I watched a programme on BBC 3 last night knowing that a blog post was an inevitable outcome. “KKK: The Fight for White Supremacy” proved to be the shout-at-the-telly kind of viewing that I’d normally associate with Channel 4. The maxim “no pain, no gain” endorsed once again.

The documentary, filmed in the USA’s deep-south, followed a chapter of the Klan and its altercations with the authorities and the New Black Panther Party. Both the KKK and the NBPP preached racial hatred and both organisations evidenced memberships made up of narrow-minded, poorly educated, poorly paid, history-denying morons with an inclination towards violence and pyromania.

Much dressing up, flag waving, slogan shouting, showboating, icon burning, route marching, race-war-predicting, bullshit spouting followed…

…and one hour of my life was taken up feeling embarrassed that I am a member of the same human race as the assorted detritus given air time on the BBC. 

​At one point during a demonstration there was a scene with a white supremacist and a black protagonist shouting white power and black power respectively in each other’s faces. It was as pathetic as it was ironic (because it suggested to me that the opposing hatred movements have more in common with each other than they have with the rest of society). White trash and black trash but ultimately all trash.    

The rights conferred by the US Constitution on American citizens to carry guns and enjoy complete freedom of speech indicates to me that the Constitution is well overdue a rewrite.  My view is that gun carrying should be linked to a minimum IQ and that free speech should be dependent upon the completion of a high school education and the ability to string a coherent sentence together. 

Bearing in mind all the problems that the middle-east is facing right now, it was frankly depressing to learn that the USA - the land of the free, one of the wealthiest and most powerful countries in the world - has some social factions that have more in common with ISIS than they have with you and me.

If you want to know what all this fuss is about and can bare the hour of wincing that watching it will result in - the documentary is available on the iPlayer.  Though I’d rather watch Bake Off or Strictly Come Dancing than be subjected to it again. 

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Sifting through the news today for blogging inspiration unearthed this little gem of an article.  And, like the BBC News website to be fair, I thought it was good enough to share.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-34360805

This proper feel-good story is about the loss and subsequent find of a sentimentally valuable piece of jewellery on a South African beach. The search and discovery mission was epic and only successful because of the help of a complete stranger with a decent metal detector and some beach combing nous. 

I haven’t given too much away in the hope that you read the BBC piece for yourself. There are some great historical photos associated with the article.

In January 2012, I wrote a piece following a similar event (you can read it here) and this post therefore becomes the second instalment in what I am wondering might eventually become my trilogy of ring posts. Tolkien dealt with the fantasy, I am collating the fantastic.

The ring stories will undoubtedly resonate with Mrs Baldwin too. My wife lost her engagement ring whilst we were on our honeymoon, she was fiddling with it and dropped it through a gap in some decking. Things got a bit traumatic for a moment – tears and everything! 

Thanks though to the help of a waiter with a loop of wire, she got it back and all was well. 

And that reminds me, I haven’t worn my wedding ring for ages now (my finger got a bit fat and it was getting painful to take off), but Tim Butcher’s experience has made me vow to put it back on as soon as I get home (it helps that I have been dieting since the beginning of September too).    

Mrs Baldwin has never said anything to me about not wearing my wedding band but I wouldn’t be surprised if she tells me later that its lack of visibility has bothered her. Like Tim only having a conversation with his mum once all was well, I wonder if Mrs B. will only have a chat with me once her token of betrothal is back in its rightful place.  

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BTW if you read my previous post; the Cross pens never turned up. Four years on and I have to admit that all hope is lost. Only a miracle will reacquaint me with them now.

Many years ago, I was lucky enough to get to sit in the cockpit of a Spitfire at Duxford (thanks to my old friend Derek Fisher, who helped with aircraft restoration at the site); the delightful sound of a Merlin engine is something that I have written about before; I still have the Airfix models I made of the Spitfire and Hurricane when I was much younger on display in my home…

…and yet yesterday I missed an opportunity to see the greatest aircraft display in my lifetime.

I admit that I made a mistake and I regret it. I just wish that I’d made the decision to take the day off and drive towards Goodwood. The Battle of Britain 75th Anniversary fly past didn’t make it as far north as the skies of Milton Keynes and so I had to watch the coverage of the largest number of Spitfires/Hurricanes flying in formation since WW2 on the telly instead.

On that subject, Channel 4’s coverage was excellent and I urge you to catch up with “Battle of Britain: Return of the Spitfires” on 4OD if you missed it. Prince Harry was brilliant, Tom Neil the 95 year old, former BoB pilot/wing commander was inspirational and the filming of the aircraft in flight, well that was sublime.

I am envious of those on the south and east coasts that were on the flight paths and, whilst I accept that trying to buy a ticket for Goodwood at the last minute would have been fruitless, I am gutted that I didn’t study the flight plans earlier and take myself (and a pair of binoculars) somewhere/anywhere with aircraft spotting potential.

Included in the flying display were three two-seater Spitfires (Tom Neil took to the skies in one of them). I have no idea what one has to do, or who one has to know, to get up in one, but securing a flight would have to rank as one of the greatest experiences that a bloke could have – as good as watching one’s children being born or watching one’s future wife walking down the aisle.

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On Sunday I had two retail experiences that I am going to share with you – one was excellent and one was appalling. This post is a celebration and a name and shame.

AM

First up Halfords because, in chronological terms, my trip to the Daventry branch (338) was the first outing of the day.

By way of background, my son got a new bicycle in July; it was purchased from Halfords Daventry and the team at the branch duly built it for him. Part of the deal when you buy a bike in this way is that the branch will inspect it again a little while later and tighten everything up.

This Sunday morning, my lad and I got on our bikes and rode to Halfords for the re-inspection to take place. This visit had not been booked, we just turned up. The only issue with the Apollo mountain bike was squeaky brakes – in fact they made so much noise that my son was a bit embarrassed by the unwanted attention when applying them. The trip was the perfect opportunity to get the brakes looked at.

Upon arrival at the branch, we reported to the checkout nearest the door and asked for help. I was initially questioned about when I’d like to collect the bike; I got a raised eyebrow when I said “can you look at it now, whilst we wait?” but to the assistant’s credit, Scott said “okay” and moments later he set to work.

The first two adjustments failed to cure to squealing but Scott persisted and changed the brake blocks. Upon test these squealed too so the rims were polished again and the new blocks lightly sanded. The diligence paid off though because by test four, everything was hunky dory - one happy son and one happy dad.

Halfords encourages customer feedback and Scott gave me a card with the website details for “giveusasteer”. I have since visited the site and left glowing feedback because I genuinely felt I had received great service. Arguably though this post goes much further than website form filling, because you get to read the praise too.    

It is an accepted fact that news of bad customer service will reach more than twice as many ears as news of good. In the case of this post, the good will reach as many ears as the bad and that feels more balanced to me.

PM

In the run up to lunchtime, Mrs Baldwin was very keen to take a trip out to Ikea. We have two branches in reasonable commuting distance from us but on this occasion Coventry (150) trumped Milton Keynes.

I have to be frank, like many blokes all over the country, I am a reluctant Ikea shopper. Going to Ikea is akin to a kind of punishment because I get bored and have little interest in/enthusiasm for anything that is on display. Occasionally though I go because Mrs Baldwin deserves the support and I like having a chance to evaluate the furniture that I am inevitably going to have to build.

On Sunday a chest of drawers and a desk for my son’s room were on the shopping list (along with lunch in the store restaurant).

Eventually, having meandered all around the store, we made it to the warehouse, collected our Brimnes chest and requested a Bjursta table/desk (which couldn’t be picked from the customer accessible warehouse area – for this you had to pick it up from a collection point the other side of the checkouts).

We subsequently parted with our cash and what had been a relatively painless experience to that point slowly, painfully slowly turned into a nightmare that had me so angry that not only have I complained to Ikea customer services, I am sharing my feedback with the wider world.

After arriving at the collection point at 13:37, we had to wait for more than an hour before we could leave with our Bjursta. Half the time, admittedly in fits and starts, the collection point was unattended so we had no one we could quiz about the whereabouts of our stuff.

In the amount of elapsed time, this piece of furniture could have been delivered from Ikea’s Milton Keynes or Wednesbury (Birmingham) stores – as it was it was just pulled from a shelf somewhere in the branch’s warehouse.

Once more than 45 minutes had passed, I started getting vocal in my discontent. But the assistants sporadically manning the collection desk just shrugged their shoulders with indifference, the security guard couldn’t help and my demand to see a manager initially resulted in me being told that I could go upstairs to Customer Returns to complain (where I could take a ticket and wait in another queue). I made it very clear that this was not acceptable and the indifferent assistant got on a phone and asked someone to come down.   

Worse still, it turned out that the item we had been waiting for was behind the collection point service desk with the wrong paperwork on it; God only knows how long it had been there. I was saying to the assistant “look that item is the one we are waiting for”; he said “I can’t give you it because it looks like it’s a different order”. He eventually, and it has to be stated begrudgingly, relented under pressure and handed the item over.

After a further ten minute or more delay, I finally met a young manager (responding to the call his colleague had placed) – he said sorry but there was nothing he could do.

At this point I was so cross at being fobbed of again and again that I demanded to know the email address for making a formal complaint and the details of the store manager (Birgit Hartelius) and the head of customer services.   

I have written to customer services too because my experience was so appalling that I feel duty bound to express my frustration in the strongest terms.  My feedback around the collection point service (for order no. 464138) - inadequate process, inadequate staffing, inadequate customer service skills from those serving and no authority for junior management to take restorative action.

My house has Ikea furniture in every room; on this occasion I spent £112.20 at the checkouts, £11.55 in the restaurant and a further £16.30 in the food shop – yet I came out of the Coventry store angry enough to never set foot in an Ikea again. Even Mrs Baldwin who is a Family Card carrying fan of the brand and generally calmer than me was spitting chips and getting short-tempered with the Ikea staff; during the journey home she even mentioned that the restaurant was grubby and the ladies loos filthy. Not good!

For every customer that bothers to complain, 26 others remain silent. In Ikea Coventry’s case I wasn’t the only one pissed off at being treated with disdain and I’d be amazed if I was the only one prepared to vocalise it.

Watch this space because I will let you know what feedback I get from the process – the good thing about social media is that I expect to get one.

Halfords Daventry gets a big thumbs up, Ikea Coventry gets a big thumbs down.

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I drove to work yesterday listening to “Bad Magic”, the latest album from Motorhead. Having ordered it via Amazon - along with two other CDs (to get to a free post qualifying spent) - this was the first disc to get taken out of its cellophane wrap and thrust into my car stereo.

The band’s 22nd studio release is pure and predictable Motorhead; fans know what they are going to get and that the material will be cracking, noisy and heavy - Lemmy always delivers the goods. 

Motorhead’s absolute commitment to its style of musical delivery is comforting and reliable – a bit like AC/DC’s in that sense (but with a faster and more aggressive sound).

I can report that Bad Magic is a very good album, in fact I recommend that you buy yourself a copy right now.

Of the 13 tracks, the song “Till the End” stands out for me, not because it is the best tune but because the lyrics made me reflect on Lemmy’s wellbeing and the longevity of one of my all-time favourite bands.

Lemmy’s health has been widely reported as "declining". On recent tours, gigs have been cancelled due to illness, details of various medical conditions are in the public domain and the great man is starting to look a little frail. To be fair he has epitomised the sex and drugs and rock’n’roll lifestyle and, all things considered, has done pretty well to date.

I have followed Motorhead for twenty five years or more; own every album produced (studio or live); I have seen the band umpteen times; I have watched “Lemmy - The Movie” and have read “White Lines”, Lemmy’s autobiography. But, the Kilmister roller coaster ride is inevitably going to come to an end (perhaps in the not too distant future), and Lemmy acknowledges the passing of time in “Till the End”.

Lyrical extracts include:

”I’ll never let you down”

“There aint no rules to follow
You can’t predict tomorrow”

“Your memories are yours alone
They’re yours until your dust and bone”

“In my life the times have changed
I’m still the man I was”

“You can never live that life again
The one thing you’ll never lose
Is the singing in your head
That will still be with you until the end”

Lemmy is reported as having every intention of performing until he drops and that will come as no surprise to Motorhead fans who are used to his work ethic. That clarity of thought is even reflected on Bad Magic. “Till the End” is track nine on the album so once the introspection is complete, Lemmy gets back to business and charges through four more tracks.

It is possible that Bad Magic might be the last Motorhead album; if it is, Lemmy’s swansong is a good one.

The End

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On the news today, coverage about the British Airways Boeing 777-200 engine fire in Las Vegas which saw the BBC publish one of the best photographs I have seen this year (reproduced across).

The people strolling away from the plane look almost nonchalant despite the scary scene behind them and the potential risk of the aircraft exploding. What a photo, what a moment in time.

The shot reminds me of the scene at the end of Independence Day when Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum wander away from the crashed alien ship.

If you visit the BBC news website link below, I urge you to listen to the pilot radioing in the fire and asking for backup. That chap was as cool as a cucumber, no suggestion of panic at all. Just the kind of person you’d want to be in charge in the circumstances.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-34193767

Thank God that the aircraft had its catastrophic engine failure before it had got off the ground. What is a dramatic story of good fortune and calmness under pressure could have so easily have been a nightmarish calamity instead.

There were no fatalities at all – amazing given the potential!

No doubt the next few days will see similar aircraft grounded and mud/blame thrown around like confetti; one thing that needs to be remembered (applauded even) in all the negativity is the quality of the training that BA must give its air crews to deal with such events.

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I have been following the news of late and have come to the conclusion that the British media is schizophrenic.

Refugees fleeing Syria have become big news and that’s no real surprise bearing in mind that Europe is witnessing the largest humanitarian crisis since the Second World War.

Today though, the BBC is dedicating air time to whether or not it was lawful to kill two British citizens fighting for IS in a targeted RAF drone strike in Syria.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-34184856

My view is this – the two jihadi fighters deserve no sympathy at all. These people took up arms for an illegitimate regime that has caused death and destruction on a tremendous scale and believes in/actively promotes ethnic cleansing.

On one hand the media is concerned about the welfare of refugees and on the other, it is concerned about the legality of killing two British scumbags that represented the terrorist organisation responsible for the massive refugee crisis.

Surely anyone that fights under the IS black flag is a legitimate military target regardless of what nationality they claim?

Though this is harsh, every British jihadi that dies arguably frees up a British citizenship that could be given to a refugee more deserving of it (and that just might add some value to the UK). Maybe the RAF should be targeting more of our home-grown, IS arms-bearing, extremist, hate-filled lunatics.

The only thing that will properly resolve the refugee crisis is the reclamation of the lands that they had to flee from and a removal of the threats they faced. Many more jihadis are going to have to die to achieve this and frankly it’s irrelevant if they are British and wiped out by British ordnance.

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So September is here, summer is over, the rain has been pouring (yesterday it came down so hard that I was worried about the paint on my car being washed off), the garden is muddy and marsh-like and the leaves are turning yellow. Still I can’t complain because the kids are finally back at school - hallelujah - and August was a positive and productive month in the Baldwin household.

Whilst the blog was noticeably quieter than normal (apologies to my avid reader/s – hi mum/dad/sis), the month was actually busier than any this year.

After the joys of the new shag pile getting laid and the house finally returning to its normal operating mode, Mrs Baldwin, the junior Baldwins and yours truly went to Holland for a well-earned vacation.

Whilst I could use this post to share my holiday snaps (because I look fetching in swimwear – obviously), I thought that instead I’d pick out one or two highlights from my Dutch exploits.

Just in case you’re nervous at this point, there won’t be any details shared about drug taking, hard-core pornography or shopping for prostitutes. Why, because I went to Center Parcs, rather than Amsterdam; the only red lights glowing were on my dashboard; the coffee shops visited actually sold coffee. I did watch one or two dodgy movies but they are only described in that way because of the subtitles, the channel being called Veronica Disney and the occasional presence of Sylvester Stallone.

Having driven through France and Belgium and into Holland on our journey towards Venlo (which isn’t that far from Germany), the first observation has to do with driving through France, Belgium and Holland. I feel the love for the European legislative collective that has deemed that 130kph speed limits on its motorways hit the g-spot. Having to drive hundreds of miles was just that little bit easier thanks to an 80mph limit instead of 70. Mr Cameron, please pay attention!

Secondly; my Passat Estate’s Satnav unit comes with European maps and that was a joy to discover – though, and this is an improvement tip for Volkswagen, Holly (for my electronic buddy deserves a name) had an appalling grasp of Dutch pronunciation. Whilst I enjoyed listening to the Dutch rolling of the tongues of the local news anchor women, Holly was rather more Angela Merkel than Bobbi Eden.

On the subject of language, just about every Dutch person I interacted with was able to switch to English without hesitation. On a Center Parcs resort you might expect it but in every service station or supermarket we visited en-route or in Venlo, Venray and Horst, the same skills were evident. The education system in Holland puts the UK to shame. To be frank, I can’t speak a word of Dutch and was genuinely embarrassed by my ignorance.

I mentioned Supermarkets a moment ago. Mrs B. and I had an uncomfortable moment in a Lidl in Venlo. Having scanned a trolley of goods through the checkout, our UK debit and credit cards were deemed unacceptable – the computer said ‘nee’. Between us, fortunately, we were able to scrape together just (and I mean just) enough Euros to pay in cash. The guy on the till was able to express his sympathies in English – at least communication wasn’t a further embarrassment. Lidl is no frills shopping and in the UK, I avoid the brand – I guess that no frills in Holland extends to a rejection of foreign currency exchange transactions. We didn’t have problems using our cards anywhere else so Lidl’s stock has gone down even further in my estimation. The “live a Lidl” tagline should be “loathe a Lidl” in my opinion.

After that bit of whinging (good though it felt), I’d prefer to end this post on a high.

But first a bit of background.

We hired bicycles because we were in Holland and it would have been rude not to - so many people get around on pedal bikes that I wouldn’t be surprised to see an image of a bicycle on the country’s national flag.

On a sunny Tuesday afternoon (25th Aug.), a collective decision saw us ride to Horst, which was about seven kilometres away. For an adult that journey would be easy, but for my eight year old daughter, it was hard work. Upon arrival in Horst I spied a road sign for a café and duly lead the family towards it.

A few hundred metres further on, it turned out that the establishment was Café Cambrinus (CC) and it wasn’t actually a café at all but a pub on the Dutch gig-circuit and a known purveyor of high quality, often unique ales.

And it was shut.

We regrouped to rethink and turn back the way we had come when the proprietor of CC opened the door to mention that his bar was closed. What happened next was lovely, he took one look at my puffed out, hot and bothered daughter and said come in.  

Jan took us through to his beer garden, introduced us to his wife Henny and their dogs and got us some drinks.  We all sat around a table and chatted (in English) and it was a really nice experience. That bit of kindness shown to complete strangers made our day and was a highlight of our entire holiday.

My thanks go to Jan and Henny for their hospitality.

At the end of our week away, coming back through Calais, observing the refugee chanty town and seeing armed French police patrolling high perimeter, barbed wire topped fences evidenced that strangers showing kindness to one another is not something that can be taken for granted.

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