We are just recovering from a week off work; we didn’t jet off to the sun we just enjoyed not having to follow the usual routine. When I was a kid this kind of holiday was described as ‘we just went out for days’.
I was ok with this for a while until my wife used the ‘p’ word again mixed liberally with the ‘s’ word; so we spent much of the week either pottering or shopping.
Neither of these two activities seem fitting for a proper relaxing holiday but my wife feels the whole idea is rather thrilling.
In truth I didn’t find the shopping part too much of a problem because it meant we were able to work our way through our Christmas present list, something we normally leave until nearer the 25th.
There was, however, a change that had taken place that seemed to have both shoppers and shopkeepers confused; the reduction in the rate of VAT.
Most establishments had signs on the doors proudly declaring that they would pass on the saving to the customers ‘at the till’. I presume because the cost of re-labelling would have meant a price rise thus defeating the object of the exercise.
Two things were disorientating about the whole thing. Firstly, our normal ability to roughly calculate the cost of our purchases was completely ruined. You could see customers expecting to pay £12.99 instead being asked to hand over £12.72.
We don’t work with 72p in our world. We always expect to pay a number ending in 99p. I just ended up with 28p of loose to carry home and put in the tin on my bedside table.
You could hear elderly couples asking each other ‘Is that right?’ and ‘I don’t know’.
It was like going back to the days of decimalisation when we went from 12d to the shilling to 20p.
Back then we all complained that the price of chips went up for no reason and never came down again. Ever price rise was blamed on the changeover.
I am predicting the same complaints to be popularised over the next six months as we all come to terms with the 2.5% change.
Not all of this saving can be easily passed on to the consumer; car parking meters for example will have to remain the same otherwise we will have to put in 39p for the hour rather than 40p.
I suppose the same is probably true for other vending machines.
There is one type of establishment that I feel particularly sorry for during this time of customer confusion; The Pound Shops. Will they have to change their signage to read The 97.98p Shop.
The Chancellors stated intention for the reduction was to stimulate the economy. I hope it does. I fear, however, the net result will be a rise in the price of chips and more loose change in the tin on my bedside table. Mark my words!
VAT
In the days before twenty-four hour telly we kids would have to find many ways to entertain ourselves through the long summer break between school years. Nostalgia tells me that the weather was better then but only just; let’s face it, it couldn’t have been much worse.
My parents had a stereo record player and a collection of vinyl discs that represented something of their youth. We would listen to singles and albums, giving scores to each track as if we were experts on a TV programme.
After we had travelled down Penny Lane and boarded the Chattanooga Choo Choo (they had eclectic tastes) we would turn to an odd collection of records that contained the spoken word.
One of my favourites on offer was a record containing the radio shows of Tony Hancock. Much of the material was a little too subtle for a young mind to conceive but I recall laughing at lines about a pint of blood being ‘very nearly an armful’.
On the edition entitled ‘The Radio Ham’, Hancock relishes in the benefits of the latest technology allowing ordinary folk the opportunity of speaking to others via short wave radio. After asking a few people from as far away as the east Asia ‘What is the weather like?’ he muses on how he has made connection with so many people that he has never met.
‘Marvellous!’ he exclaims ‘To think I have friends all around the world’ because of this communicative invention. After a short pause he says, ‘None round here mind, but hundreds around the world’.
Today our children have much more to occupy their waking hours and so it is not surprising that many will not even know what short wave radio is never mind be aware of the comedy of Tony Hancock.
My girls have all joined Face Book on the internet; think personal scrapbook that you can share with others in a micro second. They show their favourite photographs to each other, comment on their lives, and join groups of others wishing to save the rain forest or ban quiche from Britain’s dining tables (there really is such a group).
Encouraged by their excitement, and the fact that we have heard of other wrinklies who have ventured into this brave new world, my wife and I signed up.
The basic idea is that you enter details about yourself on what is effectively your personal page and then you invite others to agree to be your friends. All of those who respond to your request can then see your information and you in return can see theirs.
Once the connections are made you are then offered friendships with the friends of your friends resulting in a list of people on your page that grows by the day; should you wish to accept them. Added to this list you can search for other people that you may have known from school and invite them to be connected to you as well.
My daughters have hundreds of names on their lists and I have regularly seen people who have in excess of five hundred people connected to their page.
During the time that you are on-line a box will appear giving you a list of other associates who are connected at the same time as you. You can then have a conversation with them by typing messages and waiting for replies.
So if you have a friend in Japan and want to know what the weather is like you no longer need to resort to short wave radio.
My wife has already amassed over one hundred names on her list and, for the record, I am running at about thirty.
It is not that Mrs M is more popular it is just that I am more selective in how I let my group grow – at least that is what I tell myself.
So what of those who have in excess of five-hundred friends? You have to ask what quality of relationships they are agreeing too.
Perhaps the danger is the same as with short wave radio; Hundreds of friends around the world………….but none round here.
Strictly
Da da da da da da da, da da da da da!
Yes, you’ve guessed it, we have been watching Strictly Come Dancing over the last few weeks and have been captivated by the drama of it all.
Mrs M usually comments on the frocks and frills whilst I, being a fully qualified DD (Dancing Dad), give my expert opinion of the fleckles and heal leads. It is amazing what three months of lessons at the Renee Buckley School of Dance can do when you are 8 years old.
To be honest I know nothing but I can talk a good talk when faced with daughters who disagree with me about who should be voted off.
I was sad to see the end of John Sargeant; not for choreographic reason but democratic ones. It was great to see the British public showing the BBC who is boss. They blame us when we don’t vote (phone in now to save your favourite) and then they blame us when we do (it’s ridiculous that the worst dancer is still in)!
I haven’t yet admitted to my bride and daughters that I have been calling in for John every week without them knowing; please don’t tell her
I think the main reasons I love the show is that it is full of true stars; unlike some of the programs with the word ‘Celebrity’ in the title.
I refer not to the actors, singers, and sports stars who attempt to trust their stuff but to the professional dancers who train the novices each week and encourage them to move out of their comfort zones.
These true dance stars have trained for years without any promise of either fame or fortune in their future. Then along comes an entertainment show that brings their unique skills into our homes every week (or every day for Mrs M).
Their dedication was fuelled by a love for dance rather than seeking celebrity status and yet they have found fame and hopefully a decent level of fortune.
After the panel of judges discuss how well the ‘famous’ contestants have done at tripping the light fantastic, the professionals treat us to an expert display of how the dances should be done.
The quality is only interrupted by Bruce Forsyth’s jokes; I don’t know who writes them for him but I wouldn’t count them as a friend if I were Brucie.
Saying all that I am still surprised that he hasn’t been made a knight of the realm by now; if only for his services to hair weaves and catch phrases. You have to admire his reference to the press calling him doddery.
Whether you watch it for the dresses, the jokes, or the judge’s comments it has to be the skill of the expert dancers that keeps us coming back for more.
If only I had carried on dancing with Renee Buckley I could have been with them performing every Saturday night. In my dreams……..
