Sortapundit

Hooyah!

I apologise for not being around this past week or so, but there is good reason.  For the past two weeks I've been snowed under with job interviews.  It's not so much that they took up a lot of time but that they drained me of energy.  I couldn't muster any more enthusiasm than it takes to turn on the TV and make a sandwich.

I've had four or five interviews in the past fortnight, and I'd lost hope by this morning.  I had a follow-up interview last Friday that went, I thought, terribly.  I stumbled on a few questions and ended up staring at the wall, speechless, for what felt like hours before a half-formed answer crept into my head.  This morning I drove out to Rochdale to interview with a financial recruitment firm, and it was 100% awful.  I stumbled blindly through an impromptu role-play and saw the look of pity in the interviewers eyes.  I clearly wasn't right for the job.

So.  I got home and sat brooding in front of the TV.  I was all ready to write a post about the pointlessness of university, and how I would have been much better off if I'd spent those four years getting a bit of work experience under my belt instead.  The phone rang, and it was the guy who interviewed me on Friday calling with some 'feedback', the traditional conversational introduction to 'I'm sorry, but we've decided to go with another candidate'.  But no.  He was calling to offer me the position - and at a higher salary than I'd been expecting.  I start next Wednesday in the oil and gas department, allowing me a few days to get my affairs in order and enjoy a final few days of sloth before re-entering the rat race. 

As an added bonus I can now stop worrying about how I'm going to bankroll the trip to Mongolia.  With the salary I've been offered I can just put aside a small percentage every month and have money to spare.  If I play my cards right I can also start looking for a place to live that isn't owned by my parents.  Because, y'know, there's a certain age at which that becomes embarrassing, and I think I passed it a couple of years ago. 

Right.  I'm off to see my mate's little boy and then go for a few games of pool.  I hope your day is as good as mine. 

Interviews and other stuff

My long awaited interview can be found here at Basil's Blog. 

OK, long awaited by me.  The vast majority of the 6 billion people on Earth don't give a toss.  I don't care. 

Anyway.  Let me tell you the most annoying and stressful thing in the world.  Job interviews.  I've been to two of them this week, and I have another coming up on Monday.  The problem isn't the actual interviews, though.  I'm qualified for the jobs and I'd do a pretty damned good job, but the stress comes from the fact that getting one of these jobs would push me up into a whole different pay scale.  I could probably expect to earn twice what I earned this year, along with benefits such as a nice company car and all the other little bonuses that come with having a proper grown-up job.  While this would be a very good thing it doesn't help your nerves when you walk into the room for an hour of intense grilling. 

The most annoying thing is that all your carefully prepared answers go to pot within five minutes of walking into the room.  When asked what you'd be willing to accept as a basic salary you open your mouth and out comes a figure a couple of thousand pounds lower than what you'd decided on the previous night.  This wouldn't be so bad, but these interviews are the result of companies approaching me, seeking out my skills.  I'm by no means begging for a job, and I'm quite certain I'll be in a position to take my pick of at least a couple of offers.  I shouldn't be this nervous when I go in to speak to them. 

Ah, fuck it.  I'm off to enjoy my Saturday night.  I'll leave the nerves on hold until Monday.  Have a good evening, all.

The joys of frugal living

Well, it seems that fairly soon this unplanned vacation must end.  I've been out of work now for almost two months, and it was everything I dreamed it would be.  Every night I Sky Plus a couple of episodes of CSI, an episode of Joey, Jon Stewart and maybe King of Queens, and then drag myself from my bed at the crack of midday to slouch in front of the TV for a few hours.  I'll squeeze in an hour or two of job hunting on the Internet and then sit back to a nice meal and a few more hours of TV.  OK, so maybe it isn't the most productive use of my time but Jesus Christ it's relaxing. 

Unfortunately, though, even the most enjoyable things become tiresome eventually, and the bills won't pay themselves.  I have something like £350 to tide me over until I find some sort of income, and that won't last forever.  I went to the pub on Tuesday and blew £20, so I've punished myself since then and made £1.09 stretch for three days.  That's easier than it sounds when you don't leave the house and you only allow yourself two cigarettes a day.

The reason I can live so cheaply, of course, is that most of my basic needs are provided by my saintly parents who have yet to toss me out onto the street.  I overcome the embarassment of living with my parents at the age of 24 with the fact that my older brother is still here at 26.  I was thinking, though, that unemployment wouldn't be nearly as comfortable was I living on my own.  See, my unemployment benefits come to only £44.50 a week.  You'd be hard pushed to find any sort of accomodation better than, say, a bedsit above a crack den for less than £40 a week - leaving just £4.50 to pay for such necessities as heat, light and food.  That's 64p, which would buy you maybe two tins of soup.  It wouldn't, however, pay for the gas required to heat it up. 

So, I count my lucky stars that I live here.  But for the grace of parents I'd be sitting above a crack den drinking cold minnestrone from the can. 

Or, at least, I would if I could afford a tin opener. 

Show me the way to Ulaan Bataar...

NB This post will remain on top for a while.  Scroll down for newer stuff.

Really, really important update!

If you'd like to help our cause but can't spare any actual money, here's how you can help.  Go to Tim Worstall's site and download Firefox.  Yes, even if you already have it.  It'll take 30 seconds and 50% of the commission raised will go to Send a Cow.  The other 50% will go straight to Ethiopiaid and the Fistula Hospital in Addis Ababa.  Go now!

Some time ago I had a bit of a drinking session with my older brother, a friend of his and his brother, Rick.  It started around midday with a 'quiet pint', and ended about 12 hours later with a bottle of sloe gin mixed with vodka. 

Early on in the festivities Rick proposed that sometime next year we go on a bit of a short road trip for a laugh.  The trip in question is called the Mongol Rally, and it runs from London in the UK to Ulaan Bataar, the capital of Mongolia.  OK, it's not so much a road trip as it is an extreme trek across 8-10,000 miles of the most dangerous, bandit-ridden, pot-holed and just plain terrifying roads in the world.  And France.  All in all, the rally crosses 16 countries, 5 mountain ranges and 2 deserts.  It's been described as the world's most extreme car challenge.  Oh, and you can only use cars that have an engine capacity of 1 litre or less.  Yes, that's 1000cc. I've used shopping trolleys with more grunt than that.

The many route options of the rally

Of course, there's a serious aspect to the rally.  The idea is that each team raises money for a charity called Send a Cow.  These guys donate livestock to farming families in Africa, providing a much needed source of meat, milk and manure.  The scrawny native cattle don't provide enough milk to make them a paying prospect.  The donated cows give up to 14 times as much milk as the native variety, and they also bear young that can then be passed on to other needy families.  Instead of just throwing money at Africa and hoping for the best they give African farmers things they really need, and do their damndest to help them help themselves.  The nature of the charity is a rare example of a virtuous circle in this harsh and unforgiving part of the world. 

To enter the rally we need to raise £1000 (about $1750) for Send a Cow by any means necessary.  Initially I'd hoped to be entirely funded by Rotarians, who do good works both at home and abroad.  Unfortunately the feedback we've been getting so far is no cause for optimism. 

We're also looking into corporate sponsorship.  We'd be happy to plaster the car in advertisements if it'd raise enough cash.  I've emailed a few local businesses to see if they'd like to sponsor the team, so fingers crossed we'll get a little interest. 

Finally, I'll be raising money through this here website.  That's where you guys come in.  Here's the deal.  This thing costs a lot of money.  I mean a lot.  When we were first planning it out the idea was that it'd cost the £1000 for charity and maybe a few hundred for petrol.  It wouldn't matter if we didn't raise the £1000, because we could just supplement it with our own money. 

After a few days planning and budgeting, though, it seems it'll be much more expensive than we anticipated.  We'll be scrimping and saving where we can to pay for the actual rally, but we'll need all the help we can get to raise the charity money.  We're hoping some of you will be able to help make up the difference, generous souls that you are.  If you'd like to donate, click the picture of the cars on the left sidebar - that'll remain there until the rally.

We're not asking you to give us your kid's college fund and the keys to your Porsche (but if you'd like to, I won't try to stop you).  All we are asking is that if you can spare a dollar or two, please throw it our way.  As a bonus, any money you donate will be supplemented by Gift Aid, which adds up to 28% extra from the UK tax man.  As well as supporting a great cause, you'll also allow me to fulfil one of my life's ambitions: to scream across Kazakhstan using all 45 horsepower of a Fiat Panda in 40 degree heat being chased by knife wielding members of the Russian Mafia.  With my brother telling me I took a wrong turn at the last steppe. 

Thank you.  You guys kick ass.  Or something.

Update

Our request for sponsorship by the magazine FHM was refused just now.  What more FHM-ish subject is there to support than the Mongol Rally?  Throw in a few gratuitous boobies and you've got your issue ready made.  Asses.

'Nother Update

Tim Worstall has graciously donated a slot in his Blogads to help the cause.  If there are any other bloggers out there with empty ad space available it'd be great if you'd let us fill it for a while.  Even if you only get two readers a day - yourself and your mother - we'd be grateful for the ad space.  That way you can help the cause without having to reach into your pocket.  A poifect plan.  Please drop me an email if you can help out.  Thanks.

'Nother, 'nother update

The good will keeps pouring in.  Mike Smith at Take Your Medicine has donated a Blogad; MY Vast Right Wing Conspiracy's Beth has seen that and raised it a ten spot, and The Devil's Kitchen's  Chris Mounsey has offered his technical expertise in designing a Blogad gratis.  Thank you very much, guys.  $10 down.  $1740 to go.  I've got a good feeling about this.  I feel like George Bailey at the end of It's a Wonderful Life.

I've also been thinking of a few ways to get some others to chip in.  My old employer runs a dress-down Friday once a month and charges £1 per person.  The money raised goes to charity, so I'll be speaking to the boss to see if he can't divert that lovely lucre to us in exchange for pasting their logo on the side of the car.  If all else fails I have some dirt on the company regarding violations of the Data Protection Act.  Hey, you play the hand you're dealt.  Don't judge me. 

On a less sordid note, the headmaster at my old primary school is an acquaintance of ours, so I'm gonna see if he'd be interested in running a competition to design a paintjob for the bonnet of the car.  Have to figure out a way to make money out of it, but if we can't manage it we can always shake down the kids for their lunch money.

Why do all my fundraising schemes end in blackmail and violence? 

Update ²

Thanks to John Owen for his donation.  I'm pretty sure that the John Owen of Paypal and Johno of The Ministry of Perfidy are one and the same, but correct me if I'm wrong.  (Johno's coblogger Buckethead also chipped in $10.  Thanks, mate - ed)

Let's get a little running total at the bottom of the page.  I'll write it in pounds sterling because, well, it's real money.  Everything else is just funny-looking paper.  Okay, okay, we can have it in dollars too.  You crazy 'mericans.

More in the way of updates

The Devil's Kitchen's Chris Mounsey designed a kickass animation for our Blogads this weekend, but whatever I tried I couldn't convince Blogads that it was smaller than 16kb, which is the upper limit for ad graphics.  Thanks anyway to Chris.  That guy is gifted. 

You can see the simple ad we settled on here in the sidebar (though for some reason they don't show up when I view the site through AOL).  You can also see the ad running at MY Vast Right Wing Conspiracy and Take Your Medicine.

Thanks to Ben Smith for the donation, by the way.  Almos forgot about that.

Target

£1000 ($1772)

To Go

£979.49 ($1736.33)

Show me the way to Ulaan Bataar... Vol. II

Now this is the sort of stuff that really kicks ass.  The organisers of the Mongol Rally have posted a rundown of all the bad things that happened in last year's rally to give us an idea of the countless ways in which we could meet our maker this year.  Here's the list:-

43 cars left London.

27 cars reached Mongolia.

14 cars reached the finish in Ulaanbaatar.

2 teams were robbed at knife point.

1 car snapped in half.

3 engines fell completely out of the cars.

1 team were held for 5 days in no-mans land.

1 team cycled 200km to get to the finish when their car gave in.

100's of tyres were blown.

1 team got engaged.

1 team found a 10ft deep pot hole.

1 team found a 25 tonne crane that had rolled due to a pot hole.

1 person spent a day in a Turkish hospital.

3 people were banned from Turkmenistan for a year.

1 person was detained by police in Azerbaijan and threated with a beating from a dwarf. This followed an incident with a cow.

2 cars flipped over in Mongolia.

3 teams were chased by armed bandits.

0 teams died.

every team had a very memorable trip.

It has been my life long dream (or, at least, my life long dream for the last ten minutes) to get banned from a nation with lots of vowels in its name.  Also, I don't want to lie on my deathbed regretting the fact that I never flipped a car. 

If you'd like to read about our plan to take part in the Mongol Rally 2006, click here.  If you'd like to throw some spare cash our way to help us acheive our £1000 charity target, click the picture of the cars in the left sidebar (the one under the moodily lit vanity shot of me doing my 'Blue Steel' pose).

Part of the Beltway Traffic Jam.

Always look on the bright side of life...

It seems I'm in the minority. 

Yes.  I'm one of those persecuted few who prefer the Life of Brian to the Holy Grail.  And here's why:-

Reg: All right, but apart from the sanitation, medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, the fresh water system and public health, what have the Romans ever done for us?
Attendee: Brought peace?
Reg: Oh, peace -- shut up!
Reg: There is not one of us who would not gladly suffer death to rid this country of the Romans once and for all.
Dissenter: Uh, well, one.
Reg: Oh, yeah, yeah, there's one. But otherwise, we're solid.

Reg: If you want to join the People's Front of Judea, you have to really hate the Romans.
Brian: I do!
Reg: Oh yeah, how much?
Brian: A lot!
Reg: Right, you're in.

Brian: I'm not the Messiah! Will you please listen? I am not the Messiah, do you understand?! Honestly!
Girl: Only the true Messiah denies His divinity.
Brian: What?! Well, what sort of chance does that give me? All right! I am the Messiah!
Followers: He is! He is the Messiah!
Brian: Now, fuck off!
[silence]
Arthur: How shall we fuck off, O Lord?

Jailer: Crucifixion?
Prisoner: Yes.
Jailer: Good. Out of the door, line on the left, one cross each. [Next prisoner.] Crucifixion?
Prisoner 2: Er, no, freedom actually.
Jailer: What?
Prisoner 2: Yeah, they said I hadn't done anything and I could go and live on an island somewhere.
Jailer: Oh I say, that's very nice. Well, off you go then.
Prisoner 2: No, I'm just pulling your leg, it's crucifixion really.
Jailer: [laughing] Oh yes, very good. Well...
Prisoner 2: Yes I know, out of the door, one cross each, line on the left.

Anyway, I'm English.  My vote counts triple, so fuck off.

Raggin' on the Revenue

In my limited experience there are few things in modern life as mind-numbingly, brain-meltingly befuddling as applying for a tax rebate from the British Government.  I read stories about people going to work packing an AK-47 and blowing the place to hell, and I wouldn't be surprised if at least half of these had stayed up the previous night attempting to reclaim their misappropriated hard earned.

In theory, the process is simple.  As you earn income throughout the year a proportion of it is automatically deducted from your wage through income tax.  In this country most people pay around 22%.  Occasionally, though, they get it wrong.  Maybe you didn't work the full year.  Maybe you were provided with the wrong tax code.  Maybe you were charged emergency tax when you started a new job, and were taxed over the odds for the first month or two.  For whatever reason, you are owed a little money back.

Again, in theory, your rebate should be simple.  All you have to do is fill out a form detailing your income and the amount of tax you paid for the previous financial year, and the tax office will cut you a cheque for the amount you're due.  Of course, it rarely goes as smoothly as that.

I've been out of work now for almost two months, and due to the nature of my previous job I was overtaxed pretty heavily.  On top of my regular weekly paycheck I was paid a monthly bonus.  The regular paycheck was taxed, I think, correctly, but Her Majesty's Revenue didn't seem to know what to do with these monthly bonuses.  Sometimes they were as little as £100, sometimes as high as £600.  The tax office, in their wisdom, decided to tax the hell out of it and ask questions later.  As a result I figure I'm owed something between £300 and £600. 

This is where the fun begins.  There are maybe 5 different forms available to request a tax rebate, each with their own rules and regulations.  Some you shouldn't submit if you are in work.  Some you shouldn't submit if you are claiming benefits, and some you shouldn't submit if you have a shoe size greater than 10 and you're moon is in Aquarius.  I randomly chose form R40 as it seems the simplest.  I have no idea if the result will be a nice tax rebate or an angry letter letting me know how dense I am. 

The problem is that the Inland Revenue really seem to be trying to help me.  They really do.  In previous years I had to drive to my local tax office and plead with the surly staff for help.  Several months later I got a nice large rebate.  Today, though, the Revenue have embraced the Internet.  The government has a website specifically created to slice through all of the red tape and help me, the taxpayer, have a better, more fulfilling life.  Unfortunately, though, the task seems to have fallen to a nursery class and a group of blind refugees. 

I can download every government form under the sun, but there is no clue as to where I should return my completed form.  I am given instructions as to what types of income I must declare - whether my capital gains income is taxable; exactly how much of my stock dividends from UK companies and foreign income dividends can be considered tax free - but no instruction as to whom I should return my form at the end.  Am I being simple, or would my life be a lot simpler if I was told where to send the frickin' form? 

I can only assume, since there is no address suggested, that I should return my completed form to my local tax office.  Fortunately I know where that is, but God help those who are less knowledgable than I.  There is a search function on the site to help you locate your nearest office, but it seems the designers were afraid of terrorist attacks as it doesn't provide addresses.  Instead, you type in your home town or postcode, and a map flashes up with a red circle around the general vicinity of your local office.  My local office, though, is on an easily missed back street sandwiched between a dual carriageway and an abandoned nightclub.  It isn't visible from the street, and it isn't marked as a government office.  In fact, the first hint that you are getting warm is a notice by the elevator in tiny, handwritten scrawl: tax office, 6th floor.  In short, unless you know exactly where you're going you have no chance of finding it.  It's possible, of course, that these vague directions are intended as some sort of protective mechanism to keep stupid people away.  It could be that if a really dense person were to come into contact with the kind of person who works for the Inland Revenue they may join together into a singularity of stupid.  Y'know, a sort of black hole of ignorance that sucks in everything in the vicinity.  Just a theory.

Finally, I don't have the required documentation to complete my claim.  While it would seem that the government would have records of my income on their computers (after all, they felt confident enough to tax me on it), they require me to submit my P45 and P60 forms in order to prove my income.  Unfortunately I don't have either of these forms.  Theoretically the Inland Revenue should issure them to you when you leave a job.  I've had around 15 jobs in the past 5 years, and I can say with some confidence that I have been issued with a P45 only twice.  As a result I have no way of proving my income apart from my payslips (and these don't mention my monthly bonuses, the very income I suspect I am owed a rebate on). 

However, I have a simple solution.  I will simply fill out this R40 to the best of my abilities, filling the blanks with the first numbers that come to mind, and keep my fingers crossed that at least one person working for this train wreck of a government has the good sense and dedication to process my claim correctly.  Even better would be if my claim fell to an idiot who decided I am owed £10,000.  Either one would be nice. 

Ha!

Tim Worstall has found arguably the funniest blonde joke in history.

The Blog Interviews

If you have any questions about me, my blog or my philosophy on life you can simply sign up for my 8-week course 'Find a Better YOU!'.  At just £800 my unique, patented program will transform the old you into a dynamic, dynamically dynamical dynamo in just 8 weeks - or your money back!

Alternatively, you could send a question to Basil of Basil's Blog, who'll be interviewing me as part of the appropriately named Blog Interviews next week.  I'll answer anything at all, no matter how sick or depraved.  I can't promise you'll like the answers, though.  After all, how would you feel if you discovered that one of your favourite bloggers enjoyed pleasuring himself while immersed in a sensory deprivation tank occupied by six moray eels and a blind puppy?  That's just a hypothetical, of course.  Ahem.

So, if you've always wondered why I stand on a subject but have been too afraid, lazy or disinterested to ask, now's the time.  You can submit questions until the coming Sunday.  Why wait?  Do it now!

I said now, dammit!

A lot of hot air

Over Christmas I got into a few arguments about global warming with some friends who live in London and migrate up to these icy northern latitudes only for special occasions (and, in one case, her dad's chili).  See, I told you I was a party animal. 

The problem with friends you only see occasionally is that on the rare occasions you get to spend any time with them you are invariably drunk to the point of bed-wetting to make up for lost time.  As a result of this you end up with endless heated debates on subjects you are ill-equipped to deal with.  Global warming is, of course, one of these subjects.

As I mentioned a few days ago I am not trained in science.  My belief that everything is transparent should prove this to be the case.  Even in subjects in which I can claim some degree of knowledge I can barely hold my own.  For instance, I noticed while watching University Challenge yesterday that I can't remember anything about sediments.  I spent 4 years learning about the different types of soil we have on this little planet, but I couldn't tell the difference between a podsol and terra rossa - or even if there is a difference.  I've forgotten everything I learned about climate change, and I'm not sure I can recall whether the uplift of land following the retreat of glaciers is called isostatic or eustatic change.... nope, that's gone too.  Quaternary geography, town planning, the effect of oil spills on mangroves - all of it, vanished. 

I wouldn't want my growing ignorance of my degree subject to influence anyone about to go off to study, though.  Most of you will be able to remember your facts for many years after you graduate.  You may even get a job in a related field.  The only reason the facts of my course have fallen out of my head is that I filled it to capacity with other, less academic knowledge.  The words to the back catalogue of Hawksley Workman, for instance. 

Anyway.  Global warming.  A few weeks ago I took the unenviable position of arguing against it with my older brother and a teacher friend who is vastly more intelligent than I (I make up for it in other ways, though.  It takes me less than 2 hours to have a shower, for example.  You know who you are). 

The discussion didn't go according to plan.  As so often happens when you talk science with a belly full of warm, flat lager you end up going off on ridiculous tangents that always seem to end with vulgar words about the opposition's mother.  That shit wouldn't fly on the debate team.

The point I'm trying to get at, if I could just steer my brain in the right direction for a moment, is that I'm not getting on board with the global warming crowd.  As I mentioned I'm no scientist, so don't expect anything like facts or proof.  I find that evidence just gets in the way in an argument.  I prefer to go with gut feelings and instinct, along with a healthy dose of mistrust of anyone who spends his days studying ice cores and frowning a lot.  I'm simple like that.

The main point of my argument, I suppose, is that I find it hard to believe that we can predict what our climate will be like in a hundred years if I can't be told with any degree of certainty whether I should take an umbrella with me when I go out on Saturday.  Yes, I know that climate prediction is far removed from weather prediction but... please.  Almost every single variable in global warming is up for debate.  Will sea levels rise dramatically or will we disrupt the Gulf Stream and freeze up western Europe?  Why is the Antarctic breaking up at the ice shelves but thickening at the centre?  Will it get hotter or colder?  Wetter or dryer?  Will it happen in a week of a thousand years?  And where's my fucking coffee?

None of these questions can be answered reliably (apart from the coffee.  I'll just have a Coke).  I'm not inclined to trust any scientist who can't give me a solid answer.  The only scientist I'd trust is the one who answers these questions with a shrug of the shoulders and "You're guess is as good as mine, buddy.  Toss a coin."

Of course, most proponents of global warming will say that this doesn't matter.  We can see that sea levels are rising and temperatures increasing.  It would be folly to ignore this and go on living as we do.  That may be true, but at the end of a day I live on a big hill.  I also live inside.  It may sounds crass and heartless, but I'm not gonna drown, and I'm not gonna freeze or burn (whichever way we happen to go). 

If I believed anything really bad was going to happen I probably wouldn't be so blasé about it all, but honestly I think global warming, at least the apocalyptic, Day After Tomorrow hollywood version, is plain bunk, just like mad cow, SARS, bird flu and Pajamas Media.  They all generate a torrent of hype and then fizzle away into an embarrassing memory.  Global warming will, I predict, be remembered as a slighty longer-lived groundless panic.

January 2106

Bob:  Hey, remember when people believed humans were drastically altering the climate, heading toward a global catastrophe the like of which the world had never seen?

Jeff:  Oh, yeah.  That was stupid.  Not like that fog that turns people inside-out.  Or the moon-eating space goat.  Wanna go get a Soylent Green?

Bob:  Nah.  I'm on South Beach.

Update

Ha!  A study released today shows that almost a third of the methane entering the atmosphere is doing so through plant life.  We don't even know where our greenhouse gases are coming from, and we presume to predict their effect on our climate in a hundred years?  Bearing in mind that all of our predictions of climate change are necessarily dependent on, y'know, our knowledge of the origins of greenhouse gases, then surely all of our computer models are pretty much useless, no?  And the new ones we make will become useless the next time we make a discovery, and on and on and on.