Redundancy

Can you come into my office for a moment please? Your boss asks you. At first you don't think anything unusual as you have been in and out of the office dozens of times on work related matters, but this time its different. As you walk in you see your boss behind his desk and sat alongside is Jane from the HR department. Both ashen faced. What's going on you ask?

Your boss starts to speak, I'll keep this short and to the point, the company has been having to go through a period of re-structuring and I'm afraid to tell you we are going to have to let you go. Your position is now no longer required. Jane will explain to you your rights, here is your redundancy package, it's not you, its the role. Save the speech you think to yourself as your mind slowly starts to spin, your stomach turns into a tight ball and you start to feel physically sick.

Your boss carries on talking but quite frankly at that point the words sound so very far away and you only catch every other line as though they are carried on the wind across a large field of corn. The meeting is over and you are given the rest of the day off work. To sit. To think. To take in you are no longer employed.

What do you do?

Sadly this is the grim true reality of what is happenning to so many people at the moment. You look at the leaflets that Jane from HR has given you and they do offer some good advice so take it. Some people will be glad to get out as they were only slaves to the system and to them its not too much of a worry. But to others, its more of an issue. The physical aspect when news like this is given to someone can be quite unusual and can show how the human body reacts or manifests its'self. Some go into shut down, some dont. Some will go into overdrive, some dont. Others will sit, think and then start what can be the labourious and tedious job of trying to find their next source of income.

A few years ago when this happenned to me I was one of those who went into overdrive. Instantly I panicked and started to text and email anyone and everyone I could think of to see if I could get any work. Although sympathetic, all of them said no and it was not until nearly three months later that I found my next job. In the meantime however I had to sign on and join the what seems to be the ever growing dole queue. I had to contact my bank and various other establishments who I was in financial communication with and explain my situation, but then comes the predicament... How can you make the calls, send the emails, or drive from one place to another when your main body of income has just been slashed to pieces? The calls cost money, the internet costs money and fuel has rocketed so high we are practically going into orbit.

Then there is the more immediate problem of food, drink, water and heating. All of a sudden what you once took for granted is now brought to the forefront of your mind in huge letters and you think to yourself how will I cope? Well, the only advice that I can give having been in that situation is this. Do not panic. Panic leads to irrational thinking and mistakes can be made. Do not be lazy. Thinking to yourself hey I've now got a mini holiday so lets have a few days away can sometimes do you more harm than good. Do get good advice, if you were already in some financial difficulty and this has just made it worse then talk to the professionals. For free and impartial advice make an appointment with your local Citizens Advice Beaureau. Do get your finances into some kind of order wherever possible and think rationally. Little things like do I really need to get a daily newspaper when I only ready half of it anyway, do I need the all singing all dancing package from my satellite supplier or can I get away with a reduced deal - and the real killer for me anyway..... How much chocolate do I eat in a week?

I don't want to come across as condescending or to talk down to anyone so don't take it the wrong way, but I've been there in that situation and its a bitch of a place to be in. At the moment I'm still in a job and most thankful to be here which I say most days. Money is tight and jobs tighter but take a little comfort in that fact that you are not on your own. Others around you will either be going through the same experience or have been through it in the past. If you are strong enough and in the right mind you will get through and it will get better. As the old saying goes, Keep Calm and Carry On.

Wingwalker.

One for the Blog or one for the Bog?

 Love it or hate it modern art is here to stay. Only this morning I saw a picture in the newspaper which shows a group of Olympic village workers sitting on a nearby riverside dressed in their work gear with their high visibility jackets, hard hats and sandwiches wrapped in tin foil, overlooking the water they survey all that is around them. The title of the piece is called Freeze Frame and on first glance it looks like just a bunch of guys sitting by the river and you ask yourself how on earth is this possibly called “art” However, when you look at it in closer detail you then realise it is in actual fact a modern day take on an original masterpiece created by a French post-impressionist painter called Georges Seurat who’s real title is Bathers At Asnieres painted in 1884

Then you have another example that I saw on the TV a few years ago. Whilst idly flicking through the channels one night I came across a documentary style program of an artist in his workshop. It had all the hallmarks of the classic man at work in his studio with splattering’s of paint here and there, brushes in jars half filled with water, a few pieces stacked up against one wall, skylight windows and a cup of cold tea on a table. He was master of his domain, king of the studio, his work was…..well, a piece of art!

It wasn’t the fact that here was a man at work, it was more to do with the piece that he made and I’ll try to explain it here…Imagine if you can a rectangular wooden frame around 3 metres by 2 metres covered in a white canvas which is stretched tight and stapled to the frame. Next, take a pot of red paint and heavily cover the whole of the canvas. Whilst the paint is still wet, take a suitable object to scrape off the excess top layer and leave the remainder to dry. Et voila, there you have it! The whole process took him no more than a couple of hours from start to finish, cost him a minimal amount in materials and was then sold for a whopping £900!!!!!!!!! Someone once said that people would stick tenner’s up their bums if they thought it was fashionable and I think that the same goes for life in the art world too. Give something a fancy name, make up a load of nondescript info and call it “artistic”.

Now for me, the mother of all philistines’ art is something that you can view to understand a story or depiction. John Constables Haywain, Whistlers Mother, Van Gough’s Sunflowers or even probably the most famous of them all, Da Vinci’s The Last Supper. I’ll even stretch and twist my mind a little to viewing Picasso but I find it completely and utterly mind bogglingly dull to appreciate most forms of “Modern Art”. Can anybody explain to me how Dolly the sheep, Tracy Emin’s messed up bed or lights being turned on and off in a blank white room depict art? It is said to be in the mind of the beholder and their interpretation of what they see. Well, I see a messed up bed every morning when I get up, I turn on the light to walk into the kitchen then turn it back off again, and as for the sheep… well we’ll leave that one there…

In my line of work I occasionally get a person of an artistic nature requesting me to help them with their vision, their dream. However, sadly, all they can see is the end concept and that’s it! It then becomes my job to help work out the technicalities and the practical implications of whether their design is achievable or not. In some cases it can be done, in others it can’t and when you tell someone that what they want is not possible, verging on the impossible – let alone silly, they tend to get a little upset and blame you for ruining their work, their concept and sometimes, their whole life. The mind of an artist I’ve noticed is usually narrow when it comes to their work and to ask them for, dare I mention it, “the bigger picture” can equate to that of asking a snowman to hang around on the beach in the mid July sunshine – possible if you have a fridge nearby but usually unlikely to happen.

But what about when modern art goes wrong? In 2011 the Tate Modern gallery in London accepted a piece called “The walking boat” by Andrew Baldwin  http://www.walkingboat.com/  this 40ft boat was due to travel up the river Thames in London, stop outside the gallery, turn and then quite literally “walk” up the shore line to the edge of the building. From an engineering perspective that must have been pretty awesome to see had it have worked. Two years manufacturing and whatever money was spent in creating this huge metal beast failed right at the final hurdle. Majestically the boat sailed up the Thames, stopped, turned and… sunk into the mud due to the sheer weight of the entire boat! If ever there was a good time for a Homer Simpson Doh! That was it.

This is a subject that could, like most artists, go on and on. An artist usually only becomes famous when they are dead anyway so what’s the point in that? The art world is in my opinion quite a strange one – secluded from the outside world and reality. They are wrapped up in their own little bubble continually repeating their same old and tired record of how the viewer can engage, visualise, feel and remonstrate with the piece. If you took a mug tree from out of your kitchen and placed it in a gallery you would be told that the vertical stem represents strength, the arms are reaching out in an ever splendid pose, as though longing and searching for their nearest mate. The cups that hang from it will represent glowing colourful containers helping to provide heated springs of life in the form of the organic plant to the ever living soul and the round base will be the platform of stability, never ending, never beginning.

To you and me however, it’s just a mug tree! Find me two artists that agree with one another and I’ll find you a liar.

Wingwalker.

Do you think this is right???

When Tony Blair first came into power in March 1997 I opposed my parents arguments that New Labour was just the same as that of the old labour of the 1970's. Strikes, the three day week and Union rule. Give the guy a chance I said, let him prove his worth and see what he can do. You never know what might happen for the good of the country after well over a decade of previous Tory rule. However my comments and points at the time fell on deaf ears and it would appear by now as we all know, they were probably right.

Now today's blog is not about the rights and wrongs of Politics, who did what to whom and when and in which party, but it does concern that of The former Prime Minister, Tony Blair. For sure, it seems that his achillees heel was the War on Turr and that his best mate was a bit of a plank when it came to the world stage but its after he finished being this countries leader that his greed is good policy seems to have escalated. According to this report  http://uk.finance.yahoo.com/news/pay-as-little-tax-as-tony-blair.html it would appear that Tony earned around twelve million pounds last year and yet paid only a measily 315K in tax. Nice work if you can get it and I'm sure that some would argue that it is the job of an accountant to make sure you legally only pay as little in tax as you possibly have to. However, when half the country is falling on its knees and the other half are tightening its belts so tight they are practically suffocating themselves through debt or fear of debt then I think that something here is fundamentally wrong. So here is my little message to the man himself.

Tony, you are a public figure. Your fundamental policies of believing in the Labour party for the good of the common man should be considered here. You were once elected by the people of this land to be their leader. They believed in you, they wanted you to work for them. If you ever get the opportunity of reading this blog (which somehow I doubt but I'm ever the optimist) then I ask of you to search your heart and economise like the rest of us. Stop charging tens of thousands of pounds for a twenty minute speech and give some back to the community. You have enough to live on for the rest of your life without having to worry where your next meal is coming from. I've seen poverty in the raw, I've seen what it can do to you and how people are affected both in the UK and abroad. Please just take a step back and think about those people who voted for you and then consider what they think of you now. You are in the wonderful position to turn things around no matter how much people think of you http://www.arrestblair.org/ and show that you care. Start a charity or two and give generously to those who first believed in you.

Sorry for going a little over the top there, I know that this could be the start of a much bigger blog as to who put the taxation laws into place and why yadda yadda yadda. Had it not been the fact I am so tired right now then I would write more - much more but I'll leave it there for now and invite you to comment on what you think and feel about Mr Blair getting so much yet giving so little back.

Wingwalker.

Are you one in a million?

I started this blog at the beginning of the year with the aim of putting my views out into the great big interpipe, help put the world to rights and aim to get a million followers by New Year’s Eve, just to see if it can be done. People power equals power to the ordinary person in the street, this blog can be used as a platform to springboard any positive and peaceful message you wish to portray and help influence the decision makers for the good of mankind.

I’m glad to say that although things started off a little slow, the pace has now picked up and the blogs are being viewed in all parts of the globe.  Sign up now to become a follower, tell your friends and get them to tell their friends too. If you have something you want the Wingwalker to write about then let me know via the email at the top of the page.

Let’s see if we can get you to be one in a million.

Wingwalker

Big Brother is watching you...

CCTV cameras

Can be found in...

Trains

Train stations

Buses

Bus stations

Shopping Centres

Street corners

Shops

Gymnasiums

On the Beach

Hospitals

Parklands

Hotels

Restaurants

Fast food joints

Theatres

Public grounds

Places of heritage

Museums

On the roads

Petrol stations

And many many more.

Big Brother is everywhere. At any one point of the day or night someone, somewhere is watching you. The average amount a person in Great Britain is spied upon is around 300 times in one day which quite frankly is bloody ludicrous! We are told that it is for our safety and protection and that the Closed Circuit Television Camera (CCTV) should be technically referred to as a safety camera.

I’m a well-travelled individual. I’ve driven across several of the earth’s continents with more still to go and yet I don’t think I’ve ever come across as many cameras per square mile in other countries as those compared to ones in the British Isles. Back in the late eighties / early nineties you had a splattering of cameras here and there mainly used to deter thefts in large shopping centres or maybe as an extra pair of eyes down a dark alley but since 911 and the “War on Turr” the volume of cameras put in place under the instruction of Herr Paranoid Blair, has rocketed skywards.

Now don’t get me wrong, they do have a very useful purpose, especially when it comes to being used as evidence in a court of law thus proving beyond all reasonable doubt that Colonel Mustard did strike Miss Scarlet in the Drawing room with the lead pipe.  I can also remembering watching once a Cops on camera style program where a CCTV controller once helped prevent a woman from being mugged down a dark lane after seeing a suspicious male lurking around in the bushes. The controller radioed the police who successfully managed to intercept the man and prevent something that could have been much worse.

However, despite the above statements I’m still not convinced that this warrants the sheer volume of camera’s around us. According to the extremely unscientific research method of using Google to do a very quick research, the cost of purchasing a single CCTV camera and installing it in one house is around £280.

For larger establishments such as a company installation or city council and you are running into most probably tens of thousands to do the supply and install alone. Then you have the maintenance, operation and running costs of your guy sitting for eight hours a day in a room with no windows looking at a whole series of television screens using a two way radio. Hardly the best way to keep up with government targets for us all to keep fit! According to the Salisbury Journal newspaper, the running costs alone for the Wiltshire based city as of November 2011 were approximately £400,000!!!

Now compare this cost to that of adding an extra bobby on the beat which according to http://www.police-information.co.uk/policepay.htm   is just £23,259 and the figures speak for themselves. By using fewer cameras and more humans you are not only serving the streets of Britain but are building bridges in the community, show a visible presence to deter crime and create more jobs which in turn will help the economy, taxation back to the Government and increase the general overall feel good factor amongst its citizens. For the same £400,000 running costs, Salisbury could have an extra 17 members of the police force out and about on the streets.

Now of course this is all pie in the sky figures and has no real weighted scientific and mathematical proof behind them. I just spent ten minutes on Google and found what was scratching the surface. But even by doing this I still believe that a Policeman on the ground, interacting with the people has got to be way better than a guy in a closed room. The 21^st century spy camera – sorry safety camera now even come equipped with speakers so that the controller sitting behind his desk can berate you when you drop some litter. I don’t agree with people leaving a mess but I far less agree with Big brother watching your every single move. If we are meant to be free citizens, then why does it feel as though you are being watched like a hawk?

Wingwalker.

Love thy neighbour.....Now move your car!

I came across the website below after having the opposite neighbour, who I've never met before, knock on my door requesting I move my car so they could move theirs just 6 feet to be in front of their house.

Apparently, everyone "has an understanding" around here and they all look after each other. Now I'm all for love thy neighbour but when you are talking about just six feet, I think thats just ridiculous!!!

Wingwalker

http://www.nfh.org.uk/resources/Articles/parking/index.php

If you have ever been on a First Aid course...

Why is it that all First Aid training centres have a rundown coffee machine, pictures of the Queen in 1982, photo's of old Land Rover ambulances and a painting of Florence Nightingale? The courses are run by plump women in their 50's who either themselves or a member of their family have experienced every accident personally known to man, carry a face mask on their key ring and have a plain Jane assistant that sits in the corner usually called Polly.

Yes it was time for my 3 year check up and I have to say not the best. Sitting in a room full of strangers and making "instant friends" with the man sat next to me who took every opportunity to tap his hand on my arm, talk closely to me whenever he could and even tickle my stomach (I kid you not) as I was lying on the floor with my eyes closed as the "casualty" was not the best of situations. I can only imagine what his face was like as he wrapped his arms around me whilst mimicking the abdominal thrusts - or as it used to be called - the Heimlich Manoeuvre, and then likewise as I had to do it to him in return.

However, all that pales into insignificance as the most dreaded part of the day looms ahead of us. Six rounds each, taking it in turns to get up close and personal with a legless rubber doll. As we all do our bit shaking the torso of rubber Annie and shouting into her completely sealed off ears (after first of all applying antiseptic wipes around her mouth) we are told to imagine that she is unconscious and cannot see or hear. Hardly surprising when you looked at the state of these old mannequins, if Annie was a dog, she would have been put down.

At this stage I had successfully managed to shake off over friendly man to my left, to be replaced with beige corduroy trousers and matching corduroy jacket man to my right. As we marked each other’s competence on bringing lifeless Annie back from the brink of shifting off this mortal coil, he followed everything to the letter and got top marks.

Thankfully it’s all over again for another three years and back to work in the morning. My colleagues can now be rest assured that if they start foaming toothpaste at the mouth, cut their shin with a Stanley knife or slice the top end of a fake rubber finger off then someone is at hand who has done a course and get them back to tip top performance and at their desk to carry on working.

Wingwalker.

Cops 'n' Robbers - the official guide

Well as promised, here is the official answer in relation to my earlier Cops 'n' Robbers blog.

A 999 call should only be made in this scenario if you know or have reasonable suspicion that the crime is currently in progress. Under no circumstance whatsoever must you allow yourself to be put in any danger or danger to anyone else around you. If the crime is actually happenning and you can see the nasty burgulars then call the Police using the emergency number.

However, if you know for certain that the crime happenned earlier on in the day, there is no immediate obvious danger around you and that the burgulars have fled, then it would not be classified as an emergency and dialling 999 would be totally innapropiate. Contact the Police using another method instead.

Wingwalker

Teenagers

Teenagers. We’ve all seen them, we all used to be one at some stage and some of us have them now.  Gangly haired, greasy faced and moody we watch them shuffle around street corners swigging from hidden cans of cider and throwing chips at one another across the shopping precinct.

Today’s blog has been inspired by one teenager in particular. I don’t know his name; I don’t know where he comes from. All I do know is that I see him every day as he makes his way to the train station, so I’ve decided to call him, “Lurch”. 

Lurch is around 6ft in height; he’s thin, has trousers that ride up well above his ankles, a hat that goes over his ears and walks to the bus stop.  It’s not the walking element that gets me here but more the fact that he catches a bus to take him the short quarter of a mile journey to the train station whereupon he meets up with some more of the same species.

When Lurch does walk its painful to see, the view from behind as his knees go inward, his legs outward and his feet flop around as though they have no control or are in fact not actually connected to the rest of his body. To see him run is even worse as this requires effort on his behalf. Here, the knees knock together, his legs and arms flail around and his feet are all over the place as his satchel which is over one shoulder sways and bashes against his body.

Of course not all teenagers are like this, according to the newspapers the standard of exam results are improving year on year often exceeding previous years.  It’s an age old argument, are they getting cleverer or are the exams getting easier? If you ask the kids they will tell you that the exams are hard, if you ask the adults, they will tell you they are easy. One things for certain, a teenagers favourite past time is to eat and sleep. When they are not doing that they are hanging around with their mates and when they are not doing either of those things they can sometimes be seen working for a living stacking shelves or helping out on Saturdays at car tyre workshops.

Life for a teenager can be quite a trauma. With raging hormones, the discovery of themselves as an individual as well as that of the opposite sex can often lead to conflict and the he said she said brigade will still carry on well beyond the primary school playground into early adulthood. Now however, instead of stomping their feet for a few minutes as a child and going into a sulk, they broadcast how they feel to the entire world with the power of social media using Facebook, Twitter or even on a blog like this one. Within seconds all their many hundreds of “friends” will know who’s broken up with whom, if they are available for another serious relationship or if she really did snog Steve behind the chippy last night.

Teenage sex however is an entirely new ball game. I was 17 when I had my first kiss, a girl called Nicola who I met whilst doing my teenage Saturday job. I was in love, she was the one, we were going to have a massive family and live happily ever after. However, reality bites and after a couple of weeks she moved on to someone else breaking my heart. Now, teenagers are getting jiggy with each other just ten minutes after they meet. Wham, bham thank you ma'am and they are off. Over the first hurdle, round the corner and onto third base before you can say babies, which of course can be the inevitable result if they are not careful.

Where has their childhood gone?

They say that school days are the best days of your life but I would argue against that. For me, growing up was one long constant struggle amongst my fellow gladiators. Trying to get a girl was nigh on impossible and on the few rare occasions when one would actually stop to talk to me more than to ask for the time, my mouth would dry and I would end up a gibbering wreck through lack of experience. For girls however it always seemed a lot easier, they hang around in bunches of three or more. Whenever a brave alpha male tried to enter the arena and ask one out to the school disco they would inevitable get shot down in flames only to be equally berated from said girl’s counterparts.

A lot of teenagers nowadays are viewed by the adult population as a threat, and to an extent they have partly brought that on themselves. The hooded tops may be the height of fashion but the top and scarf combo even on a warm day can give the impression that they are out to cause trouble. Whilst this aspect may partly be true adding weight to the argument, it can also work against them as those wearing the gear to fit in with the rest can unwittingly be tarring themselves with the same brush. If they are wearing the clothing as a fashion statement then what is it they trying to say? I’m a teenager, hear me roar? 

I’m a child of the 70’s and 80’s, my parents raised me on BBC Radio 2 with Kenny Everett, Simon Bates and the big hairy monster from 200 miles up the M1. The late Jimmy Saville was sitting on his big blue chair handing out “Jim Fixed it for Me” medals and foods such as the Avocado and Prawn Cocktail were classified as exotic. Music of the time included Bucks Fizz, Adam Ant and everyone walked around like Egyptians at parties. Now, someone like Lurch will listen to a guy in a large puffa jacket swallowing a microphone reeling off a whole line of syllables in rapid succession whilst being accompanied by scantily clad dancers who parade their booty. Friends of Lurch will eagerly absorb all the gossip they can fill their heads with and think that Big Brother is highly intellectual. Mind you, compare that to watching something like The Magic Roundabout, there’s probably not a lot in it between the two.

Personally my opinion of teenagers is that deep down they can be highly misunderstood individuals. It doesn’t help however when all they do is grunt at you in their own language using as little effort as possible, whilst crying wolf in another breath saying you don’t understand and are not listening. I’ve found that the best way to communicate with a teenager is to stop whatever it is you are doing and look at them directly yet calmly in the face. Don’t frown, don’t roll your eyes at them and don’t ever try and “get down wiv da kidz” as this will just antagonize them into throwing a complete and pointless unnecessary strop. Instead, treat them like an adult and in the same way you would wish to be treated yourself. If they are acting like a prat, tell them. If you are proud of them then let them know. Emphasise that they are free to make their own mistakes but should learn from the process. If you are a parent then let them know that you are there for them when they need you but you will not always be able to provide as much financial support as the banks support their executives. Hopefully the message should get across and they will realise that you are not always out to get them.

Thankfully, it is a phase that most of them tend to grow out of after a few years and “normality” takes over once more. As for Lurch, no doubt I’ll probably see him again tomorrow as he slouches his inward knobbly knees towards the bus stop for the usual two minute journey. He’ll never know that he’s had a blog dedicated to him. Otherwise if he did then it would probably be tweeted to all of his friends via mobile phone before turning on his iPod and listen to yet more rapid fire syllables which they call music.

Wingwalker.

How much!!!!!!!!!

Every year the bills go up. It's only the start of the year and already I've just had to fork out just over two hundred pounds on car tax. I also catch the train into work and back which has risen by stupid percent and the cost of food, fuel, and living in general is rocketing skywards!

This morning as I arrived at the station after having done my morning commute on not one, but two crowded and normally delayed trains, a message came over the tannoy that part of the station had been closed off due to over crowding. This meant that my short walk through the station of less than 100 metres turned into the quick walk / semi run of nearly five times that amount round the block just to get to the point of where I would normally be in the first place. Several years ago, I used to work for a company 10 miles from my home. No worries, 20 minutes in the car, job done! Now I live in a different part of the country and the office is only eight miles from home, yet my journey to work now involves a 20 minute brisk walk to the station, 10 minutes on the platform, a first train journey for 15 minutes, another wait on the platform for around 5 minutes (if its on time) then a second train for another 15 minutes followed by a further 15 minutes walk to work from the station. Total travelling time - 80 minutes - or in other words, 1 hour 20 twice a day five days a week.

And yet, millions of people all over the country do this similar kind of journey every day dealing with delays and problems yet continue to carry on payhing the transport companies humongous amounts of our hard earned cash for the privilage. 

Why do we all put up with it? Why are we forced to pay these ridiculous hikes in prices for the same if not sometimes worse level of service you had before. The atonal bland voice of the robot coming through the station loudspeaker saying that the train company you are travelling with apologises for the delay. Its repetition stuck like an old fashioned record, continually going around and around in an ever decreasing loop. Therefore my question is this. Who is the actual person from the transport company, sorry? We hear from the automated robot that ***Insert name of travel company here*** apologises for the delay but the fat cat hiding behind his or her desk is probably looking down on the rest of us poor suckers saying thanks for your cash, it will go rather well on the company outing this year. Are you really sorry or are you just saying so to pacify us all?

Believe it or not, if I use my car it would actually be worse. Sure, I won't be forced into sniffing my fellow commuters arm pit, or sit opposite the drunk who's very loud shouting of constant swear words into his phone with both eyes closed (as happened tonight) will not be there. But due to the sheer volume of traffic there is on the roads I'll be lucky if I get out of second gear! The engine will overheat and I'll end up stranded on the side of the road with a billowing gush of steam rising up out of the radiator. No doubt one day things will change for the better and I have to remain positive and focussed that my daily journey will one day be stress free. I would just like it however if the fat cats in the companies who we all have to pay actually did the same level of travelling as we do. Join the ranks of the people and see for yourself where your service is going. I wonder then if they did, how much of an "improvement" we will all actually see.

Wingwalker.

Cops 'n' Robbers

Imagine the scene,

You have been out all day, at work, in the car, shopping or taking the kids to the park. The sun is shining, the air is free and all is right with the world. You are looking forward to the evening ahead, a nice meal, good bottle of wine and your feet up in front of the TV.

As you approach your home you get the uneasy feeling that all is not well, you begin to feel uncomfortable and your face changes from being happy and relaxed, to one of concern. You are not sure why you are starting to feel this way but you know it doesen't feel good. As you approach the front door your fears are confirmed when you find you don't need to put your key in the lock as the door has been forced open. Carefully you push it to one side and are faced with the reality of being burgled. Your stomach turns into a tight knot as you quickly scan around the mass of devastation laid bare in front of you. Your personal possessions and property have been ransacked by some other thoughtless mindless person or persons unknown. They have been in your house, they have gone through your things, they have invaded your space and privacy. You feel sick.

What do you do?

A myriad of things start to whirl through your mind. Who? What? When? Why? How? Will my insurance cover this? Over and over again as panic starts to set in. The mess. The intrusion. You feel dirty that someone else has rifled through and removed your hard earned possessions for their own personal financial gain, probably to be put up on a well known internet auction website. At some point you then think that it would be a good idea to ring the Police.

But here lies the question, what number do you call? You have been burgled, the theives could be just round the corner laughing at your expense. Do you dial 999 to call the Police out in an emergency, or do you try and find the phone book under the pile of rubble to look up the number of your local station? At this point I want to ask each and every one of you what would you do? Before writing this blog I decided to do a little bit of research and carried out an extreemly unscientific straw poll.

I asked around a few family and friends as to what they would do and the results were quite surprising. Around 50% of those asked would dial 999 straight away as they viewed the situation as an emergency whereas the other 50% said otherwise. Comments ranged from a woman on her own arriving at the door with bags of shopping through to a few teenagers entering the premises together and the response was varied. One person told me how the Police were alledgedly so busy they requested the house owner take with them a piece of damaged property to the station so that forensic evidence could be undertaken. Whilst another said that the Police could not be helpful enough.

I wondered if this had any influence as to what part of the UK you are in? Bearing this in mind I then asked a little further afield and again the answers were quite varied. In London the largest response was to call for the emergency service straight away, whereas in Dorset, those questioned said otherwise. The trail of thought and general consensous seemed to be if you are brought up in an area surrounded by sirens, hustle, bustle and general organised chaos then you are more likely to think of classing everything as an emergency. However, if you are brought up in the country where life is done at a more slower pace - even if you live in the average sized town, then people think more methodically and work from a different angle. Whilst this is not a dig at anyone, townie or country bumpkin alike, it did seem to paint an interesting picture in its unscientific way.

Every year the emergency services release on the news their most ridiculous phone calls that they receive in the light of showing the general public what is unnacceptable and how such stories are a waste of valuable Police time. Stories of how a snowman were reported as having been stolen whilst sitting out in the sun, too many onions were once in a man's takeaway and a woman once called outraged that the bunny wunny rabbit that she had bought did not have floppy ears as promised in the newspaper advert. All of which are genuine stories but none of which are real emergencies - let alone worth making a phone call in the first place.

So what would you do if faced with this terrible situation?

We'll I'll give you the official guidelines on another blog but for now I'll open up the debate for you to answer. I'm interested to hear your opinions, thoughts and comments on both what you would do in the situation as described above but also would like to know what area of the country you come from to see if my theory holds water.

Wingwalker.

Answers on a postcard please

The English language in varying regions can be a strange old thing. If you want to advertise something then why do you in one part of the country pronounce it as an "advertissment" and in a different part an "advertizement"? If snow comes down from the sky some will say it "pitches" as it lands on the ground whereas others will say it "settles" and why does "razed to the ground" always sound as though the house on fire is actually ascending upwards, thus breaking its foundations and defying the laws of gravity?

Ironically, no matter where you are "sex" is one of the smallest words but can cause the biggest issues and the obscure sounding "etymology" actually relates to the origin and historical development of a linguistic form as shown by determining its basic elements, tracing its transmission from one language to another. In short, its the origin of words and yes - I did get that one from the dictionary.

If you are in the north you say bath, instead of barth, path instead of parth and laugh instead of laurgh, yet whilst this may be a deviation of regional accents, it very neatly leads me to todays' topic and that is what do you say and when do you say it when talking about meals?

There is, and always will be with a topic like this, a social divide. Those in the north say breakfast, as do those in the south as it is universally agreed that as you start your day you are breaking the overnight fast (or farst depending on your own pronunciation) ready for the day ahead. In Victorian times you would have had elevenses which oddly enough happens at 11 o'clock but as we are all living in the fast paced world of the 21st Century, no one has time for elevenses anymore and some may say is fast disappearing.

It is from this point that the confusion starts to set in. The midday meal for approximately half the country will be called lunch followed by dinner in the evening and possibly supper just before bed. There is even the chance that there will be a tea consisting of a drink and sandwiches or cake around 4pm. However these names are turned on their head with the other half of the country saying their midday meal is called dinner, evening meal is called tea and supper before bed with no sign of what a snack mid afternoon might be called at all.

Now there's nothing new in what's written above except to say that depending on which part of the country you are in denotes what it is exactly you ask for. On many occasions I've had a quizzical look from someone when I've said around 11.30am, let's go out for dinner, only to be asked what time that evening we should meet up? Technically speaking if you get deep down to the nitty gritty there may be argument that there is a right way and a wrong way of saying what you mean but to ask the question who is right and who is wrong could spark an interesting debate. Those in the north will say one format whilst those in the south may say another so then I have to ask the question, what will those in the Midlands think? Or does no-one really care?

The politicians always say that they want a classless society but somehow I just think that will never happen, for as long as you have little differences like "Does gravy and chips belong together?" Then the debate will remain. Answers on a postcard please...

Wingwalker.


If you have an interesting topic you want the Wingwalker to write about then feel free to get in touch via the email address above.

It's the New Year and I have a headache.

Woke up this morning and fell out of bed (literally). Got up and banged my head on the door. Picked up keys and dropped them on my foot. Went downstairs and found that six of my new baby tropical fish had been eaten up by one of the other bigger ones during the night. Went out to do some shopping and said goodbuy to my partner Laura but in doing so I ended up poking my eye out. Drove the car, did the shopping, got back and my wing mirror fell off. I've only been up around three hours, is anyone else having as much fun or are the hangover's proving too much to bear? Ahh well, it can only get better.

Wingwalker.