Work away days

I spent two days of last week in an expensive hotel, eating too much food, moving too little and feeling very, very bored. Apart from the boredom it sounds alright, doesn’t it? But actually the two days were a waste of my time.

The event was my work’s annual two-day away day (if that’s not a contradiction in terms) and the aim of this event is to give all participants an overview of the work that’s going on in our department as well as providing an opportunity for staff who don’t usually work together to get to know one another. In theory these are both Good Things, but in practice the reality is rather different.

For a start, my department is large—60+ individuals, all of whom are researchers working on complementary but highly specialised scientific research areas. By contrast, I am a project manager. I hold a PhD in Philosophy, but my scientific training ended three decades ago with an O Level in General Science. What this means in practical terms is that I sit through two days of talks and understand very little. At first I thought this was just me, but I soon found out that the science under discussion is so specialised that most people in the room don’t understand the talks. So, it’s arguable whether anyone actually does come away from the two days with an overview of what’s going on in the department, beyond a list of talk titles and a vague idea of general areas.

Having attended three away days now, I’m a bit of a veteran, and I try to fill the time constructively by taking my laptop with me and doing as much regular work as I can. But clearly my productivity is less than it would be if I were at my desk, with my equipment around me, able to communicate readily with my colleagues.

People certainly make an effort to get to know one another at these away days. A bit too much of an effort, if you ask me. After the formal sit down dinner at the end of day one, the hard core revellers make their way to the bar and drink continuously into the wee small hours. Enough said.

Perhaps the solution is simply to chill out. Enjoy the change of scene. Enjoy the free food. Forget my reservations. That’s what the rest of my colleagues appear to do. But still I can’t help feeling that something’s not quite right about all this. Where’s the return?

Twenty years of the text message revolution

I am reliably informed by Radio 4 that it’s twenty years ago this week that the first text message was sent. At the time no one envisaged—even remotely—how popular this technology would become. Around 150 billion text messages were sent in the UK last year, yet twenty years ago, it was Vodaphone’s intention to use SMS as an internal tool, a means by which its PAs could contact their bosses when they were on the move.

I've never really been won over by the text message revolution. Nor by mobile phones, for that matter. I’ve actually had a mobile phone from quite early on, acquiring my first brick-like model in 1999. But this was nothing to do with wanting to be ahead of the technological curve. Rather, it was because at that time I was commuting long distances in an ancient car and didn’t want to find myself stranded with no means of calling for help.

Some fourteen years later, I’m still not an enthusiastic mobile user. I’ve upgraded my old brick, but still have a pretty basic Nokia. No smart phone or advanced features for me. My mobile is mainly used for child-related purposes—the school can contact me if my kids are sick, and I can call school if I’m caught up in traffic and may be late for pick-up time.

There’s something that I dislike about the immediacy of mobile communication. I find it mildly irritating that you’re expected to be available and ready to take calls and messages 24/7. When I’m out of the house or office and away from my land line I rather like the feeling of being out of contact, of having a few moments’ precious time to myself, without the constant interruptions of modern life.

All of this will have to change, though, when my eldest child goes to secondary school in a few months. I know that if I want to be kept up to date with my offspring’s movements and whereabouts I’ll have to adopt texting wholeheartedly. And at that point I will (gritting my teeth!) have to purchase a smart phone. With the failing eyesight and lack of dexterity that accompanies middle age, I find typing on my phone’s tiny keypad nigh impossible.

One of the questions brought up by Radio 4 was what will replace the text message? Since technologies are fast moving and transient, high tech companies are always looking for the next best thing. One journalist suggested that perhaps ‘the great silence’ will follow the text revolution. Maybe the novelty of instant communication will simply lose its appeal. That would certainly fit with my current world view. But, in reality, I can’t quite believe it. Nor would I want this to happen. As I gear up to embrace 24/7 communication, the thought that my eldest child might not communicate with me while out and about and on the move fills me with dread.

Away from home!

My oldest daughter recently went away for a week-long residential trip with school. She's been away quite a bit by herself before--two nights away with school a couple of years ago, a few nights staying with her grandparents every summer holiday--but this was the longest period away by herself to date.

We went through the welter of preparations that were required in advance of the trip. Packing a huge suitcase filled with numerous sets of clothing suitable for outdoor activities. All of which had to be labelled, of course. Gathering together a mammoth-sized picnic for the three-hour coach journey. Providing any necessary medications to the class teacher. And then we dropped our daughter off very early on Monday morning, in time to catch the coach. We had to say our goodbyes at home beforehand, because no self-respecting ten-year-old will deign to kiss their parents in public, even if they won't be seeing them for a whole week.

And then she was there. Since the children aren't allowed to ring their parents (one of the aims of the trip is to increase their independence), all information comes via email from the school. We received a daily update telling us what the children had done the previous day and what was planned for the day ahead. The things they got up to were quite amazing--caving, canoeing, high ropes, mountain walking...

She arrived back late on Friday evening, having had a fantastic time and bursting with stories to tell us. We had missed her, but I'm not sure she had missed us, or not as much -- although she did say that she was pleased to be home.

All this excitement made me think back to my own school days, many moons ago. And it occurred to me that schools simply didn't provide these kinds of opportunities back then, especially not primaries. The best that I got was a French exchange trip at age fifteen. Things have certainly changed over the years...

Cyclists

I’m going to have a bit of a rant in this post—about cyclists.

Now, I do understand that cyclists have a hard time of it competing with all the other (much bigger) vehicles on the road, most of which rarely seem to give them enough space. I also understand that there are few dedicated cycle paths in this country and that the roads are very busy, which makes cycling a dangerous business.

However, I am also aware that some cyclists (some, not all) seem to treat pedestrians with the same lack of respect as some car drivers treat cyclists. There are two instances that I am thinking of in particular.

The first is that some cyclists appear to entirely disregard the rules of the road. Specifically, some cyclists seem to think that the green man for pedestrians is actually a green card for them to cross a junction in the path of all the pedestrians whose right of way it actually is. Cyclists, like all other road users, should of course stop at a red light, but many don’t, and this is both discourteous to, and very dangerous for, pedestrians. Not to mention illegal. A bicycle can do a lot of damage to a pedestrian—especially a child.

Secondly, some cyclists, when using shared cycleways/pavements, simply ring their bell to warn pedestrians of their approach and then push past without so much as a thank you. This seems rude to me. Surely it would be better (and some cyclists do this) to say ‘excuse me’ on the approach and then ‘thank you’ when the pedestrian moves.

I should reiterate that my rant only applies to some cyclists—many are entirely law abiding and polite model citizens. Call me old fashioned, but I think everyone should be aiming for law abiding and polite, whatever their mode of transport.

Punk history versus Horrible Histories

My family and I had an interesting day out in London during the half term holiday. We did something for the adults and something for the kids.

The something for the adults was a visit to the Hayward Gallery at the Southbank Centre to see a small punk exhibition called 'Someday all the adults will die!' I'd heard about the exhibition on Radio 4 and it sounded intriguing. And intriguing it certainly was. The display included fanzines, clothing and record covers from the punk years. These exhibits gave a real feeling for the era and it was particularly interesting to see the hand-drawn and photocopied posters and magazines which were characteristic of the movement -- at a time before professional printing was cheap and available to the mass market.

I was a little concerned when we entered the exhibition space and were greeted by the deafening wail of punk music that this perhaps wasn't the ideal place for kids (mine were the only ones there). But actually my two were totally unphased and browsed the exhibition with interest. My oldest asked lots of questions and declared at the end that she really liked punk style! Let's hope she doesn't take up the safety-pin-through-the-nose look in her teenage years!

The something for the kids was a complete contrast -- a Horrible Histories play at the Garrick Theatre -- but equally entertaining. The 'Barmy Britain' show aimed to provide a short history of Britain 'with the nasty bits left in'. True to the Horrible Histories formula, there were plenty of gruesome happenings and plenty of gallows and toilet humour. The acting was excellent -- just two actors on stage for an hour, supported by an ingenious range of props. We laughed a lot -- even the adults!

We completed our day out in London with dinner at Cafe Rouge. Everyone was happy and everyone had enjoyed themselves. A successful day all round!

Bath: hen party capital of the world?

Back in the summer, my husband and I had a night away in Bath. Just the two of us. It's something we did a couple of years ago and really enjoyed so decided to repeat.

We stayed in the same hotel again and did the same things -- spent the morning at the Thermae Spa, had a late lunch, wondered around Bath, checked into our hotel, then came out again a bit later for dinner at our favourite Mexican restaurant. Perfect -- so why change the formula?

However, something had changed about Bath since we last visited -- suddenly it had become the hen party capital of the world. Or so it seemed  Everywhere we went we were beset by groups of giggling young women, one of whom was invariably sporting L plates, or a tiny plastic tiara, or, in one case, a pair of head boppers with a tiny L plate fixed to the end of each stalk. Why on earth do people do that? Aren't they aware of how silly they look?!

These hen parties were omnipresent -- in the spa, wandering the streets, in the restaurant that we'd booked for dinner... Just about managing to make ourselves heard over the din that these young women were creating, we asked our waitress why they had so many parties in. She responded that Bath had recently become a very popular destination for hen nights and that the restaurant always had a couple booked in for dinner on a Saturday night.

We really enjoyed our night away in Bath and had a lot of fun laughing at the L plates and head boppers, but in some ways it was quite a relief to return to the tranquility of my parents-in-law's house to pick up the kids. I'd recommend Bath for many things -- beautiful architecture, nice shops, good restaurants, interesting museums -- but not for the hen parties.

Never mind the bollards!

I came across rather an interesting temporary sign recently when taking a walk along a shared pedestrian/cycle path in my hometown. Black text on a yellow background, it read ‘Bollards’.

The sign’s purpose was actually to warn cyclists taking part in a race that this particular cycle path ended in a row of bollards. Very useful to know for non-local participants in the event. And yet, something was missing, I felt. Perhaps an exclamation mark thus: ‘Bollards!’ would be appropriate. After all, ‘Bollards!’ does have the ring of a swear word about it. Or, as my husband suggested: ‘Never mind the bollards!’, which puts the Sex Pistols in a whole new light.

Either way, I found the sign rather amusing. But you’ll have to take my word for it—unfortunately I didn’t manage to return with a camera before it was removed.