I’m in shock – deep, deep shock

I owe an apology to my reader. I haven’t communicated with you in over a week and realise, belatedly, how bereft you must feel.

The only excuse I have is that I am in shock – deep, deep shock.

You see, I attended my former employer’s AGM last Wednesday. Archant (that’s a real, not made up, name) has not had a successful time in recent years.

Two chief executives came and went, laden down with payoffs and pension pots.

The company now has a new head honcho and, for the first time since I retired in 2006, I have faith that the business can be put on a more even keel.

He even mentioned the D word – dividend. We shareholders may actually see one for the current financial year, he hopes, if everything planned comes to fruition, the spirits are with Archant, the wind is behind the company and the piece of lucky heather left at reception at the Norwich HQ works.

As I said, I’m in shock – at last a chief executive who may actually know what he’s talking about. I just hope he can now walk the walk.

As you know, I spent several years visiting the Algarve on a regular basis – I probably made more than 60 trips in seven or eight years on business and holiday.

Those expeditions all involved car hire. I mention this merely because a friend from the sunny south of Europe posted something on Facebook the other day – the fact that motorists going abroad after June 8 are being warned they may need to take a special code with them if they want to hire a car.

It seems that from that date the paper counterpart of British driving licences - which records endorsements and fines - is being computerised.

Anyone wanting to hire a car abroad could need a code to show convictions for offences like speeding.

To obtain it, motorists will have to log on to the DVLA website beforehand.

But the code is only valid for 72 hours, so anyone wanting to hire a car more than three days into their trip may need to generate a new code while they are abroad.

And after all that kerfuffle the code is not an official requirement and it will depend on the individual hire company's terms whether or not it is required.

Good luck is all I can really say to anyone hiring a car in Europe this summer.

Although there is just one more thing. I am sure many car hire firms will use this as a way to take even more money from the punters.

I could write a book about the scams they use to extract a few more Euros from hirers. But that’ll have to wait until another day.

Motoring muppetry is alive and well

I am back from the Easter break feeling refreshed but still slightly grumpy, my reader will be pleased to hear.

SWMBO and I had a good break, catching up with family and friends from far and wide, and Saffron Walden.

It has meant a bit of driving around, in my now well-established old man motoring style, as my brother-in-law describes it.

Just because I don’t fly around everywhere at 90mph, sorry, a legally-binding 70mph, he thinks I’ve joined the ranks of the Harold and Hildas who hog the middle or outside lane because the inside land is for “lorries only”.

During our travels, we came across some prime examples of motoring muppetry.

Like the drivers, and there really were several of them in these parts over the Easter break, who think it is safe and quite normal to drive…..wearing their headphones.

I have to admit that I do have my James Last cd up at volume 15 while navigating the local roads but I can still hear a warning car horn. In fact, I have heard several recently.

And then there was the blonde woman in her personalised-number-plated Range Rover who I kindly let cross the busy highway and who then proceeded to sweep over with all the importance of a Gulf state Sheikh – you know the sort; they think us plebs have a duty to let them through and don’t deserve a small thank you.

What’s wrong with a friendly thank-you wave? Ah, using both hands to text Chardonnay, were we?

Good manners never hurt anyone, love.

Oh dear. Saying “love” is probably unacceptable in some parts these politically correct days.

So, just to prove I am as pc as the next bloke, here’s a little tale for you. Apparently the British Border Agency is asking the general public to be on the lookout for a red 1951 Chevy that they suspect is being used to smuggle illegal immigrants from Calais to Dover, through the Channel Tunnel.
If you see the vehicle, pictured right, and have reason to believe that it is the suspect vehicle, you are urged to contact your local police immediately.
Thank you.

Birthday cards say so, so much – about the sender and the receiver

I have recently celebrated, if that’s the correct word, my birthday.

The day passed without any major catastrophe. Age Concern didn’t ring and SAGA have simply given up on me, it seems.

A really nice day was improved by watching the mighty Arsenal beat Liverpool 4-1. I didn’t see it in person, I hasten to add, as tickets have now become a luxury beyond the means of us pensioners.

Except, that is, my uncle, who’s in his mid-70s and has two season tickets at the Emirates. Some might say he’s a real glutton for punishment.

No, my viewing pleasure was provided by BT Sport. So that SWMBO didn’t feel too left out, I followed the game on my iPad while sitting at the kitchen table.

After all, it’s only fair to offer some morale-boosting support in the form of my presence while she does the ironing and provides me with mugs of coffee.

At half-time I had another look at the birthday cards I had received.

I’d like to say they were a mixed bunch but I can’t.

They were all jokey with one exception – an Arsenal card from my father. Thanks, dad.

The jokes were broadly based on three themes – computers, booze and my total lack of DIY skills – and obviously selected with great care.

As I skimmed through them once more, I smiled a lot and thought how nice it is that the tradition of sending a card is still with (some of) us.

Not that I begrudge the “Happy Birthday” texts or emails – they are as well-received as the cardboard greetings.

It’s just that the cards are incredibly tactile and simply made me feel good - even though some verged on the edge of rudeness.

But they all summed up how well family and friends know me, which I take as an enormous compliment. They also showed that I have family and friends who share my wacky sense of humour and irreverence.

Now isn’t that lucky.

Two and a half weeks we won’t get back

I have just set up some documents on SWMBO’s laptop that will eventually represent two and a half working weeks that neither of us will get back.

What am I on about this time? School reports.

The Easter holidays are not just about visiting garden centres, searching for eggs and bunnies in the garden or playing golf in the Algarve.

They are also get-the-summer-reports-ready time. To the layperson, this sounds fairly straightforward – a few scraps of paper on which to make a few comments about Chardonnay or Benedict. How difficult can it be?

But to many teachers it is a nightmarish ritual shared with a PA like myself – if they are lucky enough to have one.

OK, let’s begin. This year SWMBO has to write 210 reports. It takes me an average of around one minute per report to set up on my laptop and copy to SWMBO’s computer – that’s 210 minutes gone. In case you are wondering, this is a system that works well and ensures we always have two copies of every report in case of hardware failure.

It then takes SWMBO an average of 15 minutes to write each report. She is more dedicated and conscientious than many teachers out there. I say that not just because her salary keeps us pensioner types in the lifestyle to which we have become accustomed.

Anyway, that’s another 3,150 minutes, followed by two minutes to read through each report, checking for errors. Another 420 minutes.

Then there’s, on average, five minutes per report to copy back to my computer, which I proof read, and print out the two copies of each required – 1,050 minutes.

Oh, and I mustn’t forget the 30 minutes or so it takes to re-do reports returned by other class teachers/ the headmaster and print out again.

Then, finally, there’s two hours to collate all SWMBO’s class reports, including subjects from other teachers – 120 minutes.

If you’ve been keeping up, and not nodded off yet, that’s more than two working weeks just to do reports. And remember, these are done in the evenings, at weekends and during holidays. The process is then repeated at Christmas.

It all means that the parents of the Harrisons, Rebekahs, Orlandos, Matildas, Katis and Thors of this world get wonderful, incisive and perfectly proofed reports.

Which leaves me with a closing thought - why isn’t anyone called Michael or Sarah these days?