Caveat Emptor

  Something in my soul jibes at being cheated. It first came to my notice as a young teenager that people would try and put one over you if they could, and you let them. I'd saved my paper round earnings to buy a bike from a lad down the road. It wasn't a fantastic bike, it only had 3 gears, but it was a lot better than the one I had before. I negotiated a price with him, and once I'd saved enough money I went to buy the bike.

  As I rode away from his house I noticed something wrong; I couldn't change gear. It soon became apparent that I'd been cheated; that he'd swapped the rear wheel. I turned round and pedalled back to his house my temperature rising a point for every yard cycled.

  He was waiting for me with a grin on his face. He told me I'd bought the bike sold as seen and it wasn't his fault if I didn't check before I handed over the money. All very true, but it wasn't in the same condition as when I'd checked it over a month before when I agreed to buy it. 

  After a short period of negotiation, which consisted of me hitting him, he agreed to put the original wheel back on. I cycled happily away for the second time on my new bike having learnt a valuable lesson. 

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Twenty Woodbine and a Kit Kat Please.

  So the ban on displaying tobacco comes into force today, meaning that cigarettes and other products will need to be kept under the counter, or behind the closed doors of former display cabinets.

  The ban will only apply to large shops and supermarkets, with smaller shops being exempt until 2015.

  Apparently, according to public health minister Anne Milton, young people are recruited into smoking by colourful, eye-catching, cigarette displays. Really?

  I'm no great expert on these matters but I'd always assumed that young people smoked because their friends did.

  Don't get me wrong, I'm not an apologist for smoking - it's a filthy disgusting life threatening addiction but is this really the best way of tackling the problem?

  What about obesity? That's quite a large (pun intended) problem as well. I think the government have missed a trick here. at the same time as the tobacco display ban they should also have banned the display of sweets, chocolate, and other confectionery from all shops everywhere.

  This would do wonders for the future health of young children, and earn the undying gratitude of harassed mothers throughout the land

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Taxing Times

    "Forgive me father for I have sinned." I said through the grill.

I heard an exhalation that I took for a sigh, and then, "What is it this time child?"

  Okay it didn't actually happen like that but I do confess that I've always had a secret interest in politics. There will now be an interlude while you mutter something along the lines of, "crazy fool."

  I have a sneaking suspicion that this fascination came from my maternal grandfather who was an ardent trades unionist back in the day when the unions were a powerful force.

  I've voted in every general election since 1976; more often than not voting for the party that eventually formed the government. I don't claim any special power that enables me to predict these things; I just get fed up of the mob in power at the same time as lots of other people.

  I've always occupied the middle ground of British politics; occasionally veering to the right, before swinging to the left for a while. We won't mention the disastrous flirtation with the Social Democrats, or the Liberals.

  I've never studied this but I've always subscribed to the theory that people, when they vote, follow the money; I certainly have. When I was poor and impoverished in my teens and early twenties I was a socialist; the poorer I was, the redder I became. Conversely, when I became a bit better off in my thirties and forties I swung the other way, becoming a rabid Thatcherite. Now, in my fifties and poor once again I feel the socialist in me bubbling to the surface.

  In line with these thoughts I've been giving some thoughts to the taxation system in the UK. I don't know how it is in other countries but here in the UK we seem to be taxed on just about anything and everything. Apart from the standard income tax and national insurance - despite the name - a tax, we have VAT, council tax, capital gains tax, inheritance tax, stamp duty, car tax, crossing the road tax. Okay I made the last one up but we do have air passenger tax, and insurance premium tax. I'm just scraping the surface here and could go on for hours, but I'm sure you get the picture.

  Now to my mind the first principle of any taxation system should be that it's fair and equitable. In my opinion the UK taxation system is anything but. If you have enough money you can employ tax accountants to drive a coach and horses through all the loopholes that a complicated tax system leaves in its wake.

  Bearing in mind that if the benefits system is means tested then why shouldn't the taxation system be likewise. Therefore my solution to the problem would be: if you're unemployed you don't pay any tax at all. That's right - none, on anything. If you're employed but don't earn enough to pay income tax then the only other tax you would be obliged to pay would be VAT at a rate of 5%. If you earn enough to pay income tax but less than £20k pa, then you would pay the full range of taxes but at 50% of the full rate. There would be a sliding scale of tax eligibility rising to an income of £50k pa where the tax rates would be a lot higher than they are now; e.g. VAT at 30%. The simple principle being: the more you earn, the more you pay.

  Of course I reserve the right to alter it should I ever win the lottery! 

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Why on Earth Did She Do That?

    As much as I don't mind slating Tory politicians I find myself struggling to understand how Francis Maude can be blamed for the terrible tragedy that befell the woman in York who was pouring PETROL, (GAS for American readers)from a jerry can into a glass jug. 

    According to this report from the Mail Online http://tinyurl.com/dyhn4d3 Mr Maude, the Cabinet Office minister said: 'People need to be aware there is a risk to supplies. When it makes sense, a bit of extra fuel in a jerry can in the garage is a sensible precaution to take.'

    Sometimes people do stupid things for a variety of reasons; stress, tiredness, forgetfulness, but it's stretching it quite a lot to blame a hapless politician for this poor woman's accident.

    I asked my children aged 9 and 11 what they knew about petrol. They both told me that it was extremely dangerous if handled incorrectly and that it could burn and explode. When I further asked if they thought it a good idea to pour some from a can to a jug in the kitchen next to the gas cooker while I was boiling a pan of water they both looked at me as if I were mad.

      I suspect they occasionally think that of me anyway, but if I did that they'd be right.

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Just a Little Snip With Some Scissors

    When my wife and I were casting round for a way of economising a few days ago and she suggested cutting my hair I thought she was joking, until I saw the look of intent on her face. It was unlikely to save much I protested; after all I only have a hair cut every three months. That's four times a year, and at £10 a pop it's not exactly breaking the bank. I didn't like to suggest we'd save far more if chocolate was never bought again - ever!

    When nothing happened immediately I thought I'd got away with it, but I should have know better. Fast forward to Saturday night; nothing worth watching on the TV - when is there ever - and she said, 'Come on I'll cut your hair.'

    I know, I know, I could have said no; feigned some illness, but in truth the TV was really boring, so I agreed.

    I was a little nervous at first, especially when I saw what scissors she was using; they were little blue ones the kids use in craft activities. Still they were sharp, and to be fair they weren't the ones that cut paper in wavy lines.

    I've never known a hair cut last so long though; I swear I fell asleep for a while. It was snip here, snip there, for well over thirty minutes. She kept standing back and assessing, then there'd be another little flurry of snips.

    Still, we had a laugh; although she found it far more amusing than I did, judging by the way she chuckled every time she stepped back for a clearer look.

    'What's the difference between Harrison Ford and Catweazle? She asked at one point. I told her I didn't know. 'I can't see one either.' Was her enigmatic reply.

    Eventually I was allowed to look in the mirror, and it was, well... unlike any haircut that I've ever had before. Well maybe it was a little bit like the one done by the drunken barber thirty years ago who managed to cut both sides of my hair a different length. No, I think it was better than that! 

    All I have to do now is decide what to spend the £40 a year on that I'm going to be saving.

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Just a Little Prick With a Pen

    Having been compared by two different reviewers of my debut novel, Coming Home, to Alan Sillitoe, and Evelyn Waugh, surely I could be forgiven for basking in the warm glow of popular acclaim?

    I thought so; at least for a short while anyway. I wouldn't get too carried away; I wouldn't immediately dash out and proclaim from the rooftops: 'Hey, guess what! I'm the new Alan Sillitoe, or, depending on the rooftop, I'm the new Evelyn Waugh.' I wouldn't puff up my new found peacock feathers too much; rather I'd just quietly savour the feeling.

    That wasn't too much to ask, was it? Well, apparently it was.

    A different reviewer, whilst not actually saying my novel was crap, managed to give me that impression in her review. This left me with a major problem. Do I now not read any reviews, or do I start reading and if they look favourable carry on, and if not stop. Or, do I take the more mature approach, and read all reviews, glow or sulk for a while depending on content, and then forget and move on?

  Alternatively, I could read all reviews, focus on any negatives, analysing the points being made, and if I agreed, learn from them. Having decided to approach them this way I took a deep breath and approached the crap review quietly from behind in order to take it unawares. And found that, she'd picked up on exactly the same points about my novel that I was unhappy with myself. Okay, she'd also disliked some of the things about it that I really liked. But hey, we're being mature here.

    I knew really all the time that my novel wasn't perfect; that the three five stars out of five bestowed on it by other reviewers were overly generous. I was just miffed that someone I didn't know on another continent had only given it two out of five when I considered it worthy of three.

    Still, you can always download it, read it, and then give your own opinion, bearing in mind that anything less than three out of five and I'll sending the boys round.

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Coming Home

    Not normally being one for new year resolutions I surprised myself on the 1^st of January 2011 by resolving to write and publish a novel within a year. I further surprised the thrifty side of my nature by deciding to make it available free of charge. It would be a marketing exercise I decided. If I charged even a nominal sum it might put people off - there's lots of other things around on which to spend 99 pence after all - but if it was free then the only impediment to downloading would be the cover and the synopsis.

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Square holes - round pegs.

     In 1972 when I was fifteen years old I left school; one of the last generation of children - and make no mistake we were children -  able to do so. I left school without taking any examinations, GCE O-levels as they were then.
    At the time, and for a few years afterwards, I thought I'd made the right decision, though in truth I'm not sure how much input I had into the decision making process. I wasn't particularly academic and my father decided another year at school would be wasted especially when set against my earning potential.
    What to do though? What trade should I learn? Whatever I did would involve some kind of apprenticeship and different options were explored; motor mechanic, painter and decorator, plumber, electrician, but nothing suitable was found.
    I left school sometime in July and by the middle of August nothing had been secured. It seemed likely that I would start my working life on the dole which was unthinkable, although that scenario became commonplace a decade or so later.
    Being young and idealistic I wanted to train for something that would serve me through my working life, something that I would always be able to fall back on, something that would enable me to do weekend jobs for friends and family. My favoured option was electrician but it just didn't happen. My father on the other hand just wanted me working and contributing to the household.

Learning the hard way

    Eventually it was decided that I would become a toolmaker, serving a five year apprenticeship at a local company which was part of the Plessey group of companies.
    The company, Birkby's Viking, made a range of plastic components for various industries. These plastic components were made in moulds and it was the toolmakers job to make the moulds. It was highly skilled and well paid, but I didn't want to do it.
    Even then I wanted a job that would enable me to move from place to place. I didn't want to be stuck in one place doing a job I didn't want to do.
    My objections fell on deaf ears and I became an apprentice toolmaker in September 1972 spending the first year at technical college. I duly served my apprenticeship, hating every minute of it, and became a fully qualified toolmaker in 1977 whereupon I was made redundant and have never plied that particular trade since.
    Had I become an electrician, a plumber, or a painter and decorator, any of which I would have settled for I would in all probability still be doing it now. Would that have been a good thing? I don't know, but it did teach me to always listen carefully when my children tell me they don't want to do something.
    Holes are round, and pegs are square for a reason.


This post was inspired by:
http://richardwiseman.blogspot.com/2012/02/with-everything-to-lose-youth-training.html


Now you're here, why not have a look at my debut novel:
Coming Home
   
    

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Is There Anybody There?

Written for 'The Write On Project.'

http://thewriteonproject.wordpress.com/

Subject: Communication.

I watched Steven Spielberg’s classic film ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’ on DVD the other night. In the movie a five tone motif is used to try and communicate with the aliens. Apparently the tones were chosen so that the notes sounded like H E L L O in musical form, which I guess is a good a greeting as any to try on aliens.

Watching the film I was struck yet again by mankind’s desire not to be alone. We need to know if there is anyone out there. SETI, The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, run a program whereby individuals can download software which takes advantage of idle computing power to assist in the search for ET. To date many millions of people around the globe have done just that.

We don’t need to search the cosmos for extraterrestrial intelligence though, we just need to search our hearts and it will be revealed to us. Almighty God, who created the universe and everything in it, will also have created aliens, if they exist, which I doubt. We need to stop searching outwards for proof of intelligent life forms, but search inwards instead, and show God that we are the intelligent life forms He created us to be.

While you're here why not check out my début novel: Coming Home

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Oh God

    Is Richard Dawkins a secret believer in God? Does the leader of the sect of Atheism, subconsciously at least, believe in the Almighty God?

    On the Radio 4 Today program recently, in a discussion with Giles Fraser, the former Canon of St. Paul's, Dawkins stated that many Christians couldn't name the first book of the New Testament. Therefore he concluded, these so called Christians were not real Christians at all.

    Fraser in turn asked if Dawkins could name the full title of, 'On The Origin of Species,' by Charles Darwin.

This after all is the handbook of the atheist movement; their Bible. Dawkins confidently stated he could and was challenged to do so.

    It doesn't matter that he couldn't, not many people could, after all the full title, 'On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life,' hardly trips off the tongue.

    What amused me greatly, and this is not something many commentators have picked up on, is that Dawkins in his halting attempts to name the book, called on the name of the Almighty for his help. I wonder if it amused God as much as it amused me? I'd like to think so.

    Put people in a stressful enough situation and they invariably call on God's help, whether they admit to believing in Him or not. But then, to me, it doesn't seem odd that people should do so. What is more natural after all than calling on the name of the One who created all things when the going gets tough.

    It surely can't be long now before Dawkins comes out and publicly admits he's a secret God believer. His conscious just needs to catch up with his subconscious.

Why not check out my début novel:  Coming Home

    

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Does it add up?

    So the Bank of England has decided in its wisdom to inject a further 50 Billion pounds into the UK economy. Will that make your life easier? Will it make my life easier? Will it help get the economy moving again? 
    I suggest the answer to those questions is a resounding no.
    Now the adult population of the UK is considered to be approx 51 million. How about if the Bank of England gave each and every one of those adults a million pounds straight into their bank accounts. 
    What a way to get the economy moving that would be. Furthermore it would only cost a fraction of what it's costing now. Will they do it? No, of course they won't. 

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Let It Snow...

...but only for a short time, and don't let it settle.
    For as long as I can remember I've always been a Scrooge about snow. I hate the stuff. I concede, that viewed through double glazed windows, seated by a log fire, with a glass of beer to hand, it can have a certain charm.
    Most of my working life has been spent doing jobs where snow has been a hindrance. I spent a long time working for BT (major telecomms company in the UK). A fair proportion of that time was spent outdoors carrying ladders and reels of cable in order to make overhead repairs. Arduous work at the best of times, but in the snow...
    Then there was the driving from one job to the next. It's all very well weather warnings that advise: 'Don't drive unless your journey is vital.' To the management every journey was vital, as it was to the nutters one met on the roads.
    Now, as a school caretaker, it's my responsibility to ensure that the paths and driveway of the school are safe. Winter's fine without the snow but give me the other three seasons any day.
    As I write I can hear my children outside in the street shrieking with laughter as they build a snowman and throw snowballs at each other. It's time I think for a cup of tea and hot buttered toast.


Why not check out my début novel:
Coming Home

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