tartan bunker

A friend spent three days trying to get a sign of life from Thames Water, using two phones and email. Like to imagine TW were out mending leaks. Who’s kidding who? Perhaps someone got the spelling wrong and they’d decamped to allotments in Wales. On the third day, a call came from someone promoting himself as Tim’s Water. Oh hum, my friend hadn’t heard of this takeover but lives in hope Tim can do a better job.

Don’t get me started on BT - on their call centres, bucketloads of meaningless or misleading paperwork, their lengthy answering process which require you give a large proportion of your time, patience and life blood. There are remarkably nice people when you get through but alas, they’re restricted in their ability to effect change in what’s been established by those out-of-touch managers on the 98^th floor who should be forced to spend reality time ringing in to BT, TW and just about most any other ‘service’ to experience how the rest of us suffer at their hands.

I know a great hairdresser. Trouble is, he keeps getting bookings for big, long jobs on a Saturday - cut, full head of colour, blow dry, tea etc – and then the blighter doesn’t turn up, which, over time, loses ma friend, the hairdresser, a lot of money. Who are these dirty-headed scruffy amnesiacs, I ask? Other salons, is the reply. I’m aghast. That people can stoop so low. 

Let’s forget Sir Fred for a moment, ok a lifetime. Let’s focus instead on Myners man and Harman woman. Why wasn’t Myners on the case, or at least getting a minion to check out young Fred’s pension contract? And is Harman intent on running Gulag UK? To paraphrase her words: (Fred’s) ‘contract might be enforceable in a court of law . . . but not in the court of public opinion . . .’ You remember public opinion, don’t you? That irksome beast governments prefer to ignore? The beast opposed to the invasion of Iraq. The beast which continues to believe that Dr Kelly was murdered. Which wants post offices to remain open. Which is appalled at the idea of a retrospective law. Yet now the beast is being courted. Or its body used in vain. Things must be desperate. 

Why should someone cut a drawing from the spine of an old book in my study, mostly occupied over long periods, put the drawing back inside the book, and put the book back on another shelf?  Any Inspector MacPoirots out there with theories? 

Here’s a non-government health warning: don’t use Spelt flour to make pancakes. MacGluten, the Dekaydence chef, tells me that everyone knows that Spelt flour is the flour for the bbc (bread, biscuits and cakes). I should’ve guessed. Despite the addition of honey and brandy, the mixture had no will to rise; the spelt pancake clung to the base of the hot crepe pan – moribund, with no vitality, no purpose. Not like last year’s ’strong’ flour pancakes which soared like a prima ballerina. Oh hum, the Spelties seem happy lying around in my tum. Nevertheless, should want a recipe for Spelt bread . . .

I ’phoned my local bank in south London and a very nice lady in India answered, telling me she’d fax my details to the branch and get them to call me. I then found the bank manager’s direct phone line, called him, made an appointment and saw him within the hour. Two days later, he rang me, puzzled, wanting to know who I was. I reminded him. Ah, he said, thing is, I’ve just received a fax telling me to contact this number, but no name, no reference. . . ’ This chap is a professional, he’s not responsible for this nonsense but . . . In future, I won’t be using Barclays.

Also, alack and alas, I had cause to ring Thames Water. Two phones ringing, on and off over two days. Gave up, and sent an email. Got a call two days later. ‘Hello,’ said a heavily-accented voice where wordsranintooneanother. ‘ThisisTim’swater.’ 

Do the lunatic accountants who must have thought this’d be cost effective ever have cause to contact their call centres abroad? Have they given thought or care ever to the cost to the customer and society at large through the waste of time and money spent in contact with such centres?

I’ll return anon to the problems at home with those who take calls and go out of their way not to help you. And then before signing off, ask if there’s anything else they can help you with.

Soon, I’ll have to contact BT. Most of us know what that means. I give up. Bring back pigeons.

British jobs for British workers – aye! To describe this rallying cry as xenophobia is to misunderstand, intentionally or otherwise, the meaning of the word defined as ‘an intense fear or dislike of foreigners.’ What’s wrong with British jobs for British workers? It’s not meant as blanket coverage, but blanket support. At the very least, it keeps Brits out of their own dole queue. At the least, it’s a common courtesy to employ your own, who’ve been born and/or brought up here, and been schooled (hopefully) in the language and ways of the country. (That’s how Italy operates I understand from a highly-qualified English acquaintance who failed to get a job there).

Those against the idea claim foreign workers are better than Brits. I find this insulting, given the people I work with, but it were the case, then someone in charge of the red tape should be out there ensuring that our lot is up to scratch, and if there are doubts, ensuring the training system is way above scratch. I’ve been in the dole queue: it was unpleasant, humiliating, and the system supposedly helping you back into work was useless if not corrupted. I hope things have changed but . . .

When my friend, Graham Greene’s grandson, visited these shores from Switzerland he was appalled, scorning the many foreigners, with uneasy English, who attempted to show him round many of our national treasures. It just wouldn’t be allowed to happen in Switzerland, he said.

There’s more on a lighter, and darker, note in Green Fire, the second in the Chronicles of Dekaydence, due out in summer, 2009. Visit: www.dekaydence.com

As Number 10 and Number 11 appear to encourage others to declare them saviours of the world’s current financial mess (yes, that same mess they got us into, having been in power, obviously blindfolded, for the past decade), I feel it’s important to make it absolutely clear that I, MacCavity, played no part in creating the world in six days. 

If necessary, MacMog will testify to this.

PS If you enjoy adventures of mayhem and madness be aware that Green Fire is published later this year by Garret Books.  

Oh, and a goode new year to you all, wi’ plenty of good health and happiness.

This week a young talented man I know lost his job and was almost in tears and an elderly lady who’s worked hard all her life, who feels the cold, has said she’ll not be using the electric fire because of the cost. It’s happening nation and worldwide, and will get worse. Stand up those responsible (if they’re not too full of free champagne, air miles, and bullshit): politicians and financiers*). Are they crying, fretting about how to pay a bill or feed a hungry mouth. Are they freezing to death?

 Why aren’t these people on trial? For years they’ve known full well what was going on with our economies (and if they didn’t, let’s remind ourselves, and them, that ignorance is no defence in the eyes of UK law). Shouldn’t they be forced to return money they’ve ‘taken’ from us? And while Mr Brown and The UnDarling of Neverneverland borrow huge sums of money, on whose broken backs does this burden of debt rest?

 If you or I go a tad over the speed limit or are a few minutes overdue paying a tax bill, we’re fined or imprisoned. But it appears when you reach a level of power and/or influence, you’re given a ‘getaway wi’ it’, a Santa, clause. And what about some of these culprits taking responsibility for those who’ll lose their life because of what’s happened? Am I barkin’ mad to think that their actions amount to manslaughter?  

 Come the revolution. Or Dekaydence . . . See Black Light and in 2009, Green Fire. 

* I exclude the good ’uns who do exist but appear far too few in number.