Last night, Glenda and I found ourselves driving out into the North York Moors National Park to a little village called Chop Gate. There’s a pub there called The Buck Inn and this was the chosen venue for a surprise birthday party for a good friend of mine called Scott. The whole thing had been organised by his wife, Barbara, and she had managed to keep it all secret from the man himself, even though family and friends were descending upon the place from all directions.
We arrived hot on the heels of the birthday boy and quietly followed him into the function room where the party was being held. Three or four other people were already there and Scott was busy greeting them and being amazed to find them waiting for him, so he didn’t spot us for a couple of minutes. When he did finally register that we were there as well, his jaw dropped even further. Glenda asked him when he actually found out about the surprise party and he replied “Er…just now!”
Over the next half hour or so, more and more people trooped through the door and the expression of joyous amazement on Scott’s face continued to grow. We had all sat down and were just starting to tuck into our evening meals when the evening’s entertainment arrived. This turned out to be a local (well, fairly local) band called We Steal Flyers. Two lads from Northumberland with acoustic guitars, great voices and a huge amount of talent. As well as playing their own material (which is excellent), they also played lots of cover versions of favourite songs and, as the night went on, a rousing sing-song was had by all and the smiles, laughter and applause just got bigger and bigger and louder and louder.
Even though, initially, there were only a few people there whom we really knew (mainly Scott and Barbara and their immediate family, plus one or two other folks from the band that Scott and I both play in) Glenda and I soon settled down to chatting with anyone and everyone and, like everybody else there, had a wonderful, enjoyable and memorable night. More importantly, Scott had a great night which probably does count as memorable, although the constant stream of drinks that everyone was buying for him might have taken a bit of the sharpness off the old memory cells!
As I have mentioned before, the last year or two has helped me to realise (or perhaps it’s more accurate to say they’ve helped me to remember) just how important family and friends are in all our lives. Last night was a shining example of how true that is. Not only did I attend a thoroughly enjoyable party, but it was made extra special by being a small part of a lovely birthday surprise for a dear friend. And, along the way, I also discovered some fantastic new music. If you have any love of music, particularly acoustic folk/guitar singer-songwriter sort of stuff, then check out We Steal Flyers – they are real musicians with real talent and deserve to be a huge success. And if you happen to hear that they’re playing a gig anywhere near you, then make sure you go to see them – I can pretty much guarantee you’ll have a good time.
Well, here we are in 2012. Just 100 years to go and everyone will be forced to become Rush fans. Or something. (Hey, there’s nothing like kicking off with an obscure joke that only about 4 people might get!)
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes…
Of course, this is traditionally the time when you look back on the year that has passed and try to make some kind of sense of it. Or, at least, try to remember what you can of it and then work out where all the other bits went that you just can’t remember at all.
In my case, 2011 was a very mixed bag. It had an inauspicious start with Glenda and I trying to pick up the pieces after having to wind up our old company at the end of 2010. It was an unpleasant time and the whole process isn’t exactly the easiest thing to live with while it’s all going on, but we got through it and, while there are still one or two things remaining to be sorted out, we have been able to move on and make a fresh start. So that’s a plus.
Another positive that comes out of major changes like that is that it gives you a sharp reminder of what is really important in life. In our case, 2011 was a year in which we tried to find more time for family and friends and spend a little more time away from the office. Not that we really managed that to any great degree (hardly surprising under the circumstances), but we still managed to fit in a little more family time and personal down-time than we did in previous years, so that’s a good start.
Outside work, I also managed to find more time for music. Back in June/July I was persuaded to get the keyboards out and join a band once again – it can be a bit of a pain sometimes lugging all the gear around, but it’s wonderful to play alongside other musicians. In fact, I’ve been enjoying it so much that I have recently signed up with a second band as well. I’ll see you at the O2 Arena or on the Pyramid Stage at Glasto in a few years’ time, OK? (Yeah, well, not entirely likely I grant you, but hey, you might as well aim high, right?)
Of course, 2011 did manage to provide some nasty, spiteful little cuts and bruises along the way. Back in the spring, we said goodbye to one of our delightful kittens, Zaphod, when some careless idiot knocked him down and killed him on the tiny country lane outside our house. I had a long and determined swear about that when it happened. I now hope that the terrifying array of horrible things that I wished on the mystery driver in question haven’t actually come to pass – to be fair, some of them were pretty severe. Although, in my darker moments, I do sometimes wonder whether some of the minor things (such as a plague of really embarrassing personal itching) might still be an appropriate curse for them.
Six months or so after that, a far nastier and more spiteful knock was delivered when my father passed away after a few months in hospital. Coming at the end of a couple of years of ill health, a number of extended hospital stays and two or three previous occasions when the doctors only gave him a couple of days to live, I can’t really say that it came as an immense shock when it happened. But it still counts as the most bloody awful thing to happen in the whole year and I’m still dealing with the paperwork and the general after-effects.
Now, what else happened? Lemme see…?
Oh yeah, I remember. The Arab Spring; various middle-Eastern and North-African leaders overthrown by their people; riots in the UK; the virtual financial collapse of the Eurozone; general Western economic meltdown and occupy Wall St/London. With a side order of the producers of BBC Frozen Planet upsetting people by using some footage of polar bear cubs in a zoo; the UK Government upsetting the public sector workforce and Jeremy Clarkson upsetting just about everybody. Oh, and a Royal Wedding. And probably some other stuff that has slipped my mind.
You know, when I think about it, it isn’t all that surprising that I managed a personal best (worst?) of only blogging twice during the whole year. That’s probably a “1/10, Must try harder” on my blogging report card.
I promise to do better this year (if nothing else I’ll blog three times). And, in the meantime, here’s wishing you all a happy, peaceful and prosperous 2012!
Deep peace of the running wave to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the infinite peace to you.
Anyone who follows Glenda’s blog will know that we have not had a very good couple of weeks. I was with my Dad when he died last Monday, passing quietly and relatively peacefully from this world after a last week at home, following on from months in hospital and a couple of years of poor health and repeated lengthy hospital admissions. Up until the last few days of his life, we still didn’t know for certain what would happen – he had been so ill at various times in the past, with various doctors and consultants not expecting him to pull through right up until the point where he confounded them all by doing just that. So we weren’t going to assume anything about what would happen until it actually happened.
However, all of those previous times were in a hospital bed with continuing medical care, assessment and intervention. This time, the doctors didn’t think that there was anything else that they could do, which is why they gave him the option of spending his last days at home and, I think, why he made the choice that he did. There’s a part of me that can’t help but wonder whether he might have pulled through yet again if they had transferred him back onto a medical ward, rather than sending him home under a palliative care regime. But I also know how hard he was finding it coping with his poor health over the last couple of years and it was looking like there really wasn’t anything that could be done to fix the problems. Under the circumstances, going home and calling it a day might well have been the kindest option that could have been offered. It’s certainly a choice I would want to be offered myself if I am ever unfortunate enough to find myself in a similar predicament.
Anyway, today was the funeral. Although I’m not particularly a religious man myself, my Mum and Dad are both more traditional in their outlook and Mum wanted a church service. So this afternoon saw us paying our respects and celebrating my Dad’s life at St John’s Church in Kirk Merrington. The vicar who delivered the service was a great guy and the service itself was a perfect mixture of the religious, the celebratory and the moving. We couldn’t have asked for better.
We also couldn’t have asked for a better turnout and, although I didn’t have the chance to speak to anyone before we headed off to the crematorium at the end of the service, I would just like to take the chance here to say a heartfelt public “Thank You” to all of the family, friends and neighbours who joined us in church today, including several of the old Graphicus team as well as a number of the carers who currently take care of my Mum and who also helped to look after Dad during his last few days. Thanks also to all of the folks I know who would have liked to have been there, but for one reason or another couldn’t make it today. I’d be hard pressed to even begin remembering everyone’s name, but if you’re reading this, you all know who you are. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.
As for the quote at the top of this blog entry, it’s a Gaelic blessing that the vicar said over the coffin, just before the final committal at the crematorium. Glenda and I have never heard it before, but we were both struck by how nice it is and by how much my Dad would have liked it. It was a perfect choice for both the man and the circumstances, so perhaps it represents the first glimmer of a new light at the end of this rather dark tunnel that we have been travelling. It’s time to move on, remember all the good times and be grateful for having known a wonderful man who made the world a better place in his own sweet way.
Rest in Peace Dad, you’ve earned it.
If you happen to be a bit bored one afternoon and want an entertaining way to occupy half an hour or so, I’ve got a brilliant new game. It’s called “Ring-a-ring-a-telephones” and it goes like this.
First you will need a telephone.
Next, you need something like an old, unwanted insurance policy from a major high street bank. An old mortgage protection policy works well and it helps if the high street bank has a name that sounds like Batvest (which is, of course, what Batman wears in the cold weather).
The object of this particular variant of the game is to cancel the policy when you can’t find the original paperwork – but you do know that the premium is being paid monthly by direct debit.
During the preparation stage of the game (the “Call to Play”), you cancel the direct debit and wait for the high street bank to notice. When they do, they will write to you asking if there is a problem and sending you some new direct debit forms (just in case). They will also put a contact telephone number at the top of the letter if you want to contact them to discuss things.
This completes the formalities (kind of like all the religious stuff and salt-throwing at the start of a Sumo bout) and, at this point, the game proper begins! Your objective is to speak to the right person to cancel the policy. Their objective is to make the process take as long as possible – or even make it impossible if they can.
It’s kind of hard to explain all the rules, so an example game probably works best. This was one of the early round UK championship matches that took place this afternoon.
First move was mine: I rang the contact number on the letter. Which connected me to their home and household insurance office. I explained what I was trying to do and gave them the policy number. They couldn’t find the policy and, when I said that it was a mortgage protection policy, they said they were the wrong people to contact. But the nice man gave me the correct number (just in case I got lost in the system) and then transferred me to the right people.
I then spoke to a nice lady in their legal office. I gave the policy number again and was told that, once again, they couldn’t find it and that I had been put through to the wrong office. The nice lady gave me the correct number and, rather than letting her transfer me directly, I decided to play a wild card and say that I’d give them a call myself. So I hung up and tried the new number. Which turned out to be an alternative number for the home insurance office. Drat! Thwarted! Not even half-time and they were at least a couple of points up on me.
Still, I’ve played this game before. I called a time out and consulted with one of my seconds, Mr Google. I returned to the game with their general insurance customer service number in my grasp, aiming for an end-run around all their defences.
I spoke to another nice man who said that I would need to be put through to their mortgage services department and that he would transfer me straight away. I assumed that he was a fresh young player and didn’t really know the tactics and strategy of the game. After waiting a couple of minutes and listening to more music, I found myself connected to…the telephone banking system! Drat again!! Not only had I been left all wrong-footed and in the wrong place, but there wasn’t even an option to speak to a normal customer service rep any more. Maybe that fresh young player was older and wilier than I thought, eh?
For a moment, while listening to the music and double-checking the options I was being given, I thought I might be looking at a defeat in this match. But…I decided to risk everything on the old “press a bunch of keys they’re not expecting” gambit and see if their system had left a little gap through which I could reach another one of their defensive players. Now, I’ll admit that there’s still some debate as to whether this kind of thing is a legal move in the game, but it hasn’t been formally banned yet, so I thought I’d try it as a last ditch tactic. The referee didn’t disallow it and it worked! I found myself talking to another customer service rep. This time, I declined his kind offer to put me through and once again asked for the number so I could make the call myself.
By this stage, the match was well past half-time and I still didn’t have a point on the board. It was looking pretty poor. But you can’t give up – sometimes it gets darkest just before the dawn and all that. So I returned to the fray and rang the new number. Success! Or so I thought. The nice chap at the other end of the phone said that he was indeed part of the mortgage services office. Quickly, I explained the situation. Equally quickly, he countered by saying that his wasn’t the correct office. Foiled again! But, as ever, he offered to give me the correct number.
It’s at times like this that the psychology of the game – perhaps even a little gamesmanship – comes to the fore. I tried to rattle him by listing the chain of numbers, fake passes and slippery dodges I’d already got past in the match. It didn’t seem to phase him, although he did try to be extra reassuring when he gave me the new number – I think he knew that he was going to have to pass this one in more-or-less the right direction to avoid being accused of a foul. S0, playing the equally-polite card, I thanked him and went on my way. I had the feeling that I was getting close to a winning run here, but you can never be sure.
I tried the new number. The automated system said all the right things – it sounded like I’d finally found the right area of the pitch – and, what’s more, there were only two options to choose from! Result! I chose the appropriate one and went for it at full tilt. A few seconds more of music and then…nothing! Just a constant beep tone – the line had dropped!! So close and I missed the final shot. As the best sportsmen will tell you, at times like that, you’re gutted. Sick as a parrot. You had the chance and you fluffed it. But you pick yourself back up and you take another shot.
The phone rang. The system answered and gave me the same options. At this point, a novice might have tried the other option, just in case, but I thought that the dropped line was just a feint and, if I just tried the same move, I might get through. So I went straight for the same manoeuvre again. A few seconds passed, more music and then…yes, another player! A nice lady who was very efficient and knew that there was no way she could save the match at this point. Nobly and with good grace, she cancelled the policy and I left the field of play with the traditional “opponent’s total score plus ten points” bonus for making my goal. The crowd, as is usual at this point, went wild.
It was a close-run thing though. What a game!
…honest!! Just very, very, very, very, very busy.
And I’ve just noticed that, in a few days, it will be about six months since I last put electronic pen to bloggy Internet paper and wrote anything here. Six months!? I could have given birth to a Howler Monkey in that time. Or a Giant Panda. Or possibly even a Pale-Throated Three-Toed Sloth. Well, always assuming that I was one of the aforementioned beasties. And that I happened to be female of course. And also, for the sake of completeness, that I then managed to get myself pregnant just after writing my last blog post. (Also assuming that the gestation periods that I found by looking them up on the Intertubes are correct. And, indeed, that the critters in question would have been able to write a blog post, which I doubt – I haven’t told them any of my passwords for a start.)
Anyhoo…where was I?
Yes, I’m still here and will be trying to post some more things soon. Probably just the usual randomized ramblings, but hey, if you’ve been here before, you know what to expect, right?
And I have, at least, been saying something somewhere – I’ve been sticking my nose in on the Graphicus Blog lately ‘cos Graphicus is having a bit of fun with a pre-VAT increase sale and we’re doing all kinds of deals on the usual range of artsy-craftsy goodies that we sell.
And, on that note, I’d better be disappearing into the night again. Or into the day anyway – got lots of stuff that I’m supposed to be doing and I won’t get my afternoon cuppa if I don’t behave…
If you’ve been following my Twitter feed, you will have noticed that I’ve just been watching “Queens of Country” on BBC2. It was a really interesting documentary about half a dozen of the most famous female Country and Western singers: Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, Bobbie Gentry, Tammy Wynette, Tanya Tucker and (needless to say) Dolly Parton.
Although the programme was only an hour long, so each artist only got about ten minutes or so of airtime, it was a fascinating potted history of each of them, with contributions from various family members, record label executives, other musicians and assorted media types – not to mention Tanya Tucker herself in her part of the show. Overall, I reckon it was a pretty worthwhile way for the Beeb to spend some of the licence-payers’ money.
Of course, you could say that I’m a bit biased when I say that. Not only do I thoroughly enjoy a good documentary, I am also a complete, total and utter music-nut! I have a lifelong fascination for all things musical – whether that be the music itself, the performers, the history, the instruments, the recording technology, etc. The list of musical genres that I enjoy has grown with me over the years, so that my small CD collection would probably induce fits in anyone who is a dedicated fan of a single style.
From classical to blues to rock ‘n’ roll to prog rock to heavy metal to reggae to ska/two-tone to punk to rap to electronica to ambient to dance and umpteen other musical main roads and side-streets, I pretty much like the lot. Fancy a bit of Bach, Mozart or Prokofiev? It’s in the rack somewhere. Want to blow your mind with a bit of prog-rock excess from Genesis? Or your eardrums with some modern industrial metal in the form of Rammstein? Yep, they’re in there too. Or perhaps you’re in the mood for something a bit lighter or more poppy? No problem – there’s all sorts, from the Monkees to Madonna, Buddy Holly to David Bowie.
If you pick half a dozen random CDs off those shelves, you might end up with Jethro Tull, Black Sabbath and ELO alongside Eminem, Kate Bush and Gorillaz. Or Green Day, Howlin’ Wolf and Franz Ferdinand alongside REM, Pink Floyd and Mendelssohn. And I find all of them absolutely wonderful. Uplifting expressions of the composer’s and the musician’s art. Great stuff!
Which brings me to the confession part (just in case you thought I’d forgotten the title of this post). You see, along with all of those assorted types of music, I also do have some fondness for…
…yes, I’ve got to say it, Country and Western.
I like folk music too.
Now, for those of you who don’t know, in modern-day band and musician circles those two admissions can be tantamount to saying that you have all the mental capacity of a small radish and can be easily distracted by bright colours. Or that you have a predilection for running around the local ringroad with no clothes on and your nether regions daubed in woad while waving a bunch of dahlias over your head and shouting “I’m the King of the Fairy-Folk!”
But I don’t really care. There’s good music to be found everywhere – even if it’s in the rebel-yelling, boot-scooting American chintz of the Grand Ole Opry or the sea-soaked shanties and rural morality tales of the folk club.
All of which means, of course, that that documentary I’ve been watching was even more of a treat. If it’s repeated and you’ve got an hour to spare, I heartily recommend it.
…I arrived home tonight to find that DayMen International, the UK agents/distributors for Giotto’s, had already sent me the replacement clamp for the broken tripod (see below for the rest of the story).
They won’t even be receiving the faulty one until sometime tomorrow, but the replacement is already here, I’ve already bolted it into place on the tripod and the whole thing is working like a charm once again.
Did I say top notch customer service? Make that absolutely outstanding customer service!!
As regular readers of my blog and Glenda’s blog will know, Glenda has a rather nice camera. It isn’t anything too hideously expensive, but it is a decent digital SLR and she has taken some rather nice photos with it over the years and will, I am sure, be taking more in future.
As is usual in such cases, she also has a rather nice tripod to go with it. It’s made by a company called Giotto’s and one of its nicer features is that it has an adjustable column supporting the tripod head. This column not only slides up and down, locking in place courtesy of a nice solid clamp mechanism, but it can also be set at almost any angle from vertical to horizontal. We’ve found this really, really useful over the years and a lot of the other decent quality tripods in the same price bracket (e.g. Manfrotto) either don’t have this feature at all or they do have an adjustable column but it can only be locked in the straight vertical or horizontal positions.
So far, so good. However, the other weekend, we went to adjust the column height, only to have its locking bolt come out in our hand (well, Glenda’s hand actually). Closer examination revealed that it looked as though the bolt had stripped its threads. We don’t know how, because it has certainly been used often enough over the couple of years that we’ve owned the tripod and there has never been the slightest hint of any problem. Still, we figured that it had seen a lot of use and it could be down to simple wear and tear so, given that the tripod has generally been so good, we would just buy another one to replace it if necessary.
Before going for that particular option though, I thought that I would contact the manufacturer to see if they offered any kind of repair service. A few minutes Googling turned up their UK website and an email was duly fired off in their direction.
A few days later, I get a reply. Not only is the tripod still covered by its warranty (which turns out to be 5 years – I hadn’t really picked up on that at all when I bought it) but if I remove the faulty clamp and send it back to them, they’ll send me out a replacement free of charge. So…the offending item is currently winging its way to their offices in Wolverhampton and, at some point in the next few days, I should be receiving a shiny new replacement that I can bolt in place and which will return our poorly tripod to its original tip-top condition.
Now, we’re all of us quick enough to shout out when a company gives us a shoddy product or bad service, so I’m just taking this opportunity to make a noise about the opposite. If you’re in the market for a decent tripod, definitely look at the Giotto’s range – they’re a great product and their customer service is top notch!
(For the incurably curious camera geeks out there, the tripod in question is the MTL-9351B model, fitted with the MH-5001 head. It’s rather more expensive than your average lightweight Jessops or Currys stuff, but it’s well worth it – it’s a great piece of kit.)
In the process of moving house from WordPress.com to our own WordPress host. Watch this space…
…no don’t run away just yet – this posting might be interesting for some folks and I promise not to be too boring if I can help it.
Anyone in the UK who hasn’t been in a coma or sleeping under a rock on a remote Scottish or Welsh hillside for the last couple of weeks will have noticed that there’s going to be one of those General Election things on May 6th. As everyone knows, this is the farcical arrangement whereby our political leaders spend a few weeks trying to persuade us that they’re not a bunch of clueless, cheating, lying, stealing poltroons in the hope that we’ll be insane enough to vote them into positions of power from which they will then spend the following five years proving that, yes, well actually they are a bunch of clueless, cheating, lying, stealing poltroons after all.
(As an aside, just in case anyone doesn’t know, the UK is a small country situated somewhere off the western coast of mainland Europe, chiefly famous for a bout of rapid expansionism during the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries with the practical upshot that we ended up owning, or at least controlling, large swathes of the rest of the world for some considerable time. Although, to be fair to us, we did eventually hand most of it back pretty peacefully and we have since allowed everyone else to thrash us at most of the ball games and other individual and team sports that we either introduced or adopted as our own when we were there.)
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, general elections.
As many people may know, the British electoral system (which we also exported to a number of other countries – another deed for which we should probably apologise at some point) is a rather strange beast, involving the division of the country into a number of Parliamentary constituencies (around 650 of them), each of which returns one MP (Member of Parliament) to the House of Commons. This is all well and good, except for the fact that most of those MPs will be representatives of only two major political parties, plus a smaller number from the third main party and a handful of independents and other smaller party candidates. What this means in real terms is that the people of the UK don’t actually get as much choice as the number of constituencies might make you think (this is kind of like the situation in the US with the Republicans and Democrats).
Also, once the MPs are voted in, they spend most of their time toeing their respective Party lines to ensure that they don’t get in trouble with their leaders. Toeing the Party line typically means turning up to the occasional debate, spouting absolutely any old rubbish (so long as it’s the official Party policy), making loud grumbling and neighing noises whenever anyone from one of the other parties says anything and then voting whichever way your Party leadership tells you. You are, of course, allowed to vote as you see fit – whether that’s down to strong personal beliefs or representations from your constituents – but the unfortunate side-effect of not toeing the Party line is that the leadership will then conveniently overlook you whenever there’s a chance of a nice promotion into a cushy, well-paid job such as Senior Minister for Potatoes (or whatever). So, if you know which side your financial bread is buttered on, you do as the boss says. After all, if you get voted out next time around, you want to be sure that you have been in some nice senior position in the meantime so that you can build up the old bank account, stuff your personal pension fund and line up a few lucrative company directorships and public speaking contracts for when you finally get the heave-ho.
This is sort of like democracy, but not quite.
However – and unfortunately for our current crop of political types – the rather large cat has recently been let out of the bag. Pretty much everyone in the country knew, or at least suspected, that our politicians were a bit sleazy and had a tendency to stick both feet in the trough while they were in power. Over the last year or two though, the precise extent of this self-aggrandizing and pocket-lining tendency has fallen fully into public view.
They’ve been fiddling their expenses left, right and centre; doing anything and everything they could to ensure that they could continue to rake in the cash both during and after their time in power; turning a blind eye to the disgraceful goings-on of their financial donors and assorted corporate chums in the City and the banking sector; and, in some cases, openly volunteering to steer legislation in directions that are favourable to lobbyists and other corporate concerns (all in return for money and more company directorships, of course). Oh, and while doing this, many of them have been constantly denying that it was going on or that they had, in any way, shape or form, been doing anything wrong. Except that they’ve been caught red-handed and we all know about it now.
Not surprisingly, they’re not a particularly popular bunch with the British people at the moment. And it’s going to take an awful lot of doorstep glad-handing, incompetent Facebooking, tedious Twittering and cringeworthy live TV debating to turn that one around. All of which got me thinking…what would I really want from our political leaders? What do I want the next Government to do with their five years in power? And I came to a terrible realization. While it is true that I have a pretty low regard for politicians as a general species (see most of the above, for example), I do – in my heart of hearts – actually want them to get it right! I want this country to have a strong and competent Government. I want the people in charge to do the right things at the right time, as far as possible. But, given what we’ve seen over the last couple of years, there’s obviously a lot of ground to make up here so we’ve got to start with the basics.
So, to start the ball rolling, I give you my Open Letter to All UK Political Parties and Candidates. This isn’t just for one or two parties, or one or two people, it’s for all of them. Yes, they’re the Thoughts of Chairman Adrian (if you will), but I think they’re all generally good ideas and if our politicians adopted some, or all, of them they might find that the people of the UK become a bit better disposed towards the people in power. (Warning, there will be lots of exclamation marks in what follows. It will look a bit shouty. Perhaps it is…)
- Stop Lying! When you’re asked a difficult question, don’t weasel around trying to massage it into something that you can fit around your current Party dogma. Don’t try to dodge it and blame the other party or the last Government or the state of the world economy or the mythical King of the Potato People. Just answer the damned question!
- When you do something wrong, admit it and apologise! When your lack of real-world experience places you in the position of not knowing what you’re doing and you then make some kind of stupid decision that causes social, economic or environmental problems, be prepared to admit it! Say you’re sorry, that you made a mistake and that you will try not to be so stupid again. If it’s a really major cock-up, then by all means resign, but most importantly just accept that you screwed up and say sorry! Don’t try to blame the other party, or the last Government or some unsuspecting civil servant or minor official – just own up to your own failings and apologise!
- Don’t fiddle your expenses and payments! Look, you’re already being paid two or three times the average national wage for doing what you do (and that’s if you’re just a basic, back-bench MP – if you’re something more senior, you’re already raking it in compared to most of the people who live in this country). On top of that, there are all kinds of legitimate expenses that you can claim – some of which you probably shouldn’t be able to, but I’m prepared to overlook all that if you just claim what you’re entitled to and don’t try to fiddle the system for all the extras! And while we’re on the subject, when you’re interviewed on the TV and radio about the expenses fiddling, don’t try to justify your pilfering tendencies by saying that MPs are poorly paid. Like I said, you’re already paid far more than most people in the UK and you even get to vote your own pay rises every year – so don’t have the out-and-out gall to say there’d be less expense-fiddling if you were better paid! It’s not true in any real sense and is offensive to lots of people who earn a lot less than you do (and, in many cases, do much more important jobs and do them a damned sight better too)!
- Represent the best interests of your constituents and the country as a whole! Don’t just toe the dogmatic Party line – accept that criticism can be constructive, even if it’s coming from the other side of the political divide. Yes, there will be times when your critics are disagreeing with you because they’re trying to score some kind of political point, but there will also be times when they’re disagreeing with you because what you’re trying to do is stupid, pointless or just plain wrong! And don’t just listen to one-issue pressure groups or jump to whatever cuckoo tune the media are currently playing. Think about what is the right thing to do – not the one that shuts up the noisy minority, not the one that keeps you “on-side” with the Party hierarchy, but what is morally, economically and socially right for the majority. Even if that means disagreeing with your own Party faithful or accepting that you might need to change your own mind over an issue, rather than ploughing on in a spirit of sublime, overweening arrogance. Just try to do what’s right to the best of your knowledge and ability.
- Party leaders – don’t criticise, ostracise or sideline MPs or other Party members if they’re not toeing the Party line. See the point above and realise that, sometimes, the people who are disagreeing with you might be doing so for very good reasons and you should, perhaps, take a closer look at what they’re saying. Particularly if they’re members of your own Party!
- Accept that, sometimes, you will have to do unpopular or difficult things. Taxes may sometimes have to rise or services may have to be cut or awkward decisions may have to be taken. When those times come, just do it and explain clearly why you had to do it. Don’t blame everyone else and don’t try to weasel your way around it by trying to hide the facts. Just be straight with us. In particular, don’t deny what you’re doing or say that you’re never going to need to do it because you’ve got a pocketful of magical beans that can make all the nastiness go away. Life isn’t like that and no-one will believe you if you try to tell us it is. We’ll be more accepting of you if you’re honest and admit that it’s all gone a bit pear-shaped and that we’re going to suffer some inconvenience while you’re sorting it out.
- Finally, and I know I’m repeating myself here but this one is really important, STOP LYING (see point 1 above).
Now, I can probably think of a few others, but I reckon that’s enough to be going on with. What do you think?