It's not a holiday

So people think that international business travel is fun, exciting and a bit of jolly really. But it's not. Not any more. Sure, twenty years ago it was. With unlimited wine and open borders. I remember my first visit to the USA where airplane passengers were asked to ensure they had unloaded their pistols before boarding. You could have a gun, you could have bullets, just not together.

But now budgets have shrunk, airlines have worked out how to cram as many people into as small as space as possible and border controls are just one long line leading to another long line.

So you might not believe me when I say I'm in Boston, MA not Lincolnshire, for a conference on the Passive Approximation of Quasi-Finite Spectrums. Yeah, grates with me too. We invented the language and then you lot ruined it.

And whilst this trip does entail staying in one of the oldest hotels in Boston, and it is a city of immense history, it also involves sitting on a wobbly chair that's just a bit too low listening to folks that know their stuff just not their presentation skills in room that is a bit stuffy after just four hours sleep. Oh, and for eight hours. And whilst you might think I've skipped sleep because of the good life, I haven't. The flight got in after 9:00pm, then there's those border lines and a taxi and a check in and an unpack and then, yes, just one beer. And then if your body doesn't go and think the best thing to do is stay on UK time and wake you up at 4:00am leaving you to alternately stare at the ceiling and the clock until it's time to get up.

Then there's the food at these things. An early breakfast - cooked; Break - cookies [don't]; Lunch - cooked, but admittedly looking like boiled frog and rice; Break - cake; Evening reception - finger food and beer.

So by the end of all this, what with the duff chair, the lack of sleep and all the eating; I really needed a bit of exercise. My US colleagues decided to keep on the roll of food and beer and I told them I would meet them in the bar in 90 minutes time. They know I like to be accurate, so they set a stop watch going.

I went back to my room, changed collected my phone for some music and went to find the exercise suite. Standing by the lift I realized that it is probably better to walk there so I decided to find the stairs.

And once through the door, I saw a sign saying "Gymnasium" and an arrow pointing along a corridor. Cute, I thought, old hotel still using traditional language.

So I followed the sign to some stairs where there was another gymnasium sign and an arrow pointing down. I went down two flights and then followed along a corridor as instructed. And here it goes a bit strange as there're some stairs and a sign saying Gymnasium only with the arrow pointing up. So I followed it, and then along another corridor to a sign on a door. Which I went through to discover another corridor. And at the end of this a staircase with a bloody sign inviting me to go down. I checked my phone to see if there was any signal, there wasn't and the GPS wasn't playing either, but I could swear that I had gone down two staircases, up one and there, back and there. Only what with the rickety stairs and the meandering corridors, I couldn't be certain where I was. And the signs only pointed to the Gym. Not back to the lobby, or rooms, or restaurant any anything vaguely un-Gym like.

So what do you do? You follow the sign.

And go down two more flights. And along another corridor. Which I think must go out of the hotel and under the street.

And there again is a flight of stairs, going up. Which I take. Only to find another corridor. So I think, bollocks to this and turn to take the stairs back and try and work my way back. Only now, the stairs are not down, but up. With a sign saying Gym. Just Gym, and in a scrawl that's almost hard to read it's so old. And now the corridor has gone and only the stairs up remain.

So I have no choice and I follow them. I'm running now, I clatter through doors, stride along corridors and scurry up stairs. Getting more and more worried that I'm never getting out.

And then suddenly I'm in the foyer. A bright modern foyer. With electric lights and windows and there at the desk is a smiling receptionist.

As I approach her, she does her best to maintain her smile; but I'm a sweaty, slightly overweight Brit that has panic on his face.

'How can I help you this evening, sir?' she asks, remembering her training.

'Where' <pant> 'Is' <pant> 'Your' <sniff> 'Gymnasium?' I manage to ask.

She looks at me with a pained look before saying, 'Our luxury and fully equipped fitness and health suite is currently undergoing an extensive refurbishment. Guests are invited to use the facilities of an exclusive sports club just a few short minutes from the hotel. The concierge will be pleased to offer you directions.'

'But, no gymnasium?'

'No sir. I'm not even sure if we use that word any more.'

'In the hotel industry?' I asked, a bit sharply perhaps.

'No sir. In America.'

I thank her and turn to look at where I had burst into the lobby. There's a flower arrangement on a table in front of a wall. And nothing else.

'Dude!' came a call from behind. 'Good workout? Your dripping! Twenty minutes, beer!'

'Dude', I replied. 'Beer now.'

A good enough reason

I hate trains.
No, seriously, I really hate then. And I have good enough reason.
So imagine my horror at being asked to attend an audition, and to have to get there by train. I should perhaps explain that 'there' is London. Oh and that today is Friday.
So now I find myself on a train back from an armpit of the south in a crowded box on at Friday afternoon.
And I hate trains.
And auditions. Because they generally go like this: "Oh it is you." And shortly after that: "Right. Thanks bye." If I'm lucky.
So here I sit, fully in the knowledge that once again I didn't get the part, in the forward facing window seat of a table for four on a train that's going to pass through the other armpit of the south - Reading. You know this train's going to be packed.
But that's OK. I keep my hat on, my book up and no-one should recognize me. No that anyone cares, what with their phones and tablets and such.
But it is outside Reading, Mortimer to be precise, that things start to go awry. For a start, Mortimer is one of the few places on earth that radio can't reach, so everyone's phone takes a break from showing cat videos. And the train decides that enough is enough and promptly breaks down. Bristol, for it was there that we were heading, will have to wait.
And I make the fatal mistake of looking out of the window. Just for a second. And the guy opposite says: "Oh it is you. I did wonder."
And his wife says, "Who is he."
"Him, off the telly. Ahh. Y'know..." and he looks pleadingly at me.
"Sixty Seconds or You're Dead."
"Yeah... Sixty Seconds or You're Dead." He turns to her and looks. "No?"
"Never heard of it." For a moment, I love this woman with my whole heart.
"It was this sketch show. With Dave Burbleberry." She sniffs. "And he was in it."
And indeed I was, for less than sixty seconds a show.
"What was your catchphrase?" For ever, I will hate this man with my whole body.
"I got my dick stuck in it."
"Bingo. I got my dick stuck in it." And his wife looks at him, and then the guy sat next to me and finally me and says, "Really? That's...."
"Unfortunate," I add.
"No," he counters. "It was brilliant. Every week, there would be something that was broken, or not happening and, and, and, he would have to say 'I got my dick stuck in it.' Boom, end of scene.
"Wife's hair dryer won't work - I got my dick stuck in it; Petrol pump's blocked - I got my dick stuck in it; Toaster won't pop up - I got my dick stuck in it. Even the election special - he couldn't post his ballot in the box because?" He directs the question at me. And I'll be damned if I answer.
"You got your dick stuck in it!"
"I did indeed."
"And," he adds with an overly long dramatic pause, "in a Welsh accent."
Which he now proceeds to try. At length.
Until, and at this point I think fortunately, the guard passes. And our chum asks: "Why's the train stopped? Has he got his dick stuck in it?"
"No," says our Welsh guard somewhat taken aback, "points are stuck."
"Brrrrriliant, you can do the accent. Go on, say it."
"Say what?"
"I got my dick stuck in it."
"Oh no. I don't think so, sir. Not really me." And he carries on down the carriage.
"Oh. Oh well. Just me then.
"I got my dick stuck in it. I gghhot my dick stuck in it."
"Look," I interject, "that's not really a Welsh accent. It's more a constipated Pakistani."
"Oh." He is crestfallen, which I rather enjoy.
But I can see him practising under his breath until eventually:
"I got my dick stuck in it."
"No. But at least the laxative has worked. Listen, have you ever seen the film 'Kingsman'? About a secret service?"
"With Jason Statham?"
"Colin Firth, but close enough."
"Sure it wasn't Jason Statham?"
"Yes. In that, the weapons officer, the Q if you like, was played by..."
"Jason Statham..."
"Mark Strong. Now Mark Strong, whilst being follicallly challenged, is probably one of Britain's best actors. His character was supposed to have a Welsh accent, but even he couldn't manage a decent one. So they switched it to Scottish."
"You sure it wasn't Jason Statham?"
"Yes."
"Then I ain't seen it, then."
I look out of the window. I hope the break in eye contact stills him. I hope.
"So, how come you can do one?"
"What?"
"A Welsh accent. You don't sound Welsh now."
"I was bloody born there. I've spent 43 years trying to lose the damn' thing."
"Oh yeah. When you're angry you can hear it."
And at that moment the trolley goes past.
"Here mate," shouts my number one fan, "got any coffee?"
"Machine's broken," says the steward.
"What? Have you got your dick stuck in it?"
What are the chances of my number two fan working for a rail company?
"Yeah. And the teapot, I got my dick stuck in that too." Only his accent is better.
They trade 'I got my dick stuck in it's to the merriment of the coach. And my mounting frustration.
"Will you, shut the flange, up?"
"What?" they say in synch to each other.
"Will you. Shut. The flange. Up?"
"The flange?"
"Yes. Just, just, shut up. I hate the phrase. For ten years since that programme aired every interview, every audition has ended when they recognise me. Normally, they demand I say it. 'Go on, go on' they say 'do the phrase'."
"And what do you say? Do you say it?"
"No, I normally reply 'Go fuck yourself' and the interview pretty much ends there...."

Where are my bags, British Airways?

So some history to start with.

I came back on Friday 31st October from St Louis to home via Chicago.

The weather on Friday was pretty apt for Hallowe'en in that is was frightful. Frightful enough to mean a lot of flights in and out of Chicago were cancelled. My flight took off nearly three hours late, but luckily I had allowed for this after the last return flight on American Airlines had left me stranded.
The landing, in an Embraer ERJ-175, was well handled by the captain. Given there was a 70 miles per hour headwind and sleet and snow in the air, he held the plane about 5 meters off the runway for a few seconds before slamming it down. Having been in a similar situation before the slamming down is an approved method for ensuring the wheels bite the tarmac.
We made the gate at 9:00pm with the BA flight closing the gates at 9:25pm. In a different terminal, and after security. And a train ride.
I made the gate at 9:20 or so, perhaps even earlier and probably leaving a wake of devastation and muttering yanks behind [but then I did drag a few other brits with me too - complete with the phrase "Don't be such a Brit, we're getting on the plane..."]
What I also knew was that whilst I had made the flight, the chances of my bag doing the same were slim to none.
On arrival at Heathrow I did what you do and waited for the "Bags Arriving" sign to change to "Bags Delivered" before heading to the Lost/Delayed bags counter.

And now the fun starts.

Having duly processed my ticket and agreed that the bag wasn't on the flight the agent and I set about to agree when and where the bags would be delivered.
Knowing there wasn't much I needed in the bag, I suggested it be delivered to work on Monday.
"Monday?" says the agent, "We can get your bag to you on Sunday at home. It'll be here Sunday morning, we'll pick it up, give to the carrier and there you'll be."
Short of "Bish, bosh, jobs a good'un" it couldn't have been more chipper. Or less accurate.
So Sunday comes and yes, the bag was on the first flight out of Chicago that landed 6:31am on Sunday morning.

Here's the BA/AA tracking info from their baggage tracking page:

Here's the flightaware data for it: FlightAware-BA294 I like this site by the way. InfoGeek!

And here's the Courier log for it from BA:

And here's their log that I grabbed at 12:05 pm Monday 3 November.

Wait a minute, you're going say, you haven't had your bag delivered. But it's Monday. It's the afternoon, and your bag is still sat in the courier's office? How did that happen?

Well I don't know. In fact there's lots of things I don't know.

I don't know, for example, why at 4:00pm on Sunday the bag was still shown as in-transit. This caused me to ring the BA support line to tell them to deliver it to work as sure as apples are apples they weren't delivering it to my home on Sunday...
Then at 6:00pm, the status changed to "DELIVERY PROCESS INITIATED". 6:00pm, what the heck? Why then? I means that pretty much 11 hours after the bag landed. Was that one final sweep of the hall before cocoa?
So, back to BA customer support to say, well, if it's with the courier then send it to my home.
So they entered that address.
Didn't bother telling me that I had less chance of getting my bag on Sunday then I did of winning the previous day's lottery. Nah.

So, Monday morning comes, and unsurprisingly my bag hasn't. So back to BA customer to get the address changed again. It's 8:05am when I call and the agent kindly tells me that I have to phone the courier to get the address changed. But they don't open until 10:00am [so that's hardly a rush job, is it].
And here's a question, why do I have to phone the courier, when it's just a BA sub-contract? Why isn't that automated? What's the point of customer service, if the only thing they offer is that I do it myself.

Actually what happened was that whilst the agent said she wouldn't do anything, when I called back at 10:00am the address had been changed.

And finally, why the fumble is it still sat at the couriers?

Oh yeah, here's the reason:

From the ticket info on the lost baggage site:

ADVICE TO CUSTOMER - PLEASE NOTE :

Once your baggage has been picked up by the courier it will be delivered to the address provided. Please be aware that this can take variable amount of time depending upon the number of bags to be delivered as well as the time of the day.

Please be assured that we will endeavor to deliver your baggage as promptly as possible.

Which is a big shoulder shrug of responsibility, isn't it? That's basically saying: We'll get round to it.

It's also important to note that the bag has been more delayed by the handling in the UK than the actual missed connection. Surely that's wrong too.

And "COURIER WILL CALL U" on a web-site? In 2014? That's so professional, innit? Unless you have got time-locked teenagers running the service, in which case you're excused.

And finally, BA, update your phone number on the lost baggage website. If you have a local number [0344] why not have that there instead of the 0844 one?

As Dave Brailsford pointed out it is "the aggregation of marginal gains" that can lead to success.

British Airways seem to be aggregating something else, and it's not helping.

Update!

So it's now Tuesday and I have good news: I have my bag.

Here's the delivery log from City Bags:

Yes that is 23:16 when I signed for it.

If you look a bit closer at that log you'll see that the bag was loaded onto the delivery vehicle at 15:28. And that was when the driver gave me a ring to say that the delivery time would be between 10:30 and 11:30 pm.

So, once again, I had to change the address, cos y'know offices are pretty closed at that time of night. Actually, so are most homes.

And the saddest thing? The poor sod was not done yet. He still had another few bags to deliver. Folks are being asked to stay up past midnight, that's not customer service. And it's not the driver's fault either. Were I jet-lagged that's a big ask.

So what would I recommend to BA to get things sorted.

Well, 

• Don't promise and then fail to deliver. I knew from the get-go that Monday was the most likely day that my bag would be delivered. Although I hadn't reckoned on how close to Tuesday we would get. It also meant that I was waiting in on Sunday for a bag that was never going to arrive.
• Don't have a system that lets folks see how inept you are. The phone line tells you that you can track your bags online. Actually, what you get is to see a bag sat lonely on a conveyor belt waiting for someone. Someone that will never come... And then you can track that your bag has gone for a rest in a warehouse somewhere. This is not reuniting you with your bags.
• Have customer service agents that could give two hoots. At this particular moment in time, and you're lucky this was on the flight home not out, the contents of that bag are important. Were I sat in a hotel wondering where my next pair of skivvies was coming from, as happened once in Cuba, then humour and patience will be at very low levels.
• Try delivering at reasonable times.You can't say that 11:16pm is because you wanted to get my bag to me as fast as possible; if that were the case the 11:16pm on Sunday would be true. So would 11:16am on Sunday. In fact the earliest you could have made this was by using BA1541/AA90 [a godawful flight - I know from experience] which would have landed at T3 on Saturday night, less than 12 hours after I landed at T5.

What is wrong with BA's android app

Oh lord.

British Airways used to have a reasonable app. It was mostly their website converted to mobile. But it worked.

The shiny new app looks lovely, it shows you pictures of where you're going. And the background matches your executive club level.

But it is god awful to use.

I can't find the WiFi password anymore, that was kind of handy.

So here's the worst thing though: it can no longer remember stuff. Like you account balance, or flights.

Now I'm going on a limb here, but that last thing is the doesy. Add a booking, and next time it's forgotten.

Go and refresh the account and there it is again, but if the app is unloaded... Guess what? Got to go refresh the account again.

And the upgrade option is comedy value. First, it's very kindly told me that all the seats on the outbound flight have sold; well that's OK as the flight was a week ago. I don't expect there to be any seats. But it won't let me upgrade the return flight as I haven't done anything with the outbound...

And we all know about responsive design: so when you turn this page round - you have to, it just doesn't fit a portrait screen all the check boxes and images occupy the same area leaving loads of white space mind - it reloads the data... slowly. Special that is.

Ugh.

T-Mobile and Passwords

The History

For a long time now, I've had a pay-as-you go T-Mobile 4G WiFi hotspot for when I'm in the US.

It allows me cheap[er] access to the WWW from my tablet, phones and PC. In all it's a nice bit of kit if not a bit hungry on the batteries. 

Just before I go I log in to the T-Mobile website and top up the data. Sometimes $30 for 3GB, or $50 for 7GB. Which is a bit cheaper that Vodafone's £1/MB. And of course I don't have to pay the hideous charges hotels still make for Internet access [can someone explain that to me].

The Change

So originally you managed the device through my.tmobile.com and life was easy. Username and password. But then T-Mobile had the great idea to change all that and got Ericsson in to fix the service and provide an enhanced user experience. And we all know what that means.

So for months you couldn't access all the features you had and log in would fail and eventually, eventually I got the 'Incorrect Password/Username' message. Which caught me unawares. And after a few goes using what I thought was my password, I relented and clicked the 'Reset my Password' button.

And this is the e-mail I got.

I did not have to enter my username, just the phone number of the device. And the e-mail was sent to the address on file. Not that that really matters, they might as well have shown it in a pop-up.

So given that this is hardly a secure 32 character random string that allows a one-shot login, nor is it the classic 'click here to change your password' link, it concerned me somewhat.

Moreover, once I had opened the page there were all the controls to change my plan. Auto-refill, re-charge etc. All tied to my credit card. How easy for a thief to simply turn on the auto-refill and burn data like a wotsit? Well, they didn't need the card in front of them.

And that UI - ugh. Designed for a tablet, run on a PC. It fitted into a 800x600 window. And if you had a 1920x1080 display - well it still had a 800x600 display, but with scroll bars. No honest. It was all squidged up in a corner, with scroll bars. And when you changed something it popped up a dialog saying 'Updating your tablet'. Which was funny the first time. But as that wouldn't go away and you then had to click back to actually see the change, it just go annoying.

The saving grace

They've changed it all again now. 

Now there's a funky T-Mobile pink image of folk dancing [no doubt on the graves of the original developers]. And you don't need your cell number and then username/password. But the auto-top-up option has disappeared and they still want 8-15 characters [one digit, one letter] as a password.

For one person and one dog

and that's it

More of the same, sorry

So, I'm a bit delayed

What with the lack of VOD testing, and some constant niggles about the boxes bouncing I decided it was better to stay here than venture to Denver to listen to the RDK meeting. And on that, hey, waddja know RDK 2.0 came out today, just in time...

And yes, my flight was put back and the hotel informed. But that was a write only device so my room was all closed up and I had to pay to cash for the night. The next day Customer contacted the hotel and put them right, but getting my money back was fun - as was keeping hold of my credit card receipt. But y'know some things are going to happen...

Sochi Problems

In case you haven't heard there's a Twitter feed with the tag @SochiProblems. It's where folk can post issues with Sochi and it has more followers that the @Sochi2014 account. So here's my picture taken on Sunday, two/three days after the show opened.

This is the fabulous Sochi Olympics Megastore - it definitely says Mega and Olympics on the front - the rest? No idea. And you can see the workmen still hiding the planks and what have. But what riches must lie within the Sochi Olympics Megastore, well for a preview check this out Sochi Online Shop but we'll return to this topic later.

A moment of Joy

So, Britain, after XXII, well XXI technically, Winter Olympics Games has managed to win a medal on snow. We saw Jenny Jones on the OBS feeds, without the BBC commentary - mores the pity, and she was a happy person that didn't know what to do with her face. Obviously her team mate Aimee was made up and I don't if they showed Aimee's second attempt in the semi-final but that was probably the run of the competition for me. Up until then the ladies had been quite cautious with the jumps but Aimee just hung one out and hoped it would stick. Sadly it didn't but more power to her for it cos some of the landings, like in today's Ski Slopestyle have been nasty.

Any hoo, Colleague and I ventured to Olympic Medal Plaza, out badges are special like that, to watch. And actually anyone in the park was allowed in, just to give it a bit of atmosphere.

We had to make do with this first:

Congrats on the 1,2 in the Ladies Mogul Skiing

Before seeing this:

Strange old thing, seeing your flag raised live. Makes you quite proud.

Useless Diagram Time

OK, so to help you understand how tall, long, fast things are Customer have these natty graphics:

Which means the men's downhill has a drop of almost 3 Empire State Buildings. Some people may remember Monty Python's if an orange were the size of my head, this football could fill one and a half swimming baths sketch thing. Well it's like that. You'll note that to stop the triple decker Empire State Building from falling over, they've handily skewered them on top of each other.

But just as you brain is trying to deal with that scale, they do this. For their American customers:

And I just don't understand, cos the only time most Americans see Big Ben is just before it gets blown up by aliens... So they're probably panicking by now. Or wondering where the spaceships is.

Another day, another corridor

Cast you mind back to the Corridor of Doom, well here's its cousin. We've finally managed to work out that you don't need to travel all the way down the CoD just to walk up this one to get to the office. But you have to walk down this one to get a coffee. A well-known popular coffee from an easily recognized chain. Ahem.

Back in the park

OK, so a word from out sponsors:

But I'm not entirely sure that segregation is the word Coke is looking for.

Now, here's a picture of the park at 11:00am, it's been open since 7:00am and it's thronging.

But where is everyone?

They're queuing outside the Sochi Olympics Megastore. And it's like 1980's Russia, only even more so. You may recall that I said the colour and texture of the uniforms, and you can buy them from the above link at super-discount-bargain prices only $200 for a tracksuit top, gave the impression of '80's Russia, well this finishes it off.

So these folk have no idea what's in the shop, whether it has any stock or how much it costs. And the weather is grey. Ah, just like the good old days. I joined the queue and bought a loaf of bread and some pickles I can give to Stanislav.

Oh and inside, apart from only taking VISA, it's just one layer and looks like, well, Pound-continent. You could put a polyester trackie on, a nylon hat and some acrylic gloves, run around the place and set fire to yourself.
And some of the tat is just glorious, but so expensive it's just not worth buying even for fun value...

'K so I come back on Thursday. So perhaps chance for one last post.

Oh yeah, the boxes

Meh, y'know mostly they stay up. The ones up the mountain have issues but we think that's most likely cable related now cos the ones in the IBC and the Client Sales area are behaving well. We have a couple more kernel patches we want to try to improve the buffer depth and now we know that there's >100M of memory free on the box we're going to play with that a bit.