"I've sent a hamper to our partners" - no David, not good David, bad taste, poor judgement, naughty, what were you thinking? So, a major breakthrough in Anglo-american safety - the hamper (American) is a Laundry basket (English) where as a hamper (English) is a Gift basket (American).

God bless our language

Wiredgoose is re-blogged, following a frustrating lockout due to BetaBlogger raising my heartbeat contrary to expectations.

Speaking of things coronary, and continuing Kevin's French vein below (pun avoidable but irresistible), last night's typical example of French customer (dis)service raised my blood pressure a notch or two.

SFR, the part-Vodafone-owned French mobile operator I chose to use some 8 years ago, is not renowned for customer service (see Rodrigo Sepulveda Schulz ).

So, how bad is SFR's customer disservice? Well, three evenings ago (Dec 12th), having decided to upgrade my ageing Nokia 6210 phone to a Nokia 6234, benefiting from a substantial subsidy on the new phone by agreeing to stay with SFR a further 2 years, I drove 10km to the nearest SFR outlet in a local centre commercial, or mall as Americans prefer to call it. Entering the SFR shop at 7.30 pm, I found myself in a queue of three customers for two SFR staff members dealing with diverse queries from new account setups to phone problems, so as you'd expect things progressed slowly. Sadly, with high French labour costs, we have become used to such understaffed stores, and I waited patiently.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was finally at the front of the queue and my turn came. It was three minutes before 8pm. In my best francais I said I'd like to renew my account and purchase a new phone. "Sorry sir, but it's 8 o'clock and we cannot do renewals after 8. Can you come back tomorrow?" Gnashing of teeth and french mutterings later, I emerged cursing my ill fortune (not for the first time) at being a customer of an operator that best suits my needs but really does not deserve my custom.

So yesterday evening, two days later, I was finally calm enough to try again, this time entering the same store at 7pm. This time I was second in the queue, and there were four staff working, but any optimism rapidly faded as the first available staff apologetically but determinedly finished his shift, declaring loudly that he had already worked 15 minutes late. Mon dieu, quinze minutes plus, quelle horreur!

Half an hour after I walked in, I was served. A charming but inexperienced young lady took my request, checked my account details and delivered the good news that such a good customer was I that I qualified for more of a discount than advertised. So I was going to get my Nokia 6234 for around €40. Great. She showed me the Nokia 6280 for comparison, but no thank you, not for me. The 6234 is great; I already have one for another mobile account and I love it. So, off she went to get the phone and start processing the mountain of paperwork that any French transaction involves.

Desolé Monsieur, rupture de stock. Vous pouvez essayer notre site internet.

"Out of stock. Please try online." (Delivered without the 'Sorry Sir', as French businesses never apologise to disappointed customers).

!

She did have two suggestions: "Try our online store." Do you think I'd have twice queued half an hour here if it was available on your online store? "Ah, ok, well some models are not available on our online store."

Suggestion two: "Try our Grenoble city-centre stores. I can't tell you where they are, but there are two of them and you can look them up." I have already queued for 20 minutes in one of them a week ago (same customer to staff ratio, same French labour costs, same customer disservice) and gave up after no progress in that queue.

So what do I do next? Suffer the queue in yet another shop? Phone ahead and ensure no rupture de stock? Or live with my 6210 a little longer and study the roaming charges of SFR's main competitor Orange?

I do love living in France, but God help (or improve) French customer service.

And now the Living Forcast, issued by the Met Office at 2300 GMT today.

General synopsys for the patient is fair, 1005, rising steadily, expected moderate or good later tonight:

Lungy: cancer, storm 10, removed more quickly, poor.
Mind, Soul: SW, 5, clear, 40 years left, moderate or fair.
Body: MWF, almost 50, mostly clear, lost weight, good.
Doctor: SWM, fair, rich, unmarried, working rapidly, good.
Fair Isle Family: 3, visit imminent, bearing gifts, moderate or good.
Malin Head: good, woosy, rising slowly, needs glasses.
Southeast Eyesland: occaisional heavy rain, poor, mumbling.
Forties: and still alive and kicking, good.
Bailey's: please, moderate icing, good.

God help the shipping forecast.
www.bbc.co.uk/weather/coast/shipping/

Stop all the clocks... I have joked about my ability to not smoke in US vs smoking like a chimney in UK. I have tried Nicorette, ciggy stinking water, acupucture and hypnosis.. there is nothing that works as well as having your wife diagnosed with Lung Cancer (probably).

It kind of hits you like a funeral invite - better get your papers in order, better get ready to say goodbye, better get a grip on life so you can help them and not wallow in the madness of pity and uncertainty.

Her preference is to tell no one but it has leaked out (the hole in her trachea was a bit of a give away). It all seems a bit melodramatic when there is still a chance that it is nothing and it may be just the vestiges of some bout of bronchitis or some lost car keys. The more the info leaks out the more we have to manage the well-meaning advice and guidance that just seems to undermine our confidence and cast doubt on the situation (you really should get a eighth opinion you know… won’t it leave a scar… can they save some of her lung… what about a needle biopsy – my cousin's friend had one of those… ??? ). She wants to be decisive and I am doing everything in my power to help her stick to her chosen course – she can not handle any more uncertainly now. She has even told me her mahogany or pine decision… you have got to laugh!

I think I am writing this for myself, therapy and sanity. I don't mean to tell you like this - doing it via a blog is a is a little cowardly (but we want to preserve our courage for later).

Mon dieu, I resemble that remark -- NOT.

Firstly, on peut etre irlandais, but one is more that un peu irlandais. One is cent pour cent irlandais. No offence (or even offense) to my froggy neigbours, but un ouef is un oeuf.

But Monsieur Trayneur is right -- I am perched on the side of an Alp as I write this, and it's not bad.

Also Monsieur Trayneur, those weren't ever chatup lines, unless you count the little man at the banana stall in the Angulana markets, south of Colombo, someone in my chatup crosshairs. I know living in Sri Lanka back in '92-'94 was somewhat sexually frustrating, but I was neither so desperate nor so inclined as to chatup the guys from whom I bought my daily food. All that said, those were lines I often heard (and worse) during my time there. And speaking of chatting up, there's nothing so passion killing as the mother of an attractive potential chat-up target telling you that 'Uma's stools were a bit loose this morning'. Bet Uma Thurman's mother never put off potential suitors thus.

And as for Kevin, well we've discussed lots of things but I've not yet seen any hint of Freedom Fries from him. Mind you, Kevin is too smart to make the same mistake as the US soldiers in the trenches of World War I: had they realised those French-speaking soldiers frying potatoes in oil were Belgian and not French, many's the Republican menu wouldn't have needed changing over the whole 'French Fries' debacle.

On that note, I'll say hi everyone and looking forward to lots more here...

Monsieur Wiredgoose

Un Peut Irlandais. Please also welcome Eoin (pronounounced Owen, from the Gaelic word meaning 'to be in debt to the British'). Eoin is sharper than a tack but unfortunately lives in France and his Irish heritage has slowly been leaking into the Alps.

Eoin's favorite chatup lines are: 'Are you married?', 'What age are you?', 'How much do you earn?', and my favourite, 'How are your bowel movements today?'

And even Kevin's francophobic rants do not ruffle Eoin: "rumours of his crabbiness are greatly exaggerated. I think he's a lurking francophile." Kevin, sortes du cabinet!

God help us now.

Top O' The Morning to ye, and greetings from the future... Most kind introduction. Enjoying reading your blog. I confess that many of us over here in Hibernia are congenitally afflicted with TTM. But not all of us. As Father McGillycuddy was only saying to me last week after a particularly enjoyable 4 hour mass and glorious benediction, "Is iad na muca ciúine a itheann an mhín". Which of course translates into the oppressor's tongue as "It's the quiet pigs that eat the grain".

Now that's philosophy. Back of the net, Bertrand Russell, back of the net. Well, it's time for someone else in the house to use the candle, so I better say cheerio old beans and sign off. I'm writing this from Craggy Island and there's been another power strike, no electricity again. I'm off down the pub to find someone to talk to...

Posted by Niall (as in the river, not genuflection)
Altogether now, "Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Lura....."

The Irish are so friendly and we are so guilible - so please can you all welcome Niall, an autentic Irish chap, better educated than most of us, with a sharpness of wit that could cut cheese (so to speak).

I am now spending so much time in Dublin that I fear I may have contracted * TTM from my exposure to the folk in Dublin. Apparently it is one of the few diseases that can be transmitted via the phone and in the early stages often presents itself by bouts of mononucleosis type letheragy and disinterest (usually when being subjected to lengthy diatribes on emerging technologies). TTM starts as a succession of chronic motor and vocal tics that begin when listening to complete bullshit, but psychiatric comorbidity also appears to be a primary feature. Motor tics, which are repetitive, involuntary stereotyped movements, most often involve the mouth, face, head or neck muscles, but may also involve the trunk and extremities. Physicians often mistake the disorder for a psychological problem, partly because most with the problem are able to suppress their symptoms for varying lengths of time and because symptoms typically disappear during sleep, sexual activity, periods of intense concentration, excessive drinking, or quality education.

The reliable cure is to go to think a lot, drink heavily and fall asleep (or just hang up the phone!).

* British Medical Journal: Jan 2005 Issue 278: Talking Too Much and Tourette's syndrome.

Coup de Boule

In the Wall Street Journal this week... front page, a story on Zidane head butting in the World Cup in Germany (near Paris). My view on this kind of behaviour is clear, dreadfully disgraceful and such are poor reflection on the everyone involved that I can barely talk.

Firstly, it is incomprehensible that such a paper would publish such a story four days after it happened, but then to sully the paper's front page with a color (colour) photo, what ever next! I thought those clever sketch artists can draw anything with just a very thin black pen.

The actual head butt has raised a few eyebrows over here in the US... parents up in arms about the bad example that this sets for our youth.... pppplease! You all said soccer was too boring, you wanted bigger goals, more parental fighting in the stands, ref replays so that we could decide if the ball was out or in.... Well, you wish has come true! Maybe you now want to rename the game to its true American title: Foot Hockey.

It the sensitive words of one American on foregn policy: "the Italians are cunning and Machiavellian; the French are immoral..."*


God save Zidane


* The Chinese are heathen and inscrutable; the Japanese are treacherous; the arrogant
Germans go berserk and run amuck; the Italians are cunning and Machiavellian;
the French are immoral; and the Dutch are stubborn. They are Wops, Spigs, Frogs, Gooks. Polocks, and Bohunks, who eat raw fish, snails , octupi, and grasshoppers. This alone is enough to condemn them. Colonel Willis M. Smyser, USAF, Member of the Faculty, ICAF in 1960:

Voice over IP... it just cracks me up that we can convert voice into IP packets and route it over the same Sonet (SDH) backbone that is handling regular telephony. It is kind of like telling people they can use the browser on the phone to get to a site that allows you to send texts for free (http://www.cingularme.com/do/public?l=en-US&v=cingular) instead of charging people 10c to send SMS texts from their phone.

It all comes down to money - and the fact that the network operators are making a fortune from services that should be much cheaper than they are... Whatever happened to competition? They are fat and happy - and the sooner we all move to Vonage or Skype or Flint or whoever - the better.

ps - You can contact me on skype either online to davidtraynor or via phone on +1 347 284 6640.

God bless Voice over IP...