SPAg blog

CONSCIENCE CONUNDRUM (NO.1)

Where do I stand on mineral water these days?  Even before the Panorama programme that showed children in India reduced to scooping muddy water into discarded mineral water bottles in order to have a drink, I had already braced myself to ask for a 'jug of tap' in all restaurants.

To be honest, it hasn't been easy.  There is something very quenching and reliable about a freshly unscrewed bottle of Evian.  Somehow good old London tap water in receptacles ranging from jugs to vases is a good deal less appetising and variable.  But it IS water and we are lucky enough to have abundant quality water at the turn of a tap. Unlike millions around the world.

So does this mean I have ceased to buy bottled water.  Well, yes, mostly - except for when I'm on the go and the reason to buy is as much for the vessel as it is for the content.  What can all of this have done to water sales? 

Have we not spend the last ten years colluding in a massive exercise along the lines of the Emperor's new clothes?  I have been around long enough to marvel at two major changes since the days when I first began my career.  Then it was perfectly possible to walk down the street without the pressing need to make or take a phone call or to lug litre bottles of water wherever we went as if it was an oxygen tank and our life depended on it.

In my house it had all got rather silly where mineral water was concerned.  For ease I was buying bumper packs of half litre bottles and as soon as my children descended they reached for a bottle (and then another and another) and at the end of an average weekend partially drunk bottles would be scattered on surfaces around the house.  I suppose they thought it was ONLY water.  Confronted with this debris even before my Road to Tarsus moment I dithered not knowing what to do with the unidentified ownership of the half drunk water.  To salve my conscience I used to top up the flower vases - that way I was not just throwing it down the drain.

Now, I have sorted it in my head.  Bottles of water bought at the cinema or for car journeys do not get thrown out when finished, instead I take them home and top up with my Britta filtered water for the next journey, or for my run, or, or...........

Somehow it doesn't seem so bad if I really utitlise each bottle to its fullest potential.  But, of course, it doesn't make it right that there are still so many in the world having to grovel for sustenance from filthy water.   

somewhere in there is the Olympic flame

                      

Nellie and I - intrepid, revolutionary photo-journalists!

TIME FOR A RANT!

I am interested in any feedback on the subject of tenders.  Increasingly we are invited to take part in tendering processes for contracts in both the private and public sectors.  For anyone who has gone down this route will know well it is a very, very time intensive activity.  The level and depth of information required is phenomenal but we take the view it could be worth it.  The trouble is, it often seems as if you have as much chance as a blind person forced to blunder around in the desert hoping to find an oasis. 

Just doing the PQQ can be onerous enough and then, if you are successful, the biggie arrives in the shape of the tender application itself.  Fair enough, no one says you have to do it but I do think it is only fair that this huge amount of investment in time is done on the understanding that it is a level playing field.  But, how would one know?  You have to rely on trust and a certain amount of obligation on the organisation to conduct its side of it in a similarly morally robust fashion.

But does this happen?  An example, we took part in the tendering process for the PR programme for DEFRA's Campaign Against Illegal Poisoning.  We filled in all the forms, we gave them a considerable amount of commercially sensitive information, we delivered it on time and then we waited.  At some later date we received a short note informing us we had not been successful.  However, we were entitled to a meeting to discuss our submission and how it had scored against the criteria. 

Strangley enough the Borgia's amongst us believe we have good credentials to represent the Campaign Against Illegal Poisoning, so we asked for a meeting.  Eventually, after much chasing, we were told the person responsible was not often in London so would do a conference call instead.  That was several months ago and no amount of chasing since has resulted in a any response whatever.

This is not good enough.  It begs the question, was this a properly conducted tender, or was there a need to 'appear' to put it out to public pitch but that the outcome had already been decided.  Were we simply - and unwittingly - a stalking horse?  Did anyone care how much time and effort had gone into our application?

We need to know.  We ALL need to know.

FREEDOM FOR THE PEOPLE OF TIBET

Nellie Dog and I ploughed across Kensington Gardens in the deep snow of Sunday morning - she with orange ribbons tied to her collar and me with the lining of a scarlet skirt hoisted on my brolly - as our makeshift pennants to support the Tibetan people in their demo against Chinese human rights when the Olympic flame was carried through London.  We needn't have bothered as we were met with great enthusiastiam and given a proper placard and Tibet flag to wave. 

As a seasoned dissident (!) - my second protest march ever - it was quite something.  The huge police presence was good natured although I suspect they did not consider me to be too much of danger to national security.  However, the sight of the female athlete bravely trying to do her leg of the run looking very close to tears as she was jostled by the mysterious blue army of 'flame protectors' that surrounded her and the target of much yelling and chanting from me and my fellow protestors, was not an edifying sight.

Nevertheless, the charm of the Tibetan supporters who stood shoulder to shoulder with us (slightly less so with Nellie who was tethered to a railing and did much shaking with excitement whilst the protest was under way), the fluorescent-jacketed cycling policeman who wobbled all over the road and the surrealism of the snowstorm made it a memorable and extremely worthwhile way to spend a Sunday morning.

Typically, the next day the good old Frenchie's were much less well behaved and I would like to think what we all started in London has set a standard to be met wherever the Olympic flame goes next on its journey to Beijing.