Yesterday I went to see Taking Liberties, a documentary about how the Labour government has slowly taken away a wide range of things people in Britain held dear. Innocent until proven guilty, the right to protest etc.
It's one of the best films I've seen this year. As it shows laws being changed to suit the government's agenda and the police wasting everyone's time by treating hippies and pensioners as 'terrorists' it's actually a film that makes you angry.
If you're still unconvinced over ID cards, the film offers some great reasons why we shouldn't have them and why we don't need them. If you think, 'If you don't do anything wrong, then you've nothing to worry about,' then it's worth seeing here there are some very good examples of people who weren't doing anything wrong and found out that they had a lot to worry about.
The film also sums up one of the reasons that I hate this government. Because I now agree with people like Boris Johnson
Unfortunately it's only showing at the GFT until Sunday, but when it comes out on DVD or gets another limited run at the cinema it's well worth seeing.
Showing posts with label ID Cards. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ID Cards. Show all posts
Saturday, 7 July 2007
Tuesday, 19 June 2007
A Great British Institution
More pish talk about how great Britain is in an attempt to sell us something we don't want. This time Liam Byrne, Minister of State for Immigration, Nationality and Citizenship at the Home Office, tells us that ID Cards will be brilliant because they "will soon become part of the fabric of British life".
What a lot of nonsense. Roast beef on a Sunday, a pint of cool lager, egg and chips, the Queen's Christmas message, oh aye and an ID card in my back bin so the Home Office can keep tabs on me. What a Great Brittish life we all lead. More tea vicar?
Remember of course that it was only the other week there when it was quietly announced that the projected cost of ID cards has risen by almost a billion pounds. Or to put it another way the equivalent to 16,894,745 weeks of buroo money.
What a lot of nonsense. Roast beef on a Sunday, a pint of cool lager, egg and chips, the Queen's Christmas message, oh aye and an ID card in my back bin so the Home Office can keep tabs on me. What a Great Brittish life we all lead. More tea vicar?
Remember of course that it was only the other week there when it was quietly announced that the projected cost of ID cards has risen by almost a billion pounds. Or to put it another way the equivalent to 16,894,745 weeks of buroo money.
Friday, 25 May 2007
The 10 Minute Knock Back
Well, its been just over a week since Tom and I were unceremoniously chucked out on our arses by our former employers.
So far, its been productive time well used. Tom and I are both writing things we'd never have had time to do otherwise, we've done a bit of filming (more on that at a later date) and we have of course been enjoying all the fun of signing on and applying for jobs.
I was in to sign on today and a fucking bizarre experience it was to. These days, what with all the new fangled technology cutting about, it's all change down the dole or Jobcentre Plus as it's now known.
Instead of just tripping into a Jobcentre and having some half interested twat take down your details for about an hour, you have to call up "Jobsomeshitorother Direct", give them all your details, get a big wad of documents sent out to you that you have to fill out and THEN you get to go down the Jobcentre and have your time wasted by some half interested twat for about an hour.
To be fair, I'd have been less time this morning had I not had to help correct the dozens of mistakes the guy I phoned made and fill in the bits he just couldn't be bothered doing with a new start lassie, who had to ask a colleague every time she had to make a decision.
I was then passed off to a Pat Butcher lookalike for my "Jobsearch", which consisted of her complaining to me about her husband (who apparently can't just go and buy a kilt on his own - ah, you know what we're like us men eh?) before she started entering whatever the fuck she felt like on her computer record of me to the point where I wondered if my being there was in any way genuinely necessary.
I could certainly hear myself talking, but lets just say precious little of it made it across the desk.
She then handed me a bundle of paperwork before huckling me out the door because she'd double-booked me with a guy who had learning difficulties and hadn't been able to read the letter he'd received telling him his appointment had been changed.
Fucking rare eh? Canne wait until no-that-bright, overworked employees under this amount of pressure are handling my ID card details.
The place itself is hilarious now, all open-plan, with "jobpoint" terminals which work to the same functionality standards as their laughable website, sofas, "breakout areas" and designer, leather-bound cupboards that hold about two ring binders and a pencil, the kind of office you'd imagine Tony Wilson would have had in about 1986.
Also, for no reason I can put my finger on other than the possibility that they've finally realised they deal almost exclusively with bams all day, the place is crawling with Group 4 security staff.
Maybe they are all looking for work having been sacked after losing dozens of dangerous criminals? Who knows.
But that's not been the best bit of my week so far. That came the other morning when, bright and early, I applied for a job I had received via alert from S1 jobs.
I applied at 8.59am. By 9.09 I had received and email telling me to fuck off.
Despite being qualified for the job and it being a brand new ad placed that very morning I had apparently fallen behind a vast queue of people better suited to the position.
I am fairly accustomed to the feeling of not knowing whether to laugh or cry, but that was a new one even on me.
So far, its been productive time well used. Tom and I are both writing things we'd never have had time to do otherwise, we've done a bit of filming (more on that at a later date) and we have of course been enjoying all the fun of signing on and applying for jobs.
I was in to sign on today and a fucking bizarre experience it was to. These days, what with all the new fangled technology cutting about, it's all change down the dole or Jobcentre Plus as it's now known.
Instead of just tripping into a Jobcentre and having some half interested twat take down your details for about an hour, you have to call up "Jobsomeshitorother Direct", give them all your details, get a big wad of documents sent out to you that you have to fill out and THEN you get to go down the Jobcentre and have your time wasted by some half interested twat for about an hour.
To be fair, I'd have been less time this morning had I not had to help correct the dozens of mistakes the guy I phoned made and fill in the bits he just couldn't be bothered doing with a new start lassie, who had to ask a colleague every time she had to make a decision.
I was then passed off to a Pat Butcher lookalike for my "Jobsearch", which consisted of her complaining to me about her husband (who apparently can't just go and buy a kilt on his own - ah, you know what we're like us men eh?) before she started entering whatever the fuck she felt like on her computer record of me to the point where I wondered if my being there was in any way genuinely necessary.
I could certainly hear myself talking, but lets just say precious little of it made it across the desk.
She then handed me a bundle of paperwork before huckling me out the door because she'd double-booked me with a guy who had learning difficulties and hadn't been able to read the letter he'd received telling him his appointment had been changed.
Fucking rare eh? Canne wait until no-that-bright, overworked employees under this amount of pressure are handling my ID card details.
The place itself is hilarious now, all open-plan, with "jobpoint" terminals which work to the same functionality standards as their laughable website, sofas, "breakout areas" and designer, leather-bound cupboards that hold about two ring binders and a pencil, the kind of office you'd imagine Tony Wilson would have had in about 1986.
Also, for no reason I can put my finger on other than the possibility that they've finally realised they deal almost exclusively with bams all day, the place is crawling with Group 4 security staff.
Maybe they are all looking for work having been sacked after losing dozens of dangerous criminals? Who knows.
But that's not been the best bit of my week so far. That came the other morning when, bright and early, I applied for a job I had received via alert from S1 jobs.
I applied at 8.59am. By 9.09 I had received and email telling me to fuck off.
Despite being qualified for the job and it being a brand new ad placed that very morning I had apparently fallen behind a vast queue of people better suited to the position.
I am fairly accustomed to the feeling of not knowing whether to laugh or cry, but that was a new one even on me.
Labels:
ID Cards,
unemployment,
Writing
Monday, 26 March 2007
NO2ID Night
Following on from our last festival show on Friday, on Saturday night we played the NO2ID Gala Benefit at the Old Fruitmarket. As you may be aware from previous posts this was a gig that we initiated and helped to set up.
There was always an uncertainty over the line up and over how many tickets could be sold. In the end around 150 people turned up. Which is fine, but really we were looking for 200 at least.
No fault though of the NO2ID campaign guys who had tens of thousands of flyers printed. Several folk at work told me they were handed flyers through the week, so they were out and about all over the place.
As for the show it was an odd night. Several of the acts touted to appear didn’t. Mostly I think this was down to the promoter not securing them.
He did land an extremely good compere in Gordon Brunton and he had his job cut out for him. Paul Pirie opened the night and went over well, pretty much everyone who was on went down well with the crowd, who were up for enjoying the night.
We were on next. The Old Fruitmarket is a pretty big venue and as such we needed microphones. Radio mics were too much of an expense I was told, so we used simple cable microphones. It was a bit awkward, but not too much and we got through our 5 sketches fine, going down well with the crowd.
After us Green MSP Patrick Harvie went on to rally the crowd into opposing ID cards. From what I saw he gave a pretty good speech that was met with a warm reaction.
Through a lot of Gordon’s time on stage compering there were no comedians in the building and he just had to keep talking until someone turned up. This was down to the fact that everyone apart from us were doing other gigs at other venues.
Keir McAllister was another who had a good spot, before Lucy Porter came on. She got into some banter with the crowd about football and made the first mention by any comedian of the night of ID cards.
Canadian-Scot Phil Nichol was the highlight of the show, doing a fantastic twenty minutes where he closed on his famous song ‘The Only Gay Eskimo’. A fight kicked off in the balcony just as he left.
Gordon then had to announce that the headline act hadn’t turned up and that was the evening done. So a gigantic anti-climax, though I guess fitting for an evening in which the promoter bailed out on some weeks ago.
I think the audience enjoyed everyone they had seen however and the guys from the NO2ID campaign were very happy at the response they had from people there.
From there I went on to the late show at Blackfriars. Glenn Wool, who was apparently booked to do the NO2ID gig, was first on and performed a really good set.
It was quite a ramshackle night, which ended with everyone’s favourite comedy promoter stripping off onstage.
Our spot on Saturday was filmed and should appear on the Glue YouTube page later this week.
Photographs from the night and from Friday can be found here.
There was always an uncertainty over the line up and over how many tickets could be sold. In the end around 150 people turned up. Which is fine, but really we were looking for 200 at least.
No fault though of the NO2ID campaign guys who had tens of thousands of flyers printed. Several folk at work told me they were handed flyers through the week, so they were out and about all over the place.
As for the show it was an odd night. Several of the acts touted to appear didn’t. Mostly I think this was down to the promoter not securing them.
He did land an extremely good compere in Gordon Brunton and he had his job cut out for him. Paul Pirie opened the night and went over well, pretty much everyone who was on went down well with the crowd, who were up for enjoying the night.
We were on next. The Old Fruitmarket is a pretty big venue and as such we needed microphones. Radio mics were too much of an expense I was told, so we used simple cable microphones. It was a bit awkward, but not too much and we got through our 5 sketches fine, going down well with the crowd.
After us Green MSP Patrick Harvie went on to rally the crowd into opposing ID cards. From what I saw he gave a pretty good speech that was met with a warm reaction.
Through a lot of Gordon’s time on stage compering there were no comedians in the building and he just had to keep talking until someone turned up. This was down to the fact that everyone apart from us were doing other gigs at other venues.
Keir McAllister was another who had a good spot, before Lucy Porter came on. She got into some banter with the crowd about football and made the first mention by any comedian of the night of ID cards.
Canadian-Scot Phil Nichol was the highlight of the show, doing a fantastic twenty minutes where he closed on his famous song ‘The Only Gay Eskimo’. A fight kicked off in the balcony just as he left.
Gordon then had to announce that the headline act hadn’t turned up and that was the evening done. So a gigantic anti-climax, though I guess fitting for an evening in which the promoter bailed out on some weeks ago.
I think the audience enjoyed everyone they had seen however and the guys from the NO2ID campaign were very happy at the response they had from people there.
From there I went on to the late show at Blackfriars. Glenn Wool, who was apparently booked to do the NO2ID gig, was first on and performed a really good set.
It was quite a ramshackle night, which ended with everyone’s favourite comedy promoter stripping off onstage.
Our spot on Saturday was filmed and should appear on the Glue YouTube page later this week.
Photographs from the night and from Friday can be found here.
Labels:
comedy,
ID Cards,
You Owe Me Glue
Tuesday, 20 March 2007
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