I can do all sorts of things online. However, the days when I could go to a High Street travel agent's office, sit down opposite someone, tell them what I wanted and they did the work, have gone. I started foreign travel seriously when I was in the Press Gallery because the way parliament worked then, I had to take my annual holidays in a lump, so I got a month off work in August or September.
Down in the depths of the building there was a branch of Thomas Cook – remember them? For years, the manageress fixed all my train tickets across Europe and boats up the Bosphorus and down the Italian coast. Thomas Cook was there to serve MPs but people who worked in parliament were also allowed to use it. Later, after I switched to flying instead of the train, I had a travel agent friend who did my tickets and I could always go into an airline office – remember them too? – and seek advice. But they have disappeared and now appear only online.
I have passed the age when I would just go and stay wherever I could on arrival, not always a good idea. In Antwerp, I was politely declined a room. It seems they rented by the hour. In Tucuman, I got one but it was very noisy what with the comings and goings. So for hotels I use Booking.com. When it comes to flights, I have sworn never to use Ryanair again, am reluctant to return to Easyjet and want to pile up some Avios with British Airways. But try putting in flights from London to wherever with British Airways and see what you get. Not British Airways. Instead, up pop a load of online travel agents offering flights with this, that, and the next airline, from airports I do not wish to ever visit again like Stanstead, Luton and – dare I say it – Heathrow.
Package holiday firms also come up but they are only interested in couples. Saga does singles but the last thing I want is to end up travelling with a lot of old folk. Should I want to fly back from somewhere without first booking a flight to that somewhere, the systems get very confused. Why does someone living in the UK wish to fly to the UK without leaving the UK first?
Currently, I am drowning in advertisements for places I have looked into while trying to organise my trip. Oh, for a human travel agent! As Lionel Bart said:
Fings Ain't Wot They Used T'Be.
Bill Russell
My big adventure this week was to buy a pair of denims. Well, more to exchange a pair my son Dominic bought for me at Christmas. A very thoughtful purchase I must say and one which, along with my voucher for my favourite record shop in Bruntsfield, was very much appreciated.
Having tried the jeans on, I wasn't sure whether the particular style and cut he had procured were the ones for me. These are no ordinary jeans, they are the ones I have coveted for some time, well, the brand anyway. You will know them, established in 1873, their advertising features two horses pulling in opposite directions but still unable to rip the apparel apart.
I hummed and hawed about the jeans and decided to take a trip into town to see what other products they were hawking. The young sales person was most helpful and directed me to a different style. This retailer's product, well at least the denim range, works on a three number system and I was informed of the number 'code' applicable for the replacement product, which I duly exchanged. And there was a wee bonus, well for Dominic anyway, as the replacements were £10 cheaper and as he had paid with his card, this went back to him. Good result all round.
I got home and triumphantly trying on my new clobber, noticed that they were a wee bit wider at the cuff (where your foot pulls through) than my other pairs. You see, I am on the short side, so any jeans or trousers which have width in them create the illusion that I am even smaller, so for me an absolute no-no. I agonised over the new denims and retreating to the retailer's website, I noticed that they did advertise a product which was slimmer through the whole leg and narrower at the bottom of the leg.
So, I was going back to the store to again exchange the jeans, but not without some further barriers. I took note of the number and headed back a wee bit sheepishly to the store in search of my new quarry. The answer was yes, they had that numbered style, but not in the colour of denim I wanted. They were available online. However, if I were to choose that route, I would have to repurchase with a refund on the original. The refund would go to Dominic who began the purchase chain paying by card. My head was swimming. The brilliant shop supervisor came to the rescue and suggested a further style with the required cuff size, which worked perfectly and saved all the palaver of refunds back to source, etc.
The moral of the story? Do not simply put 'a pair of Levi's' on your Christmas wish list. You need to be more specific and add the style number. That way you will save multiple return visits to the shops. Also, for anyone interested, I will be wearing them with turn-ups!
Frank Eardley
Duvet over the head, and minus four. The feline lodger is getting ready to settle down on her own cushion for a proper snooze. Yours truly is braced to take in the day, and the dreaded 8 o'clock telephone call routine. The pips ring out on the radio and it's time for action. 'There is no-one available to take your call. Please try again later.' At the third attempt, you are number 18 in the queue. Summoning all reserves of energy, patience and forbearance the conversation which eventually takes place involves explaining to someone with no medical experience or training what (according to your best estimates) you think is wrong and requiring medical attention. It ends with a spot in triage, then waiting within easy reach of the phone for a call at some point that day from an unnamed doctor. Whom you may not know.
Who invented this system? Worse, who approved it; decided it would be a good idea in the provision of an efficient, patient-friendly healthcare service; issued guidelines and procedures for implementing it?
But it's free! Free at the point of use and free to all. It's the NHS, the sacred cow of the British welfare state, second to none and worth saving. Remember 'Save the NHS'? Banging a pot lid and clapping? The first and fundamental myth is this 'free' business. The NHS has to be paid for. All of it. Every aspect and feature of it: the buildings and equipment; the medication and medical aids; the clinical, pharmaceutical, administrative, secretarial, operational staff. Paid for by us. At this point, best to bear in mind that mention of PPE is verboten.
Which brings us neatly if not unfortunately to management, and to another question. Is the NHS managed, in the usual sense of this word that the taxpayers of the nation would understand? Or does the day/week/year just unfold? Is anyone in charge of delivering the aforementioned efficient, patient-friendly healthcare service?
For an insight into who is being paid for delivering same, look no further than the website of your local health board. Feeling strong? Scroll down, click on options, check boxes, drill down through agendas, reports, directives, strategic plans current and future. What does it all amount to, in terms of actual real-world implementation, practical application, change, sustainability (the new buzz word)? At this point, best to bear in mind that mention of accountability is forbidden, being so poorly understood that no-one remembers that it comes with the job, the salary and the pension. What does it all mean? The voices of Moriarty and Bluebottle can be heard, collapsing in hysterical giggles at the sheer nonsense of it all.
Yes it's free, but it's also costly. Increasingly so, in many ways. Which brings us to: who pays? Who should pay? A former investment banker/First Secretary to the Treasury/Chancellor of the Exchequer/Secretary of State for Health and Social Care (yes really!) has come up with an idea. The patient. Charge the patient for GP appointments and visits to A&E.
Admin staff costs for this wheeze notwithstanding, it might be worthwhile harking back to the days after WWII, when the creation of a national health service was intended precisely –
precisely – to do away with the wretched system whereby people who could not afford the fees did without the healthcare.
Enough already. Lessons from the feline lodger. Duvet over the head. Call back later. Better still, don't get ill.
Shelagh Gardiner
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