Year: 2005

bookmark_borderA letter of complaint

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I’ll probably re-visit this post later, but I’ll post it as is for the moment.

I’ve been an Orange customer, on and off for over ten years (the longest I spent away from them was for one year). I’ve always been happy with the tariffs and offers, less so with the reception but it’s never been unsufferable. In short, I was a pretty happy customer.

Until now.

I’ll preface all this by saying that I’m STILL an Orange customer but there is a snippy letter being sent to their Customer Service department. If they don’t come up with something decent I’ll cancel my (new) contract within the alloted time period… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

I currently have a C500 model of phone. There are now, as of last week, two newer models of this phone. I like the phone and want to stick with it. The C550 has extra ‘music’ buttons and little else to offer me, the C600 has a new operating system, better camera, better this and that and the other. I want a C600. I don’t want extra buttons I’m not going to use. My current phone is starting to show the signs of age. One of the buttons can be a little erratic and the battery life has started to drop.

My current contract with Orange has been rolling from month to month for over a year now (that’s on top of the initial 12 month contract period). I have looked around from time to time for better deals but I got a good deal when I joined and I’ve been happy with it. It suits (suited) me fine.

Basically, I’m happy to keep the same tariff but I want a new handset.

So I phoned Orange, asking how much to upgrade to the new C600 handset. They said £50. Survey SAID!! EAHH EAAAHHHHH.

I asked why I was being charged so much when I know that others have gotten it for free and I was told that my bills aren’t high enough to justify a free upgrade for that model. I could have the C550 for free if I wanted though.

I said I didn’t want that model as I didn’t want the extra music stuff on it. I wanted the C600… but I understood their pricing model.

“But” I said, “You are offering the C600 to new customers for free.”

Long story short, my point is this. Orange are charging me £50 for the privilege of keeping my existing number. Orange don’t put it that way of course, as they have offered me an upgraded handset for free but I chose not to accept it.

The actual conversation went on for a lot longer, including me interrupting “Paul” several times as he started to tell me why Orange couldn’t just offer upgrades for free and why they’ve got to keep up with the competition by offering NEW customers free phones… “Frankly Paul, I don’t care about that, that’s not MY problem, MY problem is the money coming out of MY bank account”.

So, I’m changing my phone number. I get the handset I want, on a cheaper tariff with more minutes and texts than before. Yes I probably should have walked away but tariff wise I fall nicely into many many deals so that’s never really much of a bargaining chip. I do wish I’d asked for some better incentives to stay with Orange but, in truth, the handset is the overriding factor and I didn’t want to risk them just saying “Well sorry you are having to leave us”.

Should I complain? I did put up a fair old fight on the phone and they didn’t yield one bit. But what of this “looking after our current customers” speil on all the recent adverts? Ohh I’m in a quandary.

What to do, what to do.

bookmark_borderNot from Sveeden

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Last night, which kinda snuck up on me, saw me and a few thousand others bopping along to all those wonderful old Abba hits. Yes that’s right. Abba. Or, more accurately, the tribute band Björn Again were in town.

I’ve seen them once before, almost 15 years ago now, when they played a gig at the Barrowlands. Last night we were in the ‘Armadillo’ which, whilst very nice, is entirely seated and kinda gets in the way of the dancing. Not that that stopped us mind you, it didn’t take long for us to be up out of our seats and clapping along with the best of them… ohh and I should pause at this point to apologise to the ladies sitting next to us, I’m sorry we didn’t know all the actions to EVERY SINGLE DANCE, and I’m also sorry that I was stone cold sober and not that fussed about learning them, despite your repeated attempts to coerce.

Of course it’s the music that’s the focus, and what bloody great pop songs they are too, whether the better know disco classics, the slower less familiar ballads and the, frankly, rocking Does Your Mother Know. Not that I want to remove any credit from the band who are pretty slick, well rehearsed and play the parts well. A couple of nice touches included some neat segues from Gimme Gimme Gimme! into Hung Up (the Madonna track that recently used it as a sample), S.O.S into the “sending out an S.O.S.” part of Message In A Bottle by The Police, and “Benny” even lapsed into a rap during Take A Chance On Me (as covered by Erasure.. I think…). A crowd pleasing Rockin’ All Over The World allowed the ladies to change into an even skimpier set of outfits and this is a band that knows it’s audience and how to play to it. And yes, the bulk of the audience was a fair bit “wiser” than us.

Quick Straw Poll: Blonde or Brunette? On the night it was definitely the brunette by a long way (which was good because I always preferred Anni-Frid to Agnetha).

What I still struggle to understand is why Abba’s songs appeal so much. Granted a few remind me of yesteryear, but there is a certain melancholy running through some of the tracks that seems to be at odds with both the music and the image of the band. The closing track, Thank You For The Music, being a good example; starting in a minor key with the lines:

“I’m nothing special,
In fact, I’m a bit of a bore.
If I tell a joke,
you’ve probably heard it before…

A quick change to a major key and we’re in lovely pop land for the chorus. Clever indeed.

What really struck me was how many of the songs I knew… all of them in fact. I think this surprised Louise as some of the songs aren’t heard often and don’t feature on the ubiquitous Abba Gold (although I’d suggest you skip that and get the Definitive Collection instead). Ring Ring, Honey Honey and Super Trouper being the notable “non-Gold” tracks. I credit my knowledge of Abba to both an ex-girlfriend, who played them constantly in her car, and to my Gran who had a copy of an Abba album that was always my choice when I was allowed to put on some music (wish I could remember which one, I’m tempted to say a Greatest Hits compilation but not sure which one, that was probably back in the late 70s early 80s…).

And in a nice piece of timing, you can tune in to ITV tonight at 9pm and hear some of Abba’s greatest hits and learn how they influenced others including Bono and Lulu (hmmm not the greatest selling point…).

Abba are one of those bands that everyone knows at least one or two songs of, in fact, I bet if you took a little time you’d be surprised at how many you knew. Go on, how many Abba songs can you name off the top of your head. Bet it’s more than one.

What it does mean is that you spend the entire evening singing along and wake up the next morning with a decidely delicate throat. Worth it though.

bookmark_borderThe F Word

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Seems that Mr. Ramsay is in the papers again – no such thing as bad press, right? – for showing the deaths of six turkeys. For once I happened to have watched the show, and can admit that it was a bit of a shock (geddit!!).

For those who aren’t aware, Gordon Ramsay and his family have been looking after some turkeys for the past few months. The primary aim was to slaughter them and eat one for Christmas dinner, one of those “life lesson” things I guess. Fairy muff you might say, that’s his business etc etc.

Of course it’s slightly different as, when it came time to slaughter the birds, you saw it all. The method of slaughter is to insert an electric probe into the mouth of the bird, flip a switch and pass 600 volts through the animal until it dies. Apparently this is the most humane way (according to the farmer who was providing the service, but then he would say that…) and was described in detail – “Flip the switch, watch for it’s eyes to roll back… there we go” he intoned as the bird, shocked into rigidity, spends the last few seconds of it’s life straining every muscle and sinew… perhaps painfully, perhaps not, we’ll never know.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I fully understand that for me to enjoy eating meat (and I do) something has to die. And whilst I did find the images being broadcast a little… unpalatable?… it certainly won’t stop me eating turkey again. Was it too graphic to be shown at tea-time on a Saturday night? Well I’d argue that the audience for The F Word isn’t young children, or at least shouldn’t be, and if the adults that were watching it found it offensive maybe, after the first of the five birds had been slaughtered (executed?) they should’ve taken the hint and turned over?

On the flip side of this is the fact that it took just seven people to complain about this to trigger Ofcom into action. What kind of culture are we creating here? A handful of people complain and the PC-sensitive ‘authorities’ leap into action and start banning things, left, right and centre. It’s getting ridiculous.

As for Gordon Ramsay but I hope he comes out with a statement on this, and I sincerely hopes it consists of little more than the abbreviated F word used in the title of his show. This madness has to end sometime.

bookmark_borderMatchsticks

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There is nothing better than lying, slightly bedraggled and hungover, on the couch all day watching crap TV and classic movies like Clash of the Titans. I’d forgotten just how spectacularly bad the latter was, although to be fair to the actors it can’t have been easy to work with that dialogue. Fantastically awful, I could barely take my eyes off the screen.

Louise was out for the day (and most of the night it turned out) so I had complete autonomy. I ate nothing but toast, drank a mixture of diluting pear and blackcurrant and then fresh orange and mango juices … um… not mixed together I hasten to add, and enjoyed a lovely little tube of dipped strawberry pieces from kchocolat, chocolate therapy indeed.

Thankfully my boxers remained both on my person and out of sight for the night, and whilst I do sincerely thank you all for your suggestions I failed to drink anything but Southern Comfort (half a bottle there of plus a couple of ‘hotel measures’), Stella (only one pint but it’s STILL going to get the blame for my sore head), red wine (two glasses), tequila (one slammer) and … well that was quite enough.

Dancing was had, boobs were fondled (with permission! honestly!!), footrubs were administered (three of), a shoulder was used (for drunken rambling) and a nipple was bitten (still smarts a little). In other words it was a fairly standard Christmas company party. Bloody good fun it was too (here’s some proof).

And the comedy incident of the night, for me at least, was when we finally vacated one of the rooms at 3 am (and sincerest apologies to the women who I startled in the corridor as she stuck her head out of the door to see what the noise was.. I don’t THINK she was completely naked…). Everyone pilled into one of the lifts and rather than add my bulk to the experience I hung back to get another one. The doors closed and I’m left alone in the corridor, watching for the number to change so I can push the button to summon another lift. The number doesn’t move, and I can still hear the drunken bums I work with..

“Push the fuckin button!”
“I DID… didn’t I?”
“Where the fuck are the buttons?”
“Whoa… it’s moving..”
“No… that was just D jumping up and down..”

And so on for about 5 minutes.

Plans today to go to the cinema, but as yet we are bother just trying to summon the energy to tidy the house. In fact I can hear the dulcet tones of my beloved echoing up the stairs as I type… better turn this music… up.

bookmark_borderHo ho … meh

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This week has flown in (…what an odd phrase that is. From where, pray tell, has the week arrived and couldn’t it have walked or cycled or something?), I can barely believe that it’s Thursday today and tomorrow heralds the auspicious event that is our company night out.

The US-based staff have been flown in, rumour has it that we’ll even be getting a couple of free drinks bought for us and, whilst it would be churlish of me to say it I’m going to say it anyway, it’s just as well we’re getting a couple of freebies as this year the hotel we are using has us entering the upper tier of exortion. Seriously, would you CHOOSE to pay £4 for a drink? Add in the train fare to get there, which includes a trip on the clockwork orange and the £20 taxi home … is it any wonder I’ll be consulting with my friends “hip” and “flask for” most of the night?

Of course this all pales into significance behind one of the most dreaded decisions of the year, what to wear!

I HAD planned on wearing a deep wine coloured shirt I have, and possibly not bothering with a tie… only to stumble across some photos from last year’s party and, that’s right, I wore the shirt last year. Can’t possibly wear it again. Faux pas, n’est ce pas?! (oooh multilingual!)

Thankfully I have tomorrow afternoon off so it’ll be a quick trip to my favourite men’s clothing store to pick up a new shirt. Unless George don’t have anything I like the look of in which case I’ll head to Primark… hey, did you hear they are opening a Primark on Oxford Street? Wonder if they’ll put the prices up?

Aside: How many people do you know who pronounce “Primark” as “Pree-mark”, what’s that all about? Same vein as “Nikee” as opposed to “Nike”?

As usual, I’m sure it’ll be a great night. Every year I go through the same, “can’t be arsed” routine beforehand and every year I’m disappointed at how quickly the evening passes and find myself wishing it had lasted longer. So I guess that only leaves one more decision to be made.

Which pair of festive boxer shorts should I wear, the flashing santas or the comedy snowmen?

bookmark_borderHelp me get drunk

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My first ever drink in a pub (the same pub I celebrated my 18th birthday in after drinking there for about a year…) was a pint of “heavy” (80 shilling) and that remained my tipple of choice for many years, bar the occasional Newcastle Brown or a lager on warmer days. Ohh and for the record my first ever alcoholic drink was vodka. Straight. Whilst providing cloakroom services for a Boys Brigade dance. Sorry Mum.

Why heavy? Because I was nervous, naive, and I wasn’t really sure what to ask for, so when the bloke that got served before me ordered “two pints a heavy” I thought, yeah, that’ll do me!

As Guinness started it’s rise to prominence I switched my allegiance, although I’m just as likely to be found drinking an American ‘beer’ like Miller these days. Carlsberg is pretty nice, and… well I could go on but that’s not what I wanted to ask about.

If I’m not drinking beer, or occasionally wine, I drink Southern Comfort. Either straight (over ice of course!) or with lemonade, it’s one of the few spirits I drink. I will accept a Gin and Tonic, and have been known to drink the odd tequila and lime but I just can’t find a spirit that I enjoy as much as Southern Comfort.

Whisky I can’t stomach, nor will my body accept any aniseed flavoured drinks (Ouzo, Pernod etc etc), I can drink vodka if I have to but don’t really enjoy it (although I am looking forward to the bottle of Absolut Raspberry we have recently purchased for consumption over the festive period). As most bars have a fairly wide selection of booze these days, I’m asking for suggestions. What drink should I try?

Some guidelines. NO COCKTAILS! I want something I can order in pretty much any bar from a spit-n-sawdust establishment to a neon-glow style bar (ummm is neon back in??). Definitely no whisky or any of it’s derivatives like Jack Daniels, I’ve tried various rums and never really took to them, and I’d prefer something that will take a variety of mixers, lemonade, coke, and so on. Ohh and it must be alcoholic.

I know for a fact that some of you imbibe the occasional alcoholic beverage so have at it!