Friday, July 21, 2006
Kind regards
Is it just me, or is there something of a furtive put-down in the email sign-off 'Kind regards'?
When someone uses these words, are they really saying: 'I'm not going to send you my 'Best regards' because you don't deserve them'?
'Kind regards' is something people write when they want to convey a certain formality and qualification of warmth. It's unimpeachably courteous so they can't be accused of rudeness, yet it only seems to crop up occasionally, and then in emails where there is a hint of unresolved tension.
Then of course you can go one step further and end with a curt 'Regards'.
If I get an email signed just 'Regards' I definitely feel insulted, or at least wonder if the person who wrote to me is lacking in social graces.
So, in my own emails I don't use these two endings at all, except, very occasionally, as a subtle way of distancing myself from my recipient in some way because they've been incredibly rude or unhelpful.
The worst is when someone you thought you were quite friendly with suddenly starts using frosty 'Kind regards'. You know then you've done something to really piss them off!
My standard end greeting is 'Best wishes', 'All the best,' or if I need to be more formal, 'Best regards'. (I avoid plain 'Best' as I think it can read as 'I can't be bothered to find an extra second to type 'wishes' so you're not worth much of my time'. But then again, people are busy and I don't think 'Best' on its own is anything like as cold as 'Kind regards'.)
'Kindest regards' I put in a far higher category than 'Kind regards'. It is very polite, in my opinion.
My favourite is 'Warm regards' or 'Warmly' but I am a little hesitant about these since they can come across as over-friendly, I fear.
Then there is the practice of ending with one to three kisses after your name. I don't know how common this is in other industries, but in the UK media it's very normal, at least between women, to send kisses to someone you've never met or spoken to, someone you've only emailed back and forth a few times in business. I know a lot of people refuse to jump on this bandwagon, but I admit to using kisses a lot because they are a way of signalling real friendliness. When an editor signs an email to me with kisses I always feel happy!
The only time email kisses can freak me out is when a man I'm not friends with sends them, because you have to stop and wonder if they're being flirtatious, but it's almost always just them being friendly.
Warmest regards,
Olivia xxx
When someone uses these words, are they really saying: 'I'm not going to send you my 'Best regards' because you don't deserve them'?
'Kind regards' is something people write when they want to convey a certain formality and qualification of warmth. It's unimpeachably courteous so they can't be accused of rudeness, yet it only seems to crop up occasionally, and then in emails where there is a hint of unresolved tension.
Then of course you can go one step further and end with a curt 'Regards'.
If I get an email signed just 'Regards' I definitely feel insulted, or at least wonder if the person who wrote to me is lacking in social graces.
So, in my own emails I don't use these two endings at all, except, very occasionally, as a subtle way of distancing myself from my recipient in some way because they've been incredibly rude or unhelpful.
The worst is when someone you thought you were quite friendly with suddenly starts using frosty 'Kind regards'. You know then you've done something to really piss them off!
My standard end greeting is 'Best wishes', 'All the best,' or if I need to be more formal, 'Best regards'. (I avoid plain 'Best' as I think it can read as 'I can't be bothered to find an extra second to type 'wishes' so you're not worth much of my time'. But then again, people are busy and I don't think 'Best' on its own is anything like as cold as 'Kind regards'.)
'Kindest regards' I put in a far higher category than 'Kind regards'. It is very polite, in my opinion.
My favourite is 'Warm regards' or 'Warmly' but I am a little hesitant about these since they can come across as over-friendly, I fear.
Then there is the practice of ending with one to three kisses after your name. I don't know how common this is in other industries, but in the UK media it's very normal, at least between women, to send kisses to someone you've never met or spoken to, someone you've only emailed back and forth a few times in business. I know a lot of people refuse to jump on this bandwagon, but I admit to using kisses a lot because they are a way of signalling real friendliness. When an editor signs an email to me with kisses I always feel happy!
The only time email kisses can freak me out is when a man I'm not friends with sends them, because you have to stop and wonder if they're being flirtatious, but it's almost always just them being friendly.
Warmest regards,
Olivia xxx
Thursday, July 20, 2006
The swimming pool
Yesterday, Dave persuaded me to accompany him for a refreshing dip after work at our local public swimming pool, known as 'The Cally Pool' because of its location on grimy/up and coming Caledonian Road near King's Cross.
It took him quite a long time to persuade me, because I am a member of Esporta Islington, which has a wonderful, clean, quiet, peaceful, adult-only pool. I felt sure Dave could have come along there with me for a free trial. But Dave insisted he could not bear the thought of the hard sell from the gym staff, and I could understand that.
I suggested we go to Hampstead Heath to swim in the ponds for free, but Dave said he wouldn't swim anywhere 'you can't see the bottom'.
I STILL had my reservations about Cally Pool, because the last time I'd been to a public swimming pool (the one at Highbury Corner) the dirt and discomfort of the whole place was really quite appalling!
I kept thinking, don't children wee in the water in these places? Don't hairy men with fungal infections leave grime everywhere? Aren't the changing rooms full of screaming out of control toddlers (God love 'em)?
But yesterday was the hottest July day since 1911 and darn it, it really wasn't worth getting in a squeamish, snooty flap about the possible infections one might pick up in a public pool.
After all, I was being a total snob about this. Growing up in Oxford I went regularly to swim at the local Ferry Centre Pool and it was fine - spacious and clean. Just because I am now used to a private adults-only pool does not mean there is anything wrong with ones open to the public.
So off we went. I'm sure you know where this story's heading.
Cally Pool was HORRIFIC.
Beyond belief in a first world country. It was the kind of pool you'd have expected to find in Communist Romania.
Stepping off the 35c street into the reception area, we found some clever Council bod had had the brilliant idea of turning the reception into a steam room. I'd forgotten what midday in Singapore felt like until that moment.
The ladies' changing room was heated at a similar breathtaking humidity, but what really made me flinch with discomfort was the utter filth of the place! There were grey puddles of water and heaps of black dirt all over the floor and all the surfaces. The layout of the room was extremely narrow, so that the changers had to squeeze past one another, or, too embarrassed to do so, simply had to queue in single file to get from one area (the lockers, say) to another (the shower). I REALLY didn't want to take off my sandals to leave them in the locker as the level of dirt on the floor was so disgusting.
Heading to the pool I found Dave smiling in the water, totally relaxed. Meanwhile I was feeling unhinged by the dirt everywhere - it really was enough to make your skin creep. There was only ONE LANE available to swim in because the other two were occupied by splashing children. Don't get me wrong, I love children, but they really didn't make the pool very tranquil. The lane was so packed we could hardly move without some hairy guy kicking our faces, and it was so shallow the water only came up to my hips (I'm 5 ft 3!)
I managed 4 lengths before realising I simply was not enjoying myself, in fact that this was hell on earth. Dave very gamely tried to make the best of the place and stayed in the pool but I had a hissy fit and stomped off to the changing room vowing never to swim in a public pool again.
Back in the changing room I found that in keeping with the Soviet theme, there were no private shower cubicles or curtains so that everyone had to strip off in public. It was the kind of place where little boys are running around in the women's changing rooms and husbands are poking their noses in the door and I just couldn't go naked, so I had to shower with my swimsuit on, which is gross.
I felt so dirty after that shower, but at least I could put my sandals back on and get my feet off that hairy, mushy, dusty floor.
Finally, insult of insults, I went to dry my hair and found you have to insert a 20p coin to use a hairdryer!
It was so humid my hair was already drying and by now I was enraged with the feeling of being dirty, so I just went back to wait for Dave in reception. Now I recalled how we'd paid £6.80 for the two of us. If you went swimming three times a week at this place it would only cost half as much as if you joined a private gym, and I understand many people can't afford to pay more, but still for the level of provision I think £6.80 extortionate. 80p per person would be more appropriate.
Finally we left, me ranting and raving, unable to believe how terrible it had been, Dave telling me I'm a rampant snob and to stop being so ridiculous. Back home I had to have another shower to get the 'athlete's foot' sensation off me!
I would much rather go swimming in Hampstead Ponds than Cally Road any day, and if I had children I'd never let them set barefoot in one of those changing rooms. I really don't think anything could match the depressing nature of that pool.
It took him quite a long time to persuade me, because I am a member of Esporta Islington, which has a wonderful, clean, quiet, peaceful, adult-only pool. I felt sure Dave could have come along there with me for a free trial. But Dave insisted he could not bear the thought of the hard sell from the gym staff, and I could understand that.
I suggested we go to Hampstead Heath to swim in the ponds for free, but Dave said he wouldn't swim anywhere 'you can't see the bottom'.
I STILL had my reservations about Cally Pool, because the last time I'd been to a public swimming pool (the one at Highbury Corner) the dirt and discomfort of the whole place was really quite appalling!
I kept thinking, don't children wee in the water in these places? Don't hairy men with fungal infections leave grime everywhere? Aren't the changing rooms full of screaming out of control toddlers (God love 'em)?
But yesterday was the hottest July day since 1911 and darn it, it really wasn't worth getting in a squeamish, snooty flap about the possible infections one might pick up in a public pool.
After all, I was being a total snob about this. Growing up in Oxford I went regularly to swim at the local Ferry Centre Pool and it was fine - spacious and clean. Just because I am now used to a private adults-only pool does not mean there is anything wrong with ones open to the public.
So off we went. I'm sure you know where this story's heading.
Cally Pool was HORRIFIC.
Beyond belief in a first world country. It was the kind of pool you'd have expected to find in Communist Romania.
Stepping off the 35c street into the reception area, we found some clever Council bod had had the brilliant idea of turning the reception into a steam room. I'd forgotten what midday in Singapore felt like until that moment.
The ladies' changing room was heated at a similar breathtaking humidity, but what really made me flinch with discomfort was the utter filth of the place! There were grey puddles of water and heaps of black dirt all over the floor and all the surfaces. The layout of the room was extremely narrow, so that the changers had to squeeze past one another, or, too embarrassed to do so, simply had to queue in single file to get from one area (the lockers, say) to another (the shower). I REALLY didn't want to take off my sandals to leave them in the locker as the level of dirt on the floor was so disgusting.
Heading to the pool I found Dave smiling in the water, totally relaxed. Meanwhile I was feeling unhinged by the dirt everywhere - it really was enough to make your skin creep. There was only ONE LANE available to swim in because the other two were occupied by splashing children. Don't get me wrong, I love children, but they really didn't make the pool very tranquil. The lane was so packed we could hardly move without some hairy guy kicking our faces, and it was so shallow the water only came up to my hips (I'm 5 ft 3!)
I managed 4 lengths before realising I simply was not enjoying myself, in fact that this was hell on earth. Dave very gamely tried to make the best of the place and stayed in the pool but I had a hissy fit and stomped off to the changing room vowing never to swim in a public pool again.
Back in the changing room I found that in keeping with the Soviet theme, there were no private shower cubicles or curtains so that everyone had to strip off in public. It was the kind of place where little boys are running around in the women's changing rooms and husbands are poking their noses in the door and I just couldn't go naked, so I had to shower with my swimsuit on, which is gross.
I felt so dirty after that shower, but at least I could put my sandals back on and get my feet off that hairy, mushy, dusty floor.
Finally, insult of insults, I went to dry my hair and found you have to insert a 20p coin to use a hairdryer!
It was so humid my hair was already drying and by now I was enraged with the feeling of being dirty, so I just went back to wait for Dave in reception. Now I recalled how we'd paid £6.80 for the two of us. If you went swimming three times a week at this place it would only cost half as much as if you joined a private gym, and I understand many people can't afford to pay more, but still for the level of provision I think £6.80 extortionate. 80p per person would be more appropriate.
Finally we left, me ranting and raving, unable to believe how terrible it had been, Dave telling me I'm a rampant snob and to stop being so ridiculous. Back home I had to have another shower to get the 'athlete's foot' sensation off me!
I would much rather go swimming in Hampstead Ponds than Cally Road any day, and if I had children I'd never let them set barefoot in one of those changing rooms. I really don't think anything could match the depressing nature of that pool.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Then again, blighty's not so bad
Somehow when I was in America, I thought back to Britain as a really depressing, antisocial country about 50% full of yobs.
This is a skewed, cynical impression that tends to build up in me living in Islington, London, where someone tries to break into our car or burgle our flat every few months. Dave and I live in what looks a very nice street of Victorian houses - and indeed is a relatively nice street - on the border of a beautiful and expensive neighbourhood and an ugly and impoverished one. It was certainly not a cheap place to buy in London. But the crime levels do seem very high, so that we were surprised but not all that sceptical to read earlier this year that Islington officially ranks as the most crime-ridden London borough. In eighteen months living here, our house has had three attempted burglaries, our car boot has been broken into, someone has stolen our windscreen wipers and on another occasion, someone has broken our car aeriel. I've seen drug deals go on on the street outside our front door and watched gangs of up to 20 teenagers set on cars, intimidate passersby, knock a cyclist off his bike by hitting him on the head with a football, throw rocks at buses, trespass menacingly on people's doorsteps and have screaming fights.
It all sounds terrible, yet it's so normal that I feel the tiny ball of anxiety in my chest that London gives me is just me being silly. Most of the people in our neighbourhood are decent and most of the time this is just another charming Islington enclave.
Anyway, so this was how I looked back on London from America, where, as a tourist, I saw only nice places.
So coming back to this great city in our early-morning taxi ride through the streets of earnest, sweating cyclists in shorts or summer skirts, I was surprised to experience a city of industriousness, cosy Victorian terraces, cosmopolitan chic, people talking with intelligence, warm politeness, acumen and sensitivity. I suddenly remembered how friendly, how human Londoners can be.
This is a skewed, cynical impression that tends to build up in me living in Islington, London, where someone tries to break into our car or burgle our flat every few months. Dave and I live in what looks a very nice street of Victorian houses - and indeed is a relatively nice street - on the border of a beautiful and expensive neighbourhood and an ugly and impoverished one. It was certainly not a cheap place to buy in London. But the crime levels do seem very high, so that we were surprised but not all that sceptical to read earlier this year that Islington officially ranks as the most crime-ridden London borough. In eighteen months living here, our house has had three attempted burglaries, our car boot has been broken into, someone has stolen our windscreen wipers and on another occasion, someone has broken our car aeriel. I've seen drug deals go on on the street outside our front door and watched gangs of up to 20 teenagers set on cars, intimidate passersby, knock a cyclist off his bike by hitting him on the head with a football, throw rocks at buses, trespass menacingly on people's doorsteps and have screaming fights.
It all sounds terrible, yet it's so normal that I feel the tiny ball of anxiety in my chest that London gives me is just me being silly. Most of the people in our neighbourhood are decent and most of the time this is just another charming Islington enclave.
Anyway, so this was how I looked back on London from America, where, as a tourist, I saw only nice places.
So coming back to this great city in our early-morning taxi ride through the streets of earnest, sweating cyclists in shorts or summer skirts, I was surprised to experience a city of industriousness, cosy Victorian terraces, cosmopolitan chic, people talking with intelligence, warm politeness, acumen and sensitivity. I suddenly remembered how friendly, how human Londoners can be.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
Just back from nearly three weeks in the USA (Boston-Vermont-NYC-Florida) and going to get back to my blog baby!
I'd like to start by posing this seminal question. In a world of science where people can fly to the moon and be operated on through a pinhole, how can it be that no-one has yet invented soundless powertools for builders?
I currently effectively live on a big building site. Across the street from our flat is a huge 3-year project to deck over a railway bridge with a public garden and build some flats. Out the back is a council estate (which I lovingly survey as I type) where there is often scaffolding and workmen with chainsaws. The level of noise is beyond belief. From 7.30am-5.30pm (and sometimes all night too on the railway project) there is manic drilling and grinding, combined with screeching, whirring, hammering, searing, smashing, and crashing. It sounds like the earth is being blasted into shreds.
If I could eliminate just one of modern life's irritants, it would be noise. The building work is necessary, I know, but I get so wound up at times I just want to scream out of our windows 'SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!' Not that the builders would hear me anyway underneath the roar of their mechanical noise machines.
I ask again: why on earth is it not possible to invent silent drills and chainsaws? If ever there was a gap in the market, this is it.
Anyway, now about America. I'm sure many America-despising Brits would call me naive, but I love it over there, love the American way of life and belief system with its go-getting optimism and relative lack of snobbery and fat-free icecream everywhere you go.
There are, however, a few important things America doesn't have as we do in Britain.
1. Marmite. What's the point of breakfast toast without it?
2. Ginger and spring onion with meat as a Chinese restaurant staple.
3. A great number and variety of newspapers and magazines. They seem to have only about five women's magazines, and a distinct lack of national newspapers.
4. Good television. My god, I wonder how Americans put up with all the adverts on their screens, which seem to come in a ratio of 5 mins of ads to every 2 mins of programme. I didn't see any documentaries either - no equivalent of Dispatches or Panorama. And as for their version of Newsnight - pah - where oh where were the biting sarcastic interrogations Paxman puts our politicians through this side of the pond?
5. Enough Indian restaurants.
6. People who say 'Sorry' when they accidently bump into you on the street.
7. Enough roads with pavements.
I have to say though, that in almost every other respect I think Americans have a better way of life than we Brits. They have more exciting and consistent weather, prettier and bigger houses, better music on their radio and jovial folks who stop to help lost-looking tourists without you even needing to ask. I want to go live there!
I'd like to start by posing this seminal question. In a world of science where people can fly to the moon and be operated on through a pinhole, how can it be that no-one has yet invented soundless powertools for builders?
I currently effectively live on a big building site. Across the street from our flat is a huge 3-year project to deck over a railway bridge with a public garden and build some flats. Out the back is a council estate (which I lovingly survey as I type) where there is often scaffolding and workmen with chainsaws. The level of noise is beyond belief. From 7.30am-5.30pm (and sometimes all night too on the railway project) there is manic drilling and grinding, combined with screeching, whirring, hammering, searing, smashing, and crashing. It sounds like the earth is being blasted into shreds.
If I could eliminate just one of modern life's irritants, it would be noise. The building work is necessary, I know, but I get so wound up at times I just want to scream out of our windows 'SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!' Not that the builders would hear me anyway underneath the roar of their mechanical noise machines.
I ask again: why on earth is it not possible to invent silent drills and chainsaws? If ever there was a gap in the market, this is it.
Anyway, now about America. I'm sure many America-despising Brits would call me naive, but I love it over there, love the American way of life and belief system with its go-getting optimism and relative lack of snobbery and fat-free icecream everywhere you go.
There are, however, a few important things America doesn't have as we do in Britain.
1. Marmite. What's the point of breakfast toast without it?
2. Ginger and spring onion with meat as a Chinese restaurant staple.
3. A great number and variety of newspapers and magazines. They seem to have only about five women's magazines, and a distinct lack of national newspapers.
4. Good television. My god, I wonder how Americans put up with all the adverts on their screens, which seem to come in a ratio of 5 mins of ads to every 2 mins of programme. I didn't see any documentaries either - no equivalent of Dispatches or Panorama. And as for their version of Newsnight - pah - where oh where were the biting sarcastic interrogations Paxman puts our politicians through this side of the pond?
5. Enough Indian restaurants.
6. People who say 'Sorry' when they accidently bump into you on the street.
7. Enough roads with pavements.
I have to say though, that in almost every other respect I think Americans have a better way of life than we Brits. They have more exciting and consistent weather, prettier and bigger houses, better music on their radio and jovial folks who stop to help lost-looking tourists without you even needing to ask. I want to go live there!
