bobby47

Grid Knocker, Tell Branson to clear off and go bother someone else. No good will come of it. My Uncle was completely against space travel and wasn't slow telling me whenever he'd lead me into the bushes. He used to say to me, 'Bobby, pull your trousers up and don't tell the Constable'. He'd say, 'I am totally against travelling in space and whatsmore, Im determined that I'll never fly to the moon'. And furthermore he'd say, 'we've no business up there and if ever Im invited to leave the coal face, journey up the mine shaft and given instruction to fly to the moon, Im going to tell them to get stuffed. Im here to dig coal. Im a coal man. A simple coal man and I've no idea or interest in flying a rocket to the moon'. True to his word he has never flown in space and as far as I am aware he still has no plans to fly to the moon once he's been released from prison.

I honestly and truly believe that many of these Housing Associations all start off from a good place with good intentions, but then, at some stage, the rot sets in, they then take their eye off the ball, start caring more about their corporate image rather than their purpose which is to provide good, affordable and well maintained properties and they then begin their slide toward the glitzy side of the business. Not the boring stuff like ridding themselves of mould. No! The interesting stuff that only the suits can latch onto. The salaries, the job titles, the new corporate logo, the shiney office break out space, the management language that we've all come to despise and of course the profit. The wealth and the rapidly growing tiers of management which present a 'climber' with no commonsense and a degree in some pointless and obscure subject, to climb the greasy pole up the promotion ladder that'll lead to endless opportunities within the public service bubble. I say, lets get rid of the rot. Rot spreads and no amount of talk sorts it out. You've gotta spend money and maintain a good and healthy living standard for people who occupy these homes that they fortunately and luckily acquired for forty six million quid.

Aylestone Voice is right. I am pleased! Its an omen you see. A sign of things that will come to pass, may come to pass or won't ever come to pass because Im reading the signs all wrong and I know next to nothing about anything. I'll never enter the place. Never! Not while I've digits to tap on this keyboard and the ability to present a juicy Hallibut pellet to a passing barbel, who like me, couldnt care less about this salty bloody hulk. I'd sooner starve or take my chances and live off the land than let one single coin pass from my hand into a cash till of that Empire of Dirt. And they can forget dispatching the paper boy to my house, posting me leaflets that tell me that if I buy one I won't get another free. If he comes up my path and even contemplates shoving his load into my letterbox he'll find it nailed shut. And if he's one of those keen sorts, with a tidy haircut and a strong work ethic and he starts creeping about my dwelling to find an open window in order to deliver me his bloody glad tidings I'll attack him with a pointy stick shouting, 'clear off. Be gone. Go bother someone else.' I'll never enter that monstrous place and anyone who says I might if Im desperate is someone who knows next to nothing about me and my determination to spend my funds in High Town and create wealth for a local trader rather than some asset stripping suit who couldn't care less about me, my home, my heritage and the quality of fishing on the Wye.

Mind, you never know what your going to find when you read the Dear Deirdre Letter's page of The Sun newspaper. Imagine my disappointment to read the words of my own wife of forty years who, without consulting me, wrote to Deirdre complaining about my lovemaking techniques and I quote, 'Deidre I do so hate his fat face. Is it still illegal to poison your spouse?' But this ain't the reason for my posting. Not at all! I mean you'd be a fool to disclose this sort of sensitive information that relates to ones manly ability to pleasure his wife. After muttering, 'you brazen strumpet and rotten old cow', my eyes, both of them, were drawn to another letter posted by two men who's names I immediately recognised as being familiar. NEILL and FEATHERSTONE! Straight away, I thought, 'hi up. Funny' and I read their letter. Basically, they held positions of power within a Council, both acknowledged being cruel and heartless toward a group of people with disabilities and both were now suffering with insomnia because of dreadful images of what lay before them when they entered Hell. Deirdre, clearly a woman familiar with the plight of Rosé Tinted Rags, replied, 'a curse on the pair of you. I pray to the God that slew Kane and Able that you both suffer an eternity of anguish and regret for the way in which you helped destroy the lives of Gods innocents. Get stuffed. Clear off and put right all you've done wrong. Then, frankly,it all got out of hand. This bloody agony aunt took things a bit to far claiming that if she ever bumped into the pair of them in a public place she'd kick off, thrash them with her handbag and get me involved in the fracas. And I ain't having it. I'll be damned if this woman, albeit for good and honourable reasons, drags me into a fight with this loathsome, greedy and insensitive pair of public servants who've brought hurt, anguish and sadness to my dear and good friends at The Tann Brook Centre.

Thank you so much Jim. It's very much appreciated.

Bloody Hell! I've just researched the two comments from Aylestone Voice and GDJ. It's all there. Just tap in the name and look. Honestly! Is there no end to our misfortune. It's relentless.

Cambo, You're going to go to heaven kiddo. Thank you so much for posting a comment. The mighty Grid Knocker got me involved and I'll be forever thankful he did. It's a joy and an honour to help them. One day, if my Grandaughter makes the progress we hope she makes, I'd like to think Rosé Tinted Rags was available for her to attend. It's truly terrible how the weak and the vulnerable are required to pay the price for mismanagement of public funds. Once again pal, thank you for taking the time to do this.

You keep going Cambo. Don't give in kiddo. My warmest regards to you.

I've just returned from a visit to Rosé Tinted Rags, situated at The Tann Brook Centre, Rockfield Road, Hereford. On this visit I noticed a marked change in the moral of the staff. Last week they were optimistic, happy and certain that the Council, particularly a man called Tony Featherstone, who began this process of eviction, would display some compassion and understanding and extend their tenure so that they could have the time to find alternative and suitable premises. That was last week! This week is an entirely different state of affairs. The fully abled members of staff were depressed, fearful for their future and utterly convinced that they are not going to be helped by the Council. As for the staff with disabilities, they are frightened. Many are tearful and as is common with those that have a disability, their concerns and fears are multiplied many times because of the cards they were dealt with at birth. Frankly, its awful to witness and to know that all this is being done by a group of highly paid, able bodied people who, as far as I can see, simply do not care. The initial explanation from Mr Tony Featherstone, 'we only had to give them twenty four hours to go', pretty much sums up the position and mindset of this group who rule us and shape our lives. Can I get the Council to even answer questions that this issue raises? No. They don't answer because they are not concerned. They are not concerned because they've never been touched by difference. These good people are not begging. They are not out for a free ride and they are certainly not using 'disability' to win compassion and favour. They simply want a fair crack of the whip and time. Just time. That's all. They've no problem paying their way. They simply ask for time. Just a few more weeks of time. It's not much to beg for is it. And that's what they and I are doing. Begging! Yes, begging a huge organisation to show a little compassion and social responsibility. Oh they'll off this, that and the other as inducements to get 'big business' to trade in Hereford. They may even allow some retail units a rent free tenure for a few years, but they'll not lift a finger to help those of us who live their lives with a disability. To think that I cannot get the Chief Executive to look at this. This issue is on his desk. It's been there for awhile now but he won't look at it because he and others of his ilk ain't interested in anything other than 'business'. Yes, business. Money. Profit and the mighty pound. To think we live in times such as these. It's so depressing, so dreadfully unkind and its been delivered up to this good group of people by the very same organisation that is supposed to care for and support them. If there is anyone out there who can get Mr Featherstone to shift his ground and be kind then please do it and do it now because this little business, Rosé Tinted Rags is going to go under together with the hopes and dreams of those who simply want the chance to meet their friends at work, form friendships, produce wonderful art works and products and just for one day, one brief moment in time, to feel that they are valued and they are worth our time and thoughts. Please help Rosé Tinted Rags. My very warmest regards to you all.

Good lad. I was a little concerned that you might think me wrong. As for this Housing programme, they paid 46 million quid for several thousand properties that were built upon the labours of our Great Grandparents and our Grandparents. Forty six million quid for all these homes. It's a steal! A huge bargain that allows the creation of vast salaries for the hierarchy, huge expenditure to create themselves a 'break out hub' and the chance for anyone to say, 'Now we've seen what you've done with our money we can confidently say, 'We Get You'. It's all an Empire of Dirt, built upon a promise that said, 'these homes are the result of decades of hard work by our ancestors and we've built them to provide a future for our descendants'. Now, its been turned upon its head and its yet another vehicle for the fat and the bloated to get wealthy and tell us how lucky we are that they stopped by to serve us. You keep going kiddo. It's you, and youngsters like you that are the future. There has never been anything wrong in asking why have you done these things which I think are wrong? Sadly, nowadays, they, the ones who have their hands on the levers of power don't like it. They don't like it at all. Worse, they cannot grasp why we ain't smiling and shouting, 'hallelujah. Lord be praised. Lets ight the forge, make a medal and pin it on their chests. Good lad!

Smartiano, My good friend, you are telling me that Brown sat you down and read you your emails and as a result you felt compelled to apologise to him and his staff. You are a good lad and you've done well to fight this battle for the weak and the vulnerable. Don't you ever apologise for being straight, forthright, open, honest and frank and from hereon you never apologise to a man who sits you down and talks down to you implying that your objections haven't helped your cause. Kiddo, this Brown, has sat you in a chair, slightly lower to his and he's told you, me and others of our ilk to know our place and don't say a single word that questions his wisdom. This is no leader of people. I can lead. I know leadership when I see it and reading out your emails whilst you were sat upon the naughty step tells me that this is a weakness. Not in you. In him. So desperate is he to silence you and so frightened to debate the issue openly, he pulls out your emails and reads then out to you. You never appologise. Never. Not when you are right and Brown is wrong. And you my friend have right on your side. And let me tell you this simple truth. The only person within that organisation that's been offended by your fight is him. Not the staff. He's simply justifying his fragile ego and hiding his hurt behind his members of staff and, by saying this he pretends to himself that this is great leadership. In fact, when he moves on to greener pastures he'll lift his encounter with you, use it as a positive outcome for challenging public disobedience. You are a good lad. Im proud of your work and you are a credit to the art of questioning why these things are done but don't ever appologise to a weak leader of men and women. My very warmest regards to you.

Chris, if the Council are telling you and others that they've been given more time, they are being economical with the truth. I've just had words with RTR and they tell me that their date to quit is the 27th, May. The extension that they say they've been granted was the extension that the Council gave them over the phone when the proprietors phoned up in a panic. I, they and their staff and customers were always aware of this initial extension. The Council have lied or they've twisted the facts and conveyed an idea that they've extended the stay of execution a second time.They've not done this at all. They've simply said, 'yes, we'll extend it' which, using Council speak, Council maths and Council spin is a form of truth, but its actually highly incorrect and untrue. Quite simply they don't give a toss about Rosé Tinted Rags or any other public service that brings comfort to the people. They are only interested in serving this beast of a development and they ain't concerned in the least about what is true and what isn't true. A curse on them. I spit in their direction. Liars, chancer's, cheats and embellishes of the truth. Please Chris, challenge them. Ask them. Have you extended this notice to quit a second time?

T'other night I came stumbling out of the battle cruiser after the landlord screamed, 'clear off and don't come back'. Now, this particular establishment is situated in close proximity to Commercial Road. To get home and definitely be hit in the face with the frying pan you can either go down the little road that brings you out opposite the Littern Tree or you can go the quicker and ever so edgy way through the Old Burial Ground. And so I began staggering up the road and into the aforementioned burial ground humming the old rock classic by Brotherhood of bloody Man, 'Save all your kisses for me' when all of a sudden I heard the words, 'you! W.a.n.k.e.r.', to which I replied, 'Goodness how do you know these things about me?'. Two young chaps emerged from the darkness and the first said, 'Give me a cigarette or I'll kick your head in'. The second, clearly trying to outdo his colleague said, 'Yeah and if you don't I'll break your legs'. I was immediately struck by both these options that were clearly placed before me to consider. I found it interesting. Here they were, bereft of hope and ambition but still, despite their fiscally knackered situation, they were swimming along with the ethos of the 'free market', placing their wears before me and basically saying, 'this is what we have got, these are your options and do you wish to trade'. Anyway, I didn't give them a cigarette but told them that I'd hurt them both. Badly. And if ever they did manage to kick my head in and break my legs, once I'd rested up and recovered from the terrible event, I'd find them beat them both within an inch of their lives and then seek out their parents and do the same to them. Keen to frighten the living day lights out of them and to ensure they remembered never to bother me again, I told them that if I did these things to them, the Constable found me and I was dispatched to prison for two years, I'd do my time, come home, find them and repeat my Modus Operandi upon them and their lovely parents. If you like this was me joining the free market, displaying my goods and inviting them to make their choice whether or not to trade. They chose not to trade, so did I and we all parted as friends and I continued my journey into the Kebab Shop where I purchased my large mixed kebab before staggering home to meet her. My wife of forty years. Oddly enough, she got to the door, opened it and offered me her free market conditions. She said, 'Fatso if you come in I'm going to hit you in the face with my frying pan.' I thought lovely, you cannot dampen the entrepreneur spirit of the great British public. I made my choice, entered the dwelling, was subsequently hit in the face with the frying pan and I went to sleep!

Bloody European Union. This chap's probably got buggar all, no home, no job and he's resorted to doing something stupid. This lad shouldn't be here. He should be back at home with his loved ones trying to generate some wealth for himself and his own country instead of swallowing the false promise that this is the land of hope and dreams. As for his capture, if he has done it, he's clearly not very good at crime. If he had been he wouldn't have been caught by the Police. Mind, by the time this story goes full circle, gets twisted and spun on its head, it'll all be the fault of the Polish people and off we go 'a bloody gain'. More social tension and more muttering over a pint over the madness of the European Union and the uncontrolled movement of millions of people who help drive and fuel our economy that might, one day soon, overtake Germany as the biggest economic power in Europe. It's all madness and I want out of it!

They've felt someone's collar. Nicked and housed at Hereford Police Station.

Thank you very much Councillor. It's all appreciated. My warmest regards to you.

I didn't think I was bothered either way. Until I watched the news tonight I honestly couldn't have cared less about the subject but then, whilst watching the news report about two guys who got married in a Registry Office I found myself smiling. I suddenly found myself smiling! I was smiling because all the people in this news piece were smiling and they were happy. Because they were happy and I could see they were happy, it made me happy. What can be wrong with that? What a great Country we all belong to. Yes, we British have got some odd and quirky national traits that many beyond our shores will never understand but 'we' are the greatest nation on Earth and we've left our mark on this planet with our greatness, our culture, our language, science and the arts. It's no wonder we are overwhelmed by immigration. Who wouldn't want to be here and be able to say, 'we are British' and today's events that see same sex couples having the right to marry only serves to make us even greater than we were yesterday!

Silentbull, you keep going kiddo. It is worth it. This tiny football club represents a great deal more than a business. It's a part of our culture and heritage and once its gone, its gone forever.

Ninety seven! That's a lot of people. Course, they visit these pages to find out things. This is the place to come if you wish to discover what's going on. I mean, if you were the person responsible for this crime and you wanted to know what's going on and were the Police catching up with you, you'd be sure to visit these pages. Thinking about it, if Im right and I think I am , one of these ninety seven, ninety eight if you include me, did it and as I tap away he or she is reading this. I say to this person, who's clearly done it and they think they're being bloody clever visiting these pages, Give Yourself Up instead of allowing suspicion to fall on us, the ninety seven who ain't done a thing wrong. In fact, thinking about it, I'll tell you now. It wasn't bloody me. I was in bed sleeping when all this was going on and I'll maintain my innocence until some conclusive evidence is placed before me that implies, 'you're buggared'!

Bloody button. Sorry Colin. I pressed the bloody thing twice. The one thing I hate. Button presser's! Folk who press the button more than once and think they're clever sorts.

If Im right and its true that Councillor Mark Hubbard is considering not standing at the next local elections then I'd say to him, 'think again'. I've watched from a distance the way in which this chap carries out his duties and there's no doubt that Mr Hubbard is a gifted and dedicated public servant and, given the state we are in, we can well do without losing people of his calibre. During the time I've been contributing on this site and the Hereford Times you can't fail to appreciate the hard work and commitment some Councillors display. At one time, because I knew buggar all, I had no time for them at all. Now, because I've watched, read and listened I now appreciate the hard work of Mr Hubbard, Liz Harvey, Jim Kenyon and more recently Jon Norris. Then of course there's our Glenda and Chris Chappell who, like their IOC colleagues work so hard to provide their best efforts to support their constituents. It's all these things that I once didn't know that I now know which compel me to thank these people who represent out interests. But back to Mark Hubbard. He's founded a political party that's strong, its growing and its impacting and affecting the way in which we all now look at the political scenery in Hereford. My guess is, and it really is just a guess, is that Mr Hubbard handed over the leadership of his party because he was knackered and facing burn out. You can't graft like he does without it impacting upon your time and energies. Mind, I know buggar all. Im just guessing, but, if Im right, and I may be, we are going to lose one of our great local politicuans simple because he couldn't find a way of pacing himself. Well it can be done. You can pace yourself and learn to manage your time and energy better. You simply stop trying to do everything, stop trying to please everybody, give of your best and having done that, do not give things a backward glance and worry about an outcome. Now, more than at anytime Mark Hubbard needs to recharge his batteries, as do all the Coucillors who I've mentioned previously, and position themselves ready for the next election. This is very important and this offering is not meant to embarass Mark. If anything, he should take this as a compliment and feel good about himself. The reason I've posted this? I've had the good fortune to form friendships with a lot of the regular bloggers. Many are like me, Gridnocker and Ubique. We are old. Our back legs have gone and our best, if we ever bloody had any are gone. However, there are many younger bloggers emerging and they are the future and they need people like Mark Hubbard to continue, get to the finishing line and when this Cabinet have gone, be in place to help rebuild our shattered economy and public services. I'd say to Mr Hubbard, you've achieved remarkable things in a relatively short space of time and you owe it to yourself to fulfill the promise. Today, I had the good fortune to meet Cambo. This is a young, highly intelligent young chap who's driven to make a change. It's people like Cambo, Dippy and Smartiano who are the ones who'll eventually pick up the baton, stand for Office and help get us all out of this mess. Frankly, we don't need Mark Hubbard or any other hard working Councillor leaving the theatre now. Not now. If ever there was a time not to go its now. My hope is that Mark Hubbard remains, I actually hope he gets rested up and returns to lead his party and rid us of this chaotic and deluded Cabinet who are bringing us all to a point in very close proximity to ruin. On a personal note, I say to Mark Hubbard, you and your colleagues should be very proud of your many achievements but now is no time to be considering whether or not you should end your tenure as a Councillor. Have a little heart. Have a little faith and get the youngsters within these pages to help you with the burden and the load of responsibility. Do this, pace yourself and delegate more and very soon, quicker than you might think, the fire in your belly will rise and you'll begin to feel like I do. Desperate and driven to throttle Jarvis and roll him round in nettles. Stinging nettles. Nettles harvested in August. The worst nettles. Bloody Jarvis!

And I'll tell you what I think to my favourite bit. This little slice of pleasure comes tumbling out, hits you smack between the eyes and adds weight to the argument that whoever invented the printing press needs flogging. Here it is. Ready! Whoever we chose to carry out this work had to 'get us'! Ain't it a beauty. You don't get that said very often do you? 'Get Us'! Sweet loving Jesus. I can tell you one thing for nothing, Fresh Workspace would have 'got them' straight a bloody way. They'd have muttered, 'we've landed on our feet here lads. We are dealing with a highly unusual organisation that's based its entire ethos of management on undiluted bollocks'

A silo! In darker days, when war with the East was a possibility, a silo was a vast concrete cylinder secreted beneath the ground, reinforced by giant steel rods and it contained a missile. Now, certainly within Hereford Housing and Im guessing the entire public service, it now means something completely different. It's all rubbish. Bloody silo!

And it is our money. Oh, they'll say, we are nothing to do with the Council. We are a private charitable company and we'll spend our money as we see fit. Well, when the Council handed over their property portfolio of thousands of properties, these once belonged to us. They were ours, bequeathed to us by the toil and labours of our Great Grandparents and our Grandparents who, after fighting two World Wars, set to work on a huge nationally funded building programme that was to ensure that us, their descendants would be able to live in them and build our own families and increase the wealth of our nation. That was the promise. That's why they worked and toiled and built. They built a future for us and our offspring. And now? The promise has gone. It's been broken by asset stripping suits, who, with the flick of a wrist and the push of a pen, have signed away any say we have in how our homes are dished out and, more importantly, who can make money and profit from our inheritance. It's all gone. Lost and swallowed up by the corporate machine that bleats, 'we've gotta pay the best if we want the best', and on and on the game goes. Profit, Gain. High Salaries and huge pension pots that the rest of us can only dream of.

Richard Woolley is Director of Resources at Herefordshire Housing. ‘We saw the refurbishment of our main office as an essential part of the change management process,’ he says. ‘So whatever we did not only had to offer exceptional value for money, it also had to help us deliver more and better services to all of our residents and other stakeholders as well as offering us the chance to improve the way we perform as an organisation and as individuals. For those reasons we had to work with a company that ’got’ us as an organisation so that they could take part in the process of change, help us work better as an organisation and a business and deliver outstanding results. We’re delighted not only that Fresh Workspace were more than able to deliver but also challenge us with new ideas.’ The first step was to make a bold but welcoming statement to people from the moment they walk in the door. Behind the revamped reception is the new beating heart of the building, a hub space with eye-catching floor to ceiling graphics, soft seating, flat screen televisions, benches, tables, kitchen and breakfast bar, which not only functions as a breakout space for colleagues but also as a welcome space for residents and other visitors. The space is fully equipped with WiFi so is usable by anybody. ‘It was essential that the design should break down silos,’ explains Richard Woolley. ‘Not just those that may exist between members of the internal team but with tenants and everybody with whom we work. It’s a space for everybody. We wanted the lack of hierarchy and vibrancy we had introduced as an organisation to be evident in the design of the refurbishment. We needed the culture we had to be reflected in the places we work and meet.’ ........................................................................... This pile of pigswill and rancid excrement serves to illustrate why our public services and agents acting for them are completely detached from reality and have an overwhelmingly negative impact upon each and everyone of us. This culture of pointless management speak was given a foothold upon all of us during the formative years of New Labour. Now, after years of denying commonsense and practical operational ability a way in through the management door, we are now subject to a stranglehold by these people who can produce this rubbish. And it is rubbish. If there is anything within this that you can admire and marvel at, it is the relative ease in which they can shovel this garbage out. Me? I think its frightening that this culture continues to exist unchallenged by those with commonsense, operational ability and a tongue to say, 'No more. We've had enough of this corporate gibberish. Be gone. Leave us be!