I noticed a correction in today's Grauniad (I only take it for its excellent coverage of pro-am celebrity tiddly-winks) referring to beautiful Ruislip. You can read the whole shocking feature here but, in essence, the fine but somewhat careless folk at the Garudian had placed our noble borough in (oh the shame, oh the horror) in South (pronounced 'sarf'), London, in a story about the mayor, one B. Johnson, opening yet another library to add to our world-renowned collection of cultural artefacts. [another long and complex sentence. I've told you about this before:Ed]
Anyway let me clarify matters for those who like to believe everything they read in the press. Ruislip is firmly placed in the most elegant part of North-West London, has no intentions of moving and even if it did it would be to somewhere suitable such as the outskirts of Cheltenham, Harrogate or Bath. South of the river? No way. We will defend to the death our right to remain as far north of it as geography permits and if that requires diverting the ancient and historic river Pinn to make a stronger barrier against those who would rob us of our birthright, then I know that we will make the sacrifice. [Time for your medication: Ed]
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Thursday, September 06, 2012
The blight of the spam call
A spell of beautiful warm weather in London has coincided with the Paralympic Games. I believe the games have been an outstanding success, but as I know nothing about paralympic sport, this opinion has no value. There has been no impact at all on my commuting into Central London, however one side benefit has been that, because the regular weekend engineering upgrades to the tracks have been halted for the duration, the Tube has been running pretty well. Or at least I think it has - as I am not a regular traveller to East London, I don't know how the key lines (Jubilee and Central) have coped. [not sure how much confession of general ignorance your public can take: Ed]
I started writing about the Games but got diverted. My blood pressure is up because I was interrupted, with hands poised above keys to write a devastating reply to Ed that would send him cowering back to his ink-stained cubby hole to ponder long and hard about his irritating habit of making stupid marginal comments, by a phone call from a man, obviously calling from abroad and claiming to be from the "Government legal service" asking if there has been an accident in my house in the past three years. [Another foolishly long sentence. You do need me, you know: Ed]. We get these calls all the time (always from abroad because we are registered not to receive cold calls but this only works in the UK). I asked him how stupid he thought I was. He said I must be an incredible genius because I knew everything. I asked him where that line was in his script. Then I put the phone down and five seconds later the sod called back. I put the phone down again. Hopefully that will be that for a few days. A few months ago I tried playing along with one of these scam artists by saying yes, I had indeed had an accident, I had fallen out of a tree and was in intensive care. My caller was taken in for a while, or at least he gamely stuck to his "We can get you compensation" line" while I told him what agony I was in and how it was all my neighbour's fault. But maybe he eventually realised that perhaps I was not in a hospital bed and he terminated the colloquy.
The cleverest scam call came last week to Mrs. Commuter, with me eavesdropping. "Hello, this is the telephone registration scheme. We understand that you are registered not to receive cold calls but you still get them. Can you give us examples?" This was followed by "You paid to register for this service but it is due for renewal. Can we have your credit card details please". At which point we put the phone down and rolled our eyes at yet another example of human duplicity and greed. But claiming that someone has paid for something in the past is clever - you think, well maybe I did, so this call must be genuine.
Scam phone calls of this sort are always to landlines, which are linked to a name and address in phone books, and therefore don't work when made to mobiles. So will they die out as more and more people cease to use landlines? You can't really phone a mobile and say "We think someone using this sim card has had an accident and is in line for compensation". Or can you? Fraudulent text messages referring to PPI claims are spammed out to mobiles - maybe mass callouts from these wretched lowlifes in the Philippines will be the next way to try to con money from the great British public. The falling cost of international telephony, and the way you can use the internet to cut out much of the cost completely (Skype et al) has got a lot to answer for.
I started writing about the Games but got diverted. My blood pressure is up because I was interrupted, with hands poised above keys to write a devastating reply to Ed that would send him cowering back to his ink-stained cubby hole to ponder long and hard about his irritating habit of making stupid marginal comments, by a phone call from a man, obviously calling from abroad and claiming to be from the "Government legal service" asking if there has been an accident in my house in the past three years. [Another foolishly long sentence. You do need me, you know: Ed]. We get these calls all the time (always from abroad because we are registered not to receive cold calls but this only works in the UK). I asked him how stupid he thought I was. He said I must be an incredible genius because I knew everything. I asked him where that line was in his script. Then I put the phone down and five seconds later the sod called back. I put the phone down again. Hopefully that will be that for a few days. A few months ago I tried playing along with one of these scam artists by saying yes, I had indeed had an accident, I had fallen out of a tree and was in intensive care. My caller was taken in for a while, or at least he gamely stuck to his "We can get you compensation" line" while I told him what agony I was in and how it was all my neighbour's fault. But maybe he eventually realised that perhaps I was not in a hospital bed and he terminated the colloquy.
The cleverest scam call came last week to Mrs. Commuter, with me eavesdropping. "Hello, this is the telephone registration scheme. We understand that you are registered not to receive cold calls but you still get them. Can you give us examples?" This was followed by "You paid to register for this service but it is due for renewal. Can we have your credit card details please". At which point we put the phone down and rolled our eyes at yet another example of human duplicity and greed. But claiming that someone has paid for something in the past is clever - you think, well maybe I did, so this call must be genuine.
Scam phone calls of this sort are always to landlines, which are linked to a name and address in phone books, and therefore don't work when made to mobiles. So will they die out as more and more people cease to use landlines? You can't really phone a mobile and say "We think someone using this sim card has had an accident and is in line for compensation". Or can you? Fraudulent text messages referring to PPI claims are spammed out to mobiles - maybe mass callouts from these wretched lowlifes in the Philippines will be the next way to try to con money from the great British public. The falling cost of international telephony, and the way you can use the internet to cut out much of the cost completely (Skype et al) has got a lot to answer for.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
2003 revisited
The searingly hot summer of 2003 will be long remembered as providing one of the longest and most unpleasant weather conditions for many years. We have had few such summers since, and certainly 2012 has been wet and cold in comparison. Yet once again, this week, Europe is sweltering. Paris was 38c today whilst even in beautiful Ruislip we were looking at 31 or so. Just mowing the lawn in the late afternoon induced a stream of sweat [no unpleasant personal details please: Ed] and a disinclination to do any more. Thankfully we had our summer holiday in Switzerland last week because it is pretty damn hot even in the Alps right now.
Commuting on the dear old Met has changed fundamentally for the better this year, now that the air-conditioned "S" stock trains provide 100% of the normal service (although I still gripe about the removal of a third of the seats compared to their venerable "A" stock predecessors), and the Jubbly also offers a cool way into central London. Alas no such comfort on the Bakerloo whose oven-like conditions can hardly be described for fear that my readers will accuse me of hyperbole and sensationalism. Oh well, my office is supposed to be moving sometime soon and with a bit of luck it will be "S" stock all the way in and out in future.
Commuting on the dear old Met has changed fundamentally for the better this year, now that the air-conditioned "S" stock trains provide 100% of the normal service (although I still gripe about the removal of a third of the seats compared to their venerable "A" stock predecessors), and the Jubbly also offers a cool way into central London. Alas no such comfort on the Bakerloo whose oven-like conditions can hardly be described for fear that my readers will accuse me of hyperbole and sensationalism. Oh well, my office is supposed to be moving sometime soon and with a bit of luck it will be "S" stock all the way in and out in future.
Monday, August 13, 2012
From the Alps
The Games have come and gone, the tube has never before carried so many passengers and the whole thing ended with a strange mixture of pop stars old and new in a ceremony that went on so long I was in bed long before the end. A bed in Cologne, mark you, because the closing ceremony coincided with the last night of a holiday in Switzerland during which Mrs. Commuter and your correspondent clocked up many thousands of miles riding the highly efficient Swiss Railway system. Highlights included the mountain railway above Zermatt, the Glacier Express and the Bernina Express, with a trolley bus in Montreux and various local runs as the icing on the cake (or the crevasse over the bergschrund if you will. [umm - help please: Ed] Oh just look it up Ed, we were in the mountains, didn't you do 'O' level geography?.
For all those fans of trams out there, this time I omitted to take the usual tasty snaps so here instead is the Bernina Express at the Alp Grum station. Not your normal commute.
Friday, August 03, 2012
London during the Games
Travelling home yesterday, on a Met bearing a half-load of fellow commuters, we heard an extraordinary announcement. We were advised not to try shopping in Westfield at Stratford because it was open only to athletes and workers at the games. We were also told not to try to buy tickets, other than on-line. I suppose this might have made sense directed at people travelling on the Central or Jubilee and getting close to Stratford. I merely shook my head in quiet disbelief, since I have yet to shop in any Westfield and am probably unlikely so to do in the next thirty years or so, nor do I have the slightest intention of going anywhere near Stratford (other than on a jaunt to explore the DLR).
I took a lunchtime stroll along the South Bank yesterday and found it thronged by holiday-makers and well stocked with live statues, food stalls, a colourful sand pit for the very small and a dance-themed series of exhibits outside the Festival Hall. Yet the London Eye had no queue at all - anyone turning up went straight to the ramps where they do the security checks and then into a pod. And from the Eye to the National Theatre not a policeman to be seen. Perhaps they are all busy frisking Olympic visitors for contraband such as sandwiches made with the wrong kind of pickle.
I took a lunchtime stroll along the South Bank yesterday and found it thronged by holiday-makers and well stocked with live statues, food stalls, a colourful sand pit for the very small and a dance-themed series of exhibits outside the Festival Hall. Yet the London Eye had no queue at all - anyone turning up went straight to the ramps where they do the security checks and then into a pod. And from the Eye to the National Theatre not a policeman to be seen. Perhaps they are all busy frisking Olympic visitors for contraband such as sandwiches made with the wrong kind of pickle.
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