Monday, 27 September 2010

Gather ye goblin looking office workers and no harm shall come to thine.

Well, well. Welledy, welledy. I see my nemesis Car. D’gan been published in our sector magazine again. The magazine is titled, the Newsletter.

Usually he writes a semi-regular segment in the Newsletter, detailing a small aspect of his professional life. I am sure it is meant to be a mildly amusing, knowing but light comment about a latest piece of news or a funny experience which he generalises to the point where we can all empathise and ponder over our morning warmed bagel. Instead I read it non-blinking with metaphorical drool like a spent bungee rope leaking from my metaphorical mouth at the surreal ramblings of the loon.

Here is an example:
The fact that numerous colleagues have been first in the firing line when firms are faced with redundancies (and grouped with cleaning staff, post room workers etc when examining relevant skill sets) never fails to disappoint. It will be interesting to see what happens to these organisations in relation to their provisions in the future, although I don’t suppose we will ever really know. A difficult question indeed. Admittedly using a Blackberry to take such a call in hospital may show that I really should get out more.
Make a point you cretin!

Now by some misadventure, somebody in the editorial staff has evidently decided that what the people want is to know is more about Car. D’gan: the man behind these simply bizarre gonzo articles. Personally I would rather read the tweeted conversations of the remaining few who still think they are members of the Blazing Squad about their women folk. But here we are.

It turns out that he is possibly even worse in a Q&A format. I know that the questions are a bit of amusement in an otherwise dry affair amongst committee reports and promotional material and it would have been felt that he would be an ideal candidate (given his local remit) to answer them in an irreverent and witty fashion – but I would tentatively put forth there is a fine line that he has crossed. From Good Morning Vietnam to Platoon.

I would suspect that he has not been contacted while driving through town and had the questions spat over speakerphone like a Gatling – it will almost certainly be the case that he has had time to sit, reflect and redraft his answers before he submitted this word resemblance to a series of mini seizures.

Newsletter alumni Car. D’Gan, answers our questions…
Q1 If you weren't employed in this sector, what would you be?
Miserable.
Q2 What annoys you most in your career?
What annoys you most in your career?
[Sorry to interfere in your enjoyment of his very witty and deliciously irreverent answers so soon but this could be some sort of exetential humour going on here, he may be actually deploying a form of martial art joke using the Q's power to reveal it's own inadequacies… or, equally, it could be the verbal equivalent of taking the interviewer's arm and slapping them with it whilst shrieking "Why are you hitting yourself?"]
Q3 How do you spend your time away from your organisation?
I do enjoy a spot of basket weaving and dry stone walling.
Q4 What is the one thing you couldn't live without at work?
Anger.
[Ok - another interuption - but might this be the 2nd most worrying answer ever after “the dismembering”?]
Q5 Which famous person would you most like to present you with the employee of the Year Award?
The editor of the Newsletter.
[NB she’s not famous – at least not in the biblical sense]
Q6 What’s your favourite legal drama series or movie?
Chips.
Q7 What are your favourite three songs?
I have always thought that this question was virtually impossible (as I only know one).
Q8 Do you have any phobias?
Grown men spending their weekends dressed as orcs, goblins and wizards.
Q9 Have you ever been attacked by an animal?
Our ex-Manager broke my thumb with a cricket ball once if that counts (during a game obviously)? I still recall the annoyance on his face the next day when I arrived with a Cumberland sausage attached to my hand and his comment: “That was a bad career move”.
[What does that story even mean? Honestly - what is he on about? You fool, Car. D’gan! Don't toss that one away! You could have saved that prime piece of narrative to be savoured in your own column!]

With a bit of luck, he'll be back writing is column again soon. I geniunely mean that. And when he does, I may send in my constructive views about it: his same column word for word, comma for comma, back to him. Every day for a month. He'll find that funny, I know all thanks to this Q&A.

Wednesday, 22 September 2010

Don’t tell the Bride… but she’s marrying a dick.

I know, you don’t need to go on about it. It was late at night, I was on my own and the thought somehow struck me – it can’t give me 3 bad experiences can it? I know the risks but I’m an adult. And I changed the channel to after hours BBC3. It’s not an addiction. I can stop anytime I want. You’ll see.

Don’t Tell the Bride is a TV programme construct which should provide no dramatic tension. The concept is that the BBC give an engaged couple a large budget to spend on their wedding, only they more specifically, give the budget to the Groom-to-be and then forbid the Bride-to-be any contact (and so input) into the wedding plans until the “big day”.

But this should be no problem. The couple will have surely discussed some wedding ideas between them well beforehand. At the absolute minimum, knowing the concept of the programme they have signed up to appear on, instructions, boundaries and minimum requirements for the wedding will have been agreed in the 10 minutes before the camera crew turn up.

So perhaps an issue with the choice animal the napkins are foldes as or place setting's font - something like that - small fry - that will cause huge tantrums for over wired brides. But that's it.

The reason to consent to be part of this show is either that they will get a budget for a wedding they could not afford otherwise, or they want to watch their happy day on BBC3 and again on the i-player.

Either way the idea is pretty romantic when you think about it. It means that the Bride has the chance to get the wedding day that she thought she could only dream of and the Groom will have the chance to be the man to provide her with the best day of her life. Unless it turns out the Groom is a dick.

The episode (6/12) runs 2 parallel stories: The Groom-to-be (I didn’t bother remembering their actual names so I’ve called him here Simon) and that of the Bride-to-be (a girl who I have decided answers to Shelly).

Shelly, the viewer quickly finds out, is very much a family girl. She is close to her sister, brother and parents, visiting them at least 3 times a week. It is also quickly revealed that she has quite set, though legitimate, thoughts about her wedding day. She would invite near 150 guests, her family would all take formal roles in the day and the location would be at English estate with grand house and marquee. The theme would be traditional, with a modern sleek twist. It is also mentioned that she has a few key thoughts on a wedding dress, but more on this later.

Simon, the narrator tells us, is “a bit of a gambler” while the film shows him playing a Fruit Machine in a pub. Simon says, “Most weddings are boring and people fall asleep at them – I want mine to be exciting. Aw! I’ve just nudged a BAR!”

Simon invites his Best Man by day (and Elvis tribute act by night) over to start planning the wedding. The Best Man says, sagely, “You know you mustn’t screw this up – you know what she wants.” Simon has the expression which yells back: I know this to be so, my Best Man, but you also know I am a Dick, and says, “Yeah, but I have always wanted a Las Vegas wedding.”

The Best Man suggests that this would not go down well but both admit it would be pretty funny and so as a compromise Simon decides to give Shelly a fair opportunity to have the wedding she wants… on the roulette wheel. Black = Las Vegas / Red = Wedding the Bride actually wants. He then stakes £20 on Black as an added good luck omen for his preference. 25 seconds later: Viva Las Vegas! And 40 quid!

The Gambling Gods now appeased, back at the computer Simon is trying to get travel deals. The best he can manage is spending half the budget on travel arrangements for 6 people. It means that there will be no guests and, also, doing the math, 2 less of the bridal party. Ah, well.

The viewers then watch as Simon and the Best Man fly out to Las Vegas on a week long scouting trip for venues. And while they are there why not take in some sights too, I mean it can’t be all work for the wedding! This is great, they decide. They can have a holiday before the wedding, organizing things as they go. It will be pimps easy to plan anyway and Simon asks a random member of the public if she knows a good place to have a wedding reception, as proof. She can't understand him and hurries in any direction that makes him further away from her. So they go to a few casino’s, have a few drinks, relax by the pool. Then it’s back to the “hard” work of planning.

After visiting the Little White Chapel (“You can go for the Dennis Rodman Package” – shudder) and taking a bridal gondola around a hotel made to look like Venice they settle on a reception room located in the same Venetian Hotel.

They then book out the largest house in Las Vegas for the reception, for the 6 of them.

Next are the outfits to organise. The Groom-to-be settles on matching suits for all the men: white suit and shirt with baby blue waistcoat and tie. “In England I would never have thought about an outfit like this, but we are in Vegas… why not?” The Best Man, suggests it’s ok to have a bit fun with their attire, but the wedding dress cannot be anything other than perfect.

Back in England, the unsuspecting Shelly is getting excited. She knows that her Husband-in-waiting loves her and will be pulling out all the stops to give her the wedding she has always wanted. She is taken, cynically, to a wedding dress shop with her mum and sister and asked to choose a dress she would have chosen, if she hadn’t given up those sorts of rights. It is, in her words, “Pure white, full of bling, large and with a long train – with no roses or pleats – it is the perfect dress” They all cry.

Unbelievably in Las Vegas the Best Man picks out as near to an identical dress as there could be, “I really think this is her. She would love this.” Then quite believably, because he is a dick, the Groom-to-be declares, “No, I don’t like it, really don’t like it. No, put it back”. He gets a lady who looks nothing like his love to model a dress: “Oh, now that I like. That looks good on her. Elegant. Like an evening dress. I really like the rose design, the pleats – what colour is this dress? Dark ivory – yes, that’s the one. Ship it to England!” He then asks if the girl would like to come to the wedding, he knows that Shelly wanted lots of guests. So that by my reckoning would be 7 then going – 6 of them and the wedding dress model stranger guest. She, mercifully, declines.

At this junction things quickly begin to truly unravel.

When the dress arrives, Shelly and her mum and sister cry again. It is early morning in Las Vegas and the boys are woken to a ring tone. The mother-in-law-to-be has called the Best Man. He is told that they need to come to the shop and choose another dress. But they can’t. And he can’t say why. Would ruin the surprise, remember. “Can Shelly pick out another dress?”

She does. It’s the one she saw first. It’s £1500.

Simon gets out the budget sheet. He does some sums. He still needs to buy a cake and purchase make-up and hair products. He passes a note across the twin bed. “Right, Simon has spent most of the money – Shelly can’t have that one. She’ll need to find one that costs no more the £400”

The men are asked to make cut-backs. Quickly.

Simon calls his mother-in-law-looking-less-likely-to-be back. “Even with cuts, and they will significantly affect the day I was planning, just to let you know, I can give you £600 to buy another dress, tops.”

That’s not good enough. Find the money.

“OK, I’m taking money out of my own account now. £800. That’s the limit for a dress. Unless Shelly wants to put money in to make up the difference?

So Shelly sighs and, with a shake of the head, takes out her purse and pays for ½ her dress.

There is only 2 days before the wedding and, while Shelly and her sister are taken on a Spa treatment break, the rest of her the family is given a DVD to watch. Simon and his Best Man are gurning into the camera lens from a hotel room into their living room. Thank the stars, 3D TV hasn’t taken off yet. “Las Vegas, Baby!” they shout down the speaker, and the family leaps about. Oh! They are still talking! What other great surprises?: “Unfortunately, some of you can’t come – only the following names will be making the trip…” and like the fat lass and the boy with glaucoma at PE Simon’s OWN sister and the Shelly’s brother sit, realization dawning slowly across at once disbelieving brows as their names are not on the roll call.

The day before the wedding and the Shelly and her sister are now sitting in a pre-booked taxi. On the way to the airport. Shelly, laughs: this is a small practical joke, she knows the wedding is in England. They spoke about it. At length. As they pull into the drop off point the sister suspects that it is not a joke. Shelly says, of course it is. It simply has to be. It’s just a bit of a larger practical joke that she first thought. They are then shown to the Check-in desk and an envelope is waiting with her name on – “see?” she turns to her now headache induced sister, “this letter will tell me where we are really going!”

And it did. The 2 tickets inside told her they were really going to Las Vegas.

At that both girls break down, sobbing. Hugging each other for consolation, they see their family. Well, some of their family. They too are in tears as they go on to tell how not all the family will be able to go. “I am marrying someone who obviously doesn’t know how, or doesn’t care, to make me happy!”

The BBC film crew cotton onto the fact they have a new show on their hands and allow Shelly to call her imminent husband, breaking the rules. The wedding is in the balance. They DISCUSSED all this! How did it go so wrong?

Simon listens then says, “I love you. I would have got all the guests and family over if I could. But I just couldn’t. Get on the plane so we can get married.”

[It is not as if he was living in another country or she was a mail order bride. They could have got married in a land where all their friends stayed. He could have achieved this, sensibly]

“You have torn my family apart. I will need to think about it.”

“All I can do now is hope she gets on that plane” he says meekly but unrepentant to the camera. [You might have, at this point, noticing that she was not best pleased about the travelling or the much of the wedding plans, offered instead to come back to see her to patch up your fast dissolving relationship, I suppose].

And get on the plane she does. Without the remaining bridesmaid, her sister, who refused to make the journey. The couple, now together briefly in a cab, travel to the hotel and Shelly asks if she will be spending the night before her wedding alone? Simon pulls a frustrated face. Yes. Yes she will.

They go to her room and ask for privacy. The camera crew leaves them to it, filming the closed door in the lobby. Thankfully this isn’t too boring as they have left the couple attached with microphones so the viewer can hear what is going on inside. Shelly is upset, “this is not at all what I wanted. I wanted all my family, my friends!” Simon uses the tact of Leatherface finding himself at Spring Break '75: “None of them matter, what’s important is that you and I get married in Las Vegas – we won’t have this opportunity again.” And then he leaves.

No backing down, no admitting that he may have made a couple of inappropriate decisions – like putting chips on a roulette table – along the way. No seeking redemtion. None of that – nothing like an apology for making the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with choose between him and her sister. Actually something admirable about that at this stage.

The next morning at breakfast, Simon sits with his Best Man, “All I can do now is hope she turns up to the reception room.”

Not the greatest of wedding plans that, hope.

Against all odds and sanity Simon’s hope mantra pays off and Shelly appears in the reception hallway in her perfect wedding dress. “You’re a lucky man” his Best Man announces to a Groom dressed as a Slush Puppy beside him.

At the reception the Best Man is singing in pigeon Elvis “Always on my Mind” and the tiny cake (well it is only for 6) is cut. “What a magical day” the mother-in-law announces to a camera outside, “Simon really put so much into this”. “The sacrifices he had to make to get this wedding to happen really were difficult for him to make” said his sister to a camera at her home. “I was upset before, but now it has been a wonderful day I’ll never forget, Simon loves me and he has thought about me in every choice he made for this wedding. And the venue is beautiful.” said Simon’s new wife, chronically unaware she had married a dick.

Which all leads me onto my initial point of why the internet was made – to prove that Superman is a dick.

Monday, 20 September 2010

Judging a Book by It's Cover - No. 3.

Hello and welcome to another edition of... judging a book by it's cover! So what have we got this time? Draw back the curtain, atomic human!



Judging this book by it’s cover it appears pretty straightforward: Morrissey is well up for meetings. Look at him, checking his watch by the duck pond in the park to see when the next meeting starts. It's probably a local community meeting. Possibly about saving / concreting said duck pond.

But enough supposition. Morrissey's favourite meeting sort is the AGM. Of course it is - it's the classic.

Some say the rift between Johnny Marr and Morrissey began when at a band meeting Marr proposed a motion during Any Other Business to have bacon rolls during future band meetings and Morrissey (as usual) chairing the meeting took a vote. Counting both his own raised hands in objection, Morrissey declared that the motion was not carried. Marr, knowing Morrissey’s stickler approach to meeting administration [and his own penchant for serving brutal retribution cold] would later refuse to second Morrissey’s proposal of the previous band meeting minutes.

And it was an incident from which - at the risk of sounding like the beginning of a late Saturday night serious pop programme on BBC Radio2 by Stuart Maconie - their relationship was never to recover. [Queue fade-in jangly start to This Charming Man before sharp fade-out when the lyrics kick-in].

With the band members going their separate ways after the Strangeways LP, Morrissey chose to put music to one side, concentrating instead with experimenting with evermore different types of meetings: the job appraisal meeting, the creative thought-shower meeting and, most successfully for Morrissey, the interdepartmental monthly stationery meeting. Marr would go on in later years to be part of many “super-groups” though in reality these would always, confusingly, be inferior to most “groups”.

We won’t know if the bacon role sub-section proposal did occur, unfortunately, from this book as it is only the collected agendas and minutes of all the meetings Morrissey has had from 1989-2004.

Monday, 13 September 2010

Our greatest weapon is a flip chart and another flip chart... our 2 greatest weapons are...

I received a telephone call which I was only half expecting. It was from a market research company.

I had helped out an old neighbour a couple weeks earlier in their market research work. He had taken up the part-time job having retired from his position in the building trade. I agreed to help him reach his quota for market research into the Advertisement of Banks.

I was happy to do it as for years a family friend had been employed in Market Research and for most of my school days I would have to rate, in depth onto forms with tick boxes, comment boxes and grading schemes, my breakfast cereal, which would be in any of 5 identikit white boxes marked on the sides A to E and drink juice from unmarked white cartons. To be fair, goodness knows what I was consuming.

Although, I was a contributory reason Snap! Crackle! and Pop! sounded the way it did in 1987 [needs more Snap!]. And disliked what turned out to be TAB Clear [every sip tastes like I am gulping down the vacuum of space].

He telephoned me saying that though, technically speaking, he really should have seen me in person it would be OK. He asked me 3 questions before telling me there were many more questions but he would fill them in later himself. Further, should the Market Research Company call me (which was unlikely) then I was to say that he had came round, I didn’t know him beforehand and he had conducted the full market research questionnaire with me. Basically, he said, just say yes to everything they ask.

This was good, as I am not the best of liars. Just keep saying yes.

This was not going to be like the time I was researching a new kettle and had to write a daily diary of why I was using it and give my conclusions to its performance. Some time after, I was contacted by the kettle’s parent company concerned that on one entry I had written, “It burned my feet”. I had to confess that it may have been less the kettle and more that I had been tired and emotional after a night out and was trying to make an instant coffee. Anyway, the fact remained; one of us was a bad pourer.

So this was the back story to the call I took.

Hello. Do you remember being interviewed a few weeks ago about banking advertisments?
Yes.
Did the market research interview take place in your residence?
Yes.
Was this the first occasion the Market Researcher has conducted market research with you?
Yes.
Did the Market Researcher produce an ID Card?
Yes.
Did the Market Researcher explain on whose behalf the market research was being conducted?
Yes.
Did the Market Researcher use an electronic chart on a lap-top to go through the questions and provide illustrations?
Yes.
Did the Market Researcher use a large flip-chart with stand to go through the questions and provide illustrations?
Hmmm [Well, he is older, a flip chart would be more likely than a lap-top, I better backtrack] … er… yes.
Did the Market Researcher use a small, hand held flip-chart to go through the questions and provide illustrations?
[Oh! Right now, wait... They probably know he can’t drive, how would he transport a large flip chart and stand? A large flip-chart just doesn't make sense. Now a small flip-chart – that would be far more plausible]… Yes.
So the Market Researcher used a lap-top, small flip chart and large flip chart in your residence to go through the questions and provide illustrations?
[Now, you've backed me into a corner here. All of a sudden my answers appeared less authentic. To be fair I didn’t realise that these other questions about chart types were coming up and I could hardly ask if I could I start again. Why couldn’t it have been multiple choice?
No, far better to let the lady think that this man, who I had never met previously, has turned up at my flat and questioned me, producing larger and larger charts, until he broke me down and I gave him the answers he wanted from his, clearly, full-on evening presentation that he had set up just for me about the songs used in the new Halifax ads.
]
Yes.

I am pretty sure I've got him a promotion out of all this.