Thursday, April 29, 2004
Simpson's�London - Restaurant Review and Information
I want to Simpsons for two days in a row because it is ablsolutely fantastic.
Today, we had a tour of Heathrow Terminal 5. We saw the constuction site and the size and scale of the project is huge. Approximately a £3.8 bn project.
When we got back to the office, it was cold and raining so Fraser and I went to Simpsons and had the best Oxtail Stew ever. What a place!!! Just what you need on a cold day!
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I want to Simpsons for two days in a row because it is ablsolutely fantastic.
Today, we had a tour of Heathrow Terminal 5. We saw the constuction site and the size and scale of the project is huge. Approximately a £3.8 bn project.
When we got back to the office, it was cold and raining so Fraser and I went to Simpsons and had the best Oxtail Stew ever. What a place!!! Just what you need on a cold day!
Monday, April 26, 2004
What a success yesterday was!! We were up at the crack of dawn and the three eldest children and I were knocking on Simon's door at 6:10 am.
This is the best boot sale we could have gone to. Our position was also excellent, as we were put on the edge of the square.
The best bits were definately the lucky dip that the girls managed.
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This is the best boot sale we could have gone to. Our position was also excellent, as we were put on the edge of the square.
The best bits were definately the lucky dip that the girls managed.
Saturday, April 24, 2004
Today we went to the school in Hook for a car boot sale. The weather was great but we sold hardly anything, as the people were probably all off to the beach or enjoying the warmer weather.
Tomorrow we will go to another car boot sale to see if we can find more buyers. It is hard work this car boot sale thing! Keep a lookout for any new photos on the Buttercup Joe site.
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Tomorrow we will go to another car boot sale to see if we can find more buyers. It is hard work this car boot sale thing! Keep a lookout for any new photos on the Buttercup Joe site.
GCD20D Ob-scure by Fynbos
Our neighbours, Dennis and Audrey are renewing their wedding vows tomorrow 25th April. They will be married for 50 years tomorrow. Absolutely amazing.
If you follow the link, it seems as if Dennis knows that he has a geocache planted in his church, as he is the friendly Verger of the little church where the Obscure cache is hidden.
Thank you Dennis for not destroying the cache and congratulations to both you and Audrey for tomorrow!
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Our neighbours, Dennis and Audrey are renewing their wedding vows tomorrow 25th April. They will be married for 50 years tomorrow. Absolutely amazing.
If you follow the link, it seems as if Dennis knows that he has a geocache planted in his church, as he is the friendly Verger of the little church where the Obscure cache is hidden.
Thank you Dennis for not destroying the cache and congratulations to both you and Audrey for tomorrow!
Friday, April 23, 2004
I could provide the link, but I want to keep this. If the link goes down one day, I want to make sure you can still get to read this. Take your time, kick back and marvel at life. This is not my writing, just a story I came across while surfing.
Here you go:
Eulogy for My Father
My father died a week ago today. He had a profound impact on the life I live today and on the person I became. The relationship between a son and a father can often be quite complicated. Not so, for me. I was blessed to have a rather simple, yet powerful and loving, relationship with my dad. And because I believe that at Fast Company we have created a community of friends, not mere readers with little connection to our magazine, I want to share the eulogy I delivered at his funeral on Saturday.
My father was a hard man to dislike. I know it's common at a funeral to only remember the good things, to omit the things that would embarrass someone. In my father's case, the most remarkable thing that can be said is that there is no bad.
So let me start with the facts.
My father was born in Paterson, N.J., on July 30 in 1924, when Calvin Coolidge was president. He was the third of five children -- Regina, Cissy, Isabell, and Pat -- born to a pair of textile workers, John and Mary, in Silk City. So it was natural that one day he would become a textile worker himself. And one of my earliest memories is of my dad coming home with colored feet -- some nights orange, others blue, green, purple -- a telltale sign of what dye was used in his finishing plant that day.
He went by many names: Jack, JJ, Red, for the slight reddish tint in his light brown hair.
Most of you know his eyesight was always poor. In fact, he wasn't born that way, but he could never remember how he lost the sight in one eye and had very little sight in the one that worked. His sister Isabell, whom he always referred to as Dizzy Izzie, thinks he was hit in the back of the head by a swing at a park. His brother Pat seems to recall that someone smashed a brick into the back of his head.
No matter. I'm told that if you were walking down the street when my father drove a car, it would make good sense to run in the opposite direction. My dad used to joke that he would often ride the sidewalks and, in fact, quit driving when he almost ran over some innocent bystander.
He didn't allow this handicap to hold him back.
He met the woman -- Valerie -- who would become his wife at his sister Isabell's wedding on February 1, 1947. Valerie worked in a coat factory. He married her in 1950. Three years later, in 1953, he had his only child. After working in a dye house -- Nu-Dye Finishing Co. on Harrison St. -- for many years, he became a postal clerk, a job he had for 20 years until he retired at the age of 62 in 1987. He died 17 years later at exactly 8:17 a.m. on April 14.
It's the simple bio of a simple and modest man.
But you don't measure the life of a man by simple facts, simply told.
It's been said that you measure it in the truths he learned, or in the times he cried, in the bridges he burned, or the way that he died.
In his 79 years, my father learned much, rarely if ever cried, never burned a bridge, and pretty much knew when he wanted to make his exit.
Here's what he learned:
He learned that a cold beer on a hot day is one of life's greatest pleasures. My father was a beer drinker, and though he never met a beer he didn't like, he preferred Schaefer in the can. He loved a cold beer on a hot day as much he loved a smallmouth bass on the end of his fishing line. Truth is, he loved a cold beer, a warm beer, on almost any day or night.
He learned that you should fill your life with music. My father was an accordion player. He taught himself to play the piano and could play everything from Chopin to the Chattanooga Choo-Choo. He played boogie-woogie, Polish polkas, Italian dance numbers, Broadway classics, and Beatles tunes. Some of the happiest hours of his life were spent squeezing the squeezebox, stomping a foot on the floor, his fingers flying across the keyboard on everything from Roll Out the Barrel to the Tarantella. It was a rare party when my father failed to bring out the accordion to play.
He learned to be generous with himself and with his friends. My father didn't have much, but he shared what he had with just about anyone who needed what little he had. When we closed up his house on 89 Sherman Ave. and paid his final bills two years ago, we found out that he sometimes paid the oil bills of friends and neighbors when they didn't have the cash to pay themselves. He never spoke about these generosities, and he never expected anything in return. He was a man who knew what an honest day's work was and delivered it without complaint or failure -- ever.
He learned to live life with optimism. Above all, my father was an optimist. He loved to laugh. He loved to please. He was rarely, if ever, critical of people. He didn't have an unkind bone in his body. He filled his life with hope, even when there was little reason to hope. And for me, the optimism came in the form of encouragement -- I was encouraged to play an instrument. I was encouraged to go to college. My father paid my $250 a semester tuition bill only if I regularly put money away in my savings account. When my hair was shoulder length, I never heard the slightest criticism. When my stereo screamed the Stones and the Allman Brothers, my father never told me to turn it down. When I protested against the Vietnam War, my father said he would take me to Canada if I were drafted. When I quit my part-time job delivering food to patients at St. Joe's Hospital, my mother wondered if I was crazy. My father knew that the job I was taking in its place -- to write stories for 25 cents an inch for a local shopper -- was the right move.
He learned to live life, period. Do things. The more, the better. My father did many things, but he especially loved one thing very much. My father was a fisherman. He started fishing with his father and as a young boy he often fished off the Arch St. bridge in Paterson, tossing his line into a polluted Passaic River. He loved the quiet and the solitude of fishing and he fished the backwoods of Canada, Greenwood Lake, the Pompton River, and every body of water he could reach.
He learned that if you're on this earth, you better have fun. There were few things in his life that my father didn't love. One of them was mischief. As a young teenager, he'd gather snakes on the nearby riverbank and bring them back to his house in a bucket -- using them to scare the bejesus out of his sister and her friends. He'd chase them down North First St. until they screamed hysterically, only to end up laughing so hard he couldn't run anymore. Then he'd sit on the stoop of his house with a satisfied smile, the bucket of snakes beside him, waiting for the girls to return, so he could dip his hand in that bucket and pull out an especially large one to frighten the girls yet again.
And for years, even into his late 20s, he was known to go over to his youngest sister's house, gently knock on a side window, and then hide behind the bushes -- just to give her a scare. He called her: Dizzy Izzie. ("Dizzy Izzie, are you there?" echoing what his father would say into the telephone in place of a hello.)
My father never really lost his love of mischief. About 29 years ago, he went to my bachelor party. Now you'd think my father -- the only real grownup in the place -- would have brought some sanity, if not reason, to what became a drinking event, especially after his only son had downed the first dozen shots of tequila with beer chasers. But no, my father was there, goading me on to my 18th shot. When my friends delivered me home that night, my mother came to the front door, only to see me being carried lifeless by my arms and legs. She screamed. "Oh my God, Johnny's dead. You killed him." And my father simply turned and said, "He's not dead. He's drunk. Get the hell in the house."
I never saw my father cry. But here's how he knew he had enough of life. He had suffered two hearts attacks and a stroke. He lost his limited eyesight and had become blind. He had skin cancer. He had congestive heart failure, his heart pumping at less than 50% of capacity through valves that leaked a good amount of blood. His kidney was failing, too.
Two years ago, my father said, "I'm ready for the deep sleep."
He wasn't. He hung on. He convinced himself that he had to live to care for my mother, who didn't live with him but in an adjacent assisted care center. He found friends who gathered around him at a nursing home. He had two more dinners around a long table in a basement in Paterson over two more Thanksgiving Days. He spent two more Christmas holidays with his family. He never lost his good humor.
Two weeks ago, my father was lying in a hospice bed, when he said, "Please let me die."
And his last words to me were my last words to him: "I love you." It was a beautiful and a complete ending, for me and for him.
Here is how I measure my father's life.
I measure his life in the warehouse of photographs, movies, and soundtracks he leaves. I measure it in the size of his hands.
What I remember most about my father is his hands?because from my earliest age, he held my hand in his and we discovered the world together.
With his hand in mine, we walked through New York's Times Square. We went to Yankee Stadium. We went to Radio City Music Hall. We rode the subway out to Coney Island. We went to a lone cabin in the woods in Greenwood Lake. We went to the Steel Pier in Atlantic City to see Louie Armstrong. We went to Passaic's Central Theater to see the opening of A Hard Day's Night. We watched the All-Star game together every July at the Carroll Hotel.
We went to Tad's Steakhouse, where you could get a t-bone, a baked potato, a hunk of garlic bread and a tossed salad for $2.79. We went to my grandmother's house on Saturday afternoons for endless games of gin rummy, Parcheesi, and Chinese checkers. We went for long hikes on Sunday afternoon, through the woods in Haledon. We hitchhiked together. We played music together, he on a keyboard, me on a drum kit. We strolled the railroad tracks together, laying pennies on the rails and waiting for the train to pass so we could use the flattened coins for guitar picks. We went to the newsstand together to buy magazines?his was always "True Detective," mine almost always something about music or monsters.
We fished together, in rowboats, off river banks and bridges, in rivers and in lakes, with worms and fish eggs, and lures and flies. We hiked through Garrett Mountain and climbed the stone steps in Lambert Tower. We fed the ducks in Goffle Brook Park. We walked across the arched wooden bridge from West Side Park to Casa Rosa for a dish of mussels and birch beer. We walked along the towpath of the canals near the Great Falls. And we gobbled down hot dogs all the way at Falls View.
And I remember these things as if we had done them all last weekend -- because we did them again and again and again and again, his outstretched hand leading me here and there and everywhere. I remember my times with my father as vividly as a great piece of music where you know every word, every note, every solo taken by every member of the band. You know it until it becomes part of you, until it becomes you.
He did that for me, and because he did, we will always travel together.
As my father neared death, I put my hand in his as often as I could. I wanted him to know that I was with him on his final journey on earth.
Dad, today your body is going to a place I'm not ready for. You'll have to go there alone. But I will join you some day, and I will look forward to that time when we can take those very long walks together forever and ever.
Sleep warm, dad. Sleep tight. Sleep well.
I love you. Always have. Always will.
Posted by John A. Byrne at April 21, 2004 03:56
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Here you go:
Eulogy for My Father
My father died a week ago today. He had a profound impact on the life I live today and on the person I became. The relationship between a son and a father can often be quite complicated. Not so, for me. I was blessed to have a rather simple, yet powerful and loving, relationship with my dad. And because I believe that at Fast Company we have created a community of friends, not mere readers with little connection to our magazine, I want to share the eulogy I delivered at his funeral on Saturday.
My father was a hard man to dislike. I know it's common at a funeral to only remember the good things, to omit the things that would embarrass someone. In my father's case, the most remarkable thing that can be said is that there is no bad.
So let me start with the facts.
My father was born in Paterson, N.J., on July 30 in 1924, when Calvin Coolidge was president. He was the third of five children -- Regina, Cissy, Isabell, and Pat -- born to a pair of textile workers, John and Mary, in Silk City. So it was natural that one day he would become a textile worker himself. And one of my earliest memories is of my dad coming home with colored feet -- some nights orange, others blue, green, purple -- a telltale sign of what dye was used in his finishing plant that day.
He went by many names: Jack, JJ, Red, for the slight reddish tint in his light brown hair.
Most of you know his eyesight was always poor. In fact, he wasn't born that way, but he could never remember how he lost the sight in one eye and had very little sight in the one that worked. His sister Isabell, whom he always referred to as Dizzy Izzie, thinks he was hit in the back of the head by a swing at a park. His brother Pat seems to recall that someone smashed a brick into the back of his head.
No matter. I'm told that if you were walking down the street when my father drove a car, it would make good sense to run in the opposite direction. My dad used to joke that he would often ride the sidewalks and, in fact, quit driving when he almost ran over some innocent bystander.
He didn't allow this handicap to hold him back.
He met the woman -- Valerie -- who would become his wife at his sister Isabell's wedding on February 1, 1947. Valerie worked in a coat factory. He married her in 1950. Three years later, in 1953, he had his only child. After working in a dye house -- Nu-Dye Finishing Co. on Harrison St. -- for many years, he became a postal clerk, a job he had for 20 years until he retired at the age of 62 in 1987. He died 17 years later at exactly 8:17 a.m. on April 14.
It's the simple bio of a simple and modest man.
But you don't measure the life of a man by simple facts, simply told.
It's been said that you measure it in the truths he learned, or in the times he cried, in the bridges he burned, or the way that he died.
In his 79 years, my father learned much, rarely if ever cried, never burned a bridge, and pretty much knew when he wanted to make his exit.
Here's what he learned:
He learned that a cold beer on a hot day is one of life's greatest pleasures. My father was a beer drinker, and though he never met a beer he didn't like, he preferred Schaefer in the can. He loved a cold beer on a hot day as much he loved a smallmouth bass on the end of his fishing line. Truth is, he loved a cold beer, a warm beer, on almost any day or night.
He learned that you should fill your life with music. My father was an accordion player. He taught himself to play the piano and could play everything from Chopin to the Chattanooga Choo-Choo. He played boogie-woogie, Polish polkas, Italian dance numbers, Broadway classics, and Beatles tunes. Some of the happiest hours of his life were spent squeezing the squeezebox, stomping a foot on the floor, his fingers flying across the keyboard on everything from Roll Out the Barrel to the Tarantella. It was a rare party when my father failed to bring out the accordion to play.
He learned to be generous with himself and with his friends. My father didn't have much, but he shared what he had with just about anyone who needed what little he had. When we closed up his house on 89 Sherman Ave. and paid his final bills two years ago, we found out that he sometimes paid the oil bills of friends and neighbors when they didn't have the cash to pay themselves. He never spoke about these generosities, and he never expected anything in return. He was a man who knew what an honest day's work was and delivered it without complaint or failure -- ever.
He learned to live life with optimism. Above all, my father was an optimist. He loved to laugh. He loved to please. He was rarely, if ever, critical of people. He didn't have an unkind bone in his body. He filled his life with hope, even when there was little reason to hope. And for me, the optimism came in the form of encouragement -- I was encouraged to play an instrument. I was encouraged to go to college. My father paid my $250 a semester tuition bill only if I regularly put money away in my savings account. When my hair was shoulder length, I never heard the slightest criticism. When my stereo screamed the Stones and the Allman Brothers, my father never told me to turn it down. When I protested against the Vietnam War, my father said he would take me to Canada if I were drafted. When I quit my part-time job delivering food to patients at St. Joe's Hospital, my mother wondered if I was crazy. My father knew that the job I was taking in its place -- to write stories for 25 cents an inch for a local shopper -- was the right move.
He learned to live life, period. Do things. The more, the better. My father did many things, but he especially loved one thing very much. My father was a fisherman. He started fishing with his father and as a young boy he often fished off the Arch St. bridge in Paterson, tossing his line into a polluted Passaic River. He loved the quiet and the solitude of fishing and he fished the backwoods of Canada, Greenwood Lake, the Pompton River, and every body of water he could reach.
He learned that if you're on this earth, you better have fun. There were few things in his life that my father didn't love. One of them was mischief. As a young teenager, he'd gather snakes on the nearby riverbank and bring them back to his house in a bucket -- using them to scare the bejesus out of his sister and her friends. He'd chase them down North First St. until they screamed hysterically, only to end up laughing so hard he couldn't run anymore. Then he'd sit on the stoop of his house with a satisfied smile, the bucket of snakes beside him, waiting for the girls to return, so he could dip his hand in that bucket and pull out an especially large one to frighten the girls yet again.
And for years, even into his late 20s, he was known to go over to his youngest sister's house, gently knock on a side window, and then hide behind the bushes -- just to give her a scare. He called her: Dizzy Izzie. ("Dizzy Izzie, are you there?" echoing what his father would say into the telephone in place of a hello.)
My father never really lost his love of mischief. About 29 years ago, he went to my bachelor party. Now you'd think my father -- the only real grownup in the place -- would have brought some sanity, if not reason, to what became a drinking event, especially after his only son had downed the first dozen shots of tequila with beer chasers. But no, my father was there, goading me on to my 18th shot. When my friends delivered me home that night, my mother came to the front door, only to see me being carried lifeless by my arms and legs. She screamed. "Oh my God, Johnny's dead. You killed him." And my father simply turned and said, "He's not dead. He's drunk. Get the hell in the house."
I never saw my father cry. But here's how he knew he had enough of life. He had suffered two hearts attacks and a stroke. He lost his limited eyesight and had become blind. He had skin cancer. He had congestive heart failure, his heart pumping at less than 50% of capacity through valves that leaked a good amount of blood. His kidney was failing, too.
Two years ago, my father said, "I'm ready for the deep sleep."
He wasn't. He hung on. He convinced himself that he had to live to care for my mother, who didn't live with him but in an adjacent assisted care center. He found friends who gathered around him at a nursing home. He had two more dinners around a long table in a basement in Paterson over two more Thanksgiving Days. He spent two more Christmas holidays with his family. He never lost his good humor.
Two weeks ago, my father was lying in a hospice bed, when he said, "Please let me die."
And his last words to me were my last words to him: "I love you." It was a beautiful and a complete ending, for me and for him.
Here is how I measure my father's life.
I measure his life in the warehouse of photographs, movies, and soundtracks he leaves. I measure it in the size of his hands.
What I remember most about my father is his hands?because from my earliest age, he held my hand in his and we discovered the world together.
With his hand in mine, we walked through New York's Times Square. We went to Yankee Stadium. We went to Radio City Music Hall. We rode the subway out to Coney Island. We went to a lone cabin in the woods in Greenwood Lake. We went to the Steel Pier in Atlantic City to see Louie Armstrong. We went to Passaic's Central Theater to see the opening of A Hard Day's Night. We watched the All-Star game together every July at the Carroll Hotel.
We went to Tad's Steakhouse, where you could get a t-bone, a baked potato, a hunk of garlic bread and a tossed salad for $2.79. We went to my grandmother's house on Saturday afternoons for endless games of gin rummy, Parcheesi, and Chinese checkers. We went for long hikes on Sunday afternoon, through the woods in Haledon. We hitchhiked together. We played music together, he on a keyboard, me on a drum kit. We strolled the railroad tracks together, laying pennies on the rails and waiting for the train to pass so we could use the flattened coins for guitar picks. We went to the newsstand together to buy magazines?his was always "True Detective," mine almost always something about music or monsters.
We fished together, in rowboats, off river banks and bridges, in rivers and in lakes, with worms and fish eggs, and lures and flies. We hiked through Garrett Mountain and climbed the stone steps in Lambert Tower. We fed the ducks in Goffle Brook Park. We walked across the arched wooden bridge from West Side Park to Casa Rosa for a dish of mussels and birch beer. We walked along the towpath of the canals near the Great Falls. And we gobbled down hot dogs all the way at Falls View.
And I remember these things as if we had done them all last weekend -- because we did them again and again and again and again, his outstretched hand leading me here and there and everywhere. I remember my times with my father as vividly as a great piece of music where you know every word, every note, every solo taken by every member of the band. You know it until it becomes part of you, until it becomes you.
He did that for me, and because he did, we will always travel together.
As my father neared death, I put my hand in his as often as I could. I wanted him to know that I was with him on his final journey on earth.
Dad, today your body is going to a place I'm not ready for. You'll have to go there alone. But I will join you some day, and I will look forward to that time when we can take those very long walks together forever and ever.
Sleep warm, dad. Sleep tight. Sleep well.
I love you. Always have. Always will.
Posted by John A. Byrne at April 21, 2004 03:56
Observations
This is something to keep an eye on. And it could get big, even in Europe. Questions are:
- What happens to the economies of the nations being outsourced?
- Does it mean that the shareholders, and I assume they are in the local or domestic economy, get more money, are able to spend more so net net there is no difference?
- Is it more important to have the employed spend the money (wages) in the local economy or the shareholders spend their money in the local economy?
I think the money follows the skill, the skill will drive the demand, the wealth will move and the gap between rich and poor will widen putting more burden on the social systems driving tax up and it will be a mess. I'm not sure that the off-shoring model will support good personal service.... but that we will be stuck with it anyway.
Oh, while I am on the service band-wagon, I think it is going pretty poorly here in the UK anyway. Take a look at PC World, Dixon and Curries and let me know if you are entirely happy with their service.
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This is something to keep an eye on. And it could get big, even in Europe. Questions are:
- What happens to the economies of the nations being outsourced?
- Does it mean that the shareholders, and I assume they are in the local or domestic economy, get more money, are able to spend more so net net there is no difference?
- Is it more important to have the employed spend the money (wages) in the local economy or the shareholders spend their money in the local economy?
I think the money follows the skill, the skill will drive the demand, the wealth will move and the gap between rich and poor will widen putting more burden on the social systems driving tax up and it will be a mess. I'm not sure that the off-shoring model will support good personal service.... but that we will be stuck with it anyway.
Oh, while I am on the service band-wagon, I think it is going pretty poorly here in the UK anyway. Take a look at PC World, Dixon and Curries and let me know if you are entirely happy with their service.
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Today I caught the late train to work, the 7:39. While I was waiting for this train to come in, my friend JM arrived and came and spoke to me. The train arrived and as I was taking my coat off and preparing to sit down, I saw that someone had dropped their book on the platform. "Poor soul", I thought, "if they jump off now, they will miss the train". I pointed the lonely book out to JM and we had a laugh.
We had an even bigger laugh when I realised it was MY BOOK !! Oh well, I am sure that someone will enjoy a 1936 Agatha Christie.
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We had an even bigger laugh when I realised it was MY BOOK !! Oh well, I am sure that someone will enjoy a 1936 Agatha Christie.
Sunday, April 18, 2004
Business Insight Fact Sheets
We went with friends to a car boot sale toaday. First ever. We got completely drenched but it was good fun.
Only after wards I saw this list of tips and I think we did pretty well. We did not take any of our own stuff to sell, but helped two other couples with their stuff.
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We went with friends to a car boot sale toaday. First ever. We got completely drenched but it was good fun.
Only after wards I saw this list of tips and I think we did pretty well. We did not take any of our own stuff to sell, but helped two other couples with their stuff.
Saturday, April 17, 2004
Yahoo! LAUNCH - The Black Eyed Peas: Artist Page
OK... so I heard this song while driving back from a course in the Landrover. If you get a chance, try and look / listen to the song called "Where is the love". It has a great beat and great lyrics.
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OK... so I heard this song while driving back from a course in the Landrover. If you get a chance, try and look / listen to the song called "Where is the love". It has a great beat and great lyrics.
Travel Intelligence | My Perfect Day in Lyon by Martin O'Brien
Aaaahhhhhh, now does this not sound like an absolute perfect day. Yes, I know it is a bit centred on self and food and pleasures.... But maybe just for half day..... an hour?
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Aaaahhhhhh, now does this not sound like an absolute perfect day. Yes, I know it is a bit centred on self and food and pleasures.... But maybe just for half day..... an hour?
Travel Intelligence | Discovering Charente-Limousine by Heidi Fuller-Love: "Discovering Charente-Limousine"
This sounds like an area we should really try to visit. Maybe take some weeks off work, go and camp out and look at a few options. What do you think?
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This sounds like an area we should really try to visit. Maybe take some weeks off work, go and camp out and look at a few options. What do you think?
Thursday, April 15, 2004
100 Best Companies
Why do some companies get on this list? Why are we not on this list? Will we ever be on this list?
You think of all the good things included in the modern day mantra. Words like:
- people are our most important asset
- our strategic objective is to be employer of choice
- we are in the people business
- we're an equal opportunities company
These are all good things to aim for but unless you see the fruit, then this is all like morning mist, like the dew that vanishes early in the day.
Think about the words.... then look for the results......
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Why do some companies get on this list? Why are we not on this list? Will we ever be on this list?
You think of all the good things included in the modern day mantra. Words like:
- people are our most important asset
- our strategic objective is to be employer of choice
- we are in the people business
- we're an equal opportunities company
These are all good things to aim for but unless you see the fruit, then this is all like morning mist, like the dew that vanishes early in the day.
Think about the words.... then look for the results......
Today I did my send and recieve and got 39 new emails. Guess what, all but three were complete span / junk.
I wrote a response to a friend and then saw a good article in the Early To Rise email subscription. Here it is:
What NOT to Do if You Want Your Business to Grow
"Create a work culture that values efficiency. Don't glorify those who work 24/7."
That very questionable advice comes from The Organized Executive, a newsletter that is normally full of sound and often very good ideas.
As an example, the newsletter tells about Robert Green, CEO for Ipswich Inc., who refuses to praise employees who come in early, work late, or take work home.
Well, I don't know enough about Ipswich to tell you how Green's policy is going to screw things up. But I do know this: It's impossible to grow a company without either sacrificing quality (and that will do its damage before long) or working the hell out of your good employees.
I'm all for making work enjoyable. In fact, I believe that most of life's fun comes from working hard at something you value. But when you treat work like something nobody really wants to do, you send a very bad message -- that you, yourself, don't like to work hard.
If you want your business to grow, your products to improve, your sales to increase, and your customers to be happy, this is the way to do it:
-Focus on goals and objectives, not time.
-Reward employees for accomplishments, not just actions.
-When employees find it necessary to work extra hours, thank them for doing it.
-When you encounter employees who think the way Mr. Green does, shape them up . . . fast. (See Message #1100, "How to Deal With Poor Performers: The 30-Day Solution".)
-When you encounter employees who are near burnout because they can't delegate properly, force them to take some time off. (James Barksdale of Netscape, for example, makes his overworked employees take an office "escape day" once a month.)
Not bad is it!!
Subscribe yourself by looking at this link.
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I wrote a response to a friend and then saw a good article in the Early To Rise email subscription. Here it is:
What NOT to Do if You Want Your Business to Grow
"Create a work culture that values efficiency. Don't glorify those who work 24/7."
That very questionable advice comes from The Organized Executive, a newsletter that is normally full of sound and often very good ideas.
As an example, the newsletter tells about Robert Green, CEO for Ipswich Inc., who refuses to praise employees who come in early, work late, or take work home.
Well, I don't know enough about Ipswich to tell you how Green's policy is going to screw things up. But I do know this: It's impossible to grow a company without either sacrificing quality (and that will do its damage before long) or working the hell out of your good employees.
I'm all for making work enjoyable. In fact, I believe that most of life's fun comes from working hard at something you value. But when you treat work like something nobody really wants to do, you send a very bad message -- that you, yourself, don't like to work hard.
If you want your business to grow, your products to improve, your sales to increase, and your customers to be happy, this is the way to do it:
-Focus on goals and objectives, not time.
-Reward employees for accomplishments, not just actions.
-When employees find it necessary to work extra hours, thank them for doing it.
-When you encounter employees who think the way Mr. Green does, shape them up . . . fast. (See Message #1100, "How to Deal With Poor Performers: The 30-Day Solution".)
-When you encounter employees who are near burnout because they can't delegate properly, force them to take some time off. (James Barksdale of Netscape, for example, makes his overworked employees take an office "escape day" once a month.)
Not bad is it!!
Subscribe yourself by looking at this link.
Monday, April 12, 2004
The Great Dorset Steam Fair
The Great Dorset Steam Fair...... we've been twice a long while back. All I can remember is a lot of noise, plenty of people, beer, heat and long queues for the toilets. But still quite fun....
Maybe we should go again this year?
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The Great Dorset Steam Fair...... we've been twice a long while back. All I can remember is a lot of noise, plenty of people, beer, heat and long queues for the toilets. But still quite fun....
Maybe we should go again this year?
Sunday, April 11, 2004
BBC Languages - French - French Steps
Well, I had a look at what BBC has to offer on the French language education. It looks pretty basic, probably just what I need.
Not so sure how much time I would have to learn but where there is a will, there is a way.
C'est la vie!
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Well, I had a look at what BBC has to offer on the French language education. It looks pretty basic, probably just what I need.
Not so sure how much time I would have to learn but where there is a will, there is a way.
C'est la vie!
Saturday, April 10, 2004
uk.weather.com - Local Weather
S thinks it is real cold today. I think it is just right. So have a look at the link and let me know what you think. Oh... today / right now it is 9 degrees celcius. Not too bad is it? So fire or no fire?
Bruce and Di are visiting with their two daughters. Nice to have visitors again.
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S thinks it is real cold today. I think it is just right. So have a look at the link and let me know what you think. Oh... today / right now it is 9 degrees celcius. Not too bad is it? So fire or no fire?
Bruce and Di are visiting with their two daughters. Nice to have visitors again.
Fast Company | If It's Urgent, Ignore It
I love this article. I think we are often caught in the trap of spending time on things urgent, when we should be working on things that are important. I think another way to look at it is to ask yourself the question of how many things on the goal list we should be working on is being neglected because the urgent things steal the focus. Well.... loads .... I bet!!
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I love this article. I think we are often caught in the trap of spending time on things urgent, when we should be working on things that are important. I think another way to look at it is to ask yourself the question of how many things on the goal list we should be working on is being neglected because the urgent things steal the focus. Well.... loads .... I bet!!
VEF - french property estate agents: properties for sale in france
Yesterday I saw some fine properties on this VEF site. Now we just have to contact the people to discuss how to go about the whole thing. I think their fees are going to be high, but if it means an exact fit and something worthwhile then why not.
Maybe I will try and arrange for a viewing of one of the properties.
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Yesterday I saw some fine properties on this VEF site. Now we just have to contact the people to discuss how to go about the whole thing. I think their fees are going to be high, but if it means an exact fit and something worthwhile then why not.
Maybe I will try and arrange for a viewing of one of the properties.
Friday, April 09, 2004
I've been resting today. Slept a bit on the one couch after helping J1 fix the other two couches. We had some lovely chicken soup for lunch.
I found a lovely place on the web in France. Looks like it needs loads of work. It is in Brittany. Then, I went surfing and found a lovely poem. Here it is:
Scheepersnek
Onthou, my Lief, ek is Afrika, jou land.
My land verwelkom my
met 'n oorweldigende fanfare
ek wóú nog oor die bergtop loer
ek wóú nog my armbande skud
saggies lag
en wink
van ver af wuif
maar my land het geweet ek kom
want toe ek oor die nek kom
is die lug vol bebliksemde donderslae
by die afdraai plaas toe
trek die orkes van die lug oop
my land wys my wat ek lánk nie gesien het nie:
'n simfonie van bliksem en reën
Ons suster!
Ons suster!
ek gooi áltwee my arms oop
my land omhels my
vannag slaap ek nie alleen nie
ek lê in die arms van die reën
I would love to feel that way about coming home to a place I love to be in. Maybe this place is waiting for us in France. Lighting and rain and all.
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I found a lovely place on the web in France. Looks like it needs loads of work. It is in Brittany. Then, I went surfing and found a lovely poem. Here it is:
Scheepersnek
Onthou, my Lief, ek is Afrika, jou land.
My land verwelkom my
met 'n oorweldigende fanfare
ek wóú nog oor die bergtop loer
ek wóú nog my armbande skud
saggies lag
en wink
van ver af wuif
maar my land het geweet ek kom
want toe ek oor die nek kom
is die lug vol bebliksemde donderslae
by die afdraai plaas toe
trek die orkes van die lug oop
my land wys my wat ek lánk nie gesien het nie:
'n simfonie van bliksem en reën
Ons suster!
Ons suster!
ek gooi áltwee my arms oop
my land omhels my
vannag slaap ek nie alleen nie
ek lê in die arms van die reën
I would love to feel that way about coming home to a place I love to be in. Maybe this place is waiting for us in France. Lighting and rain and all.
do-it: volunteering opportunities
I saw this link come in to my inbox as spam this morning. It must be the first time I have EVER opened spam in my life and it looks like a good cause. Maybe if I could clone myself and have one of me doing this and the other one of me doing work.... Maybe I need another one to be following my dreams.
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I saw this link come in to my inbox as spam this morning. It must be the first time I have EVER opened spam in my life and it looks like a good cause. Maybe if I could clone myself and have one of me doing this and the other one of me doing work.... Maybe I need another one to be following my dreams.
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
16 reasons to BOO the MOO
Today was another hectic day. I tried to leave early and arrived at Waterloo at about 6:47pm. Just missed the train. Had to wait for half and hour before the next one came in. In that time I browsed WH Smith, bought a copy of Fast Company magazine and Decanter and then read Fast Company all the way home.....
Oh... the reason for the link above is as follows. I also bought a nice big latte coffee from Costa's. I hardly ever drink milky coffee.... because of what I read on the site above. So.... wanna live a bit healthier? Say Boo to the Moo!!
Had some nice chats with people at work today. I don't hardly have time to do this much but when I do, I enjoy it. Spoke about art, holidays, children and husband and it was good. Good to just listen and be there, and I enjoy hearing people speak about things they care about.
I sent this poem to a person at work:
An old Man
At the back of the noisy café
bent over a table sits an old man;
a newspaper in front of him, without company.
And in the scorn of his miserable old age
he ponders how little he enjoyed the years
when he had strength, and the power of the word, and good looks.
He knows he has aged much; he feels it, he sees it.
And yet the time he was young seems
like yesterday. How short a time, how short a time.
And he ponders how Prudence deceived him;
and how he always trusted her -- what a folly! --
that liar who said: "Tomorrow. There is ample time."
He remembers the impulses he curbed; and how much
joy he sacrificed. Every lost chance
now mocks his senseless wisdom.
...But from so much thinking and remembering
the old man gets dizzy. And falls asleep
bent over the café table.
Constantine P. Cavafy (1897)
I like it because it reminds me of a place in time that I do not want to get to or ever be in. Some people find it morbid. However, I find it encouraging. Half full or half empty, up to you!
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Today was another hectic day. I tried to leave early and arrived at Waterloo at about 6:47pm. Just missed the train. Had to wait for half and hour before the next one came in. In that time I browsed WH Smith, bought a copy of Fast Company magazine and Decanter and then read Fast Company all the way home.....
Oh... the reason for the link above is as follows. I also bought a nice big latte coffee from Costa's. I hardly ever drink milky coffee.... because of what I read on the site above. So.... wanna live a bit healthier? Say Boo to the Moo!!
Had some nice chats with people at work today. I don't hardly have time to do this much but when I do, I enjoy it. Spoke about art, holidays, children and husband and it was good. Good to just listen and be there, and I enjoy hearing people speak about things they care about.
I sent this poem to a person at work:
An old Man
At the back of the noisy café
bent over a table sits an old man;
a newspaper in front of him, without company.
And in the scorn of his miserable old age
he ponders how little he enjoyed the years
when he had strength, and the power of the word, and good looks.
He knows he has aged much; he feels it, he sees it.
And yet the time he was young seems
like yesterday. How short a time, how short a time.
And he ponders how Prudence deceived him;
and how he always trusted her -- what a folly! --
that liar who said: "Tomorrow. There is ample time."
He remembers the impulses he curbed; and how much
joy he sacrificed. Every lost chance
now mocks his senseless wisdom.
...But from so much thinking and remembering
the old man gets dizzy. And falls asleep
bent over the café table.
Constantine P. Cavafy (1897)
I like it because it reminds me of a place in time that I do not want to get to or ever be in. Some people find it morbid. However, I find it encouraging. Half full or half empty, up to you!
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
I read TVDB's blog today. Then went searching for a link and found this one.
Got home at a decent time tonight. 8:30pm. Much better then 10:20 pm. Still tired though and dream of a simple life in the country. Maybe a farm, large open spaces, stars in the sky, a nice little fire. Maybe one day.
J2 came and told me that she is training her fish to push a cork along the top in her fishtank. Whatever next?
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Got home at a decent time tonight. 8:30pm. Much better then 10:20 pm. Still tired though and dream of a simple life in the country. Maybe a farm, large open spaces, stars in the sky, a nice little fire. Maybe one day.
J2 came and told me that she is training her fish to push a cork along the top in her fishtank. Whatever next?
Got home tonight at 10:20 pm. Is this what it is all about? I has working on a business case for a new fund. Can't say I understood much of it though. Maybe one day. Could do with a break. All I remember is the following....
- £100m external investment
- £198m properties from the one internally managefundnf
- £91m properties from the other internally managed fund
- £50m debt
So... all in all it is going to be a huge fund if we can get it together.
Still..... I would much rather be walking in the forests or fishing or hiking or something.
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- £100m external investment
- £198m properties from the one internally managefundnf
- £91m properties from the other internally managed fund
- £50m debt
So... all in all it is going to be a huge fund if we can get it together.
Still..... I would much rather be walking in the forests or fishing or hiking or something.
Sunday, April 04, 2004
Just searching a bit while waiting for tea. Not eating tea (in case you are English) but real drinking tea. OK, maybe not real tea but a little fragrant Earl Grey tea. Now where was I.... Oh yes, and came across this link to Time Management. Crosswalk.com - Time Management for Kids
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Yesterday we had some cool dudes visit. Cool dudes are people you can relax with, chew the cud with, not stress about things and have a laugh with. In this case the cool dudes are Raimund, Lisa and Sasha. Young Sasha is only 4 months old and it was really special to hold such a young baby again. I can't remember when last I held one so young although I know it must have been J7 when he went through this age. It is not often that we have visitors but we really enjoyed having these guys visit. Maybe one day we can have the honour of their company again and see how much young Sasha Sweety has grown and have a nice BBQ or something.
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Lunch done, great lamb, parsnips, runner beans, potato, carrots, gravy. Lovely Cab Sav from Australia.
I wanted to go out and go for a walk but not sure if this will work. Want to look for a cache from www.geocaching.com but we'll see.
Could do with a nice bit of fresh air now.
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I wanted to go out and go for a walk but not sure if this will work. Want to look for a cache from www.geocaching.com but we'll see.
Could do with a nice bit of fresh air now.
So, I go to J7 to see what this is about. Lettuce is already gone, duplo is the only thing left over. So I take a few photos and put some music on for all of us to dance to. Blind Boys from Alabama. Really loud. J7, J6, J5 all get up and dance. I'm a soldier, soldier of the Lord...... Good stuff!!
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I read a few blogs today. Some are so good and many have put a lot of effort into them. I have trouble keeping up with my own thoughts so it will be interesting to see if other people can keep up with my thoughts instead.
Right now, the lamb is cooking and I can hear young J7 still looking for someone to go to his party to have some lettuce. Maybe I'll do just that and take a photo of that too.
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Right now, the lamb is cooking and I can hear young J7 still looking for someone to go to his party to have some lettuce. Maybe I'll do just that and take a photo of that too.
