Flaming

I'm typing this slowly and painfully, moving my arms as little as possible.  Why, dear readers, is this?  Why, it's because I have:

a)  Tired old arms from a day of hard work yesterday, mostly spent carrying trays across a sunshiny lawn, whilst nimbly dodging a football being kicked around by many small children.
b)  Aching wrists after de-stoning a huge - huge - box of cherries and putting them in the freezer for "later".
c)  Managed to get sunburn across by upper back and shoulders this morning whilst enjoying the glorious sudden advent of proper summer in the garden.

Yesterday I was helping a friend cater a garden party, all very smart, in a marquee in someone's garden.  It was a cold buffet, lots of ham, salmon, asparagus quiche, potato salad, that kind of thing, and then a shitload* of fruit tarts and chocolate caramel cake. 

Everyone was anxious about the weather, it being a garden party and all, but by noon the rain had stopped, the sun was out, and the remainder of the day was just gorgeous.  The garden overlooks acres of green barley fields, so whenever the wind blew it was magical, watching the barley move like the sea.  Loved it.

However, being the lazy non-working lightweight that I am, I was completely knackered by the time I got home, and spent the remainder of the evening on the sofa, whining.  And eating a Chinese takeaway.  And watching The Odd Couple on DVD, which neither Mr WithaY or I had seen before.  It was very pleasant and relaxing.

Today - another gloriously sunny one, must be some mistake, surely - I have been doing stuff in the garden.  Things have been transplanted, pruned, watered, trimmed and moved around, and now it all looks fab.  My new parasol is finally up, and Mr WithaY and I sat under it together, reading our books for an hour earlier. 

As a result of being an idiot, and not wearing sunblock whilst weeding the garden, I have bright scarlet shoulders and upper back.  That's going to hurt when I get in the bath later. 

Other news:  I finally bit the bullet and bought a new mobile phone.  My iPhone, which is about two and a half years old, has been playing up for several months, refusing to synch with iTunes, or to backup properly, and I kept putting it off and putting it off.  Because, you know, it's a pain in the arse and all, changing mobiles.   

I did go so far as to take it in to be examined by the Apple experts at the store in Bath a couple of months ago.  Their expert opinion was "It's broken."

Yeah, thanks for that, genius.

Anyway, I had to go to Salisbury earlier this week, and as I was walking around, I passed the O2 store, so popped in and waited until one of the staff deigned to notice me.  To be fair, they did have a laminated sign on the cashdesk which said  "We're understaffed today, so we might just ignore you for a bit.  You don't like it?  Tough titty, loser."  I may be mis-remembering the exact wording.

After six or seven hours, a girl emerged sulkily from a cupboard at the back of the shop and asked me what I wanted.  I felt like replying "I want you all to kneel miserably at my feet while I lambast you at length for your total lack of any kind of customer-facing competence, you useless, useless goons," but what I actually said was "I want to buy an iPhone 4 please." 

She looked at me as though I had asked her to sell me a guinea pig curry, then slowly went and fetched the correct item of technological crack cocaine. 

We had a long, tiresome discussion about the sim card it needed.  In my head, the conversation went like this:

Me:  I would like to buy a new phone and keep my current number.  How do I do that?

Helpful staff member:  You buy the phone - here is one - and a new sim card - also here - and then contact the O2 customer services - here is the contact number - and they will migrate the number when you are ready.  Thanks for your valued custom. Oh, and please take this pretty bunch of flowers as a thank you for spending so much money with us in these hard recession-driven times."

In reality, it wasn't quite like that.

Me:  I would like to buy a new phone and keep my current number.  How do I do that?

Staff member:  Oh.  Um.  Well, we've got the phones in stock.  You want one?

Me:  Yes, please.  (there was a brief struggle until she understood which type of iPhone I wanted, but we got there eventually.)  Can I put the SIM card from my current phone into this one?

Staff member:  Nah.  S'different.

Me: Ok.  So do I need a new SIM card?

Staff member:  Um.  Yeah.  You want one?

Me:  Yes. Please.

She rummaged under the desk, pulled out a small cardboard folder and dropped it on the counter in front of me.

Staff member:  Anything else?  (She was clearly bored by now, her attention riveted by the two young men with complicated hair who were sat at a nearby table having an animated conversation with her colleague.  If she'd had some gum, she'd have been blowing bubbles at me.)

Me:  So how do I transfer my number to the new phone?

Staff member:  I can do that now.  What's your number?

Me: No, I need to download everything off my old phone before I transfer anything.  How do I do it?

Staff member:  (exasperated by my stupidity) Yeah, I can do that now.

Me:  Do I contact O2 when I'm ready to transfer?  Or what?

Staff member:  Yeah. You could do that.

I paid for the phone and the SIM card and went home, pausing only to buy a large bag of fresh cherries at the market stall on the way back to the car.

When I got home, 25 miles and 45 minutes later, I discovered that the SIM card was missing.  The plastic casing was there, but the actual micro SIM was gone, probably previously sold and the cardboard wrapping dumped under the counter.  How I laughed.

So, all the way back to Salisbury the next day to get a new SIM.  The young man who served me was less challenging, but still seemed puzzled by what had happened.  Well yes, I suggest you get your colleagues to stop chucking empty SIM wrappers in with the ones for sale, matey.  That might help. 

The story has a happy ending.  My new phone is working, and my number has been successfully transferred to it.  Yay. 

Unfortunately, my OLD phone had stopped backing itself up to iTunes in early March, so I have a bit of work to do to get things back to spec, but otherwise, it's all good. 

Oh, and I bought a great big box of cherries on my return visit, as they were so lovely.  Today I have been de-stoning and freezing cherries, and my fingers are stained black. Niiiiice. 

Other, other news:  We've all but cleared out father-in-law WithaY's house now.  The sale is progressing. I really hope in a couple of weeks it will all be over and we can stop fretting about it. 

This week I am mostly going away with Middle Sis for a few days of pampering, foot massages, swimming, nice food and (if past history is anything to go by) lots of inappropriate laughter. I am very much looking forward to it. 






*technical catering term.

Inna gadda

I ache.

We were doing some gardening yesterday, what with it being a nice day and all. We dug and weeded and pruned and hacked and hewed and trowelled and wheelbarrowed. And the garden still looks shite.

The green wheelie bin is full to overflowing with aquiliegia (sp?) which grow like weeds all over the garden. I dug up Wiltshire's annual quota of dandelions. There were nettles hiding in the middle of the geraniums which I managed to pull out and sting myself with, despite gloves. We hauled away a ton of borage, which is horribly invasive and spiky.

Mr WithaY put some borage flowers in the cool refreshing Pimms we had later on as a reward so they aren't all bad.

Weeding the rose bed is like clipping the dog's claws. You know it's for the best but you still get horribly scratched.

Other news: We had planned to head off to the Bath and West Show on Saturday, but the weather forecast was dire, and according to the local radio the showground had been flooded out on Thursday, so we decided not to bother. Apparently an inch of rain fell in about 2 hours on Thursday afternoon there.

Had some friends over for a very relaxed spag bol and booze supper in the evening, and we all flumped on the sofas to watch the St Trinian's dvd afterwards. Most entertaining. Mr Withay is in love with the Head Girl. She is mighty foxy.

I have written out the cheque to pay my parking fine, but am still too annoyed to actually post it. I need to within 28 days or I get sent to prison for the rest of my life, I think. I'll check the small print on the ticket again.

Oh, you'll be pleased to know that my feet are peeling from the sunburn. Most attractive. I look like a dragon fruit.

Burned

Am still in Malta, in case you were wondering. Where I have managed to get bizarre and disturbing sunburn. I look like I am wearing a pair of shiny red shoes, and one (only one) bright red armbrace, like a camp gladiator.

How did I manage that, I hear you ask. With my bionic ears.

Well, yesterday we went out on a boat trip. Mr WithaY was scuba diving and had very kindly arranged for me to come with the dive group to look at the little island of Comino, a little way off Gozo. Look on a map.

All went well as we set sail from Gozo, sun sparkling off the iridescent blue sea, etcetera etcetera etcetera.

We got the the first dive site, where the boat anchored itself, about 100 yards from the shore. All the divers started getting kitted up. This in itself would have been entertainment enough for me, but I was realising with growing dismay that this was where we were staying.

On the boat. Not on the island.

In what was, frankly, rather lumpy water. The boat was rocking side to side, end to end and I think also straight up and down*. I sat and watched the happy divers all leap into the water, and tried to ignore my growing queasiness.

I managed to ignore it for half an hour or so by lying to myself that I was sleeping, as I thought, in the shade, with my head in my arms, leaning on the rail. That time-tested tactic eventually failed me, and I was sick as a dog.

Several times. It was most dramatic. Luckily, not onto any of the divers as they swam about under the boat.

Anyhoo, once they all got back in the boat we sailed off to another bit of Comino and got off the boat (I was first) to eat our packed lunches. I asked the boat driver if I could wait on land while they did the second dive, and he agreed to come back and pick me up in a couple of hours.

So instead of a second hideous bout of mal de mare, I spent a pleasant afternoon watching small fish, crabs, lizards and dragonflies in a rocky cove.

But unfortunately, because I felt so ill in the morning, I stupidly neglected to take my customary anti-sunburn precautions. Tch.

Still having a lovely holiday though.



*I may have hallucinated that part.