I'm a mathematician by apptitude, an accountant by professional training and have strong IT links by a mixture of hobby and work. For the last year or so I've been working on developing a financial reporting system for the organisation where I work.
Today was a major milestone in this project, demonstrating it to the Chief Executive. As always seems the case in such things, the first report I showed him failed. The worst sort of failure, no error message, no clearly wrong results - just a failure to return any results at all. I can't remember whether I mentioned this before, but I always tell the truth. I'm sure a lot of people would be horrified by that and would feel that I was making unnecessarily hard work of life, but I find that (although it can lead to problems at times) it keeps things simple. The truth was given that the system detects who has logged in and what they have permission to see, this was the first time that this particular report had been run, it was also true to say that being at the peak of the organisation his report required more work than anyone else's.
He took the failure in good humour and accepted the alternative of logging in as me and running a report which gave similar results.
Even after nearly thirty-three years working for the same organisation, meetings with the Chief Executive can be quite daunting. But today's encounter gave purpose to what I've been working on and he seemed pleased by what had been achieved. I found the experience uplifting.
I was once accosted by the then Chief Executive in a MacDonalds with detailed follow-up questions from a meeting that we'd had earlier in the day. I was totally spaced-out from a very long very hard day and all my response circuits were frazzled - I couldn't summon up anything to say. After a minute or two, the CE said "Perhaps we'll talk about this tomorrow" and walked back to his exasperated wife. I think it highly unlikely that the current CE would accost me in MacDonalds, for a variety of reasons, but being a blog writer himself (for internal consumption in the organisation), there is perhaps a very small chance that he'll come across this entry. So you see, another way in which telling the truth keeps things simple.
Monday, 21 April 2008
Thursday, 17 April 2008
Why is nothing ever simple? (3)
Why is it that one always has a cold when everything else is conspiring against you? (Surely I don't have to say "..conspiring against one"?). This cold has lasted longer than any I can remember for years and years and this is despite taking pro-biotics, vitamin C and multivitamins. It's really dragging me down.
There are two other irritations at the moment. The first is the photographs. When my mother died, my sister laid claim to the family photographs. I didn't have a problem with this, but I felt I wanted to be able to look at them whenever I want and also I felt my grown-up nieces would like to have access (as there are many early photos of them and their mother who died 5 years ago). So I volunteered to scan them all. I had no concept of what I was letting my self in for. I'd estimate that there are somewhere between eight and ten thousand photos and I don't even want to think about the number of slides. The quantity is bad enough, but then their is the variation of shapes and sizes and different ways of fixing them into albums (including those hideous low-tack ones which have now lost their tack altogether) and the mixture of colour and black and white. A lot of the photos need dusting before scanning. All in all it's taking me about two minutes a photo to scan. My sister did at one stage ask me to send them to her and she'd scan them. I was slightly tempted but the thought of bundling up and posting them was not attractive.
There's the added pressure that my sister wants to compile a photo-book for my Aunt (Mum's sister)'s birthday next month, so I said I'd pick out relevant photos and send them on a CD. Having isolated around a hundred, my main PC broke down, it's a good quality Dell with a mirrored disk drives both of whick have broken down. Luckily the photos were on an external drive - easy, plug it into my laptop, except 3 discs of different makes later, my laptop still won't burn a CD.
The other irritation is dealing with my Mum's will. The probate office decided that because the will wasn't dated, a second affadvit was needed. I was about to take it to a local solicitor for swearing when I read it properly for the first time and realised that the solicitor who had prepared it had misworded it. So it all had to be done again. Now done and posted but anotherthing dragging me down.
Why is nothing ever simple?
There are two other irritations at the moment. The first is the photographs. When my mother died, my sister laid claim to the family photographs. I didn't have a problem with this, but I felt I wanted to be able to look at them whenever I want and also I felt my grown-up nieces would like to have access (as there are many early photos of them and their mother who died 5 years ago). So I volunteered to scan them all. I had no concept of what I was letting my self in for. I'd estimate that there are somewhere between eight and ten thousand photos and I don't even want to think about the number of slides. The quantity is bad enough, but then their is the variation of shapes and sizes and different ways of fixing them into albums (including those hideous low-tack ones which have now lost their tack altogether) and the mixture of colour and black and white. A lot of the photos need dusting before scanning. All in all it's taking me about two minutes a photo to scan. My sister did at one stage ask me to send them to her and she'd scan them. I was slightly tempted but the thought of bundling up and posting them was not attractive.
There's the added pressure that my sister wants to compile a photo-book for my Aunt (Mum's sister)'s birthday next month, so I said I'd pick out relevant photos and send them on a CD. Having isolated around a hundred, my main PC broke down, it's a good quality Dell with a mirrored disk drives both of whick have broken down. Luckily the photos were on an external drive - easy, plug it into my laptop, except 3 discs of different makes later, my laptop still won't burn a CD.
The other irritation is dealing with my Mum's will. The probate office decided that because the will wasn't dated, a second affadvit was needed. I was about to take it to a local solicitor for swearing when I read it properly for the first time and realised that the solicitor who had prepared it had misworded it. So it all had to be done again. Now done and posted but anotherthing dragging me down.
Why is nothing ever simple?
Wednesday, 12 March 2008
Special Delivery
Having sorted out the oath with the solicitor yesterday, today I had to post it back to the solicitor who is dealing with probate. I'm finding every little thing about dealing with my Mum's affairs emotionally draining. As I was leaving home this morning I remembered that there was another letter from the solicitor, which I'd only briefly glanced at. It was on the surface of it one of those so-called customer care letters where they set out exactly how much (not very) they are going to do for you and how many limbs (most of them) they expect from you in return. I thought all I'd have to do is to sign it and return it in the same envelope as the Oath and Will. On further reading it turns out because of money laundering regulations they need a "certified photocopy" of my passport which they helpfully pointed out that I could obtain from my Bank. So now I have to find my passport and find my bank (this is the 21st Century). Why send me masses of bumpf (bumf, bumph according to which dictionary you use) and then bury the only important bit in the place least likely to be read (two-thirds of the way down the second to last page)?
I was so.... I was going to say angry, but I don't really do angry. Frustrated, dissapointed, sad. Sad because I don't want things to do with my Mum to be a hassle. All of the above (even the anger bit), directed at myself because I could have / should have read the letter four or five days ago when I received the letter. And that was another thing that annoyed/upset me - the letter (and the one about the Oath/Will) were both dated 29th February but were received on 5th March. I know that the Oath Will was posted on the 4th because it was sent Special Delivery. I said that I received it on the 5th but being Special Delivery and no-one being in to sign for it I didn't actually see it until the 8th.
So because I don't have a certified copy of my passport I had to send the Will/Oath back without. I won't go into the tragi-comic attempts at enveloping them but they added to the general unhappiness. Then I went to the little local post office because it needed to be sent Special Delivery and they were polite and very efficient and although I gulped a little at the cost, it still seemed good value for money (in that I couldn't possibly perform the same service myself at the same price).
Solicitors and sub-Post Offices. Now which of those are closing down in vast quantities and which are springing up on every street corner?
I was so.... I was going to say angry, but I don't really do angry. Frustrated, dissapointed, sad. Sad because I don't want things to do with my Mum to be a hassle. All of the above (even the anger bit), directed at myself because I could have / should have read the letter four or five days ago when I received the letter. And that was another thing that annoyed/upset me - the letter (and the one about the Oath/Will) were both dated 29th February but were received on 5th March. I know that the Oath Will was posted on the 4th because it was sent Special Delivery. I said that I received it on the 5th but being Special Delivery and no-one being in to sign for it I didn't actually see it until the 8th.
So because I don't have a certified copy of my passport I had to send the Will/Oath back without. I won't go into the tragi-comic attempts at enveloping them but they added to the general unhappiness. Then I went to the little local post office because it needed to be sent Special Delivery and they were polite and very efficient and although I gulped a little at the cost, it still seemed good value for money (in that I couldn't possibly perform the same service myself at the same price).
Solicitors and sub-Post Offices. Now which of those are closing down in vast quantities and which are springing up on every street corner?
Tuesday, 11 March 2008
Connections
On BBC Breakfast this morning they were talking about people's memories being triggered by music, presumably triggered by psycholgists at Leeds University carrying out research into people's memories of Beatles' music.
My wife immediately reminised about the memories evoked by Minnie Ripperton's "Loving You" of her hall of residence in her first year at University. Although I knew her then, it was a time before we connected, so I didn't enquire further. She also cited "Hey Jude" which we danced to at the disco at University. The song that always reminds me of there and then is September '63 by the Four Seasons. Santana's "Caravanserai" always reminds me of summer evenings with the windows open and it getting gradually darker and no one wanting to break the spell by turning a light on. I can hear those cricket-like noises at the beginning now, even though it's midwinter and I haven't played Caravanserai in over 20 years
A little while ago I had a vivid, very different example of how something marginally connected can evoke vivid memories. My mother died just before Christmas and I am her executor. To cut an extremely long and tedious story short I went to see a solicitor today to swear an oath about documents connected with probate. I had expected to have to make an appointment, but the solicitor was able to see me almost straight away. As part of the oath he passed me a small well-used bible. It stirred a memory something. I didn't realise at the time but I do now - Sunday School. As I signed the document I cried. Probably as much for lost youth as for a lost mother.
My wife immediately reminised about the memories evoked by Minnie Ripperton's "Loving You" of her hall of residence in her first year at University. Although I knew her then, it was a time before we connected, so I didn't enquire further. She also cited "Hey Jude" which we danced to at the disco at University. The song that always reminds me of there and then is September '63 by the Four Seasons. Santana's "Caravanserai" always reminds me of summer evenings with the windows open and it getting gradually darker and no one wanting to break the spell by turning a light on. I can hear those cricket-like noises at the beginning now, even though it's midwinter and I haven't played Caravanserai in over 20 years
A little while ago I had a vivid, very different example of how something marginally connected can evoke vivid memories. My mother died just before Christmas and I am her executor. To cut an extremely long and tedious story short I went to see a solicitor today to swear an oath about documents connected with probate. I had expected to have to make an appointment, but the solicitor was able to see me almost straight away. As part of the oath he passed me a small well-used bible. It stirred a memory something. I didn't realise at the time but I do now - Sunday School. As I signed the document I cried. Probably as much for lost youth as for a lost mother.
Thursday, 6 March 2008
Real visitors!
Well so that's how you get real visitors then. You visit "Petite Anglaise" and leave a comment and her nice readers come and visit you.
Visitors from seven countries (and the one from the US wasn't Google). If I had one of those smiley gadget thingies the ends would be pointing upwards
Visitors from seven countries (and the one from the US wasn't Google). If I had one of those smiley gadget thingies the ends would be pointing upwards
Tuesday, 4 March 2008
On being second best
I'm in a regular Monday night quiz team. Well that's not entirely accurate. I'm in a quiz team that competes in a league where the quizzes take place on alternate Monday evenings (excluding Christmas and Easter) between October and May. Or that's how it was, the club where the quiz takes place is closing in April, so we're having to have a quiz every Monday so that we'll complete the season before the club closes. I've been in the team for just over seven years now, having been brought in when one of the original team members died. In the early years I did have a sense of being second best, of not being a full part of the team - but that has long since faded.
Every year we've finished first or second in the league. In recent years more often second than first. Always second to the same team This season we've usually finished each quiz as runners-up. To the same team. Yesterday we tied for first. Not an outright win. Second best.
Every year we've finished first or second in the league. In recent years more often second than first. Always second to the same team This season we've usually finished each quiz as runners-up. To the same team. Yesterday we tied for first. Not an outright win. Second best.
Monday, 3 March 2008
What's in a name? (2)
When I posted "What's in a name?" a few days ago I had entirely forgotten that I was about to have another outing as part of an ad hoc quiz team. The quiz was last Saturday, the team was my wife, a friend of hers, the friend's partner and me. I looked the other way as the inevitable "what should we call ourselves" came up. The two ladies had spent the day in Sainsbury's supervising Girl Guides who were packing people's bags to raise money. My wife (I think) suggested "The Bag Packers" as the team name. Was I the only one who noticed the nuances of the name, with the suggestion of back-packers and carpetbaggers?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
