Terminal Grumpiness.....with Coffee.

Hullo ma wee blog,

My lovely G was away for the weekend. Off back to Switzerland to see the extended family before Christmas. This time she took a friend instead of me going along so I also had the chance to go and catch up with my brother across on the west coast for a night out. To kick off her long weekend I took her to the airport and being what nowadays appears to be a perpetually grumpy old man, there are few places guaranteed more to bring my alter ego to the fore. The closer I get to places like that the more my Jeckle turns to Hyde and by the time I come off the main road onto the airport approach my grumpy radar is in full operational mode.

I am, or at least I think I am, a generally responsible and sensible member of the human race, but if anything gets me frustrated its being confined by rules, rules, rules and regulations. The nanny state in full flow; Dont do this, dont park here, dont leave that down, dont pass this point, dont wait, stop, go, wait and on and on and on: Dont pass 'GO', Dont collect £200. DONT, DONT, DONT! Forbidding lots of stuff I'm never NEVER going to do, and neither is 99.9% of the human population. The sensible, the sane, the ordinary! And I hate all those advisory signs warning you to be careful, mind the step, coffee is hot, may contain nuts { almost everything these days may contain nuts as a means of avoiding being sued} mind the gap as you step on the train, Caution water is deep, smoking may damage your health...

{Caution - stupid signs may raise your blood pressure}

Why oh WHY do we have to constantly cater for the lowest common denominator of intelligence and personal responsibility?

Aaaargh!!!!

So, at least you know the frame of mind I'm in when I get to places like that. Too much time in a past life spent waiting, waiting, waiting for what is supposed, what is advised, what is meant to happen. A flight leaving at the right time. An understaffed check in not stuffed to bursting with similarly frustrated people, a conveyor belt that works, a computer that isn't crashed, a person who appreciates that it really spoils your day when simple things just dont work and no apology or worse, no effort is being made to resolve the issue. Not only things that don't work but things that conspire to make you dig your heels in. Obdurate. Obstinate. Argumentative.

GRUMPY........

The short stay {expensive} car park, has now been reduced by more than half for a 'fast track' car park which costs £21 to enter for even a minute which makes the 2 hr max for £6 seem reasonable by comparison. It does however mean that I have to park at the far end of the short stay car park and lug the cases to the terminal as there is no sign of a trolley bay except in the barriered off 'fast track' section.

Next we queue to check in at the automated self check in machines. Except the first one has a 'hardware' problem and advises us to try another machine. { funny how when these are all working fine there are usually two staff on hand to help but when one is down they are suddenly absent}

The next machine works and goes through the pre programmed questions:

'Did you pack this yourself?'

'YES'

'Did anyone ask you to carry anything for them?'

'NO'

'Are you carrying any of these {photo's} proscribed items?'

'NO'

'Thank you - proceed to 'fast bag drop'

{This is a queue of equal size to anywhere in the airport on the last weekend before Christmas, but hey, I can understand that.}

20 mins later we step up to the counter.

'Hello, can I have your passports? {Already checked!}
'Where are you travelling to?' {Already checked!}
'How many bags are you checking?' {Already checked!}
'did you pack them yourselves?' {Already checked!}
'Are you carrying any of these {indicates poster} items?' {Already checked}

At this points Mr Grumpy steps up to the mark and says,

'Excuse me, but what is the point of you asking all these questions that we have already been asked and answered at your superb and probably very expensive self check in machines?'

'I'm sorry sir, but the company requires me to ask these security questions. Has anyone asked you to carry anything?'

'I understand that, but what I don't understand is why we have had to answer all these questions back there at those machines {pause while I thumb over the shoulder} when you are asking them again here, {looks back} twenty feet away. Can you please tell me why we are being asked the same thing twice? It doesn't feel very fast, or customer friendly or even "any" faster than all the other queueing systems. And no, no one has asked us to carry anything'

'Sir, do you mind. We are very busy and you're holding up the queue {raised eyebrows} asking these questions.'

'Actually, Yes I do mind. What is it that makes this a 'fast' Check-in when you are asking exactly all the same questions that everyone else is and that we have already input{ed} into your system back there'

'Sir, please be reasonable.......'

'Excuse me?'

'Excuse me? Please be reasonable? PLEASE BE....

A hand, small, beloved, and very insistent pulls at my sleeve.

'Its not you who is checking in.......it's me. Give it a rest.'

{an exchange of raised female eyebrows takes place}

'What? But!!!!'

But I am being ignored and can't do anything but fume, impotent, on the sidelines. But I know I'm right. Ok, timing may not be the best, but I'm still bloomin' right.
The women conclude the business at hand and the lovely G turns to leave but I manage to say

'And if I cracked under those questions I must have failed my basic terrorism exams!'

Two middle aged guys in the queue snort approvingly and we have supportive eye contact as I am led off.

'Honestly, you're a right embarrassment sometimes......'



We head to the internationally known coffee house in the lower part of the terminal.

I love good coffee but hate these global coffee houses. I was brought up in a time and a country where you asked for coffee and the only question was "black or white?"
Now dont get me wrong, I know the staff are generally very hard working, and I dont think that choice is a bad thing, but it isn't necessarily always a good thing either and these days some companies seem to think that they are offering a better service by offering more and more choice - think of almost any companies automated telephone services - badly handled or understood or just plain bewildering in its complexity, frustrating in its multi layers of numbered options menus when all you want to do is speak to a human being. So although I dont think choice is bad per se, and I dont begrudge anyone their right to a half caff mochachino with skim milk and a twist or whatever they bloomin want, I also resent being made to conform to all this describing everything to the last detail when a request is actually just simplicity itself.

In the mood I'm in going to a Costa is probably not the best thing right now.......

After queueing my lovely G orders an expresso and an Italian biscuit.

My turn.

'I'd like a small black filter coffee with hot milk on the side please'

A blank look slowly turns to consternation.

'We have cappuchino, latte, expresso and Americano......'

I give my best Paddington stare.

'Aye, well I'll have a small black filter coffee with hot milk on the side. Please!'

I know. I shouldn't. I fold my arms and give him the stare. Again.

There's a wee bit of panic in the eyes.

'We've got regular, tall and grande.'

As I repeat my request again for the third time, maintaining eye contact and just a bit more slowly for emphasis, I notice his head begins to nod with each word. It seems to be getting through.

'Would you like skimmed, semi skimmed or........'

He doesn't have time to finish and I am still seeing the imaginary red dot of a laser sight on his apron when the lovely G again appears by my side and snaps me back to reality with a 'you go and sit down. I'll see to this.'

As I go the lad almost whimpers thanks to my lovely G.

I know I'm going to get it in the neck in a minute though.


probably just as well I'll be mainly on my own this weekend.

sometimes I'm just so grumpy......... I could grump for Scotland!



see you later.


listening to Ed Alleyne Johnson 'Oxford Suite'

A Wee Bit O Sheer Nostalgia..........

Hullo ma wee blog,


I know its a bit lazy posting video when I normally do more writing but can I suggest you listen to this. I know its not something that most folks have in their musical tastes but it is, it really is, worth listening to.

Please.....

Indulge me.

I spent about 20 years playing in brass bands, starting at school and continuing on well into my working life so this is a sound I understand. It calls to my soul. I was brought up in a mining area where there was a strong tradition of bands even though by the time I started they were well out of fashion. Learning to play an instrument gave me a great start into learning about self discipline, about consistency and about teamwork. I recognise all these things now of course when I hadn't a clue about it back then. Then, well then it was just.... fun!

I played in the school band - we were Scottish champions for 5 out of the 6 years I was at high school, and afterwards I joined the senior band that the school band master was conductor of. The Dalmellington Band was also Scottish Champions when I was part of the band. Not that I put it down to me by the way, but I remember the work that went into delivering excellence whether with the school band or with Dalmellington. This performance, individually and collectively is excellence.

I remember the weeks and months of hard slog that went into preparing for a competition. The repetition, the detail that was gone into was astounding and the criticism for poor performance was constructive but very real. There were several competitions to prepare for across the year and the pressure to get it right was palpable. The competitive nature of the brass band world was incredible. To play your part - literally - not to let yourself or the others down was something that was drilled into you through the constant preparation.

When things went well - well look at the clip and you will understand some of the elation and comradeship that was a highlight as well as the understanding and sheer joy of doing something brilliantly well. To know that and to hear that from inside the guts of the performance is an incredible high.

The musicianship and the emotion are well portrayed here.

I hope you enjoy it.

see you later

Two Masters at play......

Hullo ma wee blog.

Just this as its both fun and beautiful..

see you later.

Dunbar, Sept 3rd, 1650.

Flag captured at battle of Dunbar.


The modern road.

'Forasmuch as I understand there are soldiers of the enemies army yet abiding in the field, who by reason of their injuries could not march from thence, this is therefore to give notice to the inhabitants that they may and have free liberty to repair to the field aforesaid and with their carts or in any other peaceable way may carry away the said soldiers to such places as they shall think fit provided they do not meddle with or take away any armour there. All officers and soldiers [of the English forces] are to take notice the same is permitted'

Oliver Cromwell, Proclamation to the people of Dunbar. Sept 3rd 1650.

Hullo ma wee blog,

Anyone who reads much of this blog will know that on a daily basis I take my wife, the lovely G, to her morning train from Dunbar to her work in Edinburgh city center. The short journey there and back takes me twice across the ground of the battle of 1650, which was fought between the Scots and the English. Again, anyone who has read much of the blog will also know that I am fascinated by history, especially Scots history and the lesser known tales missed by many mainstream history books but which resonate loud and clear and deserve {in my opinion} to be much better known. The aftermath of the battle of Dunbar is one of those tales.

As we near the junction to leave the A1 and head into Dunbar we cross the main battlefield. Sweeping away left from the coast the ground rises up gently at first then increasingly steeply to the top of the escarpment of Doon Hill where the Scots army camped, having out maneuvered and trapped the English Parliamentarian Army of Oliver Cromwell against the sea as they tried to retreat back to England. They had attempted to subdue Scotland but had failed largely due to the achievement of David Leslies leadership and were now badly affected by sickness and lack of supplies caused by the 'scorched earth' tactics of the Scots. It was a dire predicament, with no possibility of passing the Scots without a fight against superior forces in a stronger position. They were trapped and being besieged at Dunbar could also only end in defeat for Cromwell and victory for the Scots.

It was one of those pivotal moments in time when destinies and reputations on both sides can only be won or lost.

There have been two Battles of Dunbar, one in 1297 against Edward 1st, Robert the Bruces long shanked adversary, the other in 1650. The second battle is the most important, in fact its probably the most important battle fought in Britain since the Battle of Hastings in 1066, for the impact it had on the political shaping, not just of Scotland, but of the whole of Great Britain with a direct lineage right through to todays political landscape in the UK.


Battle positions 3rd Sept 1650.

When General David Leslie looked out over Dunbar on that cold wet and windy Monday of 2nd September 1650 he must have felt in his aching bones that victory was in his grasp. He was a strong, wily and highly experienced military leader, who had returned from the service of king Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, where he had been a key part of one of the most professional, innovative and effective fighting forces of the 30 years war, to fight in the Covenanting Scottish Army beside the English Parliamentarians against the Royalists. In modern parlance, he was a legend and not just a Scots or national legend. He was a legend of international status. He had led the Scots and fought outstandingly beside Oliver Cromwell at Marston Moor yet now found himself facing that old comrade and his desperate force, outnumbered, outmaneuvered, weakened by sickness and backs to the sea and Dunbar below Leslies position on Doon Hill. Below him a steep escarpment and the deep ravine of the Brox Burn protected his position while on his right the slope to the sea provided the ideal ground for a devastating attack on any force attempting to pass by on the road South.

The Scots army had switched allegiance from Roundhead to Royalist as they believed that the King should be head of the country although strictly subject to agreement with and promise of protection to the Scottish Kirk as described in the terms of the solemn league and covenant. Their previous uneasy cooperation with the Parliamentarian Roundheads was an attempt to force Charles 1st to come to terms with this very point. Failure to do this had seen the Scots miscalculate and hand the King over to his opponents and, much to their horror, for him to lose his head and for Scotland to lose its king. They proclaimed his son as King of Scotland and provoked invasion by their former allies. Cromwells campaign had followed, as he brought his experienced and bloodied troops flushed from gory success in Ireland. Charles, his fathers son, considered the two to be different sides of the same coin.

The Scots Army of the Covenant was controlled not just by Leslie but also by the Ministers of the Covenanted Kirk, a puritanical force bent on purifying society to conform with the protestant fundamentalist strictures of the covenant, and even as Leslie was pursuing the retreating Cromwell, they were purging the Army of any elements which did not conform to their fervent beliefs. These 'malignants' were removed from the army despite being the highly experienced officers whom Leslie had relied on to date. This would load the scales in the Kirks favour and critically force Leslies hand in the coming hours. Military tactics and logic dictated siege. Fanaticism dictated attack. Leslie would be persuaded to make the costliest mistake of his life and precipitate catastrophe for thousands. Against a weakened but highly organised foe in a desperate situation he would pit his inexperienced but devout Army of the Covenant.

Cromwell had tried to reason with the General Assembly of the Scots Kirk by letter.

"I beseech you in the bowels of Christ think it possible you may be mistaken.”

The response:

"Sir, would you have us be skeptics in our religion"


Battle of Dunbar from the sea.

Seeing the Scots begin to come off the hill in preparation for giving battle the next day Cromwell gave the order for an early attack before dawn the following morning. This surprise attack, greater weight of heavy cavalry and Scots lack of preparedness allowed him to turn the flank of the Scots cavalry back upon themselves and cause chaos, rolling the Scots army back on itself. Horses and men collided together in a frantic scramble for room to move. Soon there was a dreadful killing time as the Scots horse escaped leaving the stunned foot soldiers at the mercy of a horde of cavalry swords. Cromwells victory was unequivocal. 3000 Scots dead and 10,000 men and boys captured, netted it was said, like a shoal of herring. Cromwells losses were negligible, less than 50 men. Leslie escaped with remnants of his force to Stirling and lived to fight another day.

Those captives dying or seriously injured were left for the people of Dunbar and the local area to look after. The proclamation above was issued at the end of the day of battle in the town of Dunbar. The impact of this battle and its immediate aftermath lived on in the folk memory of the town for generations and even a hundred years later Cromwells name was spoken in tones of horror.

To prevent perhaps an attempt to escape or continue the fight, half of those those captured 'uninjured', some 5,000 prisoners, were assigned to be immediately marched south to England. This removal of prisoners to a foreign soil was in contravention of the practice of the day. Normal process would compel Cromwell to have all combatants swear an oath not to bear arms again and to release them under this oath. The 5,000 injured and released in this way would come to consider themselves fortunate in the extreme.


Dunbar medal struck on orders of Cromwell.

The 5,000 prisoners were sent by authority of Cromwell, under control of Colonel Hacker and four companies of horse, to Durham. The first leg of this 120 mile journey started before the end of the day with a 28 mile forced march without halt through the night along the great north road to Berwick on Tweed. Even before this first point was reached men began to die at the roadside, initially from untreated wounds and those most exhausted by the fight unable to survive the ordeal of a forced march. Every long mile would be littered with dead, abandoned at the roadside or in the hedgerows until the final destination was reached. With food only for themselves, ironically mainly pillaged from the Scots baggage train ,reports mark guards cruelly mocking the prisoners for grubbing in the gardens of Morpeth for cabbages and roots to eat due to a deliberate policy of starvation and of one day 30 desperate men and boys being shot to force the remainder to march on. By the time that Durham was reached and the prisoners climbed the hill to containment in the Cathedral there were some 3,900 men left. 1100 of their countrymen died in the course of 8 dreadful days journey. In the time they were confined those survivors, who perhaps thought that surely the worst was behind them, would be denied adequate food, fuel and medical treatment through the depth of winter and would continue to die of wounds, starvation and cold, despite stripping the cathedral bare it is said, of everything made of wood except the famous clock which had a Scots thistle decoration on its head. A sentimental sign of home in the most desperate of circumstances it still sits in Durham Cathedral. The deliberate mistreatment of these poor men is a largely unknown stain on the reputation of Cromwell, who had proven merciful in similar situations elsewhere.

Those who died in that sanctified place were taken and buried without ceremony in a running trench to the north of the cathedral. Here they lay forgotten until they were discovered and covered over again by workmen in the 1940's. They lie there still without any marker to recognise the spot or having had a Christian blessing said over them. It is in my eyes a shameful slight to their memory. Mentioned in the pamphlet covering the Cathedral history, their experience and fate is quickly skipped over in a few scant and sanitised words

'I dare confidently say there was never the like care taken for any such numbers of prisoners that were ever in England' - Sir Arthur Heselrigge - responsible for the care of prisoners in Durham Cathedral.

When orders came to Sir Arthur Heselrigge in Newcastle to dispose of the prisoners by sending them in batches counting up to the recorded 3,900 to be transported to the Americas he found he was short of the required manpower by almost 2,000 souls. He started a flurry of correspondence explaining he could not understand how so many had died when so much coal, wood, beef, mutton, pork, bread, ale and milk had been supplied on such a regular basis and describing what beasts the Scots were, stealing from and murdering one another for the smallest scrap of food or clothing. Those prisoners who remained alive were transported to the Americas, some to where is now called Berwick in Maine, or forced into service in the army of the commonwealth.

Heselrigge would later be found guilty of making free with confiscated church lands and spend the rest of his life in the Tower of London.

The disastrous defeat of the Scots laid the foundation for the ultimate union of the crowns. For Cromwell and Leslie, they would be haunted by the ghosts of the 3rd of September.
Leslie would be taken captive exactly one year later, September 3rd 1651 at the battle of Worcester. Protector Cromwell would die on the 3rd September 1658. He did what Edward 1st could not do. He effectively subdued a Scottish nation which had failed the last chance to secure its Independence. More even than 'Long Shanks' Edward 1st perhaps, Cromwell could truly be described as the 'hammer of the Scots.'

Charles 2nd would rejoice that one potential foe had been weakened so badly although the Covenanters would still aim to support his cause while exerting pressure to force him to conform to Presbyterianism.

Cromwell had proved on that small patch of land at Dunbar that he was not only able to lead an army but capable of leading a nation. He would become king in all but name, even being addressed as 'your Highness'.

The Covenanting fervour of the Scots kirk would continue for many years before it calmed to a more reasonable vision of Christianity, thank God, but before that would come the persecution of the 'killing time' and the hasty departure of the Catholic house of Stuart to France and the rise of the house of Hanover.

Its interesting to consider what might have been had Leslie defeated or killed Cromwell at Dunbar and how different history could have been but for the fanatics of the covenant forcing a mistake of such scale.

Cromwell has never been held to account for his responsibility in the shameful treatment of so many men. Hated yet in much of Ireland, his reputation is generally intact on the mainland to this day. Hardly anyone knows of those murdered Dunbar prisoners lying in unmarked graves in the grounds of Durham Cathedral.

Perhaps one day there will be a service and an appropriate memorial installed for them and their story will be recognised more fully.

Even the battle stane memorial at the edge of Dunbar ignores them and states only

'Near this spot took place the brunt or essential agony of the battle of Dunbar'

see you later.........

A Taste Of My Life

Hullo ma wee blog,

I think its interesting how often when you meet people it centers around food or drink. A party, a dinner, a visit to friends or relations, a working lunch or what ever. I often find that conversation too will turn at some time to food and favourite dishes, restaurants and the like. Food and memories of food also can trigger some powerful memories and emotions, especially when it comes to special times, Christmas, New Year or Easter when family will traditionally draw together for a celebration and a meal made and shared with love. Its a powerful draw and the glue that holds families together or re-establishes, reaffirms the strength of kinship and family. Its one of the most important things we can share together.

So it was natural to experience this when my lovely G and I recently visited with Uncle Bill, Dads younger twin, and his wife. They live several hundred miles away in Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire and due to distance we have not kept in touch with the frequency that we should. Dads passing earlier this year brought this sharply into view and as is often the case in situations like that, promises of closer contact were made. So far this has been held with regular phone calls and a visit to us by their daughter Elspeth and her husband Dave to stay with us for a great weekend which let us show them the sights of auld Edinburgh. So it was nice to go and spend a few days with Bill and Margaret at their house in Melton, to meet the family down there once again and to spend time reminiscing, as elderly folk are wont to do about things past.

We talked about shared memories, of Grandpa Robertson and his incapacity from WW1, and the care given him by Gran Robertson, and Dad, over many, many years, the involvement of family and the way we all would gather at that house for key dates and share those special times and meals, sometimes in what were very austere times.
Aunt Margaret revived memories of Clootie Dumpling {Cloth Dumpling} a steamed pudding made in vast quantities and cooked in a 'cloot' - a cloth or more often a cotton towel. Steamed for what seemed like ages, sending its spicy aroma through the house as it dried sat carefully unwrapped, watched and turned occasionally on the hearth in front of the coal fire. A dish for mass catering and exciting to wee boys for the thruppence and sixpennies that Grannie would hide inside it wrapped in small parcels of greaseproof paper. During this Aunt Margaret went to the kitchen and came back with a page of loose leaf paper.

'This is your Mums recipe. I don't know if you have it or not'

Have it? I had almost forgotten the whole thing.

'She actually made a much better dumpling than your Grannie'

Such things are jewels drawn from the memory of others, lost from or more likely never in the knowing of wee boys. Inconsequential and treasured in equal measure.

MUMS CLOOTIE DUMPLING.

1lb self raising flour.
4oz currants
6oz raisins
6oz sultanas
3/4 cup shredded suet
1/2 cup sugar
1 dessert spoon golden syrup
1 tablespoon treacle
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon mixed spice

MIX ALL TOGETHER WITH MILK TO MAKE A SOFT CONSISTENCY.
PUT INTO A DAMP FLOURED CLOTH
TIE WITH STRING LEAVING ROOM FOR EXPANSION
PLACE IN POT ON TRIVET IN BOILING WATER FOR 1 AND 3/4 HOURS
KEEP PAN TOPPED UP WITH BOILING WATER
REMOVE FROM WATER AND CAREFULLY PEEL CLOTH AWAY FROM PUDDING.
ALLOW TO DRY TO FORM PUDDING SKIN IN OVEN OR FRONT OF FIRE


SERVE WITH CUSTARD, CREAM OR ICE CREAM.

slices of leftover pudding would often be reheated and served the next day, even fried as a breakfast accompaniment.


enjoy......


see you later

Porcupine Tree

Hullo ma wee blog,

Another weekend, another trip to Glasgow and another concert. Seems like the lovely G and I have spent a lot of time travelling through here - a 90 minute journey from home - coming to concerts. Glasgow has more and better venues, and a better reputation as venue than Edinburgh. Friday saw us come through for the much awaited 'Porcupine Tree' concert. An English band who cover the 'prog rock' to almost {to me anyway} the 'metal' edge of rock. G and I came through early to be sure of finding the venue,decent parking and to have a quick bite before the concert as I had picked her up from an early finish from work. We had a cheap meal in a small cafe near the famous Glasgow Kings Theatre, sat at the next table to Gerard Kelly, a well known Scots TV and theatre actor.

Later we met up with the lovely G's two younger brothers who are both good musicians {drums and base guitar} and huge fans of the group, with Karen, the youngest brothers girlfriend and another couple of their friends to see the gig at the 02 ABC in Sauchiehall St. where G and I had come to see David Gray a few months ago. G is a bigger fan of the band, influenced by her brothers from an early age, although I had seen them once before and enjoyed, not raved about it. Some stuff is just too heavy and impenetrable for me and I'm at the age now where sheer volume does little for me. I need to be able to understand the style and the ability of the performance, but I have learned from G and her brothers to be open to stuff that I know I wouldn't be if it wasn't for their love of the heavier side of music. I have listened to, and enjoyed, much that would never have found its way onto my list of choice otherwise with Rush, Joe Satriani and occasional ventures into Saga down to their influence.

Tonight was different; loud, energetic and fantastic. A great set, covering most of their albums back to beginnings in the late 80's. I got a different perspective on the band as the set was more musical and showed the great technical skills of the band better than I had remembered from a couple of years ago. Very tight, very musical and very accomplished, and as I am finding is usual through here in Glasgow, in front of a knowledgeable and very appreciative audience. The show was the last night of a 3 month long tour of America, Europe and the UK.

And I found one of the band members, keyboard player Richard Barbieri, used to be a member of one of my favourite bands from a very short flirtation with glam rock back in the faraway days of the 80's, 'Japan'.

A fine night, you have a new fan to add to the collection boys.

See you again sometime......


see you later,

Listening to Porcupine Tree, 'Lazarus'

A Cautionary Tale.......

Hullo ma wee blog,



I'm sure everyone can think of a time where something has gone wrong, a mistake made and instinctively, instantly as soon as you find it, you 'fess up', stick your hand up and say 'OOPS! look what I've done, silly me, hahahaha'. I know I have, {yes darling,more than once} and have suffered the consequences, or more usually just the embarrassment, the red face of shame and stupidity. These events are part of being human, we don't get it right all the time but generally we don't either do things maliciously or even, heaven forbid, with criminal intent. Some things of course can be ignored but when there is a real impact then it's generally better to face the music and move on.

So I was surprised today to be attending an interview concerning my 'fraudulent' application for unemployment 'benefit' of £64.50 per week. I had been advised that I had been subject of a 'report' of claiming benefit while I was in paid work.

Now this 'report' I knew about. And I knew all about the suspected 'incident' too. After all it had been me who had turned informant and did the sticking up of grubby paw with a red face and an apologetic smile.

What was it all about? Well when I was being made redundant I was given a letter stating what my official leaving date would be. As my employer had not taken into consideration my highly inconsiderate taking of due, notified and planned holidays during the {ahem} consultation period, they had to extend that by one week and I was issued with another letter with a date a week later. Then, me being the awkward little customer that I am, I found out that I was entitled to move funds from redundancy to pension {blissfully tax free} and asked my employer for details. Cue sharp intake of breath, numerous humming and hawings and a further delay of a week while they punched calculators and computers and checked legislation to make sure I wasn't trying to have them on. This inconvenience of course resulted in letter number three being sent with yet another date stating I would definitely, categorically and absolutely be being waved bye bye and the big door locked behind me on this stated final, final date. It was almost, but not quite, a tablet of stone.
Of course, what they said would take a week took 5 {see, they should never have got rid of me - my job was to find ways around blocks and do in a week what should have taken them five anyway.} and after exhausting themselves they never sent any more letters to me, but resorted in telling me by phone on a weekly or fortnightly basis what actual leaving date they could see in their crystal ball at the time.

Foolishly, in a moment of weakness I must have believed them at one point and I had started my claim for unemployment benefit. By the time that I realised that they hadn't yet actually made me redundant I was in my second week of receiving benefit. Here, I hold my hands up again. I SHOULD have realised it hadn't actually happened. My fault and I accept that. 100%. That I was trying desperately to come to terms with reality/trying not to be stuffed yet again by my employers/starting numerous insurance claims and an unfair dismissal fight genuinely doesn't let me off the hook. What can I say? I am only human and mistakes happen. There was no malicious or criminal intent, so I did the right thing as I saw it and went to see my friendly government dept and told them what had happened and that I wanted to fix the problem. The nice lady was very helpful, made all the changes to the computer system and also let me know that it was technically an incorrect claim on 2 weeks benefit and that she would have to report it through the normal channels. I said I didn't have a problem with that, and I was sent on my merry way after being told that they would be in touch if any repayment was needed etc. After all, the benefit I receive is only for 6 months and its best if its the right 6 months. Of course at that point I didn't know I was still going to be sat here nearly 6 months later.

A couple of months pass and a letter drops through the door between postal strikes saying that they have received a 'report' that I have been a very naughty boy and have been caught claiming benefit while actually being in paid employment. Well, I couldn't really argue the toss on that, could I? The letter also stated that I was overpaid to the tune of £89.00 which may or may not be claimed back and would I please contact them to explain myself or any extenuating circumstances, or if I was denying the claim and so forth. In reply I sent them a nice letter and copies of my redundancy notices saying I was a complete prat and had made a mistake, gave them the circumstances and advised them that it had been me who had reported the error etc etc etc.

Another couple of months passed and I received a letter saying they wanted the 89 quid back and were going to take it back by reducing my benefit on certain dates. I thought that was fair enough but my lovely G said I should just contact them and make a payment. Good advice and I should have taken it at the time, but I was in a procrastinating phase and didn't. Me being me too I completely forgot until a second letter came in about 6 weeks later reminding me of the dates and that triggered me to call them and to make payment. Job done, you would think. Initial mistake identified and owned up to, information passed and full repayment made.

End of story!

Well no actually. Last week I got a letter asking me to attend a meeting to discuss my 'fraudulent' claim, which I did today. I took all my letters from my employer etc. At this meeting I was given a formal caution that what I said was being recorded and would be used in court as evidence should the case progress to a criminal case. I found that my case had been allocated TWO workers and they had over the last several weeks been in contact with my previous employer getting wage information. {remember this is for £89 which is no longer outstanding} I was then questioned and made to sign a copy of the recording for their files! I was nonplussed. All the more so as the senior investigator openly said that she had no idea why this low value case was being investigated in this way - although they had no record of either my initial reporting, which they had logged as an anonymous tip off, or my letter of explanation - but as the case was in process they were legally bound to complete it. They listened to my short explanation, looked at the letters from my employer and ended the recording and interview. Once the tape was off they apologised for wasting my time and made various references to a new manager, crossed wires and red tape.

I couldn't make up my mind whether I should be furious at the personal affront, furious as a taxpayer {temp excluded due to circumstances beyond my control} or pee myself laughing at the absurdity of it all. During the interview I was all three by turns as well as annoyed and embarrassed that my simple mistake had escalated to this state of affairs. What a waste of time, money and resource. If they gave me a job I could probably fix that for them.

Strange thing is they would never have been any the wiser if I hadn't been honest and upfront about the situation, become 'an anonymous source' and grassed myself up. What is it they say about honesty being the best policy..........

I came home tense, in need of a strong coffee, a massage to get rid of the tension knots that had built up and thinking the whole situation was nuts - in case anyone is wondering about the connection to the picture heading up the post!

Isn't life strange?

See you later.

Listening to Queen 'Its a Kind Of Magic'