Social Networking Future

Posted by Andy on October 17th, 2008


Nothing has been written on here for a very long time and, so as not to over-exert myself, I thought a copy and paste job would be most appropriate.  Control Wee by name, ctrl-v by nature.

 

This image dropped into my mailbox a couple of weeks ago. It’s obviously an attempt at humour, and a pretty good one I reckon. But how close to the truth of the matter will it prove to be?  Some of my friends are starting to look like Faith Ogden already, and I must admit I can already relate to a few of the statuses.  The only question is, will Facebook be able to keep up with us as we get older?  And do people always develop a sudden liking for knitting and cardigans, and a disliking for modern ‘music’ when they become old, or are these things cultivated over a period of time?

Social Networking Future

The adventure begins… almost

Posted by Andy on January 24th, 2008

So now we’re back from the run, having managed 1 half-baked update between us in the whole 3 weeks we were away, I guess it’s about time we got our arses into gear and wrote something. It’s hard to know where to start though, because so much happened in that time. I suppose going from the beginning wouldn’t be a bad way to approach it…

Back on 28th December 2007, Megha and I, having made somewhere between little and no preparation, embarked on the most dangerous and death-defying trip of our lives. Prior to taking part in the Rickshaw Run we had joked about the possibilities of death and mortal injury, but had never really taken them that seriously. Little did we know that, in less than a week, our whole perspective on life would change as a result of being within inches of experiencing the end of it. But more of that later.

The first 2 days are the tale of a train journey. So, in fact, it’s not much of a tale at all. We sat on a train for nigh on 48 hours and watched the world go by. Although that sounds kind of boring the time seemed to fly. It’s amazing how you can keep yourself entertained while sitting on the steps of a train. Playing ‘I spy’; watching people squat at the side of the rail track and guessing whether it was number 1 or number 2; looking at breasts made of hay and deciding which had the nicest shape; jumping off the train when it stopped, but not at a station, and only getting back on when it started moving. When you consider all these activities, it’s hard to deny it was a special journey. It was so much fun!

It was Megha’s first time in South India and immediately on arriving in Kochi that morning she made an interesting discovery. The people couldn’t understand what she said. As is the norm when we approach an auto-rickshaw driver, she explained to him where we wanted to go in Hindi. In Delhi it is guaranteed that they will comprehend what is being said, but here in Kerala most locals were utterly non-plussed whenever Hindi was used. In the four southernmost states of India everyone speaks their local language and many also have a good grasp of English. However, it still seemed a little strange that someone who speaks the official Indian national language was unable to communicate with a large portion of the population.

As it turned out, our particular rickshaw driver spoke reasonable English, so with his help we were able to find a pretty decent guest house. Home cooked food was the order of the day, so following the removal of 2 days of bodily dirt and a quick change of clothes, we put in our request for a chicken curry dinner and headed off to explore the vicinity. Our first stop was, not surprisingly for those who know me, a restaurant. As soon as we sat down something seemed familiar, but I wasn’t sure why. Then I remembered having been at the same eating place 2 years earlier. I probably would have been oblivious to this fact, but on seeing the waiter carrying a teapot my memory was jogged. ‘Special Tea’. That was it. This was the place that served beer in a teapot. It was a foolproof plan to allow their clientele to drink alcohol without having to buy a licence. There is no way the police would ever discover.

Before our food arrived we noticed a group of six other youngish foreigners sat at a table nearby. Catching bits of their conversation we heard “…off a cliff…”, “…could die…” and “…get her on 2 wheels going round a hairpin bend…” and gathered that they might also be here for the longest ever Rickshaw Run. On introducing ourselves we discovered they were teams Kangasutra 1 and 2 – a well-oiled unit made up of six Aussies. Whether or not the last half of that sentence is a contradiction in terms is up for debate. Nevertheless, we had met the first of our rivals… I mean fellow participants. And we were glad we had. They had been in contact with lots of other teams and were arranging a pre-official party party that night. Would we like to go? Well, we’d consider it if we weren’t too tired!

But more on that next time…

Rickshaw Run update

Posted by Andromeda on January 5th, 2008

We’re currently sat in a hotel in a town called Tuni near the east coast of India. It’s our 4th full day on the road and we’ve covered over 1,500 km so far. Not bad, we feel, considering the auto-rickshaw has an absolute top speed of 60 km per hour.

Day 1 got off to a flying start for all the 65 teams involved in the event … except for us. All the brand new vehicles were purring like kittens, but somehow we managed to be given the one dud. We had noticed something was wrong pre-race, but whenever the experts were called over they claimed all was fine and that our driving was at fault. Even when we hurtled forwards and crashed into the rickshaw in front of us on the starting line everyone thought it was just a case of itchy accelerator finger rather than a genuine problem. As it turned out our vehicle was accelerating on its own and the brakes weren’t working properly. Not a good combination when two people are setting out to drive 5,000 km in a vehicle they have only ever spent 30 minutes in before. So, as we watched the other 65 teams trundle off into the distance we sat around for a few hours waiting for ‘major’ repairs to be carried out. All was well in the end and we set off cautiously into the hills.

Since then we’ve driven past all kinds of scenery – lush mountains, beautiful rivers, picturesque villages and sprawling plains. We’ve given gobsmacked locals a ride, performed somewhat risky overtaking manoeuvres and took one particular mountain bend on 2 wheels whilst just avoiding to fly off the cliff edge. There has also been the obligatory breakdowns for varying reasons.

Most days we are on the road for at least 12 hours, which doesn’t leave much time for writing blogs etc. So we’ll update again when we can.

Track of the week - The Kilians - Fight The Start

Posted by Andy on December 23rd, 2007

Although this is by no means a weekly fixture on Control Wee, we thought we’d keep the title the same for the sake of continuity. This week’s band were found on a CD full of downloads that Megha passed across to me a few weeks ago. I’ve no idea where she dug them up from, but as soon as I heard ‘When Will I Ever Get Home’ I wanted more of The Kilians.

Scouring the web left me only a little wiser about them. What I do know is that they’re an indie band that have only been round for a little over a year. Their tunes are catchy with some awesome riffs and their lead singer sounds like Kelly from the Stereophonics. A little surprising is the fact that they hail from Germany, as I haven’t come across many bands from that part of the world that carry off this brand of music effectively. I definitely hope to hear more of the same calibre tunes from them in the near future.

Signs of the times

Posted by Andy on December 5th, 2007

Much mirth and amusement can be achieved at the expense of others’ mistakes. Glaring grammar and spelling errors are things which occasionally irritate, but can also tickle the funny bone - particularly when those faux pas lead to a particularly comical outcome. Never are these typos more apparent than on everyday signs that we see all around us. So, we thought it might be a bit of a chuckle to take pictures of any such blunders and stick them on here for all to see.

They’ll be posted under the ’signs of the times’ category and will be updated as and when we come across anything which makes us smile. If anyone wants to send us any photos which fit the bill, feel free to do so at controlwee@gmail.com

Here we go for starters…

Golden Shower     Gaylord hotel   Suits you

Find a job at your peril

Posted by Andromeda on December 4th, 2007

Anyone would think that Mr Jones has too much time on his hands. Following on from his critique of the BBC and his observations on how the media treated Ms Mills is this scrutiny of recruitment processes currently being used in the UK. And, if we’re honest, he doesn’t seem overly impressed.

I was once again perusing the newspapers yesterday; currently their story of choice is the suspicion that many people in England who could work are choosing not to. Now if, like me, you are wondering how people can live without an income, it seems that many of these non-workers are claiming sickness benefits.

If you read the English papers often enough, you will also know that the benefit system has come under scrutiny of late when it was revealed that some people are claiming they cannot work due to acne. While this news worries me, as does the rise in the number of what is known as NEETS (not in education, employment or training), I cannot help wondering if the reason could also be partly down to recruitment techniques in England. This may be hard for some people to believe, but I will try to convince you through some past and present experiences.

In May of this year I was unfortunate enough to receive redundancy. The office where I was working was closed down as part of a restructure. I was happy with my severance pay and had no bad feelings towards the company I was leaving, as I enjoyed my time there.

I must say the thought of a change in my working life was quite exciting. I immediately began to look at vacancies and sent out application after application. I have had a few interviews and am pleased to say I will start employment in the coming week. However, I have also been shocked at the conduct of some companies who have interviewed me and I include two quick summaries. The names have been changed to protect both the innocent and the guilty.

Interview One:

I arrive promptly at the time given. I am kept waiting for 15 minutes, no explanation is made as to why my interview has not started at the time given. I am also dismayed to hear two members of the reception staff moan that they only knew about the interviews ten minutes ago. Eventually I am led through to an interview panel of two people. The interview begins by the panel addressing me by a different name and I have to explain my correct name twice before they catch on. A member of the panel tells me that they had my name as ‘Jim’. I apologise and explain my name is Mark (it has been since birth). I also note that in front of each interviewer is a copy of my application form, and even though I read it upside down: it clearly states my name as Mark Jones. I wonder if anyone has bothered to read the application. The formality of any regular interview begins “This is Susan, you will be working for her and myself, my name is Tim.” I am then asked to explain to the panel what their company does. I have always wondered what the point of this question is, but I give a detailed answer and smile. I am then asked a series of questions which ask me to give examples of A)When I have felt most stressed B) When I have felt most under pressure and C) Can I give examples of when I have found my work to be difficult and on and on. The questions were so downbeat I felt like I was going through psychoanalysis. By the end of the questions I feel so drained I am desperate to see that the panel has a sense of humour. Susan proceeds to draw my attention to the job description; she feels I do not understand what they are asking for. I find this odd as I have memorised the job description and none of the questions I have been asked seem to relate to it. It also seems that the NHS have paid for ‘Susan’ to have a sense of humour bypass. In addition she has a good cop/bad cop personality, and no answer I give seems to be right. At one point I expect Gene Hackman to storm into the interview room and ask me if I pick my feet in Poughkeepsie. The time eventually comes to leave and I stagger out of the interview feeling like I have blown it even though I answered all the questions in detail and passed all the tests.

Interview Two:

I arrive at the interview location and take a seat. Across the room from me I overhear members of HR studying someone’s GCSE certificates. They are quite scathing about the person’s results and I am amazed that this is done in front of other applicants. I am led through to the panel. This time there are three people. Once again the questions are of a very downbeat and negative tone. In both of these interviews I get the feeling I would not enjoy working for these companies. My last employer was easy going and there was also a light atmosphere in their offices. One of the panel seems particularly narked about something. I try to ignore it and keep on answering the questions with a smile. Once again I leave the interview feeling like I have been on the set of the exorcist.

In neither interview was I offered a coffee or asked to tell the panel about myself or my activities outside of a working environment. Everything was overformal.

At the end of the day I received no feedback, no letter to tell me if I got the job (one must only assume these days) and none of my references were taken up (I could provide three excellent ones when needed). Academically I had enough paper to pass: one BSc degree and one Masters degree. In the last four years I have had only six days of absence due to a vicious bout of the flu.

Now, of course, no one can or should be expected to be given a job. But the bizarre structure of English recruitment surely needs looking at. I know of countless people who are excellent friends and employees and I am amazed that they have either been rejected for good jobs or have given up and taken up a position they do not like or is not what they are looking for. They are also surprised at who has been selected to manage them and have found that they do their own work and that of their manager. How were these people chosen for the job?

As a country we must ask how our expert recruitment system has elected the worst style of management England has seen in decades. Our post office system is ruined and falling apart, one of England’s biggest banks is close to collapse; our NHS is ineffective despite the billions the Labour government continues to pour into it. In all these examples the Chief execs and head management are due to receive millions of pounds in bonuses regardless of the fact they have ruined the companies they were recruited to protect. All of this is happening while other workers are being given their marching orders. Is it me, or do you also wonder how recruitment in England works-please let me know.

Mark Jones

Contact me through www.earlyworksarchive.com

Track of the week - Indian Ocean - Bandeh

Posted by Andy on December 3rd, 2007

This weekend, in Delhi, the Sounds Of SAARC has been taking place. India is currently the chair country for the South Asia Association for Regional Cooperation and therefore decided to hold a 10-day cultural festival, celebrating the heritage of each of the 8 member countries. The kick-start to this extravaganza was a music festival which took place over the last 3 days. It featured some of the best contemporary bands from Bangladesh, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Sri Lanka, Bhutan, The Maldives, Nepal and, of course, India.

I went along on Friday and Saturday and was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed it. The highlights for me were Soulmate, Strings and Indian Ocean.

Soulmate, as the name suggests, are a group who play various kinds of blues and soul music. Sometimes their tunes are a little upbeat and funky and sometimes they are completely laid back and, well, bluesy. The female vocalist had a voice as strong as Aretha Franklin’s with the youthfulness and vitality of McFly. Complementing this was the lead guitarist who played catchy intricate solos in each song.

Strings are a band from Pakistan who I had never heard of, but most Indians under 30 who I have spoken to since rave about them. Their music is kind of catchy Bryan Adam-esque mid 90-style riffs. However, I prefer them much more than Adams and their tunes seem as relevant today as they were 10 years ago.

Indian Ocean headlined the stage on Saturday night. It is difficult to categorise their brand of music as it is unique. They blend contemporary tunes with Indian classical folk. Their haunting melodies and rich voices make the music atmospheric and uplifting. And the icing on the cake is the variety of traditional drums they use to great effect, none of which I know the name of. One of their most popular tunes - Bandeh - is embedded below if you want to click and listen. I suggest you lie down and close your eyes if you want to make the most of it.

What stood out for me about all the bands at this festival was how much they enjoyed playing the music. Throughout all the performances you could tell the band members were genuinely having a good time. A great deal of vibrance was created through their sheer enthusiasm and enjoyment and this added to the music. It also rubbed off on the crowd and added to the atmosphere.

A big well done to the Delhi SAARC committee or whoever organised this event. Let’s have more like it in the future. I’m off to check out the food part of the festival now.

Perturbed at the Post Office

Posted by Andy on December 2nd, 2007

Last week I went to the post office. Not a very interesting topic to talk about most people would think. A little mundane for a blog, some might say. However, this is India and no trip to a government-run organisation passes without some kind of stress-inducing event taking place.

My aim was simple. To send off the paperwork for the Rickshaw Run. It had to arrive in the UK within 8 days and I had no doubt that the Indian postal service would ensure this happened.

On arriving at the Post Office I tried to find the end of a queue to join, which was difficult considering the number of people jostling for a position in such a confined area. Eventually I found some semblance of a line and stood at the end of it.

While waiting my turn I started to make some observations. Firstly, I noticed that only 1 person was serving, even though about 30 customers were waiting. Secondly, I realised that there were about 20 post office workers – or should I say people who are paid to spend every day in the post office – milling around behind her. None of them appeared to be doing anything productive and it would have made sense to me if they had helped out by selling some stamps or something. But what do I know.

After I had been waiting for 15 minutes the sole server stood up and went into the office at the back without a word of explanation to anyone. It transpired that she had gone for lunch. I expected someone else to take her place in order to continue dealing with the customers, but this didn’t happen. Instead, we all had to stand there for half an hour watching numerous staff doing nothing in particular, while she filled her face.

No doubt feeling refreshed after her lengthy lunch, the lady returned to her desk. At this point I made the stupid assumption that she would start serving people again. But no. Instead, she and the rest of her colleagues took the opportunity to give presents to each other. I have no idea what they were celebrating, but I’d been waiting so long by this point that I felt well enough acquainted with them to be deserving of a gift myself.

When she finally sat down again I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally she would get on with serving some customers. Again I was mistaken. This time she pulled out a variety of wedding invitations and took about deciding which was the nicest, having an in-depth discussion with her friend about it.

Eventually, I saw the look in her eye change. I could tell that now she was definitely ready for business. Alas, as she attempted to get back to work she realised her Internet connection wasn’t working. After much searching, and with the use of great technical expertise, she discovered the problem – it wasn’t plugged in. On solving this great mystery she did the right thing and went back to looking at the wedding invitations.

I am not the most patient of people in these kinds of situations, but the joy I felt when I was finally served more than made up for the pain I had suffered during the previous hour of psychological torment.

I generally think its bad form for a foreigner to criticise a country that is not their own. My response is normally, ‘well if you don’t like it, go back home’. I love India, but like a woman, that does not mean there aren’t things that annoy me about her. In the last four years I have spent about half of my life in India, and feel that this qualifies me to speak my mind without being seen as an arrogant outsider.

 

Yellow, yellow, dirty fellow

Posted by Andy on November 29th, 2007

In India my favourite TV adverts at the moment are Orbit white ones. There has been a series of them all featuring the same guy who uses his expert knowledge to prove that this chewing gum makes the teeth of various bovine white as chalk. So I thought I’d share one on here. Listen out for “yellow, yellow, dirty fellow” at the end. Love it…

Band on the run: The Media Vs Heather Mills

Posted by Andromeda on November 19th, 2007

Our guest ranter, Mr Mark Jones, seems to have nothing better to do than wax lyrical about the British media these days. He has become somewhat disillusioned with the way they behave and the quality of news they share with the general public in recent times. But if that motivates him to keep on writing stuff like this then long may it continue…

Last week saw Sir Paul McCartney’s soon to be ex wife, Heather Mills, appear on British television accusing tabloid newspapers of hounding her, and generally making her life a misery. Another point that Heather made was to accuse Journalists of making things up, mostly in regard to her impending divorce case with Sir Paul McCartney.

In the eyes of the British media, Heather Mills is a liar, a gold digger and a self publicist all rolled into one. In daily columns, British journalists have vented their anger at Heather’s antics, stern words appearing every day with new slants and new accusations. This fevered anger had been growing stronger by the day. Heather Mills had kept quiet and was only seen in paparazzi photos exiting countless airports to pursue her media career, which up to this point had included a stint on an American dance television show.

It seems that the mounting pressure and criticism pushed Heather over the edge, and on England’s favourite breakfast programme known as GMTV, she decided to vent her spleen. She accused the British tabloids of lying, and of inventing huge sums of money which she claims she has not demanded from Sir Paul McCartney. Heather rounded off the interview by stating that in the following days to come, the tabloids would increase their hate campaign against her. The general consensus among the public was that Heather Mills had played right into the hands of the tabloids and made a show of herself.

But had she?

The following morning after her exclusive interview, GMTV invited one journalist who has an intense dislike of Heather Mills into their studio to vent her anger at Heather’s rant. In the eyes of non biased British journalism - was there also a guest there to defend Heather’s complaint?

No.

The same bias occurred on the BBC’s breakfast programme where another tabloid journalist attacked Heather Mills with equal vigour. Once again there was not another panelist there to defend the complaints from Miss Mills. The weekend newspapers were equally scathing in their review of her actions “How dare you criticise us about criticising you” was the general consensus. This was topped off with the usual unflattering photographs of their enemy. When looking at the whole picture, it may seem likely to some that the media had played into Heather Mills’s hands.

In the following days, polls suggested that a large slice of the British population had begun to see eye to eye with the gold digger/liar/self publicist. I must admit I felt the British Media were acting like a mafia. Not one journalist suggested or considered what the incident was incurring on the individual involved. That would be what the mafia call an ‘Omerta’. Journalists it seems were covering each others backs. Perhaps it was the feeling that someone like Heather Mills could inflict damage to them, and more importantly their viewing and sales figures.

Heather Mills Paul McCartney

The general impression this incident gave of British journalism is not one I would like to see repeated. It may be true that Heather Mills is a gold digger and a self publicist (would she be the first?) but her treatment has resembled that handed out to society’s worst criminals such as murderers and rapists. Another cause for concern is the rise of the ‘Indoor Journalist’ as I like to call them. Many newspapers in Britain now feature columns run by celebrities who want to give us their unique view on the lives of other celebrities. Their comments are usually critical and scathing, but their articles are also turgid beyond belief. I can only imagine that their idea of journalism is to write a few sketchy articles (normally devoid of fact) while sat at home with a coffee, squeezed in-between their busy presenting career or whatever else they are supposed to be doing.

Meanwhile up and down the land, journalists of a better calibre are driving to and fro around the country, perhaps in other parts of the world conducting interviews, collecting facts, assessing the atmosphere, only to find that their articles are rejected in favor of the growing number of celeb journos who feel it is their duty to give us their thoughts on the private lives of other celebs (usually no mark red carpet walkers).

Am I defending Heather Mills? Not particularly, but her situation has highlighted a growing concern that is affecting British newspapers: they are becoming out of touch with the people of Britain. They must remember that they are dealing with a new, techno savvy generation who will not be fooled by manipulative photographs, or the building up and pulling down of celebrities (an activity that is becoming very tiresome). They would do well to rethink their strategies and to take a closer look at their own print. If they do not, then in this world of internet journalism they will not survive.

Mark Jones