Has Reading Got Talent?

For the sixth year (since the contest started), I was at Reading's Broad Street Mall with my camcorder filming "Has Reading Got Talent 2013" last weekend.

My job is to record snippets (50 seconds) of each of the 70 - 80 or so quarter finalists acts, a little more of the 40+ semi finalists acts and all of the ten finalists acts. This normally means two full days sat/stood in front of the stage on the Saturday and Sunday...but that's the easy part!

Because the camcorder I use for the talent contest uses DV tape, if I record eight hours of footage that's exactly the time it takes to move it from tape onto my computer ready to edit. Then it takes approximately an hour per half hour of footage to create a first edit, and double that to arrive at a reasonably finished project.

Once the encoding starts, I can add on another day before the footage, in web or DVD format, is ready to go out.

Needless to say I make a huge loss on the talent show each year. The shopping centre simply doesn't have the budget to pay me what the time and effort demands - yet I really don't care!

I enjoy doing it, despite moaning about standing or sitting about all day, despite the job jamming up two computers for almost a week afterwards...

I've worked for Broad Street Mall for over a decade, running their website, filming their events and producing the odd piece of artwork. I like the people and I like being involved.

The centre manager, Steve Fawke, will be leaving soon for pastures new and I for one will be sad to see him go. Having sweated over this years talent show filming and editing I hope the new centre manager chooses to continue with the show and to use my services...

...although I will make one concession, next year I will use my super huge professional camcorder that records onto CF cards.

Bus or Bust

Okay, you need the next bus into town to avoid missing a an important meeting and you’re making your way to the stop, around the next corner. You can hear a commotion going on  - a male and female voice - and it’s becoming clear you’re walking towards it. Sure enough, you round the corner and a fully-fledged row is going on between boyfriend and girlfriend. She’s accusing him of cheating on her and he’s saying he didn’t, but is trying to control her flailing arms, pushing her back against the bus shelter. She’s telling him to get the F**k off and he’s screaming back, right in her face. The whole thing appears to be escalating and unfortunately you are the only other person in sight.

What do you do?

 1.    Continue to the stop and pretend you can’t see/hear what’s going on three feet from you.

 2.   Turn around, miss the bus and the important meeting, all on account of these two idiots.

 3.     Intervene, asking them to realise where they are – and risk them both turning on you.

It’s not as easy as it sounds. What did I do?  I took option 1. – but stood outside the shelter to give them more room.

What happened? They were oblivious to me until the girl pushed the boy into me. Did I react? No! Did he apologise? No. 

In fact, she pushed him again and this time he stepped back onto my foot, at which point I said ‘Ow!’…at which point the girl rounded on me and asked ‘what the f**k was my problem?’

I shook my head, saying nothing. The girl took that, not as a sign of submission but of disrespect and she was about to step forward and hit me when her boyfriend held her arms – and the bus turned up. Relief!

They continued bellowing at each other during the fifteen minute trip and although I managed to sit at the opposite end of the bus and avert my gaze, the girl made to come towards me on no fewer than four occasions, still convinced I was ‘dissing’ her.

I made my appointment but it didn’t go well. I was in the wrong frame of mind. I also had a large scratch on one of my expensive shoes where they’d been trodden on. That was the first time I’ve used a bus in years, and the last. 

Reading buses are great but no-matter how good the transport, the method stinks.

Aggressive Bureaucracy

I bought a moped in 2001. It was a 50cc Peugeot and I wanted it for tripping in and out of Reading. It saved me a lot of money - not having to pay for car parking each time I went to see a client – but before the year was up I was getting busier and busier and having to take more files or equipment in with me and the bike just wasn’t big enough. That, coupled with the fact I gained a free parking concession and the bike became redundant. We moved house at the time as well and the bike went up into the shed.

Life overtook and rolled forward to 2011, whereupon my son turned sixteen. The moped became of interest to him and we unearthed it from the shed for the first time in a decade. Both tyres had rotted, the engine had no compression, (we later discovered the rollers had flattened and the cone gone rusty)… but the bike was otherwise spotless and had just 1500Km on the clock.

We took it to a specialist and had all the work done. By the end it ran as good as new. I had it Mot’d and insured for my son and was told the MOT would alert the DVLA to the fact the bike was back on the road.

I was very happy for my son, who proudly rode it to and from school.

Then, after ten months of doing so, he called me up at 4pm after school one day in a panic. His bike wasn’t where he left it. He was in a state. By the time I got to him he had recovered enough to enter the office building adjacent to where he parked and asked to view their cctv. It clearly showed his bike being lifted into a van by a DVLA van.

Okay, it took a few moments to register but I realised I hadn’t ever received a notification from DVLA regarding road tax and that I hadn’t done anything about it. (Before anyone starts screaming ‘heard it all before’, ‘Likely story’ and so on, I would add that road tax for the bike was £15. I have two large cars, which incur road tax charges of £490.00 apiece … so I’m not likely to worry about £15 for a scooter).

After making calls, I discovered the bike had been impounded in Reading and by the time we got there it was 4.45pm. I spoke to the man through a Perspex safety window, explaining our problem.

The man, (from here on in and for the purposes of my story called call ‘mister obstructive’), was not very helpful. He told us bluntly we would have to pay a penalty charge of £270 to get the bike back.

I swallowed hard. The bike was barely worth that much but it was my fault I hadn’t taxed it and I was carrying enough cash so offered to pay the fine there and then - but mister obstructive said I couldn’t pay until he saw the bike’s log book.

Of course I didn’t have it on me and asked if I could pay the fine and come back with the log book and collect the bike the next day.

He refused my money saying he couldn’t take payment without seeing the log book so I accepted that – but he went on to say that he was closing at 5.30pm and a further ‘overnight storage’ charge of £100 would apply in the morning. This would make the fine rise to £370 and there was no way the bike was worth that much. I checked my watch and it was five to five. We live across town from the yard and stood virtually no chance of getting home, retrieving the log book and getting back before the deadline but I looked at my sons face and said I’d give it a go.

…So I broke a few more traffic laws!

I keep all my vehicle documents in a box file entitled ‘vehicle documents’! It sits to the right, on the top shelf in my study. I got home, ran inside, grabbed the entire box file and was back in the car inside 30 seconds. Whilst I drove like a man possessed, my son found the log book, MOT and insurance certificate. We arrived at the impound yard at exactly 5.29pm. Mister obstructive tried to push the door shut on my son, who had dived out of the car but reluctantly took the log book and looked at the MOT and insurance.

Then he smiled…and asked to see… a household bill!

I could feel my blood rising but kept it down. I showed him my driving licence and credit cards but he insisted on seeing a household bill. I said, ‘You didn’t mention wanting to see a household bill earlier’.

‘I did’, he said.

‘You didn’t’, my son and I replied in unison… ‘If you had asked’, I went on, ’I could have grabbed a handful of bills off my desk at the same time as grabbing this box file’, waving it in front of me.

Mister obstructive wasn’t having it. He lurked behind his safety screen and simply repeated that he now wanted to see a household bill. Then he smiled and told us it was six o’clock and his payment machine was shut down for the night anyway. He said he could do nothing more until the next day.

 ‘For an extra £100?’  I said. He nodded.

I asked him what would happen if we decided not to pay to get the bike back and were told the DVLA would ‘dispose’ of it, either by destroying it of selling it on.

We weren’t getting anywhere and we were not going to get the bike back there and then. We drove home, dejected.

We spoke about it as a family that evening, explored the internet for advice and decided that the bike really wasn’t worth £370. My son was disappointed but we were actually in the process of buying him a car to learn in so persuaded him not to worry too much. As my wife and I were in London early the next day on business we mentally wrote the bike off.

My wife and I duly spent the next day and night in London but that evening my son called to say he had spotted something on the internet we had all missed the night before.

The DVLA website made no mention of a £270 fine, but plenty of references relating to a £100 fine and a £170 returnable deposit in lieu of proving and showing a current road fund licence!

So the fine wasn’t £270 as Mister obstructive had told us, it was £100!

Mister obstructive had not told us that all we had to do was buy a tax disc and show it to him. We could have done that.. the bike was MOT’d and insured after all. It would have made all the difference, a £200 fine as opposed to £370. Then we realised that by going up to London the bike would have incurred a second night’s storage fee, an additional £100. This brought the cost back up to £300 and again we had to conclude it wasn’t worth paying for.

We made plans to go back to the yard early the following day anyway to retrieve my sons bike jacket (locked under the saddle), and his helmet, locked to the rear of the bike.

I was going to at least try and negotiate a fair deal, as Mister obstructive hadn’t told us the truth. As a precaution, my son’s mobile phone has a voice recorder app and when we went in we turned it on.

We asked Mister obstructive why he hadn’t told us a large portion of the cost was returnable and why he claimed he had asked to see a household bill when we knew he hadn’t. On both counts we got him – and still have him recorded admitting gleefully that he was ‘not there to make our lives easier’… and ‘it served us right’.

Mister obstructive still wasn’t going to budge though, so we asked if we could retrieve the personal items from the bike. Straight-away we could see my son’s helmet had been ruined - scraped across the ground where it had been pulled away from the rear of the bike. It was completely trashed. Then we saw the bike’s front faring and indictor light had been pulled and broken off. These impound yards have a duty of care and it was clear my sons bike had not been properly handled. 

We decided to take pictures of the damage and asked to see the yard manager to make a complaint. This was the first time Mister obstructive lost his smug confidence and he told us the manager would not be available until the following day.

As my son had to go to school, I went in to the yard on my own the next day. I had my own phone with its version of dictaphone which I tried to use a bit too obviously. Mister obstructive took one look at it and refused to say anything and disappeared into the back office. There was no sign of the manager and I was left on my own, twiddling my thumbs. Then, after ten minutes or so, two uniformed Police officers entered the room; I was in an impound yard and didn’t think it was strange to see Police, thinking they probably came regularly to check on stolen vehicles or something…but when one of them pointed at me I became a little alarmed.

‘We were told someone was kicking off in here’, they said.

‘I’ve been the only one here’, I replied…and was then asked to go outside with them. They asked me if I had a mobile phone, of course I did and I produced it from my pocket. They asked me if I had any pictures on it… a bit odd, but ‘yes, I think so’, I replied. They asked to see them and then studied each one as I flicked through.

I asked them why they wanted to see my phone pictures.

‘That man’, they said, pointing to ‘mister obstructive’, 'has called 999 and said you’ve got pictures of his wife and child on your phone and that you’ve threatened them’.

I nearly fell over! The Police were a bit mystified as well. I was questioned for over twenty minutes before being sent on my way and told not to re-visit the yard. I never got the opportunity to speak to the manager and make my complaint. As I walked away the Police officers were talking to mister obstructive but to this day I don’t know what happened.

Mister obstructive obviously knew I was there to make a complaint about him…I had told him my intention the day before – clever bastard - what better way to divert attention away from a complaint than by making one of his own!

We lost the bike. It just wasn’t worth the hassle. I complained in writing and never got anywhere.

The Police contacted me and said they didn’t know what to think, telling me Mister obstructive insisted to the end that I was out to murder his family…! They simply advised me not to go back.

And yes, we got to the bottom of it. We had moved into our new house a decade earlier - before the bike had been a year old and the road tax renewable. Because it had gone straight into the shed and left there, it had never crossed our minds – as it had with the cars – to update it’s log book, hence any road tax reminders had gone to our old address… it really just hadn’t occurred to us.

No excuses, we were clearly wrong and many will think we deserved what we got...

What do you think?  Sympathy..or none?

Democracy is dead, long live democracy!

Do you ever get the feeling that democracy is becoming increasingly autocratic, even totalitarian? Our democratic freedoms are being eroded faster than the arctic ice caps.

I was a child of the seventies and early eighties and I grew up with autocratic parents whose attitude was always..
                                   'No you can't...I said No!...Do as I told you!'

..and I escaped as soon as I came of age. I bought my first house at eighteen (dodgy mortgage), and left home without looking back. I enjoyed freedom for the first time...I had a good time, got drunk, silly and adventurous for a few years - but worked hard to make money and get along and I never got myself into serious trouble along the way.

But even if I did break free from the confines of my parents rules and beliefs, my life has been ordered and directed by society, complete with it's own long list of rules and regulations. I haven't minded this though, society needs order and most laws are determined with the well-being of the majority in mind.

What scares me is the rise of the self-righteous activists, the homosexual rights campaigners, the feminists, anti-racists.. the greens, the health and safety quangos, the ban fox-hunting/smoking/drinking and anti four wheel drive campaigners who make me afraid to express my own opinions in fear of being branded as sexist, homophobic or racist.

It scares me to see just how much influence and power they gained in just a few short decades, how they have worked tirelessly to integrate themselves into positions of influence within councils, the government and the media and how they play a huge part in creating new laws, rules and regulations that affect us all.

I'm an Average Joe but I have my own preferences; I like Peanut Butter and Marmite together on toast, I prefer the summer to the winter, I like Jaguar cars to BMW cars...and so on...

What is really getting to me is the long list of words we can no longer use for fear of insulting someone. I've just been told that my use of the word 'disabled' to describe a man I saw whose legs had been blown off by an Afgan IED is prejudiced against all those who in some way do not enjoy the same mobility as someone with two working arms and legs.

This pissed me off. I felt extremely sorry for the man I saw but I was also absolutely in awe of him knowing that I wouldn't cope with the situation he was obviously having to cope with.... but to describe him as disabled is apparently wrong..... he should be described as 'a person without the use of arms and legs'. That's like having to call an egg a 'chicken foetus ecased in a hard outer shell'. Try asking for that in Joes cafe!...

"I'll have sausage, beans and a chicken foetus encased in a hard shell please"

That's a silly example but what I'm saying is, I am neither racist nor over opinionated but I have my preferences. I have a sense of humour, I don't care if someone is gay; black; white; pink or purple or disabled - In other words, if a woman (I prefer women) looked as good as Catherine Zeta Jones, had the fun personality of Nicole Shit-slinger and the body of either, I really wouldn't worry what colour or race they were!.. but there are always going to be people who are bothered and will go out of their way to be cruel and stupid. (I took a good share of that at school).

I read an American blog written by a black American that said that if a white person is accused of racism, that person has no defence to the charge. If the white person says 'but my best friend is black', then he/she is racist for distinguishing his black friends from his white! It's frustrating...

If we continue down this road, then I will be 'size-ist' for preferring shorter women to taller women; I'll be 'weight-ist' for preferring slimmer women to wider women and homophobic for turning down a date with a gay man (as I prefer women). In fact, it could get to the stage that if anyone declines anyones offer of a date they will be seen as discriminatory...'he/she wouldn't go out with me and so offended me and discriminated against me'...Eh???

The world is never going to be a perfect place but it has to support the habits, habitats, cultures and foibles of all of us, so lets stop running our lives according to the fanatics and do-gooders and start living according to common sense. Unfortunately, we live in a cruel world and some people will be insulted, others beaten and others driven to early deaths and that's terrible but at the rate we're going, our free democratic society is going to be eroded into a world of rules and strict guidelines that will in themselves bring about trouble and revolution.

Anyone, whether a kind-hearted anti-something supporter or a murdering political fanatic can cause serious repercussions if they attempt to force the will of the majority to the idealism of their own single views.

Yawn - MPs Expenses!!

It was bound to happen sooner or later. For years I've moaned about the political classes and their 'less than real life' view of the world. Call me a cynic but I always guessed they were all aboard the gravy train - I just didn't know for sure.

Now we are all aware to the extent we have been ripped off - ministers are resigning left right and centre and Gordon Brown is under pressure to leave office (he's sooo desperate to retain power that he'll have to be pulled out by the ankles, his fingernails gouging deep ruts in the oak flooring as he goes!).

I hate people like that. He seems to ignore public opinion, saying time and again 'I am the right man for the job, to see us through this economic...' Bollocks!

WE should decide if he's the right man for the job. WE need a general election. IF he wins then yes, he IS the right man but until then, he's just a power hungry nobody whom the public didn't vote in as premier. (Yes, I know we vote for our local MP, not the premier, but face it, in reality we vote for the party we believe in - and the person running the party).

So, Brown is an unelected premier and I think its time we vote to see him become an elected premier or a hasbeen - neverwasbeen!

Expenses: Yes, there are probably some good honest MPs but I'm afraid the minority (if they are a minority), have again spoiled things for the majority. What makes it worse is the number of MPs who have delved into their cheque books and paid back thousands in a flash. I wish I had that sort of money! Plus, doesn't that prove that they're not only wrong, but scared enough to repay swiftly, realising they are verging on the criminal.

If I claimed for ridiculous items and was found to have made false claims, I would have to pay the taxman back every penny, would probaly be fined and possibly prosecuted. Why are our politicians any different? They are supposed to be examples to us ordinary beings, upstanding citizens entrusted with the runningof our country.

We really are the laughing stock of Europe - the world even - take a look at a few foreign news websites...

When bored, access PCporn and have a w%*k

Did you know that all cocks are skitzo - split personalities. One moment they're as soft and pink as cotton candy and the next, raging hard and purple with angry throbbing veins!

And you never know when they're going to turn nasty; I was in the supermarket the other day when a woman bent over the frozen foods counter. All I did was catch a peek of bum but cock must have got jealous or something and flew into a purple rage, protesting with all its mite, angrily trying to rip a hole through the front of my jeans.

I had to physically restrain it and managed to trap it under my belt but even then it struggled and throbbed... until an old woman with a moustache walked past and cock, obviously ashamed at its tantrum, calmed down enough for me to drop it back into the rummageable area of my pants.

Cock didn't stay calm long though, and by the time I got home was beginning to make my balls ache. I think the baby syrup must have travelled beyond the point of no return. I rushed into the study and asked my PC for advice. My PC found a website with rude images on and said 'take a firm hold of cock and beat him hard, really teach him a lesson'. I had to look at a number of nasty pictures whilst beating cock to a pulp but eventually and sure enough, I made cock cry - and my god, what a cascade of salty tears!

Fortunately I keep a stack of tissues handy for my hay-fever so I used one to wipe the tears from his eye...

But this is the thing. You'd have thought cock would have learn't his lesson but no, if anything his behaviour is getting worse and I'm finding I often have to beat him to the point of tears several times a day, until on some occasions he becomes so sore and bruised that I really feel sorry for him. When that happens I try and be kind for a couple of days but eventually cock just turns nasty again and I have to give him another beating.

I've been working from home recently but I'm hoping to move back into the office as soon as the refurbishment is complete. Cock always seems to behave better when I've got other people around me, except when Louise wears her cream blouse with the lace front, then he gets really angry!..

Bored as $%@!

I've got more work on than I can do but my brain is in meltdown and I can't concentrate for more than a minute at a time. All the tasks are really involved (html editing, copywriting etc) and require attention to detail.

Whats made it worse is I'm working from home at the moment and the fridge keeps nagging me, the Xbox is no better and guess what, Sky is running Tour of Duty every afternoon!

And then, when I finally get down to work, the fucking phone rings and a customer says 'Can you just...'

I need a holiday.

waste of time blogging

no one ever bothers to comment on these blogs so its a waste of time writing them...

The other day I had to organise the filming of a small awards ceremony. The affair was formal black tie and everyone came along in their best gowns or suits etc. It always fascinates me how men, when dressed up to the nines, seem to alter their attitude accordingly, strutting along in a hired DJ as though they own the town. The women are even worse. Whats really funny though is watching them after they've all had a few drinks... The guys revert to type, often spilling wine down themselves, stripping off their dickie bows and leaving half their mouthfuls of food around the corners of their mouths. The women are funnier. Not used to strapless dresses, I saw three women fall out of their tops whist stretching for the wine, nipples dancing amongst the remains of the meat and gravy on their plates. The response? Huge cheers every time!

You can bring the cattle to market - but you can't guarantee the quality of the beef!

Why I should become a politician

I'm thinking of going into politics because;

a. I'm tired of having to work hard for a living.
b. because I can't see any other way of affording a second property - especially in London.
c. because I will save money by combining government 'business' trips with my holiday schedules.
d. because a gold plated pension sounds more appealing as the years roll by.
e. because I'd like to experiment with my ideals on education (for example) but I don't want to 'experiment' on my own son... just in case I'm wrong, and besides, hes doing well at boarding school.
f. I will be able to target those sections of society that have always irritated me.

Weighty Problem

I just stepped on the scales. Nearly 17 stone - 5'10" - the numbers don't equate. Its a good job I've got a shrunken head else I'd look really fat. A year ago I was 14 stone and packed with muscle. Then I hurt my shoulder and turned to shit and the scary thing is it didn't take very long.

Last week I've gone back on the weights thinking I'll shed a bit but I've put on 5 pounds. My wife said its because muscle is heavier than fat (I know that), but I didn't tell her that last week I had four business lunches and drank more beer than I've downed in six months.

The Art of Commnication is DEAD!

I started work in 1983. In my office we had dial phones with separate switch boxes (each box had five flick switches with three positions - top/middle and bottom. To make a call you had to flick the switch up to top, to hold a party call to middle and to cut it off, bottom.

My job involved phoning a lot of customers. On average I would get through to eight out of ten people I called directly, without even speaking to a secretary.

As the years went on, we all though answer phones were fantastic - a way to ensure we never missed an important call. Then there was the introduction of voice mail, then mobile phones, texts and of course, email.

But a funny thing has happened. Now that communication is easier than ever before, it is harder than ever to get through to anybody at all. These days, I'm lucky to get through to 1 out of ten customers, and even then I have to wrestle my way through a bank of automated questions and options.

And now I employ youngsters, I've noticed they don't want to engage in conversation on the telephone, preferring to mail or text to ask their questions. The problem is that now, instead of gaining immediate answers to queries, we are waiting for mail recipients to reply, instead of comprehensive explainations, we get 'text speak', that leaved a lot to the imagination.

Communications in the 21st century are the worst I've known, the power of speech and skill of negotiation have disappeared and fewer people than ever even bother to listen to their voice mail, let alone answer it.

Its little wonder people are flocking to myspace and facebook. Holding virtual relationships is a whole lot easier than real life - or is Second Life the way we're all heading? It will be a sad world when socialising means sitting alone at a computer typing messages and posting picture.

Oh, I forgot, its Sunday evening. I'm sat alone in the study on the computer typing messages. What a sad world its become!