Sing if you’re happy

My car has been patched up - it passed its MOT – it’s safe. I can’t afford to drive it anymore, but that’s a minor quibble. I spent yesterday afternoon shuttling back and forward between garage two, who had done some welding, and garage one, who failed the job because it hadn’t been done properly. I was supposed to be working from home and instead found myself fielding calls on my mobile phone whilst watching my car being welded for a second time. The only positive came when garage two managed to reverse my car into a Porsche. This might not sound too good, but the rear bumper was in a sorry state beforehand, now it gets a free re-spray before I attempt to sell the car on. If I’m lucky it may cover the cost of repairs.

It was enough to have me pine for the days when I used public transport. For over ten years I travelled into work by train and even though the journey by car is hardly arduous, and using the train was never very quick (an hour door-to-door compared to 30 minutes if I drove), it was much more relaxed. I could spend my time reading the Metro newspaper (hey, it’s free) or even (gasp) a book. That’s right, I use to read. Whilst doing so I could drink vile coffee and munch on an over-priced cinnamon Danish – there was no end to my multi-tasking skills. I could leap tall buildings in a single bound. I could… I could… you’re not buying any of this are you? I lost you at coffee.

Working at home was much more productive than I’d imagined. This despite being crouched over a laptop, placed on a desk that wasn’t really large enough for serious work, and using VPN to connect to my desktop in the office. I didn’t check my blog once throughout the day. I don’t remember checking my personal e-mail. When I was called up to ‘attend’ a meeting over the phone I contributed far more than if I’d been there in person. Perhaps it was the novelty of it all. It brought to mind the Hawthorne effect – where a change in the working conditions (I think it was factory lighting) would result in increased productivity, temporarily at least. Perhaps when the novelty wears off I’ll return to normal; any advantages gained from having no distractions or being able to sing more loudly than usual will be lost. Singing doesn’t come naturally, I never could sing in tune – but importantly I keep trying.

Poor man, rich man, poor man

This week I decided to address my haphazard finances. In the process I found an insurance policy with a high monthly premium that I could afford to cancel, and discovered to my surprise that it had a surrender value (£1045 credit).

Also this week I decided to sort out my car, though I didn’t really have a choice. On Monday I bought three new tyres and had the tracking fixed (£201), having wrecked the other tyre a week earlier driving over a pothole (£40). On Tuesday I put the car in for its MOT and service. On Thursday my car was returned with a seemingly endless list of faults fixed (£726) and a failed MOT. Tomorrow I pick up a new alloy wheel (£151). Next Monday I take the car in for some welding (£Unknown) and hopefully on Wednesday the car will be re-tested (£Unknown).

Hang on a second…

Faith

Is any of it real? I’ve been thinking how much of what we live for is illusory. I don’t mean that in a “what’s the point of it all” sense, more that those things that give our lives a purpose have no scientific basis. A small percentage of us may improve the physical lives of those around them, but the vast majority such as I will fail.

But then I’m not living for a cure for cancer, nor to be witness to other great scientific achievements. None of these things, worthy though they are, give my life meaning. Instead I choose to believe in those elements that provoke an emotional response. Science enables me to live but does not tell me why. It provides no reason for great literature or kindness and compassion; yet none of us doubt these things exist. They are more than mere biology; the whole invariably outweighs the sum of its parts, so how can they be real?

They are real because, regardless of the evidence, we choose to believe. Perhaps then when someone believes in God, then God too is real for that person, and that is all that matters. Perhaps all of us, religious, agnostic and atheist, have a belief system of sorts. Mine may not include God but it encompasses other essentials that have no proof; they only require… faith.

And since we have faith, we should allow for others who have a different kind of faith. Proof is irrelevant. If I deny people their God, then I deny myself the right to love.

Don't worry, be happy

It seems quite a while since I said goodbye to another year, but it will take another month before I pull myself out of the inevitable post Christmas funk. Though having seen the forecast for 2009 I’m beginning to think it may be better to keep my head down and try to avoid this year altogether. My favourite story this week, notwithstanding the small matter of a new U.S. president, was the advice from a prominent financial guru to abandon the U.K. currency altogether, or as The Times put it, "We're f****d". Oh alright, they didn’t really say that but a blunt assessment of our future is long overdue and it’s simple enough so that everyone can understand – we don’t have a future.

I’m not convinced that the solution to our financial woes, a problem caused by borrowing too much money and spending more than we can afford, is to borrow even more money and spend it on things that we couldn’t afford when we actually had money to spend.

However we shouldn’t despair; because despite what I said earlier there is some hope. I’ve done a lot of research on this - someone has to – and I think I have the answer. The government would be better advised to consolidate all our debt into one affordable monthly payment. With a bit of luck we’ll have money left over for a holiday.

Failing the cricket test

In 1990 Norman Tebbit gave an interview in which he questioned the loyalty of immigrants to the U.K. by asking which cricket team they supported. Putting aside any pedants (most Scottish people would fail the cricket test) and accepting the metaphor, a better question would have asked why some ‘fail’ and whose ‘failure’ it really is.

When I was 14 I took part in a school football match before which one player ran around the pitch shouting “There’s no black in the Union Jack”. Whilst this boy (who was prone to writing the initials NF on any available surface and who later joined the police force) was more than capable of beating me to a pulp, it is to my eternal shame that I failed to say anything. I don’t believe we are a fundamentally racist country but there are still too many of us who fail to speak up when we should. Is it any wonder that immigrants in such a hostile environment may sometimes look to their country of birth for relief?

Such problems are compounded by the internet which has become a powerful source of disinformation. I recently read of a primary school in Birmingham where a boy was told that for PE lessons they could wear football league shirts - but NOT an England shirt as it could offend others.

This story isn’t true; yet it features at the start of a chain e-mail currently circulating that includes all sorts of spurious ‘information’ justifying why ‘they’ should adapt to ‘us’ and not the other way around. If we truly are a tolerant people then we should question whether the problem is real and if so why; we should even entertain the idea that we may in some way be to blame.

I don’t doubt that similar stories exist, but consider that we are a country of 50+ million people and local government is prone to silly behaviour from time to time. Why is it that this particular story should have been so readily believed? Why is it that though white immigrants are far more likely to fail the cricket test than those from ethnic minorities, this doesn’t invoke nearly as much ire?

Episode VI - Return of the chocolate muffin

So I sent a couple of droids to talk it over with Jabba at his castle, where entertainment included a musical interlude by a blue elephant playing in the style of Stevie Wonder (you had to be there). I turned up, killed his favourite pet and we flew off into the sunset to meet up with the rest of the fleet, but not before I met with Ben who told me that the girl I'd fancied was in fact my sister. I'm kind of glad now that Dad cut off my right hand… I met up with the rest of the fleet, a woman we'd never seen before passed on information from some Bothan spies and Admiral Ackbar, a talking squid from the planet Mon Calamari, showed off his new 3D computer screen. The emperor saw us coming (Bothan spies are rubbish – it's no wonder so many of them died) but despite this we managed to defeat a crack legion of the emperor's best troops with the help from some cuddly teddy bears.

That's the problem with any final act. The outline may look good but putting it into practice…

So perhaps I shouldn't have set myself the target of two blogs in as many days. I'll not be doing that again. Nor shall I make any resolutions for the New Year; except perhaps not to quote the film quite as often as I do (if at all). God only knows what people must think of me – though as it happens I am sat at work wearing a T-shirt with the small green character printed on it. Some days I feel obliged to live up (or should that be down?) to the stereotype.

Instead I'll promote a new sophisticated Phil; the kind that orders something at Starbucks with 'skinny' in the title - or is it just tall skinny women who order tall skinny lattes? Either way I'll not be having any more of their chocolate muffins; they're just like 'Episode VI'… rubbish.

Episode I - The phantom tea cup

I saw very few films over the Christmas period and I saw no films during Christmas week, which seems a real waste. I had a yearning to watch 'Fight Club' again though Mrs R wasn't very keen, preferring instead to watch 'Mamma Mia' with Little Miss R - I slept through it all. My stack of unwatched DVDs grows whilst the time in which to watch them shrinks. At work there are six of 16 desks occupied. On this floor we number three support people (100% attendance for the support team), one database person, one business analyst and one developer (that'd be me).

The Christmas decorations are beginning to fall down and no-one has the will to maintain them. The tinsel remains on the floor or dangling from the ceiling; we sidestep the end of Christmas as if hoping to delay the arrival of the New Year. Office etiquette is proving tricky. With five people on one side of the office and 'Lone Developer' Phil (they should make a TV series) on the other, there was one burning question of the morning; should I offer to make the tea? This problem was resolved when one of 'The Others' drifted my way to ask if I'd like a drink. "No thanks" I replied, because by that time I'd already sneaked a couple in. Bear in mind I've been a developer for a long time. Put it this way. Imagine I'm in a bar with a fellow developer, discussing where George Lucas went wrong with 'The Phantom Menace', and a beautiful woman (who somehow hasn't heard our conversation) sits next to me and strikes up a conversation. I might be thinking 'Serendipity', but I'll mainly be thinking 'Help!'. Let's face it, there's only one thing I know about women - and there's only so many ways I can compliment her on her hair. It's safer in 'Phil's World'. I suppose I could always wing it and ask where she stands on the hot topic of the afternoon; "Who is more annoying – Jar Jar Binks or Anakin Skywalker?" I'm only kidding... Everyone knows the answer to that.