Work

Perfect

/ masher / 1 Comment

I was on a video call for work earlier this week – no change there, as that is currently the new normal… and all these video calls seem to have ushered in a new phrase for 2020: “Sorry, I was on mute”. I’m sure that will be added into the OED book of new sayings. If there is one.

Anyway, I was on a video call and Son came home from school and headed straight up to my room, to excitedly show me that he had been made a Prefect.  He proudly pointed to the badge pinned to his jumper as proof… oblivious that I was on a call, despite the fact I was wearing my headset.  To be fair, I have the headset on for much of the day anyway, as I often forget to take it off.

“Yes, very good. Well done”, I said, shooing him away as cries of  “Aww, bless him” resounded in my headphones.

In another call the following day – by way of a laugh – several people appeared on the screen, all wearing their Prefect badges  from school. Not so difficult as you might imagine, as many of them are only in their twenties.

Joining in the fun, it took me only a couple of minutes to produce my own Prefect badge… from 1975. That’s it in the picture above. Gawd knows why I’ve kept it, but I knew exactly where it was: it has been bashing around in my toolbox for the past 40 or so years, which would explain why it’s not as pristine as it once was.

And it’s older than most of the people I work with.

Comparing it to Son’s one, they don’t seem to have changed much over the years – his one bears a web address on the back, but other than that, they are almost identical.

I pinned it to my polo shirt and in a stern voice I  explained to everyone on the call that as I was the oldest, I must obviously be the Head Prefect and therefore they had all bloody well better listen to me, and do as I bloody well tell them, or else they will bloody well be made to stay behind after.

There were many confused faces in front of me.

I clicked my mouse: “Sorry, I was on mute”.

Han Zup

/ masher / 6 Comments

As I mentioned earlier in the week, I am currently on a training course.

It’s one of those that people sometimes refer to as “Death By Powerpoint”, or “Slide Deck Intensive”.

And  to my – I’m sure you’ll understand – great displeasure, a great deal of the slides are peppered with spelling or grammatical errors.

Because I have to, I started pointing out some of the more amusing ones, but, by the time we reached slide 6 I realised that, if I continued, I’d just look like a pedantic prick.

And even though I am, I don’t like the idea of people thinking I am.

And so, I have gritted my teeth through the rest of the slides… relying on my internal monologue about these heinous, linguistic mistakes, to keep myself amused.  OK, I’m no English Language professor, but I know that pipe has an ‘e’ at the end of it!

But, our tutor has another annoying little trait which is starting to niggle me: “I’ll hold up my hand and say that…”,  he will say, several times a day.  Which is a fine thing to say if you are admitting to something that you should hold your hand up to.

But he isn’t.

“I’ll hold up my hand and say that several water companies have been caught out by this particular piece of legislation, over the years.”

“I’ll hold up my hand and say that this type of valve is really designed for use in higher pressure networks.”

“I’ll hold up my hand and say that in the nineteenth century…”

etc

If he carries on, I might just have to hold my hand up and tell him that this particular peccadillo of his, is doing my nut in!

Texting

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I was sitting downstairs in the kitchen area at work the other day, having my lunch, when I noticed the young chap sitting next to me, texting on his phone.

His two thumbs flew over the tiny touchscreen keyboard faster than I could follow.

“That’s amazing”, I said.  As someone who is a pretty slow, two-fingered, typist on a proper keyboard and is so much slower on a phone keyboard, I was most impressed with the speed at which he was bashing out this text. “Do you make many mistakes typing at that speed?” I asked.

“Not really”, he said, turning his head to look at me, “Auto-correct will pick up any mistakes I make, but usually I’m fairly accurate”.

He’d continued typing whilst looking and talking to me. I looked at the message he had been tapping out to his girlfriend.

Perfect. Not a mistake to be seen. It’s fair to say I was a little in awe.

It has taken me twenty minutes to type this out.

I reckon he could have done it in two.

Blindfolded.

Soup kitchen

/ masher / 3 Comments

When I do my weekly food shop, I will usually buy a tin or two of soup.

It’s a quick and easy lunch to make in the kitchen downstairs when I am at work: one min in the microwave on full power; take out and stir; in for another minute; eat with a slice of bread. Job done.

And there is such a variety too. I’m not sure I’ve found a soup yet that I don’t like, although I’ll steer clear of any seafood based ones, because me and seafood have never really got on.

So, when confronted with the huge range on the shelves, what do I buy?

Well, generally I’ll go with whatever is on offer.

So, I was in two-minds on Saturday, when I picked up a tin of Baxter’s Leek & Potato – the red discount label catching my eye and telling me that it was reduced by 30p.  This brought in into the same price bracket as a tin of Heinz.  Received wisdom tells us that the more expensive a product is, the better will be its quality.  So, would I prefer the tin of Baxter’s over the tin of Heinz?  Only one way to find out.

Taste test!

I bought both, and yesterday I heated them both to the same temperature and sampled them.  A couple of other people seated around the table and intrigued by what I was doing, also tried both.

Verdict?

The tin of Heinz definitely had more leeks in it… and lumps of potato and was more filling.  It got my vote and that of one of the other tasters.

The final vote went to the Baxter’s, with the taster preferring the texture and the aroma.

So, there you have it: Heinz wins by two votes to one.

Masher.tv – testing soups, so you don’t have to.

In the crap

/ masher / 9 Comments

Yesterday, I went on a visit to Abbey Mills pumping station, in the heart of that London.

Well, maybe not the heart, but certainly a major organ, like the liver or maybe a kidney.

Anyway, it was dead good.

We started off with a finger buffet for lunch, before sitting down for a ninety minute talk on Sewage Through The Ages. It was quite fascinating… some of it.

And then we put on some protective clothing and climbed down into a sewer. It was a bit smelly, but not too bad, considering. And if nothing else, it was a cool respite from the sun. Our guides took us on a thirty minute walk inside a nearby sewer, which they had washed down for us. There was still a couple of inches of sludge and silt to walk through, but it wasn’t too bad at all.  Being down there, one got a sense of how much work the Victorians put into it. The fact that they still work perfectly 150 years after being built is testament to that.  The picture above is of me and my team, just before we went down (as I’ve not sought permission from any of them to put their picture on here, I’ve blurred them out, to be on the safe side).

After the sewers, we were taken on a tour of the station itself. With its magnificent Victorian architecture, it’s no surprise that English Heritage have listed the building.  And inside was even more impressive. I would imagine more modern pumping stations, to be stark, utilitarian places, but Victorian engineers and architects liked to have a touch of the grandiose about their work.

 

It’s a fascinating visit and I would recommend it to anyone… especially as it is free.  I think the water board only run the tour for one week at the end of May and I know it gets heavily subscribed – because it took 18 months for me and the team to get tickets… and we work for them! But it might also be available (I’m told) during London Open House, in September. If you get the chance, it’s definitely worth a look.

Good and bad

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I’ve had a torrid time of it this week, on the motorways.  I know I often joke about it, but I’m starting to wonder whether being able to bring traffic to a standstill, merely by being on the same road, really is my super power… as rubbish as that would be.

My journey home from work on Monday had an extra hour added to it, when an accident on the M40 reduced the motorway from three lanes down to one. During rush hour.

Likewise on Tuesday, an accident on the M1 at Hemel closed three of the four lanes during rush hour, adding ninety minutes onto my journey home. Ninety minutes! And when we finally got moving and got past the accident, there was hardly anything to see. If I’ve been made to wait that long in the traffic, I want to see a reason for it, carnage even, not just a BMW with it’s front bumper hanging off!

Wednesday. Don’t get me started on Wednesday! I had to go to Swindon for a couple of meetings and so left half an hour earlier than normal. We suddenly ground to a halt about 2 miles from J18 on the M25. And we just sat there. And sat there. Eventually we inched along and I could see that all the lanes had been closed, due to an accident and the police were turning vehicles round and sending them back up the motorway. We all got diverted through Rickmansworth. Can you imagine four lanes of motorway traffic driving through Rickmansworth? It wasn’t particularly quick, I can tell you! I eventually arrived in Swindon – having completely missed my morning meeting – after five and a quarter hours. A journey that normally takes about two and a half.   I left as soon as I could, following my afternoon meeting, but was thwarted once again when an accident on the M4 slowed us all down. “Long Delays Between J12 and J10” threatened the overhead signage. My heart sank and I looked to my satnav for advice. “Avoid this bit of the motorway and go through Reading”, it said. Sort of. No way! I’ve been caught like that before. Reading at rush hour? It’d be a nightmare.  And yet…   If I could just get to the A329… Inexplicably – and possibly because I still had the morning’s motorway horror still in my head, I found myself taking the slip road at J12 and heading to Reading on the A4.  I was right: it WAS a nightmare.  Four hours after leaving Swindon, I arrived home.

Thursday wasn’t so bad, save for a bit of a hold up on the 413 Denham Road in the morning.

And then yesterday, Friday – when I can normally work from home – I had to go into work for a meeting. I had a lovely journey in. Friday mornings are definitely the best time for driving on the motorways.  Friday afternoons, not so.  My journey home was again lengthened by some numpty who doesn’t know how to drive properly on the motorway, ramming into the back of another vehicle and causing a huge tailback on the M1.

If only everyone was as good a driver as what I am, there would be no accidents. They all drive too fast and too close. Unlike Miss Daisy here.

But today has been good: a leisurely drive to our local annual ham radio rally with a couple of mates.

Good weather.

Plenty to see.

A couple of bargains.

Meeting up with more friends.

And an ice-cream.

A perfect Sunday.

Not going up in the world

/ masher / 9 Comments

I had a meeting today, up at Emley Moor mast, which – as you can see in the photo – is a bloody great big tower (tallest structure in the UK) that transmits TV and radio signals to large swathes of Yorkshire. Annoyingly, the tower is currently closed for maintenance, so I couldn’t go up it. But I will… one day. I’m determined that I will.

I stayed in a hotel in Barnsley with a small group from work and we were wined and dined, by the company we’d gone up to visit, courtesy of their expense account. It was a great evening.

And then, after our meeting this morning, we were given a tour of the place and I found myself feeling very ‘at home’ in their operations centre, where all the TV and radio signals are monitored.  Ahh, happy days.

Talking of TV signals, this advert managed to worm it’s way past my ad-blocker:

 

 

Intrigued, I clicked on it and was taken to this web page, where it claims that a small antenna that it supplies, will pick up your cable TV signals for free.

Utter bollocks!

Just about every technical fact it quotes, is rubbish and the comments at the bottom are all manufactured.  And all wrong.
Julie from London has one and now no longer needs to pay $65 a month to Comcast.
Apparently.
Bollocks!

Please, if you see this, steer well clear, it is quite obviously a scam.

What the fax?

/ masher / 8 Comments

One of the young millennials at work approached me yesterday and asked “What’s a fax?”

I was somewhat surprised that she didn’t know, but then realised that this was such an old, outdated technology, that it was very likely she would never have seen one before, never mind actually used one.  I explained what it was/is and she went away… probably not much the wiser.

But it got me to thinking about methods of communication.

In the early eighties, I spent a month travelling in California and I wanted to let my parents know that all was well. It was expensive to make international calls back then and sending a letter could take several weeks. So, I sent a Telegram.

Yes: a telegram. Remember them? I think I still have it, somewhere.

But, of course, telegrams were phased out a few years back and can no longer be sent.

STOP

And what about the humble letter? No-one sits down and writes actual letters anymore, do they?   The speed and convenience of email saw to that.

But even email is being pushed out of favour, as the immediate accessibility of today’s Twitters and  Instafaces persuades people to communicate so much more with each other.

But also actually saying so much less.

Curry Night

/ masher / 8 Comments

I was out on the slosh, last night, so my head is a little woozy this morning.

It was the regular monthly get-together of the BT (Class of the Eighties) Curry Night, at our local Weatherspoons.

Always a good night, but I never make it every month. By the time I get home from work, I usually just can’t be bothered to go out again. But, as I have a couple of days off this week – just using up my annual leave allocation – I had no excuses.

And last night, in addition to the regulars, we had a couple of new faces… well, new old faces.

Firstly, there was Wobber. I don’t know why we call him that, as his name is Roger, but he’s been called Wobber for as long as I can remember (most of the engineers at BT answered to a nickname – including myself, which is where the moniker for this website comes from). This was the first time I’d seen Wobber since 1994 and – unusually for me – I recognised him straight away… despite him having lost all of his hair and now bearing a remarkable resemblance to Wilson Fisk.

And then there was Ralph. Again, first time I’d seen him since I left in ’94. I never used to mix it with Ralph as he was a bit older than me and was always one of the cool kids. But I’ve always held him in high regard, not least because I fell off my motorbike on the way to Bletchley Park for a training course, early one cold and slippery November morning, and I met Ralph (a fellow – and far more experienced – motorcyclist) in the motorcycle parking bay. My bike was pretty bent up, but during his lunch-break, he straightened it out for me, enough that I could ride it home. I’ve always been grateful for that.

There were about a dozen of us there last night, but only four still worked for BT.

The fact that we still get together so regularly, amazes me, but also pleases me greatly.

Happy Friday

/ masher / 4 Comments

Well, my journey to Dartford yesterday was OK: I made the meeting with ten minutes to spare.

The drive home wasn’t so good, though. As soon as I approached the the M25, I realised that going through the hole wasn’t an option and so instead, I navigated my way to the clockwise carriageway and went the long way round, thereby completing a complete circumnavigation of the London Orbital Motorway.

But today, I have none of those commuting worries, as it is Friday. Yay!

And on a Friday, I usually work from home.

This isn’t something that is built-in to my contract, but rather an unspoken agreement. Should I be required to go in, then I will. No problem.

But Friday’s tend to be quieter days anyway, with fewer meetings, so it’s an ideal day to work from home and catch up with stuff, without too many interruptions.

An additional benefit, is that over the course of a year, that will be about 3000 fewer miles that I will have put on my car. That’s a fair bit of wear and tear saved, over the lifetime of the car. And the resulting fuel savings are an added bonus, of course!

On top of that, I will spend less time behind the wheel, getting frustrated. Roughly 120 hours less.

That’s nearly five days!

That’s gotta be good.

But, there is a perception that working from home can be less productive, and I’ll admit that I often take the opportunity to get other non-work related stuff done during the day – I mean what’s the point of having this perk if you don’t take advantage of it?

But, it IS a perk, and perks can be taken away if they are abused.

So whilst I may take advantage of my ‘working from home’ day, by also doing some housework; sorting out some personal paperwork; updating this blog; having a twiddle round the radio dial and drinking more tea than should be humanly possible, I will also make sure that I get some actual, proper work done. And, sometimes, I’ll even find that I actually get a bit more done at home than I possibly would have done at work.

So, it benefits me financially by paying less for running the car, and it benefits me mentally, by spending less time on our horrendous motorway network.

And the company still gets the work done.

That’s a win-win situation, in my book.

A lorra lorra lorries

/ masher / 3 Comments

As our Cilla used to paraphrase.

Well, I made it to the conference yesterday.

I left even earlier, just to be on the safe side. However, when I reached the slip road for the M1, there was a big tailback, thanks to four vehicles having a shunt, right at the top of the slip road.

“I don’t belieeeeve it!”, I shouted, turning into Richard Wilson from One Foot In The Grave.

But, once I’d got past it, my journey was OK… I just didn’t arrive quite as early as I’d hoped.

And getting out of Newbury Racecourse was horrendous! Imagine trying to get out of Wembley Arena after a Take That concert, and you won’t be far wrong.

And then the M4 did what the M4 does best – it snarled up.

It was nearly eight pm when I got home.

And today, I have to be in Dartford, bright and early for an 8am meeting.

With the luck I’ve been having on the motorways this week, I really haven’t got a chance!

Jam

/ masher / 4 Comments

Yesterday, I was supposed to be at Newbury Racecourse for a conference.  (as I’ve said before, we do love a conference, at the Water Board).

As it was further to go than my usual journey, I left earlier to allow a little extra time… just in case.

Of course, I never made it.

My sat-nav estimated that I would arrive at about 8:30. “Yeah right”, I thought, “we’ll see.” And then my rubbish superpower kicked into action and just ten minutes into my journey up the M1, we ground to a halt.

Then the overhead gantry signs came on to say that there was a 90 minute delay on the M25.

The M25? Gimme a break, I haven’t even got there yet. Can’t blame that one on me!

I turned the radio on and the travel announcer cheerily told me that the jam I was sitting in, was caused by two vans coming together and closing the motorway at Hemel Hempstead.

The jam on the M25 was caused by four lorries and had closed three lanes between junctions 17 and 16.

My overly optimistic sat-nav  changed it’s earlier estimate from 8:30 to 12:30.

The M1 blockage was eventually cleared, but as the M25 one was still in place, I decided to abort and when I got the opportunity, I came off at Hemel, turned round and went home.

Luckily (!), I get another chance as the conference is also on today, so I’m going to have a second attempt.

I’m just hoping I can hold my superpower in.