Denis Kilcommons
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School's out ...

7/23/2017

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WHATEVER happened to those happy endless days of summer we all enjoyed in childhood?
School ended mid-July and didn't start again until September which was as far away as Australia.
The weeks stretched ahead without stress, the need to duck board rulers and homework, or having to get up at the crack of dawn to put on formal clothes, heft a bag, satchel or briefcase full of books, and trudge off to a day of toil and confusion.
"Wake up son. It's time for school."
"I don't want to go to school, mum. The kids hate me and the teachers hate me."
"You have to go to school, son."
"Why?"
"Because you're 52 and you're the headmaster."
I still remember one particular end of term day with great fondness, standing on Oxford Road station in Manchester waiting for the train to take me home to Timperley in the folds of the Cheshire countryside. My last day in the fourth form and the future consisted of weeks of pleasure, idleness and the hope of chatting up a girl called Violet. And, of course, the sun was shining.
Nostalgia isn't sepia toned when it comes to summers past: it's invariably sun-streaked. Sometimes it was; on other occasions the rain persisted down. But even that didn't dampen spirits during days of freedom and exploration.
Cynicism only sets in with age.
"Summer? It was that three days in May followed by a long weekend in June. Don't hope for anything better. August will be a wash out."
St Swithin's Day didn't help. It poured down first thing, became dull and sulky and the sun only peeked out at the tail end, as if checking that the rain had stopped. The legend says: St Swithin’s Day, if it does rain; Full forty days, it will remain. St Swithin’s Day, if it be fair; For forty days, t’will rain no more.
So if what we had on that day sets in until school goes back? We can expect a typical English summer, which usually requires anyone planning a day out to pack the car with windscreen de-icer, shorts, T shirts, sweaters, track suits, Wellington boots, weather proofs, sleeping bags, flasks of tea and coffee, survival blanket and a long pole with a flag on the end to stick up through a snowdrift so the emergency services can find your vehicle in the Yorkshire Dales.
If you intend to attempt a day out by train, bus or bicycle, you need a backpack the size of a baby elephant and a certificate to prove you have completed a Bear Grylls survival course.
Brits, however, are eternal optimists when it comes to summer. They don their shorts and sleeveless tops at the first hint of May warmth and are undeterred throughout the following months, no matter what the heavens throw at us.
These days, trips out are taken by car suitably equipped for all seasons and those long carefree days of summer remain as memories of bicycle rides to the woods with Violet.





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Flighty weekend

7/21/2017

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THIS weekend is Britain's busiest for airports. The skies are said to be full of aeroplanes taking families abroad in search of summer sunshine and fun.

Let's hope there are no problems as there were earlier in the year when a British Airways computer meltdown caused chaos. Flights were cancelled and airports packed with travelers going nowhere. It reminded me of the annual tradition of French air traffic controllers going on strike every July and August in the 1980s.
This was when you had to have a paper ticket provided by Thomas Cook and there was no default button to press if anything went wrong. You couldn't blame computers because we didn't have them. We had the Amstrad 8256 with no internet connection.
Those were the days.
The controllers of French air space would give a Gallic shrug, open a bottle of Beaujolais, light a Gauloise and sit back and waited for increased pay offers, while British holidaymakers in airports from Manchester to Malaga would be put on hold and a four hour delay was looked upon as a triumph over adversity and part of the aviation adventure.
Oh how the French must have laughed as they tucked into a liver pate baguette with a side order of frites and opened a second bottle of wine. It's amazing how they got away with so much disruption with just a Gallic shrug. It didn't work when British Airways executives tried it this year. Perhaps it's because catching a plane is now a bit like catching a bus.
We take air travel for granted. There's no longer a sense of glamour or mystery about flying to Cancun or Miami. The trip is to be endured rather than enjoyed and it should happen on time. Yet it's not that long ago when a flight was fun and adventure, and totally beyond the expectations of ordinary folk. Unless it was a trip round Blackpool Tower in a biplane for 10 bob (50p).
Now that was adventure.
Before the Second World War, flying as a passenger was for the wealthy and the risk taker. This was when hardy souls took to the skies in wicker chairs like Indiana Jones, when seats were only two abreast, and, as luxury came along, you could wake up to breakfast in bed.
The closest I came to an Indiana Jones experience was 40 years ago in Pakistan on a turbo-prop flight from Lahore to Islamabad. The flight deck was open to the cabin and I was sitting directly behind the pilot. Twenty fellow passengers, many first time flyers, stacked personal belongings into open luggage racks. When we took off, everything fell out the back.
That was an adventure.

In the early days of passenger aviation, the main concern was arriving safely because flying was risky. Today, it is the safest form of travel and the main problems for holiday flights this summer, are likely to be airline and computer glitches and strikes. And keep an eye out for French traffic controllers.


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July 19th, 2017

7/19/2017

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Posh title helps attract staff

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TIMES have changed since I left school and went looking for a job. “What do you want to be?” said the bloke in the Youth Employment Exchange. “A journalist,” I said. He fell off his chair laughing and sent me to a Kellogg's factory to become a clerk. I made sure I failed the interview. These days options have changed and so have the employment descriptions. A clerk has become an office support assistant. Research found even the most mundane jobs have acquired extravagant titles.
A dinner lady can be an education centre nourishment consultant and a bar worker a beverage dissemination officer. Others include media distribution officer (paperboy or girl), colour distribution technician (painter and decorator), customer experience enhancement consultant (shop assistant), sanitation consultant (toilet cleaner), transparency enhancement facilitator (window cleaner) and domestic technician (housewife).
The workplace is full of phrases that often have no real meaning: blue sky thinking, push the envelope, on my radar, punch a puppy (punch a puppy?), touch base, thought shower and bio-break (it's a loo-break). Research found that jargon in adverts can even put off young people applying for jobs because they don't know what it means. An SLA, for instance, is a service level agreement, and a KPI is a key performance indicator. And I still don't know what they mean when they're written out. Nonsense jargon has taken over the English language in certain areas of business in an attempt to make those who use it appear clever. Cynics have offered the real meanings behind some of the often intimidating phrases used in adverts: Hit the ground running: don't expect training; fast paced dynamic environment: expect to work long hours; team player: don't argue; dynamic company: high turnover of staff. And the comment I loved best: "It’s fast-paced because you get long lines of impatient people and it’s dynamic because some of them want fries with that and some of them don’t. There will even be days you won’t sell a single apple pie.”

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