Vodafone Blues

Sometime back my eldest daughter moved to Brisbane to study IT.

The best accommodation she could find didn't have internet access and she really needed it for her course, so we went looking for mobile Broadband. We found a Vodafone shop in Brookside Shopping Centre where a gilded youth talked us into a deal which involved a two-year contact, and an assurance that it would work in "Metropolitan Areas".

I explained that there was a strong possibility that my daughter would move once she found more suitable digs, and asked for an assurance that I could use the service both in Toowoomba (where I'm based) and as I traveled around in my work in South West Queensland.

In hindsight, I think his gilded youth’s knowledge of his own state was limited to what he'd seen 50 kilometres north or south of the Brisbane CBD, so his assurances about coverage were about as reliable as a 30 year-old Peugeot I once owned. Places like Charleville, St George, Roma and Goondiwindi were well beyond his ken, even though he was happy to assure me that I could use access from them.

Given these assurances I signed up. I've always assumed that people working for large corporations tell the truth, and had no idea that this was a false assumption when it came to Vodafone.

Armed with the hardware, my daughter headed off to set it up. Monthly fees would be deducted automatically from my account until my daughter found her feet financially. I drove back to Toowoomba believing she was right to go online.

Not so.

She phoned me a few days later to say she couldn't get it to work. Now she is pretty IT-savvy, so this surprised me. When I had a free day, I drove down the range to Brisbane and had a go at making the system work.

No dice.

There was nothing for it but to go back to the gilded youth at Brookside. He wasn't there any more. Given the codswallop he'd told me, it may have had something to do with customer complaints, but that’s another story.

The problem was straightforward. Old Mate had taken my money, but hadn't remembered to enter my account details on whatever piece of software Vodafone use to register users. As far as it was concerned I was a non-customer. This was remedied (without anything resembling an apology – despite the cost to me of a day and a 300km round trip) and daughter had internet – of a sort. It dropped out incessantly, and there were times of the day when it never worked.

In time, she found better accommodation with ADSL access, and I loaded the software into my laptop to see if it worked in Toowoomba.

It didn't.

I then took it out west on my next work trip. It didn't work anywhere (Goondiwindi, St George, Roma or Charleville). Why was I not surprised?

I consigned the whole sad saga to my desk drawer for the last eight months, but eventually got jack of paying out $41 a month for nothing at all. $41 a month is near enough to $500 a year that I was effectively donating to the Vodafone Benevolent Society.

I phoned their customer service number and after being ticked off because I'd forgotten the PIN (which they volunteered anyway) was told that I would continue to be billed, despite not receiving a service, for the rest of the contract. Oh… I could buy out of the contract for $325.

To put it simply, I was being charged for a service that was not available to me, and would have to shell out to get out of the contract. When I objected, I was given a stern lecture about reading the small print, needing to understand that the contract did not guarantee a service, and that I would be hearing from Dunn and Bradstreet should I get stroppy and refuse to pay for a service I couldn’t access.

I could always move to Brisbane.

The last time I felt intimidated was in Vietnam in 1970 by earnest little men carrying AK47s. Now I'm sure the good advocates in Dunn & Bradstreet are earnest, but I doubt they carry AK47s.

I decided that Vodafone would not get another cent of my hard-earned. I've never been prepared to go along with unethical practice, whether it shows its ugly mug in business or personal affairs, and I'm not going to start now.

My next stop was the Telecommunications Industry Ombudsman (TIO). I registered my complaint with them at the same time as I sent an invoice to Vodafone for my time in returning to Brisbane to fix the initial problem.

In the fullness of time, I received an email from someone in Tasmania on behalf of Vodafone. It said that if I posted the CD and hardware back to them, all further charges would be waived.

I did so, and have received no more bills.

There are two lessons in this for me. The first one is not to believe anything a salesperson working for a Telco tells you. They’re much more focused on sales than equipment performance and service.

The second is to stand up to the corporation, irrespective of size, if you know you’re right. In the end they will get away with what they can, as it’s the bottom line, not ethics, that calls the tune.

More Mazda Meanderings

I took a run out to Esk the other day. At 77ks and an hour on the road, it's a neat distance that doesn't render the rest of the day unusable. The round trip back to Toowoomba is about 150km.
The road drops down the escarpment East of Hampton through some interesting and varied country via Ravensbourne National Park, and you can loop back via Gatton so that you don't have to traverse the same piece of road twice.
In Esk itself there's a fair choice of coffee outlets, and the township is interesting and usually busy, although not congested.
The sun was in and out all morning, but I elected to leave the top down, which was OK until the return journey when it started to rain. I discovered that provided you stayed above 80kph, the rain generally blows over the cabin. There wasn't much traffic, but there were a few trucks between Esk and the Gatton turnoff, mostly carrying gear associated with the pipeline from Wivenhoe Dam to Toowoomba. The Mazda is an absolute treat to drive on these roads. Best of all, you don't have to drive it fast to have a good time. With the top down, and after recent rain, the scrub was fragrant, and you could have closed your eyes and your nose would know what sort of country you were in. (I didn't of course – close my eyes that is – not a good idea at 100kph).

This country has some personal significance. My dad was head teacher at Hampton in 1942 when he enlisted in the RAAF. When he went off to New Guinea as an LAC fitting radios to Kittyhawks, my mum took over the school until his return in 1946. I was conceived there and arrived in 1947. You can still see the pine trees dad planted, but the school is long gone.

On the outskirts of town was a school house. I lived in three or four different versions of this house as my dad moved around as a country principal, so for reasons of nostalgia I had to photograph this particular example. In Esk itself there is a lot of activity around the pipeline project. There's a fair-sized cluster of demountables to the West of the township, and you can see the pipes stockpiled not far away. According to the local rag, the first 1000m of pipeline has been laid.
I don't know when it will be finished, but until it is, Toowoomba languishes on level five restrictions. It's been raining on and off since the beginning of Autumn, but all of it has dodged the dams feeding Toowoomba's supply. It's probably karma after the "no" vote in the recycling referendum a few years ago.
(Click on the pics to see a larger version).

Hope and Nostalgia

I spent most of last week in Brisbane at a disabilities conference. Given that I've been working in this field since 1971, I guess there's always the risk that I'm getting jaded. If this was the case, this particular conference was a cure.
It also left me feeling both hopeful and nostalgic.
A very large proportion of the delegates were people with disabilities, and as a consequence, the venue, programme and content were developed with the principles of "Universal Design" well and truly in mind. This meant that accessing every aspect of the conference, from the presentations to the catering, rooms, toilets, documentation and speakers was simple and hassle-free.

This, in itself, was a revelation.
I was able, for example, to listen to the keynote speakers whilst at the same time watching a real-time text presentation, word-by-word, of the content of their addresses. This was achieved by a combination of software and human editing. The editors were shorthand users, who (almost instantaneously) edited any errors in the software-generated text as it appeared on the screen. This was done so quickly and seamlessly that it was almost undetectable. (See pic). The people involved needed to have shorthand ability as through this they had the skills necessary to edit a stream of text in real time. What this meant to someone like me, not a person with a disability, but with failing hearing as a consequence of damage (caused both by age and spending two months in 1970 cheek-by-jowl with Yank mobile artillery which fired regularly and routinely), was in a better position to accurately listen and respond to the material presented.

Given that the speakers included people like Bernard Salt, Kevin Cocks, Bill Shorten and Vinny Lauwers, this was worthwhile.
Bernard Salt is a demographer, Kevin Cocks an advocate, Bill Shorten the Parliamentary Secretary for Disabilities in the federal parliament, and Vinny Lauwers the first person with a disability to sail around the world, solo and unassisted.
Both Cocks and Lauwers have significant physical disabilities.
I was particularly impressed by Vinny Lauwers (his sense of humour, sheer guts and total honesty) and Bill Shorten (his obvious determination, and his no-nonsense and almost politics- free delivery). They are both, in different ways, inspiring speakers, and it was worth being there just to hear them.
The other interesting (if nostalgic) aspect for me was to encounter people with cerebral palsy I had taught at the State School for Spastic Children (New Farm) in 1971 – straight out of my RTA after Vietnam. Two of them are now doing great work as leaders in disability advocacy in Queensland.
The scary bit is that they are both in their early forties.
One other novel aspect of the conference was the roving cartoonist, who drew non-stop. His cartoons were posted daily. I've featured one which describes the work of the Make-a-Wish foundation, which sets out to make the most of the moment for kids with terminal illness. It shows a diver attaching fish to the line of such a kid so that he is guaranteed success in his wish – that is to catch fish off a boat at sea. It seems to me that lots of people working with kids with disabilities do this often. It's probably not a bad metaphor for their work. This is particularly the case for the hundreds of thousands of aging carers out there.

Perhaps Shorten's concept of a national disability insurance scheme holds out hope for these people and those they care for.

Time for a Change

(Image courtesy of the Weekend Australian Magazine).

This is the introduction to an article by Sue Corrigan in last weekend's Australian Magazine. (That's Sue and Shane, her 19 year old son, in the pic) -

In a large town in country NSW, three weeks before last Christmas, a mother is preparing breakfast for her severely intellectually disabled 22-year-old son. The young man doesn't know it, because he has the mental age of a toddler, but his mother is planning to drive him to his day activity centre after she has finished feeding him, and then abandon him there.

Exhausted, severely depressed and suffering health problems, this woman has reached her personal breaking point. Later that same morning, she will pack her son's belongings and hand them to state government officials who, forewarned of her decision, have no choice but to take the boy to an emergency respite centre, 100km away, while they search for more permanent accommodation in a group house closer to home. Today, more than three months later, they are still looking.

It's lengthy, and well worth a read if you can get hold of it (it's not on-line), because it sums up pretty well the invidious position of many aged carers in these so-called enlightened times.

I've been working in this field for a long time now (since 1971) and to be honest, the situation for people with disabilities and their carers is getting worse, not better.

It appears that no government, irrespective of political persuasion, is prepared to tackle the problem. The only times I've ever seen a change is when someone in power happens to be the parent of a child with a disability.

The combination of increased materialism, a more selfish community and an aging population have conspired to make life for this 3 - 5% of the population intolerable. Failed policies driven by economic rationalism but dressed up to look like inclusion haven't helped.

The chairman of Yooralla, Victoria's largest disability community organisation, is Bruce Bonyhady. Apart from being a former federal Treasury official, Bonyhady is the father of two sons with cerebral palsy, so he probably knows what he's talking about.

He advocates for a national disability insurance scheme, operating something like Medicare does in the sense that a levy is applied.

Given that disability can become a part of anyone's life in a split second, as a result of an accident, a stroke or something similar, it makes sense. After all, we generally insure our motor cars in anticipation of the possibility of an accident - and one form of this (third party insurance) is compulsory.

It's time the idea was promoted.

I'm off to a statewide conference on the topic on Wednesday. I'll do my best to make sure the idea gets a hearing.

Porro Ago Distinctus

If the recent state election in Queensland proved anything, it was a timely reminder that Queenslanders are different.

The pundits looked at the relative closeness of the polls, and concluded that the election would be a cliff-hanger. They don't understand how we think.

This state resembles more than anything else, a collection of provincial identities. It also has all the features of metropolitan, rural and remote communities, scattered across a wide geographical area.

This has come about because of our history. Queensland is the only state in the commonwealth where development occurred east-west before it did north-south. The railway lines from the inland to the ports on the coast were completed before the north-south link to the south eastern corner. Development was also concentrated across a range of different sites at different times. Power shifted from the rural heartland to the mining projects and the political history reflected this. Queensland was the home of the Labor party, as a direct consequence of the shearers' strike.

This has left us with a much stronger sense of identity based on location than other Australians, and the issues are rarely statewide. Apart from anything else, Queenslanders have a much stronger sense of contrary individualism than other Aussies.

More than anything else, we hate to be told what we regard as important.

Consequently, understanding political polling in this state is something of a black art, as many of the more arrogant pundits discovered to their cost last Saturday night.

More Mazda Meanderings

Last weekend the Mazda mob (of which we are now members) took a drive to Maclagan.

I'm sure, gentle reader, you know where Maclagan is, but in case you don't, take a look at the map (Click on it to get a decent sized pic). It's generally on the way to the Bunya Mountains, off the New England.

This is a very picturesque part of the Downs, and looks a lot better these days than it did when I used to work in nearby Bell. Back then (three years ago) the country was so dry that the trees were grey.

We've had plenty of rain since then, and the cattle are fat, the creeks brimming, and the grass green.

The goats look OK too.

The winery we visited (Rangemore) runs goats.

Now being a far western bushie – goats to me are scrubby looking creatures on the scrawny side of hungry. This is not the case with the Rangemore goats. They're plump and generally Omo white. The contrast is the same as that between Kiwi and Aussie sheep.

I'd never eaten goat before – but the curried goat pie I had for lunch was delicious. It tasted like well-cooked lamb.

The driving was excellent, the company good, and the wines OK. Unfortunately, driving and wine-tasting are mutually exclusive, so I had to rely on my wife's verdict.

She was right about the Rose.







It rejoices in the name of Tickled Pink.

Whew!

This is the first week since the beginning of the school term that I haven't worked out west. It's good to have uninterrupted quiet time.

What I've noticed about aging is that I still do all the things I've always done – it just takes longer to physically recover. This seems to hold true for the long-distance driving the work requires. These days I drive say 600kms in a day, and spend the next day or two recovering.

Combining the driving with the full-on work in the schools is challenging.

There's always a lot to do in term one. Every time a student with physical impairments enrolls at a bush school, there are heaps of issues to confront.

The problem of basic physical access is always present in bush schools. They're invariably (in Queensland) built on stumps, and the toilets are often inaccessible. Developing ways of ensuring access (as is the legal requirement) requires a great deal of lateral thinking in many cases.

I drive around Toowoomba when I'm home and look at the multi-million dollar infrastructure which comprises many of the wealthy private schools (Grammar, and my old alma mater – Downlands are two prime examples) and wonder about the ethics of governments that continue to throw money their way, whilst at the same time being stingy with dollars to provide basic physical access in state schools in the bush.

This is thrown into stark relief when you understand that these same wealthy schools refuse to enroll students with autism or intellectual impairments because they "don't cater for them".

No such choice operates in the bush.

Another interesting phenomenon involves the increasing incidence of students with severe and multiple impairments. It probably relates to the improvements in post natal care for these kids who now survive, whereas ten or fifteen years ago they didn't.

I continue to be inspired by the parents and teachers of these kids who go to extraordinary lengths to develop high quality programs around them. Supporting them keeps me motivated and enjoying the work.

It will be interesting to see whether I still have a contract if the LNP get in, as it appears they will. We will see their true colours in relation to support for bush kids.

The fascinating issue will be whether the LNP's traditional (and generally mythical) alignment to bush voters will be outweighed by their commitment to reduce government spending.

We'll see.