Usherettes

My hair has been cut by a Persian lady. So I can tick that box. I had to rush from work to there and from there to a meeting at a secondary school in town.
In spite of sitting for two hours listening to one lady speak, it didn't suck and I learned a lot. Again, it's all about the code. I had no understanding that a section of the government has a department for gaming and that that department gives out grants in the way that any government department does, ie not at whim but according to clearly set out guidelines.
So just to recap, this department will sell you a gaming licence and give you money. And you can't sell raffle tickets to a kid under 13 even if all they can win is a cake.

At the hairdresser's I read stuff. Stuff that I had brought with me. I read the book I started weeks ago, and which I find most engaging but have had little chance to read. Fascinating but fascinating to read a Frenchman's perception of England, like looking at the negative of a photograph.

In 'The Week', I read a letter to the Grauniad. The writer bemoaned the passing of some services and felt that the majority of people would 'welcome them back with open arms'. These include : park keepers, bus conductors, lift attendants, railway station porters, petrol pump attendants, usherettes and telephone operators.
What a load of bollocks.
I don't want any of those people back. I am of course always sorry when jobs have been lost, but hopefully by now all of the above are gainfully and otherwise employed.
Cinema usherettes were a bloody pain in the arse, and that was just in the UK, in France they expected to be tipped and if you didn't tip 'em, they'd sure as hell tip you - over.
Bus conductors - the clippie, more often than not, a woman whilst the driver was a man. At least now you get both men and women drivers.
Park keepers? What were they about? Not a sodding clue. Chasing kids off the grass as far as I can tell. I can't remember ever actually seeing one except on TV.
Petrol pump attendants - huh, well we have them here in Richmond and we'll always try to get our petrol in another city so we can pump it ourselves. Bloody annoying to have to wait until some kiddie has wandered at two miles a fortnight across the forecourt to do a job any idiot could do for themself.

I did however greatly enjoy the cartoon at the bottom of the page. A boy is holding his head having broken a window with a football. His friend, hands thrust in pockets is saying,
'Don't worry, soon everything will be Gordon Brown's fault.'

Ain't that the truth.