Giddy Up

Just what is the point of watching and taking part in horse racing, and why does the jockey get all of the credit for the efforts of another?

I mean, where is the skill in sitting on the back of a horse? All you have to do is strap a midget with a silly coloured pair of pyjamas and an eating disorder to the back of a horse and then slap it silly with a whip as it gallops around the track.

If you are then fortunate enough to pass the winning post ahead of the other horses the jockey and trainer are crowned heroes whilst the horse huffs and puffs in the corner. The owner is then rewarded with a fat cheque whilst all the horse gets is a bail of hay and a sugar lump – or if it fails to win enough a one way trip to the glue factory.

However, it would be far more interesting if the jockey was made to run around the one mile track with a horse, dressed in silly pyjamas, strapped to his back. Now, I’d pay to watch that!

What’s an Inch Between Friends?

People create a profile on Match.com for a reason – and that reason is to advertise themselves to other Match.com members in the hope of being a suitable match. Likewise, they also define desirable attributes in the person they are searching for – such as age, hair and eye colour along with interests and a level of education. However, there is one contentious issue that I’m not really sure about when it comes to either ignoring or contacting a Match.com member. And that issue is height.

I just wonder that, out of all of the other characteristics people search for, whether this is a top of the list requirement and if, women in particular, will not waver from a set height criteria. Naturally, if someone is tall they tend to only look for someone with a similar height, but there appears to be an awful lot of women in Match.com land looking for tall blokes.

So what is it with tall blokes that make the ladies go all wobbly at the knees? What do they bring to the party that average height and shorties don’t? After all, it’s much harder to buy clothes for tall people and you only have to look in the various clothes sales to see that the majority of shirts and trousers are for types that come with their own weather systems.

So being a bit of a short arse myself, at a mere 5 foot 7, I just wonder whether I’d be wasting my time contacting someone who is looking for a bloke who is 5 foot 8 or 9. I mean, what’s an inch between friends and is it really that important? Answers on a postcard please...

End of Week Report

So my first week at my new job is complete. Everyone is nice and it went along pretty much as I’d expected it to - with two days of total boredom reading endless manuals, company procedures and finding my way around the open plan offices, meeting people and trying to remember their names. Also, previously use to an all male office environment, there are two women sat across from me - and chatty ones too!!

I only managed to get the "have I really done the right thing?" thought twice – once on the Monday afternoon and then again on the Tuesday afternoon whilst struggling to increase my caffeine intake in order up to keep me awake for a few more hours before clocking off. Still, I kept telling myself that this was to be expected and things would get better.

Thankfully, Wednesday proved this, and I finally got my hands dirty by digging into the real meat of things, resulting in a far more stimulating end to the week. Never the less, I’ve got three days worth of in-house training next week on their various products. I just hope it’s going to be interesting - otherwise I may need an intravenous line of super strength coffee!

So with my first week out of the way I can now switch my attentions back to Match.com. However, judging by the lack of response to my previous ten messages, I think the recent positive change to my life isn't as wide as I'd first hoped. Still, there's still plenty left in that glass yet.

A Postcard from Dublin

You can’t help not liking the Irish. In fact, I’d go as far as saying that they are my most favourite people on the planet - especially for their wonderful hospitality, friendliness and their reluctance to rush anything. It’s all a far cry from my fellow British citizens.

You only have to wait for a Guinness to know that it takes a few minutes before you can finally get your hands on that pint of delicious black gold. But it’s not only the stout that won’t be rushed, as even the DART commuter train seemed to shrug its shoulders as it happily ambled its way from one side of Dublin bay to the other. It’s all so relaxing and it makes such a change to other manic European cities such as London and Paris.

It was my first visit to that melting pot of a city known as Dublin and although I’m no Ireland virgin – with my work taking me to Cork on numerous occasions – I was quite surprised by the number of Polish people there – even more than I’ve noticed in the UK. Heck, there’s even a separate section in the Evening Herald newspaper dedicated to all things Polish every Friday.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I admire their willing and they all work extremely hard, but it was a great shame to hear more Polish accents than a rich Irish one. Even one of stewardesses on the plane was Polish to the degree that I couldn’t understand a single word she was saying over the tannoy. For all that I understood she may well have being speaking in her native Polish, or even Gaelic.

Another thing that surprised me was the amount of building work in and around Dublin. After seeing many of the tiger economies of Asia with my own eyes, it’s no wonder that Ireland is known as the Celtic Tiger economy of Europe. Mind you, this comes with its problems as house prices in Dublin are more expensive than London or even New York. It’s no wonder that people are complaining they can’t afford to buy a house, plus there appears to be a worrying number of empty apartment and office blocks – and they still continue to build more. Dublin will be really nice once they finish building it!

The Last Supper

So it’s all done and dusted. The various goodbye drinks and pub lunches are over, and after over ten years of service I’ve finally finished working with my current employer.

Since it was always me who organised the signing of cards, the whip rounds and the buying of presents, I was genuinely surprised to receive a leaving card and present. I was also quite surprised to hear my main boss say that he was regretting giving me the leaving card and that he was extremely sorry to see me go – something I’d never heard him say to anyone else leaving over the years. Another boss even said that I’d be welcome back anytime - which was so out of character for him.

It was quite a strange feeling leaving really – but rather oddly nothing emotional - because it was my first job since leaving college all those many years ago. I’d been there so long I could almost count my bosses and work colleagues as family. I mean, I’d been there long enough to see my work colleagues children grow from mere toddlers to rebellious teenagers and onto university students.

My last day certainly made me stop and think about how the years have simply flown by and how much older, and hopefully wiser, I’ve become. Still, that was my main reasons for leaving – the chance to push my career in a direction my previous employer unfortunately couldn’t offer me, and with a much improved salary too.

So, my new job awaits. But rather than rushing from one job to another, I’ve decided to take a well earned break. As a result, I’m off to Ireland for a week of relaxation, lots of Guinness drinking and a spot of sightseeing. Heck, I may even manage to bump into a nice Irish lass…

Chrikey!

I’m not a violent man, but not since Paul Hogan and Crocodile Dundee have I wanted to punch an Australian person as much as Steve “Crocodile Hunter” Irwin. His perpetually cheerful and enthusiastic personality was enough to drive you to drink as he bounced about your television screen, dodging deadly snakes and wrestling crocodiles. The bloke was a complete nutter.

However, his unconventional approach to wildlife and conservation was a welcome breath of much needed fresh air – and what’s more the kids loved him, his antics and the varied wildlife of Australia that he was trying so hard to protect.

He even managed to make the less furry and cute animals interesting and was a permanent, and much loved, fixture of Australia Zoo. Sure, he was no David Attenborough, but his television programmes were just as awe inspiring.

So I was shocked and saddened to learn today that the great Steve Irwin died whilst filming on the Great Barrier Reef. My first thought was that a crocodile had finally got its revenge, but he actually died after being struck in the chest by a stingray's barb while he was filming for a new documentary.

He may now be gone, but his work will definitely carry on. With legions of young children the world over transfixed by his antics, and his tireless and passionate efforts to inform and save countless species of wildlife, he will never be forgotten. Rest in peace mate, rest in peace.

Stupid Bankers

In 1943 Thomas Watson, the then chairman of IBM, said "I think there is a world market for maybe five computers." With hindsight, this was a bit of an understatement to say the least, and the idea of the transistor, let alone the silicon chip, were still fantasy. Were it not for the microchip, the world we live in today would simply not exist.

Still, never let it be said that IBM sat around twiddling their thumbs. Rather than manufacturing punch card readers, cash tills and computers for the US military, they had the foresight to make something far bigger – something that would change the face of the world as we know it. Quite simply, if it wasn’t for the IBM 5150 Personal Computer I wouldn’t have written this blog entry on my own home PC or published it on the Internet for you to be reading now.

Anyway, you may well be asking where I’m going with this.

Well, we live in the age of the computer where there’s a microchip in everything from a birthday card to a wheelie-bin. It even helped to supposedly put a man on the moon. The world is simply ruled by the computer and banks in particular would simply not function without them. They have rooms stuffed full of massive mainframe computers that handle customer accounts, cash point transactions, Internet banking and automatically sending out statements and nasty letters telling you that you’re over drawn – and all in the blink of an eye.

So with all of this wonderful technology, why does it take three days for your bank to move money from one account to another? Why does it take so long for an electronic transfer (no human hands or eyes are required) to remove money from one account (which is always instant I might add) and then wing its way from one computer (which is quite possibly sat on the other side of the room) to another?

Perhaps computers aren’t as advanced as I first thought. Either that, or it’s a shameless money making scheme by the banking industry that makes billions of dollars a year on the international money market and yet sends you a stinging letter, and charging you for the privilege, whenever you go overdrawn by a few pence.

Oh, and just don't get me started on their junk mail...