BROADBAND: A CAUTIONARY TALE.
Be very careful who you choose as your provider. See if you can follow the thread. This was my last (as of today anyway) e-mail to the customer service department of Talktalk. I've had Tiscali for the best part of two years and it has been wrong from the outset. I have summarised the story, so ignore your queries as to why didn't he?/couldn't he have done this or that etc. Just enjoy and be appalled. I was trying to close my account and was having problems. He was very sympathetic and sorry to hear of the trouble I've been having, and recommended a helpline that I had already attempted to use in the past day or two. This was my reply:
"
If I followed the advice of the customer helpline, cancelling the account is going to be impossible.
First, to recap: package requested -- broadband +24/7 telephone. Package charged for -- TV + weekend calls.
Result: initially no service at all because the broadband people thought I'd got the router etc from TV people. Then router arrived and only when monthly statements arrives am I puzzled. It took 20+ minutes online to Manila call centre to get the theoretical correction but nearly 2 years later, I'm still being invoiced for TV + weekend calls and like you, everyone is desperately sorry for all the inconvenience etc etc etc.
Back to now: advised to contact the appropriate helpline, I tried broadband: sorry, you have TV and we can't help you because that's a different section. "We'll connect you" led to the usual automated program -- repeated twice and the line went dead. (I am quadriplegic and use voice-activated system for PC -- but cannot press buttons on the phone.)
Undaunted, tried the TV line: sorry, don't recognize the number because you have no TV from us! Yes I do, that is what you are charging me for! No, you cancelled that service in 2008! No I didn't -- you are charging for it. Sorry, but we have no record.
Brainwave! I called head office reception and told them I was mightily pissed off with the whole situation: summarised and asked if there was any senior management available because I needed to talk to somebody about this who was in a position to do something. I'll put you through to somebody who can help you. Sounded promising, despite the piped music. Eventually I was through -- to a bloody call centre somewhere in Asia. (Back to Manila?) I summarised the story for her and she asked me whether I had a talktalk account. No, but I do have a Tiscali account. Sorry, she couldn't help because I didn't have an account. So, why the hell did the nameless person at head office put me through to her? She had no idea, but she couldn't help me because I didn't have a talktalk account.
It's a great story isn't it? Tell me, you think I should copy this letter to someone at the Daily Mail or Which? While you're pondering that, there is still the matter of closing my account as from midnight, Thursday June 17. Please advise."
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
THE BUTTOCK IMPORT CONUNDRUM.
Why does Britain continue to import buttocks?
It's not as if we weren't extremely successful in growing fat bottoms of our own, as can be seen in many classrooms and shopping centres. This place seems to be a magnet for those with grossly disproportionate gluteal endowments.
Cecilia (name changed to avoid legal embarrassment) must have won awards somewhere for her assets. I swear that light bends around her, such is her gravitational effect. I rather suspect that constructing her must have contravened her home country Gambia's building, safety and planning regulations. However, Newton's 3rd law operates, even here, in a care home (in a fashion)! Nothing is without consequence: despite the energy generated by her enormous calorie consumption, so much of that energy and effort is being directed towards maintaining her structure that very little is left to support brain activity. That must be the reason she has difficulty grasping concepts like "the key on the keyboard with an arrow pointing to the left", "the other one", "on your left", "my left leg", "the grey one goes underneath the red one" and others.
I mustn't be too critical though. The agency concerned may have a great store of as-yet-undiscovered buttocks to send here in the guise of "carers".
Saturday, May 22, 2010
JUDGEMENTAL ME!
Look, I admit it: I am given to expressing dismissive opinions of some individuals who in all probability are wonderful human beings and a tribute to their parents' parenting techniques. Okay? Do I feel bad about that? (Feel free to speculate!) It comes to me easily, especially here. We all need somebody who makes us feel superior and, in that respect, this place is heaven on earth. Sometimes you are reminded of the extent to which you are just treading water in a sea of cerebral inadequacy and general ignorance. In the wake of the general election, we sat through days of manoeuvring, posturing, bluster, secret negotiation etc etc etc. I watched as the situation developed and, by and large, followed what was going on. At the same time, I was regularly quizzed by various carers as to "what is happening?", "who is winning?", "what are they doing?", "which party is Clegg ? Is he Conservative? Cameron?". I nearly started crying by that stage. And then I remembered something that I have mentioned before -- these people are allowed to vote and don't need special permission from a High Court judge in order to have children!! We should all be depressed -- this country is doomed!
Look, I admit it: I am given to expressing dismissive opinions of some individuals who in all probability are wonderful human beings and a tribute to their parents' parenting techniques. Okay? Do I feel bad about that? (Feel free to speculate!) It comes to me easily, especially here. We all need somebody who makes us feel superior and, in that respect, this place is heaven on earth. Sometimes you are reminded of the extent to which you are just treading water in a sea of cerebral inadequacy and general ignorance. In the wake of the general election, we sat through days of manoeuvring, posturing, bluster, secret negotiation etc etc etc. I watched as the situation developed and, by and large, followed what was going on. At the same time, I was regularly quizzed by various carers as to "what is happening?", "who is winning?", "what are they doing?", "which party is Clegg ? Is he Conservative? Cameron?". I nearly started crying by that stage. And then I remembered something that I have mentioned before -- these people are allowed to vote and don't need special permission from a High Court judge in order to have children!! We should all be depressed -- this country is doomed!
Saturday, April 10, 2010
MORNING ROUTINE -- PART OF IT ANYWAY
6 a.m. The morning tea round: might as well, you will be awake because of the noise anyway. They've got used to my aversion to lukewarm, weak, milky tea. Strong, hot and not too much milk. That'll do nicely. Now bugger off and I might get another 45 minutes kip.
I'll horrify you some other time with the morning 'rise and shine' routines. There is a six part sitcom in it somewhere. Eventually, down to breakfast. Cereals and toast are the only standard options most days, with prunes as an exotic extra. Fortunately, I've got my own porage oats. Friday's breakfast is usually a variation on a good English fry up. Roll on Friday.
My principle here is to maintain that it is a fundamental law of nature that there is no such thing as too much caffeine, too much chilli or too much whisky.The menu is occasionally excellent (sorry about that, I am prone to exaggeration) but frequently confused, as in "lasagne, with garlic bread and vegetables" (the cook isn't English, of course). As a rule it's bland, since they cater for the least demanding or sensitive palate. There's nothing remotely spicy or hot about the curry and garlic is considered too much of a departure for many, which is why you'll only get it on garlic bread. I think the most extreme example of cowardly cooking is the chilli con carne: it doesn't contain chilli!! It's only vaguely spicy-herby and I suggested that "minced beef with rice" would be more accurate. Oh yes, the kitchen appreciated my helpful advice.
However, I have slowly built up my own spice rack with hot chilli sauces, bottle of extra-virgin olive oil with chillies in it, black pepper mill, sea salt mill and in the fridge I have a jar of Thai green chilli sauce and some pickled garlic! These are judiciously added to soups, salady bits and pieces, well, pretty much anything except porage. I also have my own Carte Noire coffee, much better than the catering grade instant coffee they use and my own Scott's Porage Oats, light years ahead of their Ready Brek. In addition, I keep in the freezer a supply of chicken madras/vindaloo/jalfreize, Thai green curry and.....well, you get the picture! Apparently, certain staff members and residents consider my dietary inclinations to be brave, eccentric, peculiar or adventurous. They prefer ice cream and/or chips. Not always on the same plate.
In my room, I keep my medication strictly controlled: the whisky and vodka on the left, any port or wine at the back and in the shade and any beers in the coolest place available.
Oh well, that'll do for now. I've got things to read, e-mails to send and whisky to drink. Most of the guards here are fairly benign and I know that a few of them are, like me, dreaming of and planning their escape.
6 a.m. The morning tea round: might as well, you will be awake because of the noise anyway. They've got used to my aversion to lukewarm, weak, milky tea. Strong, hot and not too much milk. That'll do nicely. Now bugger off and I might get another 45 minutes kip.
I'll horrify you some other time with the morning 'rise and shine' routines. There is a six part sitcom in it somewhere. Eventually, down to breakfast. Cereals and toast are the only standard options most days, with prunes as an exotic extra. Fortunately, I've got my own porage oats. Friday's breakfast is usually a variation on a good English fry up. Roll on Friday.
My principle here is to maintain that it is a fundamental law of nature that there is no such thing as too much caffeine, too much chilli or too much whisky.The menu is occasionally excellent (sorry about that, I am prone to exaggeration) but frequently confused, as in "lasagne, with garlic bread and vegetables" (the cook isn't English, of course). As a rule it's bland, since they cater for the least demanding or sensitive palate. There's nothing remotely spicy or hot about the curry and garlic is considered too much of a departure for many, which is why you'll only get it on garlic bread. I think the most extreme example of cowardly cooking is the chilli con carne: it doesn't contain chilli!! It's only vaguely spicy-herby and I suggested that "minced beef with rice" would be more accurate. Oh yes, the kitchen appreciated my helpful advice.
However, I have slowly built up my own spice rack with hot chilli sauces, bottle of extra-virgin olive oil with chillies in it, black pepper mill, sea salt mill and in the fridge I have a jar of Thai green chilli sauce and some pickled garlic! These are judiciously added to soups, salady bits and pieces, well, pretty much anything except porage. I also have my own Carte Noire coffee, much better than the catering grade instant coffee they use and my own Scott's Porage Oats, light years ahead of their Ready Brek. In addition, I keep in the freezer a supply of chicken madras/vindaloo/jalfreize, Thai green curry and.....well, you get the picture! Apparently, certain staff members and residents consider my dietary inclinations to be brave, eccentric, peculiar or adventurous. They prefer ice cream and/or chips. Not always on the same plate.
In my room, I keep my medication strictly controlled: the whisky and vodka on the left, any port or wine at the back and in the shade and any beers in the coolest place available.
Oh well, that'll do for now. I've got things to read, e-mails to send and whisky to drink. Most of the guards here are fairly benign and I know that a few of them are, like me, dreaming of and planning their escape.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
COMMUNICATION
As I said in my first post, good communication skills are not always a recruitment priority. I should put it another way: since most residents are English, fluency in English really should be a non-negotiable requirement. Hell's bells, it's bad enough for disabled people without them having to struggle with a language barrier -- or indeed, a comprehension barrier -- when attempting to explain what problems they need addressing, even more so if it is an urgent problem. Imagine lying in a bath while two carers, neither of them English, wrestle with the language, convinced that while lying in the bath, you want some toast! Spelling words was useless: they didn't recognize the word. It took some inventive thinking before they finally understood: the problem concerned your toes!
A lighter note. You know, nursing homes and care homes shelter a wide range of people and 'normal' people -- that's everybody else (normal? Ha!) -- often forget that among us lurk some very subversive characters. I exclude myself, of course. And don't make the mistake of thinking that I'm talking exclusively about residents. We have a number of rcarers here -- many from agencies on an "as needed" basis -- who, since raw intelligence is an inherited attribute, have DNA that you would kill to keep out of your own family gene pool. Does that make me judgemental and snobbish? Oh well. (See the shrug.)
It is rather like school really. You are sharing premises with a bunch of strangers with whom you have nothing in common except the need for care and have no control over who gets to be a carer. All you need to do to survive is simply accept that situation and play the cards you are dealt, as it were. Okay, some things can be hard to stomach: your table companions may include somebody French -- how bad can it get after that?
Well, for a start, the carers putting you to bed or giving you a bath may not be, shall we say, your favourite people. You may have problems with their manner, their attitude to you/the job in hand, their competence (or lack of) or their ability to understand you. Or all of those things! I shudder sometimes for those who have their own communication problems. You don't want to upset them though because those very same carers will have easy access to your private and secret places when you are up in the sling! If not today, some other day. Best not tempt providence, eh? I don't say that with any bitterness, you understand, as if I was recalling in acute detail any particular gruelling incident, I hasten to add.
As I said in my first post, good communication skills are not always a recruitment priority. I should put it another way: since most residents are English, fluency in English really should be a non-negotiable requirement. Hell's bells, it's bad enough for disabled people without them having to struggle with a language barrier -- or indeed, a comprehension barrier -- when attempting to explain what problems they need addressing, even more so if it is an urgent problem. Imagine lying in a bath while two carers, neither of them English, wrestle with the language, convinced that while lying in the bath, you want some toast! Spelling words was useless: they didn't recognize the word. It took some inventive thinking before they finally understood: the problem concerned your toes!
A lighter note. You know, nursing homes and care homes shelter a wide range of people and 'normal' people -- that's everybody else (normal? Ha!) -- often forget that among us lurk some very subversive characters. I exclude myself, of course. And don't make the mistake of thinking that I'm talking exclusively about residents. We have a number of rcarers here -- many from agencies on an "as needed" basis -- who, since raw intelligence is an inherited attribute, have DNA that you would kill to keep out of your own family gene pool. Does that make me judgemental and snobbish? Oh well. (See the shrug.)
It is rather like school really. You are sharing premises with a bunch of strangers with whom you have nothing in common except the need for care and have no control over who gets to be a carer. All you need to do to survive is simply accept that situation and play the cards you are dealt, as it were. Okay, some things can be hard to stomach: your table companions may include somebody French -- how bad can it get after that?
Well, for a start, the carers putting you to bed or giving you a bath may not be, shall we say, your favourite people. You may have problems with their manner, their attitude to you/the job in hand, their competence (or lack of) or their ability to understand you. Or all of those things! I shudder sometimes for those who have their own communication problems. You don't want to upset them though because those very same carers will have easy access to your private and secret places when you are up in the sling! If not today, some other day. Best not tempt providence, eh? I don't say that with any bitterness, you understand, as if I was recalling in acute detail any particular gruelling incident, I hasten to add.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
ENTERTAINMENT?
Have you ever wondered what happens to former wannabes, once their peak years of dreaming of almost making it somewhere, have passed? I'll tell you what happens to them -- they make a nice living on the twilight circuit. That's the circuit of retirement homes, care homes, nursing homes and such, where "entertainers" (in their own minds anyway) are paid £40+ an hour to entertain the unfortunate residents.
Okay, one or two aren't quite that bad but, in many cases they wouldn't have made it past auditions to be Butlin's redcoats. Typically, it might be someone who can barely carry a tune, strumming chords on a guitar as they accompany a backing tape while singing their way through anything from Cliff Richard's ' Summer Holiday' to 'It's a long way to Tipperary'. Even more bizarrely, he/she may be no more than 40-60 or so, believing for some odd reason that their captive audience have musical tastes going back almost 100 years. On one occasion, we had a guy of 50 who gave us within the space of 15 minutes, My Old Man Said Follow The Van, American Pie, a bit of Lennon and McCartney, some Elvis, It's a Long Way to Tipperary and a bit of Eric Clapton! I suppose that it wouldn't have been so bad if he'd had a decent voice and knowing all the words would have helped him as well. And we had him for 90 minutes! Still, mustn't expect too much, must we?
HEALTH AND BLOODY SAFETY.
How, in the name of everything or anything that is holy, has the human race made it this far? Without the phalanx of health and safety experts, would we ever have known that hot things can cause burns, that sharp things can inflict skin damage, that balancing precariously on top of unsecured ladders or furniture might be dangerous and allow you to fall down with painful results? Dear (insert the name of your chosen deity, icon or favourite fetish), how lucky was my dad to survive without them to help him? He even managed to survive a world war!! Did nobody even bother to warn him about the dangers before he went?
And today, the health and safety advice panel here tells me that I am not allowed to have control of my own medication! No, it must be issued to me by the nurse on duty every time: what's more, I'm only allowed things that have been specifically prescribed for me by the doctor. That ruling extends to a simple 75mg ('children's) aspirin and even to over-the-counter products like Sennapod! Apparently, I might overdose without realising it! On antibiotics! Aspirin! My very own Sennakot!! It seems that I'm not permitted to ask one of the carers "would you give me two of those ampicillin & one of those aspirin please?"
This is, apparently, to protect both me and the carers: I can't be trusted to be in control of that request and that they cannot be trusted to respond appropriately. Look, I'm thinking, if they can't be trusted to do that, why the hell are you employing them in the first place? And even before that, how dare you take away my control of me? In my book, I am in control of me, as far as my mental functioning goes, even though I may need physical assistance to give effect to my wishes. Even having fun, however you define it, you need assistance from carers etc. Don't you believe everything the pro-lifers tell you -- quadriplegia isn't always fun.
Have you ever wondered what happens to former wannabes, once their peak years of dreaming of almost making it somewhere, have passed? I'll tell you what happens to them -- they make a nice living on the twilight circuit. That's the circuit of retirement homes, care homes, nursing homes and such, where "entertainers" (in their own minds anyway) are paid £40+ an hour to entertain the unfortunate residents.
Okay, one or two aren't quite that bad but, in many cases they wouldn't have made it past auditions to be Butlin's redcoats. Typically, it might be someone who can barely carry a tune, strumming chords on a guitar as they accompany a backing tape while singing their way through anything from Cliff Richard's ' Summer Holiday' to 'It's a long way to Tipperary'. Even more bizarrely, he/she may be no more than 40-60 or so, believing for some odd reason that their captive audience have musical tastes going back almost 100 years. On one occasion, we had a guy of 50 who gave us within the space of 15 minutes, My Old Man Said Follow The Van, American Pie, a bit of Lennon and McCartney, some Elvis, It's a Long Way to Tipperary and a bit of Eric Clapton! I suppose that it wouldn't have been so bad if he'd had a decent voice and knowing all the words would have helped him as well. And we had him for 90 minutes! Still, mustn't expect too much, must we?
HEALTH AND BLOODY SAFETY.
How, in the name of everything or anything that is holy, has the human race made it this far? Without the phalanx of health and safety experts, would we ever have known that hot things can cause burns, that sharp things can inflict skin damage, that balancing precariously on top of unsecured ladders or furniture might be dangerous and allow you to fall down with painful results? Dear (insert the name of your chosen deity, icon or favourite fetish), how lucky was my dad to survive without them to help him? He even managed to survive a world war!! Did nobody even bother to warn him about the dangers before he went?
And today, the health and safety advice panel here tells me that I am not allowed to have control of my own medication! No, it must be issued to me by the nurse on duty every time: what's more, I'm only allowed things that have been specifically prescribed for me by the doctor. That ruling extends to a simple 75mg ('children's) aspirin and even to over-the-counter products like Sennapod! Apparently, I might overdose without realising it! On antibiotics! Aspirin! My very own Sennakot!! It seems that I'm not permitted to ask one of the carers "would you give me two of those ampicillin & one of those aspirin please?"
This is, apparently, to protect both me and the carers: I can't be trusted to be in control of that request and that they cannot be trusted to respond appropriately. Look, I'm thinking, if they can't be trusted to do that, why the hell are you employing them in the first place? And even before that, how dare you take away my control of me? In my book, I am in control of me, as far as my mental functioning goes, even though I may need physical assistance to give effect to my wishes. Even having fun, however you define it, you need assistance from carers etc. Don't you believe everything the pro-lifers tell you -- quadriplegia isn't always fun.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Unless my priorities and routines change, my postings may be, probably will be, sporadic. Be warned. I'm not remotely PC and regard "political correctness" as nothing less than a social and cultural cancer. It may well be that some of the things I say cause you some grief, offend sensibilities and thoroughly merit being condemned with words ending in ‘-ist’. Fair enough. By and large there is no focused hostility or antipathy. Well, actually there is from time to time but frankly, I don't really care any more -- certainly, no more than religious and social zealots or born-again politicos care about irritating me when promoting their own perspectives. Get over it. Get a proper life. The dog did, Eventually. After we took it to the vet..
Oh well, I got that off my chest. I am not intrinsically and irredeemably curmudgeonly -- my wife may demur -- but I certainly have developed a finely-tuned capability to be a grumpy old man. That's hardly surprising when you're stuck in a nursing home. Forced by circumstance to live with a bunch of strangers, most of whom share few of your life experiences, opinions and understandings, circumscribed by rules and regulations dealing with Health & Safety, Lifting & Handling is bad enough.
Things are made worse sometimes with the problems created by the carers supplied by agencies. By making the caring sector a low paid employment option, it has become an easy recruitment opportunity for available labour with no qualifications other than their availability. As a consequence, it remains lowly paid and so is highlighted by those who argue that we need immigrants because nobody in this country will do the job at those rates. Of course, this creates a situation where there is no need to raise remuneration significantly as there is always a ready supply of willing workers. Yes, I know there are some excellent and dedicated carers, often attracted by the opportunity to work occasional hours, preferring that sector because it allows them to be in control of their own lives. They are not the majority. Unfortunately, the ability to communicate fluently and easily with those receiving care is not deemed a priority. No doubt I shall return to this theme. Biliously. Often.
Oh well, I got that off my chest. I am not intrinsically and irredeemably curmudgeonly -- my wife may demur -- but I certainly have developed a finely-tuned capability to be a grumpy old man. That's hardly surprising when you're stuck in a nursing home. Forced by circumstance to live with a bunch of strangers, most of whom share few of your life experiences, opinions and understandings, circumscribed by rules and regulations dealing with Health & Safety, Lifting & Handling is bad enough.
Things are made worse sometimes with the problems created by the carers supplied by agencies. By making the caring sector a low paid employment option, it has become an easy recruitment opportunity for available labour with no qualifications other than their availability. As a consequence, it remains lowly paid and so is highlighted by those who argue that we need immigrants because nobody in this country will do the job at those rates. Of course, this creates a situation where there is no need to raise remuneration significantly as there is always a ready supply of willing workers. Yes, I know there are some excellent and dedicated carers, often attracted by the opportunity to work occasional hours, preferring that sector because it allows them to be in control of their own lives. They are not the majority. Unfortunately, the ability to communicate fluently and easily with those receiving care is not deemed a priority. No doubt I shall return to this theme. Biliously. Often.
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