After posting earlier I went to Specsavers and asked them to put my glasses into the UV box to see if they went dark.
Guess what?
No Reactions!
So they have them away again to be remade yet again!
No doubt to be continued again ..................
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Shouldn't have gone to Specsavers
Time marches on, and with it come some physiological changes which aren't particularly welcome, like the worsening of eyesight.
I've been wearing glasses since I was 17 years old, when I embarked on driving lessons and discovered I couldn't read a car numberplate at the required distance. A bit over a year ago I realised that when reading a book, usually lying in the bath because that's where I do most reading, I was having trouble focussing on the words so had to hold it further away or right up close without my glasses on. I went to the optician I've been using for a few years and they confirmed that I now needed assistance with reading, not just for distances. They quoted me an unearthly amount of money to buy Varifocal lenses which would accomplish the distance and close vision correction I required, and at the time I couldn't justify spending that sort of money so bought a cheap'ish pair of reading glasses instead, and I've been fairly successfully using them since, although I never take them outside the house.
So wind on a year, and in May I succumbed to the TV adverts for Specsavers and jumped ship from the opticians I have been perfectly happy with, and I made an appointment for an eyesight test with a view to buying those Varifocals.
On Friday the 29th May I had that eyesight test and duly chose a pair of semi rimless glasses, similar to the Armani ones I've been wearing for a year or two but a little bit bigger so as to accommodate the various fields of vision in Varifocals. The cost, including thinner (and therefore lighter) lenses, polished edges and a reactions coating which makes them go dark in UV light, was £280. Not chickenfeed, but a good bit cheaper than the ones I refused the previous year. They would take about a week to make.
Just over a week later while in Perth rehearsing for a Glasgow Chamber Choir concert I received the call to say that my new glasses had arrived. Hurrah!
The following morning, Sunday 7th June, I arrived at Spescsavers in Byres Rd in the west end of Glasgow and collected them. They looked good. I went for a short walk in the sunshine to marvel at the lenses getting dark (it had been over 20 years since I had last chosen a pair of glasses which did this), and when they had got dark I took them off to see what the edges of the lenses looked like, because they had warned me that there was a "string" holding them in, being semi rimless, which you can't see when the glasses are clear but which might become more visible when they changed colour.
Yes, you could indeed see it, but it wasn't too bad actually. Wait a minute, what the hell's all that gunk and crap on the edges of the lenses? And why is that string not round the full edge of the lens but overlapping over the visible part? I wandered back to Specsavers and showed them what I'd seen. Oh, that's then glue that holds the string in place, they said. It should have been cleaned up a bit, sorry. And the string has just come loose, so we'll tighten it. Can you wait for 10 minutes.
Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, then twenty, then they said go away and come back in half an hour please. So I did, and then I got them back and went on my merry way home.
So far so good, and the possibility of not being able to get used to Varifocals seemed to be receding, because they felt not too bad. A bit weird because depending on which bit of the lens I looked through it faded into blurriness, but not too bad.
But when I took them off to have a good look at them at home I noticed something else. Round the edges of the lenses where they meet the frames there were gaps. Big gaps. Gaps you could actually see through!
Back into the car and back to Specsavers I went. Oh dear, they said, yes we can see that. We'll have a look at it. And look at it they did, resulting in them taking them back to be sent away and remade.
From now on the dates are hazy, but the gist of it is that about a week later I got the replacements, and tried them for a few weeks, during which time I had headaches and felt nauseous every time I wore them. As had been said from the start, not everyone can wear Varifocals, and sadly it looked like I was one of the small percentage of people who couldn't. Thankfully Spescavers have a guarantee that if you try Varifocals but don't get on with them, within a month you can bring them back and exchange them for single vision lenses and be refunded any price difference. So that's what I did. The manager of the shop dealt with me this time, and in his head calculated that I was due back £49 which he refunded to my credit card.
A week or thereabouts later I went to collect the single vision ones, but wait, what are those gaps round the edges of the lenses where they meet the frames? And why aren't the lens edges polished? Oh bugger, back to the old glasses again. And while the assistant was away trying to sort all this out I was left sitting in the shop. And reading their posters. And calculating in my head some prices. And when she came back she couldn't explain how the manager had come to the figure of £49 due to me as a refund as by my calculations, with which she agreed, I was due another £49 back. It was getting silly now. Messing me about AND ripping me off!
A week later another phone call to say the glasses were ready. Back to Specsavers again to collect them. But wait, what are those slightly different gaps round the edges of the right lens where it meets the frame? Hang on a minute, what kind of professional would remake a pair of glasses and not check that the new ones didn't have the same problem?
Profuse apologies all round, and it turned out that because the paperwork stated that it was "customer's own frames" and apparently didn't state why they were to be remade the technician had just traced the original lenses and remade them pretty much exactly the same, gaps and all. And the edges still hadn't been polished!
So away they went to be remade yet again. This time I had been promised a free second pair of glasses as a bit of compensation. Well I say free, but that was only if I waived the £49 which they agreed was still due to me. I decided to probably go for that but told them that if the glasses came back this time in any condition other than perfect then I was looking for all of my money back and I'd go elsewhere, which to be fair they didn't quibble over. Well, how could they?
Another week goes by, and another call is received. I troop back to the shop, and lo and behold receive a perfect looking pair of glasses. No gaps, and the lens edges polished a bit. Not as nicely polished as my Armani ones are, but they appear to have made the effort. Hurrah. I look at frames for sunglasses, because my second pair is going to be prescription sunnies, and the ones I'd seen a week or so earlier on one of the occasions when I was hanging about the shop waiting for the latest cockup to be sorted were no longer there. I described them to the assistant and she showed me a photo of them to confirm it's the right ones, and ordered the frames so I can have a look at them and try them on before deciding.
So away I go with a new pair of single vision glasses, now happy.
Except something doesn't seem quite right. I'm having to squint to see properly. Computer screen and book distance, no problem, but driving doesn't feel quite right. Nothing I can quite put my finger on, just not quite right. I put it down to just getting used to a new prescription, although I try my old ones and genuinely feel I can see better with them. I go to a week long course where I am seated at the back of the class and on one day I take both pairs, changing between them occasionally but leaving what should be enough time for my eyes to get used to each pair. I can definitely see the PowerPoint stuff at the front better with my old Armani glasses.
I get the call to say the sunglasses frames have arrived, so go back to the shop. They're fine so I order them, but I also mention the problem with vision. It's been about three weeks now that I've had the new glasses and I really have given them my best shot. The assistant speaks to an optician who suggests I should maybe get my eyes retested. At this point they mention that when my eyes were tested back in May, at the start of all this saga, the vision in my right eye had improved when compared with the prescription of my Armani glasses. IMPROVED! How is this possible? Didn't they think to double check this at the time? Apparently it can happen, they say.
So I made an appointment for the following day and back I went. It was the same optician who had carried out the initial test. Lo and behold, I actually needed something like a half point extra strength in each eye when compared to my Armani prescription (if I can refer to it as that for clarity). So that's STRONGER in both eyes then. Not a stronger lens in one and a weaker lens in the other then? No. How can that happen, I asked him. To his credit he did say he could have made a mistake over the first eye test.
So back again to the Armani glasses, and it felt better as soon as I put them on! The old glasses were sent away to be remade yet again, and I was now promised not only free prescription sunglasses, but they would also make them with thinner lenses free of charge too.
Another phone call, this time only a few days later, which was Monday of this week, and I went to collect the single vision glasses. They look absolutely fine, with no gaps, and what's more the edges of the lenses have been polished properly this time. Call me cynical though, but the person on the phone referred to them specifically as the reactions ones, as did the assistant when I collected them who also seemed to take a moment or two reading the paperwork while looking slightly puzzled. The weather in Glasgow is very very rainy and overcast at the moment, and so far the glasses have not gone dark. The cynic in me thinks that maybe they've forgotten the reactions bit but at the time of writing that remains to be seen, it might just be the lack of UV getting though the clouds!
And I'm still waiting for the sunglasses to be ready.
To be continued .....................
I've been wearing glasses since I was 17 years old, when I embarked on driving lessons and discovered I couldn't read a car numberplate at the required distance. A bit over a year ago I realised that when reading a book, usually lying in the bath because that's where I do most reading, I was having trouble focussing on the words so had to hold it further away or right up close without my glasses on. I went to the optician I've been using for a few years and they confirmed that I now needed assistance with reading, not just for distances. They quoted me an unearthly amount of money to buy Varifocal lenses which would accomplish the distance and close vision correction I required, and at the time I couldn't justify spending that sort of money so bought a cheap'ish pair of reading glasses instead, and I've been fairly successfully using them since, although I never take them outside the house.
So wind on a year, and in May I succumbed to the TV adverts for Specsavers and jumped ship from the opticians I have been perfectly happy with, and I made an appointment for an eyesight test with a view to buying those Varifocals.
On Friday the 29th May I had that eyesight test and duly chose a pair of semi rimless glasses, similar to the Armani ones I've been wearing for a year or two but a little bit bigger so as to accommodate the various fields of vision in Varifocals. The cost, including thinner (and therefore lighter) lenses, polished edges and a reactions coating which makes them go dark in UV light, was £280. Not chickenfeed, but a good bit cheaper than the ones I refused the previous year. They would take about a week to make.
Just over a week later while in Perth rehearsing for a Glasgow Chamber Choir concert I received the call to say that my new glasses had arrived. Hurrah!
The following morning, Sunday 7th June, I arrived at Spescsavers in Byres Rd in the west end of Glasgow and collected them. They looked good. I went for a short walk in the sunshine to marvel at the lenses getting dark (it had been over 20 years since I had last chosen a pair of glasses which did this), and when they had got dark I took them off to see what the edges of the lenses looked like, because they had warned me that there was a "string" holding them in, being semi rimless, which you can't see when the glasses are clear but which might become more visible when they changed colour.
Yes, you could indeed see it, but it wasn't too bad actually. Wait a minute, what the hell's all that gunk and crap on the edges of the lenses? And why is that string not round the full edge of the lens but overlapping over the visible part? I wandered back to Specsavers and showed them what I'd seen. Oh, that's then glue that holds the string in place, they said. It should have been cleaned up a bit, sorry. And the string has just come loose, so we'll tighten it. Can you wait for 10 minutes.
Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, then twenty, then they said go away and come back in half an hour please. So I did, and then I got them back and went on my merry way home.
So far so good, and the possibility of not being able to get used to Varifocals seemed to be receding, because they felt not too bad. A bit weird because depending on which bit of the lens I looked through it faded into blurriness, but not too bad.
But when I took them off to have a good look at them at home I noticed something else. Round the edges of the lenses where they meet the frames there were gaps. Big gaps. Gaps you could actually see through!
Back into the car and back to Specsavers I went. Oh dear, they said, yes we can see that. We'll have a look at it. And look at it they did, resulting in them taking them back to be sent away and remade.
From now on the dates are hazy, but the gist of it is that about a week later I got the replacements, and tried them for a few weeks, during which time I had headaches and felt nauseous every time I wore them. As had been said from the start, not everyone can wear Varifocals, and sadly it looked like I was one of the small percentage of people who couldn't. Thankfully Spescavers have a guarantee that if you try Varifocals but don't get on with them, within a month you can bring them back and exchange them for single vision lenses and be refunded any price difference. So that's what I did. The manager of the shop dealt with me this time, and in his head calculated that I was due back £49 which he refunded to my credit card.
A week or thereabouts later I went to collect the single vision ones, but wait, what are those gaps round the edges of the lenses where they meet the frames? And why aren't the lens edges polished? Oh bugger, back to the old glasses again. And while the assistant was away trying to sort all this out I was left sitting in the shop. And reading their posters. And calculating in my head some prices. And when she came back she couldn't explain how the manager had come to the figure of £49 due to me as a refund as by my calculations, with which she agreed, I was due another £49 back. It was getting silly now. Messing me about AND ripping me off!
A week later another phone call to say the glasses were ready. Back to Specsavers again to collect them. But wait, what are those slightly different gaps round the edges of the right lens where it meets the frame? Hang on a minute, what kind of professional would remake a pair of glasses and not check that the new ones didn't have the same problem?
Profuse apologies all round, and it turned out that because the paperwork stated that it was "customer's own frames" and apparently didn't state why they were to be remade the technician had just traced the original lenses and remade them pretty much exactly the same, gaps and all. And the edges still hadn't been polished!
So away they went to be remade yet again. This time I had been promised a free second pair of glasses as a bit of compensation. Well I say free, but that was only if I waived the £49 which they agreed was still due to me. I decided to probably go for that but told them that if the glasses came back this time in any condition other than perfect then I was looking for all of my money back and I'd go elsewhere, which to be fair they didn't quibble over. Well, how could they?
Another week goes by, and another call is received. I troop back to the shop, and lo and behold receive a perfect looking pair of glasses. No gaps, and the lens edges polished a bit. Not as nicely polished as my Armani ones are, but they appear to have made the effort. Hurrah. I look at frames for sunglasses, because my second pair is going to be prescription sunnies, and the ones I'd seen a week or so earlier on one of the occasions when I was hanging about the shop waiting for the latest cockup to be sorted were no longer there. I described them to the assistant and she showed me a photo of them to confirm it's the right ones, and ordered the frames so I can have a look at them and try them on before deciding.
So away I go with a new pair of single vision glasses, now happy.
Except something doesn't seem quite right. I'm having to squint to see properly. Computer screen and book distance, no problem, but driving doesn't feel quite right. Nothing I can quite put my finger on, just not quite right. I put it down to just getting used to a new prescription, although I try my old ones and genuinely feel I can see better with them. I go to a week long course where I am seated at the back of the class and on one day I take both pairs, changing between them occasionally but leaving what should be enough time for my eyes to get used to each pair. I can definitely see the PowerPoint stuff at the front better with my old Armani glasses.
I get the call to say the sunglasses frames have arrived, so go back to the shop. They're fine so I order them, but I also mention the problem with vision. It's been about three weeks now that I've had the new glasses and I really have given them my best shot. The assistant speaks to an optician who suggests I should maybe get my eyes retested. At this point they mention that when my eyes were tested back in May, at the start of all this saga, the vision in my right eye had improved when compared with the prescription of my Armani glasses. IMPROVED! How is this possible? Didn't they think to double check this at the time? Apparently it can happen, they say.
So I made an appointment for the following day and back I went. It was the same optician who had carried out the initial test. Lo and behold, I actually needed something like a half point extra strength in each eye when compared to my Armani prescription (if I can refer to it as that for clarity). So that's STRONGER in both eyes then. Not a stronger lens in one and a weaker lens in the other then? No. How can that happen, I asked him. To his credit he did say he could have made a mistake over the first eye test.
So back again to the Armani glasses, and it felt better as soon as I put them on! The old glasses were sent away to be remade yet again, and I was now promised not only free prescription sunglasses, but they would also make them with thinner lenses free of charge too.
Another phone call, this time only a few days later, which was Monday of this week, and I went to collect the single vision glasses. They look absolutely fine, with no gaps, and what's more the edges of the lenses have been polished properly this time. Call me cynical though, but the person on the phone referred to them specifically as the reactions ones, as did the assistant when I collected them who also seemed to take a moment or two reading the paperwork while looking slightly puzzled. The weather in Glasgow is very very rainy and overcast at the moment, and so far the glasses have not gone dark. The cynic in me thinks that maybe they've forgotten the reactions bit but at the time of writing that remains to be seen, it might just be the lack of UV getting though the clouds!
And I'm still waiting for the sunglasses to be ready.
To be continued .....................
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Yes Boss!
On June 9th 2007 I blogged about my new acquisition, an Oxford Boss Alarm Disc Lock, which to cut a story slightly shorter (go read that post instead) is a security measure for the motorcycle.Well it runs on 6x LR44 batteries, the small disc shaped ones you get in hearing aids, and since buying the alarm I've changed the batteries only once, after a bit less than a year, which isn't too bad at all. But they ran out again recently, so I bought replacements, Energizer ones, from B&Q at a total of almost £8 for three packs of two.
Having replaced them (successfully, surprisingly, hunting out an Allen Key of the necessary size in the process) I put it all back together again and took it back outside to the bike, but when I attached it and set the alarm, instead of the usual
loud short bleep
pause
loud l-o-n-g bleep
which indicates it is set, it went
almost inaudible short bleep
pause
almost inaudible l-o-n-g bleep
which was a surprise!
I looked up t'InterWeb and found Oxford Products' site, and called them. The gentleman I spoke to, William, was very friendly and helpful, but said there wasn't actually anything that could really go wrong with them, so suggested trying a further set of new batteries and failing that to return it to where I'd bought it, which was J&S Accessories in Hamilton, and even though it was over a year old they could sort something out for me
So off to another shop I went the other day, and bought three packs of Duracell ones, at around the same price as the Energizers. I changed them this afternoon, but to no avail.
Another call to Oxford Products, and this time I spoke to Rosie, who was equally as friendly and helpful as William had been, and she suggested changing the Alarm Module (the bit where the batteries go).
So all I had to do was contact the shop I'd bought it from, they'd order one from Oxford, and I could go and swap them over when it arrived.
Ooh, hold on, I said, how much will this cost me, after all the alarm was about £60. Oh, nothing, she replied, we'll do it under warranty! For an item I bought over a year and a half ago!
Fantastic service from the manufacturer.
So I then telephoned J&S and explained what I had just been told.
Hmmm, the staff member replied, first time I've heard of that. That's the problem with them promising the earth, they don't have to deal with customers over the counter. What's the OF number?
The what?
The OF number. We need to know what model it is.
It's the Boss Alarm one.
Oh, but they do loads of different models.
What, all with alarms?
Yes.
I checked the receipt, their receipt, and managed to find the model number, OF3.
Oh, I've never heard of that one.
Now as an aside, I've since looked on the manufacturer's Website and the OF3 Oxford Boss Alarm Disc Lock seems to be the only one with an alarm.
So we were getting nowhere fast.
He then came up with the problem that they would need to inspect the item before deciding whether to order the replacement bit.
But the manufacturer has already said it'll be a free replacement under warranty, I said.
Maybe, but we'd still need to raise a purchase order to them and we wouldn't do that without inspecting it first, so can you bring it in and leave it with us, we'll send it back and then when the replacement arrives you can come and get it.
But this would leave me without any security on my bike over and above the steering lock.
Well why not call them and have them send you one direct.
Ah, we're getting to the nub of the matter, I thought. This is a lazy bastard who doesn't want to have to deal with this and is trying to pass the buck back to the manufacturer. So to cut this saga short, I cut the call short, after getting his name, and called the manufacturer back.
Rosie, again, was as nice as can be, and after first suggesting I send it back direct to them after which they'd send a replacement, she accepted that this would leave my bike unsecure so she asked that I email a copy of my proof of purchase to her and she will post a new module, on trust that I will then send the faulty module back. Which I will, obviously.
So, praise where it is due, I will certainly use Oxford Products again, and I encourage others to do so too, but J&S, well fuck them! I have in the past bought a fair amount of stuff there, but will not do so again. And it's all down to the unhelpful attitude of one employee.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Rough men rant
For no particular reason, well none I am prepared to Blog about anyway, I am very fond of the quote by Winston Churchill when he said:
We sleep safely at night because rough men stand ready to visit violence on those who would harm us.
I was reminded of this when I read MadPriest's Blog a few minutes ago when he posted on the immorality of various things ranging from the Israeli incursion into Gaza (no mention of the missiles fired into Israel from Gaza though - in my humble opinion the two sides are as bad as each other and neither will ever get any sympathy from me) to the bombing of Dresden by the British in WWII (no mention of Coventry, London or Clydebank which were similarly attacked by the Nazis) and the killing of an innocent bystander by the police when arresting a criminal (is he talking about Jean Charles De Menezes? If so, I have no doubt that the police officers who killed him deserve a medal for their bravery, not prosecution, after all they had been told that the person they were expected to stop was a suicide bomber who might detonate his bomb any minute. Are you brave enough to get right up close to and make physical contact with such a person? No, I thought not. Neither am I. Now the matter of culpability of those who told them he was a terrorist, that's perhaps a different matter).
Various things about that post touched various nerves of mine. But then again, I am not in a good place at the moment.
The bottom line as far as I am concerned is that unless you're prepared to put yourself in the position of being in mortal danger to protect people you don't even know, unless you're like PC Lewis Fulton, a Strathclyde police officer (who coincidentally was on the same shift as I was, in the same police office where I used to work for Strathclyde Police in a previous life a fair number of years ago, albeit I was a year or so after him) who was stabbed to death when responding to a routine call by a member of the public, unless you're like the men and women of the forces who continue to risk life and limb trying to make Iraq and Afghanistan a safer place for their populations (people like my good friend RN from the cathedral choir who is a high ranking consultant in the National Health Service in the UK but who doesn't just stick with the easy safe option so he also happens to be a Lieutenant Colonel in the Territorial Army who has very recently been posted abroad (yet again) to work in a military field hospital treating sick and injured people whether they be UK & US personnel or "the enemy"), unless you are one of Churchill's ruffians, then don't fucking whinge about it!
Just be thankful that someone is prepared to do it on your behalf.
Update: The second last sentence above was not directed at MadPriest in any way. I don't think the post of his which prompted my rant was in any way whinging and I'd like to go on record as saying I like his Blog and think he's a decent, genuine bloke. The rant was obviously already inside me and I just needed him as a catalyst!
We sleep safely at night because rough men stand ready to visit violence on those who would harm us.
I was reminded of this when I read MadPriest's Blog a few minutes ago when he posted on the immorality of various things ranging from the Israeli incursion into Gaza (no mention of the missiles fired into Israel from Gaza though - in my humble opinion the two sides are as bad as each other and neither will ever get any sympathy from me) to the bombing of Dresden by the British in WWII (no mention of Coventry, London or Clydebank which were similarly attacked by the Nazis) and the killing of an innocent bystander by the police when arresting a criminal (is he talking about Jean Charles De Menezes? If so, I have no doubt that the police officers who killed him deserve a medal for their bravery, not prosecution, after all they had been told that the person they were expected to stop was a suicide bomber who might detonate his bomb any minute. Are you brave enough to get right up close to and make physical contact with such a person? No, I thought not. Neither am I. Now the matter of culpability of those who told them he was a terrorist, that's perhaps a different matter).
Various things about that post touched various nerves of mine. But then again, I am not in a good place at the moment.
The bottom line as far as I am concerned is that unless you're prepared to put yourself in the position of being in mortal danger to protect people you don't even know, unless you're like PC Lewis Fulton, a Strathclyde police officer (who coincidentally was on the same shift as I was, in the same police office where I used to work for Strathclyde Police in a previous life a fair number of years ago, albeit I was a year or so after him) who was stabbed to death when responding to a routine call by a member of the public, unless you're like the men and women of the forces who continue to risk life and limb trying to make Iraq and Afghanistan a safer place for their populations (people like my good friend RN from the cathedral choir who is a high ranking consultant in the National Health Service in the UK but who doesn't just stick with the easy safe option so he also happens to be a Lieutenant Colonel in the Territorial Army who has very recently been posted abroad (yet again) to work in a military field hospital treating sick and injured people whether they be UK & US personnel or "the enemy"), unless you are one of Churchill's ruffians, then don't fucking whinge about it!
Just be thankful that someone is prepared to do it on your behalf.
Update: The second last sentence above was not directed at MadPriest in any way. I don't think the post of his which prompted my rant was in any way whinging and I'd like to go on record as saying I like his Blog and think he's a decent, genuine bloke. The rant was obviously already inside me and I just needed him as a catalyst!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Make your voice heard (maybe)
Click here to sign the petition
Here's something think is worth considering, from one of the many petitions on the UK government's Downing Street site:
"Changes to the law mean cars emitting less than 100g of CO2 per kilometre travelled would be exempt from paying Vehicle Excise Duty (road tax), while motorcycles are still required to pay.
This was outlined by your Chancellor Alistair Darling in his first budget last week, under the auspices of rewarding motorists for driving ‘green’ vehicles.
Despite Darling’s aim, the rate of road tax paid by motorcyclists is set to double in 2009, with the annual charge for a typical 125cc commuter bike set to grow from £15 per year at present, to £33 in 2009.
This makes a nonsense of the revised rates of vehicle excise duty, as motorcycles tend to emit less CO2 and use less fuel than cars, with the average CO2 output from motorcycles at 110g/km.
So why do those who ride greener two wheeled vehicles, use less road space and do not contribute to congestion get penalised whilst 4 wheel motorist whose vehicles use under 100g/km are exempt from road tax .... makes a mockery of your plans"
Consider following the link and signing. I have. Thanks.
Monday, November 03, 2008
The party's over: catch up #1
OK, you can now accept the date and time of this post as correct, because I'm home!
The previous post was about a week ago, just before RE arrived in San Diego, so I've a bit of catching up to do. I've decided to do the updates in several shorter boring posts rather than a huge long boring one!
Here goes with the first:
Monday 27th October
We didn't play golf. Instead, we had a look round some motorcycle shops, and then drove up to Point Loma and the Cabrillo National Monument which overlooks San Diego and the entrance to the bay. In 1542 Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo was the first European to set foot on the west coast of what is now the USA, and the view from the National Monument which honours him is bloody good, to say the least! Great view over San Diego Bay, and the military establishments there, including a nuclear submarine base.
The rest of the day was spent chilling!
Tuesday 28th October
RE was due into LAX at around 11.15am, so my brother, D, and I headed north up Interstate 5 and on the way to the airport we headed first to Long Beach and to RMS Queen Mary, or rather the Hotel Queen Mary, which was built close to my house in the John Brown shipyard on the river Clyde, sailed the high seas for a long number of years, and is now an hotel. I can't vouch for what the hotel is like inside, but the outside isn't much to look at, covered as it is by a fair amount of wooden hoardings painted grey. Not all the way up, obviously, but high enough to detract from the lines of the ship. We had 30 minutes free parking before having to pay, so we didn't hang around for all that long, and we certainly didn't spend money going onto her.
Next stop, breakfast. Needing to find a petrol, sorry, gas station, the SatNav directed us a mile or two from the Queen Mary and once that was completed we set it for the nearest Starbucks which was pretty close. So far, so normal. But other than the identical menu it was rather different from the ones we had been frequenting in San Diego. For a start it was in what looked to be a bus station, or at a major bus exchange anyway, and it smelt a bit funny. Nothing you could pinpoint, but just a bit odd.
As we were standing at the counter being served, there was a man sitting very nearby next to an electric wheelchair which was plugged into the wall being recharged. The man was sitting with what looked like a sketch book, and he suddenly, loudly, said something which appeared aimed in our general direction. I looked round and made eye contact, but nothing more was forthcoming so I looked away again. We sat down, a bit further away from him but still in line of sight, and earshot. As an aside, while we were passing I glanced at the sketchbook. It looked like a primary school pupil had drawn Mr Potato Head badly!
A middle aged, hippy-looking woman came in, laden with bags which she dumped on a table across from us, but she didn't sit down. After fussing around, huffing and puffing and muttering to no one in particular, she suddenly leaned towards the counter, which was right next to the table, and demanded "I need water". The assistant replied that they sold bottled water which was in the chiller against the wall, but the woman, raising her voice slightly, declined this and again asked for water. The assistant politely told her that it was company policy not to supply free tap water when they sold bottled. The woman, clearly becoming argumentative and therefore much louder, demanded water again. And so on for a moment or two, until she agreed to buy a bottle from the chiller but suddenly changed her mind and announced (loudly) to everyone that she had always fucking hated the fucking way fucking Starbucks fucking did their fucking business, and she would fucking go elsewhere! She gathered up her belongings and flounced out. Oh, and she may have sworn a bit too. D and I could only look and laugh.
A minute later another, younger and more respectable, woman was at the counter. Wheelchair man had by now struggled to his feet and made it back into the wheelchair. He said something to the young woman, but she didn't quite hear him, having earphones in her ears listening to an iPod, but she was aware that he was speaking to her so took them out her ears and turned to him. Wheelchair man shouted at her that she should fucking listen better, then told her to help him out the door. She said OK, but told him he didn't need to be so rude about it, and she walked to the door next to our table and held it open. He shouted even louder for her to wait a fucking minute because the wheelchair wasn't fucking unplugged yet, and she'd better fucking do that right now. She told him just to forget it and walked back to her place at the counter. Much more reserved than I'd have been, I think.
Another young male in the queue stepped forward and unplugged the chair from the wall socket, the chair sprang into life, and wheelchair man started moving towards the door, which was now being held open by the young man. As he glided across the floor, a torrent of abuse was directed at all and sundry, including D and me who were apparently motherfuckers who would get their asses kicked by wheelchair man just shortly! All we could do was laugh at him, and of course tell him to fuck off in no uncertain terms.
Now I have no problem with helping those less fortunate, and will in fact go out my way to hold open doors, or whatever is necessary, but while I don't expect those seeking my assistance to grovel, I particularly don't expect them to ask for help by shouting, swearing, and demanding assistance, and by giving foul mouthed abuse when that assistance is not immediately forthcoming in the way expected! The guy was clearly a prick, and I trust at some point someone will object to his lack of manners in a more physical way than just telling him to fuck off. It will be deserved!
So, who'd have believed we'd have seen mad people in LA!
We then quit this Starbucks, which when I think about it was maybe an homage to the bar in Star Wars, and headed to the airport to collect RE, who was looking surprisingly awake after being on the go for about 24 hours!
Heading back south down Interstate 5, we diverted to North Beach, so that RE could chill out by the Pacific Ocean for a while to try to delay the jetlag. While she and I walked a short distance along the beautiful golden sand, RE with shoes removed and splashing around happily, D sat on a rocky outcrop and enjoyed the scenery. But while he was looking at the ocean he suddenly noticed a small furry head with whiskers sticking out, popping up in front of him and looking around. D glanced away, and by the time he looked back it was gone. We couldn't figure out what it had been, but our suggestion of an effect of being out in the sun for too long was rejected by D!
The evening was spent doing more chilling around the barbecue.
The previous post was about a week ago, just before RE arrived in San Diego, so I've a bit of catching up to do. I've decided to do the updates in several shorter boring posts rather than a huge long boring one!
Here goes with the first:
Monday 27th October
We didn't play golf. Instead, we had a look round some motorcycle shops, and then drove up to Point Loma and the Cabrillo National Monument which overlooks San Diego and the entrance to the bay. In 1542 Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo was the first European to set foot on the west coast of what is now the USA, and the view from the National Monument which honours him is bloody good, to say the least! Great view over San Diego Bay, and the military establishments there, including a nuclear submarine base.
The rest of the day was spent chilling!
Tuesday 28th October
RE was due into LAX at around 11.15am, so my brother, D, and I headed north up Interstate 5 and on the way to the airport we headed first to Long Beach and to RMS Queen Mary, or rather the Hotel Queen Mary, which was built close to my house in the John Brown shipyard on the river Clyde, sailed the high seas for a long number of years, and is now an hotel. I can't vouch for what the hotel is like inside, but the outside isn't much to look at, covered as it is by a fair amount of wooden hoardings painted grey. Not all the way up, obviously, but high enough to detract from the lines of the ship. We had 30 minutes free parking before having to pay, so we didn't hang around for all that long, and we certainly didn't spend money going onto her.
Next stop, breakfast. Needing to find a petrol, sorry, gas station, the SatNav directed us a mile or two from the Queen Mary and once that was completed we set it for the nearest Starbucks which was pretty close. So far, so normal. But other than the identical menu it was rather different from the ones we had been frequenting in San Diego. For a start it was in what looked to be a bus station, or at a major bus exchange anyway, and it smelt a bit funny. Nothing you could pinpoint, but just a bit odd.
As we were standing at the counter being served, there was a man sitting very nearby next to an electric wheelchair which was plugged into the wall being recharged. The man was sitting with what looked like a sketch book, and he suddenly, loudly, said something which appeared aimed in our general direction. I looked round and made eye contact, but nothing more was forthcoming so I looked away again. We sat down, a bit further away from him but still in line of sight, and earshot. As an aside, while we were passing I glanced at the sketchbook. It looked like a primary school pupil had drawn Mr Potato Head badly!
A middle aged, hippy-looking woman came in, laden with bags which she dumped on a table across from us, but she didn't sit down. After fussing around, huffing and puffing and muttering to no one in particular, she suddenly leaned towards the counter, which was right next to the table, and demanded "I need water". The assistant replied that they sold bottled water which was in the chiller against the wall, but the woman, raising her voice slightly, declined this and again asked for water. The assistant politely told her that it was company policy not to supply free tap water when they sold bottled. The woman, clearly becoming argumentative and therefore much louder, demanded water again. And so on for a moment or two, until she agreed to buy a bottle from the chiller but suddenly changed her mind and announced (loudly) to everyone that she had always fucking hated the fucking way fucking Starbucks fucking did their fucking business, and she would fucking go elsewhere! She gathered up her belongings and flounced out. Oh, and she may have sworn a bit too. D and I could only look and laugh.
A minute later another, younger and more respectable, woman was at the counter. Wheelchair man had by now struggled to his feet and made it back into the wheelchair. He said something to the young woman, but she didn't quite hear him, having earphones in her ears listening to an iPod, but she was aware that he was speaking to her so took them out her ears and turned to him. Wheelchair man shouted at her that she should fucking listen better, then told her to help him out the door. She said OK, but told him he didn't need to be so rude about it, and she walked to the door next to our table and held it open. He shouted even louder for her to wait a fucking minute because the wheelchair wasn't fucking unplugged yet, and she'd better fucking do that right now. She told him just to forget it and walked back to her place at the counter. Much more reserved than I'd have been, I think.
Another young male in the queue stepped forward and unplugged the chair from the wall socket, the chair sprang into life, and wheelchair man started moving towards the door, which was now being held open by the young man. As he glided across the floor, a torrent of abuse was directed at all and sundry, including D and me who were apparently motherfuckers who would get their asses kicked by wheelchair man just shortly! All we could do was laugh at him, and of course tell him to fuck off in no uncertain terms.
Now I have no problem with helping those less fortunate, and will in fact go out my way to hold open doors, or whatever is necessary, but while I don't expect those seeking my assistance to grovel, I particularly don't expect them to ask for help by shouting, swearing, and demanding assistance, and by giving foul mouthed abuse when that assistance is not immediately forthcoming in the way expected! The guy was clearly a prick, and I trust at some point someone will object to his lack of manners in a more physical way than just telling him to fuck off. It will be deserved!
So, who'd have believed we'd have seen mad people in LA!
We then quit this Starbucks, which when I think about it was maybe an homage to the bar in Star Wars, and headed to the airport to collect RE, who was looking surprisingly awake after being on the go for about 24 hours!
Heading back south down Interstate 5, we diverted to North Beach, so that RE could chill out by the Pacific Ocean for a while to try to delay the jetlag. While she and I walked a short distance along the beautiful golden sand, RE with shoes removed and splashing around happily, D sat on a rocky outcrop and enjoyed the scenery. But while he was looking at the ocean he suddenly noticed a small furry head with whiskers sticking out, popping up in front of him and looking around. D glanced away, and by the time he looked back it was gone. We couldn't figure out what it had been, but our suggestion of an effect of being out in the sun for too long was rejected by D!
The evening was spent doing more chilling around the barbecue.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Even more incompetence
I'll give you the short version of this.
A couple of posts ago I spoke of the incompetence of the staff at my local council-run gym when they tried and failed to make an appointment for me. Well tonight I turned up (again) a good twenty five minutes before my appointment for my gym induction session, to find the whole building closed and shuttered, and a single A4 piece of paper sellotaped to the shutter addressed specifically to a slimming class which apparently normally meets there, advising them to go to a local church hall instead "because of the strike".
THE STRIKE!
The bastards have gone on strike! No official notice anywhere on the building. No prior warning. No courtesy call to my mobile number, which I gave them last week (twice), to give me a heads up not to turn up. No, they were quite happy to let me make my way there only to work out that they were on strike by reading a notice addressed to a slimming class.
Do they get my sympathy for their wage claim? Do they fuck. Will they get a third go at giving me a gym induction and thereafter will they get my monthly Direct Debit for membership? The jury is out. If I can find a privately run gym close enough at a reasonable rate then I'll go there instead. I don't like poor service, and that's exactly what this place has provided twice so far.
So instead I went to the IAM Wednesday night run. I was in time for it this time (just) but all the associates had already been paired up with observers, so I linked up with another two "spare" observers and we rode together up to Balloch, near Loch Lomond. And a most enjoyable ride it was. And since I missed the start of the pre-ride gathering, I missed the announcement that tonight was the last Wednesday run of the year, which I only found out by accident in conversation in the McDonalds restaurant at Balloch. If I'd not been told, and had turned up next Wednesday, I might have thought the IAM Glasgow North group had been taken over by council workers!
A couple of posts ago I spoke of the incompetence of the staff at my local council-run gym when they tried and failed to make an appointment for me. Well tonight I turned up (again) a good twenty five minutes before my appointment for my gym induction session, to find the whole building closed and shuttered, and a single A4 piece of paper sellotaped to the shutter addressed specifically to a slimming class which apparently normally meets there, advising them to go to a local church hall instead "because of the strike".
THE STRIKE!
The bastards have gone on strike! No official notice anywhere on the building. No prior warning. No courtesy call to my mobile number, which I gave them last week (twice), to give me a heads up not to turn up. No, they were quite happy to let me make my way there only to work out that they were on strike by reading a notice addressed to a slimming class.
Do they get my sympathy for their wage claim? Do they fuck. Will they get a third go at giving me a gym induction and thereafter will they get my monthly Direct Debit for membership? The jury is out. If I can find a privately run gym close enough at a reasonable rate then I'll go there instead. I don't like poor service, and that's exactly what this place has provided twice so far.
So instead I went to the IAM Wednesday night run. I was in time for it this time (just) but all the associates had already been paired up with observers, so I linked up with another two "spare" observers and we rode together up to Balloch, near Loch Lomond. And a most enjoyable ride it was. And since I missed the start of the pre-ride gathering, I missed the announcement that tonight was the last Wednesday run of the year, which I only found out by accident in conversation in the McDonalds restaurant at Balloch. If I'd not been told, and had turned up next Wednesday, I might have thought the IAM Glasgow North group had been taken over by council workers!
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Incompetence
The incompetence of the average person working in the service industry in Britain never ceases to amaze me, although I really shouldn't be surprised.
This evening I turned up at the gym 10 minutes before my appointment, only to find out that the person to whom I spoke last night hadn't in fact made my booking on the computer and since there was only one member of staff working in the gym there was no one available to take me through my hour long induction.
So it has been rearranged to next Wednesday.
So I also missed the IAM Wednesday run, because by the time I got back home after my fruitless trip round the corner to the gym, I didn't quite have enough time to make it to the assembly point for the run. By the time I got changed, onto the bike, and rode the 5 miles, everyone had gone.
This evening I turned up at the gym 10 minutes before my appointment, only to find out that the person to whom I spoke last night hadn't in fact made my booking on the computer and since there was only one member of staff working in the gym there was no one available to take me through my hour long induction.
So it has been rearranged to next Wednesday.
So I also missed the IAM Wednesday run, because by the time I got back home after my fruitless trip round the corner to the gym, I didn't quite have enough time to make it to the assembly point for the run. By the time I got changed, onto the bike, and rode the 5 miles, everyone had gone.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Catch up
You may gather from the lack of posts and also the recurring theme of recent ones that I am busy just now immersing myself in all things of an advanced motoring ilk.
This coming Sunday, adverse weather (i.e. snow or ice) permitting, I am sitting my advanced motorcycle riding test, then later that day I will be sitting my mock advanced car driving test, hopefully followed up as soon as possible with the actual advanced car test. I have been watching videos, reading books, and, not least, riding the actual motorcycle. Very easy to get caught up in all the theory but it's how you put it into practice on the road that counts!
Work is also very busy just now, and last weekend was spent singing with Glasgow Chamber Choir at two concerts, in St Giles Cathedral Edinburgh and St Mary's Cathedral Glasgow, so I feel like I haven't had much down time recently. Really enjoyed the weekend, it has to be said, even if it was French music! On the whole it was a good sing though, and it was certainly good company. That said, the pub we went into after the Edinburgh concert on Sunday evening, Deacon Brodie's (must remember to add it to my Website) was interesting mainly for the very drunk, and rather offensive Irishman with the pint of Guinness in his hand and two little lines of snot coming from his nose, who spat as he spoke while encroaching into your personal space. Staggering around, spilling beer on people, and stealing people's seats by sitting right next to complete strangers (i.e our crowd) and trying to join in in a most inappropriate manner. A quick word with the barman, and then a short period of putting some previous "interpersonal skills" training into practice (i.e. facing up to the bastard eye to eye and not backing off. Well, I say eye to eye, but as I am a short arse and he wasn't it was more like eye to chin!) and he was out the door, after of course getting really close to my ear and, so that only I could hear, firing off the most vulgar, rude, coarse invective that he could muster at me. Sticks and stones and all that. It actually put him up slightly in my estimation anyway! The decision had been made by then and he was about to be heading towards the door anyway so I had already won the battle and there was no point in entering into a discussion with him.
Layclerk 1, abusive drunk, nil.
I really thought I'd put all that "having to be assertive in the face of aggression" stuff into a previous life behind me. Oh well, at least I remembered how to do it I suppose. Like riding a bike. Oh dear, there I go again. Bikes bikes bikes!
I need a holiday. But I have no spare cash, having bought a new house barely 6 months ago and all the expense that entails. I might try to get away at least overnight somewhere over the Christmas holidays when I can finally get a break from everything. By then the seemingly relentless round of carol singing will have abated. I'm getting too long in the tooth and cynical to enjoy many of them any more.
I'm off for a glass of whisky.
This coming Sunday, adverse weather (i.e. snow or ice) permitting, I am sitting my advanced motorcycle riding test, then later that day I will be sitting my mock advanced car driving test, hopefully followed up as soon as possible with the actual advanced car test. I have been watching videos, reading books, and, not least, riding the actual motorcycle. Very easy to get caught up in all the theory but it's how you put it into practice on the road that counts!
Work is also very busy just now, and last weekend was spent singing with Glasgow Chamber Choir at two concerts, in St Giles Cathedral Edinburgh and St Mary's Cathedral Glasgow, so I feel like I haven't had much down time recently. Really enjoyed the weekend, it has to be said, even if it was French music! On the whole it was a good sing though, and it was certainly good company. That said, the pub we went into after the Edinburgh concert on Sunday evening, Deacon Brodie's (must remember to add it to my Website) was interesting mainly for the very drunk, and rather offensive Irishman with the pint of Guinness in his hand and two little lines of snot coming from his nose, who spat as he spoke while encroaching into your personal space. Staggering around, spilling beer on people, and stealing people's seats by sitting right next to complete strangers (i.e our crowd) and trying to join in in a most inappropriate manner. A quick word with the barman, and then a short period of putting some previous "interpersonal skills" training into practice (i.e. facing up to the bastard eye to eye and not backing off. Well, I say eye to eye, but as I am a short arse and he wasn't it was more like eye to chin!) and he was out the door, after of course getting really close to my ear and, so that only I could hear, firing off the most vulgar, rude, coarse invective that he could muster at me. Sticks and stones and all that. It actually put him up slightly in my estimation anyway! The decision had been made by then and he was about to be heading towards the door anyway so I had already won the battle and there was no point in entering into a discussion with him.
Layclerk 1, abusive drunk, nil.
I really thought I'd put all that "having to be assertive in the face of aggression" stuff into a previous life behind me. Oh well, at least I remembered how to do it I suppose. Like riding a bike. Oh dear, there I go again. Bikes bikes bikes!
I need a holiday. But I have no spare cash, having bought a new house barely 6 months ago and all the expense that entails. I might try to get away at least overnight somewhere over the Christmas holidays when I can finally get a break from everything. By then the seemingly relentless round of carol singing will have abated. I'm getting too long in the tooth and cynical to enjoy many of them any more.
I'm off for a glass of whisky.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Imbeciles!
I'm just watching a TV programme about people who believed letters they've received saying they've won huge prizes in foreign lotteries they hadn't even entered. They always then had to pay money out in order to "release" the cash. Tens of thousands of pounds sometimes.
Let me think for a moment, should I have any sympathy for these morons? I think not. They deserve all they (don't) get! People as stupid as that don't deserve to have any money.
Update: One old woman sent the fraudsters £21,000.
Let me think for a moment, should I have any sympathy for these morons? I think not. They deserve all they (don't) get! People as stupid as that don't deserve to have any money.
Update: One old woman sent the fraudsters £21,000.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)