Tag Archives: bullying

Hate is a strong word, but I definitely don’t love Microsoft

The acid test. I switched on the new laptop and . . .

Let’s just say that things did not go quite as well as they could have done. I forgot my PIN number, then had to recover it. That was when I forgot the password to the new email account I had set up to use this machine. After that it got slightly trickier. However, it finally came right and I have stored the passwords, even though this sort of misses the point of passwords.

I really must get myself sorted out, but after what happened last time I set a computer up I don’t want to take any chances. What happened, you ask? I wish I knew. Somehow I got locked in a circle that I couldn’t break out of. Eventually Microsoft refused to recognise me at all, wouldn’t allow me to access any features  and the only thing I was able to do was to pay. I corrected that by cancelling the payments via Paypal. That’s why I started using Apache Open Office, and, eventually, lost all my work. I can only blame myself in the end, but Microsoft and its intransigence played a part.

Something else I noticed tonight was that it is no longer possible to select a default browser with one push of a button. I’m used to using Chrome, so that’s what I want to carry on with. To replace Microsoft Edge as the default browser you now have to sect it a dozen times, once for each confusing thing that it apparently now does. If I was a cynic, and if I’d ever read Inside the Nudge Unit, I might suggest that Microsoft is trying to manipulate me.

All in all, I think it’s time for a revolution. Half of me wants to stick to Apache, but the other half of me wants the easy life of rolling over and surrendering to Microsoft. I am going to have to do some serious thinking.

That’s not me in the picture, but it’s the only picture of a laptop in my media file.

Not Very Happy

I had a phone call from the doctor today. It was a cheery enough phone call, because I am a lucky man and like my doctors. However, the news was rather depressing. I have been reclaimed by the anti-coagulant team and been put on Warfarin again. My next blood test is Monday.

It seems I am too heavy to be put on the new drug, which may not be powerful enough to do the job. My fault for being so fat, nobody tied me down and forced m to eat, so there is nobody else to blame. It would have been nice if the doctor had spotted this before giving me false hope, but I had a pleasant two or three days before it all fell apart.

The problem is that the anti-coagulant team runs the department like a bunch of petty tyrants. They can’t abide the thought of anyone evading their clutches and they can’t envisage a life without Warfarin. Despite the claims in the video they play you as part of the indoctrination, it does interfere with your life and they make no effort to be flexible.  They once demanded that I break off in the middle of a holiday to drive 40 miles to hospital and have  a blood test. When I told them there was no way that was going to happen they decided to be more flexible. It was a five day holiday and I’m not spending the best part of a day messing about with a blood test.

Another time they set a student nurse onto me. She rang me then told me, quite aggressively, that I had to start taking my Warfarin properly as my test results were unacceptably inconsistent. I had, it seemed, failed to hit the target on nearly fifty percent of the tests. (Teaching them how to bully patients is obviously a responsibility they take seriously).  I did a quick calculation in my head.

“I think you’ll find, ” I said,” that I have hit the target every time for the last six months. The problem is with the early tests when i was being tested two or three times a week and you couldn’t get my dosage right.”


She then went silent, tapped a few keys and agreed that I was right. The simple truth is that Warfarin is a very imprecise treatment and the anti-coagulant team aren’t much use when it starts to get out of control.

So there you are. Imagine me as a victim, teetering on the edge of a pit as arms reach out to garb my legs and pull me down…

I went for Big Brother today, as he’s the nearest thing to a pit of demons that I have in my media.

Then, to make my day even worse, I broke eBay.

Nothing Much to Say

I’ve run out of things to say. I never thought that would happen.

Part 2 of yesterday’s post is on hold, because the day has failed to provide the necessary spark of inspiration. I could force it but I’d rather do it well.

This morning I had to confess to my sister that I had (a) lost a letter I was supposed to send to the accountant and (b) couldn’t find the electronic copy to download. So far my tenure as executor has not been marked by any degree of competence. Fortunately my sister is doing the actual work and I just have to sign things and look decorative.

Then I sent the surgery a copy of my driving license as they need photo ID to re-issue my NHS pass word, which has never actually worked. I got an email by return, asking for my email address so they could send the password.

Yes, that’s right.

It was followed moments later by a sheepish phone call – the supervisor had spotted what had happened and had forced the culprit to ring me and apologise. I thought it was funny and told her how we had once put the return address on the front of a parcel by accident – resulting in us sending a parcel to ourselves. Much hilarity ensued and we parted on good terms.

It rained most of the day, and was unseasonally cold, as a reminder that September is just around the corner.


I could do without that.

A customer with a 2.30 appointment rang to ask if he could come early, and I said yes because I was happy to increase my chances of picking Julia up on time. Of course, the plan went wrong. He stood round talking and left just after three, at which point my co-worker, and the Universe, seemed to slow down. The queue over the bridge was worse than usual and I was 20 minutes late picking her up.

I listened to an interesting radio programme on wildlife as I queued so it wasn’t a complete waste, though I didn’t tell Julia that.

The TESCO delivery service arrived half an hour early, but I can’t be bothered to talk about efficiency or their increased costs.

The school where Julia’s project is based has bullied its way into making MENCAP allow it access through the gardens so they can send their lower school in that way. This will be inconvenient in the morning when Julia is trying to set up, but worse in the afternoon when they will disrupt the routine of the group members. As a number of them are quite withdrawn and don’t adapt well to change we are hoping it doesn’t do too much damage.

The thing I most object to, though, is that the school got its way by a number of bullying tactics, including telling Julia they would refuse her access to water.

I’d like to alert the Press and repay the bullying by causing some stress but Julia, as usual, won’t take decisive action. That’s why bullies prosper. It’s also why bad management proliferates.

If bullies and useless, cowardly managers were tarred and feathered and secured to their own front gates with cable ties (not that I have planned any of this, just in case it ever comes to court) there would be a lot less of it about.

The old practice of hanging, drawing and quartering had a lot to recommend it., and I wouldn’t object to extending its use to delivery drivers who arrive too early.

The photo has nothing to do with the post. It’s a coin, believe it or not. It’s from Ghana, a country not normally associated with Ancient Egypt. Other issuers of coins of King Tut include the Isle of Man and the Cook Islands. They are much more famous for issuing novelty coins than they are for having Pyramids.



It was quite a good day in the shop. Arrived early, got a parking space…

A good day can have such a simple foundation. Saw some regulars, wished them compliments of the season, bought a few bits, sold a few bits, had a mince pie, went home.

I picked Julia up and we went for a cup of tea and a toasted teacake, followed by shopping. While we were there we witnessed an unpleasant scene and an example of appalling parenting.

The parent in the example of appalling parenting was playing some sort of film on a telephone and holding a child in front of it with one hand while she ate a baked potato with the other. Whatever happened to talking to your kids?

The unpleasant scene was, to summarise, a middle aged daughter abusing her elderly mother, and dragging things up from years in the past. Not many daughters, she said, would put up with it. I won’t dwell on it because, unlike many of the conversations I listen to, there was no comedy involved. It was a tragic insight into the way your life could go.

It put a damper on things, and six hours later, it’s still depressing me.

I’ll leave you with a poem by Philip Larkin on child-rearing. It contains bad language.

Sorry about the downbeat nature of the post, I’m hoping to get back to normal tomorrow.