Ramblings of a Grouch

It was Friday morning and I was within sight of finishing a major update to a large spreadsheet I use at work when the papers plopped through the letterbox. Much as I like working with spreadsheets, they don't compare to lounging around with the papers (and, of course, the obligatory coffee and choccie biccies).

Being Friday, I had the added joy of the local paper telling me that I could not leave work until April. That's if I ever got there. Because the local council, having given permission for all the town centre roads to be dug up for gas pipe replacement, has also allowed a major road through the town to be closed for 20 weeks. What used to be a 10 minute journey home would now take 45 minutes, most of it sat stationary in a queue. So I discovered that I could get home in 15 minutes by using the A1 bypass - dual carriageway, steady moving traffic.

And now they are closing half the A1 for the next 5 weeks to allow for road improvements.

I propose that the members of the council ride round town for the next 5 weeks on bicycles with flat tyres and 6-inch nails on the seats - I'm sure real improvements would soon follow.

So I turned to the national paper, and this is what I learned:

* Sadly, a 7 year old girl was killed in a head-on collision with a Range Rover. The bit that beggars belief is that her father had given her a 40mph Quadzilla Pro-Shark quad bike (not the same league as a Barbie doll or My Little Pony) for Xmas. He then allowed her to ride it down a country lane in the dark, following him in the car. She got wiped out. The police are considering pressing charges against the father. I sincerely hope that means chemical castration with sulphuric acid.

* In another unfortunate child / idiotic parent story, the whingeing McCanns are upset because they have been suspected of foul play. Their daughter disappeared whilst on holiday in Portugal - the parents got one of their mates to look in on the kids while they went out and got pissed. They then conned the public into setting up a fund so they could swan off around the world telling everyone how badly they have been treated. Perhaps they would be better off thinking of all the kids that have gone missing whose parents couldn't afford to take the publicity train around the world. And few of those parents left their kids alone in an unlocked room in a foreign country while they went eating, drinking and dancing. Pass the acid ...

* Hospitals across the country are accused of hiding the real waiting time before a patient sees a consultant. It works like this: People are waiting too long for appointments so the NHS management tell the hospitals to see more people. Except that's not possible while there are only 24 hours in a day. So the NHS management (along with the government 'experts') threaten to reduce funding, downgrade hospitals and pressurise staff to work longer and harder. In other words, decreasing resources increases efficiency? I don't think so. Any wonder the 'true' figures are massaged? No acid needed - a large enema administered daily to the bosses should suffice.

* And finally, there are apparently half a million fewer Britons employed here since we opened the gates to Eastern European workers. The problem is not the Eastern Europeans (at least, not the legal ones) - they tend to work damned hard and get ripped off by crooked landlords, agencies and so on. The problem is that it pays more to claim benefits than to get a proper job. We have a minimum wage yet benefit payments usually exceed this by a considerable margin. Given the choice between a low-paid job and a higher-paid life if idleness, is it any wonder more and more people choose the latter? Do we have any acid left for the political do-gooders who set the payments?

And so went my relaxing look at the world today. Let's hope for a more sensible 2008.

But don't bet more than you can afford to lose.

Happy New Year everyone!

I just read an article in a magazine where the author had submitted a photograph to a club exhibition. He was loudly jeered by the other members for manipulating his photo before showing it, the bottom line being these traditionalists proclaimed that a manipulated photograph was not a 'proper' photograph.

So how had this miscreant manipulated his photo? Well, he had shot the image on his digital camera in 'RAW' mode. Now Camera RAW is a method of storing an image from the camera which preserves almost everything in the original scene. In effect it transfers the controls on the camera to the computer so that any of these controls can be used on the image from a 'control panel' on the computer. Set the White Balance on the camera to 'Tungsten Light' by mistake? Then correct it to 'Daylight' in Camera RAW. Under-exposed the whole image? Then set the correct exposure in Camera RAW. And so on.

Manipulating? In a sense, but only doing what the camera would have done had the correct settings been used before taking the shot.

Now consider what happens when taking a digital photograph in the more usual 'JPEG' format. The shutter opens and the image is temporarily stored on the CCD behind the lens. In simple terms (very simple) the software inside the camera then processes this image into a JPEG file by averaging the colour and light intensity in blocks of 8 x 8 pixels, reducing the colour range, adding 'EXIF data (details of your camera and the settings used when taking the photo) and (usually) embedding a thumbnail of the image in the file. In my book that is manipulating the image. If you want all the technical details then check out this article.

So according to these luddites, any digital photograph has been manipulated and so is not a 'real' photograph.

Years ago, photographers chose different types of paper depending on the effect they wanted, tweaked the processing chemicals, dodged and burned the image during the printing process to increase the contrast, lightened and darkened the image and so on and so on ...

The whole point of creating a photograph is to end up with an image that is pleasing to the eye. Whether this is achieved by digital means, or in a tank full of noxious chemicals is irrelevant. By all means assess an image on its technical merits. Just don't put down those who use computers to improve it.

I was finishing my lunch today when I heard something being pushed with great force through my letterbox. An investigation showed it to be a rather small business card.

"Who do you know in Germany or Holland?" was the question posed on the front of the card. Well, I am acquainted with one or two people through internet forums, but not really to the extent of them visiting England just to give me a card. Perhaps this is a trick question, I mused.

I turned the card over. "Find out how you can earn money in your spare time." was the proclamation.

Germany? Holland?? What the hell has that got to do with moonlighting? Why does someone think I am eager to eliminate all my spare time in the pursuit of money which I will never have time to spend? And in the bin it went.

I was leaving the house to return to work when I noticed something jammed in the side window of my car. I extracted it and read "Who do you know in Germany or Holland?"

Aaaargh!!!

So I had to go back and unlock the house just to throw this card away with the first. I am not keen on having my lunch hour disturbed by people who think they know what I want better than I do. To suffer it twice is bloody annoying.

All I can say is that I hope the directors of the company concerned have a good private health plan for their employees. Because if I had caught the person responsible for giving me this crap I hadn't asked for, they would have found two advertisements, folded to produce the maximum number of sharp corners, inserted in their own private letterbox.

It was a dark and stormy night.

Or perhaps not. But it is dark, it is raining and I am on my way home after a long day at work. The traffic lights turned red and I stopped in the line of cars. The guy in front has stopped, his tail lights a few feet beyond my windscreen. His brake lights are also shining. And in the centre of his rear window a repeater brake light blazes just in case I have missed the other two. He has obviously got one foot planted on the brake pedal, and most likely the other foot on the clutch as it is too much trouble to shift into neutral. The rain on my windscreen forms psychedelic patterns from the high intensity warning lights, making it difficult to see anything beyond his vehicle.

Warning lights? Warning of what? I am aware we are stopped in a queue. He is not moving, I am not moving, the guy behind is not moving. The traffic light is still showing red. I don't need a constant reminder that we are not moving. I feel like getting out and telling him that there is a lever by his side and that if he pulls on this lever then the handbrake will be applied, removing the need to keep his foot on the brake. Or words to that effect.

No, the warning is to say that this guy is such an inconsiderate asshole that he cares not for the effect his actions have on someone following him. He cares not that, in the event of a rear end shunt his feet will leave the pedals, his brake will be off, his car in gear and he will catapult into the vehicle in front with considerable force. He most likely has never thought about it - his actions merely save the effort of applying the handbrake and selecting neutral.

Inconsiderate - that is the key word. Lack of respect. People today do not stop to consider the effect of their actions on others, or else they just don't give a damn. The one who blocks the road because he wants to use the cash machine at the bank. The one who thinks everyone wants to hear loud music at 1.00 am. The one who sits in the library reading when they have a cough strong enough to expel the lining of their lungs. We often hear the phrase "Young people have no respect nowadays". And where do they look for an example of respect? Certainly not from the majority of those who should know better.

I have tried following the masses and letting a shop door go without glancing behind, starting a DIY job at 7.00 am on a Sunday morning, leaving a shopping trolley in the middle of the supermarket aisle while fetching something else. But I just can't do it. I feel guilty.

Respec'. Consideration for others.

R.I.P.

The final thing to sort out for my new car was the insurance.

"I need the insurance on my new car to commence at a quarter to five on Friday," I told the guy at the call centre.

"Certainly, Sir. The new documents will be with you in 5 days."

So I paid a premium for Special Delivery - guaranteed delivery the next working day. Which is what happened. Then I noticed the time on the insurance document was actually 12 minutes to 6. Is there no end to the trials of changing a car?

I made a mental note to arrange things so I collected the car an hour later than planned. And totally forgot about it, unwittingly driving home at 5.30 with no valid insurance. Oops.

But now the deed is done, my new car is sitting outside my house and all the faffing about will become a distant memory.

Until next time.