Category Archives: Work

A Subheading only, really

Once upon a time, according to the Daily Mail ………..

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I don’t know about the UK TV but it was all over everywhere, here, last night.

The aquittal of murder of Knox and Sollecito. I could talk about how it was the right decision, given the atrocious evidence or the wrong decision, given that Amanda admitted being there and then changed her mind.

But I won’t since it is being written about ad infinitum.

And, in any case, I only get to know about the evidence that the papers wish to tell me about. And, so, I can’t really make a judgement on that.

I will say, though, that Rudi did a runner, whereas Knox and Sollecito did not. Rudi makes more sense than the other two. Especially Knox for, if I had done it, I would have been on a plane to the States before the body had even been found.

And, perhaps there was a really good reason why the mobile phones that were discarded had no DNA. And, anyway, what Italian leaves their mobile phones at home when they go away or, even, out to the supermarket?

No, it’s all very strange and impossible for me to say if the verdict was right or not but that is not the point of this post.

The Daily Mail Online, of course, wanted (as they all did, I’m sure) to be first with the reactions and quotations after the verdict. So, as with obituaries, they must have written it in advance and, since they didn’t know the verdict in advance, one has to write two versions – 1 for guilty and 1 for aquittal.

Fair enough. At the end of it, you have to do this and just fill in the odd blank at the time.

The Daily Mail said, in their online version that when Amanda realised what the judge had said she “sank into her chair sobbing uncontrollably”.

Apparently they quoted the prosecutors as saying that ‘justice had been done’ (as an actual quote).

Both Knox and Sollecito said they would appeal.

Confused? Well, yes, that’s understandable.

There’s a picture on the page explaining how Knox’s parents were ‘distraught after the verdict was read out in court’.

Apparently, according to the Daily Mail, ‘both [Knox and Sollecito] will be put on suicide watch’ and that this was ‘normal practice’.

Of course, the whole thing was a terrible mistake. The headline read: Guilty: Amanda Knox looks stunned as appeal against murder conviction is rejected.

Whoops! Someone may get fired over this. You had, even without any thinking, a 50/50 chance of getting it right but it seems the wrong one was put up.

OK, so everyone can make a mistake and the idea that most of the article wouldn’t have been written before the verdict is laughable – of course they wrote two and I don’t have a problem with that.

However, what I DO have a problem with is the direct quotations littering the article. Some even inside inverted commas – which means they are supposed to be the actual words said. This was, quite obviously, not true. It was impossible. The prosecutors were NOT happy and DID NOT say that ‘justice had been done’.

And this, I have a problem with. Not that I ever thought the Daily Mail told the truth but, to have quoted someone without them ever saying the words leads me to wonder if any of the quotations they use are factual and have actually been said. Or if any of their stories are other than complete fairytales.

In fact, perhaps it is better to preface each Daily Mail story with:

Once upon a time, according to the Daily Mail ………..

Something wrong? Or just my imagination?

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There’s something wrong.

Well, maybe not wrong, exactly, just not quite right.

Or maybe it’s not that at all. But it certainly feels like that.

I can’t exactly put my finger on it. It’s not that anyone has said anything in particular or done anything particularly unusual but it certainly feels like something has/will happen. Soon.

Perhaps it’s the crisis? Perhaps, finally, it is having an effect?

And, apart from A, outside of work, there seems a slight change. We were discussing it last night, over dinner with An. People seem more worried about the future. None of us have children and, so, it is different, I guess. The restaurants still seem quite full, though. As I rarely go shopping (except to the supermarket), I can’t really say about the high street.

Yes, I think if I had children, I may feel differently but, as I said to An, you can’t really do anything about it so don’t worry too much. After all, if the world collapses (economically), everyone (except the very rich, maybe) will be in the same boat (or sinking ship).

So, back where we were. It all feels different. A concentration on petty (or seemingly petty) things. A tit-for-tat thing going on between management and workers. New work seems to be coming our way but is it quickly enough?

Or, of course, it’s all in my imagination.

Cornish pasties or sausages?

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It was like Cornish pasties. Or sausage rolls. They’d been overcooked. They had too much fat. You know? The ones with that fatty pastry – the sort you get from Greggs. The smell is at once disgusting and appetising – but, maybe not at half past eleven at night. Not when you didn’t cook them. Not when the smell fills your bedroom like someone had been cooking them in that room. Not when it wakes you up.

But let’s go back a bit.

F is in Germany. I took him to the airport on Monday morning. I don’t mind doing that but it does mean getting up a little earlier. Therefore, Monday, I was tired. I also had clients in at work.

After my lesson, I spoke to F by phone. Then I took the dogs out for their walk. It was 9.30. By 10, I was in bed. Since I had been so tired all day and evening, I thought sleep would come immediately. But the bastard ran away and wouldn’t come back.

Added to which, my hips hurt like hell. They normally hurt if I have been wearing particularly tight jeans. Now that I am the size of a small elephant, all my jeans are that little bit tighter.

So, what with the pain and the not wanting to sleep, I couldn’t. And my teeth hurt a bit because I have been clenching and grinding them again.

Eventually, I got up and took some nurofen. Eventually, I guess, I fell asleep.

The smell filled the bedroom. As it is, again, quite warm, all windows are open. The smell was coming from one of the other flats – also with it’s windows open. The smell seemed to get stronger. I got up. The smell was throughout the flat. I hated it. It won’t let me sleep but what can I do?

I walk around spraying airfreshner in every room. This almost masks the smell but not quite. I look out of my window – as if I can tell where the smell was coming from (which was a stupid idea); as if, having worked out where the smell was coming from, I could do anything about it (I wouldn’t).

I like living in a flat. I miss having a garden but am grateful for not having a garden and having to spend every weekend keeping it from becoming an unruly jungle. All things have good and bad points.

I hate that I am too close to people. I hate when I don’t like their cooking.

I don’t like this cooking.

I go back to bed, smelling the smell and hating it. I guess I must have dropped off to sleep again.

At 5.40 in the morning I could not smell it.

But, maybe, I was used to it?

Parties and stuff

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The preparations are in progress.

The event could be a wedding. The marquee on the lawn, the large round tables covered in blue tablecloths, people working to prepare everything in time for mid-day.

Except it’s a party. A celebration. I’m not a fan of parties but this I dread. This is a company party. Hanging around with people that aren’t your friends, even if some of them are nice and even if some of them can, actually, be counted as friends. It’s not like we have anything in common, apart from work.

But, then, I’ve never really liked these things even when I ran my own company.

I would prefer to be somewhere else.

I don’t do small talk.

You can’t really talk about ‘real’ things.

There will be speeches which I won’t understand, I expect. There will be complaints about the food or the heat (for it is still in the high 20s here), about people, about something. And, probably, I will complain too. One does, after all, doesn’t one?

Ah, well, in 6 hours it will be over, thank goodness.

Tomorrow, F goes to the UK for work for four days. I’ve been helping him with his presentation for some big meeting. I have enjoyed helping him; I like to feel useful as well as loved. Then he goes to Spain for three days. Then Germany for over a week. I miss him already.

I’ve nearly completed my backlog of work and the only thing to complete now is my CV for editing. I hope to finish it before the party starts.

So, sorry, must dash …………

Mantova Festivaletturatura

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Mostly written on 9th September.

Mantova! I’m so happy to be back here.

Everyone says I look so happy. This is true – and not only for being back this year. Even last night, B said that I looked happy. It’s how life should be.

I’m sitting at Grifone Bianco, having lunch. The antipasto was a rather tasty Leek and Cheese Pie.

My Italian is still not that good and sometimes I confuse things. I thought I had chosen a veal pie for my secondo. What came was three, rather large balls of veal tartare. Luckily, I eat everything so it doesn’t phase me – other than it was slightly unexpected. It was, in fact, the most fantastic tartare I’ve ever had. After the meal was over (I was the last diner to leave), the woman behind the counter said that she was sorry she hadn’t recognised me before. It was nice that she had recognised me at all – it being a couple of years since I had last been there!

I only wish that F could be here with me. It’s warm and muggy; the sun hidden behind clouds – moisture hangs heavily in the air.

I got here much later than I had planned. I forgot to set the alarm and so we woke up at 9. 9, I tell you! I didn’t wake up that late when we were on holiday! I guess I needed the sleep. I guess that even more because I have developed a sty – and I’ve always believed they were a result of a lack of sleep. Or, maybe, that’s an old wives’ tale from my mother or grandmother. I don’t know any more. It’s what I believe anyway and so that makes it true, even if it isn’t.

I was asked about V both last night and when I arrived here. It’s to be expected, I suppose.

I’m ashamed to say that, last night, at least, I told all that I had heard. I gossiped with gusto. It was the first person I had done this with. It was the first person who I had seen since I had heard the gossip and who had known us as a couple.

I wanted to stop but I couldn’t. Today, on the other hand, I kept it simple and kept most of the information to myself. It’s better like that.

I asked about editing. I would give up my job and my English teaching if I could earn enough with that. Maybe this was the job I was actually destined for?

Anyway, it’s something I can do even if we move to the other side of the world – but that’s a different post. I’m afraid I don’t tell you everything, especially if it’s only an idea and more especially if it’s not even my idea but one that’s reliant on other people who I don’t really know very well – actually almost not at all!

It’s a late lunch I’m having, having only got here, to Mantova, at 1.30 and to the restaurant at about 2.30.

After lunch, I wander a bit. Mantova is one of those places that you really should visit. It’s a pretty town, surrounded by lakes. The problem with the lakes is that, when it’s really hot like this, it’s also humid – more, even, than Milan.

I go to a talk with Tim Parks, a writer who has lived in Italy (somewhere in or close to Milan, from what I understand) since the early eighties. He speaks Italian very well. I understand a lot. I even understand some of his jokes. This is good, really. It’s during his event that I realise that Mantova is more humid than Milan. He seems a funny guy and enjoys his time on stage. I leave when the questions from the audience start as I have to get back.

I take my leave of the staff. I wish I were able to stay. Maybe I can organise it for next year as this one has been too hectic.

But I’m so happy that I came. If you get the chance you should go to the Festivaletteratura. The atmosphere is great and the weather is (usually) very good. For me it’s another of those things that extends the summer.

To next year! And thanks to M and S and all the other staff who always make me feel so welcome.

Koolserve – erm, not really cool (or kool) at all!

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Sorry about that.

I’ve been away for a few days or, rather, the blog has been unavailable (to you and me) for the last couple of days and, as you can see, I’m back ……. sort of.

I’m afraid I’m missing a couple of comments. I’m sorry about that but the site went down before I could take a backup.

So, apologies to Cecilieaux and Lola for the comments that have disappeared but, at the moment, I have no way to get them back.

I have, of course, had to move to a different hosting company. It’s the problem with having to have free hosting. The last were, as you probably know, a bit hit and miss anyway. They seemed to get better once they had advertisements but over last weekend it spent most of the time down. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view), I was away and could do nothing. By Sunday night it was back up and I had no way of knowing that it would be down (and stay down) by Monday morning.

Such is life.

Still, I have all my posts back and most comments, which is not so bad.

However, for those of you considering a free hosting company, I would suggest you avoid anything set up by Raymond. Koolserve.com promised the world – i.e. free hosting for ever – and then I saw this:

Look what I found on FreeWebSpace.net:

Quote From Raymond:

Quote
KoolServe.com

Kool Serve is a free hosting site launched in March 2011. Users are signup for free cPanel web hosting accounts and we generate revenue from users who purchase upgrades and from adverts placed on their sites among many other sources.

Kool Serve has done well in terms of traffic ( Alexa rank 27,059 ) and revenue. There is no cost in promotion. We have used the following free sources for traffic:

1. Free Hosting Directories

2. General word-of-mouth

3. Forum Threads

4. YouTube videos/FaceBook/Twitter/Blogs and more

We now have close to 10000 users and a very knowledgeable volunteer support team to assist in all manners of web hosting.

The domains ( koolserve.com and koolserve.net ), the support forum ( IPB software ), and iPanel are hosted on a personal server of mine.

The costs to maintain Kool Serve are:

Server Cost:

Free server : $215.00 /month
Paid Server: $8 0.99 /month

Software:

iPanel: $9.99 /month
Zamfoo: $7.95 /month

Monthly revenue:

$850+
The main source of revenue comes from upgrades to paid from free, ads on free users sites, and ads on the support forum.

Will sell for $5,000
Contact me at raymond@urhostz.com

Thread: http://www.freewebsp…iques-per-Month

Feh, he did the same with ************com, and if anyone has noticed, he runs more than 1 host, like ***********.com, no different then here really, but NEWER. Which means no ads on pages still, and no paid, which I’m sure will come soon… ugh… and then be sold to possibly someone who has no idea what their doing and the host will be GONE, including all your sites and everything else. So good luck to all the users, you’ll need it!

So much for the promises! I nearly thought of going for their pay-for servers. Thank goodness I didn’t.

In my hunt for a new free hosting company, I found he also ran infiniteserve (I now always check the forum for how many times, recently, the servers seem to be down) and, of course, urhostz.com.

I did sign up for one hosting company OpenHost.org. However, once I had signed up, I saw the nameservers were Koolserve :-D, so I dropped them immediately.

I ended up with FreeHostingCloud. They seem quite good and the service seems up most of the time.

Now I shall always look at the forums for mention of Raymond (or Vlad, Justin, Dennis, etc.) and avoid those places like the plague.

Still, as I said at the start, I’m back and can put Raymond and his croney’s to the back of my mind, for now.

p.s. I shall be working to get all the links back asap – not least because I use them to visit your blogs!

Never doing anything; Work or not?

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I get easily hurt.

V didn’t realize quite how much he’d hurt me until sometime after we had split. The night I made him cry. He said – “I didn’t realize how much I’d hurt you”. Yeah. Well. Too late now, isn’t it? Yes, it is. And it was too late then and, even, before then.

The problem, of course, is not him, nor them but me. I know that but, still, I can’t change it – the way I am, I mean.

His father said that nothing had been prepared so we couldn’t come. He told him that he had told his mum the night before that we would come over tonight. And he did. I was there and, even if I don’t understand Italian, I understood that. I told him that he had told his mum. “Good”, he said, “I thought I was going mad”.

“What shall we do?”

Now, for me, this is not a problem. We could do anything and that’s OK. I suggested a couple of things. One was too expensive. Another was too far. The third was …… well, he explained, it’s Saturday night. He meant that we would never get in. It would be too busy.

“So, what shall we do?”

“I don’t know”, I replied.

“We never do anything”, he says, spitefully.

See, there. That’s the wounding thing. Why? I mean to say, why say such a nasty, untrue thing. Of course, this plays over and over in my mind over the next few days and on the trip back home. It’s not true or, if it is true then it’s because he is ‘a little bit tired’; ‘has a bad back’ or ‘doesn’t feel to’ (sic). Or is so late over at mine that it’s too late to do anything.

I think about the times that I’ve suggested things. Going to the cinema; going for a drink with friends; visiting somewhere. It’s simply not fair or reasonable to throw that one at me.

Later, I think that he’s angry with his mum. Which he is. Often. It would seem.

But I don’t like it when he takes out that anger on me. Worse still is that I am left so shocked by it that the logical thoughts that answer it afterwards do exactly that. Answer it afterwards. Often days later. Not at the time. At the time, I go quiet. I say nothing. It makes me feel powerless and useless and, unsurprisingly, more hurt. In any event, I don’t like it.

And it’s all a bit ‘gay’. By that I mean, his thing – it’s all a little bit dramatic. And I’m not a lover of the dramatic and particularly the over-dramatic.

And, so, next time this starts, I shall be saying that, not only is it not true but it is also not fair nor reasonable. And then stop. Busting for a fight really doesn’t do it for me. Nor does thinking of the correct response afterwards.

And then I read Annie’s blog post and particularly Rita’s (wise old bird that she must be) thing about not confusing love with praise and attention. It’s difficult though since lovers always heap praise on you and give you their full attention. And then, when the love has worn off ……? Worse, of course, is when there is plenty of praise and attention which seems like love but is actually just praise and attention.

And some people are mean fuckers and know that what you want is love but you will assume that praise and attention IS love and so they pile on the praise and attention because of their needs without any love behind it. Like a cheese sauce that looks like a cheese sauce until you taste it – when you find out it is a cheese sauce without the cheese – which is just a tasteless gloopy sauce.

On a side note, I really, really have to do something about my job. And by ‘do something’, I mean get out of this. This was NOT what I intended to do when I got here. The introduction of more petty rules and regulations drives me to distraction. It’s so easy to fall into the rut of being in work and so paying the bills and then getting caught up in all the crap AT work – where you think (and it sneaks up on you so that you hardly notice) that work is, in fact, the world whereas, in fact, not only is work NOT the world but it is also much less significant than anything else. Apart from paying the bills, that is. But that’s not really a good enough reason to stay in this narrowing and blinkering environment, is it? Is it? No, it isn’t.

So, what to do? My mind screams ‘anything – so long as it’s not here’.

Of course, as I have learnt, everywhere is the same. And, probably, everywhere, even your home, has a dangerous tendency to become ‘world’ and grow its pettiness accordingly.

Bah!

Winning friends and influencing people

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People can be quite stupid, sometimes, in my opinion.

How come people don’t see the whole picture but, instead, see a less positive side?

So, there’s this guy that is unhappy at work because he feels shut out. He isn’t getting the work he expects. He’s managed to fall out with a lot of people and now, unsurprisingly, they don’t want him involved. And so he gets the cold shoulder.

He expects his ‘skills’ to be enough.

Well, I have news for you, mate. Your skills (unless you are the only person in the world with those skills and they are really necessary) are never enough. You also have to be clever at work. You have to cultivate relationships – even with people you may not like. You have to try and understand these people, work WITH them even if you think they are dorks. No one is ever all-powerful, even if you think they are. You have to be a little more ‘furbo’.

But, from the conversation I had with him, it’s too late now. He’s given up and has resorted to complaining and whining.

No good will come of it. It’s time for him to find another job and as fast as possible before he brings down everyone else.

Sometimes, I’m really glad I’m no longer a ‘boss’.

Seagulls on our heads!

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Well, here we are, almost at the end of the two weeks and two days of holiday.

Summer, this year, was tardy, arriving as it did on the 14th of August, more or less.

The holiday has been great and relaxing even if, for two of the nights in Umbria (including last night; our last night in Umbria), I hardly slept.

I write this on the beach on the Tuscan coast, the sky cloudless and the sun severe – but decidedly less hot than there, earlier today, yesterday and the last week.

But I wanted to tell you of a dream I had after I went to bed (again) about 10 to 4 this morning.
I’m sitting in my kitchen but it’s slightly different in that there’s an open fire, not needed yet, it being so warm.

M, my colleague is sitting besides me helping me with some technical thing. As I turn to him, I see a bloody big seagull on his head. I tell him he should get it off and realise I have one on my head too.

I get mine off my head or off his and it’s in front of me with a huge beak, open wide and lunging towards me.

I stick my arm down it’s throat. It can’t escape. I take it, like this, to the open window and let it dangle there, from my arm, it’s wings flapping.

I woke up.

I don’t understand it either!