Litter picking irony

Yesterday I braved the squally showers and joined some other intrepid litter pickers on the Keep Grangetown Tidy monthly litter pick. There wasn't much of interest to report in the bag I filled, but I was highly amused that one of my fellow litter pickers had retrieved a broken sign saying "cleaning in progress" from inside a bush.

The best company NOT to work for

I was told about this a while ago but forgot to look it up.

The charity which made me and 30+ other people redundant 2 years ago has included a picture of me in its most recent review. I'm on page 8.

The irony is it's about the 'Best Company to Work For' Accreditation that I helped them achieve. No mention on that page or anywhere else that I no longer work for them. Or why I left. Or how many people left with me.

Incidentally, it's not that they used the picture that bothers me so much. It's just I know plenty of people who still work there and nobody bothered to ask if it was okay. Which is a bit insensitive. (But I guess sums up the decision-making and management style I disliked when I was there.)

Ah, well, I've moved on to something better and enjoy my work a lot more now. Things like this encourage me that it was for the best.

#awfulsupergroups

This was a recent meme on Twitter that really made me smile. The basic premise is you combine two artists, bands or pop groups to form an ‘awful supergroup’.

A couple that really caught my eye were Rage Against Florence and the Machine and Nirvanarama.

I had a go myself. What if Macy Gray joined AC-DC? Macy DC. And The Future Soundgarden of London would be pretty bad too.

While driving the minibus on a recent youth weekend, I was chatting about it to a couple of fellow leaders, and it caught their imaginations too. Minty suggested Thirty Seconds to Bruno Mars, while Sam came up with the frankly brilliant Incubusted.

Since then, I’ve been thinking of some more. I’m not sure what Queens of the GarbAge would sound like. And I think I’d avoid anything by Liberty XTC, New Order on the Block or Freddie Mercury Rev. Ditto My Chemical Brothers Romance.

But my favourite contribution by a twitter-user was the person who just put Velvet Revolver, and added the hashtag #missing the point. Irony is alive and well.

What would your #awfulsupergroups be? Leave a comment!

New Job Title - Word Wizzard

On Friday I got a compliment from someone I did a quick sub-ed for. “You are a word wizard!” they said.

I liked that so much I took it to my boss and asked if I could have it as my new job title. He jokingly agreed. So there you have it. I’m now no longer a staff writer; I’m a word wizard. Matt even made me a sign to put up by my desk. Ironically (he says) he spelt wizard wrong.



All I need now is a hat.

Two unexpected compliments

Over the last few days I've had two unexpected compliments.

The first was on a Negotiation Skills course I went on for work. I didn't want to go, but unfortunately my negotiation skills weren't good enough for me to get out of it. The irony.

We did a group exercise in negotiating and afterwards I was complimented on my body language, particularly the way I make points by making a circle with my thumb and fore-finger to emphasise the point I'm trying to make. This is apparently an inclusive enforcing gesture. It's taught to politicians to get the point across without alienating people, but I do it naturally. The direct comparison the guy made was with Barack Obama. (Yes, really!)

I've been asked a few times if I've ever considered a career in politics and while it's tempted me in the past (enough to do Politics as an A Level subject, for example) I'm not sure it's a career I'd want to pursue. Doing something like serial trouble-maker Mark Thomas would interest me, but I couldn't sell my soul to a political party, and it's very hard to run as an independent.

The second compliment was on the youth weekend away when one of the other leaders, "Edna", a teacher by trade, asked me if I'd ever done teacher training or been a teacher. She was really surprised when I said no, because according to her I was doing everything right in communicating with the kids, holding their attention and getting my message across. I felt a bit embarrassed really because it's quite a thing when someone in any industry tells you that you would be good at the job they do.

Again, teaching is something which I've considered. In fact, my dear old dad still brings up the possibility of me going into education on a regular basis. I think he thinks it might be my real calling. But realistically I would hate teaching as a career. Most of my friends who are teachers are burning out and any joy they had for the job has long since leached away. One or two still like getting up for work, but most don't. And I think it would kill me slowly too.

I get to talk to the kids in the youth about things which really matter. Subjects with an eternal applicability. Why anyone would want to teach kids stuff that doesn't matter or that they're not passionate about beats me. But then I guess that may be why so many teachers fail their students.

Still it's nice to know I have a couple of potential career options open if I fancy a change.

Credit crunch? Wot credit crunch?

I know the Credit Crunch™ is about banks loaning money to each other and not about consumer credit, but it still strikes me as funny that in the last couple of days I've received two credit card applications through the post.

Naturally I've given them both the 'Stop Killing Trees' treatment - ripping up all the bumf they've sent me and returning it in their prepaid envelope. The two recipients this time were Barclaycard and Citi. The Citi one in particular came with a load of junk like a booklet of terms and conditions, several smaller leaflets covered in more terms and conditions and their application form.

I imagine the thought processes in the marketing departments are 'everyone's worried about money - it's a good time to tempt them with some credit'. Or possibly 'oh crapola, people are starting to realise they can't put stuff on the never-never for ever, we'd better find some new suckers...'

Whichever way, they're getting their rubbish posted back to them.

Britains Space figures and an ironic bag

Popped into town yesterday and bought some Britains Space figures in a fit of nostalgia for my childhood.



The retro toy dealer gave me them in a plastic bag from a butcher's shop in Penarth. So there I am, new-found vegetarian walking round town looking like I'm carrying a couple of pork chops in a plastic bag. Fortunately I was able to go to a regular shop to buy a birthday present for Cathy and get a less embarrassing bag, which I could also stash my space figures in.

For anyone out there who's a toy geek, the Britains Space range were sold in the early to mid 80s. The yellow figure is a human Starguard. The black figure is an alien. The bizarre green creatures are alien mutants and the weird bluish figures are Cyborgs. Don't ask me how I know all these things.

The alien mutants and the cyborgs are part plastic, part rubber and the rubber is incredibly tacky after all this time. The way the rubber's started to corrode makes the Cyborgs especially fearsome-looking.

An hour in NYC and we're talking to the NYPD

Here's a rule I always stick to - never, ever say how well your journey is going until you get there.

Unfortunately we are travelling with someone who doesn't obey the rule. After a hassle free entry into the good old US of A, with a very friendly immigration officer who had a wonderfully authentic New York accent, and picking up a cab easily, we made very good time into Manhattan itself, heading towards our hotel.

"Blimey, we're making good time..." remarks Ab, at which point me and Cath both say "Nooooooo, aw, you've jinxed it now." Then at the next intersection a crazy ass cyclist decided the best thing to do with his time (and ours) was to cut up our cab and get himself knocked off. Four police officers, a fire truck with a complete crew, and an ambulance all turned up, even though the guy was OK (although he developed a suspicious limp and stopped demanding money from the cabbie when the cops turned up). "You guys alright to wait?" asks Mr New York Cop, then came the questions. "First time in New York?" "First time you've ever been in a cab that's run over a cyclist?" etc. etc.

We got on our way eventually, after sitting there like lemons for about 45 minutes. Ironically it meant our cab ride took as long as the guide book had warned us it could take. That's the thing about jinxes. There's a level of irony at work at a deeper level in the universe. As we sat there waiting for the cops to let us continue on our way Cath remarked: "Well, at least it isn't raining."

Guess what happened next.