Well, this is a post I really hoped I wouldn't have to write for many years. My beloved, lovely, Mum died last month. It was very sudden, and unexpected and a huge shock to us all. She was only 70, which is (as people keep telling me) no age at all, but her health had become very poor in recent years. As you may remember, we all caught the flu when she was here at Christmas, and I don't think she recovered from that fully.
I'd been down to spend the day in Sussex with her, and we had a pleasant relaxing time together, I ferried her to a few medical appointments, we had tea, watched all the various afternoon TV shows she liked, then treated ourselves to an Indian takeaway for supper, before I headed home again in the late evening.
That night she became ill, called an ambulance and was admitted to the superb St Richard's hospital where they tried to find out what the problem was. I was worried she might have had a heart attack, but after a day or two of tests they said she had "an infection" later specified as cellulitis. Mum had cellulitis several times, a complication of a longstanding diabetic ulcer on her foot, and despite it being a nasty thing, I was relieved as she'd been treated for it successfully before.
To cut a long and sad story short, despite getting the best possible care, she passed away a few days later, with her family around her. It was peaceful, dignified, gentle, and she was in no distress, which is about as much as any of us can hope for I think.
We held the funeral on a gloriously sunny day in August, and many friends, family and members of her church attended to pay their respects. I will miss her more than I can say.
I take comfort from the thought that she is reunited with my Dad, who died so many years ago, and who she loved all her life.
Grief is a strange thing. I have hours, and now even half-days, where I feel fine, almost as if I have forgotten what has happened, and then a wave crashes over me and I am inconsolable. I know it will get easier, but my God, it's hard at the moment.
I was supposed to be down in Sussex this week to help my sisters sort out some of the paperwork, but as if by magic, I went down with a chest infection at the weekend, and have spent the last 48 hours in bed, coughing wretchedly.
I don't think it's a coincidence that I have avoided the Black Lung since I stopped working in London, and now it reappears. Thankfully, it seems to be receding again within a week, unlike the 3-month visitations of yore, but it scared me badly.
Two positive things:
1) Our holiday in Japan, which was booked a while ago, is now a shining beacon of "something to look forward to" even more than it already was.
2) I joined a local spa/gym at a country hotel nearby a few days after I went down to visit my Mum and going swimming there has been very helpful. I recently sold my Rickenbacker 12-string, so had some "extra" money in the bank, and used it to pay for a year's membership and I am so glad I did, as it means I have somewhere to go that has no associations with anything else in my life. It helps.
Showing posts with label I need a holiday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I need a holiday. Show all posts
Tuesday, 25 August 2015
Saturday, 5 June 2010
Flowers in the dust
I have been getting stuff ready for the big holiday. The house is full of suitcases, partly because we had to empty out the loft (more on that later) and partly because I have bought myself a new Holiday Bag. My old suitcase had more or less given up the ghost; the zip was getting unreliable, and it had a horribly squeaky wheel. The squeaky wheel was so bad that when you dragged it through an airport, small children wept and security guards looked irritated. I thought it best to replace it.
Well, it was 15 years old. I bought it when we got married, it has been to America twice, and all over Europe and the UK. It's better-travelled than a lot of my friends.
So, to the Internet! I ordered an Antler Size Zero case on Sunday, it turned up on Wednesday. That's service. It weighs something absurd - 3.3kg - and has lots of useful pockets. I look forward to cramming it full of new clothes on the way home again. We plan to travel light, and buy clothes while we're over there, as last time we went things were so much cheaper. Admittedly, we were getting almost 2 dollars to the pound back then, but even so, I expect to find bargains.
I also bought, on impulse of course, a new camera. My old camera is a Nikon Coolpix L1, and I have always enjoyed using it. But, and it's a big but, it takes AA batteries and they only last for a few dozen pictures. So I always have to ensure that I have spares with me, and it's a pain in the arse to keep changing them.
The new camera is a Canon Ixus, which takes a small rechargeable camera battery, which should last me several hundred pictures. I will buy a spare one so that I can have one on charge while the other one is in use, and it will be more cost-effective in the long run, not having to buy loads of AAs.
I had a go with it in the garden. The weather here has been lovely for the last few days, and everything has gone beserk, growing wildly and gorgeously, so I thought I'd take some pictures.
The oriental poppy, we have a huge plant in the front garden which was here when we moved in, and it always delivers a ton of flowers.
Clematis, just starting to go over now, but still looking great.
Different colour oriental poppy. We usually only get one of these.
Chives. The bees adore them.
Also, remember I said I broke my glass windchime? Yeah you do. Mr WithaY salvaged the bits of it that weren't shattered to a million billion pieces and we have hung them on the rose arch. We call it the rose arch even though the only thing growing on it is the clematis. That's how we roll.
Other news: Brother in law is continuing his recovery at home, which is excellent. Father in law WithaY is in good spirits too, although slightly grumpy about our impending holiday. Mother in law WithaY is coming over from France next week and will be staying at the house for a few days while we're away, so we need to put stuff back in the loft.
Oh yeah. The loft. The cavity wall insulation boyos* arrived on Thursday, as planned, and spent a few hours drilling holes in the exterior walls, pumping silicon-coated fibreglass** into the cavity and then filling all the holes again. They worked hard, made as little noise*** as possible, and were charming and polite.
When they'd finished they asked me to do an inspection of their work, and sign off the paperwork. I asked if I should do that after they insulated the loft. They said no, the loft team were a different team, and I would have to wait for them to turn up. In the meantime, if I could just sign here, and here, and then over the page here...ta love.
The company had already called us to say that someone had called in sick that day and they might not be able to come and do the insulation. I made my renowned "Middle-aged woman being mildly inconvenienced" noise, which always goes down well.
The girl I spoke to said "Oh, have you taken the day off work to be there?" Yes, I told her, I have. And we've emptied the loft so the house is a tip. She was very sympathetic, and said she'd try her hardest to get us a different team to come and do the work, so when the cavity wall chaps arrived I assumed they were it. But no.
Shortly after they left, job well done, the company called again. No joy finding a loft insulating team, and the next available appointment is the end of July. Gah.
So, back up the rickety loft ladder today for Mr WithaY, and then we'll re-empty it after we get home from holiday.
Other, other news: We have bought a new phone for the house. Our old one had an answering machine which contained a cassette tape (retro, huh?) and was being temperamental about letting us know if anyone had left a message. The light would flash, but the tape would be blank. No bleeding use whatsoever. Now we have a phone with a digital answering machine, and I can wander the house whilst chatting to people. It's a whole new world.
*They were from South Wales, and, as it turned out, from a place about 10 miles from where my Mum comes from. Small world, eh?
**I asked what it was.
***Apart from shitloads of drilling, I mean.
Monday, 19 April 2010
That'll do nicely
Today was interesting. Mr WithaY and I were up at the US Embassy for our visa interview, to see if we would be allowed to go on the holiday we booked before realising we now* need a visa to go anywhere even slightly exotic.
We've spent several hours over the last few weeks negotiating the obstacle course that you must complete to get as far as the Embassy. I'm fairly sure it was designed by the same people who develop those logic/warfare computer games, where you have to solve complex riddles and hack scaly monsters with cleavers to progress and achieve points.
There are confusing electronic forms that you have to fill in, after which you wait for a reply to let you continue to the next level of form-filling. If you tick certain boxes they send you links to more forms to fill in.
You send them scanned copies of relevant documentation so that they can decide if you are allowed to continue the process.
You have long, long telephone conversations with them (at £1.20 a minute) during which they tell you to do more, different, form-filling. During these conversations you have to go into painful detail about the reason why you now need a visa. They are not unsympathetic, they probably hear stuff like that dozens of times a year, but it still smarts to have to justify yourself to a stranger as if you are a criminal.
Degrading. That's what it is.
One of the forms you fill in has to include a scanned passport photograph. They decide online, as you are filling it in, if the photo is acceptable or not, and if it is you get to submit the whole thing. If it isn't, I assume that they send a painful electric shock through your keyboard while a disembodied voice tells you to start again at Level 1, back with the smaller monsters and slightly easier riddles.
Finally, FINALLY, they email you and tell you to phone them (still £1.20 a minute, remember) to arrange a date for your interview. You do so, and the fact that it clashes with a long-planned training course that your husband has been booked to attend for the last three months is a mere bagatelle. He arranges to arrive at the training event a day late, and you both book a day off work to trek up to London** for the interview.
The US Embassy has VERY strict rules about what you are allowed to take into the building. You can't take mobile phones, Blackberries, iPods, laptops, or keyfobs with electronic clickety things to open your car while you stand far away***. We assumed that guns, knives and sharp sticks would also be frowned upon, so left all those at home.
If you turn up with any of the banned items, you will NOT be allowed in and your interview will be CANCELLED. You will LOSE your fee of $131 (about £80) and have to make a NEW appointment which you will have to pay for AGAIN.
They use a lot of CAPITAL LETTERS to make this point in the emails they send you.
What they don't do is send you a list of what you need to take. That would be handy, if any of the Embassy staff are reading this. A checklist of everything, all the various forms, passports, associated documentation and additional passport photos would be helpful. Oh, and please ask the reception and security staff to use the same terminology when they talk about the forms, that would avoid a lot of confusion when they ask you if you have brought them with you.
Anyhoo. We arrived at the Embassy building, a veritable fortress in the heart of London, and went through the first two perimeter checkpoints. Unfortunately, when they put my handbag through the x-ray machine they saw my headphones, which I had forgotten were in there. The list of BANNED items didn't mention headphones. But they are banned, apparently. What made it especially annoying was the fact that we had already travelled halfway across London to my office to drop off the car keys and my iPhone in my locker, to ensure we complied with the rules.
I was within an ace of saying "Just throw the fucking things in the bin then," as I was exasperated and stressed to the eyeballs, but the security guard told me that there was a pharmacy down the road which offers storage for contraband (for a small fee). I legged it down there, handed over my headphones, got a cloakroom ticket in return and made it back in time for the 11am appointment.
That pharmacy must make a small fortune renting locker space.
The lady on the main reception desk told us we only needed one appointment ticket as we had an appointment for both of us at the same time, so we took it, and skipped upstairs cheerfully.
That didn't last long.
When you open the scarily heavy door to the Visa Room, there are about 400 chairs set out in rows on either side of the room, facing the screens in the middle. It's like a very, very depressing cinema, or a squalid airport departure lounge from the 1960s. It also made me think of something out of Brave New World, or possibly 1984. There is a palpable atmosphere of despair and anxiety. I felt myself ageing by the second.
They were announcing ticket number 274 as we walked in. We were number 440. Fuck.
We sat and waited till they called our number, then went to the bullet-proof, axe-proof, dragon-breath-proof window. The girl there checked our documents and said "Can I have your additional passport photos please?"
What? Seriously?
We hadn't brought additional passport photos, as the online application process had said our pictures were fine. But no. They weren't fine at all, so we had to pay another £4 each to have new pictures from their machine. She then told us we needed another ticket, which Mr WithaY ran down to reception to fetch, and we were asked to go and sit down again and wait to be called to the next stage of the interview process.
She gave us another form to fill in, in case we were getting bored.
The form she gave us warned that we should expect a wait of "some hours" for this next part of the process to pass. Fuuuuuck. We sat on the horrible hard chairs, along with dozens of other stressed, nervous, miserable people, and we waited. And waited. And waited.
One bright spot was a chap who had just bought some food from the snack vending stall at the back of the room. He had been there a fair while, the same as us, and had obviously decided to have some lunch. He had literally only just started to unwrap his Cornetto****, and they called his number. He walked out laughing to himself, his Cornetto in his hand.
I hope he sat and ate it while they interviewed him.
So. The long day wore on; we eventually got summoned to the Room of Delinquents and Scamps to explain to a very nice young American chap exactly why we needed a visa. That was lovely, as you can imagine.
He was very professional and polite, and very very thorough. After we had explained all the horrible, depressing, nasty circumstances he said "I am not going to punish you for this, it doesn't seem fair, so I am authorising your visas."
I could have hugged him. If the bullet-proof, axe-proof etc glass hadn't been there.
We had to queue up in yet another long line, and do a bit more paperwork before we were allowed to leave, but the end result is that we should be getting our envisa-ed passports back in the next few days, and will be able to go on holiday as planned in June.
Hoo-fucking-ray.
This week I am mostly going to be looking for a lawyer. I think the police ought to be footing the bill for all this, at least the money we have had to spend, if not the additional time, anxiety and indignity of it all. I'll let you know how I get on.
*Thanks to the Shitstorm From Hades
**To be fair, they did also offer us Belfast. Very helpful.
***I forget the technical term
****That's not a euphamism. A Cornetto is a type of ice-cream in a wrapper, non British readers.
We've spent several hours over the last few weeks negotiating the obstacle course that you must complete to get as far as the Embassy. I'm fairly sure it was designed by the same people who develop those logic/warfare computer games, where you have to solve complex riddles and hack scaly monsters with cleavers to progress and achieve points.
There are confusing electronic forms that you have to fill in, after which you wait for a reply to let you continue to the next level of form-filling. If you tick certain boxes they send you links to more forms to fill in.
You send them scanned copies of relevant documentation so that they can decide if you are allowed to continue the process.
You have long, long telephone conversations with them (at £1.20 a minute) during which they tell you to do more, different, form-filling. During these conversations you have to go into painful detail about the reason why you now need a visa. They are not unsympathetic, they probably hear stuff like that dozens of times a year, but it still smarts to have to justify yourself to a stranger as if you are a criminal.
Degrading. That's what it is.
One of the forms you fill in has to include a scanned passport photograph. They decide online, as you are filling it in, if the photo is acceptable or not, and if it is you get to submit the whole thing. If it isn't, I assume that they send a painful electric shock through your keyboard while a disembodied voice tells you to start again at Level 1, back with the smaller monsters and slightly easier riddles.
Finally, FINALLY, they email you and tell you to phone them (still £1.20 a minute, remember) to arrange a date for your interview. You do so, and the fact that it clashes with a long-planned training course that your husband has been booked to attend for the last three months is a mere bagatelle. He arranges to arrive at the training event a day late, and you both book a day off work to trek up to London** for the interview.
The US Embassy has VERY strict rules about what you are allowed to take into the building. You can't take mobile phones, Blackberries, iPods, laptops, or keyfobs with electronic clickety things to open your car while you stand far away***. We assumed that guns, knives and sharp sticks would also be frowned upon, so left all those at home.
If you turn up with any of the banned items, you will NOT be allowed in and your interview will be CANCELLED. You will LOSE your fee of $131 (about £80) and have to make a NEW appointment which you will have to pay for AGAIN.
They use a lot of CAPITAL LETTERS to make this point in the emails they send you.
What they don't do is send you a list of what you need to take. That would be handy, if any of the Embassy staff are reading this. A checklist of everything, all the various forms, passports, associated documentation and additional passport photos would be helpful. Oh, and please ask the reception and security staff to use the same terminology when they talk about the forms, that would avoid a lot of confusion when they ask you if you have brought them with you.
Anyhoo. We arrived at the Embassy building, a veritable fortress in the heart of London, and went through the first two perimeter checkpoints. Unfortunately, when they put my handbag through the x-ray machine they saw my headphones, which I had forgotten were in there. The list of BANNED items didn't mention headphones. But they are banned, apparently. What made it especially annoying was the fact that we had already travelled halfway across London to my office to drop off the car keys and my iPhone in my locker, to ensure we complied with the rules.
I was within an ace of saying "Just throw the fucking things in the bin then," as I was exasperated and stressed to the eyeballs, but the security guard told me that there was a pharmacy down the road which offers storage for contraband (for a small fee). I legged it down there, handed over my headphones, got a cloakroom ticket in return and made it back in time for the 11am appointment.
That pharmacy must make a small fortune renting locker space.
The lady on the main reception desk told us we only needed one appointment ticket as we had an appointment for both of us at the same time, so we took it, and skipped upstairs cheerfully.
That didn't last long.
When you open the scarily heavy door to the Visa Room, there are about 400 chairs set out in rows on either side of the room, facing the screens in the middle. It's like a very, very depressing cinema, or a squalid airport departure lounge from the 1960s. It also made me think of something out of Brave New World, or possibly 1984. There is a palpable atmosphere of despair and anxiety. I felt myself ageing by the second.
They were announcing ticket number 274 as we walked in. We were number 440. Fuck.
We sat and waited till they called our number, then went to the bullet-proof, axe-proof, dragon-breath-proof window. The girl there checked our documents and said "Can I have your additional passport photos please?"
What? Seriously?
We hadn't brought additional passport photos, as the online application process had said our pictures were fine. But no. They weren't fine at all, so we had to pay another £4 each to have new pictures from their machine. She then told us we needed another ticket, which Mr WithaY ran down to reception to fetch, and we were asked to go and sit down again and wait to be called to the next stage of the interview process.
She gave us another form to fill in, in case we were getting bored.
The form she gave us warned that we should expect a wait of "some hours" for this next part of the process to pass. Fuuuuuck. We sat on the horrible hard chairs, along with dozens of other stressed, nervous, miserable people, and we waited. And waited. And waited.
One bright spot was a chap who had just bought some food from the snack vending stall at the back of the room. He had been there a fair while, the same as us, and had obviously decided to have some lunch. He had literally only just started to unwrap his Cornetto****, and they called his number. He walked out laughing to himself, his Cornetto in his hand.
I hope he sat and ate it while they interviewed him.
So. The long day wore on; we eventually got summoned to the Room of Delinquents and Scamps to explain to a very nice young American chap exactly why we needed a visa. That was lovely, as you can imagine.
He was very professional and polite, and very very thorough. After we had explained all the horrible, depressing, nasty circumstances he said "I am not going to punish you for this, it doesn't seem fair, so I am authorising your visas."
I could have hugged him. If the bullet-proof, axe-proof etc glass hadn't been there.
We had to queue up in yet another long line, and do a bit more paperwork before we were allowed to leave, but the end result is that we should be getting our envisa-ed passports back in the next few days, and will be able to go on holiday as planned in June.
Hoo-fucking-ray.
This week I am mostly going to be looking for a lawyer. I think the police ought to be footing the bill for all this, at least the money we have had to spend, if not the additional time, anxiety and indignity of it all. I'll let you know how I get on.
*Thanks to the Shitstorm From Hades
**To be fair, they did also offer us Belfast. Very helpful.
***I forget the technical term
****That's not a euphamism. A Cornetto is a type of ice-cream in a wrapper, non British readers.
Sunday, 14 June 2009
En vacances
Today I am mostly going on holiday. Back next week, hopefully full of delicious French food* and artfully bronzed**.
In the meantime, here's a picture of a giant pie, as promised.
*fatter
**bright red and flaky
In the meantime, here's a picture of a giant pie, as promised.
*fatter
**bright red and flaky
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
Blue, blue, electric blue
Well, the sun is not quite as bright as it was but it's still a lovely day. Makes such a difference when the weather is good. Does to me, anyway.
Am sat in the office more or less on my own at the moment. The rest of the team all sit on the other side of the big open-plan office, so I am here like a sad Billy no-mates.
We are currently packing everything into huge crates prior to our move to the other end of the building later in the week. I need to get my stuff crated up by lunchtime on Thursday, and move all my bits and bobs to the new desk by then as well, because I will be away after that for a week and a bit.
The building is mostly empty and very untidy and rather depressing as a result, what with all the empty desks and cupboards, and huge trolleys full of junk to be either sent for recycling, thrown away or moved to a new home. And we are trying to carry on with the day job in amongst it all.
Can't wait for my holiday.
In honour of the impending WithaY travels, I treated myself to some new nail varnish (Jessica's "Out All Night") in a fetching shade of electric teal/blue, which is a bit alarming. I might restrict it to toes only. I keep catching glimpses of my fingernails and going "Wow, that is bright."
Will look fab by the pool.
Am sat in the office more or less on my own at the moment. The rest of the team all sit on the other side of the big open-plan office, so I am here like a sad Billy no-mates.
We are currently packing everything into huge crates prior to our move to the other end of the building later in the week. I need to get my stuff crated up by lunchtime on Thursday, and move all my bits and bobs to the new desk by then as well, because I will be away after that for a week and a bit.
The building is mostly empty and very untidy and rather depressing as a result, what with all the empty desks and cupboards, and huge trolleys full of junk to be either sent for recycling, thrown away or moved to a new home. And we are trying to carry on with the day job in amongst it all.
Can't wait for my holiday.
In honour of the impending WithaY travels, I treated myself to some new nail varnish (Jessica's "Out All Night") in a fetching shade of electric teal/blue, which is a bit alarming. I might restrict it to toes only. I keep catching glimpses of my fingernails and going "Wow, that is bright."
Will look fab by the pool.
Thursday, 24 January 2008
Not alone
Slightly less grumpy about things than I was yesterday, but still pretty pissed off. Still, my team have come up trumps and proved once again how great they all are, so that's good.
I am off work for a few days next week, and really feel like I need the break. Christmas already feels like years ago, even though it is less than a month.
Mr WithaY is off on a jaunt to the Red Sea to terrify fish by looming at them in his wetsuit, so I thought I would have a bit of time to myself as well. I was invited but as I don't dive* and don't really do sun, it seemed a bit pointless to spend a week sitting on a dive boat. In the sun.
Had a disapppointing guitar lesson last night as I was too cross and stressed to focus, and too sad to sing. Still, my lovely teacher persisted and taught me the intro to Purple Haze, so I must make sure I perfect it before I see him again.
He's such a sweetie.
I need to find some local guitarists to play with, though, as it makes such a difference when other people are involved. If anyone knows anyone in this area, let me know. And Andy, get down to the West more often, you selfish git. Heh.
And on the bright side, the sun is shining and the fields are less flooded than they were.
Hurrah.
And I have snowdrops in my garden. Spring approaches.
Other news: Met a fellow Magnum fan today. Yay!
*I have had a go, and enjoyed it, but my phobia about big fish means I can't relax under water for fear of being nudged by a huge finny bastard from behind.
I am off work for a few days next week, and really feel like I need the break. Christmas already feels like years ago, even though it is less than a month.
Mr WithaY is off on a jaunt to the Red Sea to terrify fish by looming at them in his wetsuit, so I thought I would have a bit of time to myself as well. I was invited but as I don't dive* and don't really do sun, it seemed a bit pointless to spend a week sitting on a dive boat. In the sun.
Had a disapppointing guitar lesson last night as I was too cross and stressed to focus, and too sad to sing. Still, my lovely teacher persisted and taught me the intro to Purple Haze, so I must make sure I perfect it before I see him again.
He's such a sweetie.
I need to find some local guitarists to play with, though, as it makes such a difference when other people are involved. If anyone knows anyone in this area, let me know. And Andy, get down to the West more often, you selfish git. Heh.
And on the bright side, the sun is shining and the fields are less flooded than they were.
Hurrah.
And I have snowdrops in my garden. Spring approaches.
Other news: Met a fellow Magnum fan today. Yay!
*I have had a go, and enjoyed it, but my phobia about big fish means I can't relax under water for fear of being nudged by a huge finny bastard from behind.
Thursday, 1 November 2007
Still cold
Well, the house is dark, dank and gloomy. My every step echoes through a desolate void. The world is a hard and lonely place*.
Arse.
Still, Mr WithaY and the American mates are back tomorrow. Hurrah.
The upstairs hot water isn't working, as I discovered when I was taking a shower this morning. Not something you want to find out after you start washing your hair. Past the point of no return, once shampoo is involved.
I spent a jolly half hour on the phone before I left for work, begging the boiler engineery fixey people to come out and fix it. They said "We'll be there on Monday".
I believe my anguished cry could be heard in Gloucester.
I explained** that we have no heating and no hot water, and that I was due a houseful of guests on Friday.
God, the Americans already think we live in the Dark Ages, still coping with rationing, oil lamps and the 3 day week. No central heating and having to wash in the kitchen sink would really put the tin hat on that.
Anyhoo.
The general consensus at work is that Mr WithaY is texting the boiler from France to encourage it to save on oil.
I was supposed to be driving to Bournemouth airport tomorrow afternoon to pick them all up but have arranged a taxi instead as I need to be here for the boiler man. Gah.
Other news: Was on a training course at work on Monday and Tuesday (hence not being in France with everyone else) which was interesting. In a sad "Not as good as the South of France" kind of way.
Had a cracking guitar lesson on Monday with my gorgeous teacher. I have been left with strict instructions to listen to Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters" so I can learn it. I don't think I've ever heard it. One of my lovely on-line mates told me to learn it months ago, so I will have to get my finger out and get listening.
So. Off to YouTube later.
Yep. Think that's about it for me today.
*Still bored being here on my own.
**I think he picked up how stressed I was at the point where I said "Just leave it, never mind....please. I will find a plumber who can come out today." I think my normally beautifully-modulated voice may have wobbled a little too.
Arse.
Still, Mr WithaY and the American mates are back tomorrow. Hurrah.
The upstairs hot water isn't working, as I discovered when I was taking a shower this morning. Not something you want to find out after you start washing your hair. Past the point of no return, once shampoo is involved.
I spent a jolly half hour on the phone before I left for work, begging the boiler engineery fixey people to come out and fix it. They said "We'll be there on Monday".
I believe my anguished cry could be heard in Gloucester.
I explained** that we have no heating and no hot water, and that I was due a houseful of guests on Friday.
God, the Americans already think we live in the Dark Ages, still coping with rationing, oil lamps and the 3 day week. No central heating and having to wash in the kitchen sink would really put the tin hat on that.
Anyhoo.
The general consensus at work is that Mr WithaY is texting the boiler from France to encourage it to save on oil.
I was supposed to be driving to Bournemouth airport tomorrow afternoon to pick them all up but have arranged a taxi instead as I need to be here for the boiler man. Gah.
Other news: Was on a training course at work on Monday and Tuesday (hence not being in France with everyone else) which was interesting. In a sad "Not as good as the South of France" kind of way.
Had a cracking guitar lesson on Monday with my gorgeous teacher. I have been left with strict instructions to listen to Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters" so I can learn it. I don't think I've ever heard it. One of my lovely on-line mates told me to learn it months ago, so I will have to get my finger out and get listening.
So. Off to YouTube later.
Yep. Think that's about it for me today.
*Still bored being here on my own.
**I think he picked up how stressed I was at the point where I said "Just leave it, never mind....please. I will find a plumber who can come out today." I think my normally beautifully-modulated voice may have wobbled a little too.
Monday, 2 July 2007
Mmmm cake
Back at work after the weekend's festivities in London. It was great to see all the family, plus a few mates, and the birthday cake was superb. I took photos*. If I ever work out how to post pictures on here, I will do so.
It took us four hours to get there on Saturday. 130 miles, more or less. Four bleedin' hours. I think the entire motorway network was a single slow-moving traffic queue.
One thing made me laugh though. Saw a white van driving along the motorway with "Crime pays. See driver for details" written in the dirt on the back. Heh.
The visit was marred slightly by the news from Glasgow, especially as Youngest Sis and her children and friends were all flying out to Spain for their holiday early (i.e. getting up at 4am) on Sunday. Not from Glasgow, but still. No word from them, so we assume they arrived ok, and hopefully are having a fab holiday.
I need a holiday. I really do.
Have booked a few days off work when Mr WithaY's mum comes over to see us but other than that I have nothing planned. I guess I should just book something and tell him about it afterwards or it won't happen. Trouble is, he does his scuba diving stuff so has holidays doing that. Two so far this year. And I had my week away with the girls but I would quite like to go somewhere as well.
Anywhere really. Amsterdam. Barcelona. Paris. Berlin. Padstow. I don't care.
Anywhere.
Still, sent our huge 12-months-in-the-making report off to the publishers today so with any luck we can issue it before the end of the day. Hurrah for us. We are great. If a bit tired.
*Of the cake, obviously
It took us four hours to get there on Saturday. 130 miles, more or less. Four bleedin' hours. I think the entire motorway network was a single slow-moving traffic queue.
One thing made me laugh though. Saw a white van driving along the motorway with "Crime pays. See driver for details" written in the dirt on the back. Heh.
The visit was marred slightly by the news from Glasgow, especially as Youngest Sis and her children and friends were all flying out to Spain for their holiday early (i.e. getting up at 4am) on Sunday. Not from Glasgow, but still. No word from them, so we assume they arrived ok, and hopefully are having a fab holiday.
I need a holiday. I really do.
Have booked a few days off work when Mr WithaY's mum comes over to see us but other than that I have nothing planned. I guess I should just book something and tell him about it afterwards or it won't happen. Trouble is, he does his scuba diving stuff so has holidays doing that. Two so far this year. And I had my week away with the girls but I would quite like to go somewhere as well.
Anywhere really. Amsterdam. Barcelona. Paris. Berlin. Padstow. I don't care.
Anywhere.
Still, sent our huge 12-months-in-the-making report off to the publishers today so with any luck we can issue it before the end of the day. Hurrah for us. We are great. If a bit tired.
*Of the cake, obviously
Tuesday, 19 June 2007
American Cheese
Am currently sitting at my desk eating a rather depressing prawn sandwich, trying not to panic about my Huge Important Presentation this afternoon.
I realised at 4am that I had forgotten to send my presentation to the Very Senior and Important Person I am going through it with this afternoon, so now he'll think I'm a fuckwit before I even start. Gah.
I will stay in the office for another hour or so then fight my way across the South West to be in Bath for 4pm for my meeting. And I look like shit because I was awake at 4am, panicking. Which was helpful.
It'll take more than a bit of lipstick to sort this out. Even my Emergency Last Resort Virgin Vie Sparkly Lipstick.
This is so not the lifestyle I envisaged when I was young.
A few years ago I registered on Friends Reunited, and a few of my old school mates got in touch. It was lovely to hear from them, about their lives, their children, their achievements and their troubles. That was great. Hello Caroline, Sophia, Kim, Kate, Charlotte.
Well, not the troubles part, but you know what I mean.
However, I had a real mid-life crisis when one of them commented in an email "I can't believe what you do for a living. I always thought you'd be a writer." And for the first time in many, many years I looked at myself and thought "Well shit. I always thought I'd be a writer too."
Maybe that's why I started blogging. It makes me feel as though I can still do it. I can still affect other people a bit. Tell them stuff they maybe didn't know. Engage them for a while.
I try now and again to put a story together, but it is hard work. Blogging is much easier in comparison. The more I read of other peoples' stuff the more I realise how much talent is out there. Still, at least it keeps me entertained.
Heard from my lovely Youngest Sis that she didn't get through her bike test this morning. Arse. Still, it means I hang onto my Queen of Smugness crown as I passed mine first time, and Mr WithaY didn't. And now neither did she.
I have been looking at bikes on eBay, and wondering about biting the bullet and investing in something large and funky. I still fancy a Kawasaki Z, or maybe a Zephyr, but having drooled all over Bill the Spill's Harley when he was up here I am also leaning towards the USA a little.
When Mr WithaY and I were in the States a few years ago our mate Joe took us to the local HD dealership in New Hampshire. We almost had kittens, running from bike to bike going "Look at THIS one!" and squealing excitedly.
All the cool Harley riders were very contemptuous. Till they found out we were English, then they were merely amused and slightly pitying, especially when we told them how much Harleys cost over here.
Then we spent an hour seriously trying to work out if it was cost-effective to get a couple shipped over to the UK. It was, but we couldn't afford it. However. Now we could.
I might go and visit Joe and Nancy again...heh. I still feel like I need a holiday and I adore New England. We are lucky enough to have kind friends there who let us stay with them when we come over, and don't object too much when we eat them out of house and home for a couple of weeks.
If anyone is ever in New Hampshire, go to Nancy's excellent cheese shop and deli - C'Est Cheese. She stocks fab interesting cheese which you can't find in the supermarkets.
I was horrified by the cheese section in the supermarket in Harwich. Or was it Hingham? Or Sandwich? Anyway, a small Cape Cod town. Not Provincetown though.
God I loved it there. Mr WithaY was a bit phased by it all, but only because he was getting eyed up by the cute local guys. Heh. I have some fab pictures of me on one of the hammocks on the beachfront. I want to go back. Today. I want to sit on the beach at Nauset. *sigh*
Anyway. Cheese counter outrage. They had two types of cheese, in huge square blocks, both bright yellow and deeply unappealing. However, their fruit counter kicked some serious arse. And you could buy hot clam chowder from a giant vat which is always a good thing in a supermarket.
Our mate on the Cape told us a story about her next door neighbour having to move house. Not as in "put everything in a van and go elsewhere". No, this was "pick up complete house and put it somewhere else entirely".
They had ordered a load of heating oil, which was to be delivered while they were at their other house in Boston. The delivery driver stuck the hose nozzle into what he thought was the right orifice in the house and began to pump hundreds of gallons of heating oil into the tank.
Only he didn't. Somehow, he missed the right oil tank hole and simply pumped the entire contents of his truck into their cellar (basement, American readers). The driver only realised what had happened when his truck was empty.
I like to imagine him standing there, watching his oil gauge dropping to zero, scratching his head thinking "Wow. This is a really big tank."
The oil company put their hands up and paid to have the house picked up, moved across the garden, all the oil pumped back out of the cellar, the earth removed and replaced with uncontaminated stuff and all the water table tests conducted at their expense. According to our mate's neighbours it was Hell On Toast for 6 months.
One of the few downsides to living where we do is that everyone has a septic tank in the garden. (No mains drainage, see). Fine, as long as they keep working. Every once in a while you have to get the nice man with the big sucky truck to come out and empty it. (Company motto on the back of his truck: "You dump it, we pump it." Really.) And when that happens, oh boy do you want to be somewhere else.
I was driving through the village on my way to work this morning when the unholy "tank emptying" stench filled the car.
When there's a 30mph speed limit, and people walking their dogs in the road, you can't just put your foot down and flee, screaming "Aaaaaiiieeeeee" however much you want to.
I drove the rest of the way hoping my suit didn't retain the stench. Still, if it did, my meeting will be brief. Heh.
I realised at 4am that I had forgotten to send my presentation to the Very Senior and Important Person I am going through it with this afternoon, so now he'll think I'm a fuckwit before I even start. Gah.
I will stay in the office for another hour or so then fight my way across the South West to be in Bath for 4pm for my meeting. And I look like shit because I was awake at 4am, panicking. Which was helpful.
It'll take more than a bit of lipstick to sort this out. Even my Emergency Last Resort Virgin Vie Sparkly Lipstick.
This is so not the lifestyle I envisaged when I was young.
A few years ago I registered on Friends Reunited, and a few of my old school mates got in touch. It was lovely to hear from them, about their lives, their children, their achievements and their troubles. That was great. Hello Caroline, Sophia, Kim, Kate, Charlotte.
Well, not the troubles part, but you know what I mean.
However, I had a real mid-life crisis when one of them commented in an email "I can't believe what you do for a living. I always thought you'd be a writer." And for the first time in many, many years I looked at myself and thought "Well shit. I always thought I'd be a writer too."
Maybe that's why I started blogging. It makes me feel as though I can still do it. I can still affect other people a bit. Tell them stuff they maybe didn't know. Engage them for a while.
I try now and again to put a story together, but it is hard work. Blogging is much easier in comparison. The more I read of other peoples' stuff the more I realise how much talent is out there. Still, at least it keeps me entertained.
Heard from my lovely Youngest Sis that she didn't get through her bike test this morning. Arse. Still, it means I hang onto my Queen of Smugness crown as I passed mine first time, and Mr WithaY didn't. And now neither did she.
I have been looking at bikes on eBay, and wondering about biting the bullet and investing in something large and funky. I still fancy a Kawasaki Z, or maybe a Zephyr, but having drooled all over Bill the Spill's Harley when he was up here I am also leaning towards the USA a little.
When Mr WithaY and I were in the States a few years ago our mate Joe took us to the local HD dealership in New Hampshire. We almost had kittens, running from bike to bike going "Look at THIS one!" and squealing excitedly.
All the cool Harley riders were very contemptuous. Till they found out we were English, then they were merely amused and slightly pitying, especially when we told them how much Harleys cost over here.
Then we spent an hour seriously trying to work out if it was cost-effective to get a couple shipped over to the UK. It was, but we couldn't afford it. However. Now we could.
I might go and visit Joe and Nancy again...heh. I still feel like I need a holiday and I adore New England. We are lucky enough to have kind friends there who let us stay with them when we come over, and don't object too much when we eat them out of house and home for a couple of weeks.
If anyone is ever in New Hampshire, go to Nancy's excellent cheese shop and deli - C'Est Cheese. She stocks fab interesting cheese which you can't find in the supermarkets.
I was horrified by the cheese section in the supermarket in Harwich. Or was it Hingham? Or Sandwich? Anyway, a small Cape Cod town. Not Provincetown though.
God I loved it there. Mr WithaY was a bit phased by it all, but only because he was getting eyed up by the cute local guys. Heh. I have some fab pictures of me on one of the hammocks on the beachfront. I want to go back. Today. I want to sit on the beach at Nauset. *sigh*
Anyway. Cheese counter outrage. They had two types of cheese, in huge square blocks, both bright yellow and deeply unappealing. However, their fruit counter kicked some serious arse. And you could buy hot clam chowder from a giant vat which is always a good thing in a supermarket.
Our mate on the Cape told us a story about her next door neighbour having to move house. Not as in "put everything in a van and go elsewhere". No, this was "pick up complete house and put it somewhere else entirely".
They had ordered a load of heating oil, which was to be delivered while they were at their other house in Boston. The delivery driver stuck the hose nozzle into what he thought was the right orifice in the house and began to pump hundreds of gallons of heating oil into the tank.
Only he didn't. Somehow, he missed the right oil tank hole and simply pumped the entire contents of his truck into their cellar (basement, American readers). The driver only realised what had happened when his truck was empty.
I like to imagine him standing there, watching his oil gauge dropping to zero, scratching his head thinking "Wow. This is a really big tank."
The oil company put their hands up and paid to have the house picked up, moved across the garden, all the oil pumped back out of the cellar, the earth removed and replaced with uncontaminated stuff and all the water table tests conducted at their expense. According to our mate's neighbours it was Hell On Toast for 6 months.
One of the few downsides to living where we do is that everyone has a septic tank in the garden. (No mains drainage, see). Fine, as long as they keep working. Every once in a while you have to get the nice man with the big sucky truck to come out and empty it. (Company motto on the back of his truck: "You dump it, we pump it." Really.) And when that happens, oh boy do you want to be somewhere else.
I was driving through the village on my way to work this morning when the unholy "tank emptying" stench filled the car.
When there's a 30mph speed limit, and people walking their dogs in the road, you can't just put your foot down and flee, screaming "Aaaaaiiieeeeee" however much you want to.
I drove the rest of the way hoping my suit didn't retain the stench. Still, if it did, my meeting will be brief. Heh.
Thursday, 14 June 2007
Inappropriate furniture
In the office today, a long and slow journey in this morning making me feel fractious. I caught myself taking unnecessary risks which I don't generally do, to the extent that I got flashed at (with headlights, not in a "mistaken identity on a train" way) by two different vans.
Hm. I need to stop doing that.
I'm still a bit low but suspect it may be because I am quite lonely with the lovely Mr WithaY being away. Working at home means I don't speak to anyone, Kevin the decorator excepted.
He was beavering away and didn't need me standing there going "Mmmm....that colour looks nice. What are you doing next? Want to see my presentation? Fancy a cup of tea? What are you doing this weekend? Is that paint dry already?" at him intermittently throughout the day.
I have high hopes that when I get home tonight he will have finished the spare room and I can reassemble the bed (a ridiculous four-poster which is completely unsuitable for the room but we love it anyway), move all the hundreds of books back into the equally unsuitable "Gothic" book case and clear the rest of the upstairs of spare-room-related crud.
Well, other than that, work is busy. We are making good progress on our Huge Important Deadline which is encouraging. Shit has been hitting fans all morning though, and I fear I may be called on to deploy a bucket and mop at some point.
I am listening to my iPod at my desk as I do this (in my lunchbreak, taxpaying grumblers). I love the appropriateness of the selections. So far I've had two Leonard Cohen tracks (just what I need on a "feeling a bit low" day), the Smiths, Freedy Johnson, and now it's Rush doing 2112. Again, a cheery little number.
I think I have a mood sensitive iPod. When I'm a bit punchy and chirpy it gives me Guns & Roses and AC/DC. When I'm thinking hard it provides Neil Young and Alisha's Attic, today it finds me gloomy songs. I shall have to write to Apple and commend them on their brain scanning software.
Had an interesting guitar lesson last night. Not a huge amount of playing but a lot of talking which can be just as helpful. And I learned "Everybody (Needs Somebody)". I don't sound very much like a member of the Blues Brothers fabulous rhythm and blues review, but I will get there.
My guitar teacher is brilliant. I was doing the chords for "Badge" and he just went off on this fantastic solo. I sit there doing the rhythm guitar bit watching him in awe. I will practice my "Badge" intro and riffy bits later as well. I keep forgetting how it starts. Once I get going I am fine, but it takes me ages to remember where to begin. (Clue to self - on the fretboard).
I find it interesting how my musical tastes have evolved as I have got better at playing. I used to listen to Eric Clapton in a kind of "yeah, nice enough" way. Now I absolutely love his stuff. And Neil Young. I've always adored Tom Petty but now worship his technique as well.
Other news. I have to go shopping tonight. I hate it. I get this real "death of hope" feeling on entering a supermarket.
Never mind the smell of fresh bread, marketing gurus, do something about my desire to die as soon I get through your doors. I fear that one day I will be found, slumped over the exotic fruit counter, dead from supermarket inertia.
Things in the WithaY house are a bit desperate though.
The fridge is empty, there's no bread, no fruit (except the obligatory Eddie Izzard Stalinist Orange) , not even anything in the freezer except freaky shot-studded game. And I am not cooking that.
Mr WithaY goes away for a couple of weeks and I revert back to being a student. It's just crap really.
Well, better get on with my essay. Presentation. Whatever it is I am doing today. I need a holiday.
Doesn't 2112 go on? 19 minutes and still going strong. Blimey.
Hm. I need to stop doing that.
I'm still a bit low but suspect it may be because I am quite lonely with the lovely Mr WithaY being away. Working at home means I don't speak to anyone, Kevin the decorator excepted.
He was beavering away and didn't need me standing there going "Mmmm....that colour looks nice. What are you doing next? Want to see my presentation? Fancy a cup of tea? What are you doing this weekend? Is that paint dry already?" at him intermittently throughout the day.
I have high hopes that when I get home tonight he will have finished the spare room and I can reassemble the bed (a ridiculous four-poster which is completely unsuitable for the room but we love it anyway), move all the hundreds of books back into the equally unsuitable "Gothic" book case and clear the rest of the upstairs of spare-room-related crud.
Well, other than that, work is busy. We are making good progress on our Huge Important Deadline which is encouraging. Shit has been hitting fans all morning though, and I fear I may be called on to deploy a bucket and mop at some point.
I am listening to my iPod at my desk as I do this (in my lunchbreak, taxpaying grumblers). I love the appropriateness of the selections. So far I've had two Leonard Cohen tracks (just what I need on a "feeling a bit low" day), the Smiths, Freedy Johnson, and now it's Rush doing 2112. Again, a cheery little number.
I think I have a mood sensitive iPod. When I'm a bit punchy and chirpy it gives me Guns & Roses and AC/DC. When I'm thinking hard it provides Neil Young and Alisha's Attic, today it finds me gloomy songs. I shall have to write to Apple and commend them on their brain scanning software.
Had an interesting guitar lesson last night. Not a huge amount of playing but a lot of talking which can be just as helpful. And I learned "Everybody (Needs Somebody)". I don't sound very much like a member of the Blues Brothers fabulous rhythm and blues review, but I will get there.
My guitar teacher is brilliant. I was doing the chords for "Badge" and he just went off on this fantastic solo. I sit there doing the rhythm guitar bit watching him in awe. I will practice my "Badge" intro and riffy bits later as well. I keep forgetting how it starts. Once I get going I am fine, but it takes me ages to remember where to begin. (Clue to self - on the fretboard).
I find it interesting how my musical tastes have evolved as I have got better at playing. I used to listen to Eric Clapton in a kind of "yeah, nice enough" way. Now I absolutely love his stuff. And Neil Young. I've always adored Tom Petty but now worship his technique as well.
Other news. I have to go shopping tonight. I hate it. I get this real "death of hope" feeling on entering a supermarket.
Never mind the smell of fresh bread, marketing gurus, do something about my desire to die as soon I get through your doors. I fear that one day I will be found, slumped over the exotic fruit counter, dead from supermarket inertia.
Things in the WithaY house are a bit desperate though.
The fridge is empty, there's no bread, no fruit (except the obligatory Eddie Izzard Stalinist Orange) , not even anything in the freezer except freaky shot-studded game. And I am not cooking that.
Mr WithaY goes away for a couple of weeks and I revert back to being a student. It's just crap really.
Well, better get on with my essay. Presentation. Whatever it is I am doing today. I need a holiday.
Doesn't 2112 go on? 19 minutes and still going strong. Blimey.
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