Warning: Rant Ahead

I try and steer clear of politics. It's a bit of a minefield and an unpleasant one at that. I distrust the three main political parties, they've all made reasonable promises and broken every one.  They are morally and ethical vacant and will never see any of my votes ever again.

I don't know why I'm surprised at today's article in The Guardian.

When I first got to England in 1988, Single-Parent bashing was the favourite past-time at Tory conferences. Girls were getting pregnant to get a council house. The world was going to hell in a handbasket because of single-parents on benefits (and off benefits).

The fact of the matter is: I'm a single-parent.

I divorced my husband in the middle of my Development Studies degree. Without benefits and state support, I would have had to drop out and we would have been homeless. So, what did I do while I was on benefits? Well, I finished my degree, raised my son and looked for a job. I got a job. In Economic Development. I paid my taxes, bought my flat and helped small businesses access support to make them more profitable and helped people with business ideas to make their dreams a reality.

I can see why Tories hate children of single parents. Boy is a disgrace to society. He's kind, loyal, hardworking and willing. He's also looking for a part-time job to be more financially independent. Oh, and he's well educated. He can spell 'fuck'. He's in the process of applying to university.

I wouldn't mind so much, but I take exception to Lord Freud, who earns £300k a year to saying that people on benefits are making a lifestyle choice. They don't take enough economic risks.

I suppose when one has to scrape by on £300k a year, it's hard to understand the stomach-dropping moment when one is looking at a pile of red bills and you start weighing up the choices between eating, paying your gas bill and buying shoes for your child. Tell me again about taking financial risks Lord Freud?

It's All About the Attitude

Ladies and Gentlemen, let me share this pearl of wisdom with you: I have an attitude problem. I have been told that from an early age. It used to make me think I should curb my tongue and try to play nice. Last year, after my dad died, the Editor in My Head took a long vacation. While she was away it got me thinking that actually, my attitude problem stems from my view of Reality and my upfront communication style. You see, I lack the social graces which enable other people to eat dog shit and say 'mmm...yummy'. I would be the child in the crowd going 'why is the Emperor naked'.

My attitude problem cut short a promising career in local government, where there are a lot of naked people, doing stuff because that's the way they've always done it, and they need to been seen to be doing shit, rather than actually doing shit.

It's not that I lack compassion. I understand that Life is hard. It's nasty, brutish and fucking short. Actually, it's probably because that's my understanding of Life, that I take the view: you don't like something, do something about it. And if the doing something is hard, then take one step at time. Try, don't whinge. In this, people may argue I also do a lot of whinging. Damn straight. I'm a champion whinger. But, I'm also a champion trier. I take my stubborness, my attitude problem, and I get up in the morning and try to find a different way.

That's why NLP has been so awesome for me. It was co-created by Richard Bandler who is the epitomy of Attitude. He is obnoxious, profane, stubborn and committed. He is my role model. He accepts nothing, he questions everything. He is also one of the most compassionate people I've ever met. I've seen him take people in the midst of meltdown, get them to stop and do something different and be the better and happier for it. He would not win a popularity competition and he's alright about it too.

Life is not about being liked. It's about living to your values.

Last weekend, I bumped into one of my cohort from May. He said to me that the NLP course had cost him long-standing friendships. After 25 years of listening to the same whinges, he couldn't do it anymore. After all, friendships are ultimately about shared experience and values. When your values have shifted to problem solving and Living the Dream, spending time with someone who goes over the same old shit, becomes tedious and boring.

I'm not great with conflict. I don't like it. It de-stabilises me internally. I'd rather run away. However, NLP has taught me that conflict is an opportunity to clear the air. It shows that something within the relationship isn't working and with courage can be sorted out. It requires, however two things: a clear vision of my values and the ability to take personal responsibility for my behaviour.

I am not always in the right. I defend my right to make mistakes, to fuck things up royally, to get things wrong. That's how I learn. I'm pretty sure that's how other people learn too. One of the things I love doing is learning. It's one of my core values. It gets me out of bed in the morning all excited and enthused. And I'm not fussy about what I learn: ground source heat pumps, fragrance, economic development, creative writing, finance. It's all fodder to me.

Relationships are endlessly fascinating to me: what makes people get up in the morning, how and who they love, how they solve their problems. I particularly like awkward, stubborn people; in fact the more awkward and stubborn the better. I like character. Some relationships are for Life, some relationships are just in The Moment. Usually, it's how people deal with and resolve conflict that determines this.

There's a little storm brewing in blogland. Someone feels they have a grievance against me. Instead of picking up the phone and saying 'Roses, you've been a bit of a bitch.' They've chosen to take the passive-aggressive route and their recent blogging has been filled with hints, innuendo and a whole heap of Woe is Me. That their behaviour has been the root of their current problems, seems to currently have slipped under the radar completely.

Whatever.

Me? I have other things to do with my time. This is as much space as I am prepared to devote to the issue. I needed to have a vent. And this has been it. If said person wants to step up and do something different, then great, I'm here. If they choose to continue to whinge and whine and pick over the corpse, that's fine too. I'm cool either way.

Finis.

Soap Box

I am without an employer. For me this is an opportunity to build the life I want. I am lucky enough to have a couple of opportunities for World Domination which I am pursuing like a greyhound goes after a mechanical rabbit. But for me personally, it means more than that. There are two areas in my life which have sadly whithered over the last couple of years and I need to get my gardening gloves out to nurture them back to full health.

The first is my education. I am one of the biggest supporters of Adult Education ever. Simply because the best things in my life have come about from my love of learning. I don't have a first-class brain, I will be honest with you there. Having studied and befriended people who are scarily intelligent, who process information and ideas as easily as they chew a museli bar, I know I'm not the best thinker ever. However, what I do have is an enquiring mind. I'm interested in everything and I believe in my ability to learn. This is why I'm able to go from cosmetics to ground source heat pumps in a single bound.

I had a conversation with my ex-H today about the difference between training and an education. I was ranting before I realised how strongly I feel about it, and how our school system is letting everyone down. Our schools and universities are focussing more and more on job preparation and less and less about education. Courses are being created around work-experience and job related experience. Now I don't have a problem with that per se, however, one of the things that struck me in the art college was the students attitude 'why do I have to do this course?' when confronted with the opportunity to learn something completely unrelated to their degree. Because it's interesting, because it will challenge you, because you will have the opportunity to learn something that you wouldn't normally think about in your daily life now and in the future.

Training. The learning associated with a profession or a job. GPs are trained, not educated. Their time at university is focussed soley on their profession. Which is why they have no idea about the wider world. They do their GCSEs, A levels and go straight into university. Do they have any understanding about socio-political issues that surround their patients? These will be informed by the choice of newspaper they decide to read, if they do at all. Is it any surprise they have no social skills?

Education. Learning something because it's interesting, might be useful, has no relevance to the student. Thirty years ago, Latin was drummed into grammar school students. Boring as fuck I'm sure. But I tell you what, I wish I had that opportunity. Someone who has been taught Latin has the immediate advantage over me, because they have grammatical building blocks which allow them to deconstruct and understand other foreign languages. Which is essentially why, people who speak 2 languages are able to pick up others really quickly. Me? I like communicating, I have no grasp of grammar, so for me, I make do with a reasonable vocabulary and depend on my body language to fill in the gaps.

The next few years I want to hone my analytical thinking. I want to explore theories and ideas which have no relevance to my employment, but which relate to me as an individual. I want to do an MPhil. The next few months will be about me kicking my brain into gear again. I did an exercise over the summer and even though I didn't get it, the process of doing it brought everything into sharp relief. There's no two ways about it learning is a really, really good thing for me.

A few weeks ago, I sat next to my book shelf and picked up the poetry I submitted for my degree. I was struck with a sense of disconnection. Did I really write this? Can I really do that? Write? I am so far adrift from my creative self now, I barely recognise it or believe it exists. And when I write this, believe me when I say I feel a real sense of panic. I feel as every day drifts past that I'm losing the most fundamental part of myself.

I'm breathing deeply through the terror, trying to calm myself down. I tell myself it's a muscle that hasn't been exercised. I haven't lost it. It's still there, waiting to flex. All there is to be done is to start off slowly again. There are writing exercises that I can do, I have a great camera to take out, there are buses to travel on.

Maybe that's the place to start again. Good grief, I think I'm about to go round again, not in a circle, but in a spiral. Will you keep me company? Please?

Cover Up!

Its officially a heat wave, and I think it's melted peoples' brains.

I have never seen so many scantily clad people in my life, all shapes and sizes.

I just want to go around with a huge vat of sun cream and a bunch of t-shirts. Cover it up! Please?

English men should not wear trousers that have been cut off at the knee. They aren't shorts. They are masacred trousers. And they should definitely not wear flip-flops with them. Especially to walk around the city. Flip-flops are beach-wear. This is the city, damn it, not the flippin beach.

Oh yeah, and while you're at it, please can you also ensure that your boxers and trousers don't part company around your waist? I don't want to see your Calvins, really I don't.

And put a t-shirt on! I don't care if you've got a 6 pack. Put it away!

Appropriate Subjects for the Lunch Table

I've been thinking about censure and blogging. Although my job is not at all in the public interest, or even interesting, occasionally I will admit to censoring chunks of my life. Thanks to a link in facebook, sometimes my work colleagues will pop by to see what's going on. My relationship with my Viking, which was sparked by our blogging habit, is difficult topic to blog about. Obviously, he reads my blog and vice versa. Boy reads my blog and vice versa.

Sometimes when I haven't blogged for a while, it's simply that I'm hideously busy trying to cope with day to day life, or I've got stuff going on I'm not prepared to share in the blogsphere.

I don't however, edit my day-to-day conversations and I will over-share whatever's happening in my life. I have become increasingly worried that the Editor-in-my-Head has taken an improptu holiday, or has nipped out for a lunch-time tipple without telling me. There are times when I genuinely ask 'did I just say that out loud?' I forget that people have subjects that they don't want to talk about over the lunch table, subjects that they might find uncomfortable. I'll talk about anything, me. I'm not proud.

Alix and her husband looked a bit perplexed when discussing Quorn: I said it doesn't come through my front door, my Viking projectile vomits if he eats it. Apparently, Alix can't discuss projectile vomiting and went a lovely shade of green as the subject was explored in more depth. A younger colleague suggested it might be psychosomatic. I argued that projectile vomiting isn't a neurotic symptom. Alix asked me to change the subject. We did. The subject turned to a date one of the perfumery ladies had been on. A rather unsuccessful date; the 'gentleman' announced he no longer had a prostate over dinner. Naturally, I enquired whether he had erectile dysfunction. I thought that was a completely reasonable question, otherwise, why else would he mention the lack of prostate? Perhaps he was giving a gentle warning, should their relationship progress? I was thoroughly told off. It's not the done thing. Apparently.

A fellow blogger has been having lady problems, not at all uncommon lady problems actually. And has been suffering from the service she's been receiving, or not, as the case may be.

If you're a long-time reader you'll know, this is not a sex blog. Fortunately, or unfortunately for you, there are things that I do keep to myself and will continue to do so for the forseeable future. However, my fellow blogger's problems has led me to take the opportunity to have a little bit of a rant about sexual health.

Boy has heard me give this lecture several times so I know he'll disappear back to Spore, which is the next best thing to Halo 3.

There is so much talked about sex, sex blogs etc, etc and with the joys of the internet, there's loads of information about sexual health out there. But while blow jobs and anal sex are freely discussed, no one is prepared to talk about sexual health. It's a bit of a no-no. If you're lucky condoms might get mentioned.

A GP is exactly that. A general practitioner. They can't know about everything. Why should sexual health be any different? I'm really lucky, my GP is the first to throw his hands up and go 'I dunno, let's get you refered'. He refered me to my local GU clinic, which now also has the family planning clinic housed there, a perfectly sensible decision in my opinion. I regularly go to my clinic for what I call my MOT.

I know the clinician, she's absolutely lovely, we have known each other for over 9 years now. She doesn't care what my pecadillos are, her concern remains my continuing good sexual health. As I prefer hetrosexual, non-drug using, faithful men (and are faithful), and I tend to have long-term relationships, I'm not really in a high risk category. We have a chat, discuss any issues I may have (they helped sort out a thrush problem, quite painlessly), I get poked and prodded. I get tested for everything under the sun. My last results I got via text - how cool is that? And off I toddle, safe and smug in the knowledge that I'm good to go.

If you have had sex or are thinking about having sex, go along to your local GU clinic and Family Planning Clinic. Have a chat with the doctors and nurses there. They have been there, done that, seen it all. You could never tell them anything that would shock them. Family Planning give out free condoms and talk about the most appropriate form of contraception. I've found them to be very approachable, gentle and understanding, they are also good for a laugh. Again, they've got the t-shirt.

Poor Boy. He's had this lecture several times. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that he'll continue to roll his eyes, but follow my advice when it's necessary. This isn't a subject I'm prepared to leave to chance. One day last year he came home thoroughly disturbed by a conversation that a boy and girl were having in front of him - the merits and drawbacks of anal sex. He was 13 at the time. I keep repeating 'if it comes out of your trousers, slap a condom on it'. No exceptions, no excuses.

Walk On

To those marching on Parliament today, the men and women whose bravery continues to go unnoticed: good on you for demonstrating. Good luck. My thoughts will be with you, even if I will not.

I found this article on BBC Online interesting. Made me seethe in places, but that's just because I'm a stroppy girlfriend of a copper, who's life seems to be spent filling in forms in triplicate/quadruplicate, who's much happier out and about talking to people, doing his job rather than filling in the tick-boxes that will ultimately lead to the destruction of yet another patch of rain forest.

I'm sorry, I've got to go to work and every time I try and finish this post, it goes off on a complete rant. I do try to be calm and measured in my arguments, but today, everytime I try, I get more pissed off and end up practically shouting at the poor computer.

Apparently, the police fed has warned that anti-police groups may try to disrupt the march today, and those marching must not respond to taunts.

Business as usual then.

Dear Richard Branson,

Since you decided to expand your huge business empire and make NTL part of your stable, my television service has sucked. Big Time.

As nice as those Pay Per View movie ads are, over the summer if I paid to see a movie, or wanted to watch Catch Up TV, during it's play the screen would go black for a second or two, constantly throughout the whole movie, film or programme. When I did ring up, the lovely person from Mumbai, suggested the fault would be fixed eventually. Perhaps my box was overheating?

A couple of weeks ago we discovered that as long as my computer was off, the Pay Per View etc, would work fine. Great stuff, as long as I know. Last week the box died. With a bit of jiggery pokery I managed to get it to work. This week, it's died for good.

When I rang yesterday morning, the 0845 number which charges you 6p per minute and it takes 3 minutes and 5 buttons button presses to actually speak to someone. And by the way, I don't really like some bint in her regional accent chirpily saying 'let's get you to some help', when it leads to more recordings and advice that I've already taken.

I am served by Rollo. Oh please. I am not a stupid person. I come from the West Indies, I know what a non-British accent sounds like. I occasionally read the papers, on-line business news etc. I am perfectly aware that the call centre is based in India. Don't patronise me or the poor bastard at the end of my stroppy call, by giving them a fake British name. If it makes financial sense to have the call centre there, fine. Own it, don't apologise for it and for heaven's sake, don't assume that a British name will make me believe he's sitting in Manchester.

It takes a few minutes of questions to decide I am who I say I am, where I am and the service I've got. It's not Rollo's fault he can't understand me through my snot (I have a cold), my accent and my ire. He want's to send a technician out. Great. He'll be there 4-7 tomorrow. Really? I work. Boy is going to be home, but I'm informed that should the technician turn up and Boy is less than 18 years old, the technician will charge me £10 for wasting his time and won't fix the damn box.

Well Richard, I lost my temper. Your call-centre staff probably earn more than I do. And the thing about being in a minimum wage job is that you can't really take time off for getting your telly fixed. And of course I wasn't offered a slot over the weekend, was I? Your technicians don't have to work over the weekends. Lucky them. This is the first weekend I'm going to have off in over 3 weeks and I want to be able to watch my tv.

You'd be proud of Rollo, he was very patient as I cursed you Richard, because it sure as hell isn't his fault; he's just doing what you've told his Area Manager to do. If you ever got as far South as that to give the order. The fact of the matter is, I don't like your service anymore. Unfortunately, it's the cheapest service available, which pretty much means I'm stuck with it. But bear this with mind, when I become less poverty-stricken, I will be voting with my feet.

I know it's a bit silly of me, but I just want a company that provides a service around it's customers needs, doesn't patronise them, is upfront and professional and Richard, that's just not Virgin Media at the moment.

Yours (very pissed-offedly)

Roses

I Want a Refund for the Weekend

I have been home for a bit, and I'm still cross. This has been the weekend of refunds. Not straight-forward, easy refunds. But difficult ones with stroppy customers. But I kept my smile on and my teeth gritted. You'd be so proud.

It was 9.30am on Saturday morning. I was on Perfumery as a mobile. I hadn't had my second coffee of the day yet. A very sick girl came through and asked for some help doing a refund. To be helpful, I go off to the new and very spanky Skinspa area, formerly known as Ladies Toiletries. Well, they say no good deed goes unpunished, and this was no different. By the time I had finished with the customer, it was 10.15, I missed my break and I'd been up and down 3 flights of stairs 3 times. There is a happy ending, we did the refund and the customer was happy(er) than she was when she came into the shop. The problem arose in that she paid with cash and vouchers and wanted to be refunded in cash, she lived 53 miles away, there was no manager on floor to talk me through and authorise the procedure, the cash office were being difficult and security became involved. As I said that was fine in the end.

Today, I could have cheerfully slapped the customer. It's actually one of those situations whereby the more I think about it, the more annoyed I get. She bought a set of bed linen and picked the wrong type of pillowcase. She wanted to do a straight swap. Not a problem. But she didn't bring her receipt. When I realised she didn't have her receipt, I explained that I'd just need to call someone to authorise the exchange, which I did. She went off on one. She spent a hell of a lot of money in the store and couldn't believe the fuss to do the exchange. I did say to her, very calmly and politely that the exchange could be done, but I just needed the authorisation. The guy from furniture came over and showed me how to do it on the system and then signed the necessary bits of paper. She left muttering at me under her breath. Cow.

Mind you, it's probably Karma. Tuesday evening I get a phone call from Stella Smith, calling on behalf of Orange. Now Stella Smith, with a broad, New Dehli accent then proceeded to tell about my contract with O2 and how much more competitive Orange were; she called me on my landline. I'm ex-directory and I don't have the time or patience to sign up for the telephone preference thingy, telemarketers call me at their own peril. It might be just their job, but quite frankly I'm ex-directory for a reason and I don't see why I should have to take yet another step to guard my privacy. Anyway, to cut my rant short I say goodbye and hang up. I go into the O2 shop and relay this conversation to the taken-aback staff.

The fact of the matter is, my contract is with O2. The details of which I expect to be kept between O2 and myself. I realise now how naive I've been. My credit and commercial transactions are not private, they are a commodity to be traded between companies and government organisations. If I want these to remain private, I'd have to live in a field somewhere with no bank account and no telecommunication. Which of course isn't possible. I like my plastic and the comfort of my planet eating ways, not to mention flushing toilets. I especially like flushing toilets. At the end of my rant, I was told my the glazed shop girl to take it up with Customer Services. Great. I wonder how much action I'd get at the end of that £1.50 a min conversation?