Nothing better illustrates car insurers preying on loyal customers than Sarah Cooper’s tweet. “My car insurance renewal is £1,200. New policy with same company is £690. How do they justify this?” They don’t. They just do it.
I’ve had my car insurance renewal notice from Allianz today. Comparing it with last year’s premium, they want an additional 51%! Nothing has changed – except that I’ve had another claim free year, bringing my total to 10. A quick check of a couple of price comparison websites showed that for the same cover the cheapest quotation was around £15 less than I’d paid this year, with 10s of quotations clustered around £10-£20 more expensive than last year. There were three or four (out of a hundred or so) that were more expensive than the Allianz renewal, but they were offering free unicorns as well. (OK, I’m fibbing about the unicorns).
I rang Allianz up. I was calm. I politely explained the situation. I was reasonable and persuasive. I asked that they considered renewing my policy at around the same price as last year, or perhaps on or around the median quotation I’d found for this year.
Their call handler was lovely, but her response was:
We don’t price match sir. I could re-quote you, but the result would be the same.
They wouldn’t budge by even a penny. I hate being taken for a fool and her excuses became less and less convincing as I suggested that they were guilty of sharp practice. I’ve cancelled my policy with them and I’ll do everything I possibly can do to make sure that I don’t use Allianz again any time soon.
So if customer loyalty is as worthless as it appears to be from this example, I wonder why so many software companies are marketing customer experience management and customer loyalty solutions?
Perhaps they’d be better off trying to sell customer disloyalty solutions instead.
News that it could take decades and several billion pounds of our money to restore the Houses of Parliament provides our country with a great opportunity – but I doubt that any of our leaders are bold enough to take it. My plan? Our politicians should hand over the site to English Heritage to be run as a tourist attraction. If it falls into the Thames in the process, so much the better. One of their more spectacular properties, Goodrich Castle (below), looks so much better in ruins today than it probably ever did when it was occupied.
A modern parliament could then be built on the partly cleared land (or perhaps on the site of the hideous QEII Conference Centre) at a fraction of the cost of restoring what is, by many impartial accounts and my own limited experience, a building totally unfit for its purpose. But of course, that would only make sense if you thought that our lawmakers had to be in London. They don’t, of course.
If our leaders were really smart, they’d move the whole machinery of government to the Midlands. It would have a positive impact on the political establishment and the civil service. The remaining citizens of London would benefit too, as such a move would ease the pressure on housing, office space, a creaking transport infrastructure (just think – we wouldn’t need a new runway at either Gatwick or Heathrow if we made better use of the Birmingham, Coventry and East Midlands Airports) and everything else that is in short supply, stupendously expensive or highly subsidised in the capital. And, of course, it would bring much-needed investment to the part of the country that is forever ignored by the metropolitan elites from the South and North of the UK.
Would anyone like to tell me why I’m wrong? Because you’ll need to have a far more convincing argument than any I’ve seen so far from the vested interests concerned to preserve the status quo.
Let me count the ways I hate you, LinkedIn and the manner in which you encourage people to behave.
1. There’s far, far too much willy-waving going on. For some reason that completely escapes me, people write in a strange kind of LinkedIn-ese that you see nowhere else (except on CVs destined for the ‘reject’ pile).
“I am a multi talented individual …” – Good for you!
“I am a results oriented business leader.” – What kind of results do you get?
“I operate at the most senior levels to make things happen.” – What things? Are they good, bad or indifferent?
“I continuously remove obstacles preventing sales in order to reach my objectives” – Sounds ominous to me.
“As a sales hunter, I drive myself to reach my goals …” – So no points on your driving licence then?
2. Oh dear.
3. I see endless examples of ageism and sexism, in the guise of humour or “research says that …”. Here’s part of a milder example. As anyone who’s ever studied occupational psychology knows, someone’s age or gender isn’t correlated with how well people do at work.
4. I detest the corporate shill – someone who only ever posts company propaganda. LinkedIn at its best is personal – and nothing is more impersonal and lazy than simply regurgitating everything that your marketing department produces. That’s not to say that it’s never appropriate – it may well be. But if your status updates only consist of that material, then you’re not providing much of value to your network.
5. The constant entreaties by email and on LInkedIn itself to take out a free trial of their premium service. No thanks. If there was a way of permanently stopping you from asking me about this several times a month I’d probably like LinkedIn a little more.
6. The many and varied ‘intelligence tests’ that appear to be the only thing that some people post. I particularly hate these if the person concerned can’t tell the difference between “your” and “you’re”.
However, I won’t be deleting my account any time soon. At its best, LinkedIn is a useful source of information and contacts. In particular, it’s been a good way on staying in touch with people who I’ve enjoyed working with in the past, as well as with my current colleagues. Within the last month, a person I worked with more than 15 years ago contacted me as he’d heard about my lymphoma. Without LinkedIn, I doubt whether that would have been possible. It’s these moments of humanity, in amongst all the willy-waving that makes me grateful that LinkedIn exists after all.
I have a pet peeve. Well, ok, I have more than one pet peeve as regular readers will know. But this one is reasonably high up the list. I’m thinking about people who deliberately misrepresent their number plates and more specifically, people who misrepresent them to such an extent that they become illegible, offensive or both.
I followed one such miscreant driving a blue BMW through the centre of Derby this morning. When it was safe to do so, I pulled over to the side of the road, parked, and took a photograph of their number plate with the intention of reporting it later to either the DVLA or the Derbyshire Constabulary. Much as the practice of misrepresenting number plates annoys me I’ve never thought about reporting someone for it before, but this particular misrepresentation made what should have been a fairly innocuous registration mark both illegible and offensive.
However, I’ve now reluctantly given up on reporting it.
It would seem that neither the DVLA nor the police are particularly interested in the issue, even though there is a fine of up to £1,000 for the offence. It’s important that vehicles have legible number plates as if the car concerned was to be involved in a future incident, a witness being able to accurately recall the registration mark may become significant.
However, the DVLA don’t provide any mechanism I can find for reporting such offences (online, by telephone or in person) and it appears that there’s no easy way to report anything other than some very specific concerns to Derbyshire Constabulary online. So reluctantly, I decided to try the 101 non-emergency number. It seems ridiculous that the only way of reporting a petty offence is to either do it in person at a police station or to have to wait for ages on the ‘phone to talk to someone.
In the end I got fed up of the hold music. The incident will go unreported. I hope that the car saw isn’t involved in any future incident where someone’s inability to understand the number plate turns out to be important.
Yesterday, on a train traveling between London and Derby, I very nearly snapped. The reason? I had to listen to someone’s ‘phone constantly alerting them using the five notes that form the “Samsung whistle”. As far as I’m concerned, it’s an even more irritating noise than the Nokia tune made infamous by Dom Joly on Trigger Happy TV at the turn of the century.
The composer, Joongsam Yun, is quoted in a Guardian article from 2013 saying that the ringtone was designed to represent what customers think of the Samsung brand – innovative, friendly and trustworthy. Really. Well, I bet he’s not been stuck on a train for the best part of an hour and a half being force-fed the wretched thing tens and tens of times. I certainly wasn’t ascribing those particular values to Samsung by the time the train reached Leicester and the miscreant got off. Every time I thought I was going to get a few minutes peace to concentrate on a particularly tricky presentation that I’m trying to put together, my attention was completely disrupted by this truly appalling sound. Until it is banished from their equipment forever, I’m going to make a specific point of not buying anything (else) from them. (I’m looking at these words as I type them on a new Samsung monitor, so that threat is a little hollow at the moment as they’ve already had my cash).
In the end I gave up working on my presentation and thought instead about why the whistle seems to grab all of my attention every time I have the misfortune to hear it. Other ringtones don’t have this effect on me, so why is this one so intrusive?
Auditory attention is unlike visual attention as we don’t really have much of a choice about the sounds that reach our ears. If we don’t want to see something we can avert our gaze. That’s not possible with sounds – we can’t help but hear every noise in our immediate environment. However, our brains have evolved a clever trick which means that we can attenuate the sounds we don’t want to listen to and concentrate on the things we do want to hear. There are some neat psychological experiments which show that if two different stories are played through headphones, one into the right ear and one into the left, people have little difficulty in understanding and repeating the story they’ve been asked to follow, even if the experimenter switches the stories around between the ears part way through the task.
However, the story of auditory attention isn’t that simple. Imagine you’re talking to a group of friends and someone on the other side of the room says your name so that you can hear it. You weren’t expecting your name to be said, but your attention is immediately snapped away from the conversation you were having. Rather pleasingly, cognitive psychologists call this “the cocktail party effect”. One of the explanations for this is that because our name is a particularly important to us, when someone says it, even if we aren’t expecting it, our automatic systems take over and we can’t help but shift our attention away from what we were originally concentrating on. And of course, it’s not just hearing our name that can have this effect, but anything that is particularly salient to us.
So perhaps the “Samsung whistle” is, for some reason, particularly salient to me. The problem is, I really don’t buy that explanation. I don’t have a Samsung ‘phone, even if I did I’d never use that ringtone, and I’ve spent the last couple of years studiously trying to ignore the noise. It doesn’t mean anything to me at all.
It would seem to me that the “cocktail party effect” explanation therefore doesn’t apply here. I’ve no idea what psychological mechanism is at work, even having done a brief trawl of the literature this lunchtime.
But if someone could put me out of my misery and explain it to me, I’d give you my undivided attention while you did. Truly I would. Unless, of course, someone in the room had a Samsung ‘phone switched on.
Television Channels. When I was growing up in the 1970s, we had three – and these didn’t start broadcasting until mid-morning, finishing around midnight with the national anthem. My YouView box reports that I have around a hundred or so available and if I felt like disfiguring the side of the house with a satellite dish I know I could view even more. Three channels certainly didn’t mean better quality – have a look at the Radio Times archive for the 1960s or 1970s if you don’t believe me. Television didn’t start to get interesting until at least the introduction of Channel 4 in November 1982. Countdown. The Comic Strip Presents. The Word (ok, maybe not The Word). And where would we be today without the Top Gear Channel Dave?
Political Parties. One is never enough – the failure of single party states is well documented. Two certainly aren’t enough – it’s why the UK got itself into the mess it did before 2010 and why, no doubt, the USA will still be in a mess after the midterm elections today. Three seems better and four, five or six, each with a distinctly different platform and a willingness to compromise sounds ideal to me. Of course, we need to introduce the single transferable vote and multi-member constituencies to make that work properly and the “willingness to compromise” part my be a bit too much for some politicians, particularly on the far left and right of the political spectrum.
Cuddly Toys. I confess – I possibly do have rather too many of these. I’m 50 – I should have outgrown them by now, surely. But they are all so … cuddly.
Apps on an iPad. Look, I know I can never find the one that I need at any particular given time, but who knows when it might be absolutely vital to have an app on hand that shows me how much income tax and national insurance I’ve paid in the last year and to which of 15 or so arbitrary categories of spending it’s been assigned too. Note to George Osborne – it’s better to know the value of what we’ve contributed to society than simply what it’s cost. Personally, I like to pay taxes. With them, I buy civilisation.
Elephants.You definitely can’t have too many of those.
… and I could go on in this vein all night I think. You’re probably relieved that I’m not going to if you’ve managed to read this far.
But what I really wanted to say is that there are definitely three things that you can’t have too much of (sorry, I know that’s not strictly ‘too many’, but, my blog, my rules and all that …)
They’re faith, hope and love. I think I knew that before the lymphoma struck, but I certainly know it now. Thank you, St. Paul.
And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
… these will be seven of the things that I will change (*).
Now, I realise that I’m hardly likely to get elected to high office on the basis of this manifesto but some things really do need fixing. If I have to scream and rant to get my way, trashing my Liberal credentials in the process, then so be it.
Any university continuing to give out honorary degrees and doctorates to celebrities, politicians, business leaders and the like will have their charter revoked immediately. Studying for a degree or higher qualification is bloody hard work (I should know!) and honorary degrees devalue the efforts of all real students.
These are completely unacceptable and stifle social mobility. Volunteering is fine, but those taking part in such activities must be genuine volunteers, free to stop or vary their commitment at any point that suits them, rather than the kind of ‘volunteer’ intern sought by the Sussex Partnership NHS Foundation Trust a couple of years ago.
Continuing to use a floppy disc icon to mean ‘save’ is almost as archaic as using a cassette tape icon for the same function. From the moment I come to power, all software developers will have 24 hours to find, agree on and implement something a little more 21st century. Now that’s what I’d call agile …
The National Lottery
Has always been a tax on the poor. I’m not going to abolish the lottery per se as it’s still relatively popular and I have my eyes on a second (and perhaps third) term in power. Instead, I’m going to turn the lottery into something indistinguishable from premium bonds where the original stake is never lost. Good causes that might otherwise lose out through the lack of lottery funding will be able to apply for the same funds raised from something a little more progressive – let’s call it taxation.
Ensuring that everyone understands that demonstrating a correlation is not the same as demonstrating cause and effect
I’m going to set up an independent panel to assess each answer the Prime Minister (who, of course, will be reporting to me) gives at PMQs. If they judge that a question hasn’t been answered, the PM will have another chance to answer the same question in a new ritual I’ve decided to call Prime Minister’s Detention. This will take place in an empty Commons chamber after all of the other MPs have returned home on a Friday afternoon. If the panel still regards their answer as unsatisfactory, they will have the ability to fine, imprison or force a by-election in their constituency. If this policy is successful, it will be extended to cover all other ministers and eventually, any politician who appears on the Today programme or Newsnight.
Daily Mail Readers
As a good Liberal, I believe that the Daily Mail should be free to publish whatever distortions it wants to, provided it stays within the letter of the law of course. The real problem is the people who choose to read it. Without its readers, it would soon disappear off the face of the planet. I’m therefore going to tackle the root cause and introduce a tax of a few pence per copy sold that will go straight to charities supporting things that the average Daily Mail reader would loathe. I’m very hopeful that the emotional conflict caused by such a strategy will wean these readers away to less harmful newspapers, like, errr, … ok, I admit this policy needs a bit of work. And the other six might do as well. Time to get back to the day job …
(*) Yes, of course I want world peace etc. etc., but I think there needs to be a little bit of realism in my manifesto. After all, I’m rarely in charge in my own house, so I’m hardly likely to become president of the world. Many thanks to Tattooed Mummy for providing the inspiration for this article rant.
There’s a vicious rumour going around that using ‘ize’ spellings (for example, realize) is somehow ‘not British’ and that the only correct form is ‘ise’.
If you believe that ‘ize’ is an Americanism and that ‘ise’ is British, then there’s only one way to put this – YOU ARE WRONG.
If you’d like to disagree with me please do so in the comments for this article, but you may want to read the rest of this first and check my sources, which naturally, are impeccable!
I have the backing of the Oxford English Dictionary in this matter. They note that ‘ize’ spellings have been used in British English since the 15th century for words like realize, finalize and organize. The ‘ise’ spelling is a later affectation, introduced in the mid-1700s. The reason for the introduction of ‘ise’ could be because there is also a distinct set of words which always end ‘ise’ – for example, exercise, that have different etymological roots. Using ‘ise’ for everything is therefore just laziness. To this day, the OED still prefer ‘ize’ endings in British English.
I’m pleased that many psychological luminaries (or at least, their publishers) appear to agree with me. For example, I have the second edition of Alex Haslam’s book, ‘Psychology in Organizations – The Social Identity Approach’ sat on my desk as I’m typing this and all of the psychology textbooks published by the Open University to accompany their undergraduate degree consistently use ‘ize’.
However, this fundamentalist approach to spelling cuts no ice with a number of significant others in my life. For example:
My friends and family, who took great delight in pointing out that I’d used ‘realize’ in The Imposter blog post. I’ve bowed to the inevitable pressure and changed the spelling to ‘realise’.
The folk who mark my essays – who tell me that ‘ize’ is wrong and that I should use British English instead.
My clients at work who believe that ‘ize’ is an Americanism. They often send me snarky comments about ‘ize’ when they review the reports I produce for them and as they’re paying, I’ll happily spell words any way they’d like me to.
So, even though I’m right and they’re wrong (well, at least, not as right) I’ve decided to give up the battle. The ‘ise’ have it. Life’s too short to be all fundamentalist about spelling.