The Dark Side

Sometimes we computer geeks like to dabble in Art. Photography, writing, painting, music: the sort of bastions of creativity some might say we've no business exploring. These are the places with signs on the doors -- NO CSS, XML or C++; THIS A TLA FREE ZONE -- and lofty hallways through which women breeze in chiffon clouds and where intense little curators peer out from under their berets.

"Excuse me." Raises eyebrows. "Does sir know JAVA?"

Shuffling my feet: "A little."

"Ah." A thin smile. "Perhaps sir has taken a wrong turn?"

My father is an artist who recently retired from teaching. He told me that anyone can learn how to draw, and I've always believed this is true of any skill or craft. I like the idea that we can do just about anything if we put our minds to it. I don't like artistic snobbery.

So I've taken another step into the Dark Side, and I've decided to learn how to play a musical instrument. To hell with talent. I might be tone deaf, but I am not going to go through life without learning how to play something.

My last blog post was a rant about South Lanarkshire Coucil, which, because I was so pissed off, extended to the entire county. This week my faith in humanity has been restored, thanks to Jim O'Neill, the manager of our local music shop. Jim did not wear a beret nor suggest that sir might prefer to master the nuances of the triangle first, but was actually very helpful and keen to offer advice to a newbie like me. It's always refreshing to deal with someone who cares more about their customers than their shareholders. He also runs an online company www.stringmail.co.uk, selling music strings worldwide, which I'm happy to plug.

Five of my friends play the guitar, and another plays the bodhran. I've opted for the violin because it's easier to take on a camping trip than a piano. I apologise to my neighbours in advance.

Red Tape

I was going to talk about the LOCUS Magazine Recommended Reading List for 2006, because Scar Night made it into the debut novel category. And I was also going to talk about the University of Strathclyde English Department, who were kind enough to ask me through to speak to their students last Monday. But I'm not going to talk about either of those things. I'm going to talk about the aggressive, vampiric and nonsensical behaviour of South Lanarkshire Council and Glasgow-based debt collectors Buchanan, Clark and Wells instead.

Yes, it's a rant.

Buchanan Clark and Wells, while acknowledging that I have paid my council tax in full, are now threatening to "arrest monies" in my bank account because I haven't paid my council tax.

Writers live off advances. Advances are paid on delivery of a manuscript, hardback publication, mass market paperback publication, and so on; dates which don't necessarily fit in with South Lanarkshire Council's calendar. So I didn't have £1110 sitting around in early July last year to pay my 2006/07 council tax bill in advance. I certainly didn't see that I should pay it, even if they do prefer to collect monies up front because of the extra interest they earn.

I had explained to them that I'd been skint before July. I'd just shelled out an eye-watering deposit to buy a flat, and I was late with my council tax payments, but I was expecting an advance in a few weeks. The bastards couldn't care less. They asked the Sheriff Officers to issue a summary warrant -- at a cost to me of £111.

They tell me the £111 is council tax and it is not council tax. It doesn't matter that I paid off my council tax ages ago and that both the South Lanarkshire Council and the debt collectors acknowledge that I've paid it off, I still owe them £111 in council tax arrears.

Sheesh. Red tape.

As the woman from BCW said (actually, she didn't say it, she snarled it):

"We can call it whatever we want, you owe us, and we'll get it off you."

That surprised me. "So, you could say the £111 is for an unpaid electricity bill, it doesn't matter?"

Apparently so. They could call it "magic snow unicorn tax." They could send you a letter like this:

Dear Sir/Madam,

MAGIC SNOW UNICORN TAX OUTSTANDING BALANCE: £111

We note that, despite previous correspondence, your magic snow unicorn tax remains outstanding. Accordingly, our clients, South Lanarkshire Council, have instructed us to commence proceedings at arrest monies you have in a Bank or Building Society account.

Debt collection has become so slapdash. All the letters are addressed to me, and to someone else, a person whose name is similar to my partner's name, but is clearly not. So how do I know if a summary warrant was actually granted? BCW refuse to give me the name or number of the Sheriff Officers who granted it. And South Lanarkshire Council refuse to send me a bill with a breakdown of the council tax charges.

"We don't do that," they told me.

"But you do," I said. "You sent me one last year. The one that says Council Tax breakdown of charges. X for water, Y for sewerage. You know, that bill which you said I've paid and I haven't paid?"

"Our computer system is down."

"When will it be up again?"

"In a week or so."

"Glad you told me," I said. "I'll phone back then to pay my arrears."

"Oh, but that part of the system is working."

Typical. The computer system is down and it isn't down. Red tape nicely wraps up any paradox.

I'm going to pay the arrears, of course. It annoys me, and I don't think it's fair, but I don't have a choice. Still, I don't have to choose to live in South Lanarkshire either, home of the council who really don't give damn. Last year, they threatened a friend of mine for not paying his council tax, even though they hadn't send him a bill yet.

"I don't know how much to pay," he told them (quite reasonably it seems to me). "Because you haven't worked it out yet."

"That doesn't matter," they replied. "You need to pay it."

Red tape, huh?

Welcome to South Lanarkshire. Anyone want to buy a flat?

No Hawkers or Campbells

So said the sign in reception at the Clachaig Inn in Glen Coe, where I was taking a break from it all last weekend. It feels odd walking into a place where the first thing to greet you is a sign telling you you're not welcome.

Despite this, the Clachaig itself isn't a bad place to stay - if you don't mind warm beer, rude bar staff, and pub grub which tastes like it has been scooped out of a tin, boiled for an hour, then left to grow cold before serving.

But you can't fault the scenery. Even on a rain-lashed day in January, Glen Coe is impressive. From Buachaille Etive Mor to Loch Leven, the landscape has been scoured and cracked by glaciers. Brown and grey mountains crowd all around, the slopes strewn with broken rocks. The streams which feed the River Coe are ice-cold and clear, fresher than any bottled water (provided you don't drink downstream from a dead sheep).

Yep, it's a good place to blow away the cobwebs. And the Clachaig (Gaelic for "stone place") is well situated, if not well managed or particularly welcoming to Campbells since the unfortunate events of 1692. I don't know if it's run by MacDonalds, but I avoided the burgers on the menu, just in case.