Just like 1974

The computers were down at work today. All day. The boss came in at 9.15am and said, “I’ve spoken to IT about the network and its down. They're trying to fix it. It could take minutes; could take hours.”
Someone piped up, “Can we go home then?”
He laughed a bit nervously. I guess that means ‘No’ then!

So people generally did nothing all day. The phones hardly rang, since most of our calls are made internally and, with no computers up, nobody was ringing with enquiries. People were standing around chatting, drinking coffee and generally just mooching around. Paper balls and elastic bands started flying all over the place. An electronic noise was randomly set off. It was like being in a classroom of mischievous kids!

By 11.30am, it was obvious the network wasn’t going to be up until at least mid-afternoon, so everyone just did site visits all day. I did some much-needed archiving and filing, but by 2pm, I was bored silly and had absolutely NOTHING to do! I played with my mobile, phoned a couple of the girls in other offices and had a good natter, but it was just stupid having to sit in the office all day and do nothing.

It was a bit like before computers came out - a sort of time-warp into office life thirty years ago with everyone having to write everything down. It would drive me crazy not being able to use a computer. I live by computers. Writing down everything is so archaic! Geez, I even have an on-line diary rather than a manual one!! Go figure...

Personal statement

Anna is currently agonising over her personal statement for her entry into a teaching course at university. I’m helping her a little with her phrasing and grammar, but she’s been doing this for a week now and it is getting boring. She says that a woman at her workplace is going to help her secure a placement through Middlesex University. That'll be good for her as she won't have far to commute every day. She's just thrown her pen down. I think she's getting bored too.

She’s now trying to take off her earrings. She got her ears pierced a couple of months ago and I asked her if she could change her earrings yet. Anna said, “Yeah… if I could get them off!”
Are they stuck then?
“A bit. The problem is they’re still a bit watery and I don’t want to take them out and not be able to put them back in again. I’ll be like some one-earring pirate woman!”
After much fiddling in front of the mirror, she heaves a sigh and says, “That‘s enough earring twiddling for one night. Here, read my statement. There are some gaps.”

I go through it with a fine red pen. There aren’t many mistakes; just a few mixed-tense sentences. I’ll finish it properly once the gaps are filled.

1st Chinese Grand Prix

It was the first Chinese Grand Prix today. Michael Schumacher spun out during the qualifying lap and ended up something like 17th on the grid. Awh, shame(!).

The race itself was cool and Schumacher spun out again. Not very good back tyres today. He’s making so many mistakes its unbelievable. Anna is having a whale of a time. Hey, David Coulthard might even finish today!

In the end, Reubens Barrichello came first, the v. gorgeous Jensen Button came second, and Kimi Raikkonen came third. Coulthard came ninth after getting a puncture and pushing Schumacher off the track. The German finished in a miserable twelfth place.

The day was marred by news that the British Grand Prix, held at Silverstone, is being axed and is out of the picture for the Grand Prix 2005. Its a bit of a black cloud over a great day for British motor racing.

Tall people unite!

It's getting colder so I decide that I'll treat myself to a new winter coat, one of those snazzy ¾ length numbers, since my long calf-length winter coat looks rather silly with jeans and trainers. How difficult can it be to find a winter coat in England in September? Harder than you think if you're 6'2".

We have a good selection of shops in the town - Next, DP, Topshop, Monsoon, River Island, Krisp, Principles, etc - and there are more than enough choices of coats. Unfortunately, none of them have long enough sleeves on them and I need at least two inches or more each time. Being tall certainly has its advantages, don't get me wrong, I love being tall! It's just when it comes to either dating or clothes shopping, I always find myself disappointed by the end of the day.

Shops generally cater for 'regular' sized people - between 5'5" and 5'9" in height, and 6 to 18 in size. Then you have the 'petite' and 'larger-size' sections that are usually bundled together at the back of the shop with the maternity section. These clothes are usually the same designs and prices as those in the main body of the shop, just proportioned for the larger or smaller person.

When it comes to tall people, it's a different story. Not all high street stores have a tall section and when they do, its about four racks of jeans and trousers, with one design of suit jacket if you're lucky. You don't get long-sleeved shirts, jackets, coats, sweaters... And the prices are more, sometimes as much as £10 extra. The funny thing is, they will supply cropped trousers. Well, if a tall person wanted crops, they'd go to the 'regular' section and pick up a regular pair of trousers! Designers have no idea, especially since the world population is generally taller and larger than it was 50 years ago.

I admit that I do shop at LTS and Nine to Elleven which do cater for women over 5'9" but the clothes are quite expensive for what they are. For instance, I love LTS jeans but I pay £40 each time, while my sister walks into Topshop or New Look and buys jeans for £20-£25. It's really unfair, especially since its only a couple of inches of extra material.

I guess one day designers will realise that people are taller and will eventually cater better for them. Until then, I'll continue my hunt for a winter coat that fits me properly and is decently priced!

Australian-Anglo-American

It has been rather quiet in my inbox the last couple of weeks. Maybe people don’t email me anymore cos they can read this and don’t need to ask what’s new with me.

Anyway, I was talking to a work colleague and suddenly he said, "You know, sometimes when you talk, you sound a bit Australian."
Excuse me?
"Yeah, you have this Australian thing going sometimes."
I asked another colleague for a second opinion.
"No," she said, "but you do speak posh, though."
Great. I’m Antipodean and upper class. I must sound terrible when I speak!

Seriously though, I do have this horrible semi-American accent I seem to produce every time I go Stateside. It’s not intentional; I just seem to pick up the accent of those around me. Not that my Yank friends agree with me – I’m still plain old British Clare to them. But my sister says I talk funny when I come back from holiday so something must be going on. Maybe it’s very slight so only British people notice…

“So, are you permanent yet?”

If one more person asks me that question again, I am going to scream. The answer is, ‘Yes, but not officially’. I found out today that out of all the candidates who became permanent the same time as me, I am the only one not on the payroll as of Monday. There’s a fuss about my occupation health form cos I ticked the disability box. I could argue that due to my disability, I’m being discriminated against cos everyone gets paid before me as a result, but I can’t be bothered.

A spider jumped out at me at work today. I was just collecting some suspension files and it advanced towards me at an alarming pace. I’m okay with little ones but this was a biggie! It scuttled and I really hate that! So I was making a bit of a fuss and half the office gathered round to watch Paul take a plastic cup and take the spider outside into the rain.

Tyred

I went to the local Kwik-Fit after work today to get the front tyres changed, for a reasonable amount - £70. That includes a small payment for the old tyres to be economically disposed of. There! Can’t say I don’t do anything for the environment now! They jacked up the car manually, rather than driving it onto the rack, so I didn’t ask them to check the front brakes. I just did a hard stop when I drove out of the garage and managed to feel some difference. Most of the pressure is on the back brakes anyway.

While I was in the shop waiting for the tyre change, this guy came in for tyre changes on his car, a nice shiny VW Golf. The mechanic is apologetic but can only offer the medium-priced tyres. "It’s not a common car," he explained. "We usually only stock tyres for the GTIs."
The man asks for GTI tyres anyway.
"The difference in depth can throw off your speedo," the mechanic says. "You could be doing forty and the speedo says thirty."
The man looks at him in disbelief.
"Yeah," continues the mechanic, "that’s how much the wrong tyre can affect your car."
I’m not sure whether to believe him. I guess there is a truth in it as the speedo is calculated by the revolutions the car wheel makes, and the wrong tyre would make a larger revolution than needed, but surely the speed of the car (and therefore the speedometer) would reflect this? The guy shrugs his shoulders and reluctantly starts fishing out his cash. I felt a bit sorry for him.

MOT plus Service

It’s that time of year again when the car has to be MOT-ed so I can purchase a tax disc. I included a service as well this year cos the car’s five years old. I dropped Anna off at work, drove the car to the garage at Ponders End, and then took the train to work. I stood on the platform in my denim jacket, freezing to death, and wishing I’d dug out my winter coat. At least four ‘fast trains’ from Stansted pass before one stops to take me three stations down the line. I always wonder why I don’t use public transport more often and it only takes a day like today for me to remember why – public transport in London sucks.

Anyway, they reported a repair to the rear jet washer, headlight re-alignment, replacement of front brake pads, oil and filter change, and general maintenance: £317 of work. I was shocked and appalled, considering at least £200 was for labour charges. They also reported the front tyres were losing tread, but I told them I’d get them changed elsewhere.
"But you could get pulled over," I was warned.
"I’ll take my chances," I retorted.

I drove home and couldn’t feel any difference to the front brakes. Maybe its cos the tyres need changing?

The search begins… again!

Rosemary turned 12 today. We had a little celebration with J2Os and sponge cake, and obligingly sang ‘Happy Birthday’ at half the normal pace.

During my lunchtime today I signed up for a flatmate-finding service. Yet again, I am trying to escape my parental home in search of pastures new. I stopped at the beginning of summer because I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep my job, but now I’ve got my placement, I’m looking again. I’m having a little trouble trying to find rent-to-buy schemes within the Greater London area (help would be greatly appreciated!) so I’m looking at sharing for now. There’s not a lot of choice really, since I can’t afford to rent alone and my salary won’t secure a large enough mortgage for anywhere in my area. So I’m looking at sharing for now. Come on, I can’t live with my Dad forever! I have to live like an adult sometime, so why not now? The thing I fear the most is still being at home when I’m in my thirties. A horrifying thought.

The Enfield Show

Heather went off to the University of Greenwich this morning. She was supposed to be going on Monday but went today instead to give herself a day to settle in before induction. Dad's decided that since he's got Monday off work anyway, he might as well spend the night at his girlf's. Good!

Chris has already left for work so I take Anna and Rosemary with me to Halford's to get Chris a new innertube for his bike tyre. He's decided that he might as well bike to work instead of taking the bus cos it's quicker, cheaper and is good exercise! So we get the innertube, stop by MDs for lunch, and then head to the Enfield Show in the Town Park.

The Enfield Show is held over the 3rd weekend in September every year and is usually pretty good. They have marquees full of arts and crafts, stalls set up by local charities and trades, a decent-sized fairground, and live animal shows throughout each day. One of the marquees was home to the competitions for the best flowers, vegetables & fruit, paintings, and cakes & biscuits. In the corner, they had a large stall set up by local beekeepers and had beeswax candles and honey on sale.

Another marquee had stalls of jewellery, glassware, home-made sweetments and papercrafts. I saw the most perfect supplements for Christmas gifts in here! And we went a little crazy with the home-made fudge. I got quite a selection: double chocolate, rum 'n' raisin, toffee fudge, peppermint chocolate, walnut chocolate, and coffee cream. I have to say though, the rum 'n' raisin was heavy on the rum part and halfway through the walnut chocolate, I realised just how sickly sweet the fudge was! I sort of looked at Anna, who herself is tucking into her peppermint chocolate, and she looks up, we sort of grimace in unison, and then put the fudge back in the bag! Save some for another time methinks...!

We stood around outside the bouncy castle watching the dog show and then walked around the rest of the stalls - face painting, clay figure-making, recruitment by the armed forces, the fire brigade letting kids honk the horn in their engine continuously... It was fun, and it always feels good to support your local community and be able to get something in return. It's just a shame that not enough people always go and the organisers run the risk of not being able to break even.

"Is Pepsi okay?"

Tonight we went out to dinner for Rosemary's birthday, six of us plus Dad's girlfriend and her daughter. Rosemary wanted to go to a Harvester and chooses the one in Cuffley.

Of course, they don't take bookings and the manager's face drops slightly as my brother calmly asks for a table for eight. We manage to get a table right by the salad cart and kitchen. It is worth mentioning that the kitchen is partially open and you can see the chefs flame-grill just under the serving bar.

So anyway, we order a round of drinks, fairly straight forward. Mentions of coke ("Is Pepsi okay?") and diet are called out, the manager hmm-hmming away. My brother gets left without a drink. A waitress comes over, takes our order, and adds a drink for Chris with it. Starters arrive with the main courses, which was slightly weird. My sister ordered garlic bread and... well, I guess they just have a weird method of making it. The bread was green. I'm serious here! The bread was clearly green in places, with the obligatory flame-grilled lines and garlic-herbs scattered across it. And it wasn't a diagonal slice of baguette; it was a wedge. Like the corner of a loaf or something. Needless to say, it wasn't consumed. The rest of us are carving away at the overcooked chicken dishes, so flame-grilled that I have to borrow a steak knife to cut some of it. It's not the best food in the world and no-one completely finishes their meal.

Then dessert. We think about passing but, come on, the whole point of eating out is to have dessert! Coffee and tea is ordered and it arrivesd before the dessert, so we place plates on top of the mugs to keep the liquid hot until we've finished eating dessert. Whilst eating, a flame leaps out at the chef's face and he drops the knife he's carrying. And then, he picked it up and continued to use it, scraping chips onto a plate with it! That was the last straw really. The desserts are very sweet and our stomachs are not responding well. The main course was bad but this is just too much. Some of us start to feel less that 100%. One of us starts to get bad stomach cramps. Bad food...??

So yeah, not a good evening. Of course, poor little Rosemary thinks its her fault cos she asked to go there but its not, so we've been reassuring her and saying the contrary. Dad complained and got the bill slashed. My Dad's girlfriend and her daughter go straight home, not feeling all that well themselves. Yet another restaurant to add to my 'don't go there' list!!

Tonight

It's Rosemary's birthday on Monday so I decided to try and get her something tonight after work. I wanted to get a necklace she had pointed out a couple of weeks ago in the Argos catalogue. I'd already tried my local store and the jewellery counter said it was selling out fast. So I decided to go on-line and reserve it for collection at a store somewhere in the local vicinity. The only place in Brookfield Farm so I reserve it and go there after dinner.

Of course, 7pm at night, the place is deserted and I'm in and out in ten minutes. I don't have to be in Cuffley to see my mate until 8pm so I wander around the shops and browse through the music section in Tesco. I can't see anything I really want and rifle through the bargain shelves. There, sitting all proudly on the top shelf, is a relatively new album by Westlife. It's a Greatest Hits album they released last Christmas and it has all eleven of their number ones.

Now, lets get one thing straight: I am NOT a Westlife fan. Most of their songs sound the same, at least three of their number ones were covers: I Have A Dream - Abba; Mandy - Barry Manilow; Against All Odds - Phil Collins and they are an irritatingly good-looking boy group (I'm loathe to say 'band' cos they don't play instruments). But they do have one very good song - Tonight. The video is creepy: It shows a woman opening a locker to find a wedding dress inside and that's how her guy proposes to her. If a guy proposed to me by pre-buying my wedding dress I'd run a mile!

But its a great song. And the entire album is £4.95, the price of a single. So I have an album by Westlife. At the same price I also bought Britney's self-titled album, but at least she has a little more 'oomph' and bite in her songs, and doesn't care what people think or say about her. She does her own thing and has fun doing it. I like Britney. I think I kinda like Westlife too. I did mention they are irritatingly good-looking...?

Yet another card

The manager of the depot where I work has decided that the padlocked door to the 'back' of the depot isn't providing enough security. I have to agree. The padlock was really fiddly and difficult to unlock at the best of times. In the end, people would fix the padlock to the outer part of the slide-bar so you could open and close the door without opening the padlock, and when you shut it, it'd look locked but wouldn't be! Not secure, but easier to operate!!

So now we have a swipecard system to get into the depot. Anyone can get out by just turning the latch, but you need a special swipecard in order to get in. I was one of the few people who got a card today. Most of my colleagues don't need to use the 'back' door cos they get to park inside the depot. Since space inside the depot is limited, it's only for 'essential car users'. Living 8 miles away doesn't count as essential(!) so I park outside.

So I have another plastic card in my purse. No-one's asked for the padlock key back though...

Hydro-what?

My sister was entertaining me with an incident that happened at the school where she works as a laboratory assistant.

There’s a new science teacher there they call 'Gary Giggles' because he is a total idiot. Last week, he was burning fuel sticks without any safety equipment. My sister told her senior and she went in and said, “Uhm, shouldn’t you be wearing goggles?”
“Yeah, the goggles are around here somewhere,” the teacher answered distractedly, and just closed the door again.

Next time my sister looks outside the lab, there are clouds of smoke filling the corridor. She goes outside and 'Gary Giggles' has opened the classroom door to ‘air’ the room! The caretaker comes down the corridor, muttering to himself about the smoke and setting off the smoke alarms (which in turn calls the Fire Brigade that the school has to pay for). Suddenly, everyone troops out of the classroom, coughing and choking, and the teacher tells my sister, “It‘s getting a bit smoky in there so we’re coming outside for a bit.”

I said to her, “Is this guy a proper teacher?!”
She sighs, “I dunno. He’s just doing my head in.”

The guy sounds like he’s forgotten everything he ever learnt at school! Only today he queried the Head of Science as to whether creating clouds of hydrochloric acid was dangerous…

Being Sally

It's a When Harry Met Sally moment. We're cataloguing our videos and DVDs like Meg Ryan's character does in the aforementioned film. It's a good idea for us actually because we have so many video tapes with films and TV series' on them that we've lost track of how many we have or, indeed, what we have at all. So we're putting all our media on to 5" x 3" index cards and alphabetically storing them so we can find things easier. Every tape and DVD that is not pre-recorded will be given a reference number which will also be put on the index card. Then the tapes and DVDs will be stored numerically. All pre-recorded stuff will be stored in order of viewing suitability. So all the Us and UCs go together, then the PGs, 12s, 15s, 18s and Es. It's for the good of the future. Or so Anna tells me. I hope so. My hand doesn't half ache after writing out 100 index cards.

Jeff Ali

One of the guys from Lordship, Jeff Ali, is retiring from the Council so there's a small 'do' at the Wood Green Labour Club after work. It's always nice to go cos you get to talk face-to-face with people you've only met over the phone and talk about things that aren't work related!

So I left work at 4pm, went home, got changed, and drove back to Wood Green in time for the presentation after 5pm. Nicky was there so we got chatting, catching up on the news and me talking about my holiday as she went through my photos. My ex-boss did a little presentation to Jeff, talking about how started way back in 1976, to which Nicky (unwisely) yelled, "I was only two then!" I looked at her and said, "Heck, I wasn't even born then!" Jeff had then worked his way up the ladder and had worked all across the borough, in different depots that don't even exist anymore... And then there was the embarrassing revelation that Jeff actually used to be a photographer... to topless models!! All the men started cheering and Jeff was so red! But we were all a little wary of the camera he suddenly procured during the course of the evening...!!

Nicky introduced me to one of the electricians who worked at Lordship, Richard. First question, "So are you Stan's daughter?"
An inevitable question. "Yes," I sigh.
"Not that I know him, just heard of him," came the explanation.
Hang on, an electrician in the same service doesn't know the head lift engineer? Weird. The questions get slightly more personal.
"So how tall are you?"
I tell him.
"And you're how old?"
I look at him and say, carefully, "Old enough not to tell people."
He wrongly guessed 22, which I took it as a compliment!

The conversation then swung to 'other halves' and whether height/age should be an issue. Too in-depth a conversation with someone I've known ten minutes! I make my excuses and politely leave, but not before he's stood on a chair to "hug me at my height". Jealousy is very unbecoming, you know...

At the car wash

The gas works outside the depot where I work will never go away. They have been there forever and nothing's changed. Okay, maybe I exaggerated slightly. They've been there four weeks. But the parking is getting worse, definitely! It was difficult to park near the depot before, but now it's near impossible. I had no choice this morning but to park under a tree. I'm thinking, "It's warm today. It'll be nice to have my car in the shade for once."

I came out of work today, walked down the road to my car, and OHMIGOD! My beautiful silver car is now splattered with splodges of bright purple. It looks like bird crap but isn't. It is, in fact, blueberries. I didn't know you had blueberry trees, just blueberry bushes. But there's my car, covered in dried blueberry. It is horrible to look at and embarrassing to drive. I go to the nearest car wash I can find, which is the Tesco in Ponders End. I buy a car wash code and decide to shoot through the pay-as-you-go jet wash first to loosen the dried fruit.

I sat for a whole fifteen minutes behind a car that was already clean. I have no idea why this guy thought he had the need to take his car through the jet wash. But there he was, selected each of the steps: shampoo jet, soap brush jet, rinse jet, wheel clean jet, the lot. And when he'd finished and pulled out, he parked up in front and started to leather off. Jeez, it was a Lantra!! It wasn't even a Merc or another flashy car. I was astounded to say the least. Anyway, I jet sprayed the dried blueberry, sailed through the car wash, and got myself a nice clean car.

Needless to say, tomorrow I'm parking in the next street.

A new era

The dawning of a new era! Rosemary started secondary school today. She looked so cute in her school uniform; quite the young lady! She and her friend, Naomi, walk together so they don't have to do the journey alone and a couple of year 9 girls will join them later in the week, so it's a bit more comforting to know that there's safety in numbers and all that.

I'm all geared up for a quiet week at work. Noel is still in Turkey until Wednesday, when Mark goes on leave until the following Monday. Meanwhile, Christine is still away on leave and I know the other admin and officers are away as well, so lots of phone answering and not a lot of work being done. Cool.

Dead Duck

I know. I'm actually rather ashamed to admit it. But I went to a sci-fi convention. Actually it wasn't a convention as such; more like 200 tables strewn together and blokes from about mid-thirties upwards trying to sell you comics, figurines, games, DVDs, VHS tapes, anything that even slightly murmured 'sci-fi'. But its a Sunday afternoon; the TV schedule is pretty dismal; it's a gorgeous day outside; and Dad is in Brixton. Perfect.

Anna, Heather and myself bundle into my Ka and we head off to Cheshunt. Granted, by the time we got there everyone had started packing up, but it was alright! Heather bought a poster, Anna mused over the Buffy figures, and I... got a terrific bargain. I'm just rummaging through the books on one stall and, lo and behold, what do I spy but an Avengers book! And not just any old Avengers book, ladies and gentlemen, but one of the rare ones too! Dead Duck (and Deadline, another book) "... starring Steed and Mrs Peel, are regarded as the best in the series. Both are rare. However, both titles were repackaged in 1994, by Titan Books."* And, yep, you've guessed it, I have a bona fide copy of the 1965 version. Sold for £2. It could get a fair bit more at auction, although it's slightly liquid-stained (I think it's tea...) and smells oh-so-musty. You know, that 'old library book' smell that uni students theorise about being intoxicating to disguise why they really like being in the library. I'm happy with my purchase. I'm not selling it just yet. The story in itself is kinda boring although I might try and adapt it into a screenplay for fun.

*Quote taken from The Ultimate Avengers by Dave Rogers

"Can I see your manager?"

I, for one, am thoroughly frustrated with the distinct lack of customer service satisfaction I've been receiving today. I don't ask for much. So why is it so damn difficult to do a relatively simple thing?

When I got up this morning I had an agenda, which is very unlike me, but I had one. And I wanted to keep it. I was gonna go to the bank and sort out a transfer of cash to Mel, drop my holiday films into Boots, have lunch, get a card and pressie for Pamela, pick up film and then go see the new arrival in Dalston by 2pm, give or take 20 mins. So far so good.

I arrive at the bank and queue for 10 mins. I get to the front desk and say I want to carry out a transfer. I'm given a form to complete and a guidance form, all self-explanatory. So I fill out all the details and include a cute message to appear in my statement. I queue for another 10 mins. Oh, did I mention its like 26C today and the bank's air-con is broken? I get to the front. "Do you have a passport?" I'm asked. Excuse me, is this the airport?!
"No," I reply.
"Oh," she says, "starting Monday we need ID before we carry out transfers."
"But its Saturday!" I protest.
"Yes, but we won't be able to carry out the transfer till Monday so we need ID."
I'm pretty mad so I do my whole clench-fists-and-slowly-release thing I do when I'm mad, slowly exhale, and say, "When do you close Monday?"
"4.30pm."
I look at her blankly.
"What time do you finish work then?" she asks.
"I do nine to five like a normal person," I snapped.
"Do you want to come back next Saturday then?" she says.
"Not really," I snapped, yanking the form from her, "but, hey, what choice do I have?"
"Sorry!" she calls breezily as I stomp, yes, STOMP out of the bank. I am SO annoyed. I can't believe I need ID to give someone else my money. I feel more and more disillusioned every time I go to my bank. Maybe I should have asked for another form, this time for a transfer of accounts to another bank?

I go to Boots, queue for 15mins, and request the 1-hour process. "It'll be an hour fifteen, is that okay?" Sure. Fine. Whatever.

I leave to find lunch and think to myself, "Surely it must get better from here?" I go to the new patisserie in Church Street, situated opposite the dwindling Abbey, where I closed my savings account not so long ago. (It's here I think about going to another bank.) Anyway, I order toasted ciabatta and cappuccino. The guy behind me in the queue orders the exact same thing. He then sits at the table next to mine, and when the order is called, raises his arm at the same time as me. He then looks at me and says, "Ladies first." This annoys me greatly. Not only did he try to muscle in on my order, but he made it look like I couldn't wait and he was letting me first because it would be the gentlemanly thing to do. I glared at him and (unsuccessfully) willed his head to explode.

After lunch I go back to Boots, pick up a baby gift for Pam, and go to the counter to pick up my film. I am actually 5 mins late. "Sorry, it's not ready yet," I'm told. "Can you just wait over there another five minutes?"
I patiently wait. Five minutes turns into ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Someone appears from out back and motions me to come to the till and pay.
"It says you give a one hour service," I said. "So what happens when a one hour service becomes one hour forty minutes?"
I get the blank look treatment.
"Well," I continued. "I'm rather reluctant to pay for a one hour service if that's not what I got."
Further blank looks.
"What do I have to do to get some compensation around here?"
The girl shuffles uncomfortably and says, "We were rather busy today."
Pause.
"And?" I enquired. "If it couldn't be done you should have said at the time I gave you the films to process."
Pause.
"If you have a Boots card I can give you double points."
"That'll do!" I say and happily hand over my card.

I actually got something out of my troubles eventually. But this sort of service would never happen in America. How can England stop being a nation full of complainers if we continue to tolerate this sort of service from stores, especially the high-profile ones like I went into today?