Copper Wire

This arrived in my inbox this morning courtesy of TK's brother who lives in Australia, as you may guess!

COPPER WIRE
After having dug to a depth of 10 feet last year, British scientists found traces of copper wire dating back 200 years and came to the conclusion that their ancestors already had a telephone network more than 150 years ago. Not to be outdone by the Brit's, in the weeks that followed, an American archaeologist dug to a depth of 20 feet, and shortly after, a story published in the New York Times: "American archaeologists, finding traces of 250-year-old copper wire, have concluded that their ancestors already had an advanced high-tech communications network 50 years earlier than the British". One week later, the state’s Dept of Minerals and Energy in Western Australia , reported the following: "After digging as deep as 30 feet in Western Australia ’s Pilbara region, Jack Lucknow, a self-taught archaeologist, reported that he found absolutely nothing. Jack has therefore concluded that 250 years ago, Australia had already gone wireless."
Just makes you bloody proud to be Australian.

When Teenage meets Old Age

These days, I often trawl through the TV channels and, if there is anything I think may be interesting, I record it or catch it on 'Replay' and one of my 'finds' was When Teenage meets Old Age. For anyone who hasn't seen it, four young people volunteer to work in a retirement village, where they encounter a range of people, ranging from those who are fairly independent to those needing a high degree of support. The series seems to have been sparked by the growing trend for the elderly to live in isolation from the rest of  society and, in particular, from the young. I was struck by the statistic that, in the seventies, one in three of the elderly lived with their family, whereas now, it is closer to one in ten. Retirement villages provide a safe and secure environment for older people but it is often at the expense of contact with the rest of society. Similarly, the fact that the young have less contact with the old has led to a increasing degree of suspicion and disregard on their part.
The old think young people are noisy, selfish, ill-mannered and are often afraid of them, while youngsters view old people as unimportant, judgemental and a waste of space.
Obviously the makers of this series had their own agenda and will have been selective in the footage they used but, looking beyond this, there is evidence of seeds of genuine respect, understanding and affection between the two groups. Of course, they have their good and bad moments, but it is heartening to see that it is possible to build bridges between these two age groups. They just need to get to know each other and the more this experiment can be replicated, the greater the opportunities for each to learn from the other.
And that can only benefit both.

Voting and Royal Mail

It's a misty day here today, quite unlike the lovely sunny promise of approaching spring that yesterday brought. Paddy and I have been out to cast our vote (OK, I cast my vote!) on possible increase in Wales' law-making powers, which you can read more about here. Someone commented that the expected turnout will only be about 35%, which, given the dearth of information and campaigning, round here at least, is not surprising.
On then to go head to head with Royal Mail on Dad's behalf, or at least to try to.
When I was there last Friday, a parcel should have been delivered but, as we were out living it up at the local garden centre, it was taken away again and a "Sorry you were out" card left instead, in spite of the fact that, when he placed the order, he stipulated that it could be left in the porch, but that, as it turns out, is a minor detail. Friday afternoon, when we got back, the local office was closed for the day; well it was 2pm after all, so Dad completed an online application for redelivery and received an email, eventually, to say that his parcel would be redelivered on Monday.
You can probably write the rest of this yourselves, I know!
Since then, he has tried, and failed, to speak to any living person connected with Royal Mail and is still waiting for the parcel, but he has managed to send a complaint email and received an automated reply that it would be dealt with in 5 days. By then, the tea and coffee in the parcel will no doubt be sprouting leaves.
Today, I decided to have a go. When you ring the 0845 number, you have the pleasure of hearing, at your expense, that it would be much easier for everyone if you came and collected your parcel yourself or you could arrange a redelivery online. They have obviously decided that, on no account, will you be allowed to speak to someone on the number dialled because, after telling you of the 'high call volume' they are experiencing (I'm not surprised), they allow you to leave a message and then cut you off.
So, I decided to do another online application, which took three attempts because the 13 digit number on the card was evidently not the one they wanted, but I eventually left that space blank and was then allowed to complete the form.
The earliest they would agree to deliver was Saturday (Why not tomorrow?) so we will wait... without holding our breath.
"You sound a bit fed up," said Dad when I was speaking to him on the phone.
What I am really fed up about is the inescapable fact that customer service generally is going down the pan. We are inundated with assurances about 'customer care' and 'your custom is important to us' but all that really means is 'We are out to make as much money out of you as we can and if you don't like our service, tough!'
The country is going to hell in a handcart and if that sentiment puts me in the 'grumpy old' category, so be it.
We need a revolution, folks!

Bin emptying... or not

It's a beautiful day here in north Wales today. Paddy and I have been out for our walk and I have duly relished in the thought that, while others are holed up in school with classrooms full of children, I am free to wander at will during school hours. Yes, it still gives me a buzz and yes, it is quite pathetic, I know.
Today is bin day, when I expect the bin lorry and 'garbage disposal operatives' to roll up some time during the morning and empty said bins, but today is different. Yes, the entourage rolled up, later than usual, but no matter, the lorry was driven smartly to the end of the cul de sac, turned round and then...
driven smartly back down the road to disappear in the distance.
So, are they coming back?
Did they think they had come to the wrong area?
Are they on strike and forgot until they reached the end of the road?
All human life unfolds before me at this 'ere window, you know!
Maybe I'll just take Paddy out again.

The environmental effect of cutting down too many trees

Just had to share this - from TK.

Suffering

So, off I go to Bristol to see Dad, do a bit of housework, get him out and about etc., having left Keith in reasonable health and what happens? No sooner have I driven down the road and round the corner than he goes and gets himself what he calls a cold, but which is actually doing a very good imitation of a chest infection.
You can't leave the man for five minutes!
"Off to the doctor's in the morning," I say.
"Oh, I'll be fine by tomorrow," he replies.
Somehow, I think not.