I am full of a cold.
What a tragedy! But the kicker is since this is CAMERON'S BIG SOCIETY, I don't get sick pay when I'm ill so I shall have to struggle to work and be ill on everybody else or be unable to pay for things like gas, electricity or the fuel to get to work. Yeah, I'm a Subsistence Software Engineer.
So I shall go to work and every one else will get my cold. Last time I was ill, I gave it to the boss. He didn't threaten to fire me, he threatened to shoot me.
Less paperwork that way.
Showing posts with label moaning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moaning. Show all posts
Sunday, 22 January 2012
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
I'm ba-aaaack!
Hello again!
After a long absence, I've been reminded that I have a blog. In my defence, I've been very busy what with work and getting hit in the head and stuff. Also, my laptop was pinched (along with my XBox360, my phone and my dead mother's jewelery). I had the patio door open late one night to let the dogs out and two sods with a machete and a gun walked in, beat me up and took my stuff. Boo.
Here is a pic of me afterwards. Despite being taken on a cheapo netbook webcam (because someone had nicked my phone with a proper camera) and despite me being covered in dried blood, it is still the best recent picture I have of me. I don't photograph well (because I am ugly)
After a long absence, I've been reminded that I have a blog. In my defence, I've been very busy what with work and getting hit in the head and stuff. Also, my laptop was pinched (along with my XBox360, my phone and my dead mother's jewelery). I had the patio door open late one night to let the dogs out and two sods with a machete and a gun walked in, beat me up and took my stuff. Boo.
Here is a pic of me afterwards. Despite being taken on a cheapo netbook webcam (because someone had nicked my phone with a proper camera) and despite me being covered in dried blood, it is still the best recent picture I have of me. I don't photograph well (because I am ugly)
Monday, 2 August 2010
It's a Gas
Today's latest Catch-22 situation is with regards to paying the gas and electricity, which I get from the one supplier. If I don't make a payment by the end of today, I get hit with late payment charges, so I ring to make a payment.
Their payment system is down.
Do I get until tomorrow to make a payment to avoid late charges? No, it has to be made today. But the payment system is down...
Their payment system is down.
Do I get until tomorrow to make a payment to avoid late charges? No, it has to be made today. But the payment system is down...
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
Brewin' Beetles
I was making myself a nice cup of tea with the aid of my bog-standard spout-filling electric kettle today, when for reasons unknown I decided to open the lid and take a look inside.
Oh joy.
Floating about in the water were several tiny (and very dead) beetles. Biscuit Beetles, to be precise.
I've been drinking Beetle Broth for an indeterminate length of time. The mesh filter in the spout of the kettle was enough to stop their stewed carapaces showing up in my tea, but apparently not enough to keep them out of the blasted kettle in the first place.
Tomorrow, I shall be hunting high and low to find out where the buggers have come from. They're getting themselves a whole world of hoovering tomorrow..
Friday, 16 July 2010
Plumb Crazy
Great. The dripping has started up again and I couldn't afford amalgamating tape thanks to late payment of benefits. Time to go clambering about the kitchen cabinetry armed with a poxy roll of sticky tape.
Good news is that I've had a couple of interviews this week and have a couple more in my diary. Bad news is that one of them is an actual programming position that pays minimum wage, but any port in a storm. Or even a Sauterne.
The old jokes are the best.
At least minimum-wage programming will look better on my CV than sitting around on my backside doing nowt. Plus I'd be able to offer exceptional value for money!
For once...
Good news is that I've had a couple of interviews this week and have a couple more in my diary. Bad news is that one of them is an actual programming position that pays minimum wage, but any port in a storm. Or even a Sauterne.
The old jokes are the best.
At least minimum-wage programming will look better on my CV than sitting around on my backside doing nowt. Plus I'd be able to offer exceptional value for money!
For once...
Thursday, 15 July 2010
Plumbing the depths
Last night was fun. I've posted before about the shonky quality of the pipework in my house, but that was all winter freeze-associated, I don't know what triggered last night's water torture.
And water torture it was; it started out as the drip-drip-drip of the classic Chinese method but thanks to some help by yours truly, it rapidly graduated to out and out water-boarding.
Note to any "But water-boarding isn't torture" apologists reading this. Yes it is. It was certainly torture enough for the Americans to charge Japanese soldiers with war crimes for performing it on US servicemen during world war two, so what's changed since then? Don't give me that "post-9/11 world" nonsense either; it's all an excuse to do things in direct contradiction to our society's moral values whilst hiding the hypocrisy behind a fig-leaf of spin and weasel words. If you are going to torture people, at least have the moral courage to admit that's what you're doing, instead of sounding like a six-year old making excuses for why their baby sister has a black eye.
Aaanyway, plumbing.
And water torture it was; it started out as the drip-drip-drip of the classic Chinese method but thanks to some help by yours truly, it rapidly graduated to out and out water-boarding.
Note to any "But water-boarding isn't torture" apologists reading this. Yes it is. It was certainly torture enough for the Americans to charge Japanese soldiers with war crimes for performing it on US servicemen during world war two, so what's changed since then? Don't give me that "post-9/11 world" nonsense either; it's all an excuse to do things in direct contradiction to our society's moral values whilst hiding the hypocrisy behind a fig-leaf of spin and weasel words. If you are going to torture people, at least have the moral courage to admit that's what you're doing, instead of sounding like a six-year old making excuses for why their baby sister has a black eye.
Aaanyway, plumbing.
Monday, 5 July 2010
Twilight Zone
Today, I am mostly angry about Twilight.
I was shopping at the weekend when some chubby goth chick flounced past me in the Biscuit Aisle, wearing a "TEAM EDWARD" t-shirt, although it read a bit more like "TEEEEAAAM EDDDWARRD" on account of her ample frontage. I shook my brain in dismay; nerd T-shirts weren't cool when they were Star Trek, they weren't cool when they were Red Dwarf and they definitely weren't cool when they were Buffy. T-shirts about boychick-bodied sparklepire borderline-paedophile cradle-robbers (face facts; she's a teen and he's hundreds of years old. I'm thirty-seven and I get creeped out by seeing eighteen-year old page three girls) and outright-paedophilic wolf-boys pass so far beyond "not cool", they cause an overflow error in the coolness registers of the universe.
Oh well, everyone to their own taste, thought I. Onwards and upwards, live and let live (except for Live and Let Die, which was the only cool post-Beatles thing Paul McCartney ever wrote, even with the horrible honky-tonk "what-does-it-matter-to-ya?" part that breaks my brain).
I go home with my pitiful haul of groceries and settle down for some telly. Next thing I know, I'm seeing a Twilight-themed advert for... for.. Volvo cars.
I cannot record with any exactitude my precise thoughts at this juncture as I am trying to keep the adult content to a minimum.
Apparently in the films, head glitter-fiend Edward Cullen (I have to look these names up, you know) drives a Volvo. A Volvo. That's how you know he's hundreds of years old, he drives a Volvo.
Acting on the often-disproved principle that there's no such thing as Bad Publicity, Volvo have actually got on board with the whole Twilight business and have branded marketing campaigns running, hence my thirty-second Outside-Context Experience.
Yes, that's how you know Vampires aren't cool any more; they drive Volvos.
And that's how you know you aren't cool any more; you like Twilight.
I was shopping at the weekend when some chubby goth chick flounced past me in the Biscuit Aisle, wearing a "TEAM EDWARD" t-shirt, although it read a bit more like "TEEEEAAAM EDDDWARRD" on account of her ample frontage. I shook my brain in dismay; nerd T-shirts weren't cool when they were Star Trek, they weren't cool when they were Red Dwarf and they definitely weren't cool when they were Buffy. T-shirts about boychick-bodied sparklepire borderline-paedophile cradle-robbers (face facts; she's a teen and he's hundreds of years old. I'm thirty-seven and I get creeped out by seeing eighteen-year old page three girls) and outright-paedophilic wolf-boys pass so far beyond "not cool", they cause an overflow error in the coolness registers of the universe.
Oh well, everyone to their own taste, thought I. Onwards and upwards, live and let live (except for Live and Let Die, which was the only cool post-Beatles thing Paul McCartney ever wrote, even with the horrible honky-tonk "what-does-it-matter-to-ya?" part that breaks my brain).
I go home with my pitiful haul of groceries and settle down for some telly. Next thing I know, I'm seeing a Twilight-themed advert for... for.. Volvo cars.
I cannot record with any exactitude my precise thoughts at this juncture as I am trying to keep the adult content to a minimum.
Apparently in the films, head glitter-fiend Edward Cullen (I have to look these names up, you know) drives a Volvo. A Volvo. That's how you know he's hundreds of years old, he drives a Volvo.
Acting on the often-disproved principle that there's no such thing as Bad Publicity, Volvo have actually got on board with the whole Twilight business and have branded marketing campaigns running, hence my thirty-second Outside-Context Experience.
Yes, that's how you know Vampires aren't cool any more; they drive Volvos.
And that's how you know you aren't cool any more; you like Twilight.
Saturday, 3 July 2010
Profoundly Helpful
I'm having bags of fun in my ongoing quest to find work. Due to my ongoing failure to find gainful employment thanks to (presumably; maybe I just generally suck) an extremely niche and slightly outdated skillset (nine years C++ for mobile phones running Symbian/S60 when 90% of the programming jobs market seems to be C# and Java for web development), it's been suggested that I try to consider other areas of employment I wouldn't mind working in.
What, like being an Astronaut? I've always wanted to be a spaceman.
No, something more realistic. How about customer services?
How about you just go find a big old rock and hit me in the head with it until I stop thrashing? That'd be a lot less messy and painful in the long-term, trust me.
I've done customer services and I've done helldesk roles and I hated every single moment of it. I hated getting blamed for other people's problems when I'm there to help them fix it, I hated dealing with people who were congenitally incapable of following simple instructions and yet who still somehow managed to earn an order of magnitude more than me. I hated getting left to clean up the mess because some salesman completely misrepresented the product and the customer was finding out just how badly they'd been done over. Basically, I hated dealing on a day-to-day basis with people who made me feel miserable about my job and by extension, myself.
Ooo, poor baby Zinc has to face up to living in the Real World where life isn't all butterflies and sugarplums! Well, sod you. I was good at my job and I achieved real success and it didn't matter in the end because some suit-wearing turds decided that a few more percentage points of profit could be made by closing our offices and transferring all the work to somewhere where the cost of engineering slaves is lower, even though there's no experience in the kind of work that we do... did. The point is, I'm sick of always having to eat it when the suited classes start dishing it out. I'm sick of the fact that no matter how well I do, I'm still at the mercy of someone whose response to problems they themselves created is to fire all the people who do the actual work when in a just world, they'd be beheaded at the shareholder's AGM and their pitch-coated head would be stuck on a spike in reception as a warning to others.
Anyway, as the result of a promise to my useless-but-tries-hard employment advisor, I have been trying to see how my skills might be repurposed for other avenues of employment. One of the ways I did this was to do the online Skills assessment at Direct.gov's Skills Accounts website
After an hour or so of answering various on-line questionnaires and whatnot, I got some suggested jobs that someone with my skillset might be interested in. Top of the list?
Computer Programmer.
So very helpful.
What, like being an Astronaut? I've always wanted to be a spaceman.
No, something more realistic. How about customer services?
How about you just go find a big old rock and hit me in the head with it until I stop thrashing? That'd be a lot less messy and painful in the long-term, trust me.
I've done customer services and I've done helldesk roles and I hated every single moment of it. I hated getting blamed for other people's problems when I'm there to help them fix it, I hated dealing with people who were congenitally incapable of following simple instructions and yet who still somehow managed to earn an order of magnitude more than me. I hated getting left to clean up the mess because some salesman completely misrepresented the product and the customer was finding out just how badly they'd been done over. Basically, I hated dealing on a day-to-day basis with people who made me feel miserable about my job and by extension, myself.
Ooo, poor baby Zinc has to face up to living in the Real World where life isn't all butterflies and sugarplums! Well, sod you. I was good at my job and I achieved real success and it didn't matter in the end because some suit-wearing turds decided that a few more percentage points of profit could be made by closing our offices and transferring all the work to somewhere where the cost of engineering slaves is lower, even though there's no experience in the kind of work that we do... did. The point is, I'm sick of always having to eat it when the suited classes start dishing it out. I'm sick of the fact that no matter how well I do, I'm still at the mercy of someone whose response to problems they themselves created is to fire all the people who do the actual work when in a just world, they'd be beheaded at the shareholder's AGM and their pitch-coated head would be stuck on a spike in reception as a warning to others.
Anyway, as the result of a promise to my useless-but-tries-hard employment advisor, I have been trying to see how my skills might be repurposed for other avenues of employment. One of the ways I did this was to do the online Skills assessment at Direct.gov's Skills Accounts website
After an hour or so of answering various on-line questionnaires and whatnot, I got some suggested jobs that someone with my skillset might be interested in. Top of the list?
Computer Programmer.
So very helpful.
Friday, 2 July 2010
Silence is golden; noisy is mostly copper
On Wednesday I took a big tupperware tub full of loose change to the Coinstar change-cashing machine at Tesco so I could buy some dog food for the idiot dogs, which was amusing since it involved using my inheritance (the change) to feed the rest of my inheritance (the dogs).
The machine seemed reasonably honest (it charged only the mildly depressing rate of 8.6% to avoid annoying bank clerks) but had one horrible drawback. It's noisy.
The feeling you get when everybody in a giant branch of Tesco turns to look at you because you're feeding a big ol' tub o' tuppences into a change sorter is horrible. You can sense all the middle-class yummy mummies abjuring their children to not stare at the poor person in case they catch poverty and have to sign up for free school meals.
I hate being poor, it's like being a shambling undead zombie that everyone is too polite to notice.
The machine seemed reasonably honest (it charged only the mildly depressing rate of 8.6% to avoid annoying bank clerks) but had one horrible drawback. It's noisy.
The feeling you get when everybody in a giant branch of Tesco turns to look at you because you're feeding a big ol' tub o' tuppences into a change sorter is horrible. You can sense all the middle-class yummy mummies abjuring their children to not stare at the poor person in case they catch poverty and have to sign up for free school meals.
I hate being poor, it's like being a shambling undead zombie that everyone is too polite to notice.
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
Dial-A-Story with HG Zinc
Once upon a time there was a maaaaagical spell called the Telephone Protection Service. The TPS was a spell you could cast upon yourself so that the evil phone goblins wouldn't ring you all hours of the day and night trying to sell you things you couldn't afford and didn't want. The people of the land were happy with TPS and there was much rejoicing as the peasantry got to have a proper bath without having their souls tarnished by idiots trying to sell them double-glazing.
Money Laundering
You know that your life is really going well when you find yourself grubbing around the house for each and every bit of loose change (even the horribly crusty fused mass of coins and dead flies in a jar on the kitchen windowsill) so you can take it to Tesco and run it through the change counter in the hope it will magically turn into real money.
You know that pride is a rod for your own back when you find yourself chucking all the ghastly verdigrised copper into the sink so you can wash it all shiny-clean because heaven forbid someone see you using dirty money.
You know that pride is a rod for your own back when you find yourself chucking all the ghastly verdigrised copper into the sink so you can wash it all shiny-clean because heaven forbid someone see you using dirty money.
Tuesday, 29 June 2010
No Homeo
Today the British Medical Association voted to call for the NHS to stop funding Homeopathy.
In a word, Yessss! My natural indifference to seeing stupid people being defrauded of money via their stupidity tends to not quite work the same when the stupid people in question are civil servants or government ministers spending other people's money.
One could point out that homeopathy (a word my spellcheck quite rightly fails to recognise) offers some psychological benefits to some people via the placebo effect, and that just being able to play pretend doctors with someone who lends a sympathetic ear to their problems is of great benefit to many people, but I would argue that such people are stupid people who live in fairy make-believe land and evidence-based pain and suffering are deeply therapeutic for a case of the stupids.
Today, I am more bitter than Bitrex, a fine practical example of the use of negative re-enforcement in the treatment of stupidity.
In a word, Yessss! My natural indifference to seeing stupid people being defrauded of money via their stupidity tends to not quite work the same when the stupid people in question are civil servants or government ministers spending other people's money.
One could point out that homeopathy (a word my spellcheck quite rightly fails to recognise) offers some psychological benefits to some people via the placebo effect, and that just being able to play pretend doctors with someone who lends a sympathetic ear to their problems is of great benefit to many people, but I would argue that such people are stupid people who live in fairy make-believe land and evidence-based pain and suffering are deeply therapeutic for a case of the stupids.
Today, I am more bitter than Bitrex, a fine practical example of the use of negative re-enforcement in the treatment of stupidity.
Monday, 28 June 2010
Intelligent Agents
Note to recruitment agencies: Please don't ask if I sound tired and grumpy "on account of being hung-over after the football". There's so much wrong with that particular assumption, I don't know where to begin; oh wait, I do!
I DON'T WATCH THE SODDING FOOTBALL, AND I'M NOT SO PATHETIC THAT DEFEAT-BY-PROXY IN A GAME SEEMS LIKE A GOOD EXCUSE TO TIE ONE ON. IF I SOUND GRUMPY, IT'S BECAUSE IT'S EIGHT IN THE MORNING AND I HAVE TO GET READY TO GO TO THAT LITTLE RAY OF SUNSHINE, THE JOBCENTRE.
I hate the Jobcentre, I hate unemployment and I hate you. No, not you-the-reader, the Agent-you. You-the-reader, I love. I'll love you even more when I set up AdWords and you click on some of the links...
I DON'T WATCH THE SODDING FOOTBALL, AND I'M NOT SO PATHETIC THAT DEFEAT-BY-PROXY IN A GAME SEEMS LIKE A GOOD EXCUSE TO TIE ONE ON. IF I SOUND GRUMPY, IT'S BECAUSE IT'S EIGHT IN THE MORNING AND I HAVE TO GET READY TO GO TO THAT LITTLE RAY OF SUNSHINE, THE JOBCENTRE.
I hate the Jobcentre, I hate unemployment and I hate you. No, not you-the-reader, the Agent-you. You-the-reader, I love. I'll love you even more when I set up AdWords and you click on some of the links...
Sunday, 27 June 2010
Graceful Degradation
Hooray for the latest, greatest indignity of being on t' dole:
- I am out of toilet paper.
- I cannot afford more toilet paper until the government pays me some more Jobseeker's allowance, which will happen on Monday.
- It will take until Wednesday at the earliest for the money to actually be cleared into my account.
What am I doing about it (aside from desperately trying to get a job)? Well, in the medium term, the fact I can't afford food either is helping somewhat. In the short term? I may have a solution for that too.
Thursday, 24 June 2010
Things to do Before an Interview
Everyone should know the 7 P's of Preparation- Prior Proper Planning Prevents P***-Poor Performance, so here are a couple of things to do before an interview to ensure things go well:
Whoops...
- Get a good night's sleep. The human body is still synchronized to the diurnal dance of day and night, so since it's summertime right now and the nights are short, a couple of hours sleep will do perfectly.
- Good communications are vital if you're travelling a long way for the interview, so make sure your phone is up to scratch by flashing the software to a new version the night before. It is certainly possible that the flashing process may fail part-way through, turning your handset into a shiny and expensive brick, but that hardly ever happens. I mean, you'd have to be using a somewhat ropey fossil laptop and some really terrible flashing software for anything like that to happen, wouldn't you?
Whoops...
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
Friendly AND Helpful
Today I have been to NextStep, a "friendly, face-to-face careers advice service". Very friendly.
Here is the friendly view from their friendly car park:
Yes. That is a US Prison-grade electric fence there. A very swish and expensive looking electric fence it is too.
The offices were similarly swish and expensive looking, being a relatively new purpose-built construction on the former site of some exceptionally bad early sixties flats, burying the failed social housing experiment of that era with a particularly mocking rejoinder to the largely jobless people who would once have lived there. Plenty of publicity and glory-shot marketing material covered the site in the particularly hideous puce that Salford council favour these days.
I show up for my appointment as promptly as one might expect given how much free time I have to be on time these days.
The young lady behind the inch-thick optically-perfect bulletproof lexan sneeze-guard asked me for my details which I in turn gave her. Some tapping of keys followed. Then a phone call. Then another phone call.
"I'm sorry, we've no record of you having an appointment."
"But I definitely made one. I have a confirmation letter."
"We don't have you down for an appointment. I'm sorry."
"But I have a letter!"
"I'm sorry."
"Is anyone available, perhaps?"
"I'm sorry, you need to make an appointment."
"Can we make an appointment then?"
"I'm sorry, you need to phone up to book an appointment."
As it turned out, the electric fence must only get switched on at night.
Here is the friendly view from their friendly car park:
Yes. That is a US Prison-grade electric fence there. A very swish and expensive looking electric fence it is too.
The offices were similarly swish and expensive looking, being a relatively new purpose-built construction on the former site of some exceptionally bad early sixties flats, burying the failed social housing experiment of that era with a particularly mocking rejoinder to the largely jobless people who would once have lived there. Plenty of publicity and glory-shot marketing material covered the site in the particularly hideous puce that Salford council favour these days.
I show up for my appointment as promptly as one might expect given how much free time I have to be on time these days.
The young lady behind the inch-thick optically-perfect bulletproof lexan sneeze-guard asked me for my details which I in turn gave her. Some tapping of keys followed. Then a phone call. Then another phone call.
"I'm sorry, we've no record of you having an appointment."
"But I definitely made one. I have a confirmation letter."
"We don't have you down for an appointment. I'm sorry."
"But I have a letter!"
"I'm sorry."
"Is anyone available, perhaps?"
"I'm sorry, you need to make an appointment."
"Can we make an appointment then?"
"I'm sorry, you need to phone up to book an appointment."
As it turned out, the electric fence must only get switched on at night.
Monday, 21 June 2010
An end to progress
Stop it! Stop it right now!
Stop what?
Going forwards.
I am sick to death of hearing people use the phrase "going forwards". They use it when one might say "in the future" or "from now on", but as a phrase it has a special taste to it derived from its origin in management-speak. Specifically, it means "Mistakes were made (by the speaker), but (despite the fact that if the listener had made a mistake even one-tenth as serious, they would be fired so fast, air friction would set them on fire) we are all going to pretend we have learned a special lesson from this experience AND NO-ONE IS TO EVER MENTION THIS EVER AGAIN, especially when we make the same exact mistake six months from now, which you can be sure that we will".
When you say "going forwards", you're basically showing the world what a horrible piece of slime you are, so stop it.
Stop what?
Going forwards.
I am sick to death of hearing people use the phrase "going forwards". They use it when one might say "in the future" or "from now on", but as a phrase it has a special taste to it derived from its origin in management-speak. Specifically, it means "Mistakes were made (by the speaker), but (despite the fact that if the listener had made a mistake even one-tenth as serious, they would be fired so fast, air friction would set them on fire) we are all going to pretend we have learned a special lesson from this experience AND NO-ONE IS TO EVER MENTION THIS EVER AGAIN, especially when we make the same exact mistake six months from now, which you can be sure that we will".
When you say "going forwards", you're basically showing the world what a horrible piece of slime you are, so stop it.
Thursday, 17 June 2010
So Horny (Horny Horny Horny)
This week I have been listening to football fans weeping bitter tears over the Vuvuzela and how much it is spoiling their enjoyment of the world cup.
Two points:
1. Go watch some newsreel footage of any British football match up to the sixties. Every time there's a crowd shot, you'll notice that everyone in the crowd has a very large wooden football rattle (and a wooly bobble-hat, but that's beside the point). No doubt contemporary newsreel audiences in South Africa and then-Rhodesia were cursing those idiots with the rattly things for ruining the atmosphere and giving them headaches. The point is that football culture varies from time to time and place to place, so perhaps it shouldn't be a surprise when you see some of those differences at the World Cup.
2. The Vuvuzela is the very embodiment of the sound of football. Seriously. Whenever people start talking about football, to me it sounds exactly like someone blowing a Vuvuzela for hours on end. HOW DO YOU LIKE IT, EHHHH?
Two points:
1. Go watch some newsreel footage of any British football match up to the sixties. Every time there's a crowd shot, you'll notice that everyone in the crowd has a very large wooden football rattle (and a wooly bobble-hat, but that's beside the point). No doubt contemporary newsreel audiences in South Africa and then-Rhodesia were cursing those idiots with the rattly things for ruining the atmosphere and giving them headaches. The point is that football culture varies from time to time and place to place, so perhaps it shouldn't be a surprise when you see some of those differences at the World Cup.
2. The Vuvuzela is the very embodiment of the sound of football. Seriously. Whenever people start talking about football, to me it sounds exactly like someone blowing a Vuvuzela for hours on end. HOW DO YOU LIKE IT, EHHHH?
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
Adventures in interviewing; also, locks.
Today has not been a good day.
I was supposed to be interviewing for a position up in County Durham today, but a lack of properly defined processes got in the way.
At least that's my excuse.
What happened? Well, for a start, the JobCentre failed to meet a defined constraint by paying my Jobseeker's Allowance on time, meaning I didn't have any money for travel. At the moment, thanks to the Flexible New Deal, I have to pay travel expenses out of my own pocket and then give receipts in order to get reimbursed, which is assuming the FND provider in question has any money in petty cash, because if they don't, well they won't.
This led to a failed early GO/NOGO decision gate and caused an unplanned mission hold prior to FINAL COMMIT until I scrounged up enough pennies for Diesel, with the decision gate only being passed quite literally at the last possible minute. Unfortunately in the mad panic, a critical flaw in the whole procedure arose.
When changing into my interview attire, I neglected to pick up my keys.
Locking yourself out of the house is never good. It is doubly not good when you need to be somewhere else in order to secure your financial future, whose present parlous state means you can't afford a locksmith or replacement glass for a punched-out window.
End solution: Rapid application of Human Resources to Technical Problem. I shoulder-barged the door.
Springing the door was surprisingly easy. Worryingly so, in fact. Remarkably little damage was done to the door frame; a couple of longer screws should fix things right up, along with some no-more-nails or Polyfilla, perhaps.
I wonder if I should add "Intrusion Specialist" to my CV and go for a job in Internet Security?
I was supposed to be interviewing for a position up in County Durham today, but a lack of properly defined processes got in the way.
At least that's my excuse.
What happened? Well, for a start, the JobCentre failed to meet a defined constraint by paying my Jobseeker's Allowance on time, meaning I didn't have any money for travel. At the moment, thanks to the Flexible New Deal, I have to pay travel expenses out of my own pocket and then give receipts in order to get reimbursed, which is assuming the FND provider in question has any money in petty cash, because if they don't, well they won't.
This led to a failed early GO/NOGO decision gate and caused an unplanned mission hold prior to FINAL COMMIT until I scrounged up enough pennies for Diesel, with the decision gate only being passed quite literally at the last possible minute. Unfortunately in the mad panic, a critical flaw in the whole procedure arose.
When changing into my interview attire, I neglected to pick up my keys.
Locking yourself out of the house is never good. It is doubly not good when you need to be somewhere else in order to secure your financial future, whose present parlous state means you can't afford a locksmith or replacement glass for a punched-out window.
End solution: Rapid application of Human Resources to Technical Problem. I shoulder-barged the door.
Springing the door was surprisingly easy. Worryingly so, in fact. Remarkably little damage was done to the door frame; a couple of longer screws should fix things right up, along with some no-more-nails or Polyfilla, perhaps.
I wonder if I should add "Intrusion Specialist" to my CV and go for a job in Internet Security?
Friday, 28 May 2010
Is it safe?
Today saw a visit to the dentist for some root canal work. It was horrible.
Not because of the dentistry, you understand. Because of the huge widescreen telly in reception, pumping out the Chart Show. It looks like these days the number of songs that don't feature horribly aggressive use of autotune-style processing for maximum blandness is about one in five.
Specifically, I'm thinking Ke$ha should be dragged out into the street and shot.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm an old fuddy-duddy, but I listen to music where the singer's voice is processed to hell with ring modulators and whatnot with the whole idea being to add to the style of the piece, whereas autotuning just seems to be there to mask the fact that somebody's manufactured music sensation can't actually sing a note.
I hate Autotune. It adds to the blandness of modern life.
Not because of the dentistry, you understand. Because of the huge widescreen telly in reception, pumping out the Chart Show. It looks like these days the number of songs that don't feature horribly aggressive use of autotune-style processing for maximum blandness is about one in five.
Specifically, I'm thinking Ke$ha should be dragged out into the street and shot.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm an old fuddy-duddy, but I listen to music where the singer's voice is processed to hell with ring modulators and whatnot with the whole idea being to add to the style of the piece, whereas autotuning just seems to be there to mask the fact that somebody's manufactured music sensation can't actually sing a note.
I hate Autotune. It adds to the blandness of modern life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)