Brennig Jones (and friends)

…said my dealer doctor before handing over that magical bit of paper that provides (at a small price) access to seratonin/endorphin-enhancing pharmaceuticals.

So, here’s a small example of what we altruistic (ahem) library staff have to deal with.

This evening, three well-known (to us) young (mid-teen, perhaps) lads came in.  That’s fine.  So far, so good.  Apart from breaking the relative peace of the building they were doing no harm.

They went and sat by one of the radiators, tucked away in a corner.  They were a bit loud, but not enough that anyone had cause to complain, so I left them to it.  I was busy with some highly important library-detective work.

One of the lads beckoned me over to ask where the ‘Where’s Wally’ books were.  I showed him.  All is well, still.

Ten minutes passes.

One of the young lads decides it’s time to run around throwing teddy bears.

Obviously.

So, T, a young lad himself (but a ‘nice’ young lad), who is one of our Casual staff, asked them to pack it in.

I went over and looked at them, and said that if they continue to mess about, they’ll be back out in the cold.

The one lad looked at his mate and said “that’s a bit cuntish, innit?”

So I said “OK, now you can leave.”

To much protestation from all.

I went on to say that “you can’t talk to people like that” and “I’m not arguing with you – out!”

I didn’t shout.  My voice may have been slightly raised.

But, oh, the injustice.

“I never said anything – it was ‘im!”

“Well, you should choose your friends more wisely.  If you stay, he’ll just come back.  Off you go.”

And that was that.

I wonder if I was a bit harsh.

I mean, I swear.  In fact, what I wanted to say was ‘You don’t FUCKING talk to people like that, you little shit!  Do you understand? Now fuck off back to the gutter’. But of course, I didn’t.

Perhaps this is just their way of speaking.  I mean, earlier in the day there were a couple of girls who can’t have been older than 15/16 who were talking about ‘fucking this’ and ‘fucking that’.  Not even trying to curb their language while I, or anyone else, was in earshot. And it was just natural conversation – I don’t think they were trying to appear more adult or cooler or anything like that.

And it’s just words, I know, it’s all the evolving language that is English.  Personally, I don’t care what sort of language people use amongst themselves.  But surely in a place of work there has to be certain rules – especially when that place of work is a public library.

The other thing is, he was probably just saying it to get a rise out of me.  And I guess he did.  I validated his presence by acknowledging him.  Maybe that is how it works in his house.  Perhaps he is only acknowledged when he plays up.  And that makes me sad.  But that doesn’t mean I have to put up with him calling me ‘cuntish’, to my face, in my place of work, does it?

Twat.

So, this weekend’s podcast has been recorded and released and is now, even as you read these words, roaming around the internet offending old biddies at every turn.

But don’t let that put you off.

It also features three full-length pieces of music that are truly awesome, and three excerpts of tracks that are full of distinction.

And we examine a few social factors that include:

• Sophie’s letter to her 16-year-old self
• Thoughts of Muse in Munich (and Biffy Clyro in support)
• New Moon
• Michael Sheen and Welshness
• Mashed poo-tato
• Other things

To listen to just this one episode of our little podcast just click here to download it (or right click on that link and save it and listen to it in your own time).

Or why not add it to your iTunes and listen to it on your iPhone or iPod or mp3 player wherever you go?

Better than radio! And not *that* offensive. Not really.

Hi. It’s me. Bren.

And no, I haven’t been to the bank yet.

But I will go, honest. I’ve got stuff to do. T-Shirts that need to be sent out to the US, things like that.

But on the feeling thing.

I’ve been really good today – and it’s not even 11.00 yet:

• I’ve had several creative ideas and, as a result
• have created and edited a fair lump of audio
• had a knock-on, longish Skype/IM chat with Allister in NZ
• recorded and emailed out a small piece of audio to Dan in LA
• written an outline for a magazine feature
• written a news item for a website
• had a really good, long hard look at the 9-5 contract market
• had a response from googlefeedburner on why podcast listenership jumped around so much earlier in the week (they made changes which have now been adjusted to where things were last week)
• listened to 14 tracks from bands who want to be featured on the podcast (and made various decisions as a result)
• calculated how much money various publishers still owe me (how much?)
• had a loooooong call with a potential new contract (who, frankly, didn’t really know what they were looking for at the start of the call, and now have a much better understanding of life, the universe and everything – and also the way forward in their situation. I should charge them a consultancy for that alone!)

In short, I’m feeling just a touch of smug satisfaction at having achieved so much in such a short time.

And now…

Now I want to do something naughty. Wicked. Really bad.

So tell me, do you ever feel this compensating urge to redress the good/bad balance?

And what should I do about it?

I could drive in to Witney instead of walking or taking public transport. That would be bad, right?

And I could go to Costa for a Latté and a slice of cake.

That would be bad too?

But the urge to do something really bad is stronger than those minor misdemeanours.

Much stronger.

I’ll be going up to the yard in an hour.

I could superglue Hayley’s favourite jumping whip to the hook on which it hangs.

I could fill Sammi’s riding hat with shavings.

Oh yes, now I’m really starting to think creatively.

What else?

I could hide all the chocolate biscuits…

Ah. OK. That really would be a prank too far.

But tell me.

Do you ever feel like doing something wicked?

And if so, what?

Today is the last day of Tom’s antibiotics. Hooray!

I hate giving injections to horses, their skin is so thick and they’re so heavily muscled that you really have to *thump* the needle home, then couple up with the syringe and inject.

Things don’t look too hopeful for going draghunting on Sunday, we’ve had so much rain that the ‘going’ must be hideously wet – and therefore slippery/boggy.

Oh well.

I had an email from my friend Vicky, hope she doesn’t mind me mentioning this, telling me that as a result of a repeat colic attack her horse had to be put to sleep.

I share her devastation.

When Beech was put to sleep a couple of years ago I felt as if I’d lost a very dear friend. In fact, I still do.

Poor Vicky.

p.s. Have I mentioned how much I love people who pay me on time? (yes, the postman’s just been!) I’m off to the bank now!

It is said that there is nothing like a personal recommendation – and this, my friends, is nothing like a personal recommendation…

You know how it goes.

You need to be at Heathrow for an 04.00 check-in, so public transport isn’t going to cut it.

And you don’t want to have your bank account violated, so you choose not to pay on-site parking charges.

No, instead you hunt around for an off-site parking service which will still cost you money, but cost less than the on-site licensed bandits.

Step forward Quality Airport Parking (website: http://www.qualityairportparking.com)

Their website looked healthy so I did the deed; made the booking, paid the money and received a confirmation email.

The first hint that the one thing that could conceivably be missing from Quality Airport Parking’s service would be ‘Quality’ became apparent when we arrived – a sign that said we should ‘Allow half an hour for airport transfer’ was displayed on the wall.

What?

The thought that we were five minutes from the Terminal crossed my mind, but, I reasoned, the sign might be there to take account of day-time rush-hour traffic.

As we were arriving at Quality Airport Parking’s depot at 03.25 I wasn’t particularly worried by a half-hour transfer or the thought of rush-hour traffic…

… right up until the check-in person said that the next transfer coach would leave at 04.00. This, coincidentally, was when our check-in desk opened.

Well, it’s still not a big deal, right? That was only the check-in opening and it was sure to be open for at least an hour and a quarter.

No worries.

Our transfer coach actually left the depot at 04.12 and we arrived at our Terminal just before 04.20.

But let’s examine that for a moment:

Fifty-five minutes?

At that time of day (03.25) it’s possible to drive from the centre of London to Heathrow Airport in that 55-minute span of time.

What does the Quality Airport Parking website say about the whole transfer process on their website?

You drive your car to the allotted airport car park and once your luggage has been transferred onto a bus you will be taken to your departure terminal. On your return, just contact the number on your receipt and one of our many buses will collect you and your party.

Nope, not a single mention anywhere in there about the process taking just a smidge under an hour. Also missing from their website, you’ll note, is the mention of the ‘half-hour’ stated on the sign that you don’t actually get to see until you arrive at their depot.

But the shortcomings with the outbound transfer don’t stop there.

Have a guess how many seats Quality Airport Parking have put for customer use in their waiting room.

I’ll tell you.

Four.

And, unsurprisingly, there were more than four of us waiting for our transfer to Heathrow.

It just seems to me that if you’re going to have regular gaps in your service (and I use that word ‘service’ advisedly) of half an hour or so, you’d make sure there were sufficient seats to go around.

Wouldn’t you?

Anyway, we got to our Terminal, checked in and flew out, even though I felt as though we’d been cheated by Quality Airport Parking somehow.

At the end of our time in Munich we arrived back in the UK and, as instructed, we called the Quality Airport Parking depot on our arrival: 22.34.

The dispatcher advised us to walk to the designated bus stop and that she’d send a bus out to us.

We walked, arrived and waited.

We saw a transfer coach from Flightpath Parking.

We saw a transfer coach from Purple Parking.

We waited some more.

We saw another transfer coach from Flightpath Parking.

And another transfer coach from Purple Parking.

We waited some more. Again.

At 23.07 – 40 minutes after our first call – and as a third coach from Flightpath Parking pulled in to the bus stop, I called Quality Airport Parking again.

Let’s just say that the call was frostier than the late night November weather, and involved me telling the dispatcher how many coaches from Flightpath and Purple had been through, and the dispatcher saying that I was speaking to Quality Airport Parking and my cutting retort that there didn’t actually seem to be any Quality going on here.

At 23.15 our coach turned up.

At 23.25 – 55 minutes since our check-in notification phone call – we arrived back at Quality Airport Parking’s depot.

So let’s summarise things in broad terms…

Total time, rounded up, on the outwards transfer: one hour
Total time, rounded up, on the inwards transfer: one hour

Time spent hanging around on the outwards transfer: 40 minutes
Time spent hanging around on the inwards transfer: 50 minutes

Would I use Quality Airport Parking again?

Absolutely not.

Would I recommend Quality Airport Parking to anyone?

Not under any circumstances.

It seems as though we’ve barely had time to breathe since the middle of last week.

There was the disappointing New Moon midnight viewing, the dash to Heathrow, the flight to Munich, the Muse gig that evening at the Olympiahalle, the trip out to the Bavarian countryside the next evening, the trip back to the UK…

I think I’ll pick a few notables off the list and write them up singly; the car parking fiasco at Heathrow is probably going to be the first on my list.

But today it’s down to earth with a big bump; this morning’s text from the yard that Tom had a fat leg once again had me cussing.

When the vet said she’d get to the yard at 12.15 I reminded her to bring the opthalmoscope to check Vin’s eyes, because I’ve been worried about him for a couple of weeks.

Tom’s fat leg is, as I first suspected, a flare-up of the knock/infection he picked up recently.

The wet weather and muddy turnout have combined and caused it to return, so he’s on a stronger antibiotic and this time he gets it injected, not added to his feed as powder.

I’m on needle duty; ironically I’ve got more experience of administering injections than any of the yard staff.

The good news is that Tom is sound as a pound on that leg – which will be back to normal size tomorrow anyway.

I was planning on a trip up to Evesham tomorrow for a spot of show-jumping; maybe we’ll still go; I’ll think on it tonight.

I see that there’s a Bloodhound meet in this area this weekend, that’s tempting! But I’m not stupid, the weather will be what I base my ‘go/no go’ decision on.

So that’s Tom.

Vin, on the other hand, continues to be a dreadful worry to his dad.

We’ve known since last year that his seasonal headshaking was related to a sensitivity to sunlight.

In the last few weeks Vin has been spooking in the same place in the indoor arena, when ridden on the left rein. But turn him and he’ll quite happily leg-yield right up to the trouble spot without turning a hair.

So I asked the vet to check out his eyesight today.

She looked at both eyes very carefully and just as she pronounced them clear Vin snorted violently out of his nose – and continued to snort, repeatedly.

She did more checks and furthered the diagnosis that his sensitivity to light has worsened in his right eye to the point where it is no longer sensitive to sunlight, but is now sensitive to all types of light.

The spooking in the arena is due to a reflection from one of the lights shining on one of the show-jumping poles stacked on the side, she thought, which explains why he’s not susceptible on the right-rein (i.e. when his left eye is to the outside).

This makes sense to me. It also goes some way to explain why Vin’s as good as gold to canter on the right rein but after a few strides of left-lead canter he goes rigid and begins to fall in on the circle.

Ho hum.

The prognosis is not good. There’s very little available to us, by way of treatments or preventative/mitigational courses of action.

On brighter days Vin will have a continuous headache, on worse days it’ll be like a permanent migraine.

I have some serious thinking to do about the ginger ninja.

That I’m flying to Munich in just a few hours time is purely coincidental. Thanks to Blonde for educating me about this work of Daily Mail art:

I have to be in west London for an 09.00 meeting tomorrow (Thursday).

Should be back at the yard by mid-afternoon for equine duties.

By 17.00, with both horses exercised, I should be back in the house.

We need to leave the house around 22.45 to attend a midnight (first) screening of the film New Moon.

Before we leave the house we need to pack for a long weekend and also, if possible, record this weekend’s podcast in advance.

When the film finishes – around 02.30 Friday – we’ll jump in to the car and drive to Heathrow.

The flight leaves at around 06.00 and we should touch down in Munich at 09.00, and get to our hotel by 10.30.

We’ll probably need to leave the hotel at around 18.00, to get us to the Olympiahalle in good time to see Matthew Bellamy, Christopher Wolstenholme and Dominic Howard – aka Muse – do their stuff.

I’m not sure what time we’ll get back to the hotel but one thing’s for sure, we’ll both be ready for bed!

So we didn’t go to the hunter trial, the amount of rain we’ve had in the last four days made the going too soft for me to be comfortable with.

As a consolation, Owen set up a course of 10 fences in the indoor arena and five of us had an individual half-hour each to practice jumping a course of show-jumps, with Owen offering helpful advice.

An individual half-hour to practice and refine jumping a tricky show-jumping track under the eye of an accredited British Eventing coach, who is also one of this country’s top professional Event riders?

What’s not to like?

Tom and I jumped the track five times, each time we refined different areas of our technique after words of advice from Owen.

It’s now 22.20.

I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling once.

Craig Murray puts some facts and asks some very interesting questions