Well it seems that even the security staff G4S have got are not up to the job. Most appear to be teenagers who are only interesting in the money and have been described by various trainers as 'uneducated slovenly yobs', at least half do not speak English. Even more alarming is that these people have only received four days training. What a great impression we are going to give the world. I would be very worried if I had tickets.
Actually there is a great cartoon in the Daily Mail that sums up the situation perfectly. It shows a spotty youth, complete with fag and hoodie, standing behind a table while a portly gentleman brandishes a handbag at him. Underneath it says, 'Let's try that again...you ask politely if you can search the lady's handbag...you don't snatch it then run off with her purse and phone.' Hilarious, or would be if it wasn't so close to the truth.
It must give the British public great confidence to know that G4S are now taking over many of the departments in our police forces, if the public think the service is bad now just wait a few years.
It is raining again and the frustrated gardener in me is well to the fore. I want to do some weeding and I want to cut the lawn, before the cats disappear altogether. Even on dry days it is not dry enough to perform these tasks. My neighbour cut his grass yesterday and it now resembles the Somme. Although I desperately want to do the same I'm holding myself back reasoning rather the Savannah than the Somme any day.
We finally had our argument, or heated exchange of diverse opinions, as I prefer to call it, over the new tiles in the bathroom. After a morning dragging from one place to another we finally agreed on a tile we'd seen in the very first shop we visited. Typical. Now all Peter has to do is work out how many we need, including wastage and then we can start the argument whether to paint or paper what's left. The need to re-tile became more urgent this week when a row of five crashed into the bath while Peter was having a shower.
Then it was off for a bit of food shopping and we scuttled down to Tesco to find it absolutely packed. There were no disabled bays and no ordinary bays near enough for me to walk so deciding not to bother I, in my wisdom, suggested Asda. This was a huge mistake as we quickly found out when stuck in the new one way system to get in. Most of the car park spaces were free as most of the cars were queuing to get out. Committed we decided to stay and do our shopping in the hope the queues would clear somewhat while we were busy. No chance. If anything it was even worse than when we arrived. There were so many queuing to get out they were blocking those trying to get in and it took us thirty minutes to reach the road. The cause of all this chaos is the new guided bus way being built between Luton and Dunstable which nobody really wants. We were so late that we decided to treat ourselves to a KFC before heading home to measure out the bathroom.
While out shopping I decided to buy a new moisturiser having scrapped the last out of the one I had this morning. ll I want is something that will stop my skin feeling dry and won't give me spots. Easy enough wouldn't you think, well think again. A whole aisle was given over to lotions, potions and creams all in expensive packaging claiming all sort of miracles. There were creams to get rid of my wrinkles and others that would get rid of my brown patches. Lotions promising to 'tone down' redness while more still offered 'a tint of foundation'. If I wanted foundation I'd buy bloody foundation wouldn't I. In the end I found a small modest bottle that promised to 'moisturiser the skin and protect from UV'. Why do manufacturers think adding more and more chemicals is such a good thing, and why do so many women fall for it?
After all the cleaning yesterday, I did vacuum and mop the floors in the end, and the trip out today I feel pretty shattered this afternoon so am planning a slump on the sofa with a box of cherries and a good book. An activity guaranteed to see me snoring my head off in fifteen minutes flat.
I turned on the news to find that John Terry has been cleared of racial abuse. Why am I surprised? He's a footballer and in this country footballers are gods so obviously can do no wrong. The powers that be could have used this opportunity to send out a clear message that, contrary to popular opinion, racism is not acceptable in football. Instead the message is that in football you can do and say exactly what you like and get away with it.
Still nothing from Papworth so I've emailed the Brompton.
Actually there is a great cartoon in the Daily Mail that sums up the situation perfectly. It shows a spotty youth, complete with fag and hoodie, standing behind a table while a portly gentleman brandishes a handbag at him. Underneath it says, 'Let's try that again...you ask politely if you can search the lady's handbag...you don't snatch it then run off with her purse and phone.' Hilarious, or would be if it wasn't so close to the truth.
It must give the British public great confidence to know that G4S are now taking over many of the departments in our police forces, if the public think the service is bad now just wait a few years.
It is raining again and the frustrated gardener in me is well to the fore. I want to do some weeding and I want to cut the lawn, before the cats disappear altogether. Even on dry days it is not dry enough to perform these tasks. My neighbour cut his grass yesterday and it now resembles the Somme. Although I desperately want to do the same I'm holding myself back reasoning rather the Savannah than the Somme any day.
We finally had our argument, or heated exchange of diverse opinions, as I prefer to call it, over the new tiles in the bathroom. After a morning dragging from one place to another we finally agreed on a tile we'd seen in the very first shop we visited. Typical. Now all Peter has to do is work out how many we need, including wastage and then we can start the argument whether to paint or paper what's left. The need to re-tile became more urgent this week when a row of five crashed into the bath while Peter was having a shower.
Then it was off for a bit of food shopping and we scuttled down to Tesco to find it absolutely packed. There were no disabled bays and no ordinary bays near enough for me to walk so deciding not to bother I, in my wisdom, suggested Asda. This was a huge mistake as we quickly found out when stuck in the new one way system to get in. Most of the car park spaces were free as most of the cars were queuing to get out. Committed we decided to stay and do our shopping in the hope the queues would clear somewhat while we were busy. No chance. If anything it was even worse than when we arrived. There were so many queuing to get out they were blocking those trying to get in and it took us thirty minutes to reach the road. The cause of all this chaos is the new guided bus way being built between Luton and Dunstable which nobody really wants. We were so late that we decided to treat ourselves to a KFC before heading home to measure out the bathroom.
While out shopping I decided to buy a new moisturiser having scrapped the last out of the one I had this morning. ll I want is something that will stop my skin feeling dry and won't give me spots. Easy enough wouldn't you think, well think again. A whole aisle was given over to lotions, potions and creams all in expensive packaging claiming all sort of miracles. There were creams to get rid of my wrinkles and others that would get rid of my brown patches. Lotions promising to 'tone down' redness while more still offered 'a tint of foundation'. If I wanted foundation I'd buy bloody foundation wouldn't I. In the end I found a small modest bottle that promised to 'moisturiser the skin and protect from UV'. Why do manufacturers think adding more and more chemicals is such a good thing, and why do so many women fall for it?
After all the cleaning yesterday, I did vacuum and mop the floors in the end, and the trip out today I feel pretty shattered this afternoon so am planning a slump on the sofa with a box of cherries and a good book. An activity guaranteed to see me snoring my head off in fifteen minutes flat.
I turned on the news to find that John Terry has been cleared of racial abuse. Why am I surprised? He's a footballer and in this country footballers are gods so obviously can do no wrong. The powers that be could have used this opportunity to send out a clear message that, contrary to popular opinion, racism is not acceptable in football. Instead the message is that in football you can do and say exactly what you like and get away with it.
Still nothing from Papworth so I've emailed the Brompton.
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