ROUND 2 - DO I NEED A TELEGRAPH POLE?

Apropos - ‘A Battle With BT’

In my last post I described my encounter with BT engineers and the non installation of my telephone and broadband package. Following that non event, I phoned my landlord and, as we now live in a brand new bungalow, it seemed appropriate to call the builders as well.

I phoned my landlord first and the signs were good, my call was answered after just three rings. That was probably the only high point as the call went thus: -

‘This is an automated service, you now have three options; if your call relates to arrears press 1, if your call concerns making a payment, press 2, for all other enquiries, press 3.’

I pressed 3.

‘You now have three options; if your call relates to a scheduled repair, press 1; if your call relates to refuse collection, press 2; for all other enquiries, press 3.

I pressed 3, very hard!

‘Thank you, you now have 2 options; should you require an interpreter, press 1, for all other enquiries press 2 and an operator will be with you shortly.’ 

I pressed 2.

‘Thank you for holding, your call is very important to us, an operator will be with you shortly.’

By now I’m beginning to wonder just how important my call really is to them. Does anyone else think as I do? Are other people of the opinion that all of this is just an exercise in frustration whereby the operator; be that a bank, Local Authority or Utility Company, believe that by putting as many obstacles in the way as possible the consumer will simply give up? Then, of course, you have the other side of the coin, companies and especially Local Authorities cut costs at the sharp end by getting rid of front line staff in order to secure the fat salaries of the senior directors. We are then left with one or maybe two people manning the phones. These poor souls get so bombarded with complainers abuse that they revert to sarcasm and give out a ‘so what’ attitude. You can hardly blame them really, most of them have to spend their two weeks annual leave in The Priory or other salubrious ‘celebrity’ loony bin before being let loose on the unsuspecting public once more. 

After two renditions of ‘Firework’  by Katie Perry, an interrupted ‘The Flood‘ , by Take That and an awful rendition of a popular song, the name of which escapes me, by some anonymous wannabe who’s just about old enough to be my great grand son, I hear; ‘Hello your through to The Landlords Office, my name is Gracie, how may I help you?’

I give ‘Gracie’ my name address and reference number and start to explain my problem.

‘Thank you sir, I’ll put you through to the appropriate department.’

Click, then static then more bloody Take That, bombarding my eardrums. Then I get the inevitable; ‘thank you for holding, your call is important to us. An adviser will be with you shortly.’

♫                     ♬              ♪      ♫                    ♫               ♪

‘Although no one understood. We were holding back the flood’

Bloody ‘Take That’, again; invading my aural canal!

‘Hello my name is Lenny, how may I help you?’

‘Are you the real Lenny or a recorded message?’  I ask cautiously, well, you can’t be too sure.

‘I’m real sir,’ giggles Lenny, ‘what can I do for you?’

I start to explain. . . ‘Hold on there sir, they’ve put you through to the wrong department, you need to speak to John, I’ll put you through.’

‘No, Len. . .’ 

♫                     ♬              ♪      ♫                    ♫               ♪

‘Although no one understood. We were holding back the flood’

Is suicide an option I ask myself? The maddening thing is, these songs get ingrained on your brain. Its like being bombarded with subliminal messages so, by the time Happy John comes on the line spouting the company mantra; ‘hello, my name is John, how can I help you?’

I’m two verses into ‘The Flood’ and singing at the top of my voice.

♫                     ♬              ♪      ♫                    ♫               ♪

‘Although no one understood. We were holding back the flood’

John has to repeat himself; ‘hello, my name is John, how can I help you?’

‘Would you like to finish the song with me John?’

‘I’m sorry sir, can you repeat that,’ he asks. Obviously perplexed by my willingness to sing.

‘Are you the ‘John’ who can help me with my telephone problem?’ I ask.

‘No, I don’t do telephones. Let me put you through to . . .’

‘No! John please don’t put me through to anyone,’ I plead. ‘I’m sure that you are the right person to help me. Do you deal with the builders of your properties?’

‘Yes but I don’t do phones.’

‘Therein lies the problem John. Had you shown a bit more interest in telephones, perhaps I wouldn’t now have this problem.’

‘In what way is it my problem, sir!’ John is now getting irritated.

I then explain to him the fiasco of earlier when BT failed to connect my phone and broadband because: quote; the builders didn’t liaise with BT when building the property and that is why I have no underground connection point. I did add that I sympathise with him because it is BT policy to only deal with their customer. Confusing with a new build project and fraught with unforeseen obstacles as now proven in this instance. I asked what he, as the liaison officer between the Authority and the builder, was going to do about it.

‘Get them (BT) to phone me and I will give them permission, as the Landlord, to run cables across the fronts of the three properties,’ he says.

‘As I’ve already explained,‘ I reply, ‘ because you are not the customer, they will not speak to you.’

‘Hang on, let me speak with the building contractors.  .  .’

‘No! . . . John, please. . .’ 

♫                     ♬              ♪      ♫                    ♫               ♪

‘Although no one understood. We were holding back the flood blah, blah, blah.’

This time I get the full rendition of the song plus the irritating falsetto of James Blunt singing one of his dirges and a repeat of Katy Perry wailing on about fireworks. Bravely, I resist the urge to sing along.

‘Hello, are you still there?’ It took me a while to realise that this was not a song lyric but a real persons voice.

‘Yes, still here.’ I reply, cautiously.

‘Thank you for hanging on, it's John. I have just spoken with the building contractor and he says the fault lies with BT.’

‘No, seriously?’ I reply, dripping sarcasm with every syllable. Not that it mattered as it all went completely over his head.

‘Yes, hard to believe I know but he is saying that BT didn’t supply them with any trunking or drawings.’

This is usually the point where any sane and reasonable person completely loses it and starts jumping up and down in frustration. I, however, realised that I was now entering new territory. I had been quite cleverly steered into the arena of, The Blame Game’! This is basically a knockout competition, there are no rules as such and you just keep bashing away until there is one man/woman,  left standing. Once you have been corralled within the confines of the arena you have to be very patient and very cunning. Should you decide not to play, you lose! Should you decide to be confrontational, you lose! Should you decide to play, you will probably lose; certainly, you will lose in the short term. 

A good ploy, which sometimes works, is to play the, I.H.T.B.I.Y.S card. You simply say, as I did on this occasion and with as much sincerity as you can muster, ‘I’d Hate To Be In Your Shoes, you have your tenants coming at you from one side, Utilities from another and to top it all you have contractors who refuse to be blamed when anything goes wrong. In retrospect, I’m sorry for dumping this on you but I didn’t know who else could help me. To stop it going further, is there anything at all you can do?’

The key phrase in all that waffle is, to stop it going further, You know, as well as the person to whom you are speaking, that he doesn’t want this landing on his bosses desk. In the grand scheme of things, its trivial; proven by the fact that no one wants to deal with it.

Then, take control of the situation, ‘look, I’ve got your number so if I haven’t heard from you by close of business tomorrow I’ll give you a ring and we can discuss who needs to be informed and what needs to be done in order to get it resolved.’ 

Then end the call.

I know, the whole lot looks simple and sounds trite but it works. It did on that occasion anyway and I wasn't left holding a warm mobile phone and wondering what my next move would be. Phoning the builder would not have been as productive as this call but just as expensive.

I classed that one as a draw.

 

YEA HAVE NAE GO A TELEGRAPH POLE!

The Battle With BT

Battersby's recent move reminded me of a battle I had last year: -

The day had arrived! After a two month wait British Telecom, on behalf of Sky Media, were knocking on my door. I was going to get my telephone and broadband connected and, finally, I would be able to get on line and re-establish contact with some long time friends.

Two chaps, both resplendent in scruffy civvies and workman-like boots, stood on my doorstep. The first guy looked to be in his mid thirties, he was stocky and stood about 170cm tall; a local lad judging by his accent. The other was tall and wiry, he had a thin weatherbeaten face, eyebrows like established gorse bushes and a head of unruly grey/black hair. It was no surprise, when he eventually introduced himself, to find he was Scottish.

I stood there, excitement writ large all over my face. ‘You’ve come to fit my telephone and broadband!’ I exclaimed.

As only they can, the Scot looked dour. ‘We maybe have na a wee problem there sir,’ he informed me.

‘You haven’t got a telegraph pole,’ added the small one.

At first I wasn’t sure whether that was a statement or a question., all I could blurt out was, ‘a telegraph pole?’

‘Yes sir, you haven’t got one,’ replied the small one. ‘We’ll have to phone our supervisor.’

I must admit that at this point I did cast a suspicious eye around the small Close in which I live to see if Ant & Dec were giggling in the cab of  one of the vans which were parked therein.

I was tempted to sarcastically point out that as he, (Small and Stocky) didn’t have a telegraph pole either, he would find it difficult to phone his Supervisor. Suffice to say, I didn’t; after all it was 2012 and you would expect everyone to have a mobile phone wouldn’t you? Anyway, as if to prove a point, they both produced mobile phones. The Scot moved five paces to my right and made a call while the short one moved six paces to my left to make his call. I had to presume that  they were both calling their respective supervisors as they each had their own van and I naturally thought that as the vans were totally different then each man had a different  task to perform. Why pay one man when you can pay two? In it together and all that!

Dour Scot was in charge of a big and, somewhat, ugly van; the small one was in a standard, white Ford Transit van with ‘BT Openreach’  emblazoned on each side. Small and Stocky finished his call first and walked over to the Scotsman who was still talking into his mobile phone. The small one was obviously a patient man because he stood two paces from the tall one and waited. The Scot took his phone from his ear and held it in front of him and stared at it for a good thirty seconds. I surmised that it must be one of those prototype telepathic phones and he was willing the call to end.  Eventually, he puts the phone into his pocket and gestures to the small one.

They then do a circuit of the big ugly van before walking over to the smaller Ford Transit, There, they stop and strike up an animated conversation with much pointing of fingers at various aspects of the Close in which we live. Dour Scot shrugs his shoulders and looks pleadingly at the small stocky one. At this point I’m still not worried because Small and Stocky has left his tool bag on my doorstep, a basic schoolboy error as I can easily take it hostage should they persist in their view that they can’t carry out the programmed work.

Small and Stocky walks over to me, I am standing on my front doorstep in anticipation of good news. 

‘Sorry sir, it’s as I thought; you haven’t got a telegraph pole!’

‘And you can tell this because?’ I answer flippantly.

The Scot comes to the aid of his confused little colleague, ‘you shouldnae need a telegraph pole.’ He informs me. He can clearly see the confusion clouding my face because he quickly adds, ‘all new build should have underground cables trunked tae the property yer ken.’

I should interject here and say that I had moved into a new bungalow.

Little stocky one is nodding his head vigorously and edging towards his toolbag. I nonchalantly step in front of it, denying him access. Dour Scot has got a point but I’m loathe to agree with him because doing so would give them the go ahead to get back into their respective vans and disappear. Instead I point out to them that my neighbour had his phone installed by BT just two days ago and he didn’t have a telegraph pole either. Check mate, I thought.

‘Aye, but his neighbour has one in his garden and we were given permission tae go into his garden and run a line from the pole to your neighbour’s bungalow.’ Answers the Scot pointedly.

‘Did you happen to notice that the bungalows are semi detached?’ I ask 

‘Och off course sir,’ he answers, patronisingly, ‘the problem is, your bungalow is further away  and we cannae get a line across to you.’

Small and Stocky tries to be helpful, ‘couldn’t we erect a pole at the side of this gentleman’s bungalow and run a cable to it?’

Dour Scot, emphatically. ‘No!’ I knew he meant it because he'd dropped the accent.

‘Oh’.

‘Hang on’, I say. ‘why not? It seems like a plausible solution to me and I gladly give you permission.’ You see, I can be helpful, I’m not always obstructive.

Dour Scot, ‘makes nae difference sir, we’ve phoned it in.’

‘Why would that make no difference?’ I ask.

‘When we phone in, they cancel the docket,’ he replies triumphantly.

‘So, what happens now?’ I ask.

‘Your guess is as good as mine sir, our supervisor will have to get in touch with you and make a decision.’ 

The temptation was too great, I reply. ‘I’m taking it that your supervisor can’t make a decision on his own which is why he will need my input.’

‘I dinna unnersand,’ replies dour Scot, reverting to native Glaswegian.

Before I answer I fend off Small and Stocky as he tries to snake an arm around my legs in order to retrieve his toolbag. 

‘Whilst I admire the chain of command which you obviously have to adhere to, I can’t help but wonder if you manage to complete any jobs at all.’ I say in answer to the Dour one. ‘Do you not communicate with the builder on new build projects?’

‘It’s nae good ye geein it ta me, yer ken? We an just fitters!’ Replies the Dour one, getting ever closer to his Gorbals heritage.

Small and Stocky joins in at this point, ‘the supervisor will ring you tomorrow (Friday) or it could be Monday.’ He tells me; however, his intervention proves to be but a crafty ploy because as I turn to answer him Dour Scot sneaks in on my blind side and snatches the toolbag.

‘They will contact you with another appointment once the Supervisor has spoken to you,’ says, a now smiling, Small and Stocky one.

I close the door on them, the bitter taste of defeat in my mouth. Round one to BT! 

PARADISE LOST

HOW COULD WE SNATCH DEFEAT FROM THE JAWS OF VICTORY?

Echoing an article in the Daily Mail, I commented on Twitter about Cameron's trip to India. My view is that it was a very expensive and, somewhat futile endeavour to drum up trade with a country which has little or no need to trade with us. Especially as we have no manufacturing industry to warrant such a large trade delegation.
I was called defeatist and stupid for criticising  Cameron for his trips.  After all, is he not selling UK plc to the world? Err, no!UK plc no longer exists it has been destroyed by quick profit Merchant Bankers, Investment Bankers, asset strippers and inept, short sighted political policy. Seven years after the second world war we were crowning a new Monarch and also celebrating the fact that her reign heralded a new era of British prosperity. We had a 25% share of the Worlds manufactured exports and were world leaders in shipbuilding, quality car manufacture, steel and technology.

We now have a just over 2% share of the exported manufactured goods market, a downgraded credit rating, debt on an unimaginable scale and massive unemployment. Add to that uncontrolled immigration a burgeoning Public Sector and an Electorate that is so apathetic it is almost asleep. It is not just the fault of the City that manufacturing in this country has seen such a drastic decline, although uncontrolled stock market speculating has done a lot of damage. I believe the fault lies with politicians, a loss of Pride in our country and fear of a challenge.

New Labour ploughed all its faith into the Financial Services sector believing that globalisation made manufacturing in this country obsolete as other countries had lower labour costs, material cost and transport costs, etc etc. Despite selling our gold reserves at the bottom of the market they foolishly clung on to the notion that a balance of payments no longer mattered and that sterling would thrive despite massive trade deficits. Well, events this week have dispelled that theory and left the Chancellor with egg on his face. George Osborne aside, Labour's belief that they could borrow their way out of economic turmoil nearly bankrupt the country and cost them the last Election. You would think that the Coalition would have learned from that but, no. They are stumbling along the same path, tripping over the same financial hurdles.

Do you remember these?

• Austin
• Morris
• Triumph
• Standard
• BSA
• Norton
• Velocette
• Hillman
• Leyland
• Bedford
• Slazenger
• Cortaulds
• HP

The first ten are no longer with us. Cars, truck and motor cycle manufacturers that were once World beaters with full export books, full production and a plethora of skilled workers. I remember doing contract work at Slazenger in the late 1990's at their tennis ball plant in Barnsley. Manufacture has now moved to the Philippines. I mention this to emphasise that it is not just the workforce who suffer when a company moves out of the country or ceases trading, there are a host of ancillary trades who also suffer. The same is true of Cortaulds and HP, my company carried out contract work at both.

Labour duped the Electorate by creating thousands of non-jobs in the Public Sector whilst the Coalition has done the same through the Private Sector. However, the politicians must not share all of the blame for the demise of manufacturing in Britain. As the Mail article states, mistakes in the boardroom and the shop floor, especially from bullish Unions whose call for strikes gave British manufacturing a bad name Worldwide, also contributed but by far the biggest contribution came from the Civil Service. The "we know best" attitude that caused the demise of the Empire filtered through from Whitehall to the factory floor. It is not just the jobs that go, it is the expertise as well. Not for nothing did the Press describe the exodus of talent from our shores as the "Brain Drain" during Harold Wilson's Stint at No 10 during the late 60's /early seventies. His policy of over taxing the rich not only drove people away from Britain it also closed manufacturing factories because, invariably, they took their businesses with them.

So, back to my main point; I am very proud of my country, I served in the Armed Forces for ten years to help protect it. The last forty years have seen our industry die a horrible death, (made worse by countries which we either defeated in war or, which were once part of our mighty Empire) at the hands of Foreign competition. We did little to stop this happening, deciding instead to rely on the EU to drag us along with the arrogant belief that Britain is still a main player on the World stage. This is not defeatism it is realism and until our elected elite realise this we are going to go further down the slippery slope to ignominy. I don't doubt Cameron's patriotism but I do think he is short sighted and stubborn to the point of stupidity. We have a golden opportunity to rebuild manufacturing in this country, to do so needs investment, lots of it. Instead of sending money abroad in aid - India springs to mind - put it to good use at home. We need it to survive! Your entourage of architects, insurers, bankers, and other non trades would be better served building Britain in Britain rather than trying to flog a dead horse on foreign shores Mr Cameron.

OLD KING COAL!

(Why We Need More Investment Into CCS Technology.)  Part 1: Setting the Scene

Some Background:

The UK has relied on fossil fuel for thousands of years. Coal was the backbone of the Industrial Revolution and, after sail, was the fuel which helped to power our ships across the seven seas, it was a coal fire which people came home to after a hard days work, it was the life blood of our rail system, both as a fuel and as freight. All very nostalgic, however coal has many drawbacks when used as a fuel. The most obvious is that it is carbon based and, therefore, when burned, vast amounts of carbon dioxide, sulphur dioxide, nitrous oxide are released into the atmosphere plus it leaves behind in the form of ash particles, heavy metals, mercury, nitrates and sulphates plus many more.

Coal, more or less, fuelled the country and the Empire. Unfortunately, in doing so it brought many serious problems. As far back as 1853 an Act was passed, (Smoke Nuisance Abatement -Metropolis - Act) in London because of the poor air quality there, Something from which London had suffered from for generations. 
In 1952 an event happened in London which woke the Government up to the fact that, whilst a cheap fuel, coal used as such was a potential killer. In December of that year the “Great Smog” fell over the city and it was the after effects of this which gave rise to the Clean Air Act of 1956. It was estimated that over 12000 people died because of the Great Smog with more (over 8000) dying in the following weeks and months. Fog was so thick it stopped some public events, public transport and, cars in the street. 

To reduce air pollution, The Act contained a number of measures such as, the use of smokeless fuels, cleaner coal, the re-allocation of power stations away from cities and for some factory chimneys to comply with a minimum height. Households were also encouraged to find alternative methods of heating their homes, such as using gas or electricity. There was another ‘Clean Air Act’ which came into Law in 1968. This reinforced the previous Act and was designed to spread awareness and further address the problem of air pollution in this country. 

After a speech by Margaret Thatcher to the Royal Society where she called for action against man-made climate change the the British Establishment and media took an interest in Climate Change. It was widely believed that Mrs Thatcher drew attention to this to promote the need for more nuclear power after destroying the British coal industry following the miners strikes of 1984 - 85. She also had large and vociferous environmental organisations demanding alternatives to the Government line on energy. It was not only in Britain, many European country’s also ‘took up the cudgel’ and implemented policies to reduce “Greenhouse Gas Emissions”. West Germany started to take effective action after the Green Party took seats in Parliament during the 1980’s. 

In 1997, the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), took place in Kyoto, Japan.  The recommendations were ratified by all but a few Nations and what was to become known as the Kyoto Protocol was born. Even after this historic agreement, Global Warming was not big news,  that is, until the drought, in the USA, during 1988. In a testimony to the Senate, James E. Hansen, head of  the NASA Goddard Institute for Space Studies, stated that, 

“the abnormally hot weather plaguing our Nation is explicitly attributed to global warming.”  

This really started the ‘ball rolling’, Environmentalists started crawling out of every conceivable nook and cranny. Fossil fuels, which had sustained the human race since the discovery of fire, suddenly became a cause for evil. Everything that was wrong with the Planet, from bad weather to volcanic eruptions was because man burned fossil fuels, ergo, man was destroying the Planet.

Ex Vice President, Al Gore jumped on the band wagon, lying his way to a best selling book and film both decrying the drastic effects of climate change on the Planet. Minor celebrities saw their chance and rushed to the nearest tree for a hug and then sold pages of tabloid space by telling of how they felt at one with Nature. If nothing else, Global Warming and Climate Change have probably given more wannabe’s their “five minutes of fame”, than any other subject.

Cleaner Coal & Fossil Fuels.

It was obvious that something had to be done to clean up fossil fuels. There is a whole other argument about Climate Change and Global Warming but that will be for another blog, however it is safe to say that the concerns raised by the prospect of Global Warming through the release of, so called, greenhouse gasses' accelerated the research into ways of cleaning the emissions from fossil fuels. Here, though, I am going to concentrate on “clean coal” 

Cleaner coal (Some would say, by whose definition.) was already on the market in the form of coke, anthracite and other derivatives but most coal fired power stations were still using coal transported straight from the pit-head. What was needed was a new technology if coal was to continue to be used on a Global scale.

Carbon dioxide, identified as a greenhouse gas, was being used in the early 1970’s for Enhanced Oil Recovery (EOR). CO2 is extracted from fossil fuels and liquefied before being pumped into the oil well to force the crude up to the wellhead. Whilst this proved that extracted CO2 could be safely put to good use it didn’t answer the basic question about fossil fuels and the emissions from them which polluted the atmosphere. 

Then, in 1989, the Carbon Capture and Sequestration Technologies Program was initiated at MIT. This investigated methods of capturing CO2 from a large stationary source and then transporting and storing it in a safe environment. For example, extracting CO2 from power plant flue gasses. 

As of 2002, the only known industrial operation engaged in CCS for the purpose of avoiding carbon emissions was Statoil’s natural gas mining operation off the shore of Norway. As in other natural gas operations, chemical solvents are used to remove CO2 from the natural gas, which is approximately 9% CO2 by volume. Rather than pay Norway’s hefty carbon emissions tax—which was lowered from about £130 per ton of carbon (tC) to £92/tC in 2000 (Herzog 2001)—Statoil has been compressing and injecting the captured CO2 into a deep, saltwater aquifer below the ocean floor since 1996. The project incurred an incremental investment cost of £52 million, with an annual tax savings of £36 million. Scientific monitoring of the site indicates that the aquifer is indeed holding the injected CO2, though monitoring, modelling, and analysis will provide a better indication of storage stability.
A paper released in 2003 by Soren Anderson and Richard Newell analyses the methods and cost implications of CCS in the USA.
 "The Prospects for Carbon Capture & Storage."
http://www.rff.org/RFF/documents/RFF-DP-02-68.pdf   

Cost and Political Interference:

The UK is a world leader in CCS research but commercialisation is slow to take off. Something that both Government and industry will live to regret. The Government offered a £1 billion prize to help commercialise CCS  but it didn't generate a winner. CO2 storage in aquifers, onshore or offshore is the apparent stumbling block. It has been estimated that there is enough storage capacity for the next 200 years of global emissions and that at least 99% of injected CO2 will remain trapped for the next 1000years. Add to this, storing CO2 underground can lead to enhanced oil recovery from oil fields, which could boost oil outputs by 7-20%

As usual with this country the real problem lies with the question of liability. The companies interested in this technology wanted the Government to accept any liability from underground storage of CO2 but the bureaucrats in Whitehall, backed by the then Coalition, expected the companies to keep the liability on their balance sheets. Herein lies the problem, to achieve the 80% carbon emission reduction target by 2020 then CCS technology is vital. For a coal fired power station it would mean reductions of 80 - 90%. 

To quote Paul Fennel, of The Imperial University's Grantham Institute, 

"At a UK level, if CCS is developed elsewhere and the UK doesn't play its part in the development then you are looking at an industry that is about the same size as the oil industry is at the moment. It's a trillion dollar industry that the UK would fail to secure its rightful share of. We are currently world leading in the research areas and we punch well above our weight as it stands."

He continued.

"At a global level, the consequences of failing to develop CCS technologies are that the cost of CO₂-neutral electricity could sky-rocket because you’re relying on renewables and maybe nuclear. The problem with these is that you can’t ramp them up and down in response to demand. Renewables switch on and off themselves without any controllability so what happens is you need to build hugely more renewables than you actually need to produce a particular power output. 

The problem as I see it is threefold; the EU,  EU compliant politicians and profit hungry power generators. 

The EU Renewable Energy Directive, accepted by our politicians, will force thousands of British families into fuel poverty. A situation which could have been avoided if the greedy power companies had diverted their vast profits into CCS technology for existing coal fired plants.  Solvent scrubbing which can be retrofitted to existing plants was ready for use in 2010. This method cleans and extracts CO2 after combustion. Other than the question of liability over storage, both the Government and the power companies quoted 'fiscal restraints' as the reason for not adopting this technology. The result of this paucity of forward thinking is that 5 coal fired power stations were closed before the end of 2014 and they accounted for 10% of the UK's electricity needs. Typically the operators had been running them flat out to take advantage of cheap coal and so boost there profits. So, we will have less spare capacity, it is estimated that this will fall to less than 4% by 2016

We not only have the technology, we also have very cheap raw materials for CO2 absorption in abundance. Studies at Leeds University have shown that limestone and dolomite are natural CO2 storage materials and can be used for either pre or post carbon capture technologies. 

It was envisaged in the early days of CCS that the cost of implementing these technologies would be extremely high and therefore prohibitive. Leeds University have shown this not to be true anymore. 
Using this technology, coal would still be the most cost effective method of generating electricity.

The table below is the estimated levelised costs (pence/kWh) of low carbon electricity generation technologies.

Technology	2011 Estimate	2040 Central Projection
Wood CFBC	10.3	7.5
Tidal Stream	29.3	13
Tidal Barrage	51.8	22
Solar PV	34.3	8
River Hydro (best Locations)	6.9	5
Onshore Wind	8.3	5.5
Offshore Wind	16.9	8.5
Nuclear	9.6	6
Geothermal	115.9	9
Energy Crops	17.1	11
CCGT with Carbon Capture	10	10

I'll leave you with this little gem; for all the Wind worshippers out there -

On the night of 5-6 April 2011, the wind in Scotland was high, it was raining heavily, which also created more hydroelectricity than normal. The grid became overloaded preventing transmission of the electrical power to England, as a result the electrical wind power generation was cut. Wind Farm Operators were paid compensation known as "constraint payments" as a result, (approximately £900,000) by the National Grid, estimated at twenty times the value of electricity that would have been generated.
After its implementation in 2011 it was estimated that nearly £10m in constraint payments would be received, representing ten times the value of the potential lost electricity generation. That year, several Energy Companies informed the Government that 17 gas-fired plants costing £10 billion would be needed by 22020 to act as back up generation for wind. They added that as they would be standing idle for most of the time they (the generating companies) would require "capacity payments" to make the investment economic, on top of the subsidies already paid for wind.

PURPOSE BUILT BY YOU!

Tewkesbury:

A town situated in the north of the County of Gloucestershire with a population of some 80,000 souls. To the south of the town is a Wars of The Roses battle site known as "The Bloody Meadow", where Edward IV's Yorkist troops inflicted a defeat upon the House of Lancaster. It was also famous as a centre for religious dissent during the early 17th century. 

Why this brief history lesson? The reason can be found behind the two front doors of one, Miss Heather Frost. She, along with the ever accommodating Tewkesbury District Council and the Severn Vale Housing Association, have added their own piece of history to this otherwise un newsworthy town. Two adjoining houses have been adapted to accommodate Miss Frost and her brood of eleven children plus her partner and two grandchildren. A total of fifteen people split between the two houses. 

You've guessed it, she and her partner are on Benefits as also, one would assume, are her eldest eligible children. Here is the punch line: - The Borough Council has sold a piece of prime land to the Severn Vale Housing Association for the knock down price of £210000 with the proviso that SVH builds a six - bedroom, three bathroom purpose designed home for Mrs Frost, valued on today's market at around £400,000.00 

It would be reasonable to assume that this woman would be grateful to the Council, SVH and the Taxpayer for providing her with a brand new, eco friendly, energy saving property. Alas, no! She says she has the final say and if she doesn't like it then the District Council will have to build her another, bigger house more suited to her over-bloated needs.

I am a great believer in the Welfare State, I am also old enough to admit that I felt shame when I had occasion to use its facilities. I think most people over the age of sixty would feel the same. You see, we all knew it was there to fall back on in times of dire need but there was a stigma attached to it. If someone you knew or, God forbid, you, were "on the dole" it was spoken about in hushed tones - if at all. Today, it is shouted from the rooftops! You are deemed strange if you have a job. The "dole" has suddenly become a "Human Right".

As we now live in an era where our "Rights" and our "Personal Space" are more important than family values or genuine respect for others and their property, we must ask - because it's our "Right" - who is to blame?

The answer is simple, Government. 

Ever since the formation of the Welfare State, the Labour Party have been using it as a carrot to gain votes and approval. While on the surface, the Conservatives have always seemed less than happy with the Welfare System, they too have used it to full advantage when they felt the need to do so. Both Party's make play from the fact that the cost of the Welfare State is unsustainable, yet neither they nor the unelectable Liberal Democrats have come up with a workable cost effective alternative. Why? Because it would be political suicide.

Iain Duncan Smith, the latest lamentable Secretary of State at the Department of Works and Pensions, has come in, all guns blazing, with a raft of reforms which are unfair and, in the main, unworkable. It is a sad fact that the Welfare State is an animal which was created, with all good intent, by short sighted people. Therein lies the crux; politicians are, by Nature, short sighted. Their eye is always on the next Election, i.e a short five year plan.

It was the Liberal Welfare Reforms of 1906 - 1914 under Lord Asquith which set the foundations for the Welfare State in the UK. Sir William Beveridge took these ideas a mighty step further in his Social Insurance and Allied Services Report in 1942. This became known as the 'Beveridge Report' and was adopted by all three main party's of the day. The Labour Party, having won the 1945 General Election, implemented many of Beveridge's proposals and in 1948 the 'Modern Welfare State' was born.

No one took into account future advances in technology, science or medicine. Had they, the Welfare State may have looked very different.

Miss Frost and the thousands like her who believe it their 'Right' to take from a system that they have never contributed to are all victims and symptoms of a flawed concept. How do you bring this system kicking and screaming into the twenty first century? How do you make it into a fair, 'one size fits all' operation? I haven't got the answer to either of those questions but I do realise that Government interference for political gain is not the answer. Neither is it right to try and run the institutions within the Welfare State like big businesses. For one, they are designed - by their very Nature - to be non-profit making, to break even is not on the horizon. I said earlier that the Welfare State is an animal, in my opinion it should be treated as such. First, you should realise that you will only get out slightly less than you put in.

Ask any animal trainer and they will wax lyrical about the phenomenal amount of hard work it has taken to get their animals to do what they want them to do, when they want them to do it.

In other words, you have to invest time and money to get the required results. It is exactly the same with the Welfare State. We Invest our time and money, the State will then provide for us in our hour of need.

Simplistic but, true. What we now need is a think tank comprising economists, mathematicians, social welfare experts and other like-minded academics to sit down and work out a workable yet acceptable plan which will take us well into this century and be a blueprint for the next. The answers will not be to everyones liking. I'm sure Miss Frost will hate the proposals with a vengeance because they will undoubtably infringe her "Rights". 

We need an affordable Welfare System to ensure social stability. Hair-brained schemes by short sighted career politicians will never work. That is why I advocate taking the "thinking" out of their hands. 

Highlighting the plight, or otherwise, of a jobless mother of eleven is not the way forward; rather it sets the task of reform back. It will not be easy to sort out what has become a Political mess but I have faith in the British people. An answer can and will be found; it has to be or, in an echo from Dad's Army, "We're Doomed!"

THE OLDEST PROFESSION:

ALIVE AND WELL IN WESTMINSTER...

It would appear that “The Oldest Profession”, is alive and well in Westminster. Politicians on both sides of The House are actively prostituting themselves for votes and approval.

“Call Me Dave” is on a sabbatical in India, selling himself and the country for the promise of a few Rupees. He has promised that Indian students and businessmen will be given a ‘same day’ visa service. In return he expects India to open up their economy and make it easier to do business there. His “Big Idea” is for Insurance Companies and Banks to do more foreign ‘direct’ investment into the Indian economy. Good luck with that Dave, we all know how good your negotiating and deal making skills are.

The very fact that you are proud that Tata now own and produce the very British, Jaguar and Range Rover cars, should have voters queuing to vote Tory. Only in your head, mate!

The very fact that India produces nearly all of the steel we in Britain use is a damning indictment on successive British Governments. Both Labour and Conservative failed to invest in the British steel industry. Preferring instead to showboat by either fighting or knuckling under to the Unions. From the sixties to the present day, the aim has been to put Party above the people and the country.

Lessons from history were there to be learned but were carelessly dismissed because they didn’t fit with the ‘Party line’ or, they were cast aside through sheer arrogance.

Theresa May (or should that be, “Maynot”!), is going to get tough with illegal immigrants. She is putting forward legislation; she tells us, which will override EU Law. 

Cobblers! 

We all know this is more ‘showboating’. It reminds me of one; Phineas Taylor Barnum, an American showman, businessman, scam artist and entertainer, remembered for promoting celebrated hoaxes and for founding the circus that became the Ringling Bros and Barnum and Bailey Circus. It would appear that todays batch of incompetent politicos have all attended the Barnum School of Hokum. At the moment, the Westminster Circus is second to none!

On the subject of Women Ministers, Dave reckons that he needs a few more ladies surrounding him in the Cabinet Office. He says that his wife is “lobbying” him to promote more. To anyone but Dave, it would be seen as nagging but, hey Cameron is always on the lookout for a soundbite; hence, “lobbying”.

Even the short sighted, well paid, Iain Duncan Smith is at it. He is going to flout EU Directives by denying European immigrants access to the British Welfare System. In principle, it should be easy as he has denied thousands of his own British people access to the system even though they have helped to fund it. 

Here is a man who took full advantage of the Benefit System when he was in need but wants to now, pick and choose who can use it. The chances of him flouting EU Law are about as good as his boss winning an outright majority in 2015.

The Conservatives are not alone in this prostitution ring. The looney Labour Party are also at it. Their nasally challenged leader was in Eastleigh at the week end prostituting himself and eager to grab a photo opportunity next to a guy wearing a ‘T’ shirt regaling the death of Mrs Margaret Thatcher. Not so strange when you understand that he and his Party fully endorse their candidate for Eastleigh, a man who wished that Mrs T had died in the Brighton Bombing and who thought that losing the Falkland War would have been a good thing.

He then tells the Electorate that when they (The Labour Party) regain power they will reintroduce the 10p Tax Rate, dropped by the man Milliband used to be an advisor for; The Man of The Manse, Gordon Brown. You have to ask, was it Milliband who advised Brown to drop the 10P rate? We will never know, lies upon lies upon lies! 

The real question is, why are these men of high position suddenly offering and doing so much? Call Me Dave’s extravagant trip to India with an entourage of over 100 business men et al would have cost in excess of £150,000 just on the return flights alone. He, and his office, will tell you that Britain needs to get in their first in order to gain the trust and business opportunities which are ripe there.

That aside, three important answers to the question spring to mind. All are to do with deflection. 

1. THE NHS: 

    Both the Conservatives and the Labour Party need to hang their heads in collective shame.  

    Between May 1997 and May 2010, Labour employed 6 Secretary’s of Health. Under them the top                  

    tier of management, middle management and associated staff grew at an alarming rate More     

    money was pumped in but the majority of this, invariably, went towards pay and pensions or 

    was simply wasted on Government schemes. The front line and, especially patients, suffered 

    badly from over zealous management. Warnings were ignored by the men at the top, over eighty 

    by Alan Johnson and Andy Burnham when they were in office for Labour.

    Since 2010 the Conservative Lib Dem coalition have had two Secretary’s of State for Health.

    Andrew Lansley and now, Jeremy Hunt. They have failed in their task too.

    I believe that it is the astronomical and totally unacceptable mortality rates due to the failings of 

    these Ministers and their appointed staff within the Health Service that is being hidden.

1. INTEGRATION:

     The three Main Parties, LibDem, Conservative, Labour; all want closer ties with The EU.

     Labour, under the direction of the EU started an “Open Door Policy” toward immigration. 

     Anyone opposed to this policy was labelled a bigot, a racist, a homophobe etc etc. Anything to 

     stigmatise the complainant. The coalition have gone along with this now that they are in power 

     and are falling over themselves to tell the British public that ‘good’ immigration is necessary for  

     the country. “Integration” seems to be the new Whitehall buzzword. 

     Romanians and Bulgarians will be allowed to settle in this country at the end of this year,  claim    

     Benefits (are you listening, IDS?). They only have to sell the Big Issue to qualify. In ten years

     time this country will be unrecognisable as Britain and that is what the present politicians want.

     A fully integrated European State of England. They are actually getting money from the EU to 

     ensure that this happens. Loss of National identity = integration = subjugation. That is what

     The EU want and that is what LibDemConLab politicians are giving them.

1. THE ECONOMY:

     Look around the World and you might comment that no ones economy is doing well. I would

     counter by saying that no one who is associated with either The European Union or the USA has 

     a strong economy at the moment. Turkey, India, China, Russia, Brazil, all have strong 

     economies. In my opinion, if Britain was not tied to the EU we would now be out of recession

     and our economy would be on the up. It is no surprise that the EU want to regulate the UK 

    (London) Financial Institutions. It has long been a thorn in the side of Germany and France that 

    London is at the centre of the Financial Industry. Don’t be fooled, Cameron is on his travels for

    his own ends and those of the EU. He is tying up trade as a member of the EU not as the Prime 

    Minister of the United Kingdom. Come 2015 he, Milliband, Clegg will all tell us that a 

    referendum will not be in our best interest because we have no one to trade with and that trading     

    within the EU is the only sensible recourse. It will be a case of EU 1 GB 0.

I could be way off the mark and many of you out there probably think that I am. I don’t, obviously. We have been lied to for the last forty years about the benefits of the EU (As it is now known). Common sense says that it is a selfish institution, set up by selfish people. The Conservative MP, John Redwood, recently said in the House of Commons that we in this country have no agricultural policy, no control over fishing. Energy is subject to EU regulation and pricing. No border control and, as far as welfare goes, the EU will soon be saying who is entitled, how much and when. He wants the return of our powers to determine our Sovereign Laws, our rights to govern ourselves and, above all our right to be British without interference from Brussels.

I have no problem with that, that is why I have joined the United Kingdom Independence Party. They want to take us out of the clutches of the EU and put us back onto the path of free trade and expression. They want to put the “Great” back into Britain and they will not be prostituting themselves to do it.

For all Mr Redwoods’s posturing he is a Tory through and through and although I agree with his stance on the EU I have major problems with his mainstream Conservatism.

If you want to go along with these politicians of ours, fine. Remember though, prostitution carries a cost. Follow these people and you will pay dearly and so will your children and their children and their children’s children. 

A SAGA OF SORTS

The Noble Knight

A mighty Lord, The Baron Du Prey,

Was fighting a war, oh, so far away

That it took a year to march and ride

With his faithful equerry by his side.

Over land and sea, through day and night

Through flood and famine, just to fight

In the Holy Land, in The Third Crusade

Where Christianity’s birth was saved.

His daughter loved a serving boy,

Who made her laugh brought her joy,

Played hide and seek in autumn mist

Stole kisses in their lovers tryst.

The boy was warned, he paid no heed

Then, love is blind to class and creed

The damsel, young, untouched but bold

By her chaperone was also told.

It could not last, soon word got out

The Baron, he did scream and shout.

The boy was banished from the land

His possessions burned, out of hand

The weeping girl was taken away

To a hermitage, to think and pray.

Guarded by a, drool jowled, beast,

Giving daily penitence to a priest.

The serving boy, through a friend, left a note,

The damsel cherished each word that he wrote.

It told her to wait, that he would return,

It told of his love, which made her just yearn

For the day he would come and hold her, so tight

Before taking her off, into the night.

She carried the note right next to her heart,

That way, she and he were never apart.

In exile, the boy fought with skill and desire.

The County Sheriff made him a Squire

Then sent him off to fight for the Lord

Against the mighty Saracen horde,

Soon he was fighting the bloodiest sport

Lost limbs, deep cuts where scimitars caught.

He’d found his vocation, he loved a good fight

The King saw this too and dubbed him a Knight

Arise Young Knight, said the King to the boy

You now are a man and your skills I’ll employ

On the field of honour to fight the good fight,

We must put the mighty Saladin to flight.

The King gave him title to vast tracts of land

Named him Sir Jasper and offered his hand

‘Sire, I’m your servant, my life is yours,’

He said, kissing the hand to tumultuous applause.

Alas, the poor Baron, he died on the field,

Defeated, yet, still he refused to yield.

So brave, he shouted his love of the Lord

As he felt the cold steel of the Saracen sword.

His daughter was told, yet she shed not a tear

For the father she’d grown to hate and to fear.

In solitude she waited and, reread the note

Whilst a drunken priest started to gloat.

Sir Jasper witnessed the Baron being killed

Then reflected on all the blood he had spilled

In the name of the King, in the name of the Lord

It made him feel sick so he put up his sword

Then he determined to find the love of his life

The damsel he’d vowed to take as his wife

The King gave him leave and wished him well.

As he rode to the West, the tears started well.

After five long years at his home he arrived

Only to find he had been deprived

By the Baron of chattel; his worldly goods,

Either burned by fire or thrown in the woods.

Saddened, he left, with squire and page

Sought out the Sheriff, the Judge and sage.

To enquire of his truelove; the Baron’s heir

Alas, she was gone but they knew not where.

‘Be warned oh noble Knight, take care.

That damsel that you seek; oh, so fair,

With flaxen locks draped to her waist

Outspoken, loud; yet, strangely, chaste.

Is guarded by a fearsome beast

Who’s allegiance is only to the priest.

Who holds the key to the damsel’s cell,

In five long years, he has guarded it well.’

The words were spoke by a serving wench,

Who cleaned the scraps from the Sheriff’s bench.

‘Girl! You are speaking out of turn.’

Said the Sheriff, in a voice so very stern,

That the girl would have fallen to the floor

Had she not found support on a nearby door.

‘Hold, my Lord,’ said the Noble Knight.

‘How does she know of my truelove’s plight?’

The Sheriff said, ‘speak, what do you know?’

‘Please my Lord Sheriff, twas a long time ago.

I worked for the Baron and know of her plight

I watched as they took her off in the night.

She is lodged in a dungeon near Verity Hill

The gossip is, she is wasting there still.’ 

‘Who is this priest and where does he preach?

Of the Sheriff the Noble Knight did beseech.

 ‘Excuse me Sir,’ said the Noble Knight’s page.

‘I know of this man, he’s not priest nor sage,

Just a man, employed by the Nobility

Tasked with protecting the virginity

Of their daughters whilst they fight the horde

Who would bring down the Temple of our Lord.

Should Knight or Nobleman fall in battle

He sells their daughters and all their chattel’

‘Quickly, page, my horse if you will

We ride at once to Verity Hill.’

The page leapt up to obey his master

Encouraged by shouts of, ‘faster, faster’

Astride his steed, with sword and mace

The Knight set off at lightning pace.

The Sheriff and page followed, behind

Praying the damsel they would find.

The Knight soon came to Verity Hill

The mist was thick, the air was still.

No morning chorus or bird on wing

No stag, no fox no living thing.

He checked his steed to a steady pace

Relieved he had both sword and mace

To protect him from what lay ahead;

A fraud in a frock and a beast of dread.

Deep in the mist rose a mighty roar

It chilled Sir Jasper to the core

His steed could sense some unseen foe

Dug in his heels and refused to go

Any further into the greying gloom

Lest he and his rider meet their doom.

The Noble Knight, trusting his steed

Dismounted, then his horse did lead

To a mighty oak, a magnificent tree

Which he climbed, the better for him to see

Over the mist, to his truelove’s prison

The sight of which caused a frisson

Which shook the man from head to toe,

 A feeling only a Knight would know.

The place was dark, evil and grim

His heart went out to the maiden within.

As he descended his horse did scream

The Knight looked down on an awful scene

His faithful steed was being tormented

By a beast in a rage and clearly demented.

The Knight was soon back on the ground

But, no sign of his weapons could be found.

He called on the beast, ‘let go of my steed

It is not his flesh on which you’ll feed.’

The beast looked up, the horse broke free

Blood was flowing from neck and knee.

The beast then looked toward the Knight

With eyes as dead as a windless kite.

In a bush, Sir Jasper spied his sword

Caught high and fast by scabbard cord.

The creature wheeled, came at a rush

The Knight leapt high into the bush.

As his fingers closed around the sword

He used all the strength he could afford

When, on the ground, the Knight did land

His trusted sword was in his hand.

The beast lashed out with tooth and claw

Bellowing from gaping maw

The Knight fell back, his sword his shield

Determined he would never yield.

Back and forth, round and round,

Each giving and then gaining ground.

The fight went on into the night.

Sir Jasper slipped, feinted right

The beast leapt in, then seemed to float

Sir Jasper’s sword was in it’s throat

He pulled it free, the blood did flow

The sword came down; the killing blow!

His battle won, the Knight looked ‘round

To find his horse, prone, on the ground

Please God no, not my faithful steed

The Noble Knight was heard to plead.

Though alive, it was bloodied and torn

The Knight stayed with it till the dawn

He was joined by his page who lit a fire

To guide in the Sheriff and his squire.

At noon they rode towards the retreat

Unsure of what they were about to meet.

The page stayed back to tend the steed

Clean it’s wounds, give it feed.

A derelict castle was the retreat

A place where lonely souls could meet

To free their minds of confusion

By spending time in seclusion.

The Knight called out when they got there

‘False monk, where is my Lady fair?’

A slurred reply came from the gate

‘The woman's not here, you’re too late!’

‘She is the lady to whom I’ll wed,

If you have sold her I’ll have your head!’

Replied the Knight, his anger high

‘Now bring her here or you will die!’

‘You scare me not for I have a beast,

On you and your friends it will feast.

So do not threaten me Sir Knight

Tis you who will soon be put to flight!’

The Knight replied by throwing high

A missile up into the sky.

It’s landing filled the priest with dread,

A familiar though, now severed head.

Bounced, then rolled up to the priest

The lifeless head of his precious beast.

‘So, false priest, hear what I say

Bring out my Lady Helen Du Prey.’

Shouted the Knight as he rode to the gate

Whilst silently praying he wasn’t too late.

Then came a voice that made his heart drum

‘Jasper, my truelove, I knew you would come.’

TILLY POSTLETHWAITE'S LUCKY DAY!

            Being Wednesday afternoon, Mrs Tilly Postlethwaite was ensconced in the old Odeon cinema preparing for her weekly afternoon session of Bingo. Seated at her usual table, two in from the right and three back from the stage, she arranged her four thick nibbed bingo pens in a neat line above the book of bingo cards which she had purchased upon entering the cavernous hall.

         

She was still wearing her thick,  blue and white check patterned, “outdoor coat”, as she liked to call it. Her head was shrouded in a light blue cotton scarf which was knotted under her chin. As she rose to remove her outdoor clothes she heard,

‘Hello ducky, beat me to it today then!’

Recognising the nasal tone, riven through with a thick Staffordshire accent, Mrs Postlethwaite turned and greeted her friend Dorothy. A stout, middled aged lady wearing a similar coat to Tilley and complete with the obligatory knotted scarf. She had a round, life worn face, the main feature of which was a wispy moustache sprouting from her top lip.

‘Hello Dot, yes I decided to come out a bit earlier today on account of me legs.’

‘Gout playin’ up agen?’ asked Dorothy.

‘No, it’s me veins. Not been the same since we took that coach trip to Skeggy, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve gone an caught that trombone prognosis.’ Replied Tilley.

‘What?’

‘You know, when one o’ them clots gets in yer veins and travels up to yer eart and stops it.’

‘Nar.’

‘I’m telling you Dot, I seen it on the telly. One o’ them nurses brought it back from Torromawhatsit. Had to have her leg off she did!’

‘Silly cow! That’s only on the telly.’ Scoffed Dot.

‘Dorothy Perkins, when ‘ave you known me to cry wolf?’

‘Ave yer bin to see the doctor?’

‘Don’t be daft Dot, them all forrinners down there and I ain’t aving no forrin Jonny running is ands up and down my thighs, thank you very much!’

‘Tilly, they’s all qualified an everythin nowadays you know an they ave to wosh there ands first, it’s the law!’

‘That’s as maybe! Where’s Lisa? Always bloody late that woman, bet she expects us to start for her agen like what we ad to do last wik. I tell yer Dot I ain’t jeporadisin my chances for her!’

‘Don’t blame yer me duck, her fault iff’n she can’t be bothered to get here on time, replied Dot’, sniffing loudly, which was her way of emphasing the point.

Tilley sensed a presence hovering over the table. 

‘Hello, Lisa love. We wos just saying ow weed start for yer iff’n yer wos late. Wernt we Dot?’

Dorothy answered with a question.

‘Bloody Hell Lisa, is your air still fallin out?’

Lisa was tall and skinny, her hair, prematurely grey, was straight and hung down to her shoulders. Her coat, which she had taken off when she entered the Odeon, was slung over her left forearm and a weather worn handbag, from which a scarf could be seen peeking from under the flap, hung from her right shoulder. She cast a rheumy eye over her friends before answering.

‘Dot, it’s worryin me ter deth it is an that don’t elp me alpreacher’

‘Ain’t that wot that Gail thingymagig on the telly’s got’ Asked Tilley

‘Tilly, me duck yer watch too much o’ that bloody telly you do,’ said Dorothy.

‘I tell yer Dot, yer can learn a lot off the telly, yo mark my words. Ow else would I ave known about me veins?’

  ‘Ave yo got bad veins as well Tilly? I’ve bin a marter ter mine over this past twelve months.’

‘Yer never said Lisa.’

‘Don’t like people ter think I’m one o’ them hyperwhatsits, my Harold already thinks I got a season ticket to the surgery!’

‘Bloody cheek! Is he still on the dole, Lisa?’

‘Ssshh, it’s startin!’

‘Two fat ladies................’

An hour later the three ladies are sitting around their table, all disconsolate because of their lack of winnings. The next game is the National game which is syndicated across the country. The top prize has risen to £300,000:00. There is a deathly hush around the room as the numbers are called.

‘What yer waitin for Tilly?’

‘I only want a one an I’ve got the big un’

‘Kell.....’

‘Its me! It’s me! House, Bingo, stop! It’s me! Bloody Ell, Bingo!’

Mrs Postlethwaite gets up from her chair and, on very unsteady legs, takes her ticket up to the stage for verification.

‘Bloody typical! That Tilly Postlethwaite cud fall in dog muck an cum up smellin o’ roses’

‘Don’t be so arsh, Dot. although I knows what yer mean. Do yer remember last year when she won that trip to Skeggy?’

‘I do! I’d bin waiting fer fifty five fer a good five minute an she guz an calls on twenty three! I ope she as got trombone prognosis or whatever, jammy cow!’

The caller verifies that Tilly has indeed ticked off all the numbers correctly and duly declares her the winner of the top prize of £300,000:00 and the Odeon manager hands her a cheque. There is muted applause from the floor which necessitates the manager to go to the microphone and ask everyone to give, ‘the lucky lady‘ a round of applause. Tilley walks back to her seat waving the cheque high above her head, her smile is so wide her false teeth nearly fall out. At further instigation from the manager, the people in the hall all get to their feet and give her standing ovation.

The caller declares a thirty minute break, telling everyone that refreshments are available in the foyer as well as books of tickets for the second half. He tells them there will be a new Syndicate Round worth £75,000:00 half way through the session.

Dorothy hugs Tilly as she reaches the table and says; ‘I’m so glad for yer, if any bugger deserves it you do.’

‘Thanks Dot, do yer no, I’m all of a dither. As yer know, I’m not a lucky person.’

‘We were just sayin ow glad we both are for yer,’ adds Lisa.

‘What will yer do we all that money then, Tilly me duck?’

‘The first thing I’m gonna do Dot, is ave me very close veins parted, then I might tek the old man on oliday to Torromawhatsit. We ain’t bin away since Skeggy.’

‘Are yer gonna buy us a drink to celebrate yer winnins?’

‘I’ve told yer before, Lisa Hudson. I’ve seen enough money goo ta waste down the pub we my old man an I ain’t no wastrel like im!’

‘Still, it is a special occasion Tilly.’

‘Not you as well Dot! If yo two wanna a drink that bad, dunna let me stop ya. I’m off um to plan me olidays! See ya both next wik’

Tilly gets up from her chair, puts her coat on and knots her scarf back over her head before making her way to the exit.

‘Tight arse cow!’ in stereo, followed down the aisle.