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About

This weblog contains the life ::, rants ##, poems "" and scribblings *) of Nivelan.

:: sunday browsing Sunday, November 30, 2008 |

Looking up my new workplace of Westhoughton, I found they have a kayaking club, and then found these Welsh extremists.. Which then led to a fun Japanese water slide trick.



But if you think that is nightmarish, stumbling upon this while swimming.. I am not going to sleep well tonight. You come across some weird stuff, just browsing. It somehow lead me to a pussy cat going postal on desktop printer..

:: career changes |

As a writer and poet on standby (long story), a career in IT Support is paying the bills. Well, when I say career.. I mean a succession of jobs. I've worked as a first line analyst for six years now, the last two at an oil giant's internal support desk in Wythenshawe. Which is a personal record of time spent at a single employer.. It's come to an end last Monday, because they decided to outsource to EDS, who are moving it all to Belgium. Though Belgian beer and chocolate are excellent, I'd rather remain with my Lottie in England. Or move us both to Scotland, if at all possible. And as a result, I've been job hunting around these parts. A recruiter contacted me for a job in Westhoughton near Bolton, and it's where I ended up, since last Tuesday.

This web log might mainly be for personal reference, because I can't bother with a paper diary any more. As it's on the internet however, therefore public, I have to remain diplomatic. Quite a struggle, in trying to describe my new job and how I feel about it.

From the interview, the company appeared a decent enough outfit, and their base on an industrial estate between Bolton and Wigan is a shorter commute. From setting out from home though, everything is worse than I've been accustomed too. The scooter ride to work is scary, as it includes massive roundabouts and 40 mph roads, all with slippery manholes, waving asphalt and potholes where you least expect them. It doesn't matter too much to drivers, cars easily get right up my airse, but on a scooter it's frightening. On the A6 over the tundra between Walkden and Westhoughton, there's always a strong wind from the side, which chills me to the core as I'm trying to remain upright and going in a straight line. Not easy when it's dark and there's a risk of black ice as well. At work, there's no secure parking nor any cover, so I'm forced to bring a heavy lock with me as well and let my scooter rust away. There's nowhere to store my helmet either, other than under my desk. And if I choose to dress warm for the ride, I can't change anywhere other than in the toilets, which remind me of a cheap backpackers hostel. I might be spoilt, but I'm infuriated before I even log on to the phone and computer.

It gets worse. The company I work for supply tills to shops, then have a dedicated team per shop to support any software issues and log hardware calls. At the interview I was made aware of this, and how they are planning to move to generic help desks instead, with first and second line support. I assumed they meant to move to an ITIL based operation. In other words: structure. I was wrong. I've never been involved in an operation as amateurish as this. Where can I begin.. Well, I begin tomorrow, taking calls on my own, logging them and putting them in a queue. If I feel I can solve them, I can check a newly created 'knowledge base' for solutions. I never feel I can solve anything because I've had no product training whatsoever, let alone time to go through the knowledge base. Instead, I've been listening in on calls on the first day, and getting used to an ancient (1997) Unix based piece of software to log them in. It takes time to get used to it too, as every single operation requires a keyboard short cut, and pressing a wrong key means you can start all over again. It's pathetic, to be fair. On the second day, I was already expected to log calls, while a colleague did the talking. By the third day, I was taking the calls.

"Help desk here, good morning, I haven't a clue what I can help you with. Right. What was your name, sorry? Right. Your store code? No I don't know either. Post code then? Right, give me a second. Found it, I think. Sorry, lost it, what was your post code again? Okay, okay, thanks for your patience. Don't call me slow, I just work here okay.. Can you describe the issue? Okay, till one PED gives an error code and an HHT stopped scanning? No I haven't an inkling what you're on about, but it's written down, and a colleague of mine will supposedly call you back. I think. No I don't know when, or if we have Service Levels. Probably not. Sorry. Yeah, I know, again, I just work here, that's all. They don't tell me either. Oh bollocks. I just lost your details in my system, have to start again. Err, what was your store code?. ... Right, fine, hang up then."

There is no training department. There is no call coaching. There is no one concerned with Health & Safety, especially the fire officers who are assigned. There is no option to change desk height or get a decent chair for my problem-prone back. No ergonomic keyboards or mice, no physiotherapy. Hardly any windows, no natural light. Though there's air conditioning, the air is often so dry my contact lenses become very uncomfortable. There is no public transport anywhere near, yet the car parking is below par as well. No cycling or motorbike facilities whatsoever, no showers, no lockers, no lockable drawers. One coat hanger for a few managers, the others can keep the lot on their chairs. No canteen, no socialising, just a work and lunch rota devised to keep the phones manned with insufficient staff numbers. Lonely pub lunches then. Nowhere for smokers to go, apart from out the door and into whatever weather they find. So there's people smoking in their parked cars..

I realise it still compares very well to sweat shops in India, and it just about complies with UK regulations.. So I've asked myself if I'm spoilt perhaps, and certainly I need the salary, though £14k is a massive third less than what I earned at Wythenshawe, and less than I've earned since 2002. I'm back on the job market.

:: stupid morning Thursday, November 20, 2008 |

A good start to the morning is when you grab your contact lens container and empty it over the sink, with the intent of scrubbing it clean. But, before you open the taps and start splashing, to realise you just deposited both your contact lenses in the sink. In 1993, in Scotland, I lost a lens that way on a trip and had to wear my glasses from then on. This morning, thank feck, I realised my mistake before splashing the lenses down the sink.

:: back to life Tuesday, November 18, 2008 |

It's an elongated weekend. My back is completely buggered since Thursday evening, and though I got to work on Friday I went home soon after. Sitting down at my desk was excruciating. While I can grin and bear a bit, it seemed the callers did mind my groaning and muffled swearing. At home, I've noticed a combination of lying down a lot, then trying to remain upright or walking otherwise, helps a lot. But even though my back might untwist enough, and I expect I'll be back at work tomorrow, it's provided food for thought. This is the second time this year my back's been a mess, and I know all the reasons. It's about time to eliminate these reasons one by one.

So, when I do start my job at Westhoughton, closer to home, why not visit a gym twice a week and work on core strength especially? I might even go swimming. Cycling used to do it for me, but I don't know if I'll ever be back on the bike in this country. Not because of the weather, I don't mind that. It's the cursed potholes and patchwork asphalt they call roads round 'ere. Fast roundabouts you're expected to circumnavigate round the outside, the filtering, the attitude of car drivers.. If it's not exactly lethal so long as you know what you're doing, still there's no fun in it at all. Nah I've got my scooter, on which at least I can accelerate away from trouble. I've done over two thousand miles on it already. But of course I've got no exercise at all. Working at a help desk isn't back breaking work exactly. Though, excuse the pun, perhaps it is. I'm sat down far too often. It's irritating me.

I'm not excited about switching jobs. From the contract and related materials it's quite clear I'll be working at yet another hellish desk, taking more phone calls than sanity allows and being constrained of course - an internet usage policy, health and safety policies, precise start times, call handling minutes, first call resolution time.. It's sickening how used I am to this sort of tripe, and with that in mind I've blown new life into a plan to build a call centre of my own. With such a difference it can wipe the floor with EDS, SNT, Stream International and all such mind-numbingly process-driven companies. My own little Queen Anne's Revenge, aye, arrr! I'm going to have a few chats with current and past colleagues. Already I have plenty of revolutionary ideas - gracias señor Guevara - but a few people to tell me what can and cannot be done would come in handy. "Welcome aboard mateys, now stop ye whining and after that slave ship on't horizon! We'll have her!"

Also, my wee sister mailed me a few days ago, asking if I wouldn't be interested in creating a website for her new creative project. I saw through it immediately. She's worried I don't spend enough time continuing my once blossoming creative prospects in poetry, theatre and such. She has a point, but I mailed back I had enough to do, that I'm not brilliant at creating websites anyway and blah blah. At which point she saw fit to write back if perhaps I was staying in England because I had wanted to leave her and the family behind. And what a loss I am to her plans in opening poetry up to everyone, and other plans. I understood, because I have missed it and we worked together so well that I'm sure she misses it too.. But the very suggestion I had left my family behind with the motive of getting rid of them hurt. So I wrote back in a bit of anger, reminding her I had moved across the North Sea too often already and how I relished building myself up from nought in England. Every time I move, from Netherlands to the UK or back, I seem to leave a lot behind and surely a lot is lost. I tried to explain why I couldn't move back. I haven't heard from her in days now. I'll write back after my next glass of Baileys.

But she does have a valid point. Perhaps I haven't enough poems to get me started in England; I'll write a few more. What would stop me then going to a Bolton pub, an open-mic night, and wow the crowd? Combine my own works with a bit of Jacques Brel, whom I have a slight resemblance to, and whose style I love? A few translated poems, or Dutch ones, who'd notice, from Jean-Pierre Rawie whose sonnets I've always aspired to.. And could I add tidbits from local genius Jim Cartwright perhaps to strike a chord.. I can do it, so why don't I? Answers on a postcard, or below.

:: cliff richard finally lost my respect Monday, November 17, 2008 |

2008-1117-AlwinCliff

My mother has been a fan of Cliff Richard forever, and I grew up with his hits often thumping through the speakers. "Goodbye Sam, Hello Samantha!", "Congratulations!", "Power to all our Friends!" Stop it already, please, my ears are bleeding! Really though, my mother clearly draws an awful lot of energy from his songs, and when the house positively shook to "Devil Woman" and "What Car" I can't say I never enjoyed it.

First, let me sing his praise. He was a Sixties icon. Mike Myers I'm sure styled his 'Austin Powers' on Cliff's appearance at the 1968 Eurovision Song Festival. Then he turned to Christianity rather than drugs, boring perhaps but he deserves some credit for doing it his own way and sticking to it. Apart from that he's been quite active in Christian charities making a difference in Uganda, Bangladesh, Brazil and other places. He's been going longer than the Stones now. Despite a clean and cheesy image he remained popular, and even radio stations banning his music hasn't stopped him from getting big hits. You can't beat a film like Summer Holiday, can you? Look out, cliff hehehe.

On the other hand though.. Even in his own opinion he's not that great a singer, technically very good but hardly an amazing voice. He struggles on any instrument, but plays a bit of guitar. He's not finished school, nor has he come back to study later in life. Jumping on the scene just before the Beatles did in an effort to emulate Elvis Presley, his success was no doubt helped by his youthful looks and a great backing band.. The Shadows with Hank Marvin and Bruce Welch were successful in their own right, but in the early Sixties having a singer to attract the girls did help. Record companies were looking for his sort back then, but would he have made it now? And if he'd been outlived by the likes of John Lennon and Jacques Brel where would he be? Had he been Swedish rather than English, would he have cracked as big a market with as much talent, from a smaller native language? And if girls that performed alongside him had been allowed to grow old gracefully, would he not have paled in comparison to Dusty Springfield?

But what struck me most, pre-reading his auto-biography "My Life, My Way", before wrapping it up and sending it to my mum, was his unashamed ignorance. His politics, as displayed in chapter 15 (page 218), really got my goat. As he describes it, he's been invited to 10 Downing Street with a few other celebrities and businessmen. Here, he meets Princess Diana and Margaret Thatcher. A young waitress looses her footing and sends a tray of food flying. Stood near her, Cliff proceeds to help her up when Thatcher flies across to comfort the girl, then getting on hands and knees to clear the mess up herself.
I thought: "Is this the Iron Lady? She was behaving just as my mother might have done. I voted for Margaret Thatcher. For years I hadn't voted (...) but I liked her."
It gets worse with the years, a few lines on he mentions Tony Blair:
I liked Tony too, and would have voted for him if he had been a presidential candidate - but we vote for a party in Britain, not a prime minister.
While he then continues to explain why he wouldn't vote Labour (high taxes, people losing incentives to work) fairly, he also mentions the Royal Family a lot in his book, and how he cannot see why some do not like the Royals. Would Cliff really want the Royals, a president Blair and a Tory prime minister altogether? I'm not sure, but I think neither is he, and through his short sketch on politics he comes across as infuriatingly daft. He doesn't mind dropping a few names here and there either. Which would be fine, if he had actually met them professionally or otherwise. In most cases, this is the case. However, there is an index at the end of the book and the references are sometimes astounding. Oprah Winfrey, page 297. "Really," I thought, thinking I must have overlooked a paragraph in which she is mentioned. Page 297 though only holds a list of questions and answers titled '50 Things you didn't know about Cliff'.
Who would you most like to meet? Oprah Winfrey. (But 'live' on TV)
Yeah, that list fills the index up nicely.

:: a taste of an ikea home Monday, November 03, 2008 |

On a Sunday at Ikea, I managed to convince Lottie a narrow 'Expedit' bookcase would be a good idea for our bedroom. Its deep square shelves remind me of the larger Expedit bookcase I left in my own bedroom, when I left home in Nijmegen. And though it's silly, it makes me a feel a little bit more at home in Manchester.

Years ago, when I moved to Edinburgh, I regularly ate at a Pizza Hut. Not because it's cheap, nor because it compares well to Scottish cooking. No, I'm ashamed to say it was just to have a taste almost exactly as it was at home. How weak of me, and how bland, I know. I suppose a visit to Ikea is a trick from the same book. That said, I enjoyed slapping this bookcase together after coming home from work today. And I genuinely like this bookcase more than a pizza with free cola upgrades.