I'm alive

Phew! It's still September. I've made it.

I've been trying to write a new blog for ages... well since my last one at the beginning of August actually. But I've also been trying to get my website live and that has kind of taken over. Let me just repeat that MY WEBSITE HAS TAKEN OVER.

Now that might not sound like much of a feat since there are literally billions of websites on the internet. But to a professional copywriter, having one's one own website is like a plumber with non-dripping taps, a landscape gardener with a patio and a mechanic with at least one car that actually starts in the morning.

So... having succeeded in this mammoth task, I am now the proud host of www.forrest-turner.co.uk, a website dedicated to me and my work. Yes, yes, it's terribly self-indulgent but it is kind of necessary these days - especially if one's title is Content Editor.

Of course, being online means I need to do all that clever Search Engine Optimisation stuff or the whole thing will be a total waste of time. I need to make content so the nosy little web spiders find my site and send googlers searching for a 'writer' or 'writing training courses' will find my site in the top seven and not seven billion searches.

Wonder how long it will be before anyone finds this little missive?

I take it all back: B&Q is my hero.

What can I say? I got it wrong. It's a fair cop. B&Q done good. And other such cliched coloquialisms.

Joking apart, as a 'social media experiment', my tongue-in-cheek blogs were indeed picked up on twitter and you have to admire the speed and efficiency of the chaps and chapesses at the B&Q social media team.

Yup, the wee lass at the Slough depot wasn't exactly on form that fateful Tuesday and the "How did we do today"? online feedback form was unnecessarily complicated BUT from then on, B&Q did everything right.

The only reason I didn't find out until this Wednesday (4 Aug) that B&Q had been trying to contact me since 23 July was because I didn't know how to access messages on twitter. In fact, I didn't even know B&Q had sent me a message! (The only thing I'd spotted was that B&Q was 'following me'.)

Not deterred by my lack of social media expertise, B&Q continued to follow me and eventually tracked me down (despite the fact that I had typed my email address wrongly!!) and a very lovely lady from the CEO's office (yup, THE CEO!) first emailed me on Wednesday and then called me Thursday morning.

Bless her. This is a lady who hasn't forgotten how to talk to customers. She was warm, sincere and genuinely concerned. We ended up having a lovely little chat and even a joke about orange buckets.

This morning I received a very nice letter and a rather nice little gift card - the perfect response to this type of customer disastisfaction.

I have heard that 'certain people' make a habit of wingeing on twitter and facebook IN ORDER TO RECEIVE 'compensation'. So let me assure B&Q, and anyone else who might be reading this little missive, that that was never my attention and I will not be starting a series of blogs moaning about The Corporates.

B&Q made a mistake. I made a complaint. And B&Q put things right. As a member of the Chartered Institute of Public Relations, I'm delighted to see PR working at its most effective level. I will now be banging the B&Q drum and, in doing so, do far more to improve customer relations (and my self esteem) that those low lifes who scrounge compensation from anyone human enough to make mistakes.

Long live sincerity!

Nothing happened

In case anyone is so sad that they have been waiting with bated breath to find out if B&Q sent me an enormous case of orange buckets and white label batteries by way of compensation... nothing happened. I did indeed tweet my rant several times but the only consequence of that is that B&Q are now following me. Not very closely it would seem.

Ah well. Such is life as a 21st century consumer.

I did complain and...

Well, it's over a week since I completed the "How did we do today?" online survey for the leading national DIY chain I referred to on 14th July and... well... nothing has happened. Surprise. Surprise.

Soooo not only has this DIY chain angered me initially by getting their grumpy sales assistants to hand out these stupid "How did we do today?" slips, then added to my anger by making me fill in a very lengthy online form it has now infuriated me by NOT responding to my feedback.

I mean, what is the bloody point? Does anybody actually read these things or is there just some technical spider somewhere sending out cyber-cobs to gather up innocent little feedback-flies and piling them up in almighty never-to-be-opened web of complaints? (Yes, a little over-metaphorred there!)

Now, my dear hubby always says "be careful what you wish for" so just as B&Q (there, I've said it) has received a less than positive response to its How did we do today?" fiasco, I'm going to have to go on tweet a wee link to this blog, aren't I?

Otherwise I too shall be guilty of "all mouth and no action".

More to follow...

I would complain but...

Today, I did something I rarely do. (Was about to say 'never do' but can't be sure that's true.) I made... an official complaint. Da da DA!

Why? Because I was so outraged? Because I feel compelled to march the streets with banners? Because the world deserves to know the truth behind this national DIY chain? No. Because I'm on holiday this week and have both the time and the inclination.

That got me thinking - what would we do (with regards to complaints/conflict/confrontations) if we had the time and inclination? I mean, what stops us telling that 'well-meaning' friend to give it a rest when he/she starts another of his/her "I wouldn't normally say this BUT..." lectures? Why do we put up with food that's cold/over-cooked/under-cooked/bland/over-priced in restaurants? What is this need we have to "not make a fuss"?

As well as being a copywriter, I'm also a trainer (in communication skills) and one of my modules in on being more assertive. I tell my delegates that the secret to being assertive is to respond, not react; think logically, not emotionally; and be honest, while bearing in mind the little mantra is 'it kind, is it true, is it necessary?' Yes, I tell my delegates this. I believe this. I've even found that when I do this, this works! But, like everyone else, I'm busy, lazy, polite, apathetic, etc.etc.

So for the benefit of you out there who, like me, rarely have the time or inclination to complain but are jolly delighted somebody else has, here is what I sent to a national DIY chain earlier today. I have, in fairness, removed the name of the company - for the time being. Should I not get a decent response however, I'll publish this again - with the name back in. And possibly stick it up on facebook... and twitter... and LinkedIn... you get the picture. So here we go:

There are three reasons why I am taking the time to give you my feedback: 1) I'm on holiday at the moment and have the time and inclination to go through this rather lengthy process, 2) the girl at the till was surly to the point of being rude and 3) I don't think it's good marketing to give staff forms that say "How did we do today?" when the service provided by that member of staff is pretty awful.

I'm not actually writing to complain about the girl (I believe her name is XXX - that's what the handwritten name of the slip says) because it looked like a pretty dead Monday afternoon in there and she had probably lost the will to live. Yes, a bit of eye contact, a polite smile and a thank you would have been nice, but, hey, we all have off days. What prompted me to write was the "How did we do today?" slip.

'XXX' didn't forget it was on the receipt; she deliberately grunted her way through my transaction with no eye contact, no smile and no interest in me… then STAPLED THE SLIP ONTO THE RECEIPT and handed it to me. If I hadn't been in such a good mood (as I said, I'm on holiday this week), I would have probably said something. As it was, I walked away and laughed (to myself) at the irony. Then I vowed to let you know about my "GREAT EXPERIENCE IN STORE". Great fun for me (I'm a writer) not so good for XXX because this little missive will now become the subject of today's blog - which I'll post on Twitter and facebook. Unless of course, some smart marketing person gets hold of this first and...

Cheers
Lorraine Forrest-Turner
Unhappy customer, happy blogger
lorraine@forrestturner@btopenworld.com

That old devil called love (of football)

Damn, blast and other profanities that I can’t use in case this gets stuck in a spam filter.

I thought I’d kicked the habit. I’d been hurt too often. Led to believe that “this time it would be different” only to be let down so hard you wonder if you’ll ever stand up again, let alone allow yourself to fall in love. But that old devil really does “get behind you and give you the shove”. Again. And again.

I’ve fallen in love with football. Again.

It was hard not to love football in our house. (Or hate it.) Dad only ever communicated in football language. “Pass!” he’d grunt as the gravy stopped before it got to him. “That foul has cost you Saturday” he’d say when I came home beyond the designated hour to be banned from going to the Palais at the weekend. Or “Why didn’t you move out the way quicker?” when my brother hit me with his pea shooter.

You might not know this; as well as supporting The Dons, all Aberdonians support Man U (or “Manchester United” as we knew them), mainly because of Dennis Law and Alex Ferguson. But when a gorgeous, wee Northern Irish lad appeared on the scene in 1964, every female Aberdonian from 6 to 60 took a renewed interest in Aberdeen’s second team.

Oh God how I loved him. While school pals donned their walls with David Cassidy and Donny Osmond, mine were covered with George Best (or “Georgie” as we knew him). George Best in his number 11 shirt, George Best in his number 7 shirt, George Best with some gorgeous blonde (who bore a ‘similar’ resemblance to me – in my dreams). George Best on the front pages pictured above his perpetual comment – “I just want to play football.” What he really meant was “I’d give it all up tomorrow for just one kiss from Lorraine Forrest.” (Or “Lorraine Forrest-Turner” as people know me now.)

Okay, so strictly speaking I was more in love with Georgie than football but it had the same effect. I adored and despised football in equal portions. Loved it when he was doing well and wished I’d never even heard of him when it all went pear-shaped. (Or in Georgie’s case, barrell-shaped.) It was only when I finally saw him play at Pittodrie in 1979, during his brief, and some might say disastrous time, with Hibs, that I finally realised that my love would always be unrequited…Yes, I was the only one in the Beach End cheering him on – as others laughed!!!! So cruel. So, so cruel.

Not to worry – I still had Scotland! Oh, was I in love then? What do you mean you don’t remember when Scotland were REALLY GOOD? No? Oh well. Never mind. It didn’t last very long.

But eventually having replaced Georgie and Joe Jordan (honestly, he was gorgeous with his teeth in!) with some real life drunken womanisers - and having watched Scotland shrink to not even qualifying for the European cup, I finally shook the habit and learned NOT to pin my hopes and dreams on a football match. Besides, I had my own share of love affairs to keep me in enough joy and pain to last a lifetime.

So why, why, why have I let myself get so wrapped in this year’s World Cup that I found myself literally slumped over the ironing board on Tuesday night as Holland scored its third goal against Uruguay? Why had I allowed myself to believe for one nano second that Uruguay could beat them? I’d only picked Uruguay out of the office sweepstake for God’s sake! Why did they have to be so bloody good???

So yes, I have indeed had the most wonderful of holiday romances this summer. I have thrilled to the delights of Germany versus Argentina, I have been as gobsmacked as the rest of you when the USA “beat” England 1-1 (and just a wee bit sick after the disaster against Germany – I am Scottish after all) and I have sat indoors on those gloriously warm Saturdays and Sundays when I should have been dead-heading the roses in order to watch teams that I’d previously not even heard of let alone wanted to see.

I shall be broken hearted at 10.00pm tonight because even if the result does go in my favour (it has to be Holland – some of my best friends are Dutch) it will be a whole four years until my next heart-pounding, heart-breaking, soul-destroying passion will be flamed again.

In the meantime, I’ll have to make do with West Brom (hubby’s very, very long-standing love affair) floundering about at the bottom of the Premier League. Again.

Hand washing, making jam and other things I never get round to doing

I emptied the washing basket yesterday (what Superwoman could resist the combination of dry, warm and windy?) only to find my lovely silk 'hand-wash only' dress that I'd bunged in there months ago. I picked it up and tipped it back in again. Again.

I go through this ritual every few weeks. Each time I see it I make a mental note to "hand wash soon" along with "maybe I'll do it when I wash that ever-so-expensive-keep-for-best-bra that really shouldn't have gone back in the drawer after the last time I wore it".

Another month or so will pass. The M&S no-iron shirts and the Primark doesn't-matter-if-it-shrinks-because-it-only-cost-25p t-shirt will be dropped in the basket, fetched out and washed lovingly by Persil, Lenor and Miele. Meanwhile, the hand-washing will either lie there, getting more and more creased - or be taken out, sprayed with perfume and given one more outing before washing. (Oh, come on. Everyone does the spray-and-wear thing.)

It's not just hand-washing I DON'T do. I have a cupboard full of jars that I DON'T use for homemade jam or pickled garden-grown shallots. Beautifully washed too-nice-to-throw-away jars that once contained marmalades, chutneys, peppers and coffee. (Have you seen those Douwe Egbert's coffee jars? You'd pay a fortune for those in Habitat. They even have nice little glass and plastic tops that create a lovely "pop" when you open them.)

I also have a sewing basket full of bits of material that will one day become a patchwork quilt. Or be used to give the Gok Wan treatment to a dull old dress. I have a box of buttons that's so old that the clothes they came from went to the charity shop 2o years ago. And I have an old suitcase of photos taken at birthdays, Christmases, holidays, girlie nights out and school plays long gone by. They will definitely get put in an album one day.

Do we really believe that we WILL one day take up a hobby that we saw on Blue Peter 30 years ago? Do we actually think that we WILL use the 43 jars of spices to make a proper Lamb Jalfrezi when we've barely got time to grate a bit of cheese on top of a shop-bought pizza? And why don't we just resign ourselves to chucking the hand washing in the machine the first time we take it out of the basket because it WILL go in there eventually?

I'm sure that if I stopped wasting my time carefully collecting and saving all that stuff that I "will definitely get round to doing something with one day" I might have the time and space to actually DO something!

My hubby is better than me....grr...

Okay so it has been almost a year since I started this thing - spurred on by the facts that a) everyone is doing it b) I claim to be a writer c) I might actually say something that somebody somewhere would want to read. Ha ha.

I thought about 'my blog' from time to time, but never really felt inspired to write anything. (That's what being a professional copywriter does to you - kills your love of writing.) But as a 'writer' (the world'd best prograstinators) I never had time... I had to write that BMW copy, that training course, that play, that email, that shopping list... and don't get me started on weeding, descaling the kettle and defleaing the cat. (I used to have to defrost the fridge as well but modern technology is reducing the number of de's we need to do. De's to do. I like that.)

See... I'm even procrastinating now... I'm supposed to be telling the story of 'My husband does it better than me' and I'm being side tracked by more interesting stuff. Interesting to me, that is.

So, while I have written one and a half blogs this year (this one being the half - so far) my hubby has written three in one day. Three! (He can never do anything by halves. I bet when he was half-way through his second blog, his half was bigger than my half.)

Does this mean that I now need to write five today? But what about putting some more compost on top of the tomatoes? Sorting through that pile of paperwork? And putting away three weeks worth of washing lying in the spare room?

That's why men make such bloody good writers, inventors, caped crusaders. They don't get side-tracked. There is no dust on the telly. There is no message from Mum on the answer machine. The student funding application will take itself to the postbox. There's just the footie on telly, cider in the fridge, tobacco by the back door and a chance of a blow-job if he has a washes his willy before bed.

I promised myself, I write this without multi-tasking, editing, thinking about having to go the garden centre later and wondering if Heb had replied to my text about the barbecue.

Ah well. At least I tried.