Oh no! How will we manage? Katie Price, AKA Jordan, has quit the jungle! Bless her, she only went on the show to avoid publicity and seek “closure” on her relationship with six pack Olly from Oz, AKA Peter André. Those nasty viewers continually used their own money phoning premium phone lines so she could participate in the latest “Bushtucker trial.” Nasty viewers! Now look what you’ve done. She may even have to forfeit the reputed £350,000 fee for appearing on the show. Listeners to the Radio two’s Jeremy Kyle’s phone in programme couldn’t get on the air quick enough. She’d worked hard to get where she was battling adversity along the way. “I met her and she seemed genuinely interested in my life” shrieked one listener. The British media love it! Eager to satiate the public’s seemingly endless hunger for frippery, they’ve whipped out their collective genitals and worked themselves into a mass frenzy over this collagen enhanced, overpaid, talentless nonentity. It’s a money-shot for the masses.
To be honest, I couldn’t give a flying fig. There are more than enough things in this world to get upset and angry about. Now, at this point, I could quite easily reel off a list of causes close to my heart. Deforestation, climate change (when did that change from global warming?), world hunger, the rise of the far right and the demise of standing areas at football matches. But I’m sure you have just as many and we could be at this all night. On ITV’s “This Morning” programme, the saint like Phillip Schofield could barely contain his crocodile tears over our Katie’s departure. Luckily, he regained his composure so he could rationally discuss Jedward’s departure from the X Factor. For goodness sake! Has the world gone completely mad??
Look a bit deeper into the news. Buried deep within their world sections comes news of an explosion in Assam. At this point, perhaps it’s appropriate to thank goodness for online editions of newspapers. Seems like persons unknown, parked their bomb laden bicycles outside a police station and calmly left them to detonate, killing whoever in the blast. The bicycle bombs killed seven people and injured another twenty five. You can bet your life the folk caught up in this mayhem were ordinary folk struggling to get by and put a crust on their family’s table. However much we might feel repulsed by the acts, one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter. The people who carried out this vile act have obviously done it to promote their cause. Now the next bit I’ll never understand. The perpetrators are believed to be the ULFA, who are pursuing their intended goal to cede from India. They haven’t claimed responsibility. Nor has anyone else. So then, what was the point of it? Have innocent people lost their lives for absolutely no reason? As you know I’m off to Assam in February, The FCO website gives out advice to tourists about countries. It advises “Although foreigners have not been the deliberate targets of violence, attacks can be indiscriminate. Kidnapping, banditry and insurgency are rife throughout the region.” That’s good to know then. I like a challenge.
Top and bottom of it all is, if the worst comes to the worst whilst I’m over there. Don’t expect to hear about it from any national daily newspapers. Don’t for one second think that British editors will be in the remotest bit interested in what happens to a working class lad from Rochdale, foolish enough to try and explore some remote part of India. Not that I care less if I’m honest. Well, not for me anyway. I care about the poor people that have to endure random acts of violence on an almost daily basis without any recognition from the western media. After all, they’ve only just come through a couple of earthquakes; a few explosions should be easy to cope with. The Sun, The Mirror, The Daily Star, even the BBC will be more interested in the size of Jordan’s breasts, or who’s been voted off “Strictly Come Dancing”. Hey, I’ve just had an idea! Perhaps I should take a camcorder with me? Then, if I get taken hostage all I have to is make one of the kidnappers fall over face first into a plate of rice. I could smuggle the film out on the back of an elephant. Maybe it’d get on “You’ve been Framed” ?
Monday 23 November 2009
Wednesday 18 November 2009
Just take the money!
Why is it that actually paying somebody some money is incredibly difficult? Oh, I’m not talking about utility companies that seemingly rape your bank account every month on a whim. Nor am I talking about the myriad of online retailers who take the cash from you instantly only to then, two days later, inform you that the item you purchased is no longer in stock but will be shipped as soon as new stock arrives. “Give me my money back until then!!!” No, what I’m talking about is sending money overseas, in my case to the wilds of India. Yes, I know what you’re thinking, “why not just go somewhere less remote?” well, that’s not the point is it? Look, I’ll tell you what happened.
As you know, I’m off to N.E. India come February. The bit that sticks out on its own, next to Bhutan, under China and lodged against Myanmar/Burma (I bet you’re dead impressed with my use of technical geographical terms?) Not the most popular tourist destination in the world granted but that suits me just fine. The less chance there is of me seeing another European/Western face, the better! Not that I’m totally against the western world, in fact it’s actually not bad most of the time. It’s just that when I decide I want to immerse myself in another country for a while, then that’s what I do. I really don’t want reminding of the world to which I must return after my all too brief sojourn.
Now, where was I? Oh yes, the money. Well, being the remote area it is, my contact in Majuli Island hasn’t even got an online payment facility. About three months back I forwarded him my first instalment of USD. Being the nervous type and wanting to keep tabs on the money as much as possible, I approached my bank to help me send the cash (see; Dogs, idiots and fat, ugly women). I know that there’s a banking crisis in this country and most of the banks have been haemorrhaging money but there’s no need to get it all back from me in one transaction. They charged me twenty quid to send the cash and then they charged him another twenty to actually receive it into his bank account. Why the teller never wore a mask and striped jumper I’ll never know. Now it’s time to send some more money and this time the thieving swines can bugger off! I’ll give that Western Union a go. I’ve seen them all over town, claiming to send cash to the Asian sub-continent. I guess a lot of Asian families must use this service. I’ll have a dabble!
Two and a half hours it took me. TWO AND A HALF HOURS!! My contact has requested the payment in USD as before, the Indian rupee being slightly less desirable than goat droppings. Problem is, Western Union will only transfer in GBP and payout in local currency, in this case goat drop…sorry, Indian rupees. I’m not the greatest at maths, in fact I’ll never understand how I got that position as professor emeritus at Oxford specialising in quantum physics but that’s for others to ponder. So to be told I had to convert GBP to USD then to INR frightened the bejaysus out of me. And from where does one get the exchange rate from? Well, I’ll tell you where not to get it from. Don’t believe that little ticker thing on the BBC’s website. It gives you the current rates for USD to GBP but that’s for large transactions. Anything like the amount I’m transferring and you get tourist rates only which clock in at a staggering nine cents lower! Back to the bank to find out what rate they are quoting. Now back to Western Union. Now back to the bank for GBP to INR. Now back to Western Union. It’s like financial tennis but without the schh, you know who. Lo and behold, what a surprise! There’s a disparity in what they’re both quoting. Aaaaarrggh!!! Four cups of tea, one packet of crisps and six bitten fingernails later and the money is despatched to Majuli Island, ready to be picked up within two hours. It’s cost me best part of twenty quid again but it’s done and dusted.Three days later Western Union text me to say the recipient has picked the money up. It’s worked!
My contact, now armed with a copy of my visa, recent photographs and passport photocopy has obtained my restricted area passes. My plane tickets are booked. My internal return flights from Kolkata to Guwahati are sorted. I’m good to go! Either that or my contact in India is now going by the name of Rob, has a bank account overflowing with cash and is equiped with a not very convincing, photocopied British passport. Time will tell I reckon. If the worst comes to the worst and I’m left on skid row, I wonder if he could send me a couple of quid? I can recommend Western union!
As you know, I’m off to N.E. India come February. The bit that sticks out on its own, next to Bhutan, under China and lodged against Myanmar/Burma (I bet you’re dead impressed with my use of technical geographical terms?) Not the most popular tourist destination in the world granted but that suits me just fine. The less chance there is of me seeing another European/Western face, the better! Not that I’m totally against the western world, in fact it’s actually not bad most of the time. It’s just that when I decide I want to immerse myself in another country for a while, then that’s what I do. I really don’t want reminding of the world to which I must return after my all too brief sojourn.
Now, where was I? Oh yes, the money. Well, being the remote area it is, my contact in Majuli Island hasn’t even got an online payment facility. About three months back I forwarded him my first instalment of USD. Being the nervous type and wanting to keep tabs on the money as much as possible, I approached my bank to help me send the cash (see; Dogs, idiots and fat, ugly women). I know that there’s a banking crisis in this country and most of the banks have been haemorrhaging money but there’s no need to get it all back from me in one transaction. They charged me twenty quid to send the cash and then they charged him another twenty to actually receive it into his bank account. Why the teller never wore a mask and striped jumper I’ll never know. Now it’s time to send some more money and this time the thieving swines can bugger off! I’ll give that Western Union a go. I’ve seen them all over town, claiming to send cash to the Asian sub-continent. I guess a lot of Asian families must use this service. I’ll have a dabble!
Two and a half hours it took me. TWO AND A HALF HOURS!! My contact has requested the payment in USD as before, the Indian rupee being slightly less desirable than goat droppings. Problem is, Western Union will only transfer in GBP and payout in local currency, in this case goat drop…sorry, Indian rupees. I’m not the greatest at maths, in fact I’ll never understand how I got that position as professor emeritus at Oxford specialising in quantum physics but that’s for others to ponder. So to be told I had to convert GBP to USD then to INR frightened the bejaysus out of me. And from where does one get the exchange rate from? Well, I’ll tell you where not to get it from. Don’t believe that little ticker thing on the BBC’s website. It gives you the current rates for USD to GBP but that’s for large transactions. Anything like the amount I’m transferring and you get tourist rates only which clock in at a staggering nine cents lower! Back to the bank to find out what rate they are quoting. Now back to Western Union. Now back to the bank for GBP to INR. Now back to Western Union. It’s like financial tennis but without the schh, you know who. Lo and behold, what a surprise! There’s a disparity in what they’re both quoting. Aaaaarrggh!!! Four cups of tea, one packet of crisps and six bitten fingernails later and the money is despatched to Majuli Island, ready to be picked up within two hours. It’s cost me best part of twenty quid again but it’s done and dusted.Three days later Western Union text me to say the recipient has picked the money up. It’s worked!
My contact, now armed with a copy of my visa, recent photographs and passport photocopy has obtained my restricted area passes. My plane tickets are booked. My internal return flights from Kolkata to Guwahati are sorted. I’m good to go! Either that or my contact in India is now going by the name of Rob, has a bank account overflowing with cash and is equiped with a not very convincing, photocopied British passport. Time will tell I reckon. If the worst comes to the worst and I’m left on skid row, I wonder if he could send me a couple of quid? I can recommend Western union!
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