The World she keeps a Spinning

Hedgy  So, summer has been and gone (you can tell by the wonderful weather we have had), petrol prices are on the rise, but petrol stations and the govt are not profiteering, oh no!!! Council tax is on the rise and the wonderful council staff (who voted unanimously, yes a whopping 54%, although only 27% voted, so realistically that only equates to 15% in favour) have decided to strike for 2 days to achieve a 6% payrise (if only we could all walk out to obtain that, on top of the flexi-time, final pension salary and the right to do bugger all if we didn’t want to). But I digress.

 This is not a rant, this is about our pet hedgehog, or hedgy as he is/was  known. Hedgy lived (yes past tense a story with a sad ending) in the bushes at the back and Spike had a friend to play with at long last, by play I actually mean, run away from really (Spike the hero). Hedgy has been there for a good few months now, helping to tidy all the garden. We came home last night and saw a leaf on the road, then ran over it, I was convinced it was Hedgy, Mrs Fogg said it was just a leaf, so we went to investigate. Low and behold there was old Hedgy flatter than a note out of a popstar wannabe. Poor little bugger I had run over him and killed him (Mrs Fogg is still convinced he was dead before I hit him, but I am not too sure).

 Now all I can keep humming is that silly tune to the safety road crossing advert “Woo woo woo woo”:

  • Be Safe
  • Be Bright
  • Be Seen
  • At Night

If only Hedgy had listened to his com-padres on the advert and worn a reflective jacket then he may still be alive today.

Hedgy rest in piece (well he is still sat at the bottom of the garden and we are debating whether he can go in the green bin waste, along with all the birds that Spike plays with).

Ryanair the Update

I is shocked and amazed, further to my note (read rant) regarding the delayed flight from Ryanair, I am today gobsmacked that they have totally refunded my money.

Just goes to show what 9 telephone calls, 1 letter and 3 faxes can do (oh god it’s him moaning again, just give him his cash back to shut him up). A small victory indeed, mind you the 9 calls were to an 0871 number for a total of 45 minutes, so that’s £4.50, the 3 faxes took a total of 39 attempts to get through to the 1 fax machine, so international call setup of 10p each time is another £3.90, plus my time, so all told they still owe me another £100 shall we say.

I don’t care, it made my day for a few minutes.

Happy Birthday Mr Barton

Happy Birthday Mr B 

Click the Picture to see Al in his heyday as a 20 yr old. 

So in the oh so early days (1984), a little around 24 years ago (yes even then I had my dashing good looks, charm and body of a god, ok so a god on a very bad day), I started college on day release to become an engineer. This was back in a sleepy little town called Hemel Hempstead (famous now cos some monkey decided to smoke a ciggy at the Buncefield Depot, tossing his butt end to the ground and thinking to himself that its christmas soon and all the wonderful overtime about to come my way, how little did he know eh).

So my first day at college was awful, I had left school, hating every minute of it, never wanting to go back and knowing that I was a worker now, I would never need to go back (oh boy little did I know that I had 5 years of this crap to endure). I sat in this cold awful building with a bunch of strangers, who were from such places as BAe and Lucas Aerospace, everyone seemed to know everyone else and I just sat there wondering what on earth I was doing here.

Sat in the corner on his own was the chappy seen in the picture, he appeared fairly quiet and normal, so we started chatting, the name “Barton”, “Allan Barton”, who at the time was catching the bus from St.Albans to Hemel or sometimes cycling over. We became friends over a period of time, he even managed to get a car on his pittance of a salary (slightly better than my paltry £30 per week). I thought this guy was a bit on the cool side (well only slightly cooler than me anyway) at the time since he liked different types of music (Nina Simone, ok so someone had to like her), 50’s and 60’s stuff, he always seemed a little aloof but a good guy to be around.

The college at the time was a good bit of a laugh with the tutors Mr Budd and Mr Bott (we always suspected Mr Bott was batting for the opposition) and such interesting individuals as Nigel Palmer (who spent his time driving up and down the high street in his Escort whistling at all the girls, whilst wearing drainpipe trousers, white slip-on shoes and tight sweaters), Spencer Dyke (who rode to college on his Lambretta and then eventually upgraded to a Mini Metro) and a woman who I think we nicknamed Shergar, can’t honestly remember why?

Well college continued and we finished 3 years at Hemel in 1987 and then it was time to move to the big leagues oooh yes Watford Technical College for another 2 years. Suddenly the atmosphere changed at this place and it was not much of a laugh and fun anymore, it was serious business. Mr Barton decided part way through that first year that he didn’t want to continue with this stuff and left. Oh boy how many times did I wish I had left that place, I hated it more than school.

We stayed in contact over those years, whilst I moved through various jobs, McDonnell Douglas working in Purchasing and the ill fated Coffee Machine selling stint that I tried (with the world’s most unreliable car that you had to start by hitting the starter motor on the middle lane of the M40 motorway). Al was seeing a wonderful girl called Belinda and I had my first serious relationship, with a married woman 16 years my senior (oh what a hussy am I).

I eventually moved to the grim north of England after falling for an unmarried girl (made a change I guess), but we kept in contact ever so occasionally over an 11 year period, always sort of starting where we left off and then loosing contact for another few years. Over the last few years Mrs Fogg and I have met up many times, with Al, Bel and their beautiful daughter Hazel and now we are very good friends that stay in touch and meet up from time to time.

24 years is not a bad time to know someone, Al is my oldest friend and I welcome him to the wonderful 40’s club that I joined a few months back (although I am still more handsome, that has never been disputed).

Unfortunately we can’t get down to Hemel to help Al tip over into his 40’s, so this weekend I will raise a glass to a really good friend and wish him well on his ventures into Kidulthood (that is where we move from being a kid in the 20’s and 30’s and start the transition to be an adult around the 50’s to 60’s).

Happy Birthday you OLD GIT!!!

Just a few memories for you to ponder over (providing you can remember them of course):

  • Timmy your Triumph Dolomite
  • Hemel College and the computer classes for extra credits
  • Driving your car without a certain legal piece of paper
  • Playing games on the oh so cool Amiga 500
  • My crappy Vauxhall Astra Estate (complete with starter motor spanner)
  • Going to Aikido drunk!
  • Westerdale and Betty Bouston
  • Spending lunch hours from college walking down Hemel and Watford High Street
  • The wierd physics teacher at Watford with the pinstripe suit
  • Dressed as Elvis at our America BBQ
  • A heavy night out followed by your head down a toilet after too many Mud Slides
  • Lake Bala and Tyddyn Yr Helyg
  • August 2007 BBQ
  • Bartenga

Here’s to the next 24 years of friendship.

What We Bin Doin

Hiya, 

A busy few weeks recently.

Having found out that we missed a concert, due to getting the date wrong, boo hoo. Then poor old Craig being dragged kicking and screaming to see Neil Diamond in concert (Lorna thinks he is wonderful and still has it, whatever it is?) wooing the old folks (forget throwing their knickers, they were throwing colostomy bags). I have never felt so young at a concert before, with the average age of 75. It took most of them over an hour to leave the MEN due to the zimmers crashing into each other. Lorna did take exception to me trying to tout my ticket at the door so I didn’t have to suffer 90mins of this guy warble!! 

We went to see Stu & Jen recently to help chop up some trees and dispose of the rest (plus nab some really good bits for the fire), so Craig, Stu and Jeff were busy skipping the dross, while Lorna and Jen went in search of peoples money collecting for Charity.

Stu & Jen came over to stay with us on one of the nights, so we treated them to the local Indian restaurant (yummy food), I quote direct from Stu “I was so drunk I don’t remember leaving the restaurant, walking back to yours, or sitting and chatting for a few hours”, however he does remember chatting up the barmaid (little flirt). 

Well its Mr Barty’s 40th birthday in a few days (ole git) and unfortunately we won’t get to see them, but we do hope he has a fantastic day.

Methinks its time for a quiet weekend at some point. 

TTFN 

Lyin Air, Cheapo Bucket ‘o’ Poo

Grrrrrr

So there I am, off to Dublin for the day to attend a business meeting, flight booked out of Leeds Bradford at 10.50am, returning at 9.10pm (what a waste of a day that would be). Checked in online with the cheap and crappy Ryanair “bring your own life vest” Airline. If you speak to the Ryanair reps behind the check-in counter they charge you for the privellage.

Got parked eventually about 4 miles from the terminal in the long stay car park (oooo yes, £29 for the pleasure). Went to security, “ah you are pre-checked, a priority boarder, go down the fas-pass line”, fantastic some bonuses to cheapy airlines then, get to walk past the masses who are queueing at the strip and go security gate. Get to the security check through and the old dragon was having none of the fast pass malarky, forcing me to wait until everyone of the Ibiza “I’m getting slaughtered at 9am” peeps got through.

So I then have to remove my Suit jacket, wallet, keys, mobile phone, belt, laptop and all equipment and shoes, each of these placed in separate containers and going through on their own, with no-one to collect them at the other side as I wait for the monkey to wave me through the metal defector! So who is responsible if someone steals your items at the other end, cos I am certain that the airports would wave their ” we accept no liability” form in your face.

Eventually through and time to kill watching the Ibiza peeps get slaughtered on falling down juice. My flight due to board at 10.20am, suddenly shows that it will not arrive until 11am, then 11.30am. So now the initial arrive in dublin with 1 hour to spare before the meeting, turns to 1 minute to spare. Then all of a sudden the announcement goes out that the flight will not be delayed until 12.15pm, meaining I would not make the appointment at all. I duly called the company i was off to see and they advised that we reschedule to a later date. So at 11.45 I advise the check-in desk I no longer wish to fly and wish to change my flight due to the delay and the fact that I will not arrive in time. So this is where the fun commences.

The Check-in staff will not let me leave without and escort, so I have to wait until everyone is boarded first of all and the Ryanair check-in desk is not manned at present. At 12.10pm I eventually get allowed out of the airport, to go back to the check-in desk, only to be told that Ryanair have no staff there (we are only Servisair who collect tickets) and I need to call a 10p per minute un-helpful line. So I do

First Response – You need to modify your flight online

Second Response – You cant modify your booking since it is less than 4 hours before you are due to fly

Third Response – The plane took off ontime according to our system so you must have missed  it

Fourth Response – There needs to be a 3 hour delay before you can move your flight

Fifth Response – There needs to be a 1 hour delay before we can move your flight and our system is only showing 55 minutes

Sixth Response – You need to call back sometime tomorrow and we will make you start the whole thing over again

So, here I am, 24 hours later and still none the wiser, I even tried to change my return flight from Dublin (which obviously I couldn’t make, since I’M NOT THERE) but they are oblivious. “All we can do is send an email to head office to see if the plance was delayed and advise from there”, but hang on a second the flight was due to depart at 10.50am, yet Leeds Bradford show it departing at 1.18pm (yes that is almost 2.5 hours late) and Dublin show it arriving at 2pm.

Can I send an email to the head office, “no” is the answer, can I call the head office “no” again is the answer. So how do I contact the head office “send a fax”, I’m sorry in this day and age of technology we are reliant on a fax machine.

The moral of the story here is you get what you pay for, buy a seat on a cheapo nasty airline and chances are you may not fly on time, and you can guarantee that you won’t get a refund.

The Ryanair system is setup to prevent customers from getting any form of custom, bogged down by call centres and engaged tones until you give up in defeat.

The reality avoind Ryanair like the plague, it it not worth the money or the hassle!!!