Geography lesson

East Midlands Airport has been in the news over the weekend. Where is East Midlands Airport? Based on my sometimes fuzzy grasp of UK geography, I'd say somewhere vaguely between Nottingham and Leicester. I definitely know it's near Donnington Park circuit.

France 2 (France Télévision's, the French public broadcaster, "flagship" channel) news thinks East Midlands Airport is in.... London. Riiiiiight. Even the closest, and northern-most, "London" airport, Stansted, is about 100 miles further south.

The free weekly, 20 Minutes (think Metro) , situated the airport in "le centre" of England. That's close enough for me.

Conclusion:
- France 2 thinks its audience is too intellectually limited to cope with the concept of anywhere in England not being in London
- 20 Minutes credits its readership with a bit more nouse

Lis's handy guide to database managing

Or database management? Managing?

Hello everyone, my name is Dotty the Database Manager. I manage a database. I don't create any of the data content, other people do that (user group A, we'll call them). The data is created in language 1, and can be translated by users (with the appropriate profile, user group B for instance) into languages 2 through to 12.

The main data sets are created and translated accordingly to a timetable that is drawn up 6 months in advance, communicated widely, and updated regularly. This ensures all user groups can plan and manage their workload for this content.

When user group A creates content, I leave it up to each user to inform user group B that data is available for international adaptation. Group B needs to receive this information in a timely fashion, because the data must be ready for use in each country according to a strict seasonal calendar. Sometimes group A gives the wrong information about new data to group B. This causes confusion and can lead to errors. If I were in control of the information group A gives out this wouldn't happen.

Recently I had the IT team develop a great new module where user group A can create new content entirely autonomously. It's fantastic because they no longer need to work to a restrictive calendar. They can create content as and when the fancy takes them. Once content is created, they can edit at will, with no fiddly un-publish/un-link/re-link/re-publish operations as with the main data sets. Even better, if content is already translated, they can still edit and even delete without any restrictions (unlike the main data set, where you cannot modify any content that has been translated, you have to create a new record). Sounds fab, doesn't it?

There is no timetable for the creation of content in the new module. Users in group A don't communicate when they create content (to me, Dotty, or to user group B). The new module does not include any type of automated alert to inform me or other users when content is created/updated.

If users in group B want to adapt the content in the new module for use locally, they have to check, one by one, close to 300 folders to find out whether content is present. If they have a vision in a dream informing them that changes have been made to already-adapted content, they have to check, one by one, close to 300 folders...

Sounds fab, doesn't it? Oh, no, hang on, sounds shit. That's because it bloody well is, Dotty!

As you'll have guessed, Dotty is a fictional character. But she is largely based on somebody in my company who has had a module added to her database, but no has no control over what is created and updated, or when, in the module. So she has no way of communicating this information to users who need it. When I stamped my feet and pointed out that this was not good enough, she suggested a query that could scan the data sets and look up changes. We could run it every 2 weeks for example. OK great, I'll take it. 3 weeks of development time before we can have our query. Eh?

Lessons to learn:
1. Don't create features that allow users to create/edit data with no controls whatsoever
2. Manage your user groups so they inform you, database manager, or at least impacted user groups, of new or updated content
3. Take responsibility for your scope

Harrumph.

Fed up to the back teeth

Of the disrespectful French. At some point this weekend, some retard did this to my poor wee car. And naturally, they didn't leave their insurance details. Because in this forsaken country, it is not the done thing to have the slightest consideration for anyone but oneself. Now, I know probably more than most car-owners that if you have a car, it will get damaged. Yes, that sounds very pessimistic, but it's the truth. People will open their car doors into yours, they'll scrape past with supermarket trolleys or pushchairs or bikes or whatever. If you're really unlucky, other motorists will drive into you. I have owned my car for 10 years now, and every 2 and a half years, on average, somebody has driven into me. It's had 3 new front bumpers, 2 new bonnets, one new rear light cluster...

This means that I, more than many others, know full well that having a car means it will get damaged. Put it doesn't make the pill any easier to swallow. I just cannot get my innocent little mind around the concept that a person has caused damage to another person's property, and they have simply driven off, without a second thought. I wasn't brought up to behave that way. But it would appear to be the national attitude in this cursed country.

Or maybe it's something about this town. Disrespect and conceited, condescending deceitfulness are, after all, practised with skill and finesse by our town council. Local residents have only recently, and quite accidentally discovered plans to build blocks of flats just behind an existing, very small, lotissement (subdivision/estate). Now, if you or I common mortals wished to build a small extension to the kitchen, for example, we would be made to jump through many administrative hoops. Building permit application, declaration to the town hall, public announcement (ie permit application displayed on town hall notices board) followed by 3-month holding period in case any local residents wanted to lodge an objection... And of course you must pay for the privilege. But when it's the town council and their cronies who want to build 90 apartments, they can just approve the programme. No building permit applications for them, no public consultation, no planning procedures. Had this deceit not been uncovered, the first most residents would've know about the whole shambles would've been the morning the bulldozers turned up.

So possibly, the fine example set to inhabitants by the mayor and his cohorts is what leads to the sort of "petty" crime that saw my car door severely bent and nobody to own up to their misdeeds. Or maybe this town just has a higher than usual population of arseholes?

I know, I know. France doesn't have a monopoly on arseholes. But it is indeed strange that I have so many friends and acquaintances in other countries whose cars are never driven into. And even if they did, I am quite sure they would be able to report the crime to their local polis on any day of the week. Whereas, in third world countries, one can only report crimes from Monday to Friday, 8am to 6pm. Eh? I wonder if I can ask to only pay my taxes for Monday to Friday, and deduct Saturday and Sunday.

And on top of all this, Doggy has a lump in her abdomen. Operation tomorrow to remove it and the vet has promised a biopsy if it looks remotely iffy. I know this has nothing to do with leaving in French France, but it's not helping maintain healthy, happy serotonin levels in my wee head.

Paid assassins?

It would seem that, recently, the locals' bad driving has turned into something more sinister. I am wondering if the motorists round these parts have mutated from being just crap drivers into motorised assassins. Only the other day, my decision to pop home at lunchtime almost had dire consequences. Twice in the space of ten minutes, the car's brakes and seatbelt locking were given a thorough testing.

To the monsieur at the wheel of a silver 307 (or whatever those things are): I was on the roundabout and my lane positioning (yes, I know, difficult concept for you French numpties) and use of indicators made it perfectly clear that I would be remaining on the roundabout and not exiting down the road you were approaching on. So why, please explain to me, did you think it was OK to come steaming onto the roundabout and cut off my right of way? Good thing my brakes work well, isn't it? Because you thought my car was going to hit yours, didn't you? I deduced that from the panicked swerve you executed, and the way you instinctively raised your arms to your face to shield yourself. Next time you pull that trick, the car already on the roundabout will almost certainly broadside you. That will learn you a lesson. You prick.

To the female in the dark-coloured Audi A3: being blonde, driving a car worth more than mine, talking on your mobile whilst driving.... None of these things dispense you from giving way to oncoming cars at an intersection. Just as a reminder, when the light is green for cars coming towards you, you must wait (the highway code talks about "giving way", an interesting concept you may want to learn more about) until all the cars coming towards you have cleared the junction, and then you may turn across the road and continue your journey. You may not turn into the priority traffic and cause the drivers to have to do another emergency stop. One of those drivers was me. I had already tested my brakes and my seatbelt locking system just 8 minutes previously. They, and my reactions, were in perfect working order. I didn't need or want to test them again. You witless fanny.

I am starting to wonder if they are out to get me, specifically. I mean, having to execute emergency avoidance manoeuvres is to be expected on occasion. But every time I get behind the wheel? Surely no. It's worrying. Luck has been on my side up until now. But my reactions can only be so good for so long... If something happens to me, you'll know. It was the assassin motorists.

Sporting regards

Sport, in one form or another, has figured quite heavily in this house since this weekend. Friday saw the 21st Winter Olympic Games opening ceremony. Neither of us stayed up to watch the live broadcast, and my appetite for the Winter Games was somewhat stunted (perhaps even wiped out altogether) when, just as I was heading for bedfordshire, Hubby saw an online news bulletin about the awful death of Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritashvili. It's as if the Games are tainted, I don't know if I can enjoy the excitement of my favourite armchair thrills from the bobsleigh and the luge (which are indeed my top two Winter Game disciplines) without thinking of that poor boy.

What somehow makes this most unfortunate event much worse is the conclusions of the officials who investigated (didn't take them long, did it?) the incident. "Human error", they pronounced confidently. So that's OK then. Nothing the matter with our run, it was that silly Georgian who didn't know how to steer his luge proper, like. So does that mean that every luge rider competing on that same track must now ensure their run is 100% faultless? Is there no margin for error in the mighty Whistler Sliding Centre track? The reason for the Georgian's loss of control of his sled may indeed have been a steering error. But, for heaven's sake, did the track designers not for one instant think to include some tolerance into their creation? Apparently not. Be warned, luge riders, don't go making any mistakes out there.

As a footnote to this story, I was also most disgusted that the editor of the France 2 main evening news bulletin thought it was acceptable to air video footage of the Georgian's accident. Not only does this show massive lack of respect for the deceased and his family (I wonder if the editor's child had died violently and suddenly, would he be happy to see the footage on national TV news?), but nobody thought to warn viewers of a more sensitive disposition (me, then) that they might like to look away. Indeed, the footage was shown twice: first in the headlines, and again in the actual news item. I knew it was coming the second time round and turned away, unwilling to be party to their sinister death-pornography.

I was going to add a grouse about yesterday's 6 Nations result, but on reflection, I'm leaving that out of this post.

Caution: morons in the area

We're not long back from walking the d-o-g in the park. It's been a lovely bright morning here, though some clouds are coming in now. A refreshing change from freezing temperatures and damp, raw days. Doggy enjoyed herself hugely, and with her having such low ground clearance, she covered herself in mud. But it washes off.

So a most pleasant stroll in the park. Well, no. It would have been, had it not been for our encounter (albeit from a distance) with a moron and his family and their very unfortunate dog. The poor animal was being shouted at and given inconsistent and unclear commands that it clearly didn't understand. In a panic and desperate to comply with its master's "instructions", all it seemed to be able to do was make things worse (from the owner's point of view). And was rewarded by being repeatedly struck with its lead. Hubby, who is a big chap and can be quite imposing, soon became fed up watching this incompetent and cruel individual abusing this poor, confused and frightened dog, fed up hearing the terrified creature crying in pain. He shouted out across the field "Oi, knobhead! Stop battering that poor dog at once, otherwise I'll be over there and battering you!" The moron ceased with his assault. "Sign up for some dog training classes instead of punishing your dog for your inadequacies, you cretin," adds Hubby, for good measure.

The moron and his moron family slink off, and it seems (from a distance) that they are mildly embarrassed. Other walkers have noticed the scene, and are looking over to see what/who Hubby is shouting at. I don't suppose they will sign up for dog training classes, or stop battering their poor dog, but maybe we managed to spare the animal a couple of lashes of the lead?

As we walked on, Hubby still seething and I feeling saddened and helpless, I found myself coming to the conclusion that similar scenes of dog abuse are not such unfamiliar sights round these parts. It is not unusual to see a dog owner yanking their pet around like a rag doll on a lead instead of giving it clear commands, or some unfortunate hound cowering beneath its master's raised hand. A sizeable minority of dog owners seem to think that dog training is all about making sure your dog is jolly well scared of you, then it will do as it's told. Whereas dog training is in fact about showing your dog want you want when you give a certain command, and rewarding it generously for compliance. Reinforcing the positives.

And I also reached another conclusion. A somewhat facile conclusion, I admit. The moron was out with his (I presume) wife and two children. And not one of them appeared to say "hey, dad, go easy on the dog". Perhaps one can presume that, in their family, it is accepted practice to lash out violently in response to not achieving what one wants. Dog doesn't understand your commands? Ah, just belt it with its lead. Wife overcooked your steak? Just give her a slap. Kids' school grades not very good? Just smack 'em about a bit.

Rather like the bright blue sky becoming increasingly peppered with clouds, my shiny mood turned a bit dull.

Funny joke. Only he takes himself seriously.

There is a political debating programme called Question Time on the BBC. When the Tories were in power, it was quite good because one could shout and remonstrate with the television. I personally haven't watched in a long time, partly because panelists haven't been exciting enough, and mostly because France is one hour ahead of the UK and the schedulers have slotted the programme in at a time way past my bedtime.

Question Time has been in the news quite a lot lately, since it was announced that Nick Griffin, leader of the far-right BNP (British National Party) would be one of the panelists on the programme. Hundreds, nay, thousands of hands have been wrung at whether or not the BBC should be giving a platform to a man whose party is regarded by many as racist. I'll let you Google Mr Griffin and his party, so you can make your own mind up about their policies and views. I won't be sending off for membership in any case.

Merely hours away now from the live broadcast, hundreds of protesters have laid siege to the BBC's Television Centre studios in London. The hands that were wringing are now waving placards and the voices that were muttering indignantly are now screeching their disagreement. But it all looks like a massive own goal to me. Any of them familiar with the concepts of "democracy", "free speech" or "freedom of association"? Hmmm. Free speech means allowing others a voice, even if you don't want to hear what they have to say (no one is making you listen, are they?). In a democracy, people can vote for the party of their choosing, for the party they feel best represents them and their views and want they want from government. I certainly hope every single person protesting at Wood Lane tonight voted in the recent European elections. Why? Because by not voting, by not making their voice heard, they are leaving it up to someone else to decide. And the people who do go and vote, well, maybe their choices aren't very savoury, not very palatable.

I support the editors of Question Time. I say, let him speak. And let the nation point and laugh at the ridiculous little man. And be suitably outraged at his objectionable ideas. And let the nation be aware, if you don't use your vote to make your voice heard, somebody else will speak for you. And that somebody might be saying things you don't agree with. And let the mainstream politicians take note. If people have asked Nick Griffin to be their voice, it's because you guys have been so busy fighting over the middle ground (not to mention amongst yourselves), so concerned with pandering to the sensitivities of every imaginable minority ethnic interest group, that you're alienating people. Voters.

So be warned.

Here I am! Having a grouse - there's a surprise

I'm a disgrace, I said I was coming back with a ...pffft, and then I didn't.

Still, I'm here now. Popping in before I probably flit off again like a blogging butterfly. I do hope any of you who might be reading this are well and happy. No swine/type A flu I trust?

So what's the chat? Weeeellllllll. I'm thinking of retraining and becoming a goat herd. Possibly not a goat herd as one must get up early to tend to one's goats. But not doing what I currently do any more. I sort of woke up one day and it suddenly occurred to me that the every day, bread & butter part of my job bores the life out of me. Watch this space for news of goats.

The French government has, in its infinite stupidity, invented a new way to bleed our resources with taxe carbone (or carbon/green/environment tax). They patronisingly try to tell us that this levy will make us all more environmentally-friendly. Petrol will be taxed at the staggering rate of 4p extra a litre. Crikey, better sell the car! What the carbon tax is, in reality, is a money-spinner for a cash-strapped government. It will penalise people who live in rural areas where public transport is utterly non-existent and the least well-off for whom heating and fuel bills are already a huge chunk of their budget. It certainly won't change the way I use the car, because 4p more a litre is not a big enough rise to hit my budget all that hard. It is all stick and no carrot. We're being told off for not being green enough, but there is no real concerted effort to help ordinary folks to invest in more sustainable choices (roof insulation, power/heating using renewable energies). Plus nuclear power isn't getting taxed at all because apparently it's a non-polluting energy source. Riiiight.

Continuing with the France-bashing, there is much hand-wringing and consternation with September's road collision stats. 393 dead in September is over 17% more than Sept 08. When I consider the dreadful driving standards I witness on what is a very short commute (10 mins) to work and back, I'm surprised this number isn't higher. If you're in a hurry, no need to stop at the red light. Indicators and rear-view mirrors are for mummy's boys. Chavs on scooters must leave a gap of no more than 3cm with the vehicle in front (maximising their chances of running into said vehicle in the event of sudden, or even not so sudden, braking). And yoofs on bikes must pedal along with no awareness of the car that is about to squash them to death. Ah-la-la-la!!!

Staying on a motoring theme, I'm all cleaned out having forked up 200 and something euros for 4 new Michelins for the small car. Nice deep tread, ready for the winter. Jolly good thing though cos since I got them it's been sodding raining and my racing slicks just wouldn't have done the job.

And to end on a topical note, who else thinks awarding the Nobel Peace Prize to US president Barack Obama was a bit, well, ... not on. I don't have anything at all against the man, but he hasn't really done much has he? And that's hardly surprising, he's only been on the job a few months, give him a chance. I just feel it somewhat discredits the prize and past winners (worthy ones, because not all of them have been!) when it's handed out to someone on the basis of his good intentions and the promise of what they might bring.

So there.

C'est tout!

How can it be?

I just don't get it. There is no plausible, possible explanation. It beggars belief. I cannae understand it at aw'.

I must, in advance, ask for your indulgence on the nerdy nature of this post, but I really have to put this out to the floor, as it were, and see if anyone, somewhere, can help me figure it out.

As you may remember, our trip to Scotland at Christmas coincided quite fortuitously with a record low in the GBP/EUR exchange rate, so we took full advantage of being rich and spent our euro-pounds in a mad supermarket sweep at Sainsbury's. We bought paracetamol for 23p, parsnips for 50p, and Persil Small & Mighty (known as Skip in France) for about £7. And some other stuff but I can't be expected to remember it all can I? I was truly astonished at how much cheaper some "global" brand goods were in the UK. Even taking the exchange rate into account, French euro prices were looking like an utter piss-take on us put-upon consumers. Even the dog's Pedigree biscuits were cheaper!

So anyway, our bumper pack of Persil has finally run out (why is it all the bottles of laundry detergent all run out at once - bog-standard, wool-care and colour-care all empty!). So picked up some at the supermarché today. And it cost the princely sum of €7.44! I'm livid. 7 quid for 750ml. And how much is a 1.5l bottle from Asda?! FOUR pounds, my friend.

So I'm hoping someone can help me to get my (admittedly sometimes quite blonde) head around this seemingly inexplicable and rather enormous difference in price. Is there some sort of special extra VAT on laundry detergent in France that I'm unaware of? Does it cost very very very much money to print the packaging in French? Or are consumers in France just being utterly and completely ripped off?

Possibly the worst postal service in the world

Let me tell you a story. Last weekend I ordered a whole pile of Christmas gifts. I ordered them all on off the interweb, feeling smug as I went. All items but one were purchased from UK-based sites and have all since been delivered to my parents' address.

One item was ordered from fnac.com. Logically, I had it sent here to our house. I received confirmation of despatch on Monday. So today, a week later, I thought I'd have a wee look on the parcel tracking to find out what was what. And to my indignant disgust (but, tellingly, not to my surprise), I find that the useless f**king incompetent wasters at La Poste seem to think they knocked on our door on Thursday. They say we weren't in and they left a wee note to say we had a parcel. I say they are lying f**king wasters. They also claim that the parcel is now awaiting collection in "Bureau de Poste - Villeneuve d'Ascq" and that I have been advised of its presence there. I say again that they are no-good f**king shitfaces. I never received the wee note advising of a parcel. And there are 4 (count 'em) post offices in Villeneuve d'Ascq. You'd think that La Poste would know that. But clearly we are dealing with a crowd of utter morons who cannot tell their collective arse from their collective elbow, so we can't expect too much now can we?

I shall be visiting my wrath upon La Poste tomorrow. I shall visit my wrath upon them by telephone first, in the vain hope that if I give their complaints department (I hope they have plenty staff, probably very busy in this department) the tracking number, they'll be able to identify which bureau de poste has my parcel.

Maybe this is what has happened to the other 3 parcels we've been waiting for since the beginning of November? The brainless shitbags probably buggered up delivering them also.

And what pisses me off even more is that, while the lobotomised dimwits have been fannying around with *my* stuff, they somehow managed to get their collective finger out and safely deliver a massive parcel to Hubby. I see, national preference is it?

I'm sick of living in a third world country. Harrumph.

Let's get behind the wheel

Our house is just off the main street through the village. Just at the end of the main street before a left-hand/right-hand double bend (we call it the chicane, because it goes left then right, like a chicane strangely enough).

You can't miss the bend. As you can see on the stunning illustration to the left (please excuse the rather crappy Paint-job here!), it's a pretty sharp turn. As you approach, there is a raised speed-hump-traffic calming thing, and they have surfaced the road with that beige "super grip" stuff. There are also big blue and white arrow signs stuck on the barriers on the curb (they put the barriers up after one time when a car actually ended up in the front door of the house on the corner (I'm seriously not joking)). But every week (again, I'm not joking) a car manages to miss the corner completely and carry on up onto the pavement.

It's just happened how, as it goes. The second in as many days. Yesterday someone kerbed quite badly in the snow. Any how, that's what gave me the idea for this post just now. We heard a screech and a bang. Like the busybodies we are, we tore upstairs to have a good ogle out the windows. Looks like a Clio. And it must be well and truly stuck because the chap hasn't followed usual procedure of just reversing off the pavement and carrying on.

I just don't get it. The chicane is in a 30 kmph (20 mph) zone. They put down super grip road surfacing (a sure sign of the need to go slow). There is a massive speed bump hump thing just before it. And still they come. I don't know if it's because people are going way too fast, they aren't paying attention, or what. Too fast I think. But I still don't get it.

It would be funny if it weren't that the poor folk who stay in the house right on the corner have had to have their front door replaced and part of their front wall rebuilt. They now have concrete blocks in their front garden to slow any out-of-control vehicles. And another chap who lives next door but one to that house got rear-ended by a driver who managed to miss the barriers but rode up the pavement and slammed into the parked cars. And then left the scene. Plus every time the barriers get knocked down, whose cooncil tax do you think it is funding their replacement?

Like I say, it would be funny.

Especially for you...

... Alex Salmond, this one's for you.

It pleases me somewhat to think that this is in some way retribution for this. It's not, it's because the SNP-controlled local council is widely reviled. In a bizarre parochial way, I'm more delighted by this Fife by-election result than I am with the US election result.

Of course, the American peoples' choice is a big event. Mr Obama is a young man and is fairly new to the political scene (certainly here in Europe probably not many people had heard of him 18 months ago). And there's the obvious question of his ethnicity. If I was a big cynic, I'd say the financial crisis helped a long way into getting the Democrats' nominee elected. But whatever, let's just wish the President-elect well and hope he can live up to at least some of the weight expectations now on his shoulders.

But more importantly, let's get back to gloating at the Labour hold in Glenrothes. Normally that result wouldn't be news. Labour retains safe seat in former mining community. And? But after Glasgow East, a seemingly impossibly safe Labour seat, fell to the Nats in the summer, the Glenrothes campaign suddenly looked much more interesting (more so because it's bang next door to Gordon Brown's Kirkcaldy patch).

Well guess what Alex, some Labour seats still are safe. Looks like you still have some lessons to learn in politics. Is the honeymoon now over? Was there ever any honeymoon? In case you hadn't already guessed, I'm no big fan of the Nats. Don't go assuming that I'm a Labour die-hard though, because you'd be mistaken. The previous two Holyrood governments had their faults. But the current administration is busily 'cking up the whole wee country.

[Now Lis gets on her soapbox]

Let's look at their massively unclever but amusingly populist measure of freezing council tax. Yes, great move, well done. So what has happened since the Nats froze council tax? Households all over Scotland are paying the same council tax they did 18 months ago. OK, good. But councils all over Scotland are faced with huge budget shortfalls. My home council is £20m short this year. That means in order to balance the books, they are cutting services left, right and centre. Grants to voluntary organisations, often the providers of essential services that go a long way to "top-up" anything the council lays on, have been wiped. This means important services to the local population are or will be withdrawn or severely restricted. And folks' jobs are very much in the balance. Great work, Alex.

And I just cannot believe they approved the Trump golf course. 'ckers.

It's a sin

Grrr. My day got off to a pretty bad start today when my mobile chirped "beep-beep". A text :) From the bank :( Something along the lines of "Dear Lis of the North. Did you know you're overdrawn by nearly a grand?". Wtf?!!

Let's now rewind to four weeks ago. I went to the bank and instructed them to cash in part of my life insurance policy. I wanted the money to pay for our bathroom (nearly done). And some other stuff. That's not the point. So the guy typed away at his keyboard and presented me with a thing to sign, which I signed, and that was that. Job done.

Having concluded this life insurance business, I then proceeded with withdrawals from my current account, calculating that I had X amount salary less Y amount mortgage + various bills plus Z amount life insurance. Loadsa money. You can imagine my surprise and growing horror when I got that text this morning. I even feared for a terrible moment that someone had somehow got access to my account and was cleaning me out (wouldn't take long).

But no. I checked internet banking and the useless crowd of wasters still haven't carried out the instruction I gave them four weeks ago to transfer three pots of gold from my life insurance to my current account. So I rang the call centre, reminding myself to try not to be rude to the customer advisor. And apparently "it's perfectly normal, madam". Is it?! "Didn't the bank teller mention that it can take up to 30 days for the instruction to go through?" Er, no. And why the hell does it take up to 30 days? I know it's the credit crunch and all that, but surely the bank doesn't need my miserly few euros to shore up its capital?

I'm part annoyed with myself because really I should have checked my account before now. But more to the point the half-brained oik at the branch should have told me it would take a whole month before I got my readies. And it shouldn't take a whole month for me to get my readies.

This is the third time the incompetents have messed up transactions on my account this year. Had enough. Will be opening an account with a proper bank providing proper customer service* very shortly. I figure that, given that I have no choice in paying bank charges (yes, here in the third world "free banking" is a completely unknown concept - a bit like "lane discipline"), I may as well get my money's worth.

*NB: may I had the caveat that this counting house only qualifies for such praise because so far I have been satisfied with its measly efforts.

Making excuses for idiocy

Oooooh I'm so mad! Today a horrible accident happened in the Alps. A coach full of school kids was struck on a level crossing by a train travelling at about 60 mph. Six (?) children were killed. It's awful.

Witnesses say the coach drove on to the level crossing after the lights started flashing and one of the barriers was already down. So the driver will hopefully be charged with manslaughter (I doubt it though). Because only a fool/suicidal maniac/psychopathic murderer drives onto a level crossing when the lights are flashing and the barrier is coming down.

But apparently the "journalists" on the payroll at France 2 think that the real cause of the accident is because of the adverse camber of the tracks, making it difficult for buses and HGVs to clear the crossing. And the fact that the crossing is there at all. The regional highways department should build a bridge, they say.

So, a tragic afternoon for six families and a harrowing time for many other parents until they knew their children were OK. And not because some complete fucking twat of a coach driver thought he could just nip through before the train arrived. But because there is a camber on the tracks. Great.

Why can't they take the opportunity to do a public service and remind the un-clever masses that when the lights are flashing and the barriers are coming down, the level crossing is the last place you want to be. Don't make excuses for the utterly negligent behaviour of that driver!!
Or are they afraid of being sued if they hint that maybe he might have made an error of judgement.

Ach! This post is just a jumble of incoherent indignation. I guess I'm annoyed that the first fifteen minutes of tonight's main news bulletin was spent sensationalising the apparent danger of level crossings, instead of focussing on the facts: man drove bus onto crossing, ignoring flashing lights and barrier, resulting in six deaths.

It's not helping with my level crossing phobia, either!

And I'm all angry at life because today I heard of the death of a colleague's 12-year old son, following a long battle with brain cancer. I know that he is better now, and he isn't suffering any longer. But it's still shit.

Blondes vs Brunettes

Forgive me the levity of the post title, because I actually have rather a serious subject for you today (for a change). Anyone living in the UK or who follows UK events will know that Yorkshire schoolgirl Shannon Matthews was found alive by police yesterday lunchtime. Good good. She had been reported missing 3½ weeks ago, after failing to come home from a school swimming lesson. And now she's been found, she's alive and apparently in good health. So far, so happy ending.

But the thing here is not the happy denouement to the whole affair, it's the comparison I wish to draw between media coverage of Shannon Matthews' disappearance, and that of toddler Madeleine McCann, who went missing in Portugal in May last year. You can't not know about young Miss McCann, you can't not have seen the acres of newsprint, hours of airtime, and kilometres of blog posts surrounding her mysterious disappearance. The McCann story was the lead story for days and days after she was reported missing. And Shannon Matthews? Well, I think they lead with her story on two occasions: the day or day after she was reported missing, and the day she was found. Maybe that's not quite true, but the last 3 weeks have certainly not been non-stop Shannon.

Let's do a quick and highly unscientific Google test, shall we. Shannon Matthews typed into Google.co.uk brings back 536,000 results. This less than 24 hours after she was found alive and apparently well a few miles from her home. Right, what of the McCann girl. Madeleine McCann brings back only a few thousand more: 542,000. But Maddie McCann returns a further 300,000: 746,000.

I have my own, somewhat cynical theory to explain the disparity. Madeleine McCann is a photogenic blonde, blue-eyed little girl, daughter of a not unattractive couple - mother a GP, dad a heart surgeon. They live in a Leicestershire village, in a big house and they go on nice family holidays to Portugal (where they then think leaving the kids alone in the holiday apartment is a good childcare plan, but that's not the point here). Shannon Matthews is a smiling brunette schoolgirl with a cute spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. But her parents are, for want of a less pejorative term, schemies. Her mother has 7 kids from five different fathers, and (don't hate me for being blunt), is less easy on the eye than slim, well-dressed Kate McCann.

And, let's face it. A housing estate in north Yorkshire in February is a zillion times less glamorous than a sun-kissed Portuguese beach resort in May. Ach, I dunno. The disappearance of any child is a tragedy for that child and its family. There can't always be good news as in the case of Shannon Matthews. But I suppose I just wanted to point out how picky and choosy the media is when it comes to covering some events, and how fickle and shallow editorial choices seem to be, based on the knowledge that a pretty toddler from a well-to-do middle-England family will always sell more cheap papers than a cheeky-looking brunette with a single-parent mum on some northern council estate.

Underage voters?!

It seems the Scottish Nationalists have invented another "populist" idea to lower the voting age to 16. I would wager it's just another fight to pick with Westminster (because any legislation altering the voting age must be decided in the UK parliament). When this crackpot idea falls flat, the Nationalists can whine about Westminster foiling their clever policies.

Sorry teenies, but most 16 and 17 year-olds are just not clued up enough to vote. Of course, most people over the age of 18 aren't clued up enough to vote either, but the law says they are allowed to so we just have to put up with it. When I become Supreme World Leader, anyone who bases their political and world views on what The Sun or The Daily Mail says will be stripped of their civic rights.

Heheheh.

Elected representative?

Here's a question to ponder: why is that fat (and getting fatter) little Nationalist MSP for Gordon, and also MP for Banff & Buchan? Because he has made it very clear he won't be heading down to Westminster very often, being as he's prancing about as First Minister in Bute House now. So, while his constituents in Gordon have their elected representative, it would appear the residents of Banff & Buchan don't. And why he is still claiming his full MP's salary for the Banff & Buchan seat? That's actually quite a good wheeze, getting paid for a job you are quite openly not doing. Maybe he's cleverer than I thought...

No, he isn't. He is swindling tax payers and his constituents. Would the good people of Banff & Buchan have elected him at the last general election if they'd known he would be so quick to abandon his duty to represent them at Westminster once he got his Holyrood seat? Hmmm, maybe the good people of Banff & Buchan are stupid and would indeed have elected him anyway. I certainly wouldn't appoint anyone to a job if I knew they were going to abandon their post two years' into the contract, but continue to expect a wage.

Stand down and let there be a by-election so that your Westminster constituency can be represented, Mr Salmond. You're depriving them of something everyone else has and it's not fair.

Too much information

I see that the US is still bullying the EU into disclosing air passengers' shoe sizes, favourite flavour of ice cream, and how many vegetables they eat on average every day. It would seem both parties are close to an agreement on sharing data about passengers on US-bound flights. I do understand the security concerns and so on and so forth, but does the US department of homeland security really think terrorists are stupid (well, they are, but bear with me)?

I mean, amongst information they plan to record and keep for 15 years (!) is your email address. If I was a terrorist I wouldn't buy my plane tickets using the same email address that I'd been using to correspond with my fellow terrorists. Would you?

I do think that it smacks of overkill, it is going to inconvenience many perfectly innocent travellers and, yes, I do feel that my privacy is violated by this. I don't understand why the US government needs to know which seat I occupied on board (in most cases, randomly-assigned by the airline anyway).

Pff, I'll probably get flagged up for being some sort of subversive influence now and anyone who reads my blog will be monitored by the CIA for the next 50 years.

UK MPs and freedom of information

Having been able to feel smug ever since Chief Thief Chirac passed some decree or other to prevent French judges (equivalent to the CPS or Crown Office in Britain) criminally investigating any French president while he/she is in office merely to protect himself from an ongoing investigation into the embezzlement of party funds and creation of fictitious jobs at the Paris city hall (gosh long phrase), I know need to help myself to some humble pie. Ah yes, in my land of birth the representatives of the people decided yesterday that they didn't have to comply with the Freedom of Information Act because ... well, because why?

Some I must say lame attempts to excuse the outrage by saying that it would prevent confidential details of constituents' affairs being released. But surely that's what the Data Protection Act is supposed to do?

This disgraceful exercise just tramples over an already fragile piece of legislation. I'm disgusted that the people who are supposed to work for "us" think they can choose to place themselves above the law as it applies to everyone else. It's a slippery slope they embark upon.

Still on the subject of Maddie McCann

I really don't want to be accused of being hard-hearted or unsympathetic, and I cannot even begin to imagine what sort of hell the McCann family is living through right now, nor I can pray hard enough that Madeleine is reunited with her family sooner rather than later and that she has come to no harm... But (you knew there was a but).

I am uncomfortable that the mainstream media and commentators seem unwilling to question the wisdom of leaving three children aged 3 and under unsupervised. Yes, I know they popped back to check on the kids every half hour, but as events have so heartbreakingly demonstrated, thirty minutes is more than enough time for something awful to happen.

My mind is troubled by these questions:
If one of those children had somehow got to a window and climbed out, falling to injury or death, would the media be so sympathetic and loathe to criticise?
If the apartment had caught fire and the children died from smoke inhalation, would the media be so sympathetic?
If the McCanns were not so middle class and respectable, would the media not be readier to raise the uncomfortable question of the wisdom of their actions?

I can't emphasise enough how much I'd like to see a news bulletin announcing that Maddie has been found and she's OK. But I'd also like to say that I find the decision of her parents to leave their young family unattended while they enjoyed a meal together quite upsetting. When you decide to have a family, you also decide to put your children first. That means sacrifices, it means eating in or paying for a sitter if you want a dinner out à deux. Please, parents everywhere, your children are a most precious gift. I'm not advocating wrapping them in cotton wool, but don't leave them alone and vulnerable.