The Daily Grind

Nothing Is New In The Arts

2013-06-02T13:05:00.000-07:00

Amazon.co.uk please do not feign knowledge about me. You do not know what I like and you certainly cannot differentiate between what I buy myself and what I buy for others. Just because something is popular does not mean that I will be "interested" in it. Opium and Syphilis were popular during the 19th Century, but I don't see you offering those on Prime with a 1-Click Delivery service....If Lewis Carroll was around today, he'd be incredibly disappointed.

What you have done Amazon, by showing me your shiny new DVD and music collections is demonstrate that our leading artists and advertising nerds have no original thoughts left what so ever.

For example. In the 'Action' film section of Amazon, you will find the following:

That's right. Coming soon to your DVD shelf. The 2013 Best-seller....Generic hard-man with a hand-gun walks away from a building that's either structurally unsound or about to explode.

It's small man syndrome with a gazillion dollar sponsor. "I can't think of something witty or new or intellectual so I'll just shoot shit and blow stuff up. That gets girls' attention. Right?....Right?"

FUCK ME HOLLYWOOD. SORT YOUR SHIT OUT.

Then I thought....calm down Edwards. Hollywood's always been pumped full of narcotics, Viagra and testosterone....why else would the state of California vote for Arnie? (I was going to include a list of Arnold Schwarzenegger based DVD-covers which were from the same artistic school as the ones above but there are just TOO many and I don't want to risk crashing Blogger.)

Music. British music. You're alright. You've brought us The Jam, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Stone Roses....they all had pretty cool album covers because the music on those albums was pretty good.

What horror to find these A-sides in the 'Top New Music' section in our favourite rainforest:

That's right. Coming to a stereo system near you: Pretentious artist delivers new monochromatic album cover which alludes to film-noir in an arrogant, faux-empathetic style.

The inserts in these albums actually say "Look at me - I have so many emotions, I do all of these different faces and I can hold at least three different instruments in different poses but I'm not classically trained in any of them because that would be mainstream." SORT IT OUT MUSICIANS!

THROW A TV OUT OF A HOTEL WINDOW OR SOMETHING!

YOU'RE LESS EXCITING THAT FOOTBALLERS!!

WHAT HAPPENED?!?!?!!?

Sorry readers. I promise my next one will be calmer.

The Worst Job Advert in the World

2013-01-08T13:12:00.001-08:00

Above is an amalgamation of the numerous job adverts I've seen over the years. I hope it strikes a humorous chord with some of you. Apologies for the poor quality.

5 Recent Reasons Why Apple Inc is on the Way Down

2012-12-27T03:22:00.000-08:00

5 Recent Reasons Why Apple Inc is on the Way Down

Apple Inc was a company which was loved. I mean really loved. Such a fan-base was hard to find in the typically cold, sterile, ever-vicious technology market of the nineties and noughties.

However, from being the ‘cooky, a la mode alternative’, Apple’s products quickly surged to become market leaders. This sudden dominance not only made them richer than the US Government Treasury but also made them lose their identity and obvious market niche of ‘not-being Monopoly-Microsoft’. When they became larger than they imagined, without an obvious competitor to catch-up to and with the passing of Mr Jobs, it all started to unravel somewhat....

1. iPad Mini

Who doesn’t love blatant hypocrisy? Usually the perpetrators are government ministers promising they won’t do X in their pre-election speeches. Then, lo and behold, X is brought -in within a year of them being elected. The public sigh and lose even greater faith. Repeat ad infinitum.

It comes then as quite a shock that Apple has recently brought out the iPad Mini. Not only because everyone was expecting a better name than ‘Mini’, but because former Apple champion Steve Jobs was once quoted as saying:

“Seven-inch tablets are tweeners: too big to compete with a smartphone and too small to compete with the iPad. ….Seven-Inch tablets are dead on arrival....There are clear limits of how close you can place physical elements on a touch screen, before users cannot reliably tap, flick or pinch them. This is one of the key reasons we think the ten-inch screen size is the minimum size required to create great tablet apps.”

Not only that. I mean, not only has Mr Jobs been proved cataclysmicly incorrect (just look at how good the Nexus and the Kindle Fire are doing). But this product foundation was further collaborated by Apple’s new CEO Tim Cook, who during the all-hands Q4 financial results call stated:

“On comments that Steve made before about 7 inch tablets, let me be clear, we would not make one of the 7 inch tablets, we don’t think they’re good products, we’d never make one.”

Unbelievable lying! So the 7.9” iPad Mini then is therefore “not good” and “dead on arrival”. Who wants to spend £269 on one....anyone?

2. Mountain Lion was Still a Suckling Cub when it was Released into the Wild.

An Apple operating system (OS) is typically very, very good. I’m writing this on Snow Leopard. A beautiful, sleek, endangered species of operating system - one that’s so quiet and cooperative - you don’t hear any noise when it’s hunting...I mean working. The old Apple philosophy for an OS was ‘keeping throwing money into R&D, make it quicker, more intuitive and only release it when people are gagging for it.’

Old Apple knew that to maximise sales; demand has to be at its highest. For example, there was just under two years between the release of Leopard and Snow Leopard. And, on the whole, the successor did not disappoint. Any period of time significantly less than two years and the product appears rushed and the public infer that you are fire-fighting and trying to cover up a problem. So then, when there was only 370 days between Lion and its protege Mountain Lion, people knew something was afoot.

To quote the first (and most helpful) review from Mac’s own App Store:

Worst. *

17-Oct-2012

“I don’t understand Apple. Why bring this out, and make people pay for it and all it does is mess up the machine? So many programs I have don’t work now. I’ve been an Apple user for the last seven years and now I’ve decided to go back to PC. Apple have really let me down and others also judging by the reviews. It makes no sense at all.”

There we go. The moral of the story is, if your competitor is about to release it’s latest rival product after three expensive years of R&D (Windows 8), don’t rush yours and just ‘throw it out there’. Bide your time and only try and sell something when it’s worthy of buying.

3. The Constant War of (Legislative) Attrition

Many people are speculating over the start of World War Three. They’re all wrong. It’s already here. Sure, there are no bombs, bullets or battlefields - this war is being fought in the courtroom.

The Apple v Nokia v Samsung v Microsoft battle continues to simmer. Finland, South Korea and the USA fight it out over patents, technicalities and who slid-to-unlock first.

The fact that a company fights to protect its own copyrightable material is great. It shows pride, common sense and proves the old adage that the best things in life are worth fighting for.

However, Apple in its waxing period was vehemently ruthless in ‘liberating’ ideas from other companies. It is now only since Apple is now in the Premier League of cooperations that it takes the moral high-ground. It won’t allow other companies to use the same tactics through which it achieved greatness. As Mr Jobs was often quoted as saying:

“Picasso had a saying - 'good artists copy, great artists steal' - and we have always been shameless about stealing great ideas.”

For another example of hypocrisy, please re-read point one.

4. Lack of Originality

Aluminium, golden ratios and glass screens. All of these have been around for years. Why o why then has Apple Inc not updated its design? Sir Jonathan Ive is one of the leading figures of British design of the last century: Akin to James Dyson, George Carwardine, Alec Issigonis and many, many others.

But, like many, I fear a case of Alex Ferguson-itis occurring in sunny California: Staying longer than the welcome as the creative juices have dried up (hence the need to bring out such banal inventions as the ‘Mini’ iPad....)

The products that used to be released by Apple changed the world. The iPod re-invented music and its consumption forever. Where is the pizazz, the wow-factor of old?

Even the toy company Fisher Price have re-designed their phones:

No major new products means no new major injections of cash.

5. iOS 6 Maps

Where to start? I mean, I don’t know where to start because I’m lost - thanks to iOS 6 Maps application.

A lot of keys have been depressed writing about how poor this software is. And, let’s fact it, Apple only released it so they wouldn’t have to give Google the satisfaction of paying them for usage of their superior software.

To epitomise how bad it is, here’s a picture I found on the Interwebs demonstrating this point:

quod erat demonstrandum.

Under the Coffee Table

2012-11-03T13:14:00.001-07:00

It's that time again.

That once-every-seven-years when the hoomins decide to make loud noises out of their usual realm: To venture to Outside and watch the bright colours and the horrendous, ghastly noises.

The Outside noises are worse than the upright noise-machine they sometimes use: not because of the volume, but because of the sheer randomness and the frequency. At least my masters have the decency and politeness to warn me about the upright noise-machine, (usually by shooing or verbal communication).

These 'foi-yer-work-es' as I believe they are called, are offensive. When they go off on a day which is not the specified day (i.e. any time from hoomin 'Ok-toe-bear' to 'Jhan-you-erry' [as I believe they are written]), I get tormented and patronised when they see me cowering under the coffee table. I do genuinely appreciate my masters' concern, but they cannot hear the horror and more specifically, the ringing, going-on inside my head.

Although hoomins are the master race with superior anatomical dexterity and gladly feed me many delectable treats - they do have one flaw: Their hearing in comparison to mine and others of my species is what can only be described as 'piss-poor'. If they could hear the high-pitched whistling screeches that pierce my ears, they'd be cowering too, and certainly not venture to Outside in the cold and wet to watch those blasted things. Torture.

For what reason do these noise and light projectiles pierce our beautiful starry sky? From half-cut table-talk I've eavesdropped during a belated November dinner party, I am led to believe it has something to do with a hoomin many ages ago who wanted to destroy a big house full of powerful masters. Why such a tradition has lived for so long is difficult to understand, but then again - I'm not in charge... No thumbs.

If this hoomin is celebrated in this way with a seven-yearly festival, then why is this Bin-Larrden hoomin? Am I not correct in thinking he ventured a similar plot? (N.B: I am also perplexed as to why they would name a person after the box that I am not allowed to rummage through.)

Listening to many hoomin conversations has raised a further question that is something of an irony. From the rants and the under-the-breath mutterings (that's right, I can hear) of my masters about polyticks (which aren't to be mistaken with fleas); I understand that they would all love to destroy this parlyement house, but continue to celebrate the execution of someone who didn't...

Hoomins...I will never understand thee.

Don’t call me misogynistic, but I’d rather see Sophie Dahl nude than people spewing food.

2012-06-01T14:25:00.002-07:00

As a post-graduate art historian, I’m used to studying the female form and being twenty-something with a Y chromosome; I have a keen eye for its detail. There is a time and a place for nudity, for titillation, and for appreciating its magnificence and its symmetry. Both art and architecture aspire to be as flowing, as inspired and as beautiful as the curves and proportions of Venus.

Ingres, Manet, Titian, Cabanel and Botticelli are the big five when it comes to famous artistic portrayals of the female nude (or ‘slutty hooker’ in Manet’s case). Their art works are timeless because beauty itself is timeless. It comes then as quite a shock to learn that Yves Saint Laurent’s advert for its new ‘Opium’ perfume is; as The Telegraph reports - the eighth most complained about advert of all time. Why so? I mean, sure, she’s unclothed but she’s nude, not naked. She is portrayed to not be aware of the viewer’s gaze which is the defining difference between the two: The knife-edge between risqué elegance and sheer pornography.

Sophie Dahl may not be everyone’s ‘odalisque of choice’ in the model stakes, but her figure is charming, slender and youthful – perfect for wide-angled billboards across the country. My only complaint is that she doesn’t do more modelling – if that’s what it takes for her to NOT appear as a ‘celebrity TV chef’. When she appeared on BBC2, she tarnished my respect for the Beeb. To quote the old sporting adage, she had “all the gear and no idea”.

With all this said, I wonder how many of the thousands who complained about Miss Dahl also complained about KFC’s horrific thirty seconds of public relations suicide – An advert showing office workers singing with their mouths full. That’s right; you know the thing your mother taught you never to do? They did it then shoved it in your face around tea-time. Less ‘finger-licking-good’ and more ‘fingers-down-throat vulgarity’. Thankfully, my respect for the British public has been restored by the fact that this horror show has now become the most complained about advert ever thanks to nearly half-a-million prim and proper gentlefolk. Manners are thus more important than morals – God Bless you Britain.

The Top 10 Signs That Indicate You've Been Formally Accepted into Someone's Family

2012-04-07T10:15:00.000-07:00

Evening kids.

I havent blogged in a while as the pressures of working full time and trying to study hard enough for an MA are pretty huge. However, in an attempt of procrastination, here's a bloggoweb.

I've been living with my lovely girlfriend and her parents in their house for almost seven months now. It was tentative at first, now today I feel officially part of the family. Here's why in a blog I call:

The Top 10 Signs That Indicate You've Been Formally Accepted into Someone's Family.

In reverse order

10 You feel as if you can make them a cup of tea and it wouldn't be weird.

9 You've met some friends of the family.

8 You know how everyone likes their tea.

7 You can cook for them in their kitchen.

6 You know where EVERYTHING lives in their kitchen and the specific order that bowls / dishes have to be stacked in, in order for kitchen doors to close.

5 You don't feel guilty picking up the home phone

4 You're at ease opening the front door, to someone who isn't obviously the post-man.

3 It's socially acceptable to put things that you like on their shopping list.

2 You get included in the names of Christmas cards.

1 You go to the toilet, but before you can lock the door, the family cat is inside the bathroom with you. Instead of freaking out and ushering it out like a good guest, you duly lock the door, have a wee, it parades around your feet and then waits for you to finish washing your hands and then politely stares at you; asking you to unlock the door with a single look. You then duly leave thinking that all of this is completely normal and when quizzed about it...No-one cares because, 'yeah, she does that sometimes.'

Awesome

Love to all.

Twenty Five Things I’ll Never Understand

2012-01-26T08:30:00.001-08:00

With the recent news that Zurich-based petro-chemical company Petroplus is on the verge of bankruptcy, it made me ponder other things I don’t understand. Surely there’s always a demand for petrol right?

1 Why Katy Perry ever thought it would be a good idea to get married to Russell Brand.

2 Why big ‘geek-chic’ thick-framed glasses are a la mode. You look like a tool. You probably don’t even need to wear glasses. If necessity dictated that you had to wear glasses of some description; you wouldn’t choose ones that weighed a ton and squished your nose.

3 When and where to use a semi-colon and where to use an actual colon.

4 Why in recent months China is more capitalistic than the USA. (China’s populous are rioting over the delay of the new iPhone product release, whereas the Americans are trying to censor and restrict the Internet in a rather totalitarian way.)

5 How television production company Endemol is £2.3bn in debt, when the British public have had to suffer ten series worth of Big Brother which would’ve brought them loads of money.

6 Olber’s Paradox. (The idea that if the universe is filled with a near infinite number of galaxies each with an infinite number of stars then why is the sky not incredibly bright?)

7 Why the Coen brothers are still allowed to direct films. Their films are like this sentence, they don’t have an...

8 How the good British people invented trains, football, MP3 players, the Internet, steel production, calculus, and the jet engine...and why we’re now shit at making the most of them.

9 Why Steve Jobs has been idolised. He wasn’t Farraday, Curie or Dirac.

10 Why in university education, the number of contact hours with academic staff is inversely proportional to the importance of the year of study.

11 How the British people haven’t rioted over the over-taxation of fuel....yet.

12 Why nurses, social workers and our armed forces don’t get paid more. The vast majority do a brilliant job every single day for less than your average call-centre-monkey.

13 Who Kim Kardashian is, or for that matter, why she’s famous for being it.

14 How a person can allow themselves to reach a weight which leads them to being juxtaposed to a marine mammal. I weigh 16 stone and I’m self-conscious about it. How the hell do you get to 40 stone without thinking ‘mmmm, I think I better put the fork down now.’

15 Why people with lots of money buy conceptual art. If a toddler can make it, it’s not art: it belongs in a f*ckin’ nursery.

16 How Apple got away with storing iPhone users’ geographic movement data for years, apparently without realising. Then, to have the cheek to say ‘oops, we didn’t realise’ when they were caught. Seriously? That’s a hell of a lot of data.

17 Why women don’t realise the beauty industry is based more on Adobe’s Photoshop, than on science or ‘Bifidus Nutrisse Ultra-Shine GlossMax Micropore Digestivum’.

18 Why every single British government have tried to ‘re-design’ the NHS since its inception. Stop faffing around and just give it more money! Silly MPs - you won’t be in power to see your proposals go through anyway!

19 How Bruce Forsyth is still alive. (It’s depressing he’s physically fitter than I am, despite the fact he’s wiser by 60 years.)

20 How you could ever think that it would be a good idea to shag your sister-in-law. Then continue to do so for eight years. Ryan Giggs anyone?

21 Why Madeleine McCann’s parents haven’t been arrested for child negligence. They abandoned their child in a locked room so they could go out drinking with their yuppy friends whilst on holiday. What did they expect would happen?

22 How the cinema-viewing public CAN’T find Keira Knightley annoying. She needs acting lessons and a food source. FAST. Wait...there’s a poor food pun there....QUICKLY.

23 The need for people to put grated carrot on salads.

24 Why Hotmail accounts haven’t been quarantined in some Chernobyl/Pripyat style humanitarian operation due to the sheer volume of computer viruses that live therein. It’s a bloody write-off isn’t it?

25 Why it’s so hard to find a job in Berkshire.

Thanks for reading.

'Common Sense' 0 - 0 'Recruitment'

2011-11-01T11:16:00.000-07:00

Walking back from an informative and thoroughly engaging Art History lecture on the prominent works of Eugene Delacroix, I decided to return the missed call/voicemail message which was left on my phone whilst I was engaged therein.

The conversation is near enough verbatim.

PE: Hello, I had a missed call from this number...?

C: Hello, oh right. Who is it? How are you?

PE: I'm ok thanks, it's Paul Edwards

C: Hi Paul, yes yes, I remember now.

PE: Right. So...who are you?

C: I'm Charlotte and I work for Pareto Law, the recruitment company and I wanted to get in contact with you regarding the graduate position you applied for.

(It's important to note here readers, that before I returned the call, I Googled the telephone number and the first five forum comments regarding the subject 'who is calling me?' answered with the phrasing: "Pareto Law, they're a scam recruitment company, tell them to politely **** off. Complete time wasters". Their website says that they specialise in recruitment for sales roles, which to me is like applying to shovel shit. Alas, I was more than sceptical hippo about this company even before I pressed 'call'.)

PE: (I've recently applied for more jobs than I care to [or can] remember, so on the off-chance that it was kosher, I enquired more about the position, to jog my memory / weasel something out of them) Sorry, what's the exact job title and location again?

C: Well, it's..um..a graduate position.

PE: And where is it based?

C: Um... where are you based?

PE: Wait..what? You can't answer a question with another question. Where's the job based?

C: Well, we're a nationwide company.

PE: I get that. I'm based near Reading. (Which is the third thing listed on my C.V: After the words 'Curriculum Vitae' and my name! More alarm bells were ringing.)

C: OK, that's good.

PE: Quick question for you.

C: Sure.

PE: Did I actually apply for this 'graduate role' or did you just speculatively fish my CV from somewhere?

C: Our records have your CV.

PE: But did I actively apply for this job, because it doesn't sound like me.

C: We found your CV on Jobsite I think.

PE: Right, that makes sense. [Feeling like a barrister at this point]

...Awkward pause.

C: So...are you actively looking for a job, what's your employment background?

PE: Well..if you had my CV, you'd know my employment background inside-out but yes I am; on a part-time basis because I'm a post-graduate student.

C: Oh right. Well, the positions are only on a full-time basis, so unfortunately we wouldn't be able to offer you one of the graduate positions.

PE: How can I be disappointed at something I didn't apply for? If the job was full-time, I wouldn't have applied for it. (Coming to the boil) And if you actually read my CV, you'd see that I was a part-time student and so would NEVER apply for a full-time role.

C: Ok....well.

PE: It's all there, black and white, clear as crystal! You stole fizzy lifting drinks. You bumped into the ceiling which now has to be washed and sterilized, so you get nothing! You lose! Good day sir!

(OK, so maybe I didn't say the last bit, but I did end it with an assertive 'Good Day'.)

So there you go kids. Another stressful phone conversation. They really are a recurring theme of my life I feel (see previous bloggo entries). I wish to point out here that the other PROFESSIONAL recruitment consultants I've dealt with have been lovely, intelligent and human. I really do pity call-centre monkeys and the shit they have to shovel.

Night All.

I'll blog more, I promise.

Thank God for BHS

2011-07-28T11:48:00.000-07:00

Evening everyone. Being a freelance writer (and a free one) has allowed me the flexibility to not blog in a while. To you my readers, I apologise.

I ask you a straight forward question? Where are all the brown shoes? SERIOUSLY? Upon purchasing a lovely tan/dark-olivey coloured linen suit from Moss for a friend’s upcoming wedding, I obviously set about to find a pair of smart brown leather shoes as I only had a pair of smart blacks. Sounds simple enough right?

For those of you who aren’t familiar with Gloucester City centre, imagine the worst of sixties architecture interspersed with chavs circa 2005. The shopping experience is also closer to Ziggy Stardust than the Arctic Monkeys.

First stop for some nice chestnut loafers (or an adequate substitute) Marks and Sparks.

After traipsing through the lingerie section (Shops - “Y U NO make men feel comfortable when they walk through them?”) to locate the stairs to shoot up to the men’s section, I found myself a little underwhelmed. A sea of striped polo shirts (see previous article) on beiegey Dr-Who-monster-esque mannequins confronted me which proved me right. ^Insert little internal smug chuckle^. The shoe section was nearly as horrific as the ‘summer casual’ display. Smart shoes galore, lace ups, loafers, brogues, pointy toes, square toed, leathers, suedes...one small problem...all of them black. Except the sandals which were brown....so yeah, all of the viable options...were black.

A young lad emerged with a trolley of boxes and crates with mens shoes and started tagging some and placing them on the shelves.

“‘Scuse me mate, are these the only brown shoes you’ve got?”

(started looking through his trolley like a snooty, nosey, slummy mummy in Tescos)

“Yeah, I think so, I’ll have a look for you though”

He returned, but to no avail. His gallant efforts of finding some lovely calf-skin beauties were dashed. He went on to explain that most of the brown shoes had been sold in the sale and that they were expecting a new lot in next week (typical? So typical it’s almost unrealistic!?!). I explained that the wedding was in exactly a week’s time. We bonded over how stock was cyclical and that it’s really hard to get what you want on time. He was chatting about shoes; I was chatting about parts for aircraft hydraulics...it was all kinda the same. After an exchange of pleasantries I went on my merry way quite shocked that only 4 of the 80 or so available pairs of shoes were brown.

Two shops down, ‘Priceless Shoes’. Worth a punt? With good music blaring into my skull courtesy of Mr Sennheisser, I popped in to see whether this new shop was as good as its predecessor, Bacon’s Shoes. Good would not be a word I would associate with Priceless Shoes. Tasteless Shoes would probably be more apt. I would describe the ambience and decor of the store as that of Lidl, but that really would be demeaning to my favourite German supermarket. At least their products are efficiently organised. In theory it was meant to be arranged like Brantano - shoes in pairs, on racks, ordered by size. the Mens shoes I picked up were sized as follows:

6,7,6,8,11,12,9,9,9,8,9.

Great. No tens. No strike, not even a bloody spare! After being quite disgusted at the tackiness of the women’s shoes, I felt that even if I did find a pair which was my size / colour / desired level of formality - the quality wouldn’t really live up to much. And if I’m having to dance in these bad boys - they’ve gotta be able to handle the pace.

Round the corner, past the charity anglers (that’s charity guys fishing for money, not anglers fishing for charity), around the tweenage clique drinking frappacinos and into Clarks. I’ve always been apprehensive about Clarks. I mean, I don’t understand it as a brand - much like W H Smiths. It’s not really sure what its niche is, and who it’s aiming it at.

After being aware that I immediately brought the average age down by about 8 points, I drift to the mens section; try on a gorgeous pair of mens chestnut lace up standard mens shoes. Comfy squishy bits on the inside, absolutely gorgeous... £75 down to £55. I could cope with that as they felt divine.

I approach a man in a polo shirt with an ear-piece /microphone thing. Imagine a lanky white guy pretending to be a nightclub bouncer but being surrounded by 60 year old males and their wives rather than 18 to 30s and you’ve got the picture.

He radios upstairs to his colleague (I assume?) and a few moments later he hands me a white box before addressing the large queue in front of him near the till.

I open the box to discover that one shoe is comparatively smaller than the other. Look under the tongue - UK 8. Fail.

“Are they ok sir?”

“I’m sure they would be if they were a pair of tens, but they’re averaging a nine at the moment”

“Excuse me, I don’t understand?”

“They’re not a pair. This one’s a ten, this one’s an eight.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry”

Takes box, Radio Ga-Ga’s the store room elves again. Brief pause.

“Here you go sir, I’ve ensured that they’re the right size this time.”

“Thank you very much”.

Try on shoes. Notice that one of the shoes is considerably more worn than the other. Not tatty per se, just....the leather had ridges in it. Not cracking, but not smooth either. You get me? Had the texture more of a sieve than a polished granite worktop if that helps at all. I was losing patience by this point...

“Excuse me”

Bouncer man leans over, intrigued.

“Do you have any tens which haven’t been pre-worn?”

“What do you mean pre-worn? They’re all new shoes in this shop sir.”

“Look at the leather. It’s cracking and well distinguished. I appreciate someone may have tried them on, but they’ve walked to bloody Cheltenham and back in ‘em.”

“Oh, I see what you mean, it doesn’t look great does it?”

This kid’s rhetoric wasn’t helping the sale (and Cheltenham is about 9miles away from Glozza for those of you who aren’t local).

“Well sir, we don’t have any more of these in tens in stock at the moment.”

“Right”

“But we can order some for you, which will be delivered to your home address”

“Sounds good, what’s the delivery date? Because it’s imperative I have them in my hands, and preferably on my feet by Friday, they’re for a wedding”

“Well they normally come within two weeks, but special delivery for £4.99 normally guarantees them within four to five working days.”

“Ok...so you’re telling me that I would have to pay five pounds extra because you fail to have adequate stock of the shoes I wish to buy even though I’ve come in at my own expense, and even then they might not be delivered on time?”

“I’m afraid so..”

“I don’t think you’ll see me again in here. Good day.”

Storming exit. Nearly get run over by a pram. Look around to the find the next shop which would sell men’s brown shoes. At this point I thought I was going insane and was trying to find Jack Daniels in Saudi Arabia or an Ice Hotel in Arizona. But no, simple commodities are hard to find in Gloucester. Social deprivation on the other hand...

Topman.

What to say about Topman? I mean, it’s changed drastically since I was a yoof. It used to be trendy t shirts and good quality jeans. Now its merely a museum to a specific subculture sometimes labelled ‘hipster’ or ‘dickhead’. I mean, I appreciate it’s not my bag, but man-bags...you’ve gotta be kidding me?! Thumbing-through the items on the sale rail, I was quite shocked to discover none of the trousers were larger than a 34” waist and the t-shirts larger than a medium? To this day I’m still unsure whether I was just late to the party or whether Topman just doesn’t appreciate my *cough* athletic *cough* physique.

Finally reached the shoes which were beautifully presented to their credit. Numerous styles in gorgeous leather of many colours....Not bad. All the brown, smart shoes - Winkle-pickers. GET IN!! Exactly what I want with my extra-wide size tens! Headphones come off. Scratch head. Look around with a gaunt, horrified sense of WTF...

“Can I help you sir?”

“Um...yeah, do you have any brown shoes which aren’t these *points*. ?

“I’m afraid not. Everything we have is out. Sorry. What are you looking for?”

“A sort of loafer, brogue, anything that’s wide-fit and brown to be honest.”

“Yeah, I get ya. I know that you mean about the brown, they’re getting rarer.”

“I thought it was just me! I’m glad someone else has noticed it!’

“Na, it’s not just you. I’ve been asked been before and found trouble myself.’

“Exactly! It makes no sense because non-black suits and creamy chinos are so in at the moment.” I protest too much.

“Yeah, totally. Well, I’m sorry I can’t help you, but gimme a shout if you need anything else.”

We go our separate ways but at least the bloke had restored my faith in the fact that some staff in fashion outlets actually understand how clothes and outfits work.

Head towards the exit, scan the t-shirts...nothing funny....go down the stairs. Inevitably held up by a middle-aged guy in front of me also holding onto the handrail for dear life.

‘Mmmm, I thought...he looks well dressed. Smart dark blue chinos, tan suede shoes, baggy but comfy jumper. Good job sir, I’m glad there’s still some fashion sense in males over forty but as he turned the corner of the staircase, I saw it. My pupils dilated and stood speechless. A black belt around his middle appeared, and then as he made the corner, I noticed the black satchel on his tummy. A bumbag... in 2011. HE WAS DOING SO WELL!!!! I didn’t know what to think. The only thought which came into my mind was BullsEye host Jim Bowen saying “Here’s what ya coulda won!”

Congratulations Topman, you’ve successfully niched yourself out of the market.

I leave exasperated and desperate for a place of refuge. A shop. Any shop. Anything to get the horrific sight out of my conscious.... I jitter about, walking, Sennheissers on, in the zone, scanning for other shops. BHS. Boom. Fudge it, that’ll do.

As I mount the escalator of desperation I began to realise that I haven't frequented BHS since I came here with me mum shopping for new school trousers. After chuckling to myself and a quick nostalgic bubble, I find myself in the men’s section. B-E-A-Yootiful. Not only was it well designed; but the huge ‘Burton’ logo informed me, albeit in a succinct fashion that their menswear was designed/provided by Burtons. Good stuff. Always been a fan, and even more so after Mr Topman clearly doesn’t like cheese and wine as much as I do.

The Holy Grail was in front of me. A rack of wide, chunky brown loafers, available in sizes 8 through to 12. INCLUDING 10! WOW! I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited to feel a pair of leather shoes in my hands. I looked around to see if I was being watched, but instead of stealing them, I smelt them. Realising I’d hit a new low in my life, I strolled towards the till having discovered that the elevens were more to my feet’s favour and more easily accommodated my rugby socks. Pair of shoes in hands, picking up a perfect outfit-matching tie up on the way, I was grinning like Mr Carol’s Cheshire Cat.

The girl at the till gave me a quizzical look.

“Are you alright, sir?”

“Fine thanks yeah, just glad to find a good pair of shoes.”

“We aim to please. That’ll be £37 please”.

(The sticker on the shoes said £38 and the tie was £5 which only prompted further smiling)

Not wishing to try my luck and realising that ‘good things come to those who wait’, I left the shop feeling satisfied that Burton had done me proud and then I thanked God for BHS.

Casual Friday

2011-06-20T14:15:00.000-07:00

Upon entering the office on the weekly Casual Friday. I stopped in my tracks and scanned the horizon of shoulders leaning above the open-plan pig-pens. Contrary to popular belief, most men over the age of 40 can dress. The socks and sandals generation has either emigrated to Dordogne-shire or got with The Times (‘s fashion supplement).

The reason for abruptly stopping on my usually drudging amble to the clocking-in machine was the vast ocean of striped polo shirts on display. Nothing wrong with them per se, but eeeesh, a li’l bit more imagination wouldn’t go amiss. Not only was it the shirts, but the complementary generic-blue jeans topped off with Rockport-esque office-inspired casual trainers. At least you feel good when you're wearing the Monday-Thursday uniform. This was bordering on looking like a Fathers-4-Justice meeting.

Credit where credit is due though. Kudos for the forty 30something+ chaps for knowing that bold, blocky 70s-style colours are in this summer/autumn, but like the ice-cream said to the vodka; you can have too much of a good thing. It’s a shame that such a great office-friendly fashion item has become staple and therefore a bit passé. I’m going to miss it being trendy. The men’s cotton striped polo in its numerous stripes, cuts and colours has all but resigned itself to becoming the pasta pesto of casual Fridays around the country. Shame. I love basil.

So then, without resorting to the lowest common denominator of horizontal striped polos, old jeans and brown trainers, what would I recommend I hear you ask? Below are three outfits which softly state ‘I know what I’m doing’, ‘my spouse doesn’t dress me’ and ‘I’m still man enough to chop wood’:

One

Two Three

I appreciate the above aren't anything groundbreaking or genre-defining but do offer some simple stylish ideas for the modern working gentleman. And hey, if the Summer's Fridays are like every other in terms of their wetness; replace the cool cotton shirts for some simple, light plain knitwear and be warm enough to survive the inevitable BBQs but remain as cool as an ice-cold beer.

----

One

Top: Ralph Lauren Big Tartan Pony £95

Trousers: Levis 527 Bootcut Jeans £50

Shoes: Charles Tyrwhitt Caterham Boat Shoe £69

Two

Top: Tommy Hilfiger Gingham Shirt £75

Trousers: Diesel Koolter 8Y9 Tapered £63

Shoes: River Island Green Canvas Sandals £20

Three

Top: Purple Deck Stripe Casual Blue by Blazer £35 (now £15)

Trousers: M&S Blue Harbour Super-lightweight Chinos £35

Shoes: Burton Side-lace Casual Brown Loafer £30

All rights and courtesies belong to the original photographers.

Fill in the Blanks

2011-06-16T14:03:00.000-07:00

Evening everyone. It’s a weird June isn’t it? Besides the fact it’s nearly July, it’s been an ambivalent month. Health reforms, the BBC making up stories, economic gloom ad nauseum; it’s not exactly Willy Wonka and ecstacy in good ol’ Blighty.

One of the strangest (yet tragically funny) news story of the week can be found here

It resonated for two reasons. Firstly, as a financier it seemed to me impossible that you could not notice that $8.7bn wasn’t where you wanted it to be. I mean, there’s one thing losing 20p behind the sofa, or a fiver in the washing machine but seriously - $8,700,000,000?

Secondly, it made me feel pretty laissez-faire about the fiver I lost in the wash last week.

The wider ramifications of this became obvious. No no, not the effect this has had on the Iraqi people, international migration patterns and the stability of the Middle East, but what’s missing in everyday life.

Straight men in fashion, cheap housing in Berkshire, honesty in politics, chivalry in football, credibility on The Apprentice...you get the gist.

I ask you to continue your daily grind but whilst doing so, to try and take note of anything suspiciously absent. It is harder, yet more rewarding to notice what is not, rather than what is.

If there is a gap in society, fill it and be fulfilled. If there’s a gap in the market, fill it and profit. See what others can’t and prosper. Listen to The Selecter’s ‘Missing Words’.

As Ghandi said: “Be the change you want to see in the world.”

‘Nuff said.

Ryan Giggs and Car Mechanics

2011-05-31T15:54:00.000-07:00

Evening all. I’m slowly realising that my blog is just the literary time capsule of my youth and every time I open it; I nostalgia majorly. In a good way...always in a good way.

On a usual Wednesday morning, my colleague spoke of her teenage cousin who updated her Faceblag status to “OMG this lesson is borin”. The obvious conversation ensued about shouldn’t have her phone in class...yadda yadda.....didn’t have phones when we were in first year seniors....yadda yadda.....*conversation end*....Later, I associated the term “calling someone” with that of “calling-on someone”. Remember? Before mobile phones? When you had to go to you friends house....knock on their front door.... then get really nervous in case their parents / older siblings opened the door? Exactly. That feeling of dread / social awkwardness inspired our generation to become great communicators, to be able to blag emotions and feelings; to be able to strike up conversation with anybody and to chit-chat our way through charm-school.

But what now? I mean, when children just chat over MSN, text, Skype or whilst playing XBox or whatever....where do they learn these skills? It’s not just the skills they’re missing out on, it’s the family loyalty. When you were ten and had to chat to Mr and Mrs so-and-so before meeting your friends, you remember them. You grew up with them and they influenced you. They brought you juice and the loyalty and entente increased with time.

Is this not the reason that Mr Giggs’ recent affair caused so much pubic grumblings? Not because of the Superinjunction, (pfft), but because the public (and therefore the media) couldn’t understand how a man who had been so loyal to his work, his comrades, his team for twenty one years plus, couldn’t also demonstrate the same loyalty to his wife, long term partner and mother of his children. There’s only one lesson to be learnt from the whole Giggs/Twitter shenanigans gentlemen, keep it inside your shorts and don’t go practising your moves on the rest of the field.

I don’t mean to sound glum, but the more you think about this particular L-word, the more it appears less in day-to-day society. With numerous companies reducing pension payouts for long-term employees and some consumer loyalty schemes phasing out or actually costing more*, it’s no surprise consumers and emotions are comparatively fickle than they were in times of yore.

*Car insurance companies charging significantly more than going rate for continuation of policies, or some companies’ loyalty card codes making a product cost more than without it.

However, one example made my week....tell a lie, made my life. After weeks of faffing and not having enough time, a few weeks ago I popped into my local car garage after work to fix a problem with my window (the glass pane had come off the runners due to bent components thanks to January’s severe frost). Busy day....arrived at 12.30....no free slots till half three.

Returned later at the required time and left the keys with the guys behind the desk and duly waited in the reception as per. After recognising the chap who was kindly fixing my window as the same guy who saved my car from a near MOT failure last November; some time later, I was summoned back to the reception desk where another gent explained the problem whilst the mechanic was de-greasing his hands.

I shook the guy’s hand as he recognised me from previous visits (I’m pretty sure he recognised the car waaaay before he recognised me) and thanked him for his effort. I let him escape and avoided near-obligatory chit-chat (see above) as he said that he’d fitted me in between 3 urgent MOTs. TrueLAD. As he went behind the scenes, his colleague said in a rather friendly but forthright tone:

“Alright mate, let’s call it twenty quid for the beer fund for the boys after work?” I was quite taken aback as I wasn’t sure how much was mechanic-banter and how much was truth.

“Ah right, well...I’ve only got plastic on me I’m afraid” I said sheepishly

“Well...if you pay in the old card machine thing then I’m gonna have to charge you an hour’s labour and that’ll be at least seventy quid plus.”

“Shit....OK” (Seventy quid was the sorta figure I was expecting it to be)

“Here’s what you should do. Nip up ‘cash point up the road, bring back twenty quid for the boys and I’ll take ‘em out for drinks after work tonight alright?”

“Alright, cheers. I’ll drive up to save time”

“Brilliant, see you in a bit.”

After being quite pleasantly surprised at the conversation just passed, I was even more surprised to find my window not only fixed, but washed and sparkling. If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well, eh? No queue at the cash point meant a prompt return visit.

Opening the main door, I found the bloke on the phone to a customer to ask why his 4pm MOT is a bit late...

“Here you go chief, here’s £30 for your trouble.”

(Mouthing) “Thirty? but I...”

“Have a few more on me, you’ve saved me a good ton and a fair amount of hassle”

A polite thumbs up and a beaming smile from us both as he carried on his phone conversation were all the confirmation I needed to let him carry on helping people out and to indicate he had made my day.

A little loyalty in the right places goes a long way.

Goodnight all.

Saving Trees, Earning Manpoints

2011-05-18T10:47:00.000-07:00

Evening everyone. Apologies for the lateness in writing. On the way to our corporate ‘Finance Funday’ this afternoon, it struck me as quite hilarious that the six of us in Accounts were driving in six separate cars to the venue a mile up the road (we were all going home in different directions afterwards, promise). Then I came to feel sorry for mother earth as I pondered my size 10 footprint and the wider ramifications of my actions....WO WO WO! Man-up Edwards! (Said my other cerebral hemisphere) You are a Homo Sapien! King of nature; slave to no beast! (Except computers). This dichotomy ran its course in my mind for exactly the length of time that my commute takes. (Funny eh?) Anyway, half an hour later, I listed:

My Top 6 Manly Ways for Saving the Environment

1. Drive a Used Car

Besides the facts that hardly anyone can afford a new car in this day and age, and that you lose 35% of what you’ve just spent when leaving the forecourt, driving a used car is incredibly sound for the environment. It takes an estimated 39,090 gallons of water to make a car. Which, when you replace the word water with it’s new political title of ‘white gold’ sounds like an incredibly expensive process.This article on Wired.com states that a Prius has to do over 100,000 miles to be more efficient than a used car. (Because the environmental impact in all the excess interior plastic, harvesting the lithium to make the AA batteries and making pure Aluminium out of Bauxite is just horrific.) With that fact in mind, Autotrader.co.uk tells me that only 2% of all available Priuses have done >100k on the clock. Alas, my 1995 BMW is efficient than 98% of all eco-(un)friendly cars. So suck on that Tom Cruise.

2. Use a Cut-Throat Razor

Now then, I’m not encouraging you to all become Sweeney Todd. I would just like to make my male readers aware of the calamitous effect cheap, disposable, plastic products (razors are just the start of it) are having on the oceans and the global bird population.

This picture should illustrate the point above. Cracked.com, quite possibly the best magazine website available on the Intertubes, published an article entitled ‘6 real islands way more terrifying than the one on Lost’. What’s that got to do with rubbish? Check out the link to the article and be amazed by number two (the others are pretty horrific as well). I urge you to buy less plastic crap and hopefully we can stop this island from becoming the size of the African continent. Cut throats should last a lifetime: Not just two shaves then be disposed of to eventually end up inside an albatross

3. Fold Crisp Packets Into Little Shapes

This may not change the world overnight, but your local council should sure as hell thank you for it. If you have no idea what I mean, click here. Landfills are filling up an ever-increasing amount of land and any space saved is a blessing. Practice your crisp-packet origami when next having a pack o’ cheese n’ onion at the pub and feel good about the result.

4. Download Music

Whether legally or as part of a Blackbeard-esque pirating operation, DLing muzak has got to be ecologically sound right? I mean, paper and plastic just to have...for the sake of having, I know it’s the idea of ‘the tangible’ in the age of ‘the digital’? But come on, nobody buys a CD for the li’l book or the poorly hinged polystyrene case. Download it, save it, back it up, move on. Gain environmental superiority complex. Profit.

5. Buy Antique Furniture

This one may not appear to be as manly as the others at first glance. But trust me on this one. Those of you who know me personally will already know that I’m a bit of an art/fashion nerd. I propose to you that in terms of value for money, comfort AND environmental moral highground, one of these:

in used condition is definitely worth a third of the price of one of these:

British heritage and century-old craftsmanship for £300 or Swedish minimalist crap (which is leading to increased deforestation) for £1000. The choice is obvious. Get into antique furniture, (‘upcycling’ or whatever title hipster yummy mummies have called it) and save some trees whilst impressing your woman with your knowledge of period styles AND turning your flat into a country estate only a Duke would be proud of. Awesome.

6. Drink Organic Cider

This one’s a give ‘un really. Organic cider means vast expanses of apple trees which means a large open expanse for bees to hang out and get freaky with other bees. The British honeybee has been in decline over the last decade and anything to help its recovery is welcome. Bees pollenating the trees, us humans drinking the delicious 6.8% nectar and the apple remnants feeding local pigs who then fertilise the orchard’s soil. If that isn’t perfect GCSE-level biology, I don’t know what is. So then boys and girls, next time you’re at the supermarket, notice the box of Weston’s Organic that’s not only big in value, but big in environmental prestige.

There you go everyone. Keep these things in mind and maybe you'll keep your conscience clean and show other people you care about the wider world. Girls love that.

Take care.

x

(All due copyrights go to those who's pictures and content I've borrowed. Thanks very much.)

Ten Words to Tell a Tale

2011-04-28T12:55:00.000-07:00

Evening everyone. I love words. I mean, the etymology, the scientific fact that names with longer vowel sounds are more arousing, the puns, onomatopoeia. All of it. After a witty yet long day at the office (a two-day working week allowed for no routine or calm) I believed a bottle of beer (oh yeah, and alliteration) was in order.

The poison of choice was Theakston’s Old Peculiar. Well-rounded, dark, full-bodied and also proud sponsor of the Crime Writing Festival, Harrogate. Interesting I thought, niche I thought, turn the bottle round for more details I did. On the reverse label is quite possibly the most prime example of old meets new I have ever seen. Nothing combines artistic literary flair of old, as demonstrated by forefathers such as Dickens, Shakespeare and Kipling with the short, snappy, contemporary Twitter-age attention span of 100 characters quite like the 10 word novel. That’s right.

Ten words, in a sentence to form a novel. Boom.

(See what I did there?)

My sceptical nature was erased by the humour the example provided. The Day Lonnie Went Too Far by N J Cooper:

The coke hit. Lonnie Smiled. Then Came Pain. Lonnie Died.

I’m not gonna lie, I kinda liked it. After giving up on Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment after 90 pages of social awkwardness, I found it a welcome relief. I mean, what’s not to like?! Personal tragedy, raw emotion, empathy for the protagonist. Everything you need in a novel.

This prompted me to think further: If you can write a novel in ten words, then what’s to stop you describing a life in the same length of ‘prose’?

So here it goes, here's my life in ten words:

Eloquent ursine male, happy in love, life and drinking ale.

*Bonus points if you make it rhyme*

And yes, it’s harder than it looks. Much harder. That’s it for today I’m afraid. Sorry to cut to the chase. Please post your own 10 word sentence self-portraits on the Facebook page and I look forward to reading them.

Take care everyone.

Enjoy the bank holiday.

Spaghetti Hoops and MRSA

2011-04-11T12:33:00.000-07:00

Evening everyone. I was reminded today by avid reader, former housemate and absolute star Lucy Kightley that I haven’t blogged for a fair period. For those of you who were also aware of this, I salute you and I apologise...and I’m guessing you were looking for more reasons to procrastinate. I would provide you with some sort of excuse, but work, menial household tasks and Pokemon Black have all played their part. (At least I’m honest!)

Anyway, last week in an attempt to get fit for summer I bought a rowing machine, as my legs are built like Jonah Lomu’s but my upper body looks more like Mr Tickle. After a solid eight and half hours work in the office and the luxury of a home-cooked meal I endeavour to sort out our garage (to make space for said rowing machine). I’m not sure if any of you have a room in your house which accumulates junk, but in our house it’s the garage...and the conservatory...and the spare bedroom....but mostly the garage. To put it into some sort of perspective, it’s seen two skips in as many summers. If it was a virus, it would be MRSA. Mostly concentrated in one place; but spreads like a vicious rumour.

The problem with our garage isn’t the old furniture or paint tins or garden equipment, it’s foodstuffs. I mean, tins of tuna, packets of pasta, bottles of squash, you get the gist. The reason for this is because our larder is quite small (taken up with food which went past its best before circa the Cheynobyl disaster, nevermind Fukushima) and so it’s migrated into the garage.

I really wish I hadn’t started to be honest. I mean, in terms of being on the edge of a nervous breakdown, this was second only to the time where my dissertation was due in two weeks, I’d written 40 words and time was so precious I didn’t have time to cook so my entire diet became Tea, Whisky and Custard Cream biscuits. (First for the diss + narrowly avoiding the signs of scurvy = Win)

But seriously, I flicked back the lock and started moving the tins around with all the good intentions in the world, but then the realisation kicked in. WE HAVE ENOUGH TINNED FOOD TO SELL BACK TO LIDL, TESCOS ET AL!

The joy of hindsight says that I wish I’d taken a ‘before’ photo but the below is after I’d got-my-OCD-on and reverted to a four year old girl and “played shop”.

So....Yeah...... I wasn’t using hyperbole in the slightest.

In the picture you may notice...

11 tins of grapefruit

16 tins of pineapple chunks

15 tins of dog food (there’s a reason Molly the Mollusc [she’s a Labrador, not an actual mollusc] is so rotund!

22 tins of tomatoey saucey spaghetti & beans

9 packs of flour (of varying grains and sizes)

And so on....

I appreciate that my dad didn’t grow up with much and whilst rationing was still dictating the habits of the nation, but does it really mean that we should have enough nomz to last a zombie apocalypse? So before the waves of zombies arrive and we all head to the Winchester; just remember that however much food you have in your fridge / garage, that there are 925 million+ undernourished people in the world and you’re probably not one of them so I implore you to give what you can to charitable causes.

Have a good evening everyone.

xxx

A Picture Speaks A Thousand Words

2011-03-25T11:35:00.000-07:00

Evening everyone.

Apologies for the lack of bloggage over the last week. Tiredness, work-stress and apathy have all played a part. To make up for this fact, I thought I'd give you a treat. Instead of using words to describe my week / current life-situation, I thought I'd use the power of art, or rather, memes.

I've given the name of each meme next to it, so that if you're unaware of it, it will hopefully make some sort of sense. The following are thoughts / actions which have happened to me over the last week:

Socially Awkward Penguin

Family Tech Support Guy

Socially Awesome Penguin

Joseph Ducreux

Pissed-ff Obama

F*YeahHappyKitteh

Hipster Kitteh

Philosoraptor

Business Cat

Art Student Owl

Inception Meme

Insanity Wolf

Foul Bachelor Frog

Y U NO...?

Forever Alone

Paranoid Parrot

Advice Dog

If any of this makes any sense to you, we either share the same sense of humour and/or you've spent too much time on the internet. Can't be bothered to write anything pretentious or douche-baggish here. Have a great weekend everyone.

xxx

Ferrari and the Diamonds

2011-03-08T13:20:00.000-08:00

Evening Everybody. On Sunday evening I overtook a 2011 Ferrari 430 Scuderia on a dual carriageway. My first reaction was one of “oh yeah!!!!!!” as I went past in my 16 year old BMW....But then, as I looked across to see who the fella was, I saw a lad younger than myself grasping on the wheel for dear life whilst his dad (who’s present I imagine it was) was giving him encouraging yet apprehensive looks/advice/twitches.

I felt pride for a moment, (“oh yeah!”) for overtaking a car worth 150x the value of mine, but then I felt kinda sorry for the kid. I mean, you’re meant to enjoy presents, money, wealth, fame et cetera. Ultimately they’re meant to open doors and opportunities, not make you worried or nervous about every passing moment...or car.

“At first I lolled...and then I serious’ed!” Goes the famous internet picture, and so, I in turn serious’ed about the pursuit of personal wealth as opposed to the pursuit of one’s dreams. This residing image, of this scared kid in a Ferrari, a lad who’s monetary dreams had shaped his own emotions to such an extent that he was petrified of his own possessions (albeit temporary ones) was the main factor in me making a critical life decision. I won’t say what in case it all falls apart, but in a life where we all care what people think of us (even if we say we don’t) I’d much rather be a poor postgraduate than be a rich David Brent. Remember kids, someone can steal a Maserati but can never steal a Masters from you.

I’m not saying don’t achieve to do well in life financially; nobody likes being poor. Just you know, try not to be a dick about it. Otherwise, it’ll bite you in the arse. As this chestnut from www.truelad.com (the steroid-fuelled masculine version of PostSecret) states:

My old man gave me a Porsche Boxster when I passed my driving test (well-to-do LAD). Feel like a bit of a tosser driving it aged 18 but if the old man gives, what's a LAD to do eh? Anyway, within a week I'm at the petrol station filling up when an evidently shitLAD in a 911 Turbo pulls up: Prada sunnies, over-oranged and over-plasticed (but nonetheless 7/10 missus in the passenger seat and all. Revs his engine, calls over: "Mate, when you gonna get a real Porsche"? I screw my petrol cap back on, replace the pump, look over and reply: "Probably when I leave school". WAG pisses herself, I go inside and buy a Ginsters sausage roll and a Ribena. Spoilt onelinerLAD

Alas, this bloggo post isn’t saying much and there’s no real message to it (in this aspect I feel I am now a qualified to write for The Guardian) except whatever you wanna do in life, do it. Don’t be sidetracked by Ferraris or hedge funds cos in the words of our greatest contemporary philosopher, Marina Diamandis: “If you’re not very careful your possessions will possess you, TV taught me how to feel, now real life has no appeal.”

Live the dream.

Haters Gonna Hate. Bankers Gonna Bank.

2011-02-28T14:28:00.000-08:00

Evening everyone. Ever wondered why banks are so hated? I mean reeaaaaally hated. Don’t say because of the credit crunch and the global economic crisis; everyone hated the banks before 2007. The reason they’re detested by Mr Joe Public is because they’re out of touch with reality.

The rule of business is to make a profit by generating sales through looking after pre-existing customers and getting new ones. I’m pretty sure the aim of business isn’t to piss-off your loyal customers by not being able to do simple tasks, such as printing a piece of paper.

High street banks are very much like doctor’s surgeries: if you’re there, you’re pretty much f*cked and try and get out of there with the minimum of fuss whilst knowing that both will probably charge you for the privilege of “helping you”. Not only was the pain of queueing excruciating, (not only because I’m impatient, but because there were two members of staff ‘on the tills’ whilst three worked out the profit margins of their stationery or something) but the fact was that I was using my sacred Friday-afternoon off for the privilege of being there. I mean, who doesn’t open on Caturdays? Seriously? Pffft....back to the story, and following the Pakistani man putting two grands worth of ‘legitimiate’ money into his business account, and the retired couple requesting a new cheque book, I finally get to the cashier:

RBS: “Hello how can I help you today?” (with a wide grin and a patronising tone)

Me: “I’d like to request a statement please, because I need one for work - as proof of residency.”

RBS: “Do you not get them in the post?”

Me: “Yes, I do, but quarterly, and I normally throw them straight out, because they’re not happy reading” (attempting humour...)

RBS: “Oh I’m sorry to hear that.” (humour not appreciated and/or understood)

Me: “So... can I request another one please?”

RBS: “Well, we can’t process them here I’m afraid. I can get one sent to you and it should arrive in about a week.”

Me: “A week? I need it today, now, that’s why I’ve come in - I may as well have ordered one online. I thought you could help.”

RBS: “Well we don’t have the facilities to print statements I’m afraid”

Me: “Are you joking love? There’s an all in one scanner/copier/printer thingy over there *points to the office-sized one adjacent to the queue I was just standing in*, why can’t you print it on that?

RBS: “Well...it’s not for that, and I can’t just print it I’m sorry.”

Me: “Crickey Moses! (the three members of staff meerkat’ed to look at me, stopping working out the cashflows of their imaginary paperwork) I pay tax for this tripe? 84% of rubbish is still rubbish. No wonder you had to be bailed out, you can’t afford a flippin network cable or decent service!

RBS: “Sir, I think you should remain calm and I’ll try to help”

Me: “Remain calm, I was never calm to begin with!”

RBS: “I think you should leave sir, and return another time...”

Me: “And I think you should give me my bloody piece of paper and my tax revenue back.”

*Storming exit* (drama hindered by the lack of the door slamming noise.....bloody automatic doors!)

So yeah.... RBS Gloucester branch....you are my nemesis and not a scratch on the high-standards of customer service I experienced in HSBC. If you cannot provide a customer with a piece of paper with his details - you clearly do not deserve to be a leading player in the British or any other national economy. The next day I received a standard email entitled “Mr Edwards, your latest statement is available online.” To which I thought....of course it is. Digital banking is a permanent statement which is always available and always online. F*ckers.

Sorry everyone for this rant. Just had to get this off my chest.

Comment & spread the bloggo love....or RBS hatred, preferably both.

x

Working With The Colour Beige

2011-02-22T12:52:00.001-08:00

Good evening everyone. Ever had one of those days where you don’t know whether to laugh or cry? I mean, you’re so stressed out yet having such playful work ‘bant’ that it seems to pass you by? You know; the stress train that whistles past you on a direct line to crash-town whilst you’re teetering on the platform of employment-based revelry?

Anyway, even if you don’t, today was one of those days for me. The reason for the heightened levels of angst in the office is because the external auditors are in. You know, the Ofsted inspectors of accountants? Often characterised as the dullest form of beige? As actual human beings, they’re surprisingly sound guys, they’re just sheep wrapped up in.....flannel clothing. No wolves...wolves show their emotions too much...and howl less.

Since last week’s list-based posting seemed to be well-appreciated, I will provide you with another set of free tips, although these are more specific and less useful throughout the ins and outs of daily life.

Here it goes:

The Five Steps to Surviving an Audit (or any other critique of your work)

1 Pretend to be polite, even if you hate their guts - Nothing says “extra work” for you like a snide comment or guillotining them with a short response. Sometimes the best way to play the game is to ‘yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir’ the referee, even if you do think he’s more of a tool than a Black & Decker EPC18CA cordless power drill.

2 Look busy even if you’re not - Nothing gets you out of work another mountain-load of work than appearing to be intently busy on a current task. Even if its bashing insignificant numbers into a calculator and then audibly going “hmmmm”, it’ll do the trick. Until there’s a guy about to ask you to retrieve a single piece of paper from an immensely large cabinet full of mislabelled lever-arch files, you never realise how incomplete your life is without knowing the square root of BOOBS, I mean 80085.

3 Don’t lie, just be economical with the truth - As is the philosophy in our department; “accountancy is an art, not a science”. Therefore, be creative with everything: numbers, words, questions et cetera. You could get into some deep philosophical and epistemological cul-de-sac about there being “no absolute facts”, but I wouldn’t (see the first point) as this could give away the fact you’re lying through clenched and gnawing teeth.

4 Remember to be covert - Pretend your workplace is Colditz Castle and they’re the guards. “Verr are your papers?” you imagine them ask. This will remind you to keep things on the down-low and should hopefully stop you shouting: “Shit, these important *insert business-related acronym* documents haven’t been filed since 1978!!” Being covert also means remembering that they too have home-times and a lunch break. If you’re wise you can utilise these times to perform your “legitimate business practices.”

5 Remember it’s only for a week - However stressed or uptight you get around your superiors, jurors or Colditzian guards never forget that it’s for a limited period of time. It might be a day, an afternoon conference-call grilling or a week-long inquisition; but it is finite and is shorter than the length of your employment (hopefully). Use the experience to build up your archive of anecdotes or to recall to scare your future children into doing their homework, whatever. Just don’t flip out (he says with beers in hands).

I hope these translate for you who don’t work in accountancy or an office-based environment. If not you’re probably bored or not reading this. For those of you who are, I appreciate it.

Evening All.

10 Nuggets on a Post-It Note

2011-02-17T13:57:00.000-08:00

Evening tout le monde. As another day becomes inscribed into tomes of the past, I have learnt that lists are an absolute waste of Biro ink and premium Amazonian tree pulp.

I appreciate they have a useful purpose for reminding you to pack a socket-adaptor in your hand luggage or to buy an extra bottle of wine ‘cos you’re meeting the gf’s parents or whatever, but in terms of daily tasks....stick to keeping it inside ya noggin.

Writing out a ‘to do’ list not only makes you aware of how little free time there is in a day, but when you inevitably fail to achieve these goals it makes you realise that although you’ve been constructive and working hard, you haven’t actually ‘achieved’ anything. In the words of a greater man than myself; ‘you end up filling your day with trivia’.

So, I puzzled myself. Are there any lists people actually stick to, or enjoy making? Having tried to list my Desert Island Discs (picking 8 songs out of 13,313 is hard) last night in an effort to get to (yet simultaneously avoiding) sleep, I will admit that making some lists are indeed fun.

Alas, since Facebook-affiliated media groups have already published all the obvious ones within annoying quizzes such as “which historical dictator are you most likely to babysit for?” , I thought I’d make up a little list just for you avid readers.

The 10 best bits of advice I’ve ever heard/made up:

1 Never apologise for your feelings, because they’re the only things you can truly call your own.

2 Invest in some good headphones - you won’t need to buy new muzak when you can just rediscover all your old favourites.

3 ‘More is lost by indecision, than by wrong decision’ - Carpe Diem, grab life by the balls and do something fantastic with it.

4 If you’re a man, be a gentleman; if you’re a woman, keep your class - You never know who might be watching or who your actions might impress.

5 When you get angry, remember Sun Tzu’s words - “He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot will be victorious.”

6 Social media sites should never replace real life - Facebook cannot replicate the hormones and endorphins which you experience when you actually meet up with people.

7 “Be nice to people on your way up because you meet them on your way down.” - Jimmy Durante. Enough said really.

8 Live within your means - Basic maths and some self-discipline will save you some stress and the embarrassment of bailiffs knocking on your door.

9 Never buy a house on a flood plain - I’ve got to thank my dad for this chestnut. But seriously though; DFS sale furniture is worth even less if it’s covered in spring rain and faecal matter.

10 Don’t give up, work hard, enjoy life and for heaven’s sake wear a seatbelt.

That’s about it really. Apologies if it seems obvious or patronising. I just wanted to pass this wisdom onto someone as I don’t currently have children who can moan and humph and look bored whilst I rant.

Take care everyone.

Dementors, Dermot & The Daily Grind

2011-02-14T11:39:00.000-08:00

Evening everyone. How was your weekend? Promising? Enlightening? The sudden realisation that everything is the same as it was ten years ago? That’s what I experienced anyway. When I returned home from a weekend in vernal Berkshire, I was summoned into the position of ‘domestic IT support technician’ (I’m sure all of you are called into this role by at least one parent, at least once a week). After a day of sorting out old paperwork and files, my rather archaic father asked me to install a 3.5” floppy disk drive into his computer. *Raises eyebrow*. The moment of holding a piece of blast-from-the-past technology wasn’t the thing that nostalgia’ed me; it was what followed.

Errors, not responding screens, cursors remaining stationary whilst the mouse is shaken like a pepper-mill. These were the things which brought me back to the earlier days of computing. I mean, seriously; the average PC is now about 24 times faster than they were a decade ago, but Mr Microsoft still asks you to do unpaid overtime whilst repeatedly punching you in the head. The problem isn’t that computers are worse, the problem is that all the programs that used to be so basic, are now so bloody media and HD-happy, that they suck the life of your poor little lappy like a Dementor touching your face.

So....proportionally, computers haven’t actually become any faster, nor has TV become any better. The propagation of 24-hour journalism has replaced concise, well-documented, professionally-delivered facts, with continuous chattering and ad hoc reckonings from some reporter standing outside a closed building, or the thoughts of James, 12 from Solihull. FFS, no one cares! If I wanted ‘public opinion’, I’d ask my mates at work, or down the pub....oh wait....I’m human and vaguely social - I already do media-world! Leave me alone! Stop trying to replace my friends with these wannabe-journalists who broke into media purely to do Strictly or meet Dermot O’ Leary.

I’m not going to apologise for the above, cos you know, and I know, that you agree at least to some extent. Also, because the daily grind is sucking the life out of my creativity, or the creativity out of my life; I’m not sure which yet. This is reason why this series of unfortunate writings are under the title of The Daily Grind. Not because because they’re daily (they were meant to be, but I’m just not self-disciplined enough, and for that I will apologise) but because the daily life we are all exposed to moulds us, makes us, breaks us is often bleak and that in these five-hundred or so words, I can try and eek out my own existence, to let the world know that I am here...and hopefully to give you readers some sort of enjoyment from my rants and personal anecdotes.

So there we have it. The tenth post lists the raison d’etre but is also the worst in terms of content. Ironic non? For a greater example of this, see The Godfather Part III.

Take care everyone.

Tango Down!

2011-02-08T12:57:00.000-08:00

Evening casual and avid readers. Apologies for lack of bloggage the last few days - I’ve been busy with work and applying for jobs and general shenanigans.

Anyway, to bring things back into normality, here is a verbatim conversation today I had whilst at work. Many of you ask me what I do at work and I hope the below helps answer it:

The following occurs between 11:40 and 11:50 am.

*Phone rings*

Me: ( usual speaking baritone-pitched voice) Good morning, Finance.

Caller: Hello, is that Denise?

Me: ...... Um...no, it’s not I’m afraid. (Puzzled face)

Caller: Oh, Can I ask who it is then? It’s Katie here from So-and-So Company.

Me: Paul Edwards here, accounts payable. Denise was my predecessor. Anyway, hi Katie, how can I help?

Katie: Hi there, basically I’m ringing up regarding an old November invoice that’s quite late in being paid.

Me: I’m sorry to hear that, can I ask for the invoice number please?

Katie: (Interrupting) The value is for £216

Me: (looks for invoice on computer system and realise she’s not actually listening) I’m sorry, I can’t seem to find one of that value I’m afraid. Could I ask you to be so kind as to provide me with a copy of it please?

Katie: Of course, would you like it by fax or email?

Me: (Beginning to realise she’s not the sharpest crayon in the box and inevitably play up to this fact) Well, we don’t have a fax machine so email would be ideal please.

Katie: OK, what’s your email address?

Me: It’s Paul Robert , P-A-U-L-R-O-B-E-R-T....

Katie: (interrupting again) Paul Roberts@...

Me: No. Paul Robert... ending in T. As in T for Tango

Katie: Paul Robert Tango @....

Me: No no no!

Katie: Eh? What? Start again!

Me: Paul Robert dot ... Edwards

Katie: Paul.....Robert..... no tango?

Me: No tango. (Deep inhale to avoid torrent of laughter, whilst the rest of the department cackle around me in surround-sound)

Katie: Paul..Robert... dot?

Me: Dot Edwards

Katie: Dot Edwards

Me: @ GE dot com (Avoiding the desire to use Golf - Echo)

Katie: @ G E dot com

Me: Yes (with sigh of relief)

Katie: OK, thanks Robert, I’ll get that to you now.

Me: ----

Katie: Bye!

Me: Bye. (puts phone down with considerable force)

Me: (enraged) Absolute fudge biscuits!!!!!

Five minutes duly followed until I received an email with two attachments from Katie. It read as followed:

Paul, as per our phone conversation, please find the two November invoices attached for £115 and £111. Please could you get back to me as to a payment date.

Regards,

Sue King.

Two things.

Firstly, she said it was one invoice on the phone call but it’s now suddenly two. (Both of which we had on our system)

Secondly, she obviously let someone else use her email, but failed to amend the signature so it appeared to be from someone else. Perplexed and still infuriated I replied thus:

Dear Sue,

Many thanks for your email and for the invoices. Your colleague telephoned me regarding the status of a £216 invoice which fails to exist. Both of the invoices you attached are clear on our system and if she had been clearer in explaining this, it would have saved both of us a lot of hassle.

Kind Regards,

Paul

Moral high-ground achieved! Needless to say, neither Sue or Katie replied. Apologies for the lack of niceties in today’s blog. I just wanted to share the grief I go through on a daily basis and wanted to use this as an example to state that accountants are sometimes seen as dull or ‘beige’, but it’s only because they have to deal with people like Katie...and/or Sue regularly.

Anyway, hope your day was less frustrating. Comment if you wish, I’ll be back tomorrow.

Alchemy, Magic Beans and Columbo

2011-02-01T12:48:00.001-08:00

Sinus problems, haters gonna hate. A second day off work in as many weeks isn’t good for morale or the ol’ personal finances. Doctors surgeries are depressing places aren’t they? Even the upbeat spunky 90s tunes being tannoyed from Star FM can’t lift the mood as I wait in line for the only appointment they had... 10 bloody 40. Behind all these retired people...who don’t have to be at work and could do this at any other time of the day. Pffft. Anyway, after the classic ‘poke and grill’ (that’s grill as in to question, rather than to BBQ, although that would perk me up farrrr quicker) it’s off to next door to the chemist.

Not many places make you feel like a comedy-tv burglar as enter a shop, but Lloyds Pharmacy is such a place. BLAP, Whooooosh. The alarm and the temperamental auto-door are as offensive to my sore ears as a salvo of Howitzers, but less awe-inspiring. By the time I’m actually in the queue, (oh yes, Blighty’s quintessential institutions of queuing and the NHS are inseparable) I’m bored and vexed out of my throbbing mind.

Second in line for the joy parade, I hear a soft yet alien voice coming from the entrance:

BLAP, Whoooosh.

“Oohh, hello Mavis, alreet I hoope?” (Scottish accent, not poor spelling)

“Yes ta me dear, just a wee bit of problem with me knee.” (massive surprise when I realised there were numerous Scots in suburban Gloucester)

“Not too painful I hooope?”

“Ahhh nooo, just a wee bit sorrrr, I cannae kneel on it, but I can still kick the husband where (it hurts) !”

After I turn my head, smiled and brought myself out of what I briefly envisioned was the set of Still Game (great comedy) I request to have the lady behind the till transfer a green piece of paper into magical tablets for the price of £7.20, like some sort modern-day alchemy.

The thing I miss the most about living in Wales (besides the people, rugger, countryside, weather, culture, language and ambience) is the free prescriptions. Not only do you have to pay, you have to declare your name rank and serial number before they hand you over the drugs which you just paid for...5 minutes ago. I’m Paul Edwards not Mr Benn - I haven’t changed address or outfit to confuse you; I’ve just been pretending to look at the mens razors because it’s more socially acceptable than looking at oral thrush tablets in the absence of adequate seating provision.

After leaving with the magic beans only Jack would be proud of, I venture home for a day of sofa, tea, the Telegraph crossword and the inevitable Channel 4 afternoon western. (Columbo is so ‘old-hat’....and old-coat come to think of it.)

So there we have it, the joys of being ill. I hope you had more exciting days than myself and if you didn’t; get better soon.

Town Is Full Of Stars

2011-01-31T16:41:00.001-08:00

Evening readers. How was your weekend? Enjoyable I hope. As the ol’ grindstone is turning into another week and free time is confiscated for another four days; has anyone else noticed that there are less people ‘out and about’ at the weekend? I’m not sure whether it’s January blues, better central heating or larger petrol receipts which are causing this trend, but I don’t like it.

Walking through town amid the hustle and bustle of weekend revellers and tweenage shoppers is something I hate to love. The manly man in me hates shopping and queueing and going to shops I’ve already visited...that hour, but the inner European in me loves people watching.

Seeing how couples, teenage cliques, retirees and under-the-thumb dads behave in public is the only theatre I adore and it’s Wicked viewing. See what I did there?...Anyway, January used to be filled with miscellaneous bargain-hunting vagrants and people using shopping as an excuse for taking the kids out for some exercise (before an evening take-out pizza and sitting in front of X-factor for three hours...Score!) But now, I feel a melancholy interwoven with the glistening frost of a new and potentially tempestuous year. This is not the ‘winter of our discontent’ our elders have clichéd and forewarned us about, but the signs of things to come.

The best thing about my bedroom (besides my ever-growing collection of Swedish low-cost furniture) is the south-facing window. Seeing the flicking of aeroplane lights on their way to and from Bristol airport and being offended by the harsh low winter sun are definitely worth the price of seeing the orange sky; a suburban phenomenon caused by street light ambience reflecting off the snow covered skyline.

The reason I mention all of this is because the thing I love most about having a south-facing window is the stars. The stars aren’t soppy or celestial, they’re real and charming...you feel close to them, they make you smile, annoy you, change your perspective - the same way as the cute girl in town, the annoying sales person in the Orange Shop or the over-gentlemanly veteran in Debenhams. These are the people I miss seeing out and about on the weekend: The members of the public who make you wince, smile, cry and blush.

So if you wish to contribute to the so-called ‘big society’ which Mr. Cameron went on about, don’t feel you need to volunteer or martyr your skills - just amble about your local town for a bit on a Saturday and add some flavour to the social food-processor of life. Who knows who you might meet, or what fun might be had?

(Avid readers - please do not hold it against me that Monday’s post is technically issued on Tuesday. Kind regards, yours truly)

Laughing at Latin

2011-01-28T08:25:00.000-08:00

Afternoon all. Yesterday my work colleague told me some good news. His contract has been extended for another six months. This is good for two reasons. Firstly, I never like to see a good man unemployed and secondly, he proved a point I’ve been preaching to people for years. In life you make your own luck.

After being introduced to my (boss’ boss)² [you’ve gotta love the corporate hierarchy] my colleague briefly explained to him what work he was doing and now the chief guvna’ has decided that he is indispensable. If he had just shaken his hand and kept quiet, or been sick that day; he’d be on the scrap heap next month. It proves that if you work hard, meet people and keep your wits about you, you’ll be entering the workplace ‘flop’ with Ace-King rather than Jack-sh*t.

Whatever your hopes, dreams, ambitions or national insurance number, the ability to get along with a wide spectrum of people and to have a sense of humour are paramount in today’s society. With this phrase ‘social mobility’ being thrown about like some journalistic beanbag, how easy is it to make your own way along the yellow brick road to red shoes and stardom?

The current ‘meritocracy’ that we have today (the idea that life’s rewards are awarded through merit) is partially true but notably not so in major British institutions. Legal, the Church of England, and most notoriously contemporary politics are becomings ‘boys-clubs’ which don’t seem to be accessible enough to inspire a new generation of hopefuls to ‘get on board’. Political heavyweight Andrew Neil writes: “Half the cabinet went to fee-paying schools - versus only 7% of the country - as did a third of all MPs....Top Labour politicians are less posh than the Tories or the Lib Dems but they are increasingly middle-class, Oxbridge-educated and have done nothing but politics.”

The problem isn’t that they’re bad politicians per se, they’ve all worked hard, are experienced and have earned enough public respect. The problem is that for all their merits and first-rate education - none of them have the sense of humour that’s required in any workplace or have the so called ‘common touch’ to be able to relate to anyone who hasn’t read Latin or subscribes to the FT.

I didn’t mean for this to come out as some anti-establishment rant; I’m thankful that I live in Gloucestershire and not Grozny. It’s just frustrating to see people in the public eye without the ability to take the p*ss out of themselves and not being able to enjoy simple pleasures. (I somehow can’t imagine Clegg and Cameron playing Jenga whilst watching Friends on e4 and drinking cider out of a box...but if they did, BBC Parliament would be infinitely more watchable!)

So there we have it everyone. Some simple advice: Go out, chat to people, do things, laugh lots, live freely, and for Pete’s sake, Carpe Diem.