My apologies for absence once again, I have been back in the ‘shire for the past week supposedly using the time away from London as an opportunity to reflect on my current employment in light of leaving my current employment and hooking myself up with a new 9 – 5. As it happened, it was far more a debauch week of drinking and partying with old friends than one might expect, but at least I did make some progress.

Sort of.

Anyway, Losing Face took an utter beating this week. I was amazed how few places accept cards of any nature, it was actually worse than Hackney [amazingly]. My favourite teenage booze holes all rejected my plastic meaning I was quite often sober AND still having to catch a taxi home at the end of the night – a horrendous ordeal as anyone from Oxford would sympathise.

I was also naive enough to forget that only London is blessed with the ol’ oyster card system still so I was unable to catch a bus anywhere which was as much frustrating as it was money saving. My life was dictated by who had the family car and which kindhearted friend was willing to drive out of their way to pick me up, quite the predicament I think you will agree.

I will admit, my inability to blow my money on my week off meant that I was far more creative productive with my time, I went jogging for the first time in a long time, I went for a walk with my Mother, I watched old reminiscent movies with my brother and I also read a lot of books… I mean, I read a book. I actually felt good about my actions, and myself - so much so that I would celebrate my wholesome day with alcohol each evening. Nice. The only problem with such a celebration was the unfortunate need for a friend to pay or sitting at home drinking my parents out of home. I did a bit of both.

This past week taught me a number of things, one of which I will save for the next post, another is how lucky I am in London and how much harder this little adventure would be in any other town, the last lesson learnt was, quite simply, how wonderfully supportive my friends are… Losing Face would still be possible without them, I would just live a hermit’s life and I don’t consider that social progress.

Whilst on the cyber-hunt for the joyous news [below] about TfL rolling out 1700 new top-up points across this great city, I accidentally came across another related article on the monstrous BBC News website.  This article comes in the form of moving image for your viewing pleasure and is a couple of months old already - I don’t know how I have missed this til now!

 Video Link Here

Basically, so that you know what you are about to click on, the video clip is a news article that may-or-may-not have made it onto the BBC News.  It features O2’s new and exciting idea about cramming as many features into one object.  For those of you, like me, who still only use their phone to phone people, will be able to sympathise emphatically.

O2 are not trialling a range of mobile phones with an inbuilt Oyster Chip AND SmartCard payment system.  Doesn’t that sound delightful?  Never again will you need common sense or self-awareness when leaving your house this morning, after all essentially you only need to remember one thing - your mobile.

That’s great news for anyone that often leaves without remembering at least one important ‘tool’ each time they leave their house, be it their keys, wallet, phone, shoes… But at the same time, this is the one invention that could single-handily screw that very same demograph of forgetfulls.

What happens when they remember this one all singing, all dancing mobile phone when leaving the house but then leave it at work? Or worse, on the Bus, the Tube, the Bar…?  Or even worse than that - and these days it does get worse - some enterprising, hooded hoodlums loiter outside a Tube Station one evening with a constant eye on the unsuspecting, commuters that have innocently bought into this hair-brained scheme (for whatever reason).  They spot a particularly wide-eyed, naive one that looks like easy pickings, the rock up and without the glamour of the wild west, they ’stick up’ the poor suit.  Whether physically assaulted or not, that person is now left without their cash card, their oyster AND their phone.   What if, like me, they can no longer use public phones?  They’ve gone cashless because, up until this moment, there was no need for cash, everything they needed was in their pocket.  No phone to ring the police, or to cancel the smartcard and their oyster or to ring home.  No cash to get home without their oyster or to ring the police or home.  No oyster to continue their journey, or to go to the police… brilliant.

I am predominantly a “glass half full” kind-o-guy but I am also naturally very realistic, I also love pretentious ‘mumsy’ statements, so:

“…All your eggs in one basket.” Just seems to roll off the tongue.

Other Articles include; The Gaurdian C-NET Crave

A dear friend let me know this morning that, whilst doing the usual get-up in the morning, she saw a news article featuring our lovely London Mayor promising 1700 new Oyster Pre-Pay Top-up stations by June!  Now isn’t that wonderful?!

Apparently, Oyster can now be [or very soon will be] available for purchase on EuroStar.  That doesn’t exactly help my situation but this is not all about me, after all.

So, I believe congratulations is in order!  Not for me, I don’t believe for a moment that my badly written, drunken abuse at 5AM led to this announcement in under a week… that would be amazing but utterly fantastical and a little big headed on my part! Congratulations to Mayor Ken, congratulations to TfL and congratulations to Londoners everywhere - getting about this monster of a city is about to get a little easier!

I am struggling to find a link to more information at the moment - being such hot press.  So in the meantime I would like to thank, Gemma Ruse for hooking me up.  You are wonderful!

Dear Mayor Livingstone,

This evening, I have walked home from work from Bond Street to Hackney Wick.  It has taken me over two hours and I am tired and very pissed off.

It is 3:30AM, my bed lies, ever tempting, next to me but this cannot wait.  I need to write to you now before I calm down and before I forget just how let down I feel.

I was unable to catch the N55 bus from Oxford Street to Mare Street this evening.  I had missed the last eastbound Central Line train and in doing-so, also found myself unable to top-up my Oyster Card as the station was closed.

Unaware of my lack of credit, I waited the normal 40 minutes for a night bus, supposed to run every 25, quite happily.  It was only once the bus had arrived that I managed to find out that I had no credit and was told to [quite bluntly] get off the bus. 

Understanding why, I consented.  “These things happen.” I told myself.

Annoyed at only my own lack of foresight, I began to walk East down Oxford Street looking for a convenience store in which to ‘top-up’.  I quickly became more than just annoyed by what I was failing to find than just my own idiocy of forgetting to top-up.

You see, I have lived in London for at least five years, I love this city and I have gained a lot from all it has to offer me, but tonight I learnt – London is not a 24 hour city.  It closes down to everyone but the drunken punter wishing to blow his or hers last shred of shrapnel-change on a kebab or McSomething.

Tonight, London failed me and, because it is easiest, I blame you.

I don’t use cash – ever (More could be understood from www.losingface.wordpress.com).  That is a personal preference that has barely inhibited me until this evening.  I didn’t want to walk the almost 9 miles back to East London, but I had to because I didn’t pass a single open shop, station or kiosk that was able to top up my oyster card.

This is the 21^st century and that is not acceptable.  In fact, it is utterly and indisputably unforgivable and as Mayor, you should be ashamed that a law abiding, tax paying, culturally contributing London resident has been so completely let down by Transport for London.

TfL has the technology to provide street side Oyster support, make them provide that technology.  The 9 million citizens that live and breathe this city provide countless millions of pounds of revenue from just the [absolutely extortionate] public transport system alone, it is time to give something back to those users.

I should never need to talk 9 miles in the middle of the night to get home again, I should be able to walk to the nearest bus stop and check/top-up my Oyster Card balance quickly, easily and safely at any time of the day or night.

You are the Mayor, you are my Mayor, please ensure something is done.  In a world with not technological need for cash, there should be no reason why I had to drag myself across the city in the early hours of the morning.  If London is to remain a world capital and an inspiration to billions, bring it kicking and screaming into the 21^st century, make this great city an exemplar of modern society and make Londoners truly proud of their home.

Before/If you respond, I would like your answer and action to be built on the premise that despite my constitution, my personal preference and [current] inebriation, I am a Londoner and you are my Mayor.  To me, that means I expect you to lead me confidently and with an unbridled commitment to this City and its people - tell me what you are going to do and make no qualm about your decision.

After all, this is about far more than just a drunk, 20-something male having to walk home at night.  It is about your vision for a future, inspirational London that Britain can show off to the world and being proud enough of that vision to realise it against all cost and inhibition for a better, greater Capital.

If you convince me of your vision and your ambition as an informed leader as opposed to an all-pleasing, forever smiling dignitary, you will once again have my vote and I will urge my 20,000 strong student body of voters to do the same.
I look forward to hearing from you.

Kind Regards,

James Allan

My favourite Spring Season pastime has been stolen from me… by me.  This is the first time I have been so utterly pissed off with this cashless exercise.  I have always included ‘the markets’ in my reasons for living in London – especially East London.  I am sure I will continue to do so but, alas, for the foreseeable future I can only spectate in the hustle, bustle and bartering.

My room is filled with things anyone could argue I didn’t really need.  Picture frames who’s last owners are certainly dead, weird obsolete tools “just in case”, the list is endless.  However, the market-stall purchases I have made over the years pale in comparison to the food and coffee consumed whilst browsing and socialising every Sunday morning at Brick Lane, or Columbia Road, or Broadway Market, or Spitalfields.

There is little better than strolling the back streets of these, once grotty, back streets with the new spring sun on your back with nothing but blue skies above.  Celebrating the beginning to the best bit of the year with the odd impulse buy that you may never use but will certainly not regret.

Consuming unnecessary quantities of coffee and cake outside Café 1001 in order to prolong the pleasures of people watching.  Observing the ‘Shoreditch Twat’ in its prime, mincing up and down as if the market was a runway – a far cry from the old days of raw East End stalls of fruit and veg’ farmers and rag’n’bone men.

Over time, the markets have changed; they have evolved into new beasts of tourism, celebrity and a showcase for fashion vagary.  The only thing that is yet to evolve is the markets’ reliance on cash.  I can’t buy a thing, not even a coffee – from an actual shop in a building, without cash.  The markets have nothing left for me to enjoy and I feel left out.  I want to buy myself something pointless, I want to meet my friends without feeling like a freeloader, I want the markets to drag themselves into the 21^st fucking century.

It was only last week I was reading about a small town in Ontario that went cashless in America’s first community wide test of Smart Cards in 1997.  Over 10 years ago, even a small farmhouse outside the town sold their corn through the Smart Card system.  10 years later and it is barely available outside Subway Sandwiches let alone the cosseted cheese and olive stall on Broadway Market.  To me, that seems utterly illogical.

 Every market has a very public problem with illegal stalls, every stall and their punters occasionally fall victim to theft and every bloody market is surrounded by (if not covered by) a permanent building or structure.  When we are already living in a world with fewer and fewer wires, why on earth can’t someone pay for something with a touch of a button or a swipe of a card?  I am sure it would bring more revenue to the stall-holders, more security to the market place and it would once again give me a reason to get up on a Sunday morning.

Although I promised yesterday that I wouldn’t blow all of my findings from the Internet in one big splash, I cant resist posting this puppy up now.  I just found it and thought it is worth posting.

 Ross Grittins, writes about the future of cash (in 2004) and why we should all resist.  It is certainly has an Australian twang to it, not only by the countless examples of spending in Dollars - by Australians - in Australia, but I guess you can build a similar picture of life and spending in Britain through his findings.

He isn’t very positive, he loves lots of numbers and despite reading the entire thing expecting at least a mentioning of some sort of conspiracy theory or Big Brother foreboding, there wasn’t one… bummer.

This is my favorite line from the article,

” Of all the mainstream ways of borrowing, credit cards have the highest interest rates. What silly, silly sausages.”

Read the article here, if you would like to.

This evening felt good.  Really good.  As if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  When asked if I had any spare change outside Holborn Tube Station I answered as I have done for years with a simple “no”, but this time I wasn’t lying!

Come to think of it, I am not exactly sure what ’spare’ change looks like, or if it even exists.  It is like that mythical, unspoilt ’spare cigarette’  that, to my knowledge, no-one ever throws away anymore.  Maybe I haven’t been lying all along, maybe I have been beating myself up with no reason for all these years.

East London, where the tramps are the undoubtedly amongst the richest of folk, will need to invest in some wireless PDQ card machines if they still want to hassle me every day.  However, until Bagel Bake start to accept cards and I can once again enjoy the delights of Salt Beef Bagels and soup at 3AM, I blissfully avoid the hardcore Beggars of Brick Lane.

Splendid.

OK, first post back after a rather big ‘blip’ in my real life, my apologies for absence to all. Whilst flapping about over the past few weeks, most of my time was spent trawling the Internet, quite unproductively, for people doing similar things to me or people doing the opposite to me. Although I failed to find any like-minded, kindred spirit, I did find a few gems that interested me and may well interest you.

After my three week hunting (however half-arsed) I wouldn’t want to blow the lot all in one post so I will spew them out ever now and again, typically when I have nothing else to write about…

NB: Still young and naive to this literary on-line jungle, I am not entirely sure of (if there is any) ‘blogging etiquette’ so please do correct me if what follows below is anything from rude to sacrilegious.

DE-NOTED

de-noted is a blog full of submitted pictures of defaced currency.  Mostly British and American notes, the scribbled words range from profound protesting statements to comical quips.

This is my favorite,

Go and check out the rest here and if you are still using cash, make someones day - write all over it.

Since I stopped using actual, tangible money, and with every day that passes, I feel more and more wary of cash, especially notes, and the strange semiotics that each denomination possesses.  I’m sure I am going to look at this more deeply in the coming weeks and months, as it touches everything including (the obvious) wealth, the monarchy and the biggest beast of all, our societies obsession with spending.

For now, however, I’ve been thinking about hygiene.  Everyone knows how filthy money is (in the most literal of senses), but how much of it is myth?  Is it really that bad?

I spent a whopping thirty seconds investigating online and came across a mountain of facts and fiction, as to be expected with the Internet.  One of the first things that struck me was an article taken from the Sunday Telegraph simply titled, “Cocaine found on 99.9% of UK banknotes”.

Apparently a company from Bristol called Mass Spec Analytical tested over “1,500 £10 and £20 notes withdrawn from banks in nine separate rural and urban locations”. The article also mentions that Mass Spec Analytical also found traces of other drugs such as ecstasy and heroin!

It seems that the Face of our Commonwealth, our Queen, is almost as synonymous with Charlie as Kate Moss and her not-so-clandestine habbit.

Anyone could argue that a fair proportion of this 99.9% is from cross contamination.  Others (like the Telegraph) go as far as to speculate why such a huge number of British notes have been in contact with the Other White Stuff, pointing the finger at everything from its availability to celebrity status.  I couldn’t give a shit how it got there or who is to blame, I’m just worried about what else is on the average Tenner.

Throughout my childhood I regularly heard the common parental phrase, “Wash your hands”.  Whether I was about to eat, or had just gone to the toilet, it soon became second nature.  I don’t ever recall being told to wash my hands after touching money!

It seems money is as bad the complimentary nuts in a bar; maybe even worse, at least the nuts only had traces of piss.

Ok, so I have stumbled across something very difficult to get around without cash; Bouncers! I don’t mean to stereotype or slander but so far the average door man standing in between me and a good night on the tiles with my friends has not had the time/intellect/inclination to even want to hear my story. I expect the choice of establishment I regularly choose to frequent has not helped the situation; maybe a bigger, more professional, mainstream club might yield more sympathy. It is just a pity that those clubs cost more to get in than I am able to afford in cash or card most of the time and the bars and clubs I can afford, and prefer going to, are guarded by monstrous, unqualified Neanderthals demanding shrapnel to the value of £3.

Three miserly Pounds! It seems frustrating enough that the East End Dives feel like that is a fair price for being the last places open every night of the week, for being the last resort of the Hoxtonites and for just being in the right postcode this year. But what I just cannot swallow, try as I might, is the inconsistency and illogic behind this bastard three Pounds. I wouldn’t mind the guaranteed argument, the bartering, the negotiation and the almost certain rejection from these door men if I wasn’t absolutely-fucking-positive that the average looking blonde haired temptress in front of me got in for free.

I must admit, and I am ashamed to say so, I have played the invaluable wild-card a number of times. My beautiful and increasingly pissed-off girlfriend has come to my rescue, bailing me out and getting me into the bar or club. Sometimes in return for drinks on the inside but mostly out of kindness and for that, I would like to thank her.

This one is going to be difficult. I’m not going to give up. I will find a way around these unreasonable meat-heads somehow, and hopefully without resorting to growing my hair and getting a boob-job.