It's local elections week in the UK, where people can exercise their democratic right to be totally disinterested at the prospect of voting for local councillors on an ego run while not actually doing that much beyond strutting around committee meetings and the like.
But here in the nation's Capital, things run a little differently. The election here is for the Mayor of London, and it's currently a run between the incumbent mayor, former arch-left-winger Ken Livingstone, and a bumbling TV personality/editor turned politican Boris Johnson for the Tories. Oh, Brian Paddick, a gay policeman for the Lib Dems, who is definitely the duller out of the three. Typical Lib Dems, you manage to pick the most famous policeman in London outside of "Shoot him!" Blair, and you still manage to find a boring one.
Anyway, I cycled to work today, and through the mists of smoke'n'sweat coming from my head, I thought I could see a bunch of cheerleaders outside the workplace. I thought it must be an illusion. But no, there were three cheerleaders with Union Jack pom-poms, white T-shirts and skirts, all exhorting us to vote for Ken. Or K-E-N. The candidate who used to be a figurehead for the "Loony Left" arch-left-wing councils of the mid-80s, banning magazines which featured scantily-clad models.
I can't wait to see what Boris comes up. Although I also dread to think what Paddick will emerge with...
The move down from Manchester to London went off relatively smoothly thanks to help from a lot of friends of mine (THANK YOU!), and two men from Zimbabwe with a van. Although being trapped for two hours in a white Transit van navigating the motorways of this great nation listening to African gospel music is a tad surreal. Although it definitely beats listening to American gospel music for an hour afterwards.
The only major hitch and hurdle so far has been with my broadband supply. A week after I've moved in, and three weeks after I told BT that I wanted broadband in my new place, they have singularly failed to supply it, citing all sorts of daft problems (including at one point that I was apparently a business customer and would have to call a totally different helpline). Until recently, I'd always recommended BT to anyone who asked, simply because the service seemed rocket-proof. Not any more.
You'd think it wouldn't be hard to supply a broadband service to a flat that had had it the week before from the previous tenant, but apparently it's beyond the realms of science to begin with. Not to mention they'd also managed to switch my phone off at some point! For this reason alone, BT make THE LIST.
So, alas, blog/email semi-silence will have to carry on until I get my broadband back. Not that I'm addicted or anything, oh no. I could give up any time... anytime...
The first and last time I bumped into Ashley Highfield (former head new media honcho at the BBC), it was early on a Wednesday morning and I was a wee bit hungover.
So when I meandered over to my designated table for a day of brainstorming, I was a little astonished to find Ashley Highfield sitting there, prodding around with some digital device or whatever. I said Hello, and mentioned that I indirectly worked for him at BBC Wales as a content producer. He grunted, said Hello, and then made his excuses and left.
Fast-forward about half a decade, and I'm back at the BBC, in the heart of the Media Village. I don't work indirectly for Highfield at all any more, but he must have seen me lurking around the corridors of power, because less than two weeks later, his resignation has been announced...
If you'd like other fascinating stories about how I indirectly caused Kurt Cobain's suicide and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis's death, please ask. ;-)
(This is a very tongue-in-cheek post, brought to you in a desperate attempt to see if opportunistic blogging will raise viewing figures. Just, y'know, to see...)
When Plaxo was first announced to the world, it was an online address book and a way of sharing contact information with friends, family and colleagues. The idea was that you could update your contact details on their system, and people who were also registered with Plaxo would get your updated details. Conversely, if they changed their contact details, you'd also get your database updated. But you could also get Plaxo to send emails containing your address details to non-registered people, so at least they'd also get your contact details.
Over the years, Plaxo has kept redefining itself to the point where now it's aspiring to be a version of FriendFeed, but presented as a hideous mixture of Facebook and LinkedIn, with none of the business formality of LinkedIn, and yet not as friendly as Facebook. Which I've obediently done, up to now.
I've recently changed jobs (again!) and about to move house (again!). So Plaxo would be ideal as a one-time way to tell all my friends, family etc. of my new contact details, and it's worked reasonably well before. But despite an hour of looking around the website, I just cannot find a way to tell people my contact details. It just doesn't seem to work, especially for non-Plaxo people.
Changing a website to the point when you can't use it for its original intended purpose is just the height of stupidity. Without that functionality, Plaxo is now totally indistinguishable from the likes of Facebook, LinkedIn, FriendFeed et. al.
Why, Plaxo? Why?
PS: if you do want my new real-world contact details, shout...
With all the latest screaming press headlines about falling UK house prices, you'd think that the sky had fallen and we were all doomed. Which we all are, but that's more due to global warming - or is snow in April a usual thing?
Maybe that'll stop the annoying quirk whereby for the last three years, the conversational ice-breaker at parties I've gone to has been moaning about house prices. Which gives you some idea of the kind of parties I'm going to at my age. :( but on the bright side, at least it's not about the bleedin' weather.
Sure, maybe falling house prices mean people are being scared and panicing about the economy, but surely falling house prices are generally a cool thing? Obviously it's good for people at the lower rungs of the housing market, those trying to get on and those who actually want a roof over their head.
For greedy capitalists who were hoping to make a lot of money, it's bad news. But since they were part of the problem to begin with, I'm not particularly sympathetic.
After just one week in the new workplace (which is admittedly pretty much the same as the old workplace, only in a different corner), I have been recognised and spotted by:
- one old work colleague from a decade ago
- one old line manager from three years ago
On the flipside, I have also spotted:
- one old work colleague from a decade ago
- an occasional professional blogger (but that's an occupational hazard I guess!). But I haven't plucked up the courage to go and say hi to them yet...
The last time I worked at a major building like this, it took the canteen staff two years to acknowledge my usual 'order'. Here, it's taken just over a week, which is a bit worrying...
I am sitting in a noodle bar near the workplace when a couple come in. An African man and his companion who looks like an older bag lady. They sit down with her constantly saying that shes not hungry because she ate two hours ago.
The man asks in accented English for an extra order form. When the waiter hesitates the man castigates him (in his heavily accented English) for not understanding him.
The food arrives and he constantly cajoles her to eat but she doesn't want to. Then she says she only came out because she didn't want to go shopping. Apparently she wants to go for a coffee but he says if they do then he won't drink any.
Now he has fished out a flyer promising free fish and says they should go there. She asks why he is treating her and he asks if that's a crime or not. She points out that the flyer could be an april fool and he asks what they are.
I can't decide if they are on the strangest date ever or are the world's most mismatched couple. There is a certain amount of familiarity so that rules out the first date theory!
3am: Whilst sleeping in my hostel-cum-hotel (bunk bed, shared toilet, no internet *weep*), the fire alarm goes off. Cue about ten confused tourists sleepily making their way downstairs, with the almost cliched Japanese tourist being incredibly confused about whether it was a fire alarm or just a quaint English custom.
Eventually I called the hostel manager - no reply, so I called the fire brigade. Then the hostel manager arrived, switched off the fire alarm and then 30 seconds later the fire engines blazed into view, meaning that even when we tried to get back to sleep the flashing blue sirens put paid to that notion.
9.30am: Arrive at (new) work expecting to find that we've moved desks. But no. Cue confusion as I go to my new desk, can't find anything there, and end up back at my old desk.
10am: Amazing BBC video of penguins in flight! Amazing in so many ways.
10.30am: Looks like Rhys's blog has been hacked ;)
