Values in Afghanistan

So one in five soldiers on the front line in Afghanistan is unfit to fight? So, say all the news reports this morning.

Why are people so surprised by this? Years of defence cuts; campaigns in Iraq run on not enough soldiers or sufficiently good equipment, and politicians and civil servants covering their tracks in shifting sands make it surprising that the ratio is so low.

A 19-year old boy from our village was the first British soldier to be killed in Afghanistan this year and his body was returned yesterday. He may have been one in five according to some people's value calculations but, for others, I'm sure he was one in a million.

And, cue compaints

Why does everyone complain when their journeys to work are disrupted? Is it because it puts off that precious moment when people can complain about being at work, before they complain about the things they face outside of work when they leave at the end of the day?

The barrier was drawn across the entrance to the tube station at King's Cross, causing a long queue to build up. This whole process enabled only a single person to enter the station at any one time, provided they walked sideways and had only ever consumed slow food. One bright spark vocalised this as "even the animals entered two by two!" Nobody laughed. Grim-faced they were anticipating the next flood.

X Factor: X marks the Cowell spot

I was reading London Lite on the way home from work this evening. The front page features a story about ITV advertising slots during X Factor shows. It is estimated they could raise up to £250,000 for each 30 second X Factor slot during rhe final show. ITV are already charging £190,000 per 30 second slot.

Add in the extra cash from sponsorship and telephone voting and that final show is clearly the holy grail for a beleagured ITV that is mercilessly taking advantage of a cash cow in the midst of a drought. Compared to the Blue Peter Appeal or your local church restoration fund, this television programme income bonanza suggests the tower has reached Babel after all. all of this despite Sting and many of us 'ordinary people' regarding both contestants and judges to be utterly 'talentless.'

On judges, I'd have to agree - especially when the acts appear to be more interested in what the X Factor judges will be wearing rather than what they are saying (though that's forgiveable I suppose). Despite the hype surrounding Cheryl Cole's appearance as a singer I have to report that, in my opinion and for anyone in the slightest doubt, she cannot sing. I saw Girls Aloud supporting ColdPlay at Wembley a few weeks ago and she is one of the three who just cannot sing in tune.

The contestants are clearly not up to the same standard as a Leona Lewis this year with the dreadful Lloyd still being there and, of course, John and Edward or 'Jedward.'

Naturally, the television ratings and thus the price of the advertising spots, sponsorship and telephone votes appear to be all that matter to Simon Cowell. I'm not sure why anyone doubted his consistency last weekend over John and Edward, when he had the chance to remove the 'hideous' pair. We don't need some kind of explanation this week either when it is clearly about courting and maximising the controversy surrounding the programme and watching the cash roll in next month. John and Edward may not be on his Christmas card list but they will sure as hell be on his spreadsheet for as long as is economically possible.

Could the Williams sisters have made it?

They've conquered Wimbledon again, singly and collectively but could this have happened if they'd been English? We hear a lot about their background in the grim neighbourhead of Compton, LA; we hear a lot about the determination of Richard their father.

But would history have followed the same route if they'd been born in say Toxteth or Moss Side or Chapeltown? Observing the fossils from the Lawn Tennis Association in the better seats on Centre Court and the relics leading out the 'presentations parties' it is clear that, despite money being poured into the sport, your post code means you may never have the means, even if you have the talent. What are the chances of a poor, rough child, who thinks 'etiquette' is French for the practice of eating felines, getting into the local tennis club - one of last defences against societal progress?

And if there was a father, driven by his ambition to see his daughters proceed, wouldn't some jealous neighbourhood watcher call in Social Services to examine him for some form of child abuse (well, they're not that good at this sort of thing when all of the evidence is on show are they?). If the sisters progressed through this form of social levelling, wouldn't the media just build them up in order to assassinate them with all their nasty, poisonous expertise just as they were serving up promises of better things?

Kenneth Williams is more our style - safe and unchallenging and ultimately very sad.

Advance booking? I need advance warning

I went to the railway station at Ely in Cambridgeshire today. I wanted to book advance train tickets from London to Oxford in September. The middle-aged lady 'manning' the ticket desk wasn't there when I arrived and the other window was shut. Eventually she wandered over and didn't seem to understand that it was advance tickets I wanted.
"You never said," she said.
She didn't seem to understand that I only wanted the London to Oxford leg
"You never said," she said.
She looked up the tickets on the screen and decided that every seat on every train on the day in question was already booked and got cross when I quereid it.
"If there were no tickets available, the screen would be orange and say 'no quota'" she pronounced, triumphantly.
But I looked online this morning and there were plenty then.
"Well there aren't now. Perhaps you should have booked them online madam."
"There's no need to be so rude," I said, "you're supposed to be serving this community."
'Only difficult people end up doing community service, madam?' I thought it for her.

It's hardly cricket

Just seen the latest cricket humiliation from the West Indies. Our men batted first and made 117 all out. The West Indies captain - Chris Gayle - then made 80 on his own, including eight sixes. Why are the England team so poor? Is it because of priorities over appearance money - or just appearance? Do they seriously believe that playing for England gives them an automatic right to respect? This is supposed to be the poorest West Indies side in living memory and we're making them look really good. I grew up watching us get thrashed every other summer by Lloyd, Richards and, latterly Lara's teams; I'd hardly have put Gayle up there with them. I still shiver at the thought of Holding, Roberts and Garner or Haynes and Greenidge. Thank goodness I can't remember much of Gary Sobers.

Women's cricket will still be sneered at despite our World Cup triumph last weekend. It may be hardly cricket but it's equally hard to understand why we can't celebrate the here and now rather than fall back on history.

NatWest YourPoints

They may be YourPoints but they make it almost impossible for You to do anything with them. We accumulate these with eac £ we spend on our credit card. We have a joint credit card. I wanted to use them to buy car hire for a holiday in France. I needed to combine the totals for my husband and myself to get the number of points we required.

NatWest said no.

I asked if we couldn't combine the account like we do with Air Miles for future use, given it's a joint card at the same address etc

NatWest said no

I asked if my husband could authorise me to talk on his behalf; he was sitting right next to me and happy to do so. In this way we could potentially get a whole Laguna rather than half a Clio.

NatWest said no

My husband then took the 'phone from me before my eyes burned holes in it. He asked for his points balance.

NatWest said he didn't exist, despite him having a letter from them giving a previous balance.

No more YourPoints for us. We say no.

Jogging

I took our eldest son into Cambridge early this morning. He has a Saturday job but was unable to work in the days before Christmas because of the flu - which the entire family has been struggling with over the holiday period. So, he was all wrapped up and contemplating an eight hour shift, at the end of which any semblance of Christmas or holiday will be over.

On our journey through Swaffham Prior and Swaffham Bulbeck we passed a number of rotund middle-aged men and women, 'jogging.' With the ubiquitous woollie hats and gloves they were barely moving and could have been 'speed-walking.' Either way, they looked no fitter than our son, after flu. Are they trying to fool themselves into thinking they are somehow exercising and therefore their food and dietary choices and lifestyles the rest of the time are excusable? Do they think, when faced with just one more chip or one more pint, that they are fit human beings and therefore can indulge?

Banks don't listen

I was reading in thelondonpaper last night about Eric Daniels, Chief Executive of Lloyds TSB promising that his staff's bonuses would still be paid this year.

This comes against the backdrop of banks - especially Northern Rock - hardening their attitude to defaulting mortgage payers and giving them little time to get out of difficulties.

How can the Government allow these things to happen. How can Gordon Brown give public assurances about bank bonuses and profess care for little people and companies, then just allow it to happen anyway.

I really look forward to getting up early in the morning to work hard all day to the point of exhaustion and then hand over a huge chunk of my earnings to the Government to give to the banks to give to their staff as rewards for failure. It may not be those individuals' fault but the buck most definitely does stop at the door of senior managers and government officials.

I don't suppose they'll listen.

Cowboys and Indians

This was a game we used to play when we were young, whooping and chasing each other around with toy guns and bows and arrows my father had made out of willow from the nearby spinneys. I always wanted to be an Indian because they were more glamorous and I was concerned that all the westerns on television showed them as savages who deserved to be killed as soon as possible.

Roll forward to 2008 and a different kind of Indian. India is sending up an umnanned rocket to explore the moon in the name of science. This may also be glamorous and an exciting element of the country's national identity. No Indian is being sent up with it so perhaps they don't now deserve to die quite so quickly.

But haven't the cowboys already done this? Is there really much that NASA doesn't know about the moon that the Indians are going to discover - or is that not really the point? They are talking about future collaboration which I suppose is the ultimate camp fire resolution of different cultures and intents. But if they're going to do that, why spend a mere $80 million, that could presumably have transformed the lives of so many Indians, in order to get to a 'level' playing field?

Not very pc world

I had to visit the PC World store on Newmarket Road in Cambridge on Thursday evening. Our son's power chord for his laptop had become limp and useless. Presumably it was the male connector, exhausted after too many exciting power surges. The store was full of 'assistants' in purple shirts, hiding behind bays of kit or chatting to their friends. Typically, English people tried desperately to catch their eye or hope they'd be noticed by some hidden body language signs. They were, but little assistance was forthcoming. First rule of PC World: just because you can doesn't mean that you should.

The PC support area is branded as 'Tech Guys.' One rather large geek was serving a middle-aged couple. Their laptop was being sent away and they treated like a child going off to boarding school. Only this time they were so sad to see it go. Even the multitude of forms they had to sign didn't reassure them that it would be in safe hands. another, younger man was waiting with his laptop on the counter, patiently waiting and forming a solitary queue as only we can. Eventually, comforting each other, the older couple left and our geek, via a little down time in the back room and much hoisting of marquee-size trousers came back to the counter. 'Are you being served, sir?' he sweated. I thought at first he was being ironic but clearly not. Second rule of PC World: ignore the obvious and hopefully it will ignore you until it gets bored and goes away.

I then got approached by a showroom mannequin. He had no face because that would have required an expression of interest. They don't do that at PC World. He connected the power chord via a safety clip to test whether it was working or not. 'That's a hi tech piece of kit' I offered. Clearly there was no response because he had been trained to reveal nothing. Banging the PC down in the back room he tried another chord which did work and told me, rather like a small and powerless child condemned to the Poor House in Dickensian England, that I would have to go to ...'the warehouse.' I thanked him for his analysis and enquired as to whether he felt he should re-boot his personality. He didn't react. Third rule of PC World: let the PCs do the talking for you and remain in standby mode whenever possible.

Paula Radcliffe wants more time

Saw an Evening Standard headline last night: "Paula Radcliffe wants more time"

I thought that athletes were always seeking to reduce time, especially in an Olympic year?

Re: Lode

The Cambridgeshire village of Lode is on my route home to Burwell. Last evening it was pouring with rain and the roads were slippy. At least one tractor had produced its own muddy tracks on the approach to the village, as though it didn't trust the road signs to find its way back again. As I came almost level with the exit from Anglesey Abbey a dark blue Range Rover pulled out in front of me, slammed on its brakes for some unknown reason, and then proceeded through the village at about five miles an hour. It then accelerated away towards Swaffham Bulbeck at a speed surely in excess of sixty.

If this was some kind of test drive, it passed. My patience was tested severely. In fact my peaceful journey home was instantly converted into a state of road rage. I wished it had been Augustinian monks still inhabiting the former priory, rather than morons in August.

Karadzic

What is wrong with Serbia? The international community named Radovan Karadzic as a war criminal. They based this on evidence from all sides of the Bosnina war at the time and in the immediate aftermath of the atrocities.

Whether or not he was responsible for massacres of inncocent men, women and children in Bosnia or not, that fact remains. Whether or not Serbian nationalists hid him for so long or not, that fact remains. Whether or not he was the revered creator of the Serbian nation state or not, that fact remains. Whether or not he is guilty or not is a fact that should be judged internationally.

Me thinks the Serbian people protest too much.

mastercare not so caring

We received two separate letters from mastercare to our home address. Each one referred to a separate domestic appliance and asked us to urgently take out Coverplan protection. On this occasion we decided to renew so sent both applications back in a single envelope. Yesterday we received a reminder letter for the first appliance; today we received a second.

Given that we took up the application three weeks ago, it's astonishing that their computer systems hadn't been updated. Not content with renewing cover on white goods that use large amounts of unsustainable energy, mastercare seem determined to waste even more of the environment's natural resources in trying to persuade us to do so

Country Roads may not take me home

Why are the roads in Cambridgeshire so bad? There are large potholes on approach roads into Cambridge which just get bigger and bigger until workmen appear from behind the bushes and erect bollards, traffic lights and endless red and white fencing. They do all of this in order to protect themselves from drivers who want to run them over for holding up their journeys. Not only that, they usually bury vital pickaxes or spades by mistake and have to dig the entire road up all over again.

These same workmen then turn defence into attack by laying tiny pieces of pre-tarmac shingle on the roads and removing the central white lines. Roads all across the county are experiencing this at the moment. If selfish drivers - well most drivers - don't cause these chippings to fly through your windscreens by ignoring the 10 mph guidelines, the 10 mph guidelines boards will get you as they fall down underneath your cars, causing a sudeen swerve across the non-existent central reservation and into the path of more selfish drivers who are already furious at having to slow down in the first place.

Argosnoughts

The Argonauts were a brave band of comrades who accompanied Jason on his mission to find the Golden Fleece: Greek mythology.

The Argosnoughts were a rude and unreliable pair of sweaty men who eventually delivered a Golden Settee to our cottage last week: Grease mysogyny.

I told them they'd need to 'phone for directions. They didn't. I told them I'd need to leave by 2.30. They didn't arrive. I asked them to be careful with the parcel. They weren't.

Deliveries from Argos are as far from being heroic as Jason was from online shopping.

I asked them why their customer service was so poor.

"All Greek to me" was the sneering reply and I felt as though I'd been well and truly fleeced.

BT default

I've recently moved house. I dutifully arrange the take over of our telephone line with BT. Our first bill has just arrived with a £4.50 payment processing charge. I was outraged as nobody had mentioned this in any of our (telephone) conversations.

Sure enough, down in the small print, it states that you can pay by Direct Debit or a monthly payment scheme or expect to be charged for them handling the cheque. What are they wearing: gold-plated gloves? How can I be charged for not taking an option to avoid the charge when I didn't know the charge would be applied and when it was too late to do anything about it?

The BT call centre in India either don't or are trained not to understand this kind of logic. The first person was just rude. Under no circumstances would the charge be removed. That discounts earthquakes or nuclear warfare then... The second person - after putting me on hold in the hope I'd go away - said that I could pay by Direct Debit but that it would include the charge. However, a credit would be issued against my next bill. I'll be watching very carefully.

Small name, small print and small minded.

MBNA

I've often wondered what MBNA stood for. I presumed it was an acronym to hide some long-winded corporate entity. Long-windedness obviously suggests a slow moving, less than efficient machine. Using letters possibly suggests, subconsciously, a sense of smartness and conciseness. Letters also reward success such as membership of a professional body or academic achievement.

So, MBNA stood for a smart, efficient, professional and clever organisation, never mind what the individual letters referred to. Clever eh? Yes and no. Yes, the concept sounds OK as far as it goes. No, it fails when concept becomes reality.

I was 'phoned at about 11.00 yesterday morning. I was on my mobile at the time (still makes me laugh - that phrase - when I imagine floating around my son's bedroom in circular movements below his lampshade!). I was therefore stressed when my other conversation was interrupted as it was quite an important business call, but I put them on hold. The tell-tale sign of a short pause at the other end after my 'Hello' told me everything. This was one of those call-centre calls that expect you to wait for them to catch up, even though you haven't moved from your chair. The person at the other end eventually spoke in a broken English accent which I couldn't understand aapart from the word MBNA.

I asked her to repeat herself. She tried to pronounce my name but couldn't. I sounded it out for her but she still couldn't say it properly. She then tried to engage me in a chummy kind of conversation but I couldn't understand her properly and told her so. Suddenly ditching the call centre manual she became quite aggressive. She accused me of being impolite and questioned whether or not I was racist! I was calm throughout and reminded her that she had 'phoned me, not the other way round. It was hardly my fault that I couldn't understand what she was saying. I then put the 'phone down.

Returning to my mobile caller I apologised for the delay. This lady runs her own business, as I do, and was sympathetic, having heard the gist of the conversation. She told me that her partner had been inundated with calls. In fact he had been on the verge of transferring his balance to an MBNA card but declined to do so as a result. His response was that he couldn't possibly do business with any organisation whose acronym was also its motto: My Brain is Not Active.

Can I get you a drink?

"Can I get you a drink?" We'd just arrived in the car park and there she was in the doorway, in her grubby red overalls, whose stains showed up in the daylight. A prostitute of beverages trying to cover up her true intent.

"Can we sit down first?" I responded crossly.

"Certainly, table for four?"

She could count, yet failed to bring childrens' menus. Perhaps the arithmetic had knocked out the child psychology.

"Can I get you a drink while you're waiting?"

"I thought you were the one who was waiting?"

"I'm sorry?"

Of course, straight over her head. A program instruction that the computer chip couldn't understand. Drinks, beverages and possibly hot or cold were the only terms that had been fed in.

"We'd like to choose our meals first, if that's OK?"

"Of course it is. Would you like a drink while you're choosing?"

"When we know what we're each going to eat, we'll choose a drink that goes with it; you know like red meat with red wine?"

"That's fine. You can choose any drink and it'll come with the meal you order."

"No, you don't understand..."

"But I'm afraid we cannot serve alcohol to children!"

My husband has had enough. "Look, we've travelled quite a long way to be here today and are out for a treat. We just want to be left alone to make our choices. Can you possibly serve two childrens' menus without the wine list please and then come back when we ask you to?"

"We do have drinking straws for the children," she ran her greasy hands nonchalently through hair that would soon find its way into every customer's mouth. She obviously mis-read my husband's approach as a form of liquid foreplay.

"I'm delighted to hear it; we'll use them to send semaphore signals at the appropriate time."

End of foreplay.

"There's no need to be so rude. I was a Girl Guide and can read the signs. One thing you learn very early on is that man cannot survive without water."

Abbey: Take a well earned break

I received a bulk mailing from Abbey this week. 'Abbey: Take a well earned break' was the strapline. The copy that followed told me I was a valued customer of the bank and really should be grateful that I had the opportunity to apply for an Abbey credit card.

A few weeks ago I received a similar letter. It congratulated me on being a valued customer. The reward was a loan of up to £15000, just waiting for me to say yes. Well, I didn't say yes and I didn't say no either. I wasn't in two minds. I was out of my mind - with rage.

My boyfriend and I took out a joint account with Abbey National in 1987. They hadn't wasted millions of pounds of valued customers' money on a rebranding at that time. All went well for a few years. My boyfriend and I got married and Abbey National prospered. The bank then started charging us obscene amounts for going a few pence overdrawn. We only went overdrawn because Abbey National changed their statement rules.

It was also increasingly difficult for us to find a local Abbey National branch. We had to travel for miles to hand over our money for them to charge us for 'looking after it.' No Air Miles, just greedy smiles. If they wanted to stop being National in order to become 'local' they could have just provided their valued customers with maps.

In 2003 we took a well earned break and moved to Barclays. Despite all the adverse publicity about them and the Whistleblower programme on the BBC this week, we've been satisfied with the Barclays service so far.

We did not close the Abbey National account. We expected to hear from them - at least to question why all of our monthly transactions (and there were many) had stopped going through the account. They didn't contact us. They weren't listening (or were TSB the 'listening bank?') Even the new Abbey computer did not notice.

After sixteen years of being a 'valued customer' we heard nothing. Until they decided they could just walk back into our lives again, unannounced and unwelcomed. If I drop a best friend, one of whom I've relied on for sixteen years, I'd expect the friend to at least want to know why or do something about it. The Abbey meaning of interest in their customers is purely gaining interest off of their customers. No surprises there. No Abbey endings either.

Lights, Camera, Cut

Why has 'cut' replaced 'action' in the famous 'Lights, camera, action' studio line? Television seems to have an illness, and blood is oozing from the cuts

For me it started with Relocation Relocation. Kirsty and Phil's comments were cut and highlighted throughout the opening and first segment of every programme. The 'best bits' (no not those) were shown in advance like some kind of rolling trailors. The result is that you end up seeing the best bits so often that you sign with boredom and they become the worst. They're supposed to entice you into staying through the ad breaks and not switching channels. If it weren't for the fact that the ads are so good, I'd switch everytime. Either over or off. The trailors are wagging the tractors and showing them up to be, well, slow and ordinary.

X Factor is a major culprit of this television technique and I even noticed it on Dragon's Den this week. Whatever happened to suspense? Are the programme makers so unsure of their products or their abilities that they have to resort to desperate hooks? Like fishermen worried about the size of their rods? Or are they assuming a sub-intelligent species of television viewer? Do they think that constantly reinforcing the dramatic highlights will satisfy the lowlife?

Commercials used to be like this, where the brand and packaging were displayed and named constantly throughout the 30 seconds. It worked, as it has always done, but selling learned the lessons of entertainment. Perhaps entertainment needs to learn some lessons about selling?

Rear window

Who could forget Alfred Hitchcock's 1954 film: Rear Window? I thought it was one of his best. I actually fell in love with James Stewart in the Glenn Miller story from the previous year but Rear Window really gets inside your soul.

Driving home from work last night I thought of Rear Window and wondered whether James Stewart had been reincarnated as the driver of the Chelsea tractor behind me. Quite clearly he wanted to get inside my car. I wasn't driving slowly as I didn't want to miss any of the weekend. Yet. the driver behind me seemed unconcerned about hitting me and obviously wanted to floodlight my back seat. My rear window was a white space, like those shots they show on television when the patient first comes out of a coma. Was the driver behind me curious or disturbed? What would Hitchcock have made of it?

Why do people drive in this way? Are they, like Stewart in the film, frustrated sexually? Is this why they have to purchase their 'weapons?'

Maybe there are clues in the film. Maybe I'll get it the DVD...

Laughing in the face of danger

I've been following the story over the weekend about British tourists being kidnapped in Ethiopia. apparently the SAS have now been sent over to rescue them. We all have our images of the British abroad. Often badly dressed and badly behaved, their judgement is executed equally badly. Presumably this is why the kidnappers (if that is what has happened) found them so easy to identify and abduct?

For me, the warm feeling of 'we're British, this isn't the done thing' and the jingoistic talking-up of the rescue effort is misplaced. What were these people doing in Afar in the first place? It is universally acknowledged as one of the most inhospitable places on the planet. Have they not got televisions or radios or internet access? Do they not read newspapers. Or is it that they do but think they known best. Worse, they think they know best because they're British.

These people are not disimilar to those who go swimming in well-forecasted storm conditions. Or climb mountains in blizzards ('because they exist'). No thought is given to their own safety but they expect others to care. Rescuers are expected to risk their lives and our hard-earned money to deal with others' arrogance.

Presumably such people discuss their exploits (or 'japes') over dinner parties in south-west London or other centres of global learning? I'm all for free movement but there's something disturbing about visiting those who are far from free (through political or economic dependence), for fun rather than fact-finding, who then put others' lives at risk.

Cotton socks and boots

Bless their little cotton socks. Children should be wrapped up in cotton wool. The days of hob-nailed boots should remain in the past.

I read this week about a primary school in Lincolnshire where all physical contact has been banned. Not between teachers and children nor between teachers and teachers. I remember well when the dinner ladies used to tell us which member of staff fancied who. Presumably they now have to sign the Official Secrets Act in order to apply as 'Time-sensitive holding area practitioners.'

No, physical contact between all children has been banned at Bracebridge Heath School. Tag, kiss-chase and even holding hands or linking arms is no longer allowed. The worry is that they might bump their heads. I remember having my knees torn to ribbons by racing around the playground and my heart torn to ribbons when I wasn't the main prey in kiss-chase. I suppose I'm scarred physically and mentally because of it but just don't realise it.

How are children today supposed to understand that life is going to be about facing obstacles and getting over them. Pain comes with the territory. In Lincolnshire more than most in a few years time?

TicketTout

TicketTout.com claim that they are " the secure place to buy concert tickets." Don't believe a word of it.

My husband and sons went to see Snow Patrol at Wembley Arena just before Christmas. I paid between two and three times the face value for each ticket. It was meant to be a treat for them and they were suprised and delighted when we told them. A week before the concert I contacted TicketTout.com as we hadn't received the tickets which I'd bought and paid for months earlier. They assured me the tickets would be posted two to three days before the event. They didn't arrive.

The day before the concert a very hostile receptionist told me that we would have to 'pick them up on the door' as they couldn't now guarantee postal delivery. On the day itself I was told I'd have to 'phone back at 2.00 to get 'further instructions.' I was given a mobile 'phone number but assured that the person 'Dave' wouldn't be answering until at least 7.00. My sons were now getting anxious. Having looked forward to the gig for so long they began to wonder if they'd actually get to see the band after all.

My husband, who was taking them on the night, 'phoned Dave's mobile constantly without reply. When they got to the Arena, several other people did the same. Eventually a deeply unpleasant man did answer, and made it very clear that we'd interrupted him in whatever he was doing. He rudely told my family where he was and then dealt with them like refugees seeking food parcels when they arrived where he was standing (from where he could easily see everyone 'phoning him).

The ticket block I'd asked for did not materialise and my husband and sons had far worse seats than expected, but what could they do at that late stage? They'd already missed the support band and were cold and wet from waiting outside for these evil people. The concert was great and the long, cold wait was soon a distant memory.

However, I remembered it again when watching the BBC Watchdog programme where others had clearly had difficulties with tickettout.com. My advice would be for people to avoid them like the plague so that demand for their services dries up. In fact visiting the plague upon them would be a great idea too. Everyone should make a concerted effort to close them down as soon as possible. If the Glastonbury organisers can do it, why can't others?

Rubbish

Rubbish: what do you do with yours?

Every day we are told about the sorry state of the planet. We are advised by intelligent people and politicians that we are facing a crisis. Global warming is a reality. Climatic change will be unchanging. The environment needs our help.

So, why is it that when travelling on public transport it feels as though we are doing so in a bubble. It is as environmentally unfriendly as the rest of the outside world and yet it hasn't seemed to make the same connections. I went to London yesterday with my daughter who is ten. She walked the length of the train to find somewhere to put her used sweet papers. The sparsely distributed bins were overflowing almost as soon as we got on. Quite distressed, she reported back on people just dumping used papers and crisp packets all over the floor.

Approaching Cambridge, one side of the track was fronted by piles and piles of rubbish, variously blowing away in the wind. Apart from an obvious fire hazard, do these people not realise the damage this can do to wildlife and drainage systems - natural or otherwise?

In London, you try and find a rubbish bin on a mainline station or anywhere at all on the Underground? I understand the background of terrorist threats from the IRA, when they were removed. But we are told that this threat has itself been removed now. The terrorist signatures of 9/11 and 7/7 are on a different scale altogether. Presumably cost, then, is why there are still no rubbish bins and why the system is littered like never before?

The state of our planet is not just about future big picture change. It is about day to day sketches in the here and now. Rubbish? What will you be able to do with yours today?

Another view of Nigella Lawson

I was flicking through Metro this morning. Yes, I was already looking at the tv listings for this evening. Who assaulted me with her simpering smile and carefully angled pose - yes, Nigella Lawson? Another kitchen workbench acts as her celebrity platform this evening. The comment piece sets her up as the Queen when all around her or, Heaven forbid next door, are just simpering maids. We know our place and she knows hers. With the trademark skimpy cardigan over tight jumper, her PR machine is presumably happy to continue the sex analogy with collanders. For me, the concept is full of holes. It's wearing off, love. Just like Charlie's water features. You may have had tragedy in your life but so have many others. You may have had a privileged upbringing but so have many others. I wish you no harm. I don't even mind if you cook. But please could you just do whatever you do behind closed doors?

Don't go to Alton Towers

I went to Alton Towers yesterday with my three children. The two older boys wanted to go on 'Nemesis' but it was broken. We then went to 'Air' which broke down while they were still in the queue after a 40 minute wait. My little girl was too young to go on either of them anyway so we went to 'Corkscrew' for our first ride. At the top of the first climb the carriages stopped and we were suspended in the open air for twenty minutes. It was cold and windy but nobody came. Eventually a woman, laughing and smiling, told us we'’d have to evacuate but they didn't have enough staff so we'd have to wait. My little girl was hysterical and others wet themselves and later had to be treated for hypothermia symptoms. After forty more minutes two men arrived and lifted people down, one by one.

We were then offered 'priority passes' so as to avoid queuing in future and to make up for our traumatic experience. On the very next ride we tried our priority passes, we were told they were invalid, as with all the others we tried. Eventually we found a ride that was prepared to accept them on condition we handed them in and couldn'’t use them for the rest of our day out.

My sons then queued up for an hour at the 'Nemesis' ride, which promptly broke down again just before they were due to go on it. After more arguing and more trauma for the children we were given further 'priority' passes only to find that 'Oblivion' 'Air' and 'Nemesis' were all broken at the same time and the only 'big ride' that was still up was 'Rita' on which, you guessed it, our passes were invalid.

Only when I threatened 'more bad publicity' following their recent 'Runaway Train' accident (which was closed all day as was the other featured 'Ripsaw') did anyone take my protests seriously. My advice: don't go to Alton Towers unless you want your children to be disappointed by all the ride failures, traumatised by lack of urgency from disinterested staff when things go wrong and generally disillusioned at what is supposed to be fun at one of our leading leisure destinations.

She's never peaked

I was at Peak Cavern in Castleton, Derbyshire yesterday. My two sons and husband went on a tour with a guide called Gary who was welcoming and funny. He was light-hearted and sensed that some of his visitors might find it overwhelming. Some of the children were a bit scared.

The woman receptionist at the ticket office couldn't have been more different. My eldest son was unsure about joining the tour but she wouldn't allow him to look into the mouth of the cavern, which would have meant moving two paces past her booth. "We're not covered by insurance if you do that," she spat, "If he doesn't like it, don't expect your money back either. We make it quite clear that this isn't for everyone."

She quite clearly isn't for anyone. Men passing her by is obviously an issue and it must be difficult for her to sit by such an enormous opening which gives pleasure to so many others and yet she remains dry and unexplored. Why do people like this get jobs representing our great tourist treasures? Why are jobsworths allowed out in daylight?