In the background of all those cries and shouts and traffic and machines we call the noise of life – you may hear a faint munching sound.
Which is AR eating her words.
Last week I swiped at British Telecom (not much point in rebranding a brand) – but that was before I had spent a weekend with every outgoing call interrupted by an automated loop saying “You do not enough credit for this call – please try later.” My internet provider is not available over the weekend. So I got through it. On Tuesday I rang BT. Maybe too eager – but they were polite and it was a start.
I do not come out of this affair well. Woolly at the knocking knees, I am intimidated by technology and shamingly take the line of least resistance.
So we shall see … but I made a beginning.
Among the background noise I referred to at the beginning, is a string of names – Ed,
Angela, Andy, Wes – interchangeably cacophonous, while offering the equivalent of new nail varnish on a bitten nail. Who was it said “better the Devil you do know, than the Devil you don’t” ? Well every opinion piece I have read for a start, some with considerable overview.
Like many of us, I just feel the victim of this, misread, misrepresented even though we all paid into the kitty for years and years, long before Starmer was born or thought of. And recent history proves his problems aren’t different from the last six Prime Ministers except in the vexed issue of personality and communication.
There are ways to say things and if public speaking is part of the job, you have to find out how to say them – and still move forward, speaking warmly and communicably as you go on defining what you mean.
However vexed the example, there is a way to stop the boats. Nobody will make that decision. We hide in a lazy wilfully blind so called Christian ethic which ignores where we are. We’re drowning in debt. And charity begins at home. And I can’t think of worse publicity for Christianity than if Tommy Robinson now calls himself born again.
So why did we wind up with two conflicting marches on the same day in London
and a £4 million police bill to anticipate trouble and keep us all safe and the city moving ?
Postal movement last week brought me a cardigan that has taken so long to get here, I thought they had gone out to find a sheep – and a mystery package, a large extremely expensive atlas sent from the Times Bookshop with no paperwork at all. I have rung and been told it’s a gift and that the TB will let the sender know it has arrived, is much appreciated and that I would like to thank whoever properly.
And then I marched into the large Specsavers
near me and explained myself. They didn’t make the spectacles, but would they tighten the side pieces because they were loose and driving me mad. Only at customers risk. I agreed and was waved to a counter where I met Jitesh – his name was on a badge.
He fixed the specs including using a tiny screwdriver and the improvement was a joy. I thank ed him and said “What do I owe you ?”
“Nothing” he said. “Just give me a smile !” So I smiled, as my headmistress used to say, like a hungry tiger and as I went past the helpful receptionist, I said very quietly “ I don’t think you’re a receptionist. I think you are a fairy godmother.” Her head whipped round, anticipating trouble, asking “why ?” I said the glasses are fixed, you were helpful, Jitesh was charming and no money changed hands. “Oh madam” sha said clasping my arm and beaming, “ you are so welcome.”
Case in point. Just because I said thank you appreciatively, it doesn’t follow that I won’t be back, playing merry hell if the specs fall apart. Everybody involved knows that. Why doesn’t Westminster ?
Annalog 