Repatriation

I went to pay my respects at yesterday's repatriation in Wootton Bassett. I've wanted to go, felt a certain push from within, for a while, and either I haven't been able to make the time, or have looked for one only to find that it was 'yesterday'.

I don't know if yesterday's was any different from the many others, not having anything to compare it to, but it was a sombre and dignified affair, attended by soldiers – old and new – and civilians alike, marred only by the presence of so many news wagons. I understand that it's newsworthy, I agree that it must be reported, but by all the networks? There was a lovely 'up yours, vulture' moment, when a cameraman, eager for the shot, stepped into the road, and was immediately asked to step back by a policeman. Apparently someone was blocking his shot and wouldn't move. The policeman said 'tough' (or perhaps something a little more diplomatic, if only as sympathetic). The obstructive gentleman in question, as the cameraman increased the height of his tripod, stood on his tiptoes from time to time – much to the cameraman's annoyance (he actually went to speak to the policeman – again, the policeman was appropriately sympathetic).

Why did I go? I'm not sure. I was in the service, albeit briefly, and I suppose I've always felt an affinity for all things military – ever since I was a child growing up on military bases; or perhaps I just wanted to stand up and be counted amongst those that recognise the sacrifice these boys have made. In any case, it just felt like the right thing to do.

I was surprised, oddly, to see how many old soldiers there were (an indication of how many there are), and it was interesting to see the way that the old soldiers mixed with the new – only the age gave away the separation, or perhaps it's that age is the only separation - with the bonds forged in service comes the adage "once a soldier, always a soldier". Of course, there was a large contingency of Grenadiers, and to see them, and others with them, snap to attention and salute their fallen comrades brought more than a lump to my throat and a tear to my eye. The sharpness with which they did it made me come to attention myself, and it's been a while. I know I will go again - we should continue to honour the fallen, our war dead.

Yesterday I saw many soldiers, many medals, many salutes, and more than a few tears.

Does Anyone Use Their Brain Anymore? (or, How HR Locked Me in a Stairwell)

I seriously wonder if the only qualification for working here isn't simply having once been a BIBIC out-patient.

I needed a new pass, or rather I need a picture (of yours truly) on my pass, but my current pass is an 'old' pass because it doesn't have my picture on it. Does anyone else see the endless possibilities of cyclic redundancy here? "I've arranged for you to pick up a new one from reception, I'll need to change the pass number on your record" … note distinct use of the future tense (I know, it's subtle; but concentrate – it'll come to you).

On my way to pick up my new pass from reception, I went via the back stairwell (a common practice, if a little 'frowned' upon, which requires a pass in order to exit), only to find that I couldn't exit said stairwell at the reception level, because my 'old' pass had already been deactivated. Now I'm embarrassed, because I'm in a stairwell I'm not supposed to use with no picture on a pass that doesn't work. I started to feel like a terrorist (because if I was a terrorist, I'd almost certainly never put my picture on a pass – it's erm, how I'd live my life in the shadows?). Needless to say, hails of derisive laughter (well, not quite – more like a disgruntled office worker tut or two) followed my non-terrorist tapping on the glass in the door of the stairwell I'm not supposed to use as I wafted my picture-less pass that doesn't work.

So now I have a 'new' pass, only it looks just like my 'old' pass because it doesn't have my picture on it! I'm just waiting for the next call in my continued spiral to hell that says I need a new pass because my old pass doesn't have my picture on it…


Update:
... I now of course have two pass cards - the new one for the access, but not the time-recording machine (or should that be "...dung machine"?), and the old one for the time recording but not the access. Seriously, there simply aren't enough beds at BIBIC to adequately express my disappointment...

My Job is Pointless, or How Many Cogs Does an Engine Really Need

I'm a tiny cog in a giant multi-million government-funded IT project (oh yes, another one of those – 2 years late and £120 million over budget, but that's a different story; later my darlings…) to roll out an Oracle ERP for the provision of back-office support to a group of govt owned organisations via a single Shared Services Centre (I do rather feel that I've given the game away, but on we trot)… A large, but equally ominously ignored/poorly-implemented/(insert an appropriately split infinitive here) element of such a massive project is Change Management, the mainstay of which is of course the Change Log. This is where I come in, or, perhaps more appropriately, where I don't.

Each release has, attached to it, a Build Manager who, one assumes, is responsible for various elements of, let's say … ooh, the build. A huge portion of that build is comprised of the Change Requests contained in the aforementioned Change Log (we have so many changes mostly because nobody thought to properly spec said ERP system from the outset). Unfortunately, due to the hiring protocols, the end result is that bodies are brought in to do a specific job and are then let go. During their tenure, they do just that – exactly what they were asked to do - and nothing more. Then, of course, once they've fudged the deliverables, they're off like a shot (government cheque in hand, jigging all the way to the hedge fund). It would therefore seem that having the build manager actually use or refer to in any way shape or form the Change Log is somehow beyond the given purview. Needless to say, once the dust has settled, questions will be asked of yours truly regarding what was deployed and what wasn't. This will be the third time that I've been placed in the seemingly unending toilet swirl of embarrassment of not being able to answer such questions. It seems that "I asked your overpaid Build Manager (contractor) to update me a number of times before he left – he singularly failed to do so" simply doesn't cut it as an answer…

"You don't know? What do you mean you don't know? I don't pay you not to know! That's what I pay Jenkins for, isn't Jenkins?"

"I don't know, sir"

"Good man, Jenkins"

It looks like I'm living proof that not all cogs in the engine are necessary. Until, of course, the smoke comes billowing out of its arse, and the transmission (along with the driver's reputation) lies smouldering on the carriageway…

The Power of Outrage

It started with a kiss… no (I'm doing it again), a tweet. The first I saw of it was a fairly subtle and obscure tweet from Stephen Fry (it could have been that I just couldn't see through the fog of intellectualism, but hey – that's why we love him so much) saying that someone somewhere had written something horrid. I was hooked, and the floodgates suddenly proceeded to open. Jan Moir (lascivious hack from that well-known breeding ground of all hacks, the Daily Mail) had penned a not only poorly-thought but particularly vitriolic (can I use lascivious again?) piece about Stephen Gately's death. This type of hack (there I go again) journalism - no, wait, it's anything but journalism – does the industry no credit whatsoever, and it's been wonderful watching the way the web has been able to convey the abject disgust felt by all and sundry.

Apart from all the sniping, sarcasm, and wonderful put-down humour, my favourite has to be the fact that the headline this Moir creature used started life as Nothing 'natural' and suddenly jumped to Strange and Lonely and Troubling in a heartbeat. Almost as quickly as most of us out here hope her career is ending…

I now see that someone has written what I want to but can't (the constant switching of active windows in an otherwise busy office is taking its toll on me being able to string a coherent paragraph together). This is terrific: http://enemiesofreason.blogspot.com/2009/10/why-there-is-nothing-natural-about-life.html

Just another weekend in France

"We're back!" I shouted, with undisguised glee. Well, I sent a text – not quite the same, I realise, but inside I felt like a small blond child... no, wait, that's not what I mean at all ... inside, I felt like I was leading the hoards of the underworld stomping up the garden path to the front door of an unsuspecting country, singing some long-forgotten old-time religion song. No wait, it wasn't that either...

I do love France; I just can't stand getting here. I'd rather spend an hour and a half in the Strictly Come Dancing audience, listening to Brucie in all his drivel-ridden glory, than travel via Ryanair ever again. Three hour drive to the airport, 4am start, adverts dropping like bombs on Belgrade, and a landing that should have earned the pilot the nickname of "walk away" (well hey, they say that any landing you can walk away from is a good one). And all for one quick weekend in the everything's-closed-cos-October's-out-of-season countryside of the Haute-Vienne! Seriously, you thought Sunday's in France were 'quiet'? Try a Sunday in October out in the rurals! Nope – the next weekend is going to be somewhere with a little more verve.

Win7 Free Upgrade? - it's a money-grabbing SCAM, is what it is...

... well, ok, so "scam" may be a bit harsh, but here's the thing. If you buy an eligible PC/Laptop between June 2009 and March 2010, with Vista on it, you're entitled to a free upgrade to Win7. Go check it out. I'll wait... OK, so you saw that, and we've established a fact. Good. Now try and get it ... get it "free", that is. I bought a Compaq laptop a couple of weeks ago, and over the last few days I've ended up in a bit of a flame-war with HP (they own Compaq) Customer Service over their £21.99 charge for the "free" upgrade. Yep - £21.99! It's a DVD data disc, no doubt with some fluffy paperwork telling you how you've just upgraded to a cool OS (i.e. this one might just actually work properly), but even so... I emailed them and asked how they justified charging £21.99 for something that is advertised everywhere as free.

Now, I understand that they are perfectly entitled to cover costs of shipping/handling - no problem, I'm comfortable with that, so I asked how come it cost this much to ship a DVD. They said that it comes directly from Microsoft in America (what - they couldn't burn a few thousand DVDs here in the UK?) via a "third party" (er, that would be the postal system). I went to the Royal Mail web site just to see how much it would cost to go the other way... In order to actually spend £21.99 sending something to the US, it would be the size of a small stack of glossy magazines, and weigh over a kilo. Oh, and I get insurance (£500) with that, too, along with a "sign-for" service. To anywhere in the US.

When you consider how many DVDs will ship, and how many instances of £21.99 that equates to, this is nothing short of profiteering. Now, I know some of you will be thinking "£21.99 for an OS? - Hey, that's pretty good value", and you'd be right to think that - I think that. I will, of course, shell out the bloody £21.99, but what sticks in my craw is the fact that it's being touted all over the tinterweb as a free upgrade. It's not, and this needs shouting from the rooftops (or at least in my kitchen, at my girlfriend, or anyone else who'll stick around for me long enough to rant at them).

Swindon Samba

Yep - we have a Samba band - it's only a startup at the minute, and it's fair to say that the collective rythm/syncopation is a little on the under-developed side, but there we are:
http://www.parsonscreative.co.uk/swindon-samba