourself either 5 times in order to die, or twice in your own head. Incredibly Ingram has said the deaths of at least three recruits "were probably self-inflicted". Including those with multiple bullet wounds? Lets also not forget that in no case did any soldier leave any form of suicide note. I know the suicide is not an obligatory condition of people who kill themselves, but it is surely a strange enough coincidence that none of them left one. Or that none was .....ahem....found?

Am I missing something here? Can anyone really explain to me how such a thing would be possible, i.e to shoot your self several times? You can read the profiles on the dead soldiers here and make your own mind up.

Ingram himself says that the Army would now examine the report's findings to see if any action should be taken for "professional misconduct or negligence".

Good, that'll get to the truth then, won't it? What a relief for the families this will be (sic).

Later, GrocerJack

This is the Age of the Train Pain

I had a meeting in London on Friday with The Big Telephone Company to showcase their new Retail Store technology. Impressive stuff, with such delights as “whispering windows” coming our way, along with Digital Signage and host of other tricks designed to part us with our cash. Because of this I thought the best thing would be to travel in by train, thus avoiding Cuddly Kens lovely little congestion charge and also giving myself a warm glow by virtue of just being a little greener than normal. I also rather enjoy travelling on trains. Must be the 10 year old in me that surfaces every now and then. So, I decided to buy my tickets in advance on the wonderful World Wide Web. I set off to www.southwesttrains.co.uk and duly ordered my One Day Travelcard for £39.30. This baulked a little although it was purchased with a Company expenses card. A rough calculation of the cost by car, including the congestion charge came to roughly £12.50. Hmmm, I’m already thinking that it’s no wonder we love our cars so much aftyer all it is still cheaper. Also, when I’m in the car I can play my music as loudly as I like, or even hold a conversation on the mobile (hands free of course) without having to suffer the disapproving tuts and raised eyebrows from fellow commuters. I can set the aircon to a level that’s comfortable for me. I can pick my nose, sing out loud, shout back at the radio and ogle the lovely women that walk down the road. In my car, I am King.

Anyway, the tickets turned up within 2 days. I was impressed with this turn round, but of course it was very short lived. What I received was 4 airline style tickets. One displayed my address and booking reference, one displayed my payment details, and two merely said “Reservation Confirmation”. I was suspicious immediately so I rang South West trains only to be told that it was nothing to do with them. I explained I had bought via their web site, but they explained that all their web site did was link to a selling agency called The Trainline.com. However the bloke I spoke to seemed to think something didn’t quite sound right with my travel pack. Slopy shouldered bastards thought I and thanked them before duly ringing The Trainline.com. Amazingly I got to speak to someone within 2 minutes and this person, who sounded Greek, stated in the clearest terms that this was correct and that all I had to do was show the guard and this would be all. I asked what happened at the tube barriers and he said I showed the tickets to the person attending the manual gates. I sighed with relief and put the phone down. However, another look at these so called “tickets” made me re-think his answer. I rang again and asked to speak to a supervisor. After 5 minutes of dial-a crap music I was put onto an authoritarian sounding woman who concurred with the earlier guy. I categorically stated my concerns yet again, and yet again she told me that what I had received was correct and valid for travel. Placated, I said my thanks and put the tickets away until last Friday. I boarded the 08:17 from Petersfield to London Waterloo at 08:15 (running very slightly early!) and sat down to enjoy the journey on the new lush, smooth rolling stock now in full service. Along came the jolly Scottish guard with his lilted Highlands accent, and yes….you’ve guessed it, he wanted to see my tickets, not these impostors. Luckily I’d had the foresight to print my email confirmation as well and explained to him what happened. He laughed and agreed that I had done everything right but he said they hadn’t issued a ticket to travel and that the London Underground staff would have no truck with me trying to travel without a ticket, irrespective of that documentary evidence I had. . I kept my cool as he was a decent bloke and he advised me to sort it out in the Travel Office in Waterloo. I arrived in London bang on 09:31 as per the timetable and went to the Travel Office. They kindly offered to ring The Trainline.com but it took 20 minutes for them to get to a human being. I was now going to be late for the meeting near St. Pauls, a mere 10 minute journey on the tube from Waterloo. When they did get through the computer system had allegedly crashed and would be out for an hour. Even the travel office bloke lost his rag at this point, slamming the phone down and saying “Thanks for nothing!”. He sold me a two-zone tube ticket to help me on my way and advised me to pop back in on my way home to get it sorted. I arrived for my meeting 40 minutes late.

After the meeting I went back to Waterloo, entering the Travel office at 14:20. I queued for 30 minutes whilst they downed tools at 14:30 and changed shifts. It was bloody incredible to watch EVERY cashier put the “Position Closed” up and then start counting the cash and putting it into their bags. At 14:50 I got to see another Travel Office “agent” freshly imported form the land of unfunny fuckwits and he finally agreed to call The Trainline but only after I threatened to lose it at his first suggestion of “You need to ring them mate!”. I completed a refund form for the tube ticket, and then waited for another 25 minutes until 15:15 whilst he went out the back to call them. I gather his experience was as frustrating as mine, but at no time did any of the other staff offer to get an update from him. In that time, standing there by the till resplendent in my best Chelsea coat, I was asked 3 times for directions to various bits of the station. It dawned on me that the coats colour scheme was very similar to that used by South West Trains staff. On a better day I might have been tempted to have some fun, but frankly I was so pissed off at this time they were lucky not to have copped an unfortunate one. Between 15:15 and 15:25 the guy then proceeded to complete the paperwork, completing everything in triplicate and duplicating it in a ledger book. It was like stepping into a 19^th century Pox Doctors clerk’s office. All he was missing was an inkwell and a quill. And they can’t refund a card online. They can debit the card, but not credit it. Oh no, that takes 10 working days minimum and they don’t refund interest charges. Unbelievable!

He finally handed me a valid travel ticket at 15:25. I managed to just make the 15:30 express with a minute to spare. In all I lost around 2 hours of my working day because of the incompetence of Trainline combined with the paper based inefficiency and antiquated union dictated working practices of South West trains.

So, here’s the rub. I will of course complain to Trainline about their cock up and subsequent lies which ruined what should have been a stress free journey. It will lead to nothing of course because that’s how these companies operate, behind smoke and mirrors, in a labyrinthine world of caveats, terms and conditions, exceptions and small print. But the sad fact remains that had I taken my car in it would have cost less and most likely would have been quicker, and even if I’d hit traffic jams and delays I would have been in control. I could have turned the car round and taken a different route because in my car I am in control. If I hit traffic then I can only blame myself, if I am late or get lost then it’s my fault. Whichever mode of public transport you take, you will never have control over that journey. Your fate will always lie in the shadowy world of the travel company employees, be it by bus, plane or train. And believe me, most of these travel industry employees seem to have failed their MacDonald’s entrance exam. There is no doubt that until people feel they can sufficiently trust the public transport experience, and that it becomes something pleasant from start to finish without poxy delays before, during and after the journey caused by bureaucracy that makes a local authority look efficient, or dog-brained incompetence, then like me they will always choose the option that is the most flexible and least stressful. I'm with Clarkson on this one - the car is King, long live the King.

Later, GrocerJack

Just one more person......

...................that I tell about my forthcoming orthodontic soft middle aged, mid-life crisis vanity treatment who replies with........

"Aren't you a bit old for that?"

.........is likely to end up needing some themselves.

Which combined with being fed through a tube and a long-ish hospital stay will not be very pleasant.

Later, GrocerJack

Brando had it easy

Why? Because he got paid a load of money to walk around with a mouth full of whatever to make him look like a hamster. Whereas I have paid someone else to deliver the same effect for me. Exactly one day on from having the first bit of Bionic metalware inserted in my mouth, the inside of said orifice is like a freshly ploughed field. The silicone gel inserts that I have been given to cover the metal are akin to covering your razor with a film of vaseline, only less effective. However they force me into making more than passable impressions of Don Corleone in full flow, with added spittle for that real authentic silly old git effect. When I drink they drop off, when I eat they also fall off and get mixed up with the food and swallowed. If I remove them then the metal just starts another round of fresh skin grating. This could be the best weight loss programme ever. But it certainly isn't making me walk around with a happy disposition.

Later, GrumpyJack

The cost of a smile

Look at this smile. Beautiful isn't it? It projects a personality thats confident, friendly, warm and helpful. The smile radiates inner confidence and says "isn't life great". It's an American smile of course, not a British one. British smiles are more crooked, more stained, more worn. That is of course a generalisation, but the fact remains that for whatever reasons we, the Brits, are not reknowned for our brilliant white smiles showing off our straight and dazzling pearly white teeth.

As I wrote a few weeks back I have decided that at 44, and having lived all of my adult life with crooked, higgledy piggledy teeth that now was the time to change that. A vanity attack finally won the day. Today was my first visit. I was under the imnpression that today was for the fitting and demonstration of an appliance ! (lovely choice of word dontcha think?) to go on my lower set of teeth whilst I eat. This is to force my jaw into reducing the angle with my upper jaw, or at the very least not allow it to increase more than is already there. Or something like that. In fact it turned out to be another visit for impressions and photo's. The next visit is on April 5th, 2 days before I bugger off for a week to see The Money Pit for the first time, and thats where the lower and upper appliances will be handed over. Apparently I am having a removable upper brace first before the fitting of the fixed appliance in May. Joy. I had one of these when I was about 12, and it bloody hurt and was a bugger to keep clean. During the day it would get clagged up with terrible food wastes and even a good clean at night was a eye opener as to how food decomposes. Mind you with my electric toothbrush perhaps that cleaning ritual will be easier. I would be looking forward to the installation of the fixed appliances but for one thing.....today's events. I can only describe today as a smear test for the mouth. Now I'm no expert but if Ben Elton is to be believed then a smear test is not as it sounds, a simple dab with a piece of cotton wool and a "thank you and goodbye". No. its the insertion of various appliances which open the vagina whilst another device is pushed inside in order to take the...ahem...smear. All very undignified, a little cold, very clinical and downright uncomfortable. Well, ditto that for me today. Except in my case replace Vagina with mouth and you're there. Now I'm NOT comparing the two, because quite frankly at least I can see whats going on and no-ones looking up my snatch as if it's a run of the mill event, but having things inserted into my mouth in order to stretch it as wide as possible in order to have bits of cotton wool and shaving mirrors inserted for photo's and for impressions was not what I would call a comfortable experience. At one point the stretching was so extreme I had visions of a split occuring each side and forever looking like Jack Nicholson did when he played The Joker in Batman. To top that they insert bits of cotton wool, which is the equivalent of sucking chalk when thirsty and that bloody vacuum which removes moisture from all known areas. Whilst all of this was going on Dr B (as she is known) then took some impressions for which I had to put my tongue out either over or under the impression plate for 2 minutes each tme. This was impossible so she very adeptly did it for me and whilst the impression was setting, happily chatted to her assistant whilst pulling my tongue forward. I was like a wide-mouthed frog vomiting. Then she stuck the first bits of metal on my lower teeth, not as straigteners. Oh no, nothings that simple. No these are for the lower appliance to slot onto. They are grips!. They look smooth don't they these pieces of metal when kids where them, but believe me they feel like rusty razor wire coiled around each tooth, each one taking a different sliver of skin away from the inside of my mouth with each small movement. In less than one hour the insides of my mouth are red raw, the pain is rotten, and the inflammation has affected my ability to speak. I sound like Freddie bloody Parrot Face Davies when I speak. Yeah, they gave me wax to cover the four machine sharpened weights, but thats like applying Germolene to a cobra bite at the moment. And if THIS hurts, whats it going to feel like when the real stuff is attached?

And all so that I can have a smile in my soft middle age which I'm not worried will scare kids or make people assume that I'm from Duelling Banjo stock. Watch this space, this will hurt me more than it will you.

Later, GrocerJack