In Review

Rape? Not a lot!

Everybody's doing it, so why not me? The year in review now follows.

In the UK, it was a year defined most starkly by Savile and the Olympics, with the former being much more of a marathon than the latter. Quite staggering, with the recent de-classification of the correspondence with Thatcher, and the unbelievable access granted to the white haired tracksuit man to so many organisations. So much more is yet to come in this story, I think we can safely say, and it beggars belief at every new revelation. For me, the Olympics had a personal touch, thanks to my duties on the front line of customer services for the travelling public. It was a good couple of weeks in all.

Huge amounts of revelations up to and through the Leveson inquiry, with no discernible outcome other than mild embarrassment for Cameron because he thought LOL meant lots of love. Nothing was done to remedy the sickness at the heart of the relationship between HMG and Rupert Murdoch; nothing will be done to regulate the worst excesses of press intrusion. And we'll all sing along like before.

The fiscal cliff atop which we are all apparently standing has never been very far away. Greece burning, Spain floundering, France posturing, Italy imploding, Germany dictating and Japan stagnating. Obama's victory over the lunatic Romney - though only 7 weeks ago - now seems lost in the distant past, overshadowed by the apparently endless (and pointless) gerrymandering of the US political machine. I've been reading about deficits, public debt relative to GDP, etc., and I have to say that I can't really understand a bloody word of it. I'm not the cleverest man alive, but I'm not completely illiterate, and can struggle through most subjects given time, but this is all a mystery to me. If somebody could explain it in clear terms, then I would be very grateful. It seems to boil down to the basic fact that we are all fucked, but that it is not possible to levy higher taxes on the wealthy in our societies.


It was a year when City's billions finally clinched the champions' spot, in truly stunning fashion. A fantastic way to end the season, followed by a largely very enjoyable European Championships (England's dire displays notwithstanding) as a welcome antidote to the depressing spread of receivership and collapse among clubs large and small. A bit like United this season, Fabrice Muamba died, refused to roll over, and came back to life. Racism has been everywhere, infusing everything, and again I'm not sure if we have really made any progress in sorting it out.

Do I feel, as Mr Cameron says I should, optimistic about 2013? In short, no.

I can see nothing in my (admittedly somewhat confused) view of the economic situation to make me think that there will be any way out of the morass we're in. We seem paralysed and unable to do anything about even the most egregious examples of political graft and downright criminality. The environment continues to deteriorate at a truly terrifying rate, and nobody even wants to talk about it. Floods and misery descend on the poor benighted folk of this strange land with alarming regularity; farmers - their livestock pumped full of hormones, anti-biotics and god knows what chemicals - are struggling to survive like everyone else. Children are living in increasing numbers in B&B accommodation while luxury hotels sprout up and the value of houses continues to rise.

As far as the beautiful game goes, I think there is cause for some springing forth of Pandora's greatest gift. It has been an enjoyable season, with some great matches already played, and a lot more to come. The Norwich match was thrilling right up to the 7th minute (!) of added time, although we do have the bloody Potters up next. Now, at the halfway point in the current season, it could still go any way. Spurs are putting together some good play with some encouraging results, and Arsenal are doing all right. Liverpool looked set to tumble down a mediocrity hole, but have scrabbled back to the lip again, led firmly by the marauding Suarez. Not to mention Everton, who of course couldn't quite do Chelsea when it mattered most. At the moment, I would definitely say that the top 3 will be: City, United and Chelsea - though not necessarily in that order.

That concludes my review. I wish all my readers a happy new year, and hope that 2013 at least treats them a little better than 2012 did. I will be back with my meanderings to cheer you all along.

I need somebody

Suitably refreshed (or completely knackered, whichever you prefer) after my trip to Oswestry, thoughts turn with dread to work once again. My last post was all about my first shift as a TA, and I will pick up the thread from there.

Firstly, there's been some discussion about the legacy the Games will leave behind. For me, it feels as if that - once the whole thing is over - reality will come crashing down on all our heads. It's bizarre that the BBC has wall to wall coverage, from 6am to 1am every day, and every single front page is about Team GB. Don't get me wrong, I have a great deal of respect for the sports people who have done so amazingly well for us, and I enjoy almost all of the sports I watch (I find the colour of the hockey pitch a bit dazzling, and I'm not huge on sailing or equestrianism, but the rest are all good) but it does create a rather surreal atmosphere, as though the events in the rest of the world are not actually happening. When it does come  to an end in a week's time, I think there will be a sense of flatness, and it will be necessary once again to confront the impossible conundrum of the European (and world) economic situation. People have also been continuing to die in Syria, and it doesn't seem as if the UN or anyone else has much of a solution  to that either.

Anyway, returning to my theme, the whole question of Olympic legacy was summed up for me when I went for my lunch break last Saturday. Wanting to take myself away a little from the madding crowds, I walked towards a chip shop I could see at the next junction. The man in there told me he was very disappointed because he had been told that the Olympics would make his area very busy, and he was clearly expecting a boost for his business. But it was not to be. Even though he could look out of his window and see the crowds streaming out of the tube station to get to the London Live site, the route there did not take them past his shop. After the Games are over, even those shops lucky enough to have been on an Olympic route will see things returning to their normal dismal routine. Oswestry - never perhaps the most vibrant area in the world - now seems to be in terminal decline, with most of the town centre comprised of empty shops, although the market was more lively than I have seen it for some years. Fundamentally, there just isn't the engine in the economy for things to turn around, and I believe we are set for some truly historic events in the coming months as we watch the disintegration of the Euro project. Sorry to be so depressing.

On my second shift, I have never known time to pass so slowly. The station I was at was designated as a possible Olympic route to the Lea Valley white water centre, but only one intrepid fan seemed to have chosen it on the day that I was there. There were two of us, along with three others from the Revenue Protection team, and we did bugger all the entire day. My colleague, keen to try out his new customer skills and bored out of his mind, asked an old man if he could help. The old man replied:

"Only if you've got a cure for cancer."

Need any help?

That was my strapline over the weekend. I found myself quite willing to speak to total strangers and ask them if I could help them. Quite often I consulted my iPad and found it to be an extremely useful tool once I had decided to not keep taking it out of my bag any more, instead clutching it to my chest. I counted 7 customers in the first 30 minutes, but had lost count by the end of the first hour.

I am not a particularly corporate person, and tend to do just enough, rather than ra-ra-ing like some, however I did feel good as a result of the way people were responding to me. One person even congratulated me on the Opening Ceremony, and I of course lapped it up, even though my only contribution was watching it on telly while gleefully reading the tweets about Danny Boyle's left-leaning extravaganza. Someone else said: 'You guys are so helpful! I think it's great what you're doing!' and that is a nice thing to hear, no matter how cyncical you might feel. I even tried out a bit of my poor and rusty French on one of the Games contingent, and he was - I could tell - very happy that I had at least had a go. Later, he came back to me specifically for further information. I learned that to actually ring the BBC (and not just one of the shows) costs £1.53, and this amused and enraged the (I assume) Russian (I also assume) journalist in equal measure.

The Counter Olympics Network also staged a march right past the station I was at, and a large number of queries were from protesters wanting to know where the march was assembling. I remained neutral, found the information, and guided them to where they needed to be, just the same as I directed groups of Americans to the Olympic Park. Some of the crusties did piss me off a little with their attitude, coming across as condescending, and assuming they knew what my political stance was just because I was wearing a shirt with a roundel on it. They were wrong, but despite their efforts to bait me, I did not tell them so. The boys in blue on the other hand were almost to a man idiots. There were a couple from Wales (one question I was asked was: 'What language is that?!') and some from Tayside, and they were largely clueless - not knowing where the march was going to end until I told them.

Station staff were variable. All very friendly and with a good sense of humour, but some were a little institutionalised in their attitude to customers. One of them (a superior of the station staff) was a bit of a tosser, thinking he was some kind of squaddie or something while smoking fags in his cupped hand.

Seven hours on my feet, and I certainly felt it at the end of the day, though my working week was far from over as I was due at my next location for 7 o'clock the next morning. More anon.

Turgid

Though not in the phallic sense, City's turgid pre-season performances in Austria, along with the incessant Twitter updates from the social network boys at Eastlands have not exactly enthused me with any football content just yet. Perhaps the hundreds of thousands of unsold Olympic football tickets are also testament to the fact that - like me - everyone just can't wait for the season proper to start. Funny though it will be having the Community Shield at Villa Park, at least it's comforting that the current incumbents of that ground share with us an element of the nomadic existence, relocating as they did from their original patch of grass in the early years.

So for now, it's all banks and Olympics. After the Barclays LIBOR scandal comes the Mexican drug lord money laundering and the jaws drop further with each new revelation. What next? Will we find out that the Royal Bank of Scotland have been using live babies to fuel the central heating at their Canary Wharf headquarters (if indeed, that is where their HQ is). Or perhaps Howard at the Halifax has been secretly moulding an army of super Orcs to plunge the world into everlasting night and enthrall the forces of good forever. I wouldn't be that surprised, really. But, there aren't many options, are there? The ring has been returned to the dark lord already, and we cannot escape. Countless trillions have to be thrown at the teetering edifice, no matter how pointless it all is, because the alternative is chaos. No more boring Sunday mornings, washing the car. No more nipping to the cashpoint or the supermarket. No more tubes. No more nothing (if you'll excuse the double negative) and let's see how long this little island can bump along without imported foodstuffs.

Much has been said also about the G4S/A4E situation, and the wider implications for the great god of outsourcing so beloved of our great and good leaders. Of course, this bullshit was being peddled long ago, championed as much by Blair and Brown as by Thatcher, Major and Cleggeron. Everyone always knew that private companies were not really more efficient than public ones, it's just that it's easier to pass the HR burden on to someone else, and HMG can hire and fire with alacrity if the workforce is employed by that someone else. Private companies, being what they are, and managed by people who are not better than they should be, have been concerned only with the bottom line. So we end up in the situation we're in now.

Ho hum.

G4 Shite

Logical, really. Why pay extra for a service when you’ve already got fully equipped and (theoretically at least) qualified personnel sitting around doing sod-all and getting paid for it? Really, why stop at the Olympics? Surely, if you’ve got an (admittedly shrinking) army lying around you should put it to use whenever you can? I see those blokes in their useless camouflage walking around central London quite a bit, and have recently noticed the awful Wolff Olins logo stitched to their sleeves, just below where the stripes normally go. I assumed they were on ‘furlough’ or whatever, getting a bit of Blighty before heading back to the deadly wastelands of Helmand Province, but maybe they’re here all the time, doing jankers or some such in barracks like the horrible little men (and women) they are. Wouldn’t it be sensible to get the sappers digging up the roads, have the army drivers out in cabs, put the uxb men in amongst the Old Bill, mobilise the catering corps into swanky West End restaurants – that kind of thing?

Anyway, far be it from me in my position on the inside as it were to criticise, and fearful as I am of inviting the cyber goons on to my head, I have heard some things about this latest Games-related fiasco. A friend of mine, being some time out of work when he did so, applied for one of the security jobs over at Stratford. He went as far as attending three of the many required day long induction and training sessions before taking the brave step of deciding to drop it like a hot brick. He told me quite a bit about the process, which seemed fairly arduous, I must admit.

Besides his misgivings about whether he was right for the job – he said that he would be expected to confiscate food items from people who were coming to the Games, so that the appointed sponsors would have a monopoly on feeding the 5 million their burgers and chips, and felt distinctly uncomfortable about this – he highlighted a more major concern. In the latter stages of his final training session, the people in his class were asked to sign a sheet of paper so that they could move on to the next stage, and take one more step towards actually getting a job. With pay, no less! The terms and conditions on this sheet were such that the employees would be tied to G4S for a period of one year after the Games ended. If they left within this period, they would be held liable for the cost of training. This could be as much as £5,000, which is not insignificant, I'm sure you will agree. In addition to this, they would possibly be asked to work as far away as Scotland at a day’s notice - either before, during or after the Games.

Wisely, in my opinion, he decided not to sign this bit of paper and walked out into an uncertain future. I’m glad to say he has since found work, and on considerably better terms than this daylight robbery, I'm sure. In addition, he will be able to take his sandwiches with him when he goes to work, and will not be expected to confiscate flasks of tea and McVitie’s Digestives wrapped in foil from respectable spectacle and kagoule wearing Olympic Games fans who have travelled all the way from Doncaster to watch a bit of the coxless fours.

Is it any wonder, listening to that, that G4S have failed to recruit enough staff for this crazy venture? It is a wonder indeed that they have managed to recruit anyone at all. Well, it will all begin, as the French say, in a quinze jours, and then we’ll see what it will be like. I’m not allowed to put anything online about my experiences, so will be relying on the fact that nobody reads this to keep me out of trouble.

Schtum

Monday, in the pissing rain and freezing cold, to a training session. Its subject is something about which I am sworn to secrecy. Tweets will only be allowed via an authorised account, as will Facebook updates. As a result, I missed the first 15 minutes of the England match, which was not ideal. On that, as I also missed much of the second half – catching only the last 10 minutes or so through a pub window whilst sheltering under an umbrella – I don’t really know what to say. The press seemed quite upbeat on the following day, even though others have since said that we spent much of the latter part of the match on the back foot. Without Rooney (though it pains me to say it) I can’t see that much special about the team, and we look no more than adequate. Still, Greece perhaps excepted, it’s all wide open so you never know. I have a horrible feeling however that everything will depend on the final group game, and will maybe even be out of England’s hands by then. Neither Greece nor Ukraine are going to be easy to beat.

But, back to some general observations for you on my top secret mission in West Kensington. There were two presenters – one male and one female – from Learning & Development standing on the stage when we trooped in. The man looked like Alastair McGowan and sounded like Rob Brydon, or could have been McGowan doing a Brydon impression. Who knows? They spoke for getting on for two hours, and then guest presenters came on from the Security teams, from Occupational Health and from the senior management sponsor. After that it was on to 30 minute breakout sessions – six in all – covering the different areas in which we might end up working. At the end of each of these 30 minute sessions, a ship’s bell sounded, meaning we had to move from the one we were in to the next one along. Much of the information was repeated in each of the breakouts, making the day fairly hard going, although there was some light relief when we got to play with the iPads and iPhones with which we will be equipped for our duties. I was told that over 2500 iPads and over 800 iPhones have been purchased for the project, and this certainly does make me think about money. And priorities. And redundancies. And much else.

Along with the nearly 3000 of us taking part in the forthcoming event, I discovered that there will also be 8000 other volunteers from another part of our organisation, and this is even more mind-boggling because I’m guessing that this means almost the entire workforce will not be doing their day jobs for a few weeks. Other key staff are also being stood down from their normal activities for the duration, though I cannot go into this either due to the confidentiality issues I mention above. Suffice to say that the absence of that particular group will be a boon to those who prefer to travel without the benefit of a ticket. Nudge nudge.

More is to come. I will soon be meeting my team leader, will be collecting my technology at the beginning of July, and my uniform in the middle of July. My shifts have been allocated, and I will be familiarising myself with the locales before I turn up for my shift. I am expecting some anger and confusion (recently, in the street near my office, an American lady asked me where the nearest toilets were, and though I was not wearing any kind of tabard or badge, she looked away in disgust when I told her truthfully where they were. I sarcastically said: ‘You’re welcome!’ before going on my way. It wasn't my fucking fault that she was 15 minutes walk away from McDonald's, was it?) from dim witted members of the public, and am trying to remember the many pearls of wisdom which were scattered before me on Monday.

Thicker, faster, harder

This week I was priveleged to be given a tour of the Olympic Park at Stratford. It was part of a drive within my organisation to get everyone geared up for the event (as well as to give us the latest 'be prepared for change' corporate indoctrination) because it will have such a big impact on us, more so perhaps than other Londoners. It was an impressive sight on what was a gloriously sunny day. Somewhat amusingly, the double decker red bus we were on broke down as we were exiting through the security gates at the end of the tour, but this didn't detract from a fascinating bit of sightseeing. Facts and figures from the irritating tour guide were coming thick and fast as we trundled around watching - and being watched by (at least in the case of the younger females on the bus) the gangs of workers dotted around the site.

The media centre, to be equipped with its own post office, launderette, shops and catering facilities, could accommodate 5 Jumbo Jets, wing tip to wing tip, across its floor;

the 17,000 flats built for the athletes were not fitted with kitchens, in order to avoid the risk of unnecessary fire alarm activations in the middle of the night; all heating and ventilation for the athletes' village was produced at a central CHP plant - contributing to the aim of making these the greenest Games ever; the cedar roof of the velodrome, designed with input from Sir Chris Hoy, was stained red by rhubarb juice;

the velodrome itself was naturally ventilated, causing spectators at a recent test event to complain of melting - though this again was the result of Sir Chris's involvement, and something to do with maximising speeds on the track; the lights on the main stadium, set to optimise high definition TV, were so expensive that they were only on loan for the duration of the Games;

200,000 condoms were being supplied for the athletes, and this translates to (ahem) roughly 8 shags per athlete. (although there are certain to be at least some of those with holes, and no allowance is made for lesbians or celibates in this number); trees to the number of around 40,000 were in the process of being planted.

I'm with Will Self, and think that the whole thing is despicable in the extreme, but it was hard not to be impressed - by the desperation if nothing else. Arriving at the venue, I opted not to wait 10 minutes for the DLR to Stratford International, but instead walked through the living hell of the Westfield shopping centre from Stratford regional station. Just like the millions who will flock to the Games come July. Here was the glorious end time of our consumer age writ large in neon and bold yet tasteful colour schemes. Here were play areas for the kids, classic rock favourites coming out of the loudspeakers, even outside the centre, and everything in the world you could possibly imagine and hope for. Most of the buildings (though probably not the world's biggest McDonald's)

on the Park are temporary and will be pulled down after the event, but of course the velodrome will remain, and either Spurs or West Ham or neither will call the stadium home. The pool will nestle in its stingray splendour among the 'greening' that is left behind.

The nation holds its breath, realising that the great Olympic dream is just a short term scam, and fuck knows where the economy will go once it's all over. But it's too late now.