Halloween thoughts ...

Are there ever unexplained  events in your life for which no rational argument may be found?  Things which possibly go bump in the night, household objects not where you left them?  As it is the period of Halloween it seemed appropriate to mention a few apparently odd happenings ...

There have been a number of odd events in my life for which I have no explanation, the only thing that cannot be said is that they leave me as a sceptic of the paranormal.

My first encounter was on Halloween Eve 1961at about eight o'clock in the evening.  I was cycling West along Bell Lane, Enfield near to Albany School, it was a chilly night with a light mist falling.  From the mist something seemed to be coming towards me on my side of the road.  As the distance between it and myself closed it appeared to be four horses drawing what I can only describe as an old fashioned stage or mail coach with the driver seated high on his box.  One odd thing was that it was not actually on the road but  floating about a foot above it, another was an eerie silence.  Just as I thought that I might be run down I was passing between the leading pair of horses, the driver seemed not to notice me as he urged his team on.  I went through the front of the coach with fleeting glimpses of Georgian or Victorian style dress worn by the passengers.

 Suddenly the coach was gone.  Stopping my bicycle I turned to look behind in the direction which the coach was travelling.  There was nothing to see whatsoever, no evidence that something untoward and very odd had apparently happened.  Was it all in my mind or had I witnessed something spectral, spiritual from another world?

Subsequent research showed that historically there was a regular coach route that passed along this way to Colchester and Harwich pausing at the Bell Public House in the Enfield Highway for refreshment before fording the River Lea eastwards.  A friend put me in touch with the editor of the Enfield Gazette local newspaper, where a search showed that a small number of local people had also witnessed the same incident at various times past, not in that exact location but along the route of Hoe Lane and Bell Lane.

Well, that I thought eventually was the end of the matter.  But no, other odd events were to happen ...

Some  years later I worked a a bus inspector for London Transport, my regular roadside point at one time was near the top of Barnet Hill opposite the police station.  It was approaching midnight, I was in my little hut writing up the days events in the log book.  It was a Monday evening,always very quiet then, no buses were on the stand and there was nobody about.  During this spell of admin I felt a tap on my shoulder, turning to see who was there I was surprised to see nobody. 

Some twenty minutes later I felt yet another tap on my shoulder, turning again I saw that I was alone.  It was a very odd feeling that despite being the only person there I was apparently not by myself, almost as if there was another person near me.  It was just a feeling, that's all, I was not frightened but slightly puzzled but with  a feeling of calm and reassurance.

That was the first time that anything such as this had happened but not the last.  On other occasions it was not only when I was alone at work, at home or in busy public places.  By now my curiousity had got the better of me so I spoke in confidence to a close friend whom I knew to be interested in the spirit world.  She suggested that I meet with a friend who was a medium which i did a few weeks  later at her home.   Having introduced herself she asked why I had come to see her, having explained past events she then sat quietly for several minutes.  Eventually breaking her silence she explained that it was my late mother's way of contacting me to reassure me that everything would be fine, at this time I was going through a very difficult period in my personal life and that she was watching over me.

She then went on to describe physically spirits that were standing behind me.  When she began I was naturally somewhat sceptical,she then described what my late father was wearing, it was his typical day off around the house attire, even to his red leather paint spattered slippers.  I was somewhat astonished, even more so when she described my late mother very accurately and her dress as well as a unique purse that she had owned along with its very personal contents.  Furthermore she saw my grandfather telling me of his unique record in the First World War before mentioning several other significant family members who had been part of my life including our Alsatian dog named Rover that we had many years before.

It must be stressed that I had never before met this lady and that she knew nothing of my past nor family.  Sincerely I believe that she was a genuine medium with a singular gift, there is no way which she could possibly have know the personal things that she related.  Finally she said that I had a brother.  This could not be possible because  I am an only child, shortly after my birth Mum contracted tuberculosis making further children impossible for her.  Linda, however, was adamant that she could see a young baby in my mother's arms despite my protestations.

So the evening ended leaving me me astonished as well as a little confused.  Despite my best efforts over some considerable period of time I was unable to trace either birth nor death certificates for my unknown sibling.

Fast forward some ten years, my wife and I were staying with my sole remaining uncle, my father's brother.  An opportunity arose when we were alone to ask about a possible brother.  My uncle sat quietly for a few seconds before telling me that indeed I had a brother born about a year before me who sadly died shortly afterwards.  Shocked?  Astonished?  Incredulous?  I was all of these things and more besides,  it took more than several minutes for me to assimilate what I had been told before asking some further questions.

Several years after this a very few effects from my late father were eventually passed on to me, nothing of material value but of immense personal and sentimental interest.  As mentioned previously Linda had described my mother's unique purse and contents.  The only thing that was missing was an eternity ring but everything else was there, pieces of jewellery that I had bought for Christmas and birthday  presents, a silver threepenny piece and other small items.  I had last seen that purse more than fifty years previously but remembered it very distinctly. 

Given my spectral and psychic experiences there is little choice but to agree that such things exist, that there is a spirit world which some can see in greater or lesser degrees.  Often I feel that here are invisible people around, spirits if you wish, at home, out and about, wherever I may happen to be - not all of the time but often.  There is one particular place that I never feel alone although I am rarely able to be there these days as it is back in England, a particular motorcycle racing venue.

 Motorcycles have been a large part of my life particularly racing, at this particular track I have enjoyed the company of so many wonderful friends over the years some of whom have sadly passed on whether by accident or natural circumstances.  It is never a lonely place even if here is nobody else there, it is a happy joyous place to me with friends all around.

In recent years we moved abroad and now live in a four hundred year old house.  Despite its age I have never experienced any of the other world there apart from a smell of burning Golden Virginia tobacco on an almost daily basis.  Neither my wife nor I have smoked for many a long year but it was always my father's favourite brand.  The smell is confined to just one very small corner of a room on the first floor, move more than a metre or so  away and it cannot be detected.  I am assured that it is Dad's way of letting me know that he is here.  As for my mother she also has her own ways of being here.

Sceptic?  Doubter? Nay sayer?  There is no choice but to believe ...

England, That sceptred Isle.

Despair - utter despair!

I have just placed an order for a part for my other lathe, a very small one, so that I can at least make some small wood shavings as I wish.  The company is in South Norwood so I thought that the process would be simple.

Phone rings, please press whatever function number that you want.  OK, press button to listen to Richard Clayderman and what I presume might be a piano.  Difficult to tell really as the tape is so stretched and distorted as to render any identification of the music impossible.  A further audio addition was a sort of hissing and spitting which sounded like many rashers of bacon frying in the background.  (Note for older readers:  Annette Mills' Muffin the Mule or Sparky and His Magic Piano would have even been preferable.)

'Hello' said a voice more than reminiscent of Jim Davidson's mate Chalky. 

Having said that I wish to place an order I was told to wait because the computer was slow.  I complied and waited several minutes after which the same voice asked if it could help me.

Affirming that was so and that I wished to place an order the request to hold was again made as the the computer had apparently yet to to reach Warp Speed 3.  Patiently I waited again to be subjected to more aural distress from Mr Clayderman ...

'Hello, you want to make an  order?'

'Yes', the penny was dropping, 'Do you deliver to France?'

'Umm, dunno, have to find out.'  Re-enter Richard Bloody Clayderman ...

'Err, yeah.  What's the number that you want?' 

Thankfully I had the foresight to ascertain the part number of the desired item which I relayed slowly, confirming every pair of digits - slowly.

The voice eventually announced the correct description of the item before asking me to wait further due to reluctant computer.  Guess what?  Another two minutes or so of that wretched French ivory tinkler assaulted my ears.

The next step was an eventual triumph for the English phonetic alphabet as I laboriously spelled out my full postal address.  This mammoth intellectual task needed double checking after every single word which when completed was read back to me in what sounded like a mixture of pidgin English and a hitherto unknown tongue.

Now for the difficult bit the recitation of the sixteen digits embossed onto my bank card.  After each pair I was asked to repeat them again, then listened while they were reiterated in what I now thought might be South London patois with a sprinkling of Ethiopean slung in for good measure.  This was repeated again back to me without request and it sounded more or less correct from what I had managed to glean.

Now another hurdle to surmount - expiry date of my card which I stated to be October 2016.  That caused another hiatus as apparently the computer screen would not accept that date as it was too long.  Try again, this time using the magic numbers of 10 and 16.  To my utter amazement the next words were 'Oh, October, twenty sixteen', the very response that I had given initially.

The ultimate challenge was yet to come in the form of stating the name on the card, my own, my very own.  Having spoken it slowly a repeat performance was requested which was delivered letter by painful letter then a further repetition of it by the disembodied voice at the other end of the phone.

Are you sure that is your name?'

'What do you mean am I sure that it is my name' I asked in disbelief, after all I've only had it since 1944 so there may be room for doubt.

'It sounds like an English name'.  Well, that's a surprise...

'It is an English name' I replied, 'Why, is there a problem?'

'Well, you have a French address'.

'Yes, that's correct which is why I asked if your company delivered to France.'

'You do not have a French name?'

'No, I do not have a French name because I am English.  I am an Englishman who lives in France.'

'Oh.'

'How much will carriage be please?'  I was dreading the response to this question as my ears were still recovering from their earlier assault of the  keyboard cacophony.

'Wait, I will find out'.

Dear God, no, please no.  He was not listening and yet again that damned Gallic ivory basher resumed his assault on my ears.

'Umm, about five or  six pounds.'

I could not be bothered to challenge his sort of ball park figure for fear of further damage to my musical sensibilities as I thought that about right from previous items purchased of about that weight from the UK.

'Thank you' I responded wiltingly.

'Is that all?'

'Yes thank you.'

'OK, ciao'.'

___________________________________________________________

And that, dear reader, was my latest encounter with probably a product of the educational system.  Unhappily I fear that it may not be my last.

Dateline Paris - 15 September 2014

A 'Summit' of forty or so Foreign Ministers ended yesterday evening with a magnificent banquet hosted by the French President. The assembled throng were ostensibly meeting during the day to formulate measures to counter the Isis terrorists. It was agreed that nations should co-operate in this but no firm decision was taken as to what this should be or when it may happen.

Yet another expensive, inconclusive gab-fest. If meetings were actions this band of murderous thugs iin the name of Islam would have been totally destroyed a good while ago. In the meantime the terrorists sword hangs over the neck of Alan Henning and probably a number of other humanitarian workers.

Cameron said yesterday that this poor wretch cannot be rescued as his precise whereabouts is unknown, it would seem that no effort is being made to locate and rescue him. Cameron and his henchman must bear the responsibility if this unfortunate is killed because due to their collective lack of balls, backbone, willingness determination to do anything except wring their hands, look pious and talk they are just as guilty for this Hennen's fate as surely as if they were to wield the terrorist sword.

What of Cameron yesterday during the talk-but-no-action meeting in Paris? Ah yes, he was in Scotland trying to save his political neck in the forthcoming referendum for Scottish independence, addressing meetings, pressing flesh, making crocodile tear speeches. He expended much effort yesterday in a last minute desperate, grovelling attempt to persuade the Scots to save his bacon, it's a shame that his energy was totally wasted in Scotland rather than the Middle east.

Shame on you Cameron and your henchman, shame on Clegg & Company as well as Milliband and his pseudo Tory Labour party for remaining dumb about Syria, Iraq and Isis when they should be pressurising the unelected Prime Minister for immediate action.

Another phone call

Here we go again.

Phone has just rung -

Me: 'Hello'

Caller: 'Good morning, dis is da Vindows Help centre, vee vish to help you'

Me: 'Can you please speak English?'

Caller: 'Good morning, dis is da Vindows Help centre, vee vish to help you'

Me:  'Ah, I understand - vy are you speaking English vith me?'

C: ' I am speaking English vith you, I vont you to listen carefully'

Me: 'Don't tell me that you are going to say this only vunce'

C:  'Vot id dis vunce?'

Me: 'Sorry, continue vith vot you vere saying'

C:' I'm having difficulty with vot you are saying'

Me: 'So am i trying to speak your language while you try to speak mine'

C: 'Your Vindows are having problems, vee are to hilp you with dat'

Me: 'Vot is Vindows?  I do not have Vindows'

C: 'Our records say dat you do have Vindows'

Me: 'No, I do not have Vindows, why are you not listening,'

C: 'Your Vindows is in trouble, I vill put dat right for you, please to follow my instructions'

Me: 'Vy do I need to follow your instructions ven I do not have Vindows?

C: 'I know dat you have Vindows, now please do as I ask'

Me: 'You know nothing, vy should I do vot you say?'

C: 'Because I am helping you, now please press Control Alt F.  Vot do you see?'

Me: Same as alvays on the screen ven I'm in Facebook'

C:  'Facebook?  Vy Facebook?  You have pressed da wrong keys'

Me: 'No I have not pressed da wrong keys'

C:  You  are not helping me, make it very difficult as you do not speak English'

Me: 'No I vill not speak English until you do'

C: Vy are you being this vay, I must help you'

Me: 'You really vant to help me?'

C: 'Yes I vant to'

Me: 'Vell that's good, you can help me'

C: Vunderful.  Please press da keys as I asked'

M: 'Oh, I get vot you are saying, you know that I have Vindows'

C: 'No, not Vindows, Vindows'

Me: 'Vot if tell you that I have a vunderful Mac?'

C: 'A Mac? Vee do not know dat.  Vy do you need a Mac?'

Me: 'Because ven I go out in da rain I do not vont to get vet'

C: 'Vy are we talking about macs, you have Vindows'

Me: 'I also have little patience vith unvelcome callers, now please press the following keys - F - U - C- K -'

For some strange reason my caller then hung up ...

A Message to all Scots Voters

It should be made clear that I am totally dispassionate as to whether Scotland remains within the United Kingdom following your referendum iin a few days time.

Would all voters please vote 'No' on that fateful yet momentous day may seem a strange thing to ask from someone no longer domiciled in the UK.  Despite having been an expat for ten years there is still a great fondness for that country and under a quirk of enfranchisement I am still entitled to vote in elections for the next five years when that right ceases.

What has been done by the current administration iin the past four years or absolutely appalls me, I can only wonder in heavens why Cameron and his cronies are so vindictive in their treatment of the poor, sick, needy people of that country yet hope and pray that there may be a change of government in the ensuing months that can only be for the better.

There must not be another Tory government after May 2015 but if the referendum result is for independence then that will surely happen due to the loss of forty or so Scottish Labour MPs handing Cameron and his acolytes a further five years to create even bigger divisions amongst the population.

England does not need nor deserve yet more Tory greed and divisiveness.  Please, please do not vote 'Yes' but let's have an overwhelming NO!

OPEN LETTER TO DAVID CAMERON

Following upon the barbaric execution of David Haines yesterday you called for yet another COBRA meeting where you reportedly paid 'tribute' to the deceased. Those words are totally hollow and reek of insincerity as you never knew the man, a true humanitarian in the real sense of the word. Undoubtedly this meeting, as its predecessors, was long on rhetoric yet lacking positive action to halt the spread of terrorism in the Middle East.

It is understood that you intend to 'strengthen immigration laws and controls' following this tragic event. Please explain how that will assist in the capture and prosecution of his murderer as his voluntary return to Britain in the foreseeable future seems highly unlikely.

You and your Cabinet are lacking the desire and will to act positively, only seemingly content to meet, talk and pass further legislation, which it may have escaped your notice, applies only to the United Kingdom and nowhere else in the world. Just how will such measures help to remove the threat and murderous terror of IS?

That IS is guilty of murder is beyond question. By your continued lack of positive action to eradicate IS you and your administration are equally as guilty of the murder of David Haines as those that perpetrated that atrocity.

The time has gone for diplomacy, talks, endless meetings and prevarication, it is time for positive action on the ground to end this reign of terror for all time. Either be a man of conscience or resign forthwith taking your impotent shambles of an administration with you.

Phone call

This was a phone conversation at home just a few minutes ago.

Phone rings, put laptop down to answer phone.  Indian voice à la Peter Sellers: 'Good morning, this is the technical department of Windows ...'

Me - 'I do not want any double glazing ...'

PS -' No, no, no, this is Windows technical department ...'

Me - 'I know how to open and close Windows and how to clean them, I do not need any technical advice.'

PS - 'I at technical department of Windows know that you are having problems ...'

Me - 'No problems  with my windows, they open, close and I can see out of them ...'

PS - 'I at Windows must help you with your Windows ...'

Me - 'Good, are you coming round to clean them for me then?'

PS - 'I will clean Windows so that you have no more problems ...'

Me - 'Waste of time, I did them yesterday ...'

PS -' No, you are not understanding, I here to help you ...'

Me -' Really?'

PS - I help, please open your computer ...'

Me - 'That's difficult.'

PS - 'Not difficult, just open your computer please ...'

Me - 'It is difficult as I cannot reach my computer from the phone.'

PS - 'Why difficult, just open your computer...'

Me - ' I can't as the phone lead is not long enough ...'

PS - 'Can you move your computer to the phone ...'

Me - 'Why?'

PS - 'So that I can help your problems ...'

Me - 'I can move my computer ...'

PS - 'Can you move your computer now please ...'

Me - 'I said that I can ...'

PS - 'Have you moved it?'

Me - 'No'

PS - 'Please move your computer now ...'

Me - 'Do you not understand English?'

PS - 'I am speaking English'

Me - 'I'll teach you some new English words ...'

PS - 'I know English, I do not need new English words ...'

Me - 'Listen carefully, are you listening?'

PS - 'I must help you with Windows ...'

Me - 'Just two new English words please ...'

PS -' Two? Then I help you?'

Me - 'Yes, just two.  F%%K OFF'

End of conversation.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Yes, here in France we also get these nuisance calls about Windows problems that we are not having!  What amazes me, to a degree, is that presumably my number was picked at random from a phone directory yet the first words spoken by the caller are in English, admittedly with a Peter Sellers type accent.  Given the law of probabilities what is the chance of alighting upon an English speaker?  Pretty remote I guess!

An Interesting Morning ...

Our Tigger brought a fieldmouse indoors early this morning letting it loose and alive in the kitchen. Chaos and bedlam ensued whilst Jane was trying to catch it, much clattering, banging and general pandemonium ensued for about half an hour, Tigger in the meantime had lost interest and gone outside.
I was in the sitting room doing what the name implies that one does there when Tigger rushed in with another trophy of a harvest mouse. Having deposited it in the kitchen he turned tail and returned to the great outdoors. Now there was poor Jane trying to capture two small live rodents, I courageously offered to help but was spurned, my wife saying that there is not room for both of us in the kitchen, well, it is only three metres square after all.
The second mouse had scurried away under the stairs which we use as a storage space so little chance of finding the thing, in the meanwhile the first had scuttled away under the cooker. A plan was obviously needed, mousetraps were the solution! Originally we had around five or so but Sod's Law decreed that only one could be found and that turned out to be broken.

Off to the shops ten minutes away to restock with rodent catchers. Very impressive they were, shiny black plastic with stout rubber bands as springs. A label splashed on the front of the box proclaiming them to be one hundred per cent effective! Traps were duly baited, set and distributed around the kitchen, concealed safely out of reach of any inquisitive cat's paws.

In the meantime Tigger returned with yet another small rodent which he let loose in the sitting room. This one we were unable to identify because it vanished under the sideboard as quick as flash. The sole remaining trap was baited, set and place at the back of the sideboard. Meanwhile the unwanted visitor popped out at the front, had a look round and returned to relative safety. Hopefully there would be sharp snap and bye-bye mouse.

Back to the kitchen, one suddenly appeared from under the fridge. Jane was drying up breakfast things with a frying pan in hand with which she battered the intruder - one down, two to go:-) When the trap in the sitting room was checked a few minutes later the bait had been taken without the trap releasing, yeah right, one hundred per cent efficient - not:-( Re-baited and returned to the same place the trap awaited, suddenly a mouse appeared from under the sideboard, sat up on its hind legs and stared at me, cheeky beggar. Equally quickly it went back from whence it came.

Now the lone intruder in the kitchen reappeared while Jane was sharpening a knife on a large carborundum stone which she hurled at the creature - strike one! Unhappily the impact on the stone broke a four inch piece from the end. Two down , one to go ...

Back to the last visitor which was popping back and forth from the security of the sideboard. Yet again the trap had been denuded of bait, Plan B needed to be put into action. A tasty morsel of cheese was placed on the floor several inches from the front of the sideboard too hopefully tempt the rodent into the open, thus enhancing the possibility of hitting it with something hard ridding us an unwanted guest. Sure enough it soon discovered the cheese becoming emboldened with each successive foray.

Amongst the washing up from earlier was a large stainless steel barbecue wire brush and scraper which Jane was returning to the barbecue out on the deck at the front of our house When she was jut a pace away from the sideboard the mouse crept up to the cheese to begin nibbling it. That was a fatal mistake as my wife swooped like hen harrier, brush in hand, with one swat the mouse was thankfully no more - a deceased mouse!

Some may wonder at my part in all this. To be perfectly honest I am petrified of mice, usually I am unable to remain in the same room with one. Yes, I know that it is silly and wimpish but that is just me with mice.

Ultimatum to David Cameron

 It is seldom that I will blatantly copy or reproduce the writings of another, however, in this case there is an exception because the time is well overdue that changes, sweeping, far reaching changes must be made.

This article is reproduced courtesy of www.scriptonitedaily.com

In a way this post is particularly relevant today, 8th May, VE Day, Victory in Europe in 1945 when the surrender of Germany was accepted ending almost six years of slavery and brutality of a war against civilian populations.  Now is the time to end almost six years of state enforced slavery, bullying and brutality against many of its own civilian population.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Dear David Cameron,

If you continue to withdraw our wages and our welfare state, then we will withdraw our labour and our taxes.  This is the very simple, and fair, message that needs to be communicated to the Cameron and his crony coalition.

For the sake of fairness, the message should be copied to the entire political class.  Because what we are witnessing here is the end game of a neoliberal consensus that has gripped our political, academic and media institutions – and has even crept into our courts.  This has been the work of every government since at least Margaret Thatcher from 1979, to the present day.

In the dying embers of World War II, a new social contract was drawn up in Britain.  Freedom from poverty was made a right – a condition of citizenship.  A person paid their national insurance and their taxes, and was safe in the knowledge that that they would not be made destitute by the vicissitudes of this so-called ‘market’.  Furthermore, a person who was physically or mentally unable to participate in the jobs market, would not be abandoned to the mercy of philanthropy, but the responsibility of all.

It was never a pay as you go system on a transaction by transaction basis – I pay this, I get this.  Instead, taxes and national insurance for all who could pay, was the price of living in a country where the gap between rich and poor was narrowed, where all children received a free and decent education, where every person had a safe and decent home, where any person was entitled to the best healthcare available when they were sick, regardless of their ability to pay, where you could expect a swift and just response from the police if you were the victim of crime, and a fair trial whether plaintiff or defendant, where roads, buses, trains and other forms of public transport were cost effective, safe and reliable.  In short, the price of living in a civil society.

It was also understood that the natural ambitions of corporations to reduce costs and increase profits, versus the worker’s requirement to be fairly compensated for their work – meant an arbiter was needed to balance these conflicting needs.  It was agreed that a working person living in poverty and destitution, was unacceptable in our society.

This was our social contract.  But while the overwhelming majority of people are still honouring their side of the bargain – the political and corporate class (increasingly, actually the same people), are not.
Just days ago, 48 year old Terry McGarvey was rushed to hospital and died, after dragging himself to an Atos ‘work capability assessment’, through fear he would lose his benefits if he failed to attend.  He joins 32 sick and disabled people who are dying each week, under these conditions.

The Justice Minister Chris Grayling, has slashed the Legal Aid budget which guaranteed an equal access justice system. That promise is over. On top of this, Grayling is planning on charging those convicted of a crime £600 for the court costs.  The costs payable by a person convicted of a crime should be set by the judge and the legal system, not a politician.  With the criminalisation of homelessness, the increase in poverty related crime and the rise of the workfare prison (where prisoners work a 40 hour week for as little as £11) – the coalition is creating conditions of poverty, and then creating ways to profit from it.

The NHS is being carved up into McDonald’s style franchises between the likes of Circle, Serco, Virgin Health and other private providers.  Plans are in place for citizens to have the number of GP visits they make each year capped, and to pay £10 per visit.  Crippled by the rising price of private loans, profiteering and privatisation – the NHS is buckling under the pressure.  And wherever the cracks show, it is the service (the nurses and doctors attempting to keep people well and save lives amidst all this corruption) and not the vultures scoffing at its carcass that gets the blame.
Michael Gove is busy ripping apart the fabric of the national education system, promising greater localism and autonomy while moving powers from Local Education Authorities across the country, to his own office in Westminster.

Young people who leaving school are now faced with an average student debt of £63,000 to attend University, or a jobs market containing zero hours contracts, the fastest falling wages in the western world, a million young people out of work, and workfare.

There is a housing crisis, the result of the abandonment of the social housing policy of the post war period, which sees private landlords charging such exorbitant rents that only 1 in 8 Housing benefit claimants are unemployed.  Nowhere is this more painful than the capital, with London rents now consuming more than 50% of people’s income.

I could go on. But I shouldn’t really need to.  You know this is happening. It’s happening so quickly, that you can actually watch the pillars of your civil society being knocked down, one after the other.  But we cannot simply stand here, mouths agape in horror.  We cannot allow ourselves to be torn apart by age group, race, gender or whether we were born here or arrived here. We cannot keep our heads down and hope for ‘better one day’.  This is not some sort of storm you can ride out.  It is a war that you either join and fight, or acquiesce to, accepting the ever worsening conditions placed upon you by the victors.  No.  If the political class is no longer honouring the social contract, neither should we.  It is time to withdraw the lifelines to this bloated, corrupt and cruel class – a class including men like Iain Duncan Smith; a man who refuses to spend £53 of public money on a person’s Job Seeker’s Allowance, while blowing £39 of public money on his own breakfast.

The system rests on our labour, our taxes and our consent.  It is time to withdraw all three.  It is time to force the political crisis that already exists into the sunlight.  It is time.

Don’t get angry, get involved

Occupy London – get involved with direct action campaigns.
People’s Assembly – join the People’s Assembly Against Austerity and get involved in activism, discussion, education and political action.
None of the Above – join the campaign to vote None of the Above in 2015.
Wave of Action – join the Wave of Action
Do anything, but do something.

A Little Local Difficulty ...

It is said that miracles happen, sometimes a degree of patience may be involved before such a thing happens.  Thankfully we would seem to be the happy recipients of such an event as the medium term weather forecast for the next fourteen days

Looks as though there is a major domestic problem. Our house is not connected, nor remotely near, any form of mains drainage. Waste grey water from the shower and washing machine is dispersed via grease traps and soakaways as is that from the kitchen sink and dishwasher albeit on a different soakaway. The problem is that the kitchen sink will not empty because abnormally high rainfall over the past six weeks has caused the local water table to rise above the height of said soakaway.

There is little chance of the water table dropping in the immediate future because the fields surrounding us are at saturation point, our house is on a gentle slope below some of these fields, the run-off from which can be seen trickling across our little chemin (lane) below us.

The immediate solution is an ordinary garden hose (well, three fifty metre lengths coupled together) siphoning water away to a lower level away from the house. Progress is slow, very slow. Thankfully no rain is forecast for the next ten days at least so hopefully things may slowly return to normal ...

Cheated

Anyone watching Hostages on Ch4 on Saturday evenings? Great drama, find it quite compelling!

One moan though (of course!) - it is scheduled from 2100-2200, to me that is one hour - agreed? Last night the transmission began at 2204 - four minutes late. Then at 2211 came the first adverts which lasted another four minutes. After the drama resumed there were a further three ad breaks, all of our minutes in length. The final straw was that it ended at 2154 which I make six minutes short of an hour.

I feel cheated in that a programme scheduled for one hour should actually last for thirty eight (38) minutes. Anyone else feel the same?

My thoughts alone ...

For crying out loud will the news programmes, newspapers, assorted journals papers, the internet and other media stop telling me what I am thinking. Collectively you have absolutely no idea.  I have a brain which is still functioning as far as I am aware, it has been successfully educated to Degree level and is capable of making decisions and choices.

It seems now habitual for media and commentators to hijack my brain processes, or so they would have me believe.  I am heartily sick of hearing today that everyone or even the whole world mourns the passing of just one person without consideration for others who have died.  How dare they presume such on my behalf without so much as a passing nod, by your leave or even a thank you.

My opinion is mine and mine alone, it is not answerable to the often incorrect assumptions of mass media, lobbyists, politicians, propaganda merchants and some seeking to manipulate popular opinion, particularly mine.

Undoubtedly there will be some reading this who will immediately jump to false conclusions.  Most likely, given the current media hysteria, it will be concluded that I am unsympathetic to recent events in South Africa, should that be your conclusion then so be it.  My preference is that my thoughts are exactly that and nothing else.

Now go away to your sleazy news dens, tawdry little rags, television studios and radio lairs, think about your erroneous assumption then perhaps, just perhaps real news rather than speculation and non facts may be reported - hopefully ...

It's a bloody hard life ...

.. but I suppose someone has to do it.

Gideon Osborne was born 23 May 1971, therefore under his latest proposals to increase retirement age to seventy he could have a further twenty eight years before that happy day arrives.  Did I hear derogatory remarks such as FFS or 'No, No, No'.  Heaven fore-fend especially seeing the damage he personally and collectively has wrought upon a once proud and prosperous nation.

Should he so choose, however, as an MP he is entitled to retire at the age of fifty five on an MP's full pension which will be considerably more than than the majority of UK retirees.  Currently police officers and firefighters alone may retire at that age due to the rigours and physical demands of their occupation when they will receive only their occupational pension until state retirement age.

Just how the rigours and physical demands of a Chancellor equates with those of fire fighters and police officers would take a much better brain than mine to explain let alone justify.  If re-elected, there may be a further fifteen years or more of grabbing everything permissible and some not quite so from the Westminster communal trough.  The proposed increase in MP's pay in round figures of £10k should not be forgotten either, that must make life very frugal and difficult for the privileged few when retirement beckons. 

It must, to most people, seem a very difficult life to follow under such largesse and potentially reduced circumstances remembering, of course, that he has an estimated stash of around £4m.  Invest shrewdly and a potential annual income from that should be at least 5% at today's rates rather than the miserly 2-3% for small investors.  That 5% will return around £200k per annum, most likely  more when higher rates are possible, given other ex MP perks and pension a cool £250k to live on each year.  Unlike state pension increases restricted recently to around 2% per annum his pension will be inflation proof, gold plated.  Additionally he is entitled to claim state pension for both himself and wife upon qualification.



What a distinctly impoverished future beckons ...

David Cameron and Child Pornography

For probably the only time ever I agree with him in his belief that internet child pornography and access to it must be stopped.  Both Google and Microsoft in a rare show of co-operation have agreed to filter searches for such material, well done to all three parties.

Camoron said that he sees the prohibition of access to such material to be his 'moral duty' - I concur with his belief.  Sadly however it is a great shame that he does not extend this 'moral duty' to many other aspects of his ministerial remit - the NHS, the sick, the poor, the homeless, the disabled, jobs, rejuvenating the economy, British traditions and much more.

Could this be perhaps a Damascene moment for the Prime Minister?  One can but hope but it is probably not a suitable time to hold one's breath ...

Energy Companies Demand Government Funding

It has been reported widely that energy companies need to build new power stations, improve gas supplies and water companies must renew outdated infrastructures.

Despite record profits and price rises in all of these sectors they are demanding government aid for the 'needed' improvements.  Undoubtedly when completed these improvements will further enhance profits and shareholder bonuses.

So the government will undoubtedly fund the requested financial aid.  Hang on a moment, the government does not have any money of its own, much of it comes from the taxpayer, therefore you as a taxpayer will not only face higher energy and water bills but higher taxes to fund these companies from your money that should be spent elsewhere to benefit the nation, not corporate and shareholder greed.

Not so very long ago when a business need additional capital to improve infrastructure a shareholder rights issue would be made whereby existing shareholders would be invited to subscribe to the required funding which would be underwritten by a financial institution.  Any shortfall in the subscription would be bought by that institution.

Shareholder rights issues now seem to have been long forgotten, instead the companies which were once owned by the nation yet sold for profit now demand government funding thus imposing ever greater burdens upon the nation. 

If ever the time was right for a government to refuse such demands it surely is now and refuse to be blackmailed into submission by forcing the shareholders to dip into their pockets rather than robe the nation blind again.  Will  this happen?  Not whilst the present administration reigns and sadly improbable under any of the current viable alternatives.  There are alternatives however, re-nationalise the energy and water companies. 

To re-nationalise these behemoths, we are told, is impossible because of the unimaginable amount of money required  to compensate shareholders.  Compensate them when they have made profits from buying what once belonged to the nation, that is a further insult to the hard working men and women of a once proud and democratic country.  It is often said that when speculating then only money that can afford to potentially be lost should be used as there is always a possibility that losses as well as profits may be incurred, that possibility is the entrepreneurial risk.

No, do not compensate the greedy who both have their cake and yet have eaten it as well.  Either force a rights issue or renationalise the companies stolen from the nation by a straight takeover back into public control without compensation.  A radical step, yes, but unless a positive step is taken to halt this current demand there will be increasingly more and more ...

It is time that a stand was made against treating citizens of a once proud, democratic nation as separate Government Funding Units and cash-cows for the administration to squander and fritter away in ever more expensive fanciful schemes, the latest of these paying mothers up to £200 to breastfeed their offspring.  Make a stand for freedom, democracy, government accountability, your money and living standards now or sink further into the abyss ...

A Racing Weekend at Brands Hatch

British Motor Cycle Racing Club, Brands Hatch, 5/6 October 2013

At last, after an abstinence of some sixteen months I finally managed to get to a race meeting! It was not for want of trying either here in France or to the UK but things just kept conspiring against me. Even on the morning of my departure for England there was another unexpected obstacle when I got into our car to discover that the battery was completely dead. Thankfully a phone-call to a nearby friend resolved the problem with a new item, well, the dead unit was eight years old so it had lasted remarkably well.

The flight from Bergerac to Stansted with RyanAir was smooth and uneventful apart from the actual landing, the pilot must have been an Olympic competitor in the hop, skip and jump. My progress through the long arrivals passageways and UK Immigration was speeded with the very pleasant and helpful personal assistance facility. Having registered at the Hertz Rental desk with a very charming and helpful receptionist my assistant took me to the Hertz car park where I was given a brand new Ford Focus. That particular marque of car has never been a personal favourite but this had just fourteen miles on the clock, looked good, felt good, comfortable and drove well, guess that I was impressed. My only question is why does any car radio need twenty seven (yes, 27) to operate the thing. Confused? You bet ...

The idea of the Dartford Crossing at around 1900 hrs on a Friday evening did not appeal to me but, to my surprise traffic was very light, only three vehicles in front of me at the chosen barrier. Next stop was the M20 service area at Maidstone and home for the next few nights at the Days Inn Hotel, had stayed there previously, not expensive, comfortable, pleasant staff and surprisingly quiet despite the HGV lorry park on one side and the services car park the other.

Friday morning, a little light shopping was needed at Boots, thanks to ridiculous and draconian airport security jobsworths, then on to Sainsburys for some essential victuals. Next was one of my favourite treats when in England that is virtually unobtainable in France - real fish and chips. There is a superb fish and chippery in Lenham village just off the A20 with an excellent, comprehensive menu and very reasonable prices, highly recommended should you be near there at opening times. My choice was large haddock and chips, there is only one way to enjoy such a feast and that is from the paper which I did seated at a picnic table outside.

My next port of call was Lydden Hill circuit, a place which has a very special place in my heart, raced at the first ever bike meeting there and spent many happy weekends amongst great friends over the years as well as inevitably some sad times. Lydden is so special that It is my true spiritual home as some people know, whenever in the UK I always try to spend some time there. As a courtesy I dropped into the circuit office to ask if I might stay a while despite nothing happening that afternoon. I was made most welcome, offered a hot drink and explained my interest and invited to stay as long as I wished. The staff also made it very clear that they would love to have motorcycle racing back there in 2014.

Passed a very contented and contemplative couple of hours there and left feeling very much at peace with the world. Those who know and understand me will need no explanation ...

Saturday morning, snatched a quick bacon roll at McDonalds, must admit total surprise that they now do such things, a quick espresso at Costa's, twenty minutes later arrived at the Paddock Gate at Brands. To my surprise the first person I saw was Eve English (Mum E) and Poppy Dog, a quick welcome kiss and a brief natter during which the man on the gate walked up and said 'Bob Bird?'. 'Yes' I said and he handed me an envelope with my name on it. Mike Dommett, aka MDMD, had very kindly left passes for me to gain paddock access so that I did not have to walk excessively during the day.

The paddock was heaving, the fullest that I have ever seen for a club meeting, apparently there was a total entry of some four hundred competitors, not bad for 'just' a club meeting! Did a couple of laps in the car of the paddock trying to find somewhere to park with little success but suddenly spotted a vacant car sized space nest to an F2 team. I asked if I could park there and was made welcome to find that the team was Ian Conn and Julian Cole, Ian I knew of old from when he passengered Monkey Boy in his first ever race. Superb place to park as it was virtually outside Hailwood's Bar, excellent trackside access and more importantly to the toilets!

Just as I'd parked another car drove in next to me, looked quite full, then out tumbled some of the English clan, Eve, Ian, Michelle, Scott , Holly and Oscar who were soon joined by Eve's partner Tony. We all promptly adjourned to Hailwood's Bar for coffee, a good natter and to catch up with each other. Shortly we went to watch sidecar practice, very busy with a full grid. Over the recent few years I have not seen much modern racing and was surprised at just how fast contemporary machinery is, the sight of outfits hurtling down Paddock Hill never ceases to amaze me at their sheer speed and road holding as well as the seeming bravery of their crews. All too soon that session was over and the real racing began.

Quite a lot has changed in the individual race classes since my last Bemsee meeting a few years ago with the introduction of new ones. The first race of the day was the Thunderbike UK & Thunderbike Extreme event with a full grid of thirty eight machines which began with a thunderous roar as the lights went out. Suddenly Paddock Bend and Hill was completely full of a close packed bunch of very quick machinery all fighting for the same line and inch of tarmac, it seemed impossible yet true that there was not one incident there at the first lap. The race was very closely fought and one of the best that I have had the pleasure and excitement of seeing for many a long year!

There is no intention of boring you, dear reader, with a blow by blow account of each race. The race I was eagerly anticipating was the first sidecar event with a huge grid of twenty seven starters, it could have been more perhaps with the addition of one more but the 2013 Bemsee F1 champions Tony Brown and his stand-in for the injured Ryan Anderson were on BSB Eastern Airways duty at Silverstone. Lights out, away they went and the entire width of Paddock was covered with a very tight pack of screaming outfits, surely one of the most spectacular in any motorsport.

There were many close and personal scraps happening all the way down the field when around half distance coming down Paddock Alison Lawrence and Ginny Bourne got it all horribly sideways bike first before the inevitable chair equivalent of a highside had them upside down in the middle of the track. Ginny tried to scarmble to the safety of the grass but was cannon-balled by Rob Biggs who was probably unsighted until the last moment spinning his bike and hitting the unlucky Ginny with the rear of the outfit before roofing it. Great attempt Rob but not to be. In the meantime a forest of hands shot into the air and almost everyone stopped before reaching the two upside down bikes. A minor casualty was Marianne Walford and Claire Duplock who ended up in the gravel as a result, thankfully without apparent harm nor damage.

The marshals, medics and support crews appeared almost instantly, at one point there were some twenty seven marshals alone dealing with the incident! It is only right to praise the work of all of these volunteers as being of the highest possible standard anywhere in the world without whom there would be no racing, huge respect and praise to every single one. Casualties were taken to the excellent circuit medical centre for assessment and treatment with only Ginny being hospitalised. Thankfully nothing major apart from much discomfort due to multiple cracked ribs she was discharged home on Monday.

Time for a mooch around the paddock again to introduce myself to people who had asked me to drop in. Several stops and cups of tea later I returned trackside to watch some solo practice, realising all too soon that I could no longer stand for long periods at a time. Mum E disappeared returning with a comfortable chair for me that the bar staff had generously allowed her to borrow for the duration. Who said that kindness is dead?

Returned to the paddock to share a magnificent picnic lunch generously provided by Mum E, complete with Oscar adopting a self-service approach to my packet of crisps! After lunch farewells were said to some of the English contingent as they departed for Silverstone to watch the Eastern Airways sidecar race.

Next was a slow postprandial stroll around the paddock to meet more of the sidecar brigade along with more generous offers of liquid refreshment before returning to my own personal and individual grandstand at trackside.

A superb afternoon's racing followed with the second sidecar race being as fiercely contested as ever. Shan't bore you with results as they may be found elsewhere! All too soon the afternoon was over, time to meet some more lovely folk in the paddock before returning to my hotel for a short while.

Had a quick coffee there followed by a short welcome snooze before meeting Team Triplebrew and friends for a curry evening in one of the best Indian restaurants that I have ever been to which is not far away in Maidstone for a very enjoyable evening. Eventually climbed into bed around midnight, sleeping solidly for eight hours – bliss!

Sunday morning, awoke to to blue skies and sunshine, what a welcome sight. A quick bacon roll and coffee followed by the drive to Brands, a really beautiful morning to be out and about! Parked next to Julian and Ian who were in the throes of packing up as their weekend was over due to a holed, unrepairable radiator the previous day. Continuuing my stroll around the paddock I had a chat with Phil 'Slow' Jones who for some odd reason wished to interview me later that day for his Sidecar Show radio programme …

Met up with Ian & Grant Tapsell and the lovely Laura and headed off trackside for the morning's action. Needless to say that the sidecar race was the best of the morning session but despite heroic efforts by many people to get Alison onto the start line it was not to be. An excellent morning's racing ensued before a return to the paddock for lunch and much welcomed bacon rolls as well as nattering with more folk and the odd experience of being interviewed in Phil's car.

Back out to the circuit again to watch some more fun on two wheels. Years back one of the nuttiest classes around was the 250/350cc production classes dominated by the Yamaha RD LCs, the riders of which had to be complete lunatics judging by the way they hurled themselves around the circuit, at each other and occasionally the scenery. It was said that particularly at the early part of the season when faced with a sea of novice jackets LC mounted the marshals quaked with fear and went to hide somewhere! The contemporary version of this seems to be the 600cc Supersport class, not only in Bemsee but any meeting whether novice or experienced riders, they all are absolutely barking but great fun to watch.

Then came the final sidecar race, as full of action, excitement and individual battles as were the previous three of the weekend, congratulations to every single team and their helpers and supporters for a wonderful weekend's racing, long may you all continue in the same way. Commiserations to Alison and Ginny, sure that we will see you both out again next season with even more determination.

Time to say farewell to the Triplebrew lads and head back to Maidstone. Driving towards the Paddock exit I suddenly noticed a black and white Breton flag fluttering in the breeze. My curiosity aroused meant that investigation was needed. Underneath the flag there was a sidecar team packing up for the homeward journey when I spotted a great French friend Fanch (François Beauchamps) busily helping the team of Didier and Helene Siro. I leapt out of the car, or what sadly passes for leaping these dyas, as he came towards me with a big smile greeting me with a huge bear hug. Sadly we did not have much time to talk as they were under pressure for time to catch their ferry back to la belle France. Must get to at least one French meeting next year to spend a weekend together along with Estelle leBlond and her papa Fanch.

So my weekend was virtually over apart from the tedium of the return journey and flight the following day. For me it was one of the most enjoyable weekends for many a year in the company of wonderful people, fantastic racing and camaraderie.

I know that I have mentioned few individuals during my ramblings but I must thank particularly MDMD for his kindness and generosity towards me without whom this weekend might not have been possible. I would also like to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone that I met and showed great kindness and hospitality, not in any particular order you understand: Matt MacLaurin & Adrian Hope; Paul Lumley and the delightful Anne Garnish; Sam Ryder; Julian Cole & Ian Conn; Martin Kirk; Alison Lawrence & Ginny Bourne; Lenny Boarer & Phil 'Slow' Jones, Françcois Beauchamps and his lovely wife, John 'Chick' Marsh and several other Steve's Forum members that I had not previously met face to face. Not forgetting the kind member of staff at Hailwood's Bar who kindly lent a chair for the weekend and of course all from Team Triplebrew and some of my longest standing friends from the English clan.

Please accept my sincerest apologies if there is anyone that I have neglected to mention but the weekend passed by in an absolute whirl!

Thank you everyone for a truly memorable welcome and weekend and hope to do it again in 2014.

Bob Bird – aka Bob Bee


The sidecar family - you may stop racing but you can never leave ...

Old wives tales - bah!

We live in what really is a small house, roughly the same sort of space as a single bed-roomed bungalow but on three floors.  You might therefore be able to imagine how bijou the rooms are especially as we have two bedrooms and as small, little used, dining room.  There is however additional al fresco space in the form of a balcony over our living room and a deck outside the doors., both of which are very pleasant during the summer.

Unfortunately due to size storage and cupboard space is very limited creating a need to be resourceful in its use.  Each autumn and spring there is the bi-annual ceremony of the changing of the clothes, winter for summer and vice-versa, usually the actual timing is decided by the turning point in ambient temperatures and by my wife who I am assured knows about these things.

Some four weeks or so back there was a spell of warm(ish), sunny days, time for the six monthly ritual to be observed.  An assortment of storage boxes were duly retrieved from the tops of wardrobes complete with cobwebs and the odd resident spider.  It is not that our house is wanting in the cleaning department but because it is very old, of heavy stone construction, cobwebs and spiders are part and parcel of everyday life.  Said boxes were duly vested of their contents allowing items of winter wear from wardrobes and drawers to be returned to them for their summer holidays.  Having exchanged contents there just remained the small matter of ironing the crumpled assortment of summer wear before placing them in wardrobes and drawers ready for use.

Seems a simple enough concept does it not?  Not so.  In England there is something called Sod's Law.  As yet we have been unable to trace an exact French idea or phrase let's call it, in my best Franglais, le Loi de Sod.  This ancient and fairly reliable rule soon made its presence felt.  Not three days after summer had arrived, or so we thought and hoped,  the weather turned from temperatures in the mid-twenties to the mid-teens, accompanied by showers and northerly winds which have persisted more or less constantly ever since.  Yes we are able to wear summer clothing despite this inclemency but it necessitates several layers to sustain reasonable body temperatures and physical comfort.  This state of well-being is accompanied by appropriate and judicious use of domestic heating as the mornings and evenings are still particularly chilly.

There have been several days of warm weather when the thought of using the barbecue the following day would be a pleasant thing to do, something which is usually eagerly anticipated.  Any such forward planning has been thwarted by a quick change in the weather accompanied by a continuing winter style menu of warming meals and an endless supply of hot drinks.

Summer will come, of that I am persuaded by empirical evidence, an unshakable but possibly misplaced faith in nature and a firm grounding in the laws of probability.  As yet there is little evidence of any such change forthcoming ...

When I was but a sproglet there was an old saying that I never really understood but rationalised it thus - don't thump anyone before the beginning of June.  In its own way that is quite a sweet, kindly sentiment but it was difficult to grasp why, that in one month, people should not be struck but should be acceptable the next.  A number of years elapsed before the actual meaning of this old saw became evident, ne'er cast a clout before may is out.  Obvious really, do not put aside any garments until the may bushes are in flower because they are themselves a portent of summer.  Well, may bushes have been in blossom here for about a month with no vestige of summer on the horizon so bang goes another old wives tale., which in turn, brings us back neatly to where this ramble began ...

You Could Not Make It Up - Part 285

 Tales may have reached th UK's distant shores of new rules from Brussels concerning olive oil (Popeye's turn next month). The latest edict is that olive oil may no longer be served in restaurants etc in open bottles or dishes thus banning a centuries old tradition of dipping things into it nor drizzling over your salad, pizza etc.

 What you may wonder is going on? It's the elf and safetree freaks at it again as they believe that the entire population of the EU is about to be poisoned.

 Not only olive oil, oh no. Bread is also in their sights. It will no longer be possible to have delicious chinks of local baked bread alongside your meal when eating out. Instead said bread must be wrapped in individual, sealed packets so that by the time it is unwrapped it has become soft and squashy.

 Is that it? No. Water. In French restaurants it is customary to serve bottles or pitchers of chilled tap water at every meal, in fact it is enshrined in law that if fresh water is demanded it must be provided. Sorry, but from now on that tradition is being done away with as all water served at tables must be in sealed, labelled containers.

 Thankfully it was made known that these proposals will not be implemented - yet - but are being reconsidered as to how they may be best implemented.

 What's next? Will all meals have to be served in individually sealed portions? I would like a bag of bouillabaisse please waiter, followed by a pot of cuisse de grenuoilles and a box of your best creme brulée.

 Jesus H on a bicycle in the park on a Siunday morning, has the EU machine nowt better to do I wonder?

French Frustration!

No matter where you live and no matter how idyllic that place may seem there are inevitably some things, however minor, which can become irksome.  I love France and the only way that I could return permanently to England is in the metaphorical box.  More correctly in my case a funerary urn as there is a very precious, spiritual place where I wish my mortal remains to be scattered.

Despite my love of this country and its people I occasionally despair of the way things work, or more often, do not work here.  French bureaucracy and red tape is legendary as is equally the general level and concept of customer service.

Bureaucracy for example;  When we exchanged our UK driving licences for French ones it was fairly straightforward as we had researched and found out exactly what documents were needed by the authorities.  At the sous-prefecture the lady behind the desk was polite and helpful, paperwork completed quickly, then came the fee.  We were told that it was €52 each, a cheque was acceptable so one was duly completed for the total of €104.  Oh no, that was not right said the fonctionnaire, it has to be two cheques, each for €52!  One cheque destroyed and the requested two duly completed and handed over in exchange for temporary licences.

On the recent May Day public holiday I needed to book a flight to and from Stansted for a few days.  Not a problem as RyanAir operates from our local airport at Bergerac, flights for which are booked online.  One significant difference between French and UK public holidays is that ,unlike Britain, here it is genuinely a holiday wherein shops, banks, businesses and public offices are closed for the day, it is impossible even to buy a carton of milk.  Having become accustomed to national habits such as this we obviously plan ahead.

Having logged on to the RyanAir website, chosen destination and dates, completed all required information, it was just a simple matter of completing the process with bank card details and clicking on the 'Purchase' button.  So far so good, a box appeared onscreen asking for my patience as the transaction might take up to one minute.

Time passed, after about a minute another onscreen box appeared stating that the transaction had been declined.  What?  My bank account held more than sufficient funds for the transaction, perhaps there was an error in my completed details that may have caused the rejection.  Nothing for it but to go through the whole booking process again.  The 'Purchase' button was duly clicked again, a slightly nervous wait ensued before more information appeared onscreen again - 'Transaction Declined'.

By this time minor panic was setting in, I tried to remain calm and not let the digital world upset my demeanour so the whole process was repeated slowly and deliberately.  Unfortunately hope did not triumph above stark reality as yet again my offer to do business with RyanAir was further thwarted.

Not to be outdone a further attempt was made but this time using both my wife's laptop and bank card.  Great idea in theory - however fortune was not with me rresulting  in a further declination.  By now I was becoming more than frustrated and grumpy not to mention puzzled as to why I had been unable to book a flight.

The following day a further attempt to secure a passage to England was made using my laptop and bank card, my heart was in my mouth as the details were completed, the 'Purchase' button pressed.  Waiting the requested time was similar to to being a victim in the dentist's waiting room, nerves were jangling, fingers drumming, suddenly a notice appeared saying 'Transaction Completed'.  With this great news I can assure you that I was considerably more relieved than Lady Smith ever was at Mafeking!

So what was the problem?  RyanAir's response to an enquiring email was couched in the terms of 'Well, it wasn't our fault'.  The next obvious step was to speak with the French bank which has the privilege of holding our accounts.  Their response was that the Wednesday was a public holiday, therefore why should the bank be working including their computer system.  There really is no logical answer to that  response apart from that I should have known better than to darn well ask!

Wifi Life in France

A little tale for your amusement ...

It all began when I bought my wife a laptop, Jane had finally decided that the time had come to venture fearfully into the twenty first century.  Naively I thought she would be the one to encounter difficulties with the latest in technological developments, oh how wrong I was.

At that time I was using my laptop connected with a cable to my broadband provider, a system that had worked well, apart from an occasional flaky connection, for several years with no need to consider changing it until then.  The initial problem arose in that for her laptop to be used my connection was unplugged and transferred to the new laptop, a simple enough arrangement.  There was the obvious snag that we could not be online simultaneously but as her usage would not be great but not of major import.  However within a few days the retaining clip on the RJ45 cable broke off.  This meant that constant attention had to be paid ensuring that the cable did not slip even one millimetre out of the socket resulting in a broken connection.  Three new cables later ...

Well, the obvious solution was to set up a local wifi network thus eliminating that wretched cable. A previous attempt had failed miserably because the configuration process was so complex that I gave up.  The obvious solution was to contact a local IT man who had been very helpful in resolving problems on a couple of occasions.  A phone call told me that his number was no longer available, both landline and mobile.  Perhaps an email would do the trick, my message was returned in a nano-second stating that the email address was no longer in use.  Bugger ...

At this point an explanation is needed as to how businesses operate in France.  Any new undertaking has to pay up front all taxes etc at startup assessed on what the taxman thinks that they may earn in the first year along with social charges.  After eighteen months, should that undertaking have survived then additional charges levied.  Ah, blessed fiscal relief for eighteen months after which even further charges are demanded, not based upon business activity but a standard charge at that point for all businesses.  Inability to pay is not tolerated, thus few new business ventures survive for more than three years, I therefore assume that my local tame IT man had obviously fallen into that particular black hole.

An advert was duly placed on two Anglo/French fora for expats seeking a reliable computer technician to come to my rescue.  I sat back and waited, and waited.  Eventually there was one reply from someone not too far away from us who had been the network manager for a very busy container port.

Several days on and this person visited us arriving with boxes, laptop and assorted bits of electrical string.  An hour or two later, with no success in getting his laptop connected via wifi he left stating that a little research need to be done.

Two weeks later and the silence concerning the need research was deafening ...

Time for Plan B.  A search of the local Pages Jaune (Yellow Pages) revealed that there were at least two dozen IT specialist in the are of Villeneuve-sur-Lot, one of two towns both about thirty minutes away from us.  Of this number at least did not have an email address &/or a website.  Oh well, that made a final selection easier.

A suitable email stating my requirements was carefully drafted and sent to what appeared to be the four most promising sources of aid, just sit back and wait.  Wait and wait, two weeks had passed without so much as a single reply.  It was at this stage I realised why so many French businesses fail due to a total lack of customer awareness and service.

By this time I was almost beginning to lose the will to live, it seemed that I was seeking the IT holy grail.  My personal frustration factor was rising daily, no, by the very minute as I vainly endeavoured to arrive at a suitable solution.  Chatting with my neighbour one afternoon provided a possible answer, he had a similar problem in configuring a router.  On a trip back to England he sought advice from PC World, something which I have always been loath to do, since, however, a trip was planned in the next few weeks that seemed an avenue for exploration.

A Saturday morning, bright and early, found me in PC World at Ashford, Kent.  Casting around I spotted their technical help corner where I was welcomed by a very pleasant middle aged man, that inspired a little confidence straightaway. Having explained my needs some questions were asked before he took me the router display.  Because I have broadband I wrongly assumed that I needed an ADSL router but was assured because of my setup what was need in fact was cable router.  A suitable device selected on his recommendation and duly purchased all in all a pleasant experience as he did noy try to sell the dearest one to me.

So, back to my little corner of La Belle France.  Having caught up with several days of emails; Twitter and Facebook I summoned my courage in both hands and connected the router as directed in the instructions.  What a pleasant surprise, the whole thing was virtually just Plug'n'Play, no configuration need just set a password and all was up and running!  Next task to do the same with my wife's laptop, in under a minute the local network was detected and up and running!  What a simple thing to do this time!

So, thanks to sound advice from any anonymous man in Maidstone PC World all is peace and calm in my own little IT world despite the best endeavours of Gallic entrepreneurship ...

Sometimes folk ask what do we do all day

Had a very productive day today.  Drove thirty minutes to a large gardening type shop this morning in search of a cover for my wife's miniature greenhouse.  Spent ages wandering about before finding a helpful employee who kindly informed us that they are out of stock.  Asked if any other branches had them in stock she helpfully checked the computer, returned some five or so minutes later and said 'No'.  Asked when new stock would be available she went off to check the computer again.  Upon her return she smiled and said 'Next spring'.

Retreated  home for a light lunch and a lie-down in a darkened room after which we sallied forth again in the opposite direction, another thirty minute drive to a truly vast garden centre in the noble quest for said cover.  Having expended much energy and shoe rubber (well, hardly anyone has leather these days, do they) wandering around acres (sorry hectares) with a singular lack of success amongst every conceivable item even remotely related to gardening unsuccesfuuly.  We decided that an approach to the information desk might prove fruitful.  Our enquiry as to where the desired item could be found was initially fielded with 'I'll ask my manager'.  Ten minutes later the messenger returned to inform us that new supplies used to be delivered every spring but now there is no demand for them.

Dear Deity above, whoever and wherever you are, please protect us from what passes for French style customer service ...