OK, I am properly back now. This is me, Robin Bogg, typing this all by myself. All my own thoughts and work, and not the words of anyone else pretending to be me. I have missed blogging while my eyes have been recovering but I realised it was pointless to try and type when I couldn't see the wood for the trees let alone the screen on my Blackberry so have reluctantly given it a miss for a few days. But a few tentative tweets on twitter have showed that when it comes to typing I haven't lost it and I am ready to blog.
I get out hospital tomorrow and have decided to go away for the weekend. It was a tough decision as to where I should go. Usually there is only one destination - Oxford, naturally. But I feel the call of the seaside so will be off to Bog(g)nor Regis.
Today I am catching up on emails and doing a bit of mindBoggling around BUBB's new strapline but more of that in a future blog. What I do want to do is quell any nasty rumours that are circulating about me. There has been some unpleasant tittle tattle (no doubt started by Hector Rule) that my trip to hospital was nowt but a ruse to lie low while the furore around my second home allowance and expenses died down. I can categorically deny this was the case as well as any suggestion that I have acted outside of the rules (set by me) regarding what I can claim from BUBB funds.
A key part of my job is assessing umbrellas both in urban and rural environments therefore it is entirely right that I need a cottage in Blacbury as well as my flat in East Lambeth. And how I juggle these arrangements in my tax returns is between me and the tax adviser (paid for by BUBB). And I will argue very strongly that such items as a house for my rubber duck, a ditch round the walls of the cottage, croissants, rubber bands and a hedge trimmer are essential to my job. So I hope that sets the record straight.
One final note. I see today that "loathe him or hate him, you just can't love him, can of worms opener in chief, shit stirrer extraordinaire" Aaron Brothel has quit his role as director of umbrella comparison website Unintelligible Drizzling. Aaron has certainly made a bit of hornet's nest carnage in the umbrella sector with his controversial views on umbrellas but he is a nice chap who only wanted to increase accountability and transparency. And that was his mistake. People don't want transparent umbrellas on the whole. They want a traditional black or stripy opaque fabric so they can hear the rain drumming down, not see it as well.
Aaron is off to become a geography teacher, a role I am sure he is eminently qualified for through his sweater collection. He will be replaced by Robert Swamp (a fellow chap who shares his name with a water-based geographical feature) who until recently was head of the GampImPact coalition, a woolly collection of umbrella enthusiasts also banging on about accountability and devising impact measurement tools to assess the effectiveness of umbrellas. You know the sort of thing, coming up with a metric to calculate how much dampness your Lyle & Scott avoids by using a golf umbrella thus extending its life by x years, or the amount of embarrassment saved by having a carefully sculpted hair do preserved by the protection of a pink handbag dolly brolly. Well meaning but all nonsense of course, and now that BUBB has taken over the running of GampImPact we'll stop all of that immediately.
Thursday, 28 May 2009
Saturday, 23 May 2009
Chaos
Sorry about the last post. I can't see a bloody thing at the minute after my eye operation (I am dictating these words to Fab Jobsworth who is typing them into my Blackberry) but I was so bored I tried to do a quick blog even though I am supposed to be resting. Apparently it came out as complete gibberish. So no change there.
AND I am completely furious with my deputy Hector Rule. I am told that he posted something last night pretending to by me. He must have guessed my password (Oxford, naturally) and logged on to my account. I will deal with his insubordination when I am out of hospital (I may send him to talk to our Irish and Scottish counterparts as a punishment) but for now, for the record, I refute everything Hector said in my name, especially the bit about sending a Xmas card to Hubert Carrington.
Fab. Fab. Stop looking at the nurses and concentrate. Fab. Did you hear me? Are you getting all of this down? Yes? Good.
Right, where was I. Oh yes, Hector's fake post. Rest assured that when my eyesight has recovered I will be up and running as normal, indeed the rest period may give me greater gusto to pursue my obsessions. OK Fab, that's enough. Can you go and get me a lilt please?
AND I am completely furious with my deputy Hector Rule. I am told that he posted something last night pretending to by me. He must have guessed my password (Oxford, naturally) and logged on to my account. I will deal with his insubordination when I am out of hospital (I may send him to talk to our Irish and Scottish counterparts as a punishment) but for now, for the record, I refute everything Hector said in my name, especially the bit about sending a Xmas card to Hubert Carrington.
Fab. Fab. Stop looking at the nurses and concentrate. Fab. Did you hear me? Are you getting all of this down? Yes? Good.
Right, where was I. Oh yes, Hector's fake post. Rest assured that when my eyesight has recovered I will be up and running as normal, indeed the rest period may give me greater gusto to pursue my obsessions. OK Fab, that's enough. Can you go and get me a lilt please?
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Friday, 22 May 2009
I am back
Well the operation wasn't as bad as I feared and I have missed blogging. Lying around in hospital has given me time for reflection. I have decided to tone down my abrasive style of leadership, stick Hubert Carrington of the National Canopy and Visor Organisation (NCVO) back on my Xmas card list and reign in my criticism of governance. I accept that setting up an umbrella investment bank is not something to be rushed and will engage less grudgingly with other organisations.
I must be going as the nurses are doing their rounds and will confiscate my Blackberry if they find out what I am doing.
I must be going as the nurses are doing their rounds and will confiscate my Blackberry if they find out what I am doing.
Thursday, 21 May 2009
Boggus blubus blogus interuptus
I am sorry to report that this will be my last blog for a few days. At an appraisal meeting with my chair and the board yesterday I was told that I lacked vision and an eye for detail, and was short sighted in my strategic approach. Therefore I have booked myself in for some corrective surgery to get my peepers sorted. I go under the knife tomorrow and will be out of action for a bit. I have been told that Blackberrys are banned in hospitals but I am going to pay no attention to that so as soon as I have had the bandages removed I will be back blogging away, also ignoring any medical advice about resting my eyes and staying off work. Apart from anything else, I can't let Hector Rule have too much time running the show or else I may find I don't have a job to go back to. See you soon.
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
Governnace (sic) and the Umbrella Commission
Governance in our sector is back in the news. BECAUSE I AM KEEPING IT THERE BY CONSTANTLY HARPING ON ABOUT HOW APPALLING IT IS.
The Umbrella Commission MUST do more to help and give the power to chairs and boards to reign in the excesses of maverick chief executives.
The Umbrella Commission MUST do more to help and give the power to chairs and boards to reign in the excesses of maverick chief executives.
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
Tied up in knots
I have never been one of those fashion fascists who subscribes to the view that just because someone (usually a bloke) ties a bit of colourful cloth around their neck it automatically somehow makes them smarter and more important. It doesn't. It just means they have tied a bit of colourful cloth around their neck. Or willingly subjected themselves to the noose of the klothing kommandants.
That is not to say that Robin Bogg is not a dapper dresser. My Matalan suits are as sharp as anything those ace faces might wear. Its just I don't see the need to dangle striped polyester material from around my collar. It's no good having silken button covering scruff frippery if the rest of the look is scruffy. As Satre once said: "Un vagabond dans une cravate est toujours un vagabond."
Indeed far from elevating its wearer to some exalted plain of sartorial splendour it can have the opposite effect. Exhibit A: The comedy cartoon character tie. And does any apologist for neck embellishment really find that gingham gland garniture is enhanced by the food stains that inevitably appear? There is no more amusing but demeaning sight than a room full of city types, slurping soup with ties thrown back over their shoulders, in an attempt to keep cream of tomato off their dry clean only Tie Rack throat trim.
I am obviously a fan in principle of the notion of the old school tie as a means of appointing staff. But I see it as more as theoretical part of the interview process rather than a literal requirement of garb. The need for a nape cape is just another way that the powers that be have used to stop Robin Bogg gaining access to those in the know, as illustrated by an incident yesterday.
I was strolling along Piccadilly enjoying a morning shower when I suddenly came over a bit unnecessary. So I ducked into the Ritz to use its fantastic toilets. 30 minutes later I came out into the foyer where there was a scrum of security and press. "Not again," I thought. Can't a man answer the call of nature in a plush West End hotel without ending up in jail and splashed all over the papers, as happened when I ruined the carpet at the Hilton. But then I spotted that amidst the posse was former US President Bill Clinton.
They all headed down the corridor into a room with the sign "Strictly by invitation only" slapped on the door but I managed to sneak in and grab a seat at the back and settled down to hear the wise words of a man history has judged better than it should simply by not being as bad as what immediately followed.
Charming, charismatic and self assured. But enough about me. Clinton was rude, dour and nervous. 50 minutes of waffle from someone who seemed to think that just because he was the most powerful man in the world we all want to listen to his opinions. Not one word about umbrellas. At the end of his endless piffle stream I took the opportunity to ask him a question I had wanted to for years.
"Got any cigars, Bill?"
He didn't like that and said something along the lines of "Oi you scruffy limey, where's your tie?" before asking his heavy mob to eject me from the hotel for breaching its dress code. I managed a witty "I hope your greetings card shops all go bankrupt" as I was airborne through the grand entrance before thudding onto the Piccadilly pavement.
That is not to say that Robin Bogg is not a dapper dresser. My Matalan suits are as sharp as anything those ace faces might wear. Its just I don't see the need to dangle striped polyester material from around my collar. It's no good having silken button covering scruff frippery if the rest of the look is scruffy. As Satre once said: "Un vagabond dans une cravate est toujours un vagabond."
Indeed far from elevating its wearer to some exalted plain of sartorial splendour it can have the opposite effect. Exhibit A: The comedy cartoon character tie. And does any apologist for neck embellishment really find that gingham gland garniture is enhanced by the food stains that inevitably appear? There is no more amusing but demeaning sight than a room full of city types, slurping soup with ties thrown back over their shoulders, in an attempt to keep cream of tomato off their dry clean only Tie Rack throat trim.
I am obviously a fan in principle of the notion of the old school tie as a means of appointing staff. But I see it as more as theoretical part of the interview process rather than a literal requirement of garb. The need for a nape cape is just another way that the powers that be have used to stop Robin Bogg gaining access to those in the know, as illustrated by an incident yesterday.
I was strolling along Piccadilly enjoying a morning shower when I suddenly came over a bit unnecessary. So I ducked into the Ritz to use its fantastic toilets. 30 minutes later I came out into the foyer where there was a scrum of security and press. "Not again," I thought. Can't a man answer the call of nature in a plush West End hotel without ending up in jail and splashed all over the papers, as happened when I ruined the carpet at the Hilton. But then I spotted that amidst the posse was former US President Bill Clinton.
They all headed down the corridor into a room with the sign "Strictly by invitation only" slapped on the door but I managed to sneak in and grab a seat at the back and settled down to hear the wise words of a man history has judged better than it should simply by not being as bad as what immediately followed.
Charming, charismatic and self assured. But enough about me. Clinton was rude, dour and nervous. 50 minutes of waffle from someone who seemed to think that just because he was the most powerful man in the world we all want to listen to his opinions. Not one word about umbrellas. At the end of his endless piffle stream I took the opportunity to ask him a question I had wanted to for years.
"Got any cigars, Bill?"
He didn't like that and said something along the lines of "Oi you scruffy limey, where's your tie?" before asking his heavy mob to eject me from the hotel for breaching its dress code. I managed a witty "I hope your greetings card shops all go bankrupt" as I was airborne through the grand entrance before thudding onto the Piccadilly pavement.
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