Today's startling announcement from RBS that, despite reporting a £5 bn loss, they plan to pay £600 m in bonuses, is the last straw. I've been a customer of the Royal Bank since 1968 (annus mirabilis), with a gap of a few months in 1972 when I experienced how dreadful the Midland's service and attitude were, and went back to a provincial RBS branch where the manager and I were on first-name terms. (He was subsequently demoted, not, I think post hoc ergo propter hoc.) I couldn't complain of their handling of two recent instances in which my credit card details had been used dishonestly, but the shenannigans in the investment banking operation and at top level in recent years have disgusted me, and for the most part, their retail service in recent years has been somewhere between lacklustre and slapdash. I'm interviewing a successor candidate on Monday.
RBS is, of course, an organisation owned 82% by the taxpayer. Government nevertheless does nothing for fear of losing the authors of the current banking sector disaster to the Asia Pac region or North America (stand not upon the order of your going, I'd say). And doubtless individuals in government fear antagonising their fat-cat sponsors. The EU is hardly covering itself in glory by sanctioning bonuses of twice salary in the banking sector. That is the kind of remuneration package appropriate to unscrupulous used car salesmen, not to the stewards of loyal customers' money. Things might look different if the banks were lending to small and innovative businesses that could help rescue the economy. Well, the Tories wrecked the mining and manufacturing sectors (with a helping hand from the dinosaurs in the trade union movement, granted): it's logical that they're now sacrificing the financial services sector to the god of market forces. I can barely bring myself to touch a £20 note with its graven image of Adam Smith - not that I get the chance too often. Hammering the poor will obviously compensate...
End of February too - my least favourite month, when my Weltanschauung is at its blackest and my joints at their sorest. Still, the pension is in and the days are lengthening, so things are starting to look up.
Thursday, 28 February 2013
Wednesday, 27 February 2013
Modest progress
After a fair bit of to-ing and fro-ing, we have a nice new carpet in the hall and up the stairs. It goes very well with Jonathan's excellent painting - pale blue-grey walls, and fresh white in the woodwork and ceilings. The place is beginning to feel like ours at last, and we do not in the least miss the grubby magnolia walls and cream stair carpet, and still less the amateurishly fitted laminate and beading in the hall. The bathroom is still seriously wanting - all very beige, and again a do-it-yourself job of less than convincing quality. But it all does what it's supposed to, so we'll maybe tolerate it for the time being. The bedroom is a slightly easier target, so we'll maybe tackle it later in the year. It's the last refuge of the previous administration's miserable magnolia, and we've tolerated it because the lights are out most of the time we're in there. As for the kitchen, the bullet will want biting one of these years, but it's looking better for a visit from our oven-fettler today, and the interim measures of a couple of years ago will see us through for a bit longer.
Long day at the hobby yesterday, so with that and vast amounts of laundry today, I think I'm ripe for an early night. We're both aching for spring and warmer weather, but it's a comfort that there's still a bit of daylight at 17:30. Once the days are longer, of course, we'll be out in the garden a bit more, and less bothered by the residual shabbiness indoors.
Long day at the hobby yesterday, so with that and vast amounts of laundry today, I think I'm ripe for an early night. We're both aching for spring and warmer weather, but it's a comfort that there's still a bit of daylight at 17:30. Once the days are longer, of course, we'll be out in the garden a bit more, and less bothered by the residual shabbiness indoors.
Saturday, 23 February 2013
February the puzzling
So often in February we have a day or two of mild, bright weather, and so it has been this year. There were a couple of days when it was a pleasure to be out in the garden (even to hang out the washing), so the roses are pruned, the old nesting box is scrubbed out and re-hung (it had obviously hosted a tidy nest-builder and family last spring) and a new one is now up on the other side of the house. The new one is a freebie from the RSPB, which we have just joined. With my usual thoroughness, I failed to research the subject before hanging it, and fixed it on the wall above the kitchen door a couple of yards from the original one. On reading up afterwards, I learned that blue tits are highly territorial, and that we might just get away with two nest boxes if they are as far apart as possible. So, up the ladder again, off with the new box, then up the ladder on the other side of the house to hang it on the chimney breast, where we could see it through the sitootery roof. And so, of course, could the sun from midday onwards. Up the ladder again to shift it round the corner of the chimney breast to face north-west. And this is the man who used to peddle the doctrine of proper planning and preparation preventing piss-poor performance. (That was a job, by and large, that I'd as soon forget.) In the space of the few intervening days, the temperature has plummeted, and for the past 36 hours we've had snow on the ground. The flurries began on Thursday and intensified late yesterday. Still, this far into the year, it tends not to hang around too long, and as I write the sky is brighter and the snowfall sparser.
Getting quite excited at the prospect of our steam train trip to Worcester in a few weeks' time. This time we'll be behind the Bulleid light Pacific Braunton. I used to watch them steaming through Orpington hauling boat trains. Elegant machines, but given to spinning their driving wheels on moving off. I've unearthed a couple of walks round the city and along the river, so together with a visit to the cathedral and the museum, we'll have plenty to do with the few hours we have to play with. Hope the March weather's kind to us.
Meanwhile, I've had to cancel our trip to Brighton for lunch at Barbara's. We were looking forward to it very much, since we were to have been her first lunch guests in her new flat. I have acquired a streaming cold, and Barbara does not need that now that she's on the mend at last. Neither do I particularly want to be out in the cold, of course. Was there ever anything so pathetic as a bloke with a head cold?
Getting quite excited at the prospect of our steam train trip to Worcester in a few weeks' time. This time we'll be behind the Bulleid light Pacific Braunton. I used to watch them steaming through Orpington hauling boat trains. Elegant machines, but given to spinning their driving wheels on moving off. I've unearthed a couple of walks round the city and along the river, so together with a visit to the cathedral and the museum, we'll have plenty to do with the few hours we have to play with. Hope the March weather's kind to us.
Meanwhile, I've had to cancel our trip to Brighton for lunch at Barbara's. We were looking forward to it very much, since we were to have been her first lunch guests in her new flat. I have acquired a streaming cold, and Barbara does not need that now that she's on the mend at last. Neither do I particularly want to be out in the cold, of course. Was there ever anything so pathetic as a bloke with a head cold?
Friday, 15 February 2013
The joys of home ownership
We think we may have hacked the problems with the burglar alarm. Given one's druthers, one druther not have one at all. All they seem to achieve is nuisance when they malfunction, as ours has done three or four times lately. We let ourselves be persuaded to take out a maintenance contract, and are already the poorer for having had to buy a replacement battery and a new sensor for the kitchen, not to mention the monthly payments. Oh well: we've been out a few times since the sensor was fitted, and we don't think it has misbehaved again.
Meanwhile, Jonathan has been and gone, and so, consequently, has the miserable magnolia in the hall etc, to be replaced with a pleasing pale blue-grey, and the woodwork is looking infinitely better for a fresh coat of white. He has also stocked us up with duck eggs and sausages, and will shortly bring us a load of horse to improve our dreadful soil. Useful chap to know, eh?
The carpet has been something of a challenge, however. We usually buy from a remnant shop in the industrial estate, and went back to them, but this time bought a bright terra cotta cloth off the roll. This was our first attempt to buy from the catalogue, as it were. Well, it wasn't long before we'd a phone call to say that our choice had been discontinued. The chap at the shop helpfully came round with some alternatives, and we chose one that came close, but in a rather duller tone. Though it would have done, we didn't feel terribly enthusiastic: once it had occurred to me that the colour reminded me of dog food, it didn't really stand a chance. Given that we plan to have the damn' thing for the rest of our days, we decided that it was too much of a compromise, and cancelled it before the estimator had even got back to base. The paint on the walls had turned out to be rather bluer than we'd thought, so we tore up the assumptions and went looking for a blue-grey, much to the amusement of the staff at the shop, who I'm sure have us labelled as a pair of vacillating old queens. Two of them went off and searched the swatches, and found a most acceptable carpet sample, and we liked it at once: we brought the sample home, checked it against its future surroundings, liked it and so rang and ordered it. A few hours later, the phone rang - yep: discontinued. The good news is that they could get the same colour in a slightly lighter weight, so we're going with that. And we're a hundred quid or so better off.
We'd already lifted the grotty laminate from the hall and the insane cream carpet from the landing last weekend, and schlepped a car load along to the tip. In this way, Jonathan could get a clear run at it the decorating when he began on Monday. Today, Martyn has screwed down some of the noisier floor boards on the landing, so nocturnal trips to the outhouse should be less of a disturbance. It'll be good to have the carpet down: we await a phone call - preferably to say that it has arrived and is ready to go in the fitter's van. At that point, we'll lift and dump the remaining cream carpet from the stairs. Shame, really - it seemed to be of decent quality, but was just a ridiculous colour.
The lengthening days are a great comfort. Not only to us, it seems - we've had a wren yelling at us from the trees today. The traffic is slowly increasing: a tray of peanuts on the steps is enough to bring in up to eight wood pigeons at a time, scaring off the jays: like their cowardly, bullying magpie cousins, they flee from anything bigger than themselves. We're looking forward to the return of the beautiful nuthatches, the infuriating chaffinch and - who knows? - maybe even the mallards.
Meanwhile, Jonathan has been and gone, and so, consequently, has the miserable magnolia in the hall etc, to be replaced with a pleasing pale blue-grey, and the woodwork is looking infinitely better for a fresh coat of white. He has also stocked us up with duck eggs and sausages, and will shortly bring us a load of horse to improve our dreadful soil. Useful chap to know, eh?
The carpet has been something of a challenge, however. We usually buy from a remnant shop in the industrial estate, and went back to them, but this time bought a bright terra cotta cloth off the roll. This was our first attempt to buy from the catalogue, as it were. Well, it wasn't long before we'd a phone call to say that our choice had been discontinued. The chap at the shop helpfully came round with some alternatives, and we chose one that came close, but in a rather duller tone. Though it would have done, we didn't feel terribly enthusiastic: once it had occurred to me that the colour reminded me of dog food, it didn't really stand a chance. Given that we plan to have the damn' thing for the rest of our days, we decided that it was too much of a compromise, and cancelled it before the estimator had even got back to base. The paint on the walls had turned out to be rather bluer than we'd thought, so we tore up the assumptions and went looking for a blue-grey, much to the amusement of the staff at the shop, who I'm sure have us labelled as a pair of vacillating old queens. Two of them went off and searched the swatches, and found a most acceptable carpet sample, and we liked it at once: we brought the sample home, checked it against its future surroundings, liked it and so rang and ordered it. A few hours later, the phone rang - yep: discontinued. The good news is that they could get the same colour in a slightly lighter weight, so we're going with that. And we're a hundred quid or so better off.
We'd already lifted the grotty laminate from the hall and the insane cream carpet from the landing last weekend, and schlepped a car load along to the tip. In this way, Jonathan could get a clear run at it the decorating when he began on Monday. Today, Martyn has screwed down some of the noisier floor boards on the landing, so nocturnal trips to the outhouse should be less of a disturbance. It'll be good to have the carpet down: we await a phone call - preferably to say that it has arrived and is ready to go in the fitter's van. At that point, we'll lift and dump the remaining cream carpet from the stairs. Shame, really - it seemed to be of decent quality, but was just a ridiculous colour.
The lengthening days are a great comfort. Not only to us, it seems - we've had a wren yelling at us from the trees today. The traffic is slowly increasing: a tray of peanuts on the steps is enough to bring in up to eight wood pigeons at a time, scaring off the jays: like their cowardly, bullying magpie cousins, they flee from anything bigger than themselves. We're looking forward to the return of the beautiful nuthatches, the infuriating chaffinch and - who knows? - maybe even the mallards.
Friday, 8 February 2013
The teeming Metrollops again
Our little country railway halt (it used to be a full-blown station with sidings, a booking office and all the rest) stands on an embankment overlooking the river that marks the boundary between our county and the next. I arrived a little early as usual this morning so as to be able to switch to Plan B if there was nowhere to park. The work on the car park is now almost complete, so in addition to the half-dozen tarmac spaces and a length of muddy verge, there are now an extra thirty or so tarmacked and marked parking places. No ticket machines yet, though I'm sure it won't be long; but the fact that two-thirds of the spaces were empty suggests that they may have overdone it for the time being. Beautiful crisp morning, with a songthrush haranguing me and my two fellow passengers from a tree by the river. Treacherous black ice on the plaform, though, and the knobbly paving slabs (for the benefit of the visually impaired) were extremely slippery.
One of the reasons I use this station is that the line is cheaper than the main line, which is operated by a different franchisor. So it was a surprise when the conductor asked me for about 50% more than the web site had led me to expect. Eventually, the penny dropped - I hadn't mentioned my old-geezer discount card. It's a moot point whether I get the railcard subscription back, but it does save me £5-7 pounds (depending on the line I choose) over the standard fare, so I'm ahead of the game if I do four or five London returns in the year. My meeting today was in Fitzrovia, so I got the bus from Trafalgar Square to Warren Street and back, and got an upstairs front seat in each direction. It's a good, if slow, way to see a bit of London on a fine day. Sometimes if I have time to spare I take a train into the suburbs and do the rest of the journey by bus. I'm not a huge fan of the Underground, and it's particularly loathesome at busy times. Granted, it has improved vastly in terms of cleanliness and frequency in recent years. But it can't compete with the bus pass!
On the way back to Charing Cross, the bus goes down Gower Street. Back in the 1920s and 30s, that's where my father would go to buy and sell his cars. Dad and his friends would drive down on the Friday night, wheel and deal on the Saturday, then head back up to Scotland with their new purchase on the Saturday night or Sunday. Even in my earlyish London days, the Aldwych was the place to go to buy or sell a motor caravan. A largely Australian seller population would gather there at the end of their European tours and attempt to flog beat-up Type 2 VW campers after they'd thrashed them the length and breadth of Europe, often to the next wave of impoverished young Australian tourists. Not now, of course, with almost total parking restrictions and the congestion charge. Also much changed, of course, is the London skyline. As the train comes into London Bridge, you get a fine view of the latest vast office block going up. The Shard is now finished, and the Gherkin is practically a heritage landmark now. One intriguing-looking building is going up at the moment, gradually curving outwards from the vertical on the side facing the river. Don't think I'd fancy that a whole lot. Nor the vertiginous upper reaches of the Shard - but if any of you would like to make me a present of one or two of the apartments up there from the 65th floor on, I'd not say no.
One of the reasons I use this station is that the line is cheaper than the main line, which is operated by a different franchisor. So it was a surprise when the conductor asked me for about 50% more than the web site had led me to expect. Eventually, the penny dropped - I hadn't mentioned my old-geezer discount card. It's a moot point whether I get the railcard subscription back, but it does save me £5-7 pounds (depending on the line I choose) over the standard fare, so I'm ahead of the game if I do four or five London returns in the year. My meeting today was in Fitzrovia, so I got the bus from Trafalgar Square to Warren Street and back, and got an upstairs front seat in each direction. It's a good, if slow, way to see a bit of London on a fine day. Sometimes if I have time to spare I take a train into the suburbs and do the rest of the journey by bus. I'm not a huge fan of the Underground, and it's particularly loathesome at busy times. Granted, it has improved vastly in terms of cleanliness and frequency in recent years. But it can't compete with the bus pass!
On the way back to Charing Cross, the bus goes down Gower Street. Back in the 1920s and 30s, that's where my father would go to buy and sell his cars. Dad and his friends would drive down on the Friday night, wheel and deal on the Saturday, then head back up to Scotland with their new purchase on the Saturday night or Sunday. Even in my earlyish London days, the Aldwych was the place to go to buy or sell a motor caravan. A largely Australian seller population would gather there at the end of their European tours and attempt to flog beat-up Type 2 VW campers after they'd thrashed them the length and breadth of Europe, often to the next wave of impoverished young Australian tourists. Not now, of course, with almost total parking restrictions and the congestion charge. Also much changed, of course, is the London skyline. As the train comes into London Bridge, you get a fine view of the latest vast office block going up. The Shard is now finished, and the Gherkin is practically a heritage landmark now. One intriguing-looking building is going up at the moment, gradually curving outwards from the vertical on the side facing the river. Don't think I'd fancy that a whole lot. Nor the vertiginous upper reaches of the Shard - but if any of you would like to make me a present of one or two of the apartments up there from the 65th floor on, I'd not say no.
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