Ready and Waiting

 Sky Sports, who have for some years secured the rights to broadcast football matches, have put up posters to publicise this well-worn tit-bit of useless information. Useless, because if you are the sort of person who pays to watch sports broadcasts then you already know, and if not, you don't care. But be that as it may, they have clearly fired their Head of Creative Thinking and appointed some bloke that the personnel manager met down the pub. For the slogan on the poster is

"We're ready. Are you?"

Call me a mad, wild-eyed, clutcher at straws if you must (and I know some of you are keen to have the chance) but I had assumed that a company that has spent many millions of pounds in securing its exclusive deals and which has huge experience in broadcasting and streaming sports content, would actually be ready for the start of a new football season. This is what they do. This is how they earn their money. Several weeks ago their planners would have opened up their diaries and carefully pencilled in the dates of the first matches. Then they would have written them on to the big wall-chart hanging up at the back of the office, next to the flyer about the annual outing to Canvey Island and the note begging people to kindly not take the last of the milk without replacing it, thank you very much.  Then they would have compiled a list of things to remember:

1. Cameras
2. Warm clothes in case it gets cold at night
3. Spare batteries for lights
4. Thermos flask
5. Notebook to write down names of scorers and people sent off
6. Return rail ticket
7. 500m of high-duty 600w power cable
8. Folding canvas chair
9. Sandwiches

and with that, they could go out for a long lunch in the knowledge of a job well done.  They were ready!

 That completes the first half, as it were. After the break we shall be back for all the action as we examine the second part of the slogan. Stay with us!

-&-&-&-&-&

We're back with all the action in what should be a blistering second half of excoriating invective. The question that must be faced is our state of preparation. They are ready. Are we?

I dunno. I mean, it's not really anything to do with me. Every year the football season begins more or less at this time. One has gotten used to it. But am I ready for Sky Sports being ready? No. I shall never be ready. I don't even know what they mean in this context. If I were not ready, what would be different? They will broadcast matches. I, being a non-subscriber, will not watch them and will do so in the blissful knowledge that I wouldn't watch them even if they were free. I don't want to watch their content. 

However, they have posed the question so do they expect an answer? Should I phone them, wait for the inevitable recorded message about going on their website and how important my call is etc etc before some salesperson answers:

Salesperson: "Hello, sorry to keep you waiting, how can I help

Me: Gasping a little, a catch in my throat "I'm not ready. I'm so sorry. I meant to be. I tried. But I am not. You are, you told me so, you went to the trouble of putting up a poster by the station where I had to see it. I feel I've let you down, let everybody down, I'm so miserable and I just want to kick the cat, only I haven't got one, you see how unprepared I am, help me, help me please"

Salesperson: Can I interest you in 240 channels of unspeakable tat for just £250 plus VAT a month and only £600 to pay if we are unable to provide the service and you cancel?

No, I can't go through with it. I shall remain unready. Ethelred didn't pay to watch the Northumbrians beating the hell out of the Picts and I shall follow his example.

Special Selection

 Posters advertising Coca-Cola have appeared in the streets of beautiful (and once more, extremely warm) Ruislip. Rather than extol the thirst-quenching values of this beverage, assuming there are any, they feature a large photo of a radiant Kate Moss¹ and some strap-line about a competition featuring 000's of prizes selected by Ms Moss herself.

It's hard to believe that a wealthy lady, whose partner is one Nikolai von Bismarck², would be arsed to visit the offices of the Coca-Cola company (even though they are in Uxbridge, just a few short stops on the Met from Ruislip), rather than loll about on the terrace of her chateau, watching her soul-mate drawing lines on a map of Europe and pondering alliances, but there it is. We are now forced to imagine the scene.

Scene: The marketing department at Coca-Cola HQ, Uxbridge. A manager is dusting off the flipchart and practising buzz-phrases.

Manager to herself: 'Imaginate the unperplexible'. 'Ground-breaking enterprise paradigm-shift'. 'Pro-active synergistic customer-facing synergy'. Oh, God, that last one's wrong. Think, Nigella, think. What the hell is is it? '

Door opens. A radiant Ms Moss is ushered in by an overwhelmed intern

Taz³: In here, Ms Moss. Gosh, may I say how much I loved your heroin chic look, I'm definitely going to do heroin just as soon as I've earned enough to buy a box

Moss: Awfully sweet of you, young man.

Manager: Kate, lovely to see you

Moss: Wonderful to see you darling thinks 'Who is she again?'

They air kiss, several times.

Manager: Can I offer you a drink?

Moss: Cor, I could murder a cuppa tea and a custard cream.

Manager: Ah, not one of our ice-cold, super refreshing, real thing, carbonated and made with a secret recipe that definitely does not include cocaine, not any more, any way, tins? 

Moss: Do me a favour

Manager: Cup of tea for Ms Moss, Taz

Taz: Right away. I'll nip down to the cafe by the station. Shouldn't take more than about ten minutes. exits

Manager: Now we won't keep you long, I know you're leaving to do a tour of the Maginot Line with Nicky. It's just a matter of your personal selection of the prizes.

Moss: I've given it a lot of thought in the last two minutes. You say I need to select 000's?"

Manager: Not really. There'll be 500 of each. So just four selections will satisfy the Advertising Standards people. 

Moss: Jolly good. One yellow mug, one green one, one blue one and one red one.

Manager: Thank you so much Ms Moss and the cheque's in the post.

Moss: Bleedin' better be, darling.

Footnote

1. Ms Moss, b 1974, is a model who, according to Google, rose to fame in the 1990s as part of the "heroin chic" fashion trend. Speaking as one who was once famed for being part of the "aspirin ponce" fashion trend, I recognise her as one of my peers.

2. Yes, really, if Google is to be believed.

3.  He certainly gets around.

Patronising Tweet Of The Day #2

 I really thought my go at Mastercard recently would put an end to this sort of thing, but no, it's summer, the real admen are all on holiday and the apprentices have taken over the laboratory. Today another financial institution, who really should know better, decided to serve me this in my Twitter feed:

 

 

This is the same NatWest who, having occupied a prominent position on Ruislip High Street for some 100 years, (I include their ancestors, such as Westminster Bank), have announced that the branch is to close. The nearest branch will be at Uxbridge, not far but anyone going from Ruislip will have to allow a minimum of 30 minutes for the round trip.

"Never stop starting". I thought this was a reference to a vintage car where the choke was left out on a cold day. I recall driving my family's Ford Anglia in such a way, the car jerking forward and then spasmodically stopping before a fresh push on the throttle (being careful not to flood the engine) kicked it back into life. Cars don't do that any more. They can indeed be accurately described as "never stop starting".

I don't suppose this was what NatWest had in mind. It must be a kindly exhortation from them to the rest of us - "Hey you lazy lot, stop slacking and get on with it. Never, I repeat NEVER stop starting! If we catch any member of the public not starting we shall confiscate their paying-in books!"

Sod that. I shall stop starting as much as I like. I shall wake up on a fine sunny day and think "Today is the day to do a bit of starting. Not right away, let's have breakfast and a leisurely sit-around first, then maybe a nice cup of coffee but definitely before lunch, or at least very soon after it, if it's not clouding over by then and there's no test match to listen to, okay, maybe in the late afternoon, no, it's too late, the moment has passed. Tomorrow. That's it. Tomorrow I shall start. I shall not stop. I shall not fail in the eyes of NatWest. I will never stop starting again. Unless it rains."

You might have thought that having dreamed up this stupid slogan, the admen (or the interns) would put their feet up with a sigh of content and get back to gambling billions of our money on derivatives (whatever they are). But no. No patronising tweet is complete without a hashtag slogan. And what a slogan it is. Einstein, Weinberg, Hawking, Smolin, Rovelli¹- your boys took a hell of a beating. The boffins at NatWest have got there first. Time is not just relative - it has been collapsed entirely. Tomorrow begins Today! There is no future because you are already living it. 

This must make office life rather tricky down at the bank. 

"Withers, I'd like to see you tomorrow to review the Arkwright files"

"You mean later today sir. Tomorrow begins today"

"Ah. Yes. Damn, have to slot you around 11pm due to all the other things I had scheduled for tomorrow that are of course happening today. By the way, you're dressed a bit casually, aren't you?

"I'm off to the golf course for the tournament"

"But that's not till the day after tomorrow"

"Exactly sir. But as tomorrow begins today, then the day after tomorrow must be tomorrow but tomorrow begins today. Bye, sir"

Finally, in the interests of transparency, I should point out that I do not bank with NatWest and am unlikely to do so in the future (assuming the future exists). I shall be even less likely now that they have removed the nearest branch to me. Or <cue sinister music> can it be that tomorrow actually started yesterday and I have already opened an account with them? <fade out sinister music, replace with continuity announcer> "Tune in next week, whenever that is, to find out".

Note

1. The first few physicists specialising in time, relativity and cosmology, I could think of.

Heatwave Update #3

 Wildfires have broken out across southern Europe, forcing the evacuation of towns, campsites and holiday resorts. There have been casualties, including firefighters.

Not to be outdone, we had our own heat-driven apocalypse in NW Middlesex this afternoon. Fires on the parched fields at Hatch End forced rail cancellations. There was a report of a fire in Wembley. And closer to home, the normally marshy low-lying land near RAF Northolt went up in smoke, closing the A40  for several hours. 

Photo: Adam Crts on Ruislip Community Group, Facebook

It was supposed to rain this evening as the heat at last recedes, but as usual we got nothing bar a thick grey cloud cover and increased humidity. Or so I thought until, whilst writing the preceding line, Mrs C pointed out of the window to some real wet-type stuff falling from the sky. It was the briefest of showers but right now we will gladly take anything. 

Heatwave Update #2

The hot air remaining overnight contributed to a rapid rise in temperatures this morning. UK records began to fall and at 1:00pm a new high of 40c was measured at Heathrow, uncomfortably close to us here in what used to be beautiful Ruislip. It is, however, much breezier than yesterday, a hint that the weather system that has been locked over Europe for a week is shifting.

 There is almost no other topic on the news, although Conservative MPs continue to ballot for someone to succeed B. Johnson who, having been hailed as the greatest human in history not so long ago, is now still our prime minister without power or honour. 

Mrs C and I took a brief stroll round the block last night. It was like a Mediterranean holiday in the balmy air with people coming out after hiding in their shuttered homes all day. Except that the lively bars and cafes were missing and only a crowd outside the pub contributed to that southern European feel.