I’ve been writing this post, on and off, for a long time. So now it’s got to be a bit of a long rant. And I’m going to subject you to it anyway. Well it’s my blog, so there! Sorry!

Pet hates. Things which always irritate or annoy you, wherever, however and regardless of how well intentioned. They might be small things, or big things, but we all have them. Here are a few of mine …

What Will the Neighbours Think? I don’t give a flying ferret what the neighbours think. If they don’t like what I do then too bad. I’m unlikely to be doing anything illegal. And if they think what I’m doing is immoral then it is clearly they who have the problem because I wouldn’t be doing it if I thought it was. Remember Allen Walker Read: Obscenity lies not in words or things, but in attitudes that people have about words and things. Same for (im)morality, dislike, distaste and all this other dis-es.

Net Curtains. I have nothing to hide and nothing much worth nicking. I like light; indeed I need light to combat the SAD. And I like to be able to look out of the window. So we have no net curtains at home, neither do we normally draw the curtains after dark. And the first thing I do in an hotel room is to work out how to open the net curtains (and if possible open the window) and let in the light and the air.

Muzak. I detest background music: in shops, pubs, lifts — anywhere, even at home. It is pollution which clogs up brain-space to no useful effect. If I want to talk to someone I don’t want to have to shout over muzak to make myself heard. And if I don’t want to talk I want quiet to allow my brain to think and concentrate or just free-cycle and relax. If I want to listen to music I’ll listen to what I choose, when I choose. But fortunately I can tune out a lot of muzak, as long as it isn’t too loud.

Unnecessary formality. Formality, like etiquette, is bogus and unnecessary. I’m not a fan of ties, nor of jackets and even less of suits. I have never worn a DJ/tuxedo in my life and I’m not going to start now. And as for morning dress and top hats … Bah! Humbug! I’ve always known people by their Christian (given) names and not as Mr Bloggs or Mrs Mopp, nor as Aunt or Uncle, unless the individuals themselves insisted. Let’s be genuine and not hide behind false Dickensian obsequiousness. If I’m good enough, you take me as I am. If you don’t care to then you’re not good enough. Informality rules. Who was it said, Those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter.

Being expected to take part. Aaarrrggghhhh!!!! Run away fast! This was one of the banes of my working life. There were always work events that one was expected to go to. You all want to go out for Christmas lunch? Fine you go; if it is convenient I may come, but I’m not travelling 50 miles at my own expense to do so. I don’t much want to socialise with the people I work with all day, even if I do like them. Don’t we see enough of each other? No, I’m not going to the annual dinner/dance. Yeuch! And the more you expect me to the less likely I am to go. If I want to go, I’ll go. If I don’t, I won’t. I’m my own person, not a company man and I always had a life outside work. And if management doesn’t like it well too bad. I wonder why I was never seen as management material?

Lying. We are never, it seems, these days told the truth. Let alone the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Everyone tells us what they think we want to hear or how they would like it to be. Look at what goes on around you. Politicians lie to us. Advertisements lie to us. Businesses, all businesses, lie to us. Religion lies to us. Shopkeepers lie to us. Call it “distorting the truth” if you want to be mealy-mouthed about it, but basically it is all lies, PR and marketing. There is an increasing culture of lying. People lie to their insurance companies — either they don’t tell them things, or they make what are basically fraudulent claims — and they’ll admit it to you. “I said I was hurt in that crash to get some compensation, but I wasn’t really” or “Oh I didn’t bother declaring that to the tax man”. Some cultures are worse than others; some have a basic tenet that they will tell you what they think you want to hear, regardless of whether it is true.

Bad Manners & Service. If you’re going to work in a service industry, indeed if you’re going to live in society, learn some customer care and to be polite to people. It isn’t hard, but you do have to accept that everything isn’t just about you! You are always going to have to tell people bad news. Be polite; say “I’m sorry”; and you will be forgiven a lot by most people most of the time. What annoys people is either being lied to (see above) or being told nothing. Yes, it is something you have to learn. It isn’t easy to learn to say “I’m sorry; I screwed it up” but there are times you have to.

Older people get a bad rap for saying things badly or out of turn, when they should know better. Often they do know better but can’t help themselves. Apparently what happens is that there is a control mechanism in the brain which stops us saying whatever stupid thing comes into our mind but rephrase it before it reaches our mouth. As we age this control mechanism breaks down and the words spill out before the control mechanism engages. It doesn’t make it easier when you’re on the receiving end, but at least it is medically recognised.

Speaking Lifts. Lift going up. B****r off! First floor. Doors opening. Yes, I can see the doors are opening! OK, OK, I know that it helps the visually impaired, but that doesn’t mean it can’t annoy me. The Sirius Cybernetics Corporation™ has a lot to answer for! Glad to be of service. Have a nice day. Aaarrrggghhhh!!!!

People Who Don’t Think. It is suggested (I think there’s research behind it but I can’t find the reference) that 5% of people are unable to think; 5% can think and do so; the other 90% can think and don’t bother. The 90% cover their tracks by making assumptions. Dangerous. Very dangerous. Either that or they swallow whole the opinions they’re spoon-fed, usually by the media, politicians or religion. This itself involves a big assumption: that these proponents are always right. Not only do people not think about what they (purportedly) believe, they can’t even think about the possible consequences of their own actions.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I seen scaffolders lobbing scaffold clamps to each other, even dropping then to a mate 5 floors below, without hard hats. Surely someone of the meanest intelligence (and many scaffolders aren’t) can see what damage a scaffold clamp dropped even 2 floors would do to their skull. But no. They can’t — or won’t — think about it.

OK, that’s maybe a slightly extreme example, but this afflicts nearly everyone. If people thought about the consequences of what they say and do, they would behave a lot better. For a start they would drive a lot better; they wouldn’t weave in and out of traffic, cutting up other motorists. They get enraged when others do it to them but cannot see what they themselves are doing.

People have no concept of putting themselves in someone else’s shoes; or of considering the effects of what they say and do. Yes, we all do it; it’s hard not to at times. I feel sure it’s part of the spectrum of autism, albeit a long way from the full-blown syndrome.

People Who Assume I Think Like Them. Following on from the previous item, most people make the big assumption that, whatever we are discussing, I (indeed everyone) must think the same way they do. The trouble is, invariably I don’t. I give them some novel twist on the subject. And the response? “Oh, I never thought a
bout that” or “Do you really think so?” or “But that can’t be right”. In other words it doesn’t accord with their blinkered world view. People have different outlooks on life; learn to live with it. And learn too that sometimes people wind you up with silly alternative views to make you think, shut you up or just for the hell of it!

There’s one of our friends who will learn one day that if he is too inquisitive, or makes too much of an assumption, he gets a crazy answer from me. He dropped me the other day at my osteopath’s. My osteopath is also my hypnotherapist. When he picked me up 2 hours later he assumed I had had 2 hours physiotherapy. I pointed out, wickedly, that he was making an assumption and that for all he knew I’d been shagging the guy’s wife — or daughter — preferably his daughter. This scenario has been repeated several times, and he still hasn’t learnt!

Rant over. Your turn!?

The last week has been just so busy, hence the total lack of postings.

I’ve been putting the quarterly Anthony Powell Society Newsletter together for the printers — although I’m not the Editor, I am the in-house production team, sub-editor etc. etc. As this is the 50th issue — something I never even dreamt of achieving — it is a larger than usual issue, so has taken more time. Why is it that proofreading — proper, detailed proofreading — always takes so long? Anyway the Newsletter should go to the printer over the weekend after a final check-through.

However the bulk of my time during the week has been taken up with writing what has turned into a 40-page report for my GP’s Practice. A couple of weeks ago we, the Patient Participation Group organised by yours truly, helped run their annual patient survey. And of course I stupidly volunteered to key and analyse the data — well I know I have the skills to do it properly. With well over 500 records of data, the keying alone was no small job. Fortunately all the hard work of calculation I had pre-coded into a spreadsheet, so the bottom line numbers dropped out quickly. But then there were over 600 comments to analyse and turn into possible actions. All of that and more has to be written into a formal report, with tables and charts and a list of actions (with some justification). And every time you look at it something else pops up which really should be included. It isn’t finished yet, but it is getting close and should be with the doctors on Monday or Tuesday.

On top of that I have been trying to take it a bit easy, so I really do get rid of this blasted UTI which came back 10 days ago. It seems to have subsided now. But it needs to stay that way.

Next week is shaping up to be busy again too. Just for starters I have a 40-page report to read, and think about!, for a meeting on Wednesday. The only problem is, I have to find it first, amongst the pile of paper on/by my desk! And there are all the other things I need to attend to which have been out aside in the last couple of weeks.

Will I get to watch the rugby this afternoon? No, probably not … As everyone always says: How did I ever find time to work?

I was prompted a few days ago to think about what really would constitute a living Hell for me. No forget all this fire and brimstone stuff of the (supposed) afterlife. We are quite good enough at creating Hell here in this life.

But on the basis that one man’s meat is another man’s poison, how much would we actually agree on what would constitute Hell here on Earth? Brave New World and 1984 would be a damn good start!

Well this is the start, at least, on what mine would look like.

There is no wine, beer or gin. The only liquids available would be Pernod, absinthe, pastis and … errr … water.

The only foods available are jellied eels, tripe, sweet potato, pumpkin and egg custard.

Everyone is perpetually rude, selfish and unable to speak English. (Nothing new there, then.)

All officials are little Hitler control freaks and over-officious bullies. And then there are the managers!

Basically nothing is allowed; everything is banned, so whatever you do you’re breaking some law or another.

Cigarette smoke clings everywhere.

There are no antibiotics, analgesics or deodorants.

It is cold. So cold I have to wear clothes all the time — because there is no central heating and no sunshine. And all the clothes I have to wear are made of plastic, rubber or nylon.

There are no cats, no birds, no gardens, no trees and no seaside. The sky is never blue. Maggots abound.

I have to travel everywhere by underground or by bus.

All women look like low-class tarts and wear a thick plastic skin of make-up.
All men are shaven headed thugs or greasy oiks — which is about how they behave.
There are children everywhere, screaming. Their batteries cannot be removed and they never run out of charge. They all have lice.

There is no internet nor any cameras — except for CCTV everywhere.

All TV is an endless cycle of inane soap operas and game shows interspersed every 5 minutes with ever more inane adverts.

There are no books and the only music is Mozart.

I’m forced to be homosexual, religious, play golf and put in the army.

I’m sure there’s more … Aarrrgggghhhhh!!!!!!

Why is it much of this sounds so horribly familiar?

What is it that makes birthdays so strange? Today seems to have been one of the odder ones, but for no very obvious reason.

We’ve never been ones for making much of birthdays in my family, so I always expect them to be much like any other day. The trouble starts when other people think birthdays are special days. Which is very nice but not what I expect. Maybe I’m just getting old but it seems that these days everyone is much more wanting to make something of birthdays; I’m sure this wasn’t so when I was young. Maybe it’s just because we’re now much more open about things.

In the past I’ve managed to avoid some of this, especially in the last few years I was working when I had a policy of taking the day off work. But now that things like Facebook tell the world when your birthday is, there isn’t much hiding. And yes, in many ways that is nice but I’m still not used to it.

But although a quiet day, this has been one of the odder birthdays.

It started with an alarm clock and the usual unwillingness to engage vertical hold. Oh and I need to do a pee sample for the doctors to check I really have gotten rid of the bladder infection.

Then off to do the weekly supermarket run. Well this is better than it could be as (a) it is always quiet at 9am on a Friday and (b) I get to have breakfast in the café. This morning, being a special day, I indulged in a full English breakfast rather than the usual bacon roll.

Just as we were leaving the supermarket (luckily after we’d paid!) the fire alarms went off and the store was evacuated. Frankly it could have burnt down as it was nearly 10 minutes before a solitary fire engine arrived.

Home about 1040 to news that one of my parents’ closest friends had died. Not unexpected as he was in his late 80s and had been ill for some time. Fortunately, when I rang, my mother already knew, so I didn’t have to break the news to her.

… And a short doze in front of my PC …

A scratch lunch of the remains of last night’s stuffed peppers with bread & butter — not bad cold, but better hot. This was followed by teh grand opening presents. Oooo goodie! … Another bottle of gin! Plus an early music CD and some books from my wanted list. And what!? No-one gave me chocolates. Which is probably as well.

While away the afternoon doing this and that — ie. nothing — followed by a shower and shave. So exciting I could hardly stand afterwards.

Then to cook my birthday dinner. A massive quantity of seafood (prawns, mussels, scallops and sprats) and linguine in a tomato, lemon and chilli sauce. Dead easy and though I say it myself it was bloody good — better than many restaurants. Devoured with a rather nice bottle of Roger Brun Réserve Grand Cru Champagne (from Nick Dobson Wines).

Dinner was rapidly followed by a long phone call with my closest aunt — mostly about family things and our researches into our ancestry.

So now to switch off and read for the rest of the evening.

And I still don’t know why it is that birthdays are quite such strange days!