My stay at the haunted hotel

I am both pleased and a little disappointed to report that I found no ghosts in Shrewsbury.  However, I did discover an absolutely beautiful town.  It wasn't bombed in the war and so still has a lot of beautiful old tudor buildings.  It even has its own abbey and castle.  You can see the wikipedia entry here.

Unfortunately, as I wasn't expecting such a picturesque place I did not bring my camera with me.  The only photos I took were through my iphone camera.  I've attached those photos here but you have to use your imagination - the town was much more beautiful than the pictures suggest.

The Street I was staying on

One of the shopping streets

The Abbey

The Abbey

The Castle

My fight with a certain orange-haired fashion designer (I'll call her a "certain designer", or CD)

Last night I went to a party at G's boss' house, told CD she is an idiot and seemingly caused her to leave.  This was not how the night was meant to go. 

The party was a housewarming party in South London.  G's boss' wife has a reasonably high media profile meaning that, amongst the riff raff (being G and I), there were BBC presenters, the Attorney General and even CD.  

CD stood out from the crowd.  I would like to say that it was because her outfit was stunning but that would be a lie.  Aside from some poorly-applied makeup and the flaming orange hair, she looked like an old woman (I just found out she's only 69 but, at the time, assumed she was in her 80s).  I would love to pretend that I am so cool that I didn't care but, sadly, I  was not immune to the sparkle of celebrity.  From the start, what limited coolness that I like to think I possess departed and I was dying to speak to her. 

Most of the evening she seemed to be sitting on her own, occasionally holding court to young women who would wander up to her.  Finally, one of those young women (M) was someone I knew.  I saw an in. 

Along with a friend, K, I went up to CD and sat next to her, pretending that I was hoping to speak to M.  K and I realised, once we sat down, that we were walking into a dying conversation.  M was trying to explain to CD her job as a management consultant.  CD kept interrupting her and saying "I just don't know what you mean.  Those words mean nothing to me.  I don't understand anything you are saying".  M was looking rather flustered and frustrated at this point.  So K kindly decided to try and save her.   Unfortunately, it seemed the only thing that K could think of to say at this point was a comment she and I had made to one another jokingly a couple of hours (and several proseccos) earlier.  That is, that my dress was the same colour as CD's hair and K's dress was the same colour as CD's outfit.  In other words, that we looked like a deconstructed version of CD.  CD was not impressed.  At that point, she turned to me and said "what is she saying?  Why is she waving her hands?  What does this mean?".  Things were not going well. 

The mistake I made was then to try and engage CD in conversation.  I should have realised I was walking into a train wreck and just left.  Sadly, I didn't.  I asked CD how she knew the host of the party and somehow (and I'm really not sure how) that turned into her telling me about her concerns with climate change.  She spent some time telling me about some theory to do with the earth being like a goddess.  It's alive, she told me, looking at me earnestly.  It doesn't reproduce but I don't reproduce and I'm not dead, she said.  The theory (or at least her explanation of it) sounded completely mad and so I latched onto the only thing I thought of as safe ground (ie, the only bit I thought I followed) and asked whether the theory was based on some sort of religion or spirituality.  That was a mistake.  "I'm an atheist.  Aren't you? Do you believe in something else?".  The fact I do believe in something else did not go down well at all.  Once again, the conversation was going downhill. Then she mentioned politics and I latched onto that, thinking it was my life raft to get out of the spirituality quagmire.  What a mistake! 

CD spent some time telling me that democracy was wrong.  That it was the worst form of government and far worse than any of the other forms of government out there.  I confess that, while I knew of her anarchist beliefs in her youth, it was difficult for me to believe that the old woman sitting next to me genuinely held such silly views.  She did not ask me my own views (she was more interested in holding court than she was in talking) but I simply had to ask her what system she would replace democracy with.  This is the conversation that resulted, to the best of my recollection.  I have avoided the temptation to make myself sound more articulate than I in fact was.  Please bear that in mind when reading the below! 

CD looked at me aghast.  With her voice becoming more and more shrill with every word she responded: "I don't know.  I don't know what system I'd replace it with but that doesn't mean it is the best.  I don't think like Churchill said that it is the best because I can't think of what I would replace it with.  Do you?"

"It has its flaws, but I do agree that there seems nothing better out there and so I am happy with it."

"That's because you haven't thought about it."

"I have thought about it.  Many people have thought about it.  But to date no one seems to come up with something better."

"so you think it is the best system there could ever be??"

"no, I didn't say that.  I said I don't know what I would replace it with and I'm happy with it."

"So now you are changing your words.  You said best."

"No, no I'm not.  I just think it is interesting that you criticise it so vehemently but you can't tell me what you would replace it with, simply that it is terrible."

"It is rubbish.  You just have never thought about the matter.  You are just an idiot."

At that point, I confess I saw red.  It wasn't so much the fact she called me an idiot as the dismissive tone in which she did it.  It was also accompanied by a wave of the hand, as though she had decided she had her time with me and now I should simply leave, as she had exhausted my  use.  All celebrity sparkle had well and truly departed by this point.  All I saw before me was a silly and rude woman.

"I have thought about it.  I can assure you.  It seems you haven't.  You criticise the system, you criticise anyone who doesn't, but you can't offer any alternative.  Given all of that, I think it is very interesting that it is YOU who is calling ME the idiot!!". 

At that point, I decided it was time to leave.  Conscious that I was at G's boss' party, I wanted to be civil as I left, so stood and said "well, I will move on, but it has been interesting..."

"interesting, you keep using that word 'interesting'.  It hasn't been interesting. It hasn't been anything". 

"you are quite right" I said, turning my back on her and walking off. 

Moments later, G's boss came up to me.  I see you have offended one of our guests, he said.   Thankfully he seemed entertained rather than annoyed.  I looked around the room but CD had seemingly left the party.  I would be very surprised if I had actually caused offence.  The woman seemed to regard any one else's opinion so poorly that I doubt mine would have affected her.  After all, she did not ever even ask my name.  Nonetheless, I was mortified.  I did not think the story would have made it to the host.  The next ten minutes confirmed, however, that every single person in the party had heard the story, and the fact I had insulted CD and turned my back on her.  It became the story of the night, with no one quite able to believe that I had managed to insult a Dame.  Not a good introduction to G's work colleagues.  Thankfully, everyone seemed to find it amusing, with the general consensus being that the woman is quite mad.

The Attorney General was also at last night's party (wearing some bright red cord trousers).  Thankfully I didn't try to talk to him.  I also don't think he made the mistake of trying to talk to CD.

At least the next time I see a genuine celebrity I suspect I will find there is no celebrity sparkle there.  In fact, I might just run the other way.

Postscript: on a COMPLETELY unrelated note, since I posted the above someone has drawn my attention to this story regarding Ms Vivienne Westwood (who, I note, as NOTHING TO DO with this post, really!).  It doesn't surprise me.

The Haunted Hotel

This week I'm traveling to Shrewsbury where I will stay for three nights for work.  We have an 80 pound budget for hotels.  That means we have to find a hotel (and breakfast) for 80 quid or less per night.  It isn't always easy.  After a bit of research I found one hotel I thought looked rather nice and where I could get a room within budget: The Prince Rupert.

Last week I had a conference with the client in Shrewsbury and the client, not knowing what hotel I had booked, warned me that when I booked my hotel I had to make sure that I didn't book the Prince Rupert.  He told me it is haunted.  At first I thought he was joking, or at least he was joking in advising that I steer clear of the hotel.  But after consulting a few of his colleagues, I realised that he was serious.  In fact, everyone I spoke to in Shrewsbury warned me to stay away from the hotel. 

When I got back to the office, I googled the hotel.  Sure enough, I found the Guardian lists it as one of the top ten haunted hotels in the country.  I don't believe in ghosts.  However, I don't want to be proved wrong in that belief.  Particularly when I'm alone in my hotel room at three in the morning.

I made the mistake of telling my colleagues that I was changing my hotel because it was haunted.  This with some derision.   In fact, one of them rather tactlessly said that she might make that decision too, if she hit her head and turned into an irrational fool.  It very quickly became apparent that if I changed my hotel I would never hear the end of it.  So pride took over, and I have stuck with the Prince Rupert.  So that is where I will be staying and hoping not to see, as other guests have claimed to see, the spectre of a woman hanging from the ceiling or plates flying across the room. I will let you know next week whether or not I made the right decision.

What is it really like being a public servant?

The new budget  with its austerity measures has generated a lot of talk about the pros and cons of working in the public service.  It has been said that public servants were insulated from the effects of the recession.  Their position has been contrasted with that of those in the private sector, particularly bankers, who in some cases during the  recession lost their jobs or had their pay frozen.   It has  been said that it is finally time for public servants to feel the pain of the downturn.  Accordingly, the public sector is being reduced, a two-year public sector pay freeze has been introduced and all government departments are having to make significant cut-backs. 

Austerity measures in all areas of the economy, even the public service, are probably necessary.  I confess that I think that many of the cuts being made in the public service right now are poorly thought out, unfocussed and unhelpful.  But I won't bore you with my views on the economy.  Instead I thought I'd give you a taste of what it is like being a public sector lawyer, because it isn't all beer and skittles.  I confess that this post is, really, just a bit of a rant. I'm not going to tell you about the parts of my job that I enjoy, because that would defeat the purpose of having a rant.

I spend an enormous amount of time traveling.   A lot of the time I'm traveling for  morning meetings, usually in the Midlands, and so find myself boarding a train in London at 6 or 7 am.  I'm normally struggling with a suitcase or two of files.  The government has a strict security policy, meaning I can't ever leave my files unattended for risk of losing my job.  Traveling in the relative luxury of first class I could sit in the train, order breakfast and have it brought to me, keeping my cases on the (usually) empty seat next to me.   Unfortunately, first class travel privileges have now been removed from us.  So, short of getting up at 5 am, breakfast is now usually skipped.  It is  virtually impossible to grab breakfast at the station in the morning (try juggling a coffee, bagel, two suitcases and boarding a train).  I also try not to drink any water or fluid.  This is because if I go to the loo on the train, I have to take my cases with me.  In contrast to the first class toilet cubicles, the standard class toilet cubicles are pretty small and usually I can't fit along with my cases in there.   By the time I reach my destination at 10 am or so, I'm normally struggling with a caffeine-deprivation and dehydration headache.  But in the scheme of things, that's okay. I can cope with that. 

It is the return journey I really hate.  I never know what time my meetings will finish and so have open return tickets, meaning I don't have a pre-booked seat.   Standard Class is much, much busier than First Class.  It's not unusual now for me to find I can't get a seat on the train.  At worst, I'll find myself standing for most, or even all, of a return journey to London.  At best I will find myself nursing my cases on my lap while others stand in the aisles or sit on the floor of the train.  The other day I boarded a train at Leicester and found that the only seat available had a dog on it.  The luggage rack next to me was also full.  This meant that I ended up sitting on the dog's seat with the dog on my lap and my suitcase where my feet ought to have been.  I don't blame the fellow sitting next to me who owned the dog- he couldn't take his dog on his lap as he had even more luggage than me and had a case at his feet and two more on his lap.  To be perfectly honest, I was actually relatively happy with the arrangement;  the dog was an 18-month old black poodle so I spent the next two hours playing with it.  But next time it may be a rottweiler/pit-bull cross I have to contend with. 

Our office's move to open plan seating and hotdesking has also happened in anticipation of budget cuts.  I won't even begin to pretend I enjoy smelling the farter's farts, overhearing colleagues' phone conversations or smelling their lunch.  Having to wipe down a keyboard and desk with disinfectant wipes before using it is also not fun. 

But I really shouldn't complain; I have it easy.  I work with great people (the farter not counted amongst them) and have a relatively low-stress job.  But not all public servants are in this position. 

I frequently attend prisons in the course of my work.  The prison officers are amazing people, many of whom regard their job as being not just about discipline but also as having a social work aspect to it.  The care these officers show for the prisoners, the hours they work and the lousy pay they receive mean that I have the utmost respect for them.  I could not do their job.  

I was  shown around HMP Wormwood Scrubs by two officers last week.  They showed me through healthcare, which is where prisoners with health issues (largely mental health issues) or those who are at real risk of suicide or self-harm are housed.  The prisoners were on association, meaning that they were out of their cells.  As we walked through the central communal area, one of the prisoners said to the female prison officers I was with: "miss, miss - excuse me miss - you are standing in blood.  You are all standing in a prisoner's blood there".  We looked down and, sure enough, we were standing in a pool of blood left by someone who had just been taken away after a self-harm incident.  The prison officer was completely unfazed and calmly led us out of the pool of blood.  

This is the sort of thing they have to deal with all the time - prisoners self-harming and even killing themselves in prison.  I certainly couldn't do it.  The really amazing thing is that these officers will often volunteer their own free time in the interests of helping prisoners: the  budget cuts mean that they don't always have staff on duty when they need them, so sometimes officers they will overstay their shifts.  I have even met one prison officers who volunteered her Saturday's to come into the prison to do acupressure treatment on prisoners who wanted it.  

I think the starting salary for prison officers is around 17,000 pounds.  It goes up as they do their time and move through the ranks.   And if they are getting paid, at the top levels, in the region of 40,000 - 70,000 then  it just means that they have managed to survive in that job for quite some time and they deserve every penny of that salary and probably a lot more. 

Maybe public servants have, until now, been relatively immune to the effects of the downturn in the economy.  But I think it is also true that public servants were immune to the upturn in the economy during boom time.  They never shared in the rewards that those in the private sector received during that period.  But they are certainly suffering now.

Rant over.