Brooke Weston CTC
November 30th, 2005 at 16:34

I’ve noticed in the breakdown of where my hits come from, I’m getting a few from Brooke Weston CTC- the posh school where I did my work experience.

Don’t worry! Don’t think for a second that I want to be a teacher! They’re so posh that they employ a full time web designer, and I spent the week helping out on the school website.

For readers unaware, imagine a perfect school- all of the kids are polite and courteous, with even the nastiest bunch of youths offering to help you find somewhere if you look lost. Imagine carpets. Imagine resources. Imagine an entrance exam to get in. That’s how posh this school is. They don’t even have lunchtime or breaktime- they just stagger it as a point on the timetable for different year groups. It made me feel thick and rubbish just being there.

But anyway, I’m intrigued as to who at the CTC is reading my blog? Has the guy I experienced work with fours years ago been googling names? Is it a student with my blog on one tab, and Wikipedia on another? Either way mysterious person, please reveal yourself!

No, not in that way! Just post a comment explaining who you are. I’m intrigued.

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Oh, Jesus Christ! No!
November 29th, 2005 at 23:56

I was walking through Leicester with Heather today. No, we’re not unemployed slackers, as much as I’d like to be. I was at University and between lectures, and she was doing something vaguely University/career relalated in the hospital next door to Uni. It’s just like Sim City. The prison’s next to all of these public buildings, too.

Anyway, we ended up in front of Leicester town hall. In Sim City terms, this means Leicester has reached a population of over 10,000. Unlike Sim City, the council have decided to do this:

…

What the bloody hell is that? That god awful “Christmas Greetings” sign is in fact hung on the side of Leicester town hall. A presumably historic building where at least some democracy still takes place has been defaced by this hideous sign.

It’s not neccessarily the message that gets to me, it’s more the size of the thing. It’s hard to judge from the picture, but those are massive school style windows, and if you were to stand by the building, you head would only just reach the bottom of the ledge.

It’s huge. And awful. And huge.

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Poor customer services
November 29th, 2005 at 00:40

I went into Leicester Argos today to buy some replacement headphones, as my old ones had miraculously developed the ability to cancel out lyrics. I’d been listening to System of a Down on the train, sans lyrics. I was tempted to sing along, but then realised I might look like one of the nutters I fear so much.

But anyway, it was a weekday lunchtime, when every normal person is at work. For some reason, Argos was packed full of hundreds of horrible people. After spending minutes queuing up and paying, I had to wait for my number to come up on the automated system. It was here I noticed that they were in fact all chavs. Shouting and screaming, causing a fuss, slacking, and cluttering an already crowded earth. As it turns out, most of them were members of staff. The woman who served me was wearing hooped earrings to the extent that you could probably have fit a fist, or a babies head through them. Maybe a half inflated balloon.

She didn’t seem particularly bothered that I was a paying customer either- barely saying a word. I handed over my receipt, she glared at it, and grabbed my headphones off of the shelf behind her. She then stood there for a few seconds holding them, looking slightly down at them. I only noticed this because she stared for just a few seconds too long. Noticeably long.

Rather than giving me my goods, seeing that I had a bag on my back that could have held an entire “ghetto blaster”, let alone a pair of headphones, as well as a large bulky coat with literally hundreds of pockets, (Not literally), she then spent valuable seconds bagging up my purchase and handed it to me in a ridiculously tiny bag. “Thanks”, she said in a downbeat manner, with a look of disdain on her face.

I honestly can’t remember the point I was trying to make with this rambling anecdote, suffice to say that I had a horrible time in Argos today. They seemed to have sucked all life out of their staff by splitting the already tedious tillmonkey system into its component parts- which would be damaging to anyone’s morale. I think I’d probably rather slash my wrists vertically than work there.

Fastforward a few hours through my day, past all of the exciting bits. I only want to explain the tedious bits a painfully drawn out and dull way.

After a driving lesson in the snow and a seminar on “how to use the library”, I had to get the bus home. As I didn’t want to have to wait around on the cold, dark, evil streets of Oadby, I caught the X7 (thrillingly opposed to the X61).

I’d never caught it before so I didn’t know what to expect.

“Does this bus go to Market Harborough?”, I asked the driver. Y’know, just to make sure.
“If it ever gets there, yes. I want to go home and have my tea though”, he sighed.

He didn’t look pleased when I presented him with a five pound note, either. He started moving before I even got a chance to sit down, as if to give me a good kick in for troubling him. (I mean the bus, not himself).

But my god, the surly bus driver and the extra sixty pence was worth it. Stagecoach really know how to treat a passenger, unlike Arriva. It was a coach, so had reasonably comfortable seats, and it had fewer stops, meaning I didn’t have to watch the bus take a detour in order to pick people up from obscure-o-village. I got home an entire twenty minutes early. Hooray! To be honest though, actually getting a seat was a bonus to what I usually get.

All in all, today has been full of poor customer services, heavy metal with lyrics and journies home.

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Bought a scratchcard. Won.
November 26th, 2005 at 13:59

I was in Woolworths with Heather yesterday, and as has become tradition, I bought a scratchcard.

In an untraditional twist, I actually won. EIGHT POUNDS. That’s twice as much as last time I won.

To be honest, there isn’t really an anecdote to go with this- I just feel that it is my duty to tell you loyal blog readers about my fabulous wealth.

Unluckiest person in the world? I don’t think so.

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Data Protection Act
November 25th, 2005 at 21:17

No, wait! Don’t be put off by the title! Y’know the data protection act 1988 right? You can write to any company and get them to disclose everything they have about you- they can charge upto £10 admin, but they have to respond within forty days.

Political comedians like Mark Thomas have found this lovely act useful in the past – Mark has managed to dig up internal memos and e-mails sent about him in the environment department or whatever. They were apparently proposing they try and “out-stunt” him, perhaps by having a comedy sized Geiger counter, or whatever.

I’m not quite as exciting as Mark Thomas, although I did want to do exactly what he did in a bid to eventually better him, so I wrote to one company that I know had data stored about me. My former employers, a well known chain of hardware stores. I recieved their letter today. It contained photocopies of my application form, my passport, my staff discount application, the letter where they offered me a job, and an electricity bill used to confirm my address.

Oh, and one more thing- the notes made about me during my interview! Whilst I was trying to come up with positive and pro-James answers for their questions, they were covertly taking notes about me. Presumably to assess whether I was suitable for the job, and not for later character assasination.

As you can see on the scan above, there is a number of fields in which my interviewers commented. I was apparently “Nervous” during the interview and my previous experience was this: “None, but willing to learn”.

I “spoke well, answering questions”- which I suppose is nice to know. I’d worry if I had instead ranted about British prison labour exploitation, or something. I had “no problems” with my “flexibility”. I don’t remember the gymnastics test, but I’m quite surprised to learn that I got through that bit.

The strangest comment was that my appearance was “very smart”. I was wearing a blue shirt (sans tie) and school trousers, if I remember correctly. This “smart casual” appearance is somewhat at-odds with my standard “casual casual” look. It’s especially interesting that someone noticed.

In terms of the bigger picture, this just shows that democracy and “pub trivia” legislation actually works! I’m fighting the system one business at a time! Like with the train tickets, I’m sticking it to the man, again!

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Aggressive Ticketmonkeys
November 22nd, 2005 at 22:17

It’s been a while since I lasted posted about train tickets, and I know you’re dying for more. It’s your lucky day.

The “checking” game is still being played, and I’m currently winning. For those not in the know, I’m essentially doing something worse than stealing free train journies. I’m trying to avoid having my ticket checked, and winding up the Midland Mainline employees in the process.

Every day I try to sit quietly in my seat, reading with loud music blasting into my ears. Usually the ticket monkey just ignores me, or assumes I’ve been on the train for ages. For some reason, this didn’t work today.

On the way to Leicester, after passing me, I noticed the monkey stood by me for a few seconds, before prodding me lightly on the shoulder. “Oh, sorry!”, I said faux-apologetically, as if I hadn’t noticed him there. I handed him my ticket, and before he scribbled on it, he said something which I couldn’t hear. I just smiled and did a polite laugh, at what was no doubt some light banter.

He carried on staring so I said, “…sorry?”, and he spoke up.

“Rail card?”, he said, tracing the shape of a rail card with his fingers in the space between us. “Oh!”, I cried, as I smugly presented him with my railcard. He thought he’d found a fare-dodger, he thought I was a miscrient youth. Yet I’d paid for a ticket and had the appropiate documentation to prove it. I’d wasted his time. I was sticking it to the man.

I actually felt slightly guilt afterwards. I also thought it was odd as he was slightly more persistent than usual.

On the way home today, a similar thing happend. This time the she-ticketmonkey did much the same, although didn’t go as far as asking for the railcard. It’s not often that you get your ticket checked on both “OUT” and “RTN”. In fact, it’s only happend to me three times before. That’s just over 9% of train journies.

In fact, only 31% of train tickets are checked. Having spent £158.85 on train fares so far this term- if I’d only paid for what had been checked, I’d have spent only £49.30. (Not accurate, done with percentages and that).

That’s a saving of £109.55. Or very nearly an iPod Nano. Damn.

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Holidays are coming
November 19th, 2005 at 22:45

I went out drinking on Friday night to my “local”. It’s now reached a point where I can identify the regulars, and I’ve now mastered the ability to buy mini Pringles at the bar. Soon I’ll be ordering drinks and all sorts.

James gang in-joke. Internet people ignore this: I remarked when eating mini-Pringles “I bet this is what Wells feels like when he eats regular Pringles”. Needless to say it was the biggest laugh of the night.

For some reason or other, (Probably other) Charlie had bought along several Coca-Cola Polar Bear stuffed toys. She distributed them among us, and to the bemusement of the other patrons, proceeded to take photographs of us “enjoying” the bears.

As previously discovered, I was actually drinking Pepsi. How ironic!

Meanwhile, by which I mean, today- the day known by some people as “Saturday”, I went to see Heather. She’s been all ill and that, but she’s getting better now. I reckon seeing me must surely have made her feel better- and waiting in the cold to meet me at the bus stop for twenty minutes must really have helped, too!

I had a lovely time at Heather’s house, anyway.

On the bus home though, there was some awful children. I really wish they were “in need”. They’re in need of a good kick-in, at least.

Sitting at the back on the top deck, rather than sit in quiet contemplation, like a regular bus user or suicide bomber, they were shouting, jumping about, and judging by their screams, they were leaning out the windows. “Stop misbehaving”, one of them said. “What sort of teenager says ’stop misbehaving’?”, retorted another.

The problem of them being little bastards was compounded by my MP3 player dying on me, meaning than rather than enjoy the gentle melodies of The Suicide Machines, Rage Against the Machine and Various Artists, I had to listen to the sound of their manic, and awful, voices.

Part of me wanted to stand up (in a moving vehicle), look at them and shout something like, “Shut the fuck up, you twats. Some of us are trying to sit quietly and ignore the other passengers”, hoping that at that point, all of the other normal passengers would join me in my condemnation of the youthful underclass, and crown me as their defacto leader for the rest of the trip. I’d be like a hero, for telling those kids where to stick it.

I didn’t in the end, though. There were four of them and one of me. And the other passengers were talking in foreign, so might not have been able to understand and admire my vigilante act.

At least Heather’s getting better now. Hooray!

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Children in Need? Good!
November 18th, 2005 at 21:00

I feel like I need some sort of charity hand-out after watching this year’s debarcle for half an hour.

To tell the truth, I’ve had to have it mainly on mute, as it makes me feel bad just watching awful television. This ain’t no Comic Relief. It isn’t really Children in Need either.

Unlike previous years, when I’ve got up early, watched BBC Breakfast with them making a fuss about it, and then going to school and seeing the teacher’s do something “hilarious” like a talent showcomedy hip-hop. I just don’t want to watch it.

Replace the musical acts with comedians, and Wogan with Ian Huntley doing his community service, and we might get something watchable.

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“Ban the internet”
November 18th, 2005 at 20:23

ITV news continues to drive me mad with its tabloid agenda and being really, really awful.

It’s not just the Tory leadership Big Brother- that’s so far beyond a joke it doesn’t even need referencing. But using tonight’s Evening News as an example, it did so many terrible things. I only tuned in at around 1840, so they might have handled the top story in an equally dreadful fashion.

When covering the prospective England bid for the 2018 World Cup that was unveiled today, they decided to spend a good few seconds speculating over the chances of England winning the tournament. The one that’s going to be held in thirteen years time. That’s right- the one with the team who’s players are probably about five years old right now.

Then it was tthe story that provoked me into writing this badly thought out rant- “woman says websites about suicide should be banned shock horror”. Needless to say, the report featured photos of her son who killed himself slowly scaled, with her remembering him as a wonderful person. Cut to interview of her curled up on a chair, fireplace on, sans shoes.

“I think these websites should be banned as they’re bad”.

Alright then- if you know what’s best, I’d love to hear you explain how you’re going to go about censoring the internet. We’re not in China- we don’t go through a governmental proxy server. Actually, I was going to write a full argument here about the technical impossibilites of her suggestion, but it’s so horrendously ludicrous I can’t actually be bothered. But why are ITV News covering this? If I said that I wanted evil to be turned into food to feed the third world, essentially an equally impossible thing, would I get the air time this woman has got?

Worse still, at the end of the programme they trailed Evening News Extra on the ITV News Channel (getting owned in the ratings by Fox). “We’ll have more on the horrific shooting of a woman police officer in Bradford… if you have any PICTURES or VIDEO of the event, e-mail or MMS it to us”.

The taste is this: very, very poor.

Incidentally “Very, very poor” is an accurate review of ITV News!

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Wells, Wells, Wells…
November 17th, 2005 at 21:10

… who did I see today then?

I recieved a mystery text message during one of my lectures today. Someone wanted to meet up with me.

“Oo-er”, I thought, whilst desperately trying to look like I was paying attention to a lecture about “WAR”.

Thankfully, it turned out to be none-other than me old mate Wells. I hadn’t seen him for months- since I last went to school properly, in fact.

He told me how he’s now at the near-by Leicester University, doing engineering. He has a staggering TWENTY HOURS a week of stuff to do- compared to my nine. But anyway, I had a pleasant chat with him- it was just like being back at school.

“The other people on my course… they’re not like me”, he said.
“They’re straight?”, I enquired.

Hahaha. I’m hilarious- and homophobic in an ironic way. Turns out Wells (or “Walex” as we started to call him) was actually saying that “only about six people in [his] class are English”. This seemingly racial slur confirmed that Wells was indeed still slightly right of centre.

At least we know he’s still alive.

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