I'm not sure why, but I decided to get off the train a stop early today, and walk an extra 10 minutes into work. I used to live in Camden, and so wasn't expecting any surprises.
It turned out to be quite an amazing eye-opener for me. I came down Chalk Farm Road, and past Camden Lock and the Market. It was totally deserted, like 28 Days Later but without the zombies. And what an amazing place it is. What was once a "normal" village high street has been transformed into a static carnival. Almost every shop has colourful painting, and often sculpture of some description stuck on it.
You don't see it when the roads are full, as you're more worried about getting your wallet nicked than you are at looking up.
Go on, try it. Get off a stop or two early. You could have been working where you are for years, and yet know no more about where you are than where to get a sandwich at lunchtime.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Who looks good in...
Yes, the good-old Ray-Ban Wayfarer. Oh, how I lusted after a real pair of Wayfarers. Could I too look like Tom Cruise? I have a horrible feeling that L. Ron Hubbard had little chips implanted in the real ones, and that is why there was a rush of celebrity Scientologists. Far-fetched? Read some of his books, and then tell me what's far fetched.
Everyone looks good in Wayfarers, and frankly it's time to dump their rather 80's image. So, Lord, don't buy me a Mercedes Benz. Get me a pair of decent sunglasses instead. I too could be a Blues Brother.
Back to the 70's
I make a bloody awful socialist. I voted Tony in, and helped keep him in. And got a Tory.
Now we're faced with the postal workers' strike. I have some sympathy with the workforce, in that they see £1.2 billion coming in from the government, and ask why they can't share in some of that. But the fact is the Post Office is dying. Probably not as badly as the management had to make out to get their lifeline, but still they are seeing their most profitable markets (Business post and bulk mail) being creamed off by the private sector, leaving the taxpayer to pick up the tab on Universal Post.
Personally, I think there are lots of things that are better run by the public sector than the private sector. The railway fiasco is one example. But something as simple as catering is another. Go to the Hillier Gardens near Winchester, or the canteen at Richmond Town Hall. The catering at both is run by the Council, and is reasonably priced, and of excellent quality.
Ask the private sector to serve decent food? They pulled out of the catering contract at my children's school, leaving us with the possibility of sandwiches for the first term of next year.
Under current EU rules, the Post Office had to be opened up to competition, as did the other European Post Offices. And that is going to be a painful process, because there will have to be changes.
Some of those changes will be stupid (Turning half of a load of WHSmiths into Post Offices. Strange decision). But many will be necessary, with new technology and new working practices. It's going to be tough, and the government can't (legally) keep pumping money in.
I agree that the postal workers probably deserve more. But striking is not the way to get it. A whole generation has grown up without significant union and strike activity. Sadly, I'm just old enough to remember the Winter of Discontent. And I lament that passing of whole industries that could otherwise have been saved, like the world-beating motor industry.
E-mail as replaced letters as a primary method of communication. I used to have bundles of letters I had sent to pen friends (what a quaint notion), and if we were lucky, we'd manage a letter a week. Today, it's instant (and not as much fun, I'd say, old git that I am)
All this round of strikes is doing is showing an old-world anachronistic company. Sorry guys, but all these strikes will do is lose more people their jobs more quickly, and move those people who do shuffle things like paper around to look at how they can web-enable the process to speed it up, and not be held to ransom...
Now we're faced with the postal workers' strike. I have some sympathy with the workforce, in that they see £1.2 billion coming in from the government, and ask why they can't share in some of that. But the fact is the Post Office is dying. Probably not as badly as the management had to make out to get their lifeline, but still they are seeing their most profitable markets (Business post and bulk mail) being creamed off by the private sector, leaving the taxpayer to pick up the tab on Universal Post.
Personally, I think there are lots of things that are better run by the public sector than the private sector. The railway fiasco is one example. But something as simple as catering is another. Go to the Hillier Gardens near Winchester, or the canteen at Richmond Town Hall. The catering at both is run by the Council, and is reasonably priced, and of excellent quality.
Ask the private sector to serve decent food? They pulled out of the catering contract at my children's school, leaving us with the possibility of sandwiches for the first term of next year.
Under current EU rules, the Post Office had to be opened up to competition, as did the other European Post Offices. And that is going to be a painful process, because there will have to be changes.
Some of those changes will be stupid (Turning half of a load of WHSmiths into Post Offices. Strange decision). But many will be necessary, with new technology and new working practices. It's going to be tough, and the government can't (legally) keep pumping money in.
I agree that the postal workers probably deserve more. But striking is not the way to get it. A whole generation has grown up without significant union and strike activity. Sadly, I'm just old enough to remember the Winter of Discontent. And I lament that passing of whole industries that could otherwise have been saved, like the world-beating motor industry.
E-mail as replaced letters as a primary method of communication. I used to have bundles of letters I had sent to pen friends (what a quaint notion), and if we were lucky, we'd manage a letter a week. Today, it's instant (and not as much fun, I'd say, old git that I am)
All this round of strikes is doing is showing an old-world anachronistic company. Sorry guys, but all these strikes will do is lose more people their jobs more quickly, and move those people who do shuffle things like paper around to look at how they can web-enable the process to speed it up, and not be held to ransom...
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
I was there (apparently...)
The Swinging Sixties, the Summer of Love, Madchester, Punk. Wow, wouldn't it have been great to have been part of something like that? Just to have been lucky enough to have been in the right place at the right time.
Up until last night, I thought that the limit of my involvement in the bleeding edge of popular culture was walking round Romford in a boating blazer, bowling shoes, and wrap-round sunglasses that made my eyes hurt, all as part of the great Mod revival... Which was a bit stupid in a way as Romford around that time was the genesis of the Casual movement, when jumbo cords, Sergio Tacchini trackies and Pringle jumpers came round the first time, and I was one of three blokes who didn't look like an American golfer.
Anyhow, the point of this is that I was watching the 7th of the 7 Ages of Rock last night (courtesy of the ever wonderful Sky + box), and discovered that Camden was "It" in 94/5, when the Madchester crowd moved down, and BritPop took over. You couldn't, the talking heads said, go anywhere without seeing someone who was on Top of the Pops that week. That's amazing, I thought, I lived in Camden then, went out there most nights, and didn't have children, so I was a full-on, paid-up, Camden socialite. So how did I miss all of this?
And then it hit me. I was too busy going out to watch Top of the Pops to see who these people actually were. Did I bump into Justine Frischmann and spill her pint unwittingly? Did I knock Noel Gallagher's fag from his hand in my rush to the bar? If I did, sorry chaps.
At least when the children say "What did you do in the Great BritPop Wars, Daddy?", I can hold my head up and say "I was there, kids, I was there"
Up until last night, I thought that the limit of my involvement in the bleeding edge of popular culture was walking round Romford in a boating blazer, bowling shoes, and wrap-round sunglasses that made my eyes hurt, all as part of the great Mod revival... Which was a bit stupid in a way as Romford around that time was the genesis of the Casual movement, when jumbo cords, Sergio Tacchini trackies and Pringle jumpers came round the first time, and I was one of three blokes who didn't look like an American golfer.
Anyhow, the point of this is that I was watching the 7th of the 7 Ages of Rock last night (courtesy of the ever wonderful Sky + box), and discovered that Camden was "It" in 94/5, when the Madchester crowd moved down, and BritPop took over. You couldn't, the talking heads said, go anywhere without seeing someone who was on Top of the Pops that week. That's amazing, I thought, I lived in Camden then, went out there most nights, and didn't have children, so I was a full-on, paid-up, Camden socialite. So how did I miss all of this?
And then it hit me. I was too busy going out to watch Top of the Pops to see who these people actually were. Did I bump into Justine Frischmann and spill her pint unwittingly? Did I knock Noel Gallagher's fag from his hand in my rush to the bar? If I did, sorry chaps.
At least when the children say "What did you do in the Great BritPop Wars, Daddy?", I can hold my head up and say "I was there, kids, I was there"
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
America's Got Talent
But Britain hasn't. Only slightly more ridiculous than putting Anne Robinson in pebble glasses and a black suit is having Piers Morgan judging a talent show. It's a bit like Paris Hilton giving driving lessons.
It'll teach me to channel surf. Strangely compelling TV, though. I had to turn off as David Hasselhoff's eye lift looked like it might give way at any moment...
It'll teach me to channel surf. Strangely compelling TV, though. I had to turn off as David Hasselhoff's eye lift looked like it might give way at any moment...
Stop Bus, Stop
Steve and I are sharing a mutual hallucination, which is somewhat worrying.
Last time we were out here, we were quite certain we saw a double decker, open topped red bus, driving around SF. The mystery only deepened when we blagged our way into one of the top local hotels, and drove the concierge mad while she tried to figure out what we were talking about. She had never heard of such a thing.
It got worse yesterday.
In front of us, as we were crossing the road, was a Y reg open-topped double decker bus, with adverts on it for a Chinese restaurant in Aberdeen. I tried to get my cameraphone into operation in time, but all I caught was a fleeting glimpse of it driving into the distance. I suspect that when I do download the photo, it will be nothing but a hazy blur.
Our plan is to grab a passer-by next time we see one of these visions, and see whether they can see it as well. So apologies in advance to any San Francisco-ites who find themselves accosted by two wild-eyed and slightly jet lagged Englishmen. You are not on Candid Camera, I promise...
Last time we were out here, we were quite certain we saw a double decker, open topped red bus, driving around SF. The mystery only deepened when we blagged our way into one of the top local hotels, and drove the concierge mad while she tried to figure out what we were talking about. She had never heard of such a thing.
It got worse yesterday.
In front of us, as we were crossing the road, was a Y reg open-topped double decker bus, with adverts on it for a Chinese restaurant in Aberdeen. I tried to get my cameraphone into operation in time, but all I caught was a fleeting glimpse of it driving into the distance. I suspect that when I do download the photo, it will be nothing but a hazy blur.
Our plan is to grab a passer-by next time we see one of these visions, and see whether they can see it as well. So apologies in advance to any San Francisco-ites who find themselves accosted by two wild-eyed and slightly jet lagged Englishmen. You are not on Candid Camera, I promise...
Suite Spot
One advantage to checking in late is that if they have run out the type of rooms that you booked (we went for "moderate"), you generally get upgraded.
Or maybe it's only if your name is Steve Hebditch! I was very happy with my room until I saw the cavern that is Steve's suite. I am sure it is no more than befits his exalted status (I cannot help but have a tiny bit of room envy...)
Or maybe it's only if your name is Steve Hebditch! I was very happy with my room until I saw the cavern that is Steve's suite. I am sure it is no more than befits his exalted status (I cannot help but have a tiny bit of room envy...)
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
San Francisco, 3pm.
Well, it rather depends on your time zone. The clock says it's 07.20, and my body is dangerous caught between the two. I once read a wonderful description of how the body moves faster than the soul, which takes a few days to catch up. Martin Amis, I think.
Anyhow, Steve and I have arrived in SF, with a fun-packed diary of meetings. We're seeing our PR people this morning, and are then off to a number of super secret meetings over the next few days with a number of companies I'm not allowed to mention. If it sounds like fun, it's not, trust me. International business travel is one of those things hat ought to be given out as a punishment instead of community service. I often wonder which god I offended when I find myself doing e-mail at 3 o'clock in the morning in an Identikit hotel room.
Actually, to be fair, this is quite a nice one. It is the Fairmont's 100th anniversary, so I was able to get an incredibly good deal, cheaper than staying in some of the other roach infested hell holes we've been consigned to in the past out here. And it kind of makes up for my computer crashing, and my cheap airfare for this trip turning into a not so cheap one in the time it took to reboot the PC. I could have bought myself a new laptop with the money! Ho hum.
I am trying to turn Steve into a hand baggage only traveller at the moment, even lending him my spare carry-on wheelie bag, but sadly he was laid low by a dodgy Chinese over the weekend, and was unable to retrieve it from the office. It wouldn't be so bad, but his is always the last bag off the belt, for reasons neither of us can quite ascertain...
Anyhow, Steve and I have arrived in SF, with a fun-packed diary of meetings. We're seeing our PR people this morning, and are then off to a number of super secret meetings over the next few days with a number of companies I'm not allowed to mention. If it sounds like fun, it's not, trust me. International business travel is one of those things hat ought to be given out as a punishment instead of community service. I often wonder which god I offended when I find myself doing e-mail at 3 o'clock in the morning in an Identikit hotel room.
Actually, to be fair, this is quite a nice one. It is the Fairmont's 100th anniversary, so I was able to get an incredibly good deal, cheaper than staying in some of the other roach infested hell holes we've been consigned to in the past out here. And it kind of makes up for my computer crashing, and my cheap airfare for this trip turning into a not so cheap one in the time it took to reboot the PC. I could have bought myself a new laptop with the money! Ho hum.
I am trying to turn Steve into a hand baggage only traveller at the moment, even lending him my spare carry-on wheelie bag, but sadly he was laid low by a dodgy Chinese over the weekend, and was unable to retrieve it from the office. It wouldn't be so bad, but his is always the last bag off the belt, for reasons neither of us can quite ascertain...
Why here as well?
I already have my fair share of ranting space elsewhere on Blogger, but that is in danger of becoming confused, frankly, as I want to keep that as a neat little summary of my crusade to keep St Margarets a nice place to live.
This is more of a random selection of infrequent jottings.
This is more of a random selection of infrequent jottings.
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