Mark Samuels

I guess you probably think Waitrose is a classy store. Your call, I guess – but the following example of (non-)customer service has left me changing my perceptions of the highly rated retailer.

Shopping at Waitrose is normally great. Part of the John Lewis Partnership, it offers a smashing range of products, is better priced than most people believe and is connected to the brilliant online shopping specialist Ocado.

Unfortunately, a recent experience has left me to conclude that Waitrose is also the kind of retailer that allows an outsourced firm to charge a family (one Dad, a pregnant Mum and a three-year-old daughter) £25 to park for more than two hours in their car park as they spend more than £100 on a weekly shop. Thanks Waitrose.

Rather than drone on like a demented consumer champion (any of my neighbours in Wanstead will tell you that I have already bored them senseless about the incident), have a look at the following droning letter of complaint I sent to Waitrose HQ. And get bored by that instead:

To whom it may concern

I am writing to complain about an incident during a recent visit to the Waitrose store in South Woodford, London. As a regular customer that has received many years of quality customer service from the Partnership, I was dismayed to see the following incident occur.

My heavily pregnant wife, my three-year-old daughter and myself parked in a family bay and shopped as normal in the store. We completed our shop and, on returning to our vehicle, found a £25 parking ticket because our car had been parked in the same place for more than two hours.

First, and as can be seen by the included receipt, we completed quite a large shop. Buying food during a busy weekend is always a time-consuming process and is likely to take a considerable period of time.

Second, your web site refers to the friendliness of the Partnership experience. We met three groups of friends and spent time talking to your affable till attendant. We would not, however, have opted for the friendly experience if we knew there was a chance it would cost us £25.

Third, my three-year-old daughter had to be changed in the toilet. Again, this incident took a considerable period of time. My daughter also likes to look at the children’s books and magazines. While we appreciate the distraction, we would not have dallied if we had known it would cost us money.

In short, I can understand that your company might find a requirement to charge people that chose to stay in your car park and not shop in the store. But when a family spends £100, I think it is reasonable to expect that they will not be charged £25 for the experience.

Best regards

Mark Samuels

So, that letter was sent a few weeks ago. What do you think happened? Well, they wrote back quickly – which was nice. And was there a big apology? Er, not exactly:

Dear Mr Samuels

I was sorry to learn that you were unhappy with the car park charges at our South Woodford branch and would like to take this opportunity to explain our reasoning for these changes.

OK. Apology – good start. But look closely; they’re sorry that I am unhappy – not sorry the incident occured. Not looking so good now, especially when they say they’re going to explain their reasoning for the charges (also worth noting that there’s an extra space before South Woodford on my copy of the letter. The more cynical might suggest that the name ‘South Woodford’ has been simply copied and pasted into a standard letter; that’s what the more cynical might suggest…).

Whenever it can Waitrose is keen to provide unlimited free parking. Unfortunately, this is not always possible especially in areas where we must conform with local restrictions or the car park is under the control of the local authority.

Fair enough, they have limited spaces and I guess some people park and don’t buy stuff in the shop. But what’s this…?

At South Woodford there is a very high demand for the number of spaces, and to ensure there is a continual turnover of spaces so all of our customers can find a space during peak periods, Britannia Parking Limited control the car park by introducing a charge after a reasonable period of time. You would therefore need to contact Britania direct.

Woah! So to ensure shoppers can find a space, they fine you after a couple of hours. What? I spent £100 in your store – what on earth has ‘reasonable period of time’ got to do with justifying a turnover of spaces when you’re actually spending cash? If they want to keep spaces free for customers, fine – but surely not by charging people that are in the store shopping. And while I’m on the matter, what is ‘reasonable’? Does it not include spending cash, looking after your kid and having a chat with people? Clearly not.

I would like to thank you for taking the time to bring this matter to attention.

Fine, it’s given me an opportunity to moan and some free content for my blog. So, thanks to you, too.

I appreciate that whilst what I have written will not have been what you wanted to learn, I am glad to have had an opportunity to clarify our position.

Good for you. And you’re right; it isn’t what I wanted to hear – or, more importantly, what I expected.

I can assure you of our continued commitment to providing you with the service and merchandise you espect when shopping at Waitrose and hope this unfortunate incident will not deter you from shopping with us again in the future.

You’ve already failed to meet my expectations regarding service, Waitrose. But why would it deter me from shopping with you again? I’m not going to cut off my nose to spite my face; I like your shops. But I tell you what it will do – it will make me angry and push me to write a load of stuff on my blog about how disappointed I am. And I’ll tell everyone I know about how you left me feeling rubbish. Shame, really. I expected better.

Moral of the story? Don’t park in a mother and baby spot, and spend too long spending £100 in a Waitrose store. If you do, you’ll be charged an extra £25 for the experience.

One of the great things about my three-year-old daughter is that she likes a laugh. She’s shy but, in the comfort of her own home, she really likes a laugh. Much to my poor wife’s chagrin, who usually has to cope with an over-excited child and a childish Daddy.

She’s spent the last couple of months experimenting with jokes. Egged on by an immature father and the ubiquitous Justin (he’s a bloke that presents loads of shows on CBeebies, including the ‘funny’ Gigglebiz), my daughter has tried to come up with some gags. As can be seen below, she’s managed to rip off a fairly standard formula – but the gags show a strong (how I can put this?) alternative flavour:

• Why did the pelican cross the road? To go to the barbers.
• Why did the mouse run up the clock? To go in the trumpet.
• Why does the steam go in your eyes? Because it runs about.
• Why does a cup jump into the air? Because it digs on your floor.
• Why does a turtle walk on the land? Because it swims in the sea.
• Why does a cup go on your shelf? Because it sits on your table.
• Why does the turtle swim like a fish? Because it’s like you and me.
• Why does a machine cross your toy? Because it goes to the centre, where’s it’s cool and fluffy.
• Why does a cow jump over the fence? Because it wants to eat your supper.
• Why did the vacuum cleaner stamp on the house? Because it made the children run about.
• Why did the toilet cross his neighbours to get to his house? Because he bought something new to wear.
• Why does the tree lamp have a leaf? Because it’s bonkers.
• Why did the cat jump over the moon? Because it runs to the stocking.
• Why did the deer have no eyes? Because it had no idea.

My wife knows nothing about technology. She doesn’t have a Facebook account and watching her search the web is more frustrating than watching Aston Villa fail to score in four successive Premier League matches.

She cares nothing for the bits and bytes of technology, like much of the world (an oft forgotten detail). But she did mention that she’d heard Apple had released some new technology.

“The Apple iPad,” I said, recognising that while she cares nothing for Steve Jobs’ latest device, she is equally unable to avoid media hype. The iPad – depending on your chosen review – is either a big phone, the greatest innovation ever (since the last Apple innovation, anyway) or the saviour of the publishing industry. Such hype suggests we’re all about to start reading books and papers on our iPads ; my wife’s response to that suggestion?

“Reading is all about relaxing, so why would anyone choose to read a computer screen?”

Quite (now get your own Facebook account and stop using mine to connect with your mates).

I live in a place called Wanstead. If you live in London, it’s on the Central Line loop; if you don’t, it’s to the east. Wanstead is nice. My Dad is always saying: “What I don’t get about this London is that even when a place is nice, there’s something really grim just round the corner.”

He’s right, of course, but he lives in Warwick. And that is basically the posh Midlands. So, he’s a bit spoilt. But Wanstead – when it comes to London and it’s rather frustrating mix of nice and grim – is fairly grand. That sense of grandness is provided by the wide, tree-lined streets, some splendid period architecture and some lovely open spaces, such as the green on the High Street and Wanstead Park.

The village – if you can call Wanstead a village when it’s five minutes from the M11 and served by two Underground stations – has managed to retain a strong identity, particularly as the rest of east London is either being smashed for the Olympics or going to the dogs (or not, in the case of the former dog track at Walthamstow Stadium).

Then last week, a Tesco opened on the Wanstead High Street. It’s been a source of conjecture, debate and protestation. The store takes the place of a former Woolworth’s (RIP, you good retail friend). The protests against the store have been long and loud (hence the delay in the store opening). A particularly vocal compaigner has been a chap called Ashley Gunstock, who admitted using the Leytonstone Tesco branch after being ‘outed’ by a local newspaper. It’s been that sort of debate.

People objecting to the store say Tesco will kill shops on the High Street. Like elsewhere in the UK, shops are always opening and closing in Wanstead – and I guess the presence of a retail giant is hardly likely to help the independents. And the community of Wanstead – and it does have a nice community; we know all our lovely neighbours – seem keen to ensure the shop is empty.

Which is why I was surprised to see people virtually fighting to get into the Tesco earlier this week, while the local Co-op – which is normally packed – was the retail equivalent of the Mary Celeste: “It’s always like this now,” said one of the workers to me at the Co-op.

Change, eh? Who needs it? Virtually everyone, it would seem.

My daughter is three this weekend. To commemorate this momentous occasion, I’m going to record another of her five favourite games (and she’ll get some presents, too):

• Doggies – I bought a bag of small plastic dogs from a charity shop. I am always that generous. Anyway, my daughter loves this bag of dogs. There are about 100 of the little hounds and there’s accessories, too. Her favourite accessory is the toilet. The dogs spend a lot of time paying money to the shopkeeper to go the toilet. A shop of toilets run by dogs? Not one I’d like to visit in real life.
• Dinos in Houses - Similarly to the small plastic dogs, my daughter has a tin of dinosaurs – which has also been invaded by a collection of insects. Which means evolution has got mixed up and Triceratops now hangs out with his mate over-sized ladybird. My daughter uses her wooden blocks to build houses for the dinos and gets upset if you don’t play the game properly. And that’s always difficult when you don’t know the rules.
• Families - We’ve got another child on the way and my daughter is into families right now. Similarly to earlier favourite games, ‘Families’ relies on the participation of willing soft toys. The toys are not necessarilly related, which means the father is sometimes a dog and the mother is a cow. Another example of evolution gone mad, I’m afraid. One of the toys plays the little girl and the mummy toy has a baby in its tummy. Then they all go on the train for a holiday.
• Peppa Pig - One for Mummy, this one. My daughter likes Mummy to play a subtle variation on ‘Families’ with Peppa Pig and her clan. She’s got a house and a school, and everyone hangs out together. Once again, she gets upset if you get the rules wrong. Which is a particular problem for non-plussed Daddy.
• Explorers – Another game based on soft toy participation. Monkey and Leopard go to Sock Valley and find the Golden Egg. Sometimes Confused Robot comes along for the ride and gets everyone’s names wrong. And French Otter, who is actually a stoat and who says ‘de temps en temps’ a lot.

“Deciding on a name for your baby is one of the hardest decisions you’ll have to make,” starts the A-Z of Baby Names. Maybe, maybe not. But if you’re struggling, pay careful attention to the advice on the back of the same book: “These days, virtually anything goes when it comes to babies’ names!” (Note the exclamation mark, because chosing an unusual baby name really is that much fun!!!)

In fact, if you’re really stuck for names, just turn to page 14 and pay careful attention to the lists entitled: “Made-up names for boys and girls”. Here are five of the book’s made-up suggestions for boys:

1. Dantrell
2. Daquan
3. Markell
4. Quintavius
5. Tevin

And here’s five of the book’s made-up names for girls:

1. Amberkalay
2. Dalondra
3. Jameka
4. Keoshawn
5. Quanisha

But what about when you’ve run out of ideas because all your mates have already picked all the Dantrells and Keoshawns? Don’t worry, just make up some of your own – and here are ten suggestions from me (I might turn this into a baby name book, because there’s only 487,549 on the market right now and someone could make 38p from a book like this):

1. Anubriffpentam
2. Collectingcars
3. Crrdft
4. Farmyardken
5. Loodmubbaois 87f.g SD338WE69AMN
6. Mz
7. Prestonnorthend
8. Trejanfoog
9. Snakehead
10. Zabs

So, England have qualified for the World Cup Finals. Good. But Clive Tyldesley? Bad, very bad.

Me and our Clive have a love/hate relationship. I could, of course, just turn the sound off. But shouting about his commentary is part of the fun. As a mate of mine said many years ago: “The best times in your life are shouting at the TV with your mates”. Sad but true – and it’s as true now as it ever was, even if the person you’re shouting with is your slightly scared two and a half year old daughter.

Anyway, I digress – Clive Tyldesley. Grrrr…

My God, does he have to talk so much? When Barry Davies retired, he was quoted as saying he felt there was not enough silence in modern football commentary.

Our Clive, on the other hand, has made a career of filling every potential second of airtime with words. He rarely commentates in the traditional sense; you don’t get “Lampard, to Rooney, to Barry…”

Instead, you get a running babble of facts, clichés and opinion. What you get is something like this: “John Terry will be the eighth captain to lead England to a World Cup Finals”.

So bloody what? I mean, who cares if he’s the millionth? What difference does it make? And anyway, how does our Clive know who’s going to be captain in 2010? It should be Terry but football – as Tyldesley is likely to remind us many, many times – is a funny old game.

But what’s really funny is his Wikipedia entry. There’s the disclaimer at the top of the page that declares: “This biography of a living person does not cite any references or sources. Please help by adding reliable sources. Contentious material about living people that is unsourced or poorly sourced must be removed immediately”. And at the end of the entry – in the ‘Other Work’ section – is this beauty:

“He has also wrestled oxen professionally.”

Catch it now. It probably won’t last for long. Unlike Tyldesley’s commentaries, which go on and on and on…

I was on holiday in Norfolk last week. Very nice it was, too. I hung around on the beach with my family and counted crocodiles with my daughter. That second bit was in a zoo, by the way – not on the beach…

Fading in and out of network coverage, I spent most of my time in East Anglia without the information conduits that provide my daily fix of Aston Villa news (the Worldwideinterweb), pointless babble from people I don’t really know that well (Twitter) and pictures of people I once knew doing REALLY CRAZY THINGS, like drinking (Facebook). I’ll be honest; I missed all that online rubbish.

I mean, it’s good to go without stuff you like once in a while. Like having a period without booze, dropping your reliance on email and web stuff can leave you feeling cleansed and healthy. My lovely wife – bored with my continual logging on – used to challenge me to have internet free days (IFDs).

I’ve done a few IFDs. They’re OK, but you spend most of the day thinking about how you can stop yourself from logging on. Which means you’re just as internet-obsessed as usual, only you’re thinking rather than actually doing.

A seven day IFS (internet free stretch) allows you to move beyond thinking/stopping/doing. There’s that first period of twitchiness, but you slowly get used to having no online access. In fact, you start to rely on other conduits; in Norfolk, I bought a newspaper every day and read it cover to cover. And I even used Ceefax on our non-digital TV. Yeah, man – old school.

Anyway, I’m back home now and the first thing I did was turn on the computer. I discovered I’d missed out on absolutely nothing, but it was nice to have ‘new faithful’ back. It’s tragic, I know. But I am a sucker for all that online crap.

I love major sports events and major sporting venues. Actually, I love rubbish sports events and rubbish sporting venues, too.

I remember dragging my wife to watch Austrian non-league side FC Eurotours Kitzbuhel in a pre-season friendly. We were on holiday; it was her special treat. We’ve also watched old men bowling in Malta and she’s been spoilt with visits to a bunch of empty football grounds across Europe.

Sportplatz Kitzbuhel: Why my wife loves me

Sometimes major sporting venues are more than the sum of their parts. Snooker at The Crucible in Sheffield really has to be experienced. It’s a pretty awful theatre that – somehow – comes alive during the snooker. I think it’s the quiet intensity of having to sit in silence, watching a couple of blokes in suits smacking balls round a table with polished sticks.

Cricket at your regular haunt – Edgbaston, in the case of my youth – is also great. Especially during mid-week county matches, when the only people there are you, your unemployed mate and pensioners. And watching football live is always wonderful, of course.

But Wimbledon is rubbish. Thanks to our overuse of aerosols and rack-mounted servers, it’s normally too hot – despite everyone saying it always rains. And it’s always too busy. Unless you queue for 17 days, you can’t get on the main courts – which means you spend hours trailing round the minor courts, watching amateur British players lose stinky mixed doubles matches.

Other venues have an aura and a sense of excitement. Wimbledon doesn’t; it’s just full of people in caps, who eat too many strawberries and drink too much Pimm’s. It’s like the Chelsea Flower Show, actually – boring, busy and over-rated.

Don’t bother going to Wimbledon. It’s one of those rare events that’s actually more enjoyable on television. Again, like the Chelsea Flower Show.

So, I was on my third Tube home tonight (I had to get a combination, due to the Underground strike) and there was a woman sitting next to me, busily telling her mate on the phone about:

• How she was going to have to leave the band because her non-understanding manager wanted her to go to LA and record a song that isn’t ready.
• And, anyway, she wants to do this other gig for a car company at some festival. And she’s going to get loads of cash for it. Amazing.
• And the manager only mentions LA because it will make her come running. But not this time. Oh, no. In fact, she might even leave the band.

Yeah, you show them. And while you’re at it, leave the train, too – and take your loud, boring, self-indulgent conversation with you. Talking of self-indulgent musicians…

Prior to my two-year-old daughter being born, I used to waste hours cutting up existing records, making loops and creating new tracks. My wife hates them, which is the main thing: “Turn that bloody noise off,” would be her review.