Happy New Year to everyone. 2012 looks to be a big year - the Olympics, the Golden Jubilee, me starting a new business, Mr WithaY starting a new business - it'll be hectic.
Although I think my personal input into the Olympics will be minimal. And the Golden Jubilee, now I think of it. Hopefully the businesses will take up a lot of my time.
It's still a tad too early to talk about in detail, but I am really hoping we get stuff signed this month and then I can start boring the collective arses off everyone with dull details.
There is little news of note from this neck of the woods. Mr WithaY went down with a heavy cold on Boxing Day and is still making alarming snot-based noises on a regular basis. I have a much less revolting version of the cold, but am still having to sneeze loudly about once every 20 minutes, and live in fear of Being Without A Tissue. Our elegant home is currently festooned with boxes of tissues, placed on every flat surface, within easy grabbing reach.
We use Kleenex Balsam, which are very good, and stop your nose getting sore.
Also, if Kleenex want to send me some free boxes of tissues* in return for my charming and entirely unsolicited testimonial, I am happy to accept. Email me, Kleenex PR team, I await your offers.
The weather here has been appalling for the last few days. Lashing rain, howling gales, dark and gloomy and stormy. Yesterday morning we had planned to go to Salisbury for a bit of mooching round looking for bargains in the sales, possibly with a brunch trip to Patisserie Valerie thrown in, but when we got up it was so truly terrifying out there that we decided to stay home instead. Seriously. You couldn't see across the road, the rain was so heavy. And it was coming in sideways. Some of the garden furniture was blown over by the gale force winds. A first, in my experience.
I decided to make a cake instead. Cunningly using up leftover bananas that were too black and squidgy to eat by hand, I made a banana and walnut loaf. And some sausage rolls, as I had some sausage-meat left over from before Christmas. Don't panic, it had been in the freezer, and was defrosted properly.
I used the last little bit of pastry** to make a cheese and pine-nut tart, a recipe I invented out of my head. I have no idea what it tastes like. Mr WithaY and I are having a sort of Mexican standoff about it, neither wanting to be the first to crack and try it.
Oh, and this morning I had a job interview. It's for a very small part time job a couple of minutes drive away for a few hours a week, but will:
a) Earn me a pittance
b) Get me out of the house and interacting with other people on a regular basis again
c) Give me something to think about other than "Gahhhhhhh I have no money why is everything taking so long to set up with the business recession recession recession insurance electrician advertising I need to sort out tax and National Insurance with an accountant..." and so on, which is what endlessly flickers through my brain just at the moment.
I fancy doing a job that doesn't give me a blinding headache whenever I think about it, and that I can stop thinking about as I leave, rather than taking it with me wheresoe'er I travel, like a millstone of unfocussed anxiety around my neck.
I'll let you know how it turns out.
Oh, also, Mr WithaY bought me Skyrim for Christmas. Anyone got any helpful top tips for not being killed every 5 minutes? Thank you.
*Or money
**There's always a bit left over, and I can't bear to throw it away when I've made it myself.
Showing posts with label cold. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cold. Show all posts
Wednesday, 4 January 2012
Saturday, 31 December 2011
Godzilla service pack
I've got several blog posts sitting in the Drafts folder, started, then abandoned, like a too-big sandwich that you thought you could manage, but it turned out you couldn't.
There are several reasons for this, including the old favourites "utter laziness", "lack of enthusiasm for the subject matter that is my life" and of course "distracted by watching a film on TV and forgetting all about the blog."
Additional reasons which are slightly less dull and objectionable include:
Christmas. I know it happens at the same time every year, but even so. Things were busy, what with going out a fair bit, and enjoying spending time at home with Mr WithaY and various friends who have been calling in to visit. A couple of Mr WithaY's former colleagues called in the week before Christmas for tea and mince pies, and it was very nice to hear about how shite things are in the office. Mr WithaY was able to enjoy the gossip and then sigh happily to think that he is well out of all that madness now.
We had a party. It was successful, in that all the food was eaten (and I think enjoyed), nobody left in a high dudgeon (as far as I know) and nothing got smashed. Well, only a few of the guests. In fact, that felt like the start of Christmas, and things have been mostly very nice ever since.
However.
The night of our party, ten minutes before the guests started to arrive, we had a phone call from a very dear friend. His wife, another very dear friend, had been gravely ill following a heart attack. Horrible. We'd been informed of this by her brother a few days earlier, so were already anxious. Anyway, her husband rang us to let us know that there had been more tests run, including an MRI scan, and that the results were devastatingly bad. In fact, he all but said that they were now just waiting for the end. Well, fuck. We (me, Mr WithaY and our recently-married mate who was staying with us for the party) had a stiff drink, I had a bit of a cry, and then we had to put on our best smiley faces and greet our guests.
All things considered, it was a very good party, but it was a bit weird. At one point I went and sat outside on the bench in the front garden and looked at the stars, and had a surreptitious little weep (I had been drinking a fair bit, if that's any mitigation) but other than that, it all went well.
Recent news of our friend's progress is fractionally encouraging, but not much. We're waiting to see what happens.
The traditional Christmas Cold has made its annual appearance too. Mr WithaY succumbed to it on Boxing Day, and since then has spent his time wrapped in many, many layers of fleece and wool, taking Beechams and accruing a huge mound of balsam tissues on the floor beside him, which then get ritualistically thrown on the fire, in a sort of Viking burial for germs. I thought I'd got away with it until today.
I have not got away with it, however, and today I am developing my very own germ Valhalla mound.
Also, I got my car back this week. It had a broken turbo, it turned out, and as a result I had to spend £1500 to get it fixed. Fucking Toyota parts.
For that kind of money, I want my new turbo personally delivered by Godzilla. On a bed of carefully-sliced fugu fish. With a band of high-ranking Samurai warriors as escort.
They should do that. Call it the "Godzilla Service Pack." I'd buy it.
Anyhoo, the car is running well again, and if I felt less shite I dare say I'd go out in it.
So, Happy New Year to you all. Thank you for taking the time to read and sometimes comment on my blog, I appreciate it very much.
I'd still write it, but it's more fun knowing there's an audience out there.
There are several reasons for this, including the old favourites "utter laziness", "lack of enthusiasm for the subject matter that is my life" and of course "distracted by watching a film on TV and forgetting all about the blog."
Additional reasons which are slightly less dull and objectionable include:
Christmas. I know it happens at the same time every year, but even so. Things were busy, what with going out a fair bit, and enjoying spending time at home with Mr WithaY and various friends who have been calling in to visit. A couple of Mr WithaY's former colleagues called in the week before Christmas for tea and mince pies, and it was very nice to hear about how shite things are in the office. Mr WithaY was able to enjoy the gossip and then sigh happily to think that he is well out of all that madness now.
We had a party. It was successful, in that all the food was eaten (and I think enjoyed), nobody left in a high dudgeon (as far as I know) and nothing got smashed. Well, only a few of the guests. In fact, that felt like the start of Christmas, and things have been mostly very nice ever since.
However.
The night of our party, ten minutes before the guests started to arrive, we had a phone call from a very dear friend. His wife, another very dear friend, had been gravely ill following a heart attack. Horrible. We'd been informed of this by her brother a few days earlier, so were already anxious. Anyway, her husband rang us to let us know that there had been more tests run, including an MRI scan, and that the results were devastatingly bad. In fact, he all but said that they were now just waiting for the end. Well, fuck. We (me, Mr WithaY and our recently-married mate who was staying with us for the party) had a stiff drink, I had a bit of a cry, and then we had to put on our best smiley faces and greet our guests.
All things considered, it was a very good party, but it was a bit weird. At one point I went and sat outside on the bench in the front garden and looked at the stars, and had a surreptitious little weep (I had been drinking a fair bit, if that's any mitigation) but other than that, it all went well.
Recent news of our friend's progress is fractionally encouraging, but not much. We're waiting to see what happens.
The traditional Christmas Cold has made its annual appearance too. Mr WithaY succumbed to it on Boxing Day, and since then has spent his time wrapped in many, many layers of fleece and wool, taking Beechams and accruing a huge mound of balsam tissues on the floor beside him, which then get ritualistically thrown on the fire, in a sort of Viking burial for germs. I thought I'd got away with it until today.
I have not got away with it, however, and today I am developing my very own germ Valhalla mound.
Also, I got my car back this week. It had a broken turbo, it turned out, and as a result I had to spend £1500 to get it fixed. Fucking Toyota parts.
For that kind of money, I want my new turbo personally delivered by Godzilla. On a bed of carefully-sliced fugu fish. With a band of high-ranking Samurai warriors as escort.
They should do that. Call it the "Godzilla Service Pack." I'd buy it.
Anyhoo, the car is running well again, and if I felt less shite I dare say I'd go out in it.
So, Happy New Year to you all. Thank you for taking the time to read and sometimes comment on my blog, I appreciate it very much.
I'd still write it, but it's more fun knowing there's an audience out there.
Sunday, 6 February 2011
Viva Las Sulis
You'll be delighted to know that Mr WithaY and I are both still full of cold. We seem to be taking part in an unofficial sneezing contest - a sneezathon, if you will - with both of us taking turns to scare the shit out of the other one with several explosive sneezes, followed by weak half-hearted nose-blowing and gasping for air. Sometimes there will also be an apology, but it never sounds very genuine.
I have added a painful sore throat to my repertoire, Mr WithaY is suffering with what looks like the latter stages of scurvy.
We are pasty and grumpy. More so than usual, I mean.
In an attempt to Snap Out Of It, as we are certain our respective parents would have advised, we went to Bath on Saturday. We had been planning the trip for a while. Well, it's a big deal, going to the Big City. Originally we had intended to go by train, but on the day we decided to drive; well, as we were heading off nice and early, parking would not be a problem.
Or so we thought.
There's a handy car park in Manvers Street, next to the police station, where, local urban myth has it, some naughty scamp planted cannabis in the dead of night in the big concrete flowerpots out the front of the cop shop, only to have it grow and flourish there for months. I have no idea if it's true, but I do like the story.
Anyhoo. We got to the car park by 10.30. The top level was full, so we headed down the ramp to the spacious and charming* lower level. Gah! Half of the lower level was fenced off, with no apparent reason. There was a space, but it was a bit tight to cram Mr WithaY's huuuuuuge LandRover into it. He managed, avoiding all the parked cars around him AND the concrete pillar.
The agenda for the day was as follows:
1) Scour all the charity shops in Bath for appropriate 1940s-style menswear that would fit Mr WithaY. Don't ask.
2) Have lunch out somewhere nice, possibly after meeting our mate Ed, to whom Mr WithaY needed to pay some money**.
3) More charity shop scouring. There are a lot of charity shops in Bath.
4) Visit Long Tall Sally (the clothes shop, not the person) and see if there was anything nice in their sale.
5) Take a peek in the guitar shop just out of interest, not to buy anything, no honestly, I'll only be in there a minute.
6) Go to Habitat, to try and Get With The Trends.
7) Finally wend our weary way back to the car, laden with the fruits of our shopping expedition, exhausted and happy, and hopefully thoroughly snapped out of our colds.
The reality was somewhat different.
Once the car was safely parked and the EXTORTIONATE parking ticket bought, we headed into town. The very first charity shop, almost the very first shop, that we found, delivered everything we needed and more. Mr WithaY acquired two pairs of sturdy woollen trousers, suitably voluminous and pleated, and a dark green corduroy jacket which he is seriously considering wearing to work "because it's really nice." All for under £25.
They go with his new patterned tank top that he had already bought (online without my knowledge, honestly that man's a constant fount of startlement) a treat.
I found a copy of Bill Bryson's "A Short History of Nearly Everything" which I have been meaning to buy for ages, and only had to pay £2.50 for it. Result.
So, we were two hours from meeting our mate, and had already completed the bulk of the day's mission. What to do...what to do?
Aha! There's a Patisserie Valerie in Bath. Where they sell Eggs Benedict. Nom nom nom. We had a late breakfast, and admired our bargains.
Suitably sustained, we headed back out to see what adventures Bath held.
In the covered market, I found this. Elvis. But in Lion form!
I honestly thought my heart would stop - it is so perfect. Look at the sneer on him!
And the attention to detail...well...
I had to be led away by Mr WithaY.
Remember the Bath Pigs, a while ago? I was really hoping this would be the first of many leonine interpretations of rock legends, but he seemed to be a one-off.
Also, this man wins the There Must Be Easier Ways To Make A Living Award:
It was raining! So...on a tightrope, playing the fiddle, in the rain. For (I looked*** in his hat) about 8 quid.
Lunch. Ah yes, lunch. We went to the Hall and Woodhouse. It's a strange place, almost a pub, almost a giant waiting room, almost a bistro, not quite anything entirely. It was very busy, but we found somewhere to sit, and I ordered an egg mayonnaise sandwich.
It arrived, presented disarmingly in what looks like a swabs dish from a Stalinist military hospital.
Mmmmm. Appetising.
To be fair, it wasn't a bad sandwich, despite having lettuce in it when the menu had only mentioned cress, and arriving with a portion of chips on the side which, again, the menu failed to mention.
I should write restaurant reviews.
Lunch completed, we scooted back out into the rain to complete the remaining missions on our list. Long Tall Sally had moved, so we walked up and down a while till we found the new shop, where I bought a couple of tops in the sale. It's great being slightly less obese. You have so much more choice in clothes shops.
Then, as we were in the area, we called into the guitar shop.
What a sack of arse that was.
It is staffed - as most guitar shops in my experience seem to be - by aloof young men with complicated hair and achingly hip rock-god clothing styles. In this place, though, there is no elder guitar statesman to manage them, and rein in their sneering when a middle-aged woman wanders in off the street. I shan't be buying anything from them, even if I do decide to sell my Rickenbacker and invest in something else in the future.
Bastards.
I was tempted to steal a quote from Ab Fab's Patsy - "You can drop the attitude, you only work in a shop you know."
*Dank, piss-smelling dungeon. With pay machines.
**The money payment is related to the clothes purchasing at point (1) above. It's all very bizarre complicated, but if things pan out, I promise to provide a full report later in the year.
***Yes, yes, I gave him some money. Well, it's traditional.
I have added a painful sore throat to my repertoire, Mr WithaY is suffering with what looks like the latter stages of scurvy.
We are pasty and grumpy. More so than usual, I mean.
In an attempt to Snap Out Of It, as we are certain our respective parents would have advised, we went to Bath on Saturday. We had been planning the trip for a while. Well, it's a big deal, going to the Big City. Originally we had intended to go by train, but on the day we decided to drive; well, as we were heading off nice and early, parking would not be a problem.
Or so we thought.
There's a handy car park in Manvers Street, next to the police station, where, local urban myth has it, some naughty scamp planted cannabis in the dead of night in the big concrete flowerpots out the front of the cop shop, only to have it grow and flourish there for months. I have no idea if it's true, but I do like the story.
Anyhoo. We got to the car park by 10.30. The top level was full, so we headed down the ramp to the spacious and charming* lower level. Gah! Half of the lower level was fenced off, with no apparent reason. There was a space, but it was a bit tight to cram Mr WithaY's huuuuuuge LandRover into it. He managed, avoiding all the parked cars around him AND the concrete pillar.
The agenda for the day was as follows:
1) Scour all the charity shops in Bath for appropriate 1940s-style menswear that would fit Mr WithaY. Don't ask.
2) Have lunch out somewhere nice, possibly after meeting our mate Ed, to whom Mr WithaY needed to pay some money**.
3) More charity shop scouring. There are a lot of charity shops in Bath.
4) Visit Long Tall Sally (the clothes shop, not the person) and see if there was anything nice in their sale.
5) Take a peek in the guitar shop just out of interest, not to buy anything, no honestly, I'll only be in there a minute.
6) Go to Habitat, to try and Get With The Trends.
7) Finally wend our weary way back to the car, laden with the fruits of our shopping expedition, exhausted and happy, and hopefully thoroughly snapped out of our colds.
The reality was somewhat different.
Once the car was safely parked and the EXTORTIONATE parking ticket bought, we headed into town. The very first charity shop, almost the very first shop, that we found, delivered everything we needed and more. Mr WithaY acquired two pairs of sturdy woollen trousers, suitably voluminous and pleated, and a dark green corduroy jacket which he is seriously considering wearing to work "because it's really nice." All for under £25.
They go with his new patterned tank top that he had already bought (online without my knowledge, honestly that man's a constant fount of startlement) a treat.
I found a copy of Bill Bryson's "A Short History of Nearly Everything" which I have been meaning to buy for ages, and only had to pay £2.50 for it. Result.
So, we were two hours from meeting our mate, and had already completed the bulk of the day's mission. What to do...what to do?
Aha! There's a Patisserie Valerie in Bath. Where they sell Eggs Benedict. Nom nom nom. We had a late breakfast, and admired our bargains.
Suitably sustained, we headed back out to see what adventures Bath held.
In the covered market, I found this. Elvis. But in Lion form!
I honestly thought my heart would stop - it is so perfect. Look at the sneer on him!
And the attention to detail...well...
I had to be led away by Mr WithaY.
Remember the Bath Pigs, a while ago? I was really hoping this would be the first of many leonine interpretations of rock legends, but he seemed to be a one-off.
Also, this man wins the There Must Be Easier Ways To Make A Living Award:
It was raining! So...on a tightrope, playing the fiddle, in the rain. For (I looked*** in his hat) about 8 quid.
Lunch. Ah yes, lunch. We went to the Hall and Woodhouse. It's a strange place, almost a pub, almost a giant waiting room, almost a bistro, not quite anything entirely. It was very busy, but we found somewhere to sit, and I ordered an egg mayonnaise sandwich.
It arrived, presented disarmingly in what looks like a swabs dish from a Stalinist military hospital.
To be fair, it wasn't a bad sandwich, despite having lettuce in it when the menu had only mentioned cress, and arriving with a portion of chips on the side which, again, the menu failed to mention.
I should write restaurant reviews.
Lunch completed, we scooted back out into the rain to complete the remaining missions on our list. Long Tall Sally had moved, so we walked up and down a while till we found the new shop, where I bought a couple of tops in the sale. It's great being slightly less obese. You have so much more choice in clothes shops.
Then, as we were in the area, we called into the guitar shop.
What a sack of arse that was.
It is staffed - as most guitar shops in my experience seem to be - by aloof young men with complicated hair and achingly hip rock-god clothing styles. In this place, though, there is no elder guitar statesman to manage them, and rein in their sneering when a middle-aged woman wanders in off the street. I shan't be buying anything from them, even if I do decide to sell my Rickenbacker and invest in something else in the future.
Bastards.
I was tempted to steal a quote from Ab Fab's Patsy - "You can drop the attitude, you only work in a shop you know."
*Dank, piss-smelling dungeon. With pay machines.
**The money payment is related to the clothes purchasing at point (1) above. It's all very bizarre complicated, but if things pan out, I promise to provide a full report later in the year.
***Yes, yes, I gave him some money. Well, it's traditional.
Thursday, 9 April 2009
Cold
As is traditional with a holiday coming up, I have gone down with a cold. Arse*. I woke up on Tuesday with a really sore throat, but put it down to my extensive muttering about protestors making me miss my train.
Yesterday I felt tired and chilly, but assumed I was just well, tired and chilly.
Today, however, I have a proper cold. Headache, shivery, sore throat, slightly snotty in a kind of "Oh you just wait till you try to go to sleep" kind of way.
And I still only have half a mobile. I can receive text messages but for some reason am unable to make or receive phone calls. I shall have to call the helpdesk tomorrow if it doesn't resolve itself overnight.
*Not a cold arse. I have one of those too, being a girly, but a cold. Arse.
Yesterday I felt tired and chilly, but assumed I was just well, tired and chilly.
Today, however, I have a proper cold. Headache, shivery, sore throat, slightly snotty in a kind of "Oh you just wait till you try to go to sleep" kind of way.
And I still only have half a mobile. I can receive text messages but for some reason am unable to make or receive phone calls. I shall have to call the helpdesk tomorrow if it doesn't resolve itself overnight.
*Not a cold arse. I have one of those too, being a girly, but a cold. Arse.
Saturday, 10 January 2009
Can do
Among the many items we are gradually amassing as a result of father-in-law WithaY's recent move into the nursing home is a bread machine.
One that bakes loaves of bread I mean, not something that prints money. Which would be very welcome, to be honest, if anyone has one they want rid of.
Anyhoo, we tried it out last night, and made a slightly odd-shaped loaf of dark bread, a sort of German rye affair. As a key part of a bacon sandwich this morning it was very good. Tasty, nice texture, not too floppity. I currently have a sunflower seed loaf in there, to see how it manages bread with bits in.
Is it just me, or does "A German Rye Affair" sound like the sort of book you buy in the airport on your way to your holiday? With a gold embossed picture on the front, and a list of all the other books by the same author in big letters?
Anyhoo.
We have several huge boxes in the kitchen, full of jars, cans, packets and bags of foodstuffs, some still in date, even. We have more olive oil than anyone other than a Turkish wrestler needs, and about fifty different types of dried vine fruit. Mr WithaY has cleared space in the garage; we plan to store all the mouse-proof stuff out there till we get round to finding a more permanent home for it.
If anyone wants about a thousand cans of peach halves, please do drop me a line.
Other news: Our mates with the mad spaniels are coming over later for dinner and (we decided over a sustaining lunch of home-made soup) cocktails. Mmmmmmmmmm. In fact, I need to go and put some ice cubes in to freeze so we can have proper posh cocktails and not just huge glasses of sticky warm mixtures of mad alcohol.
Am learning to play the riff from "Every Mother's Son" by the fab Lynyrd Skynyrd, which feels like a real achievement. Yay me. Makes me feel like a proper guitarist, being able to do little riffy bits.
Still bloody freezing here. Everything was covered in the most beautiful hoar frost yesterday and today, making the place look like a Christmas card. We will light the fire when our mates get here and talk bollocks all evening.
Marvellous.
One that bakes loaves of bread I mean, not something that prints money. Which would be very welcome, to be honest, if anyone has one they want rid of.
Anyhoo, we tried it out last night, and made a slightly odd-shaped loaf of dark bread, a sort of German rye affair. As a key part of a bacon sandwich this morning it was very good. Tasty, nice texture, not too floppity. I currently have a sunflower seed loaf in there, to see how it manages bread with bits in.
Is it just me, or does "A German Rye Affair" sound like the sort of book you buy in the airport on your way to your holiday? With a gold embossed picture on the front, and a list of all the other books by the same author in big letters?
Anyhoo.
We have several huge boxes in the kitchen, full of jars, cans, packets and bags of foodstuffs, some still in date, even. We have more olive oil than anyone other than a Turkish wrestler needs, and about fifty different types of dried vine fruit. Mr WithaY has cleared space in the garage; we plan to store all the mouse-proof stuff out there till we get round to finding a more permanent home for it.
If anyone wants about a thousand cans of peach halves, please do drop me a line.
Other news: Our mates with the mad spaniels are coming over later for dinner and (we decided over a sustaining lunch of home-made soup) cocktails. Mmmmmmmmmm. In fact, I need to go and put some ice cubes in to freeze so we can have proper posh cocktails and not just huge glasses of sticky warm mixtures of mad alcohol.
Am learning to play the riff from "Every Mother's Son" by the fab Lynyrd Skynyrd, which feels like a real achievement. Yay me. Makes me feel like a proper guitarist, being able to do little riffy bits.
Still bloody freezing here. Everything was covered in the most beautiful hoar frost yesterday and today, making the place look like a Christmas card. We will light the fire when our mates get here and talk bollocks all evening.
Marvellous.
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
Too cold for snow
Car insurance has been on my mind this week. Mine expires in late January, and every year we get a quote sent to us from our financial advisor*, along with a whole load of forms we fill in to get the policy renewed.
This year the letter arrived, I opened it, and saw that the quote for this year's insurance was a whacking £400. Four hundred pounds! Gah!
We haven't had any accidents.
We haven't had the car stolen.
We haven't even locked ourselves out.
Why is it so hideously expensive? Why? WHY? Whyyyyyyyyyyyy? I may have wailed this at Mr WithaY in the manner of a Victorian workhouse washerwoman.
He, as befits a man of wisdom and great understanding** merely raised an eyebrow and suggested I go online to find a cheaper quote. He even, in the manner of a cheesy tv advert, suggested a website I could use.
Gocompare.com if you're interested.
And hey, guess what, annoying though it is to be apparently living in a tv advert, it worked. Within about 5 minutes I had dozens of quotes for equivalent insurance (fully comp, legal protection, protected no claims, windscreen cover), only one of which was higher than the quote we'd had from the financial advisor.
In the end I picked not the very cheapest, but one of the lowest quotes, for less than £200. That is almost £200 less than the quote I was sent by the brokers. What the fuck?
I rang the brokers up to say I had found a cheaper quote for the same service. The nice lady I spoke to sounded genuinely surprised that I had managed such a Herculean task.
"Gosh! Where did you find that?" she asked me.
"On the internet," I replied.
"Where?"
Bloody hell. I know we're out in the middle of Wiltshire, but surely everyone has heard of the Internet...oh she meant which website. Heh.
I told her. I daresay the brokers never thought to do a five minute online price comparison.
Other news: Back at work, so far so good.
Trains were horribly delayed on Tuesday evening. I left work a bit early to catch an earlier train, missed it by 10 seconds (they were just closing the doors as I scampered up the platform), had to wait half an hour for the next one, which was almost half an hour late getting to my stop because of power failures all the way along the line, and ended up getting home at the same time I would have if I'd left work at the usual time.
Gah.
Still, it's been snowing here today. Was minus 6 as I left for work yesterday at 0630, and then when I came home at 8pm. Brrr.
*He gives us advice, we say we can't afford to do any of the things he suggests. It's a win/win situation.
**Has access to the Internet
This year the letter arrived, I opened it, and saw that the quote for this year's insurance was a whacking £400. Four hundred pounds! Gah!
We haven't had any accidents.
We haven't had the car stolen.
We haven't even locked ourselves out.
Why is it so hideously expensive? Why? WHY? Whyyyyyyyyyyyy? I may have wailed this at Mr WithaY in the manner of a Victorian workhouse washerwoman.
He, as befits a man of wisdom and great understanding** merely raised an eyebrow and suggested I go online to find a cheaper quote. He even, in the manner of a cheesy tv advert, suggested a website I could use.
Gocompare.com if you're interested.
And hey, guess what, annoying though it is to be apparently living in a tv advert, it worked. Within about 5 minutes I had dozens of quotes for equivalent insurance (fully comp, legal protection, protected no claims, windscreen cover), only one of which was higher than the quote we'd had from the financial advisor.
In the end I picked not the very cheapest, but one of the lowest quotes, for less than £200. That is almost £200 less than the quote I was sent by the brokers. What the fuck?
I rang the brokers up to say I had found a cheaper quote for the same service. The nice lady I spoke to sounded genuinely surprised that I had managed such a Herculean task.
"Gosh! Where did you find that?" she asked me.
"On the internet," I replied.
"Where?"
Bloody hell. I know we're out in the middle of Wiltshire, but surely everyone has heard of the Internet...oh she meant which website. Heh.
I told her. I daresay the brokers never thought to do a five minute online price comparison.
Other news: Back at work, so far so good.
Trains were horribly delayed on Tuesday evening. I left work a bit early to catch an earlier train, missed it by 10 seconds (they were just closing the doors as I scampered up the platform), had to wait half an hour for the next one, which was almost half an hour late getting to my stop because of power failures all the way along the line, and ended up getting home at the same time I would have if I'd left work at the usual time.
Gah.
Still, it's been snowing here today. Was minus 6 as I left for work yesterday at 0630, and then when I came home at 8pm. Brrr.
*He gives us advice, we say we can't afford to do any of the things he suggests. It's a win/win situation.
**Has access to the Internet
Sunday, 7 December 2008
Ice ice baby
Went out a little while ago to move the cars around so I can scoot off at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and my car has a sheet of ice on the INSIDE of the windscreen.
That's not good.
And it's foggy.
Gah.
That's not good.
And it's foggy.
Gah.
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
Ho ho ho
I have been out and about in the big city. And it was really rather nice.
Went up to London as usual on Monday morning, had a successful day at work (yay me), then met my mate Tall Richard outside his office for an evening of middle-aged frolicking.
I took the Tube to Embankment, planning to walk over to his office in about 2 minutes from there. As is traditional, I managed to go in completely the wrong direction on leaving the station, wandering up past Charing Cross into the Strand. I navigated by the stars* till I found Downing Street, then made my way to the appointed rendezvous, still slightly early. So no-one need ever know.
We strolled back the way I had just come (making me feel knowledgable and not too touristy) to Champagne Charlie's, where I had a couple of glasses of fizz. I very seldom drink during the week, so it felt like a real treat. Tall Richard had Beer In A Tankard, but disappointingly, he drank it nicely, refusing to quaff it properly.
We both managed to get covered in sawdust (it's all over the floor in there...I may suggest they add glitter for the festive season), then wandered across the road to an Italian restaurant where we had a very nice meal. Tall Richard, having lived in Naples, is unabashed about asking Italian restaurant staff for free liqueurs. Which they gave us with a smile.
We then took the Tube all over London, as there is no interchange at (I think) Embankment, so we had to go up and down several different lines till we were on the right one to get us to the Docklands Light Railway, and out to Shadwell, where Tall Richard lives during the week.
I honestly think it would have been quicker to walk all the way. We went up and down stairs, along endless tunnels, through stations full of commuters, into little secret doorways to vast empty chambers, along platforms, up and down escalators, finally finding a train to take us where we needed to be.
Anyway. We finally arrived at his little flat (which reminded me very much of being a student), had a nice cup of tea and a chat, then fell asleep to the relaxing sound of every police siren in London being let off outside the windows.
As Tall Richard and family live in the wilds of Suffolk, Mr WithaY and I don't see them nearly as much as we'd like, so it was lovely to have a chance to catch up in the middle, so to speak. Apparently next time I have to wear sturdy walking shoes and be prepared for Chinatown and a Blues Bar.
The trip into work the next morning seemed much less complicated, and I was at my desk by 0815, giving me the chance to be first in, and therefore smug as everyone else arrived.
Arrived home last night to find Mr WithaY suffering from a streaming cold, poor bugger. I think it's the same cold he had last week, and it never really went away properly. I am keeping my distance, whilst providing love and support. And cups of tea.
Other news: Who saw this? I wish I'd thought of it first. I could have borrowed all the dogs in the village and made up a husky team, stapled antlers to the bigger ones and called them Reindeer, and got Mr WithaY into a Santa suit.
We could have borrowed one of the farm fields and roped off a bit in the middle for the festive grotto (no photography) and sprayed the whole place with fire extinguisher foam to make it look nice and snowy. Could have paid for a fantastic holiday in the sun.
Next year.
*followed my nose
Went up to London as usual on Monday morning, had a successful day at work (yay me), then met my mate Tall Richard outside his office for an evening of middle-aged frolicking.
I took the Tube to Embankment, planning to walk over to his office in about 2 minutes from there. As is traditional, I managed to go in completely the wrong direction on leaving the station, wandering up past Charing Cross into the Strand. I navigated by the stars* till I found Downing Street, then made my way to the appointed rendezvous, still slightly early. So no-one need ever know.
We strolled back the way I had just come (making me feel knowledgable and not too touristy) to Champagne Charlie's, where I had a couple of glasses of fizz. I very seldom drink during the week, so it felt like a real treat. Tall Richard had Beer In A Tankard, but disappointingly, he drank it nicely, refusing to quaff it properly.
We both managed to get covered in sawdust (it's all over the floor in there...I may suggest they add glitter for the festive season), then wandered across the road to an Italian restaurant where we had a very nice meal. Tall Richard, having lived in Naples, is unabashed about asking Italian restaurant staff for free liqueurs. Which they gave us with a smile.
We then took the Tube all over London, as there is no interchange at (I think) Embankment, so we had to go up and down several different lines till we were on the right one to get us to the Docklands Light Railway, and out to Shadwell, where Tall Richard lives during the week.
I honestly think it would have been quicker to walk all the way. We went up and down stairs, along endless tunnels, through stations full of commuters, into little secret doorways to vast empty chambers, along platforms, up and down escalators, finally finding a train to take us where we needed to be.
Anyway. We finally arrived at his little flat (which reminded me very much of being a student), had a nice cup of tea and a chat, then fell asleep to the relaxing sound of every police siren in London being let off outside the windows.
As Tall Richard and family live in the wilds of Suffolk, Mr WithaY and I don't see them nearly as much as we'd like, so it was lovely to have a chance to catch up in the middle, so to speak. Apparently next time I have to wear sturdy walking shoes and be prepared for Chinatown and a Blues Bar.
The trip into work the next morning seemed much less complicated, and I was at my desk by 0815, giving me the chance to be first in, and therefore smug as everyone else arrived.
Arrived home last night to find Mr WithaY suffering from a streaming cold, poor bugger. I think it's the same cold he had last week, and it never really went away properly. I am keeping my distance, whilst providing love and support. And cups of tea.
Other news: Who saw this? I wish I'd thought of it first. I could have borrowed all the dogs in the village and made up a husky team, stapled antlers to the bigger ones and called them Reindeer, and got Mr WithaY into a Santa suit.
We could have borrowed one of the farm fields and roped off a bit in the middle for the festive grotto (no photography) and sprayed the whole place with fire extinguisher foam to make it look nice and snowy. Could have paid for a fantastic holiday in the sun.
Next year.
*followed my nose
Sunday, 9 November 2008
Bites
It sounds like the end of the world outside. Rain lashing against the windows, high winds, mysterious crashing noises from the garden, the wailing of the damned. Brrrrr.
And, just to make my day perfect, I have a cold. Bloody great. Was just about recovered from the bronchitis (bar the occasional lung-busting coughing fit) and now I am the vile Queen of the Snot People. Lovely.
Ah well, I can drag my weary carcass to London tomorrow and make everyone feel uneasy as I sniffle my way through the day. It's good to have plans.
Mr WithaY's kind mate who brought him home from Heathrow came round for lunch today, and showed us the rather fab DVD he is making with all the podcasts from the shark-tagging trip. I had assumed that they did all the tagging from inside a cage under the water.
No no no.
They were in a very small inflatable boat, jabbing at the sharks from above, as other members of the team dangled revolting bits of dead fish in the water, jerking them away from the shark just as it thought it was getting a nice mouthful. They have photos of one of these small boats with a huge hole bitten in the side, after one of the Great White Sharks decided she had had enough of this treatment. Gah.
I'm very glad I had no idea that was all going on.
So. Time for a bite (heh) of supper and then an early night, and then tomorrow a long day up to the Smoke. But Mr WithaY is home, so at least I won't be coming home to a cold*, dark, empty house, to eat my meagre supper of bread and scrape** and cry myself to sleep***.
*Well, warm, but you know, dramtic license
**Fresh pasta and ice cream, but not in the same bowl
***Watch Futurama DVDs and then have a nice bath
And, just to make my day perfect, I have a cold. Bloody great. Was just about recovered from the bronchitis (bar the occasional lung-busting coughing fit) and now I am the vile Queen of the Snot People. Lovely.
Ah well, I can drag my weary carcass to London tomorrow and make everyone feel uneasy as I sniffle my way through the day. It's good to have plans.
Mr WithaY's kind mate who brought him home from Heathrow came round for lunch today, and showed us the rather fab DVD he is making with all the podcasts from the shark-tagging trip. I had assumed that they did all the tagging from inside a cage under the water.
No no no.
They were in a very small inflatable boat, jabbing at the sharks from above, as other members of the team dangled revolting bits of dead fish in the water, jerking them away from the shark just as it thought it was getting a nice mouthful. They have photos of one of these small boats with a huge hole bitten in the side, after one of the Great White Sharks decided she had had enough of this treatment. Gah.
I'm very glad I had no idea that was all going on.
So. Time for a bite (heh) of supper and then an early night, and then tomorrow a long day up to the Smoke. But Mr WithaY is home, so at least I won't be coming home to a cold*, dark, empty house, to eat my meagre supper of bread and scrape** and cry myself to sleep***.
*Well, warm, but you know, dramtic license
**Fresh pasta and ice cream, but not in the same bowl
***Watch Futurama DVDs and then have a nice bath
Wednesday, 30 April 2008
Broken II
Not to be outdone by the hand-fracturing antics of my gorgeous guitar teacher, Mr WithaY has today been diagnosed with a "deep-seated chest infection".
Does that mean it's in his arse, or what?
Anyway, he's on a ton of scary drugs and sounds like he is going to cough himself inside-out.
I have been working at home drafting a Concept of Analysis, which is every bit as dull and tiresome as it sounds. In between times I have eaten sandwiches, watched a couple of episodes of Futurama on DVD and looked gloomily out of the window at the pissing rain.
Oh, and I painted my toenails*. Woo fucking hoo.
Later that same day, I made the world's most disappointing pasta dish for supper, which, despite being full of lovely ingredients was dull and all but tasteless. The best part of the whole meal was the steamed broccoli. Fucking hell. What kind of a meal is that, where broccoli is the highlight, eh?
Still, other than that, it;s been a nice day.
Mr WithaY gave me a present, whcih was most unexpected and lovely. It's a book for me to take on holiday called "City of Laughter", and it's subtitled "Sex and Satire in Eighteenth-Century London". Brilliant.
I love social history. And the Eighteenth Century. I was a secret, slightly ashamed, fan of Georgette Heyer for years but now I know how many primary sources she used for her historical novels, I feel almost virtuous reading them.
It's making learning fun.
*Lilac, in case you were wondering.
Does that mean it's in his arse, or what?
Anyway, he's on a ton of scary drugs and sounds like he is going to cough himself inside-out.
I have been working at home drafting a Concept of Analysis, which is every bit as dull and tiresome as it sounds. In between times I have eaten sandwiches, watched a couple of episodes of Futurama on DVD and looked gloomily out of the window at the pissing rain.
Oh, and I painted my toenails*. Woo fucking hoo.
Later that same day, I made the world's most disappointing pasta dish for supper, which, despite being full of lovely ingredients was dull and all but tasteless. The best part of the whole meal was the steamed broccoli. Fucking hell. What kind of a meal is that, where broccoli is the highlight, eh?
Still, other than that, it;s been a nice day.
Mr WithaY gave me a present, whcih was most unexpected and lovely. It's a book for me to take on holiday called "City of Laughter", and it's subtitled "Sex and Satire in Eighteenth-Century London". Brilliant.
I love social history. And the Eighteenth Century. I was a secret, slightly ashamed, fan of Georgette Heyer for years but now I know how many primary sources she used for her historical novels, I feel almost virtuous reading them.
It's making learning fun.
*Lilac, in case you were wondering.
Tuesday, 29 April 2008
Broken
Well, I feel like I have a cold now. Bloody great. Woke up with a sore throat and sniffed unattractively* through my meeting this morning. Lovely.
My lovely guitar teacher has fractured his hand (playing cricket, the careless idiot) so no lessons for me for a bit. And of course he can't play guitar either, so his band might be a bit grumpy too.
Other news: Mr WithaY's car seems to be improving slowly, but it is still too screechy and scary to drive any distance at at speeds of over 30mph, so I have been taking him to work and picking him up in the evenings. It's rather nice. Maybe we will car share more often. It takes me about an extra 10-15 minutes, but it means we save fuel, and I like us both getting home at the same time.
I have been smitten with a cooking bug (so to speak) and have been perusing recipe books for inspiration. I might make brownies later. Or soda bread. Or a pie. Can't decide. Will definitely be baked though. Unless it's soup.
Oh yes, we need some date recipes. The fruit, not the chronological things. Mr WithaY's runaway successs re: the quince chatroom makes me feel confident that we wil find something suitable.
Am listening to Rush "A Passage To Bangkok". Bloody great. Funny how you go through phases of liking stuff. And now it's The Sweet's "Hellraiser". All good desk-based music.
*I did have a tissue but sometimes you just have to sniff.
My lovely guitar teacher has fractured his hand (playing cricket, the careless idiot) so no lessons for me for a bit. And of course he can't play guitar either, so his band might be a bit grumpy too.
Other news: Mr WithaY's car seems to be improving slowly, but it is still too screechy and scary to drive any distance at at speeds of over 30mph, so I have been taking him to work and picking him up in the evenings. It's rather nice. Maybe we will car share more often. It takes me about an extra 10-15 minutes, but it means we save fuel, and I like us both getting home at the same time.
I have been smitten with a cooking bug (so to speak) and have been perusing recipe books for inspiration. I might make brownies later. Or soda bread. Or a pie. Can't decide. Will definitely be baked though. Unless it's soup.
Oh yes, we need some date recipes. The fruit, not the chronological things. Mr WithaY's runaway successs re: the quince chatroom makes me feel confident that we wil find something suitable.
Am listening to Rush "A Passage To Bangkok". Bloody great. Funny how you go through phases of liking stuff. And now it's The Sweet's "Hellraiser". All good desk-based music.
*I did have a tissue but sometimes you just have to sniff.
Wednesday, 16 January 2008
Cold
Bloody river is scary again. It's flooded out over the fields below the next village, and as I drove home from work it looked like it might be in danger of coming right over the bridge and onto the road.
I think our house will be ok, but it is worrying.
I have to go to London tomorrow so am hoping the trains actually make it there and back ok.
Other news: Feel like I am going down with a cold, which is tiresome. Especially as I am going to have to do a lot of talking tomorrow.
Work is becoming a degree less stressful as I have my new team in place, which makes a huge difference. And they seem pretty enthusiastic so far, too, so long may that continue. Just wish I felt a bit less crap today.
Had a nice guitar lesson yesterday. My lovely teacher is insisting I learn the barre chord version of songs I already know, so last night was Hendrix's "Hey Joe". It's a lot slower than the normal version but I'll get there in the end.
And I decided that "Bringing on the Hearbreak" works as an acoustic-y folk-y thing.
Which reminds me...who wants to come and see Whitesnake and Def Leppard? Spence? Andy?
Heh.
I think our house will be ok, but it is worrying.
I have to go to London tomorrow so am hoping the trains actually make it there and back ok.
Other news: Feel like I am going down with a cold, which is tiresome. Especially as I am going to have to do a lot of talking tomorrow.
Work is becoming a degree less stressful as I have my new team in place, which makes a huge difference. And they seem pretty enthusiastic so far, too, so long may that continue. Just wish I felt a bit less crap today.
Had a nice guitar lesson yesterday. My lovely teacher is insisting I learn the barre chord version of songs I already know, so last night was Hendrix's "Hey Joe". It's a lot slower than the normal version but I'll get there in the end.
And I decided that "Bringing on the Hearbreak" works as an acoustic-y folk-y thing.
Which reminds me...who wants to come and see Whitesnake and Def Leppard? Spence? Andy?
Heh.
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
Glory
Just got home from a rather trying day in Bristol. Had to meet my contact "in the coffee bar" at around "mid-morning".
Due to the hurried nature of our plans last night and my own crap sense of location, I ended up in the wrong coffee bar in the wrong building for 25 minutes, fretting that I would miss the meeting we had lined up with a Tremendously Senior Person.
Eventually, however, we hooked up successfully. Then I mungoed about killing time till we had the pre-meeting meeting (pushed back from 1130 to 1pm which was stressful as I had longer to panic), at which it became apparent that the Tremendously Senior Person we were briefing was labouring under a major and critical misapprehension about my project.
Once we'd resolved that, it was time to hurry up and wait some more till 3pm, when I got to sit in on the Hugely Important Meeting (quietly and meekly at the back, and only for 15 minutes, mind) while the great and the good decided whether or not to let my project go ahead.
They did.
So hurrah. I (and my team) all still have jobs.
God I hate train travel though. It's just that little bit less stressful than driving over there, but it involves so much hanging about. And you're either freezing cold (like when you're waiting on a rainy windswept platform for 25 minutes) or boiling hot (when you're in an immensely crowded train and don't have the space to take off your coat).
Gah.
On the way there, a nice Welsh lady was sat opposite me. When the ticket collector came to her, she asked for a single to Newport.
"Only a single?" the ticket man said. "How are you getting back?"
"Oh I have a lift home" she said, smiling.
The ticket man thought about this for a moment.
"Tell you what, love," he said. "Get a return. It's only 10p more expensive... your lift might not turn up, and then you'd be stuck."
So she did.
What a salesman. I might nominate him for an award.
Due to the hurried nature of our plans last night and my own crap sense of location, I ended up in the wrong coffee bar in the wrong building for 25 minutes, fretting that I would miss the meeting we had lined up with a Tremendously Senior Person.
Eventually, however, we hooked up successfully. Then I mungoed about killing time till we had the pre-meeting meeting (pushed back from 1130 to 1pm which was stressful as I had longer to panic), at which it became apparent that the Tremendously Senior Person we were briefing was labouring under a major and critical misapprehension about my project.
Once we'd resolved that, it was time to hurry up and wait some more till 3pm, when I got to sit in on the Hugely Important Meeting (quietly and meekly at the back, and only for 15 minutes, mind) while the great and the good decided whether or not to let my project go ahead.
They did.
So hurrah. I (and my team) all still have jobs.
God I hate train travel though. It's just that little bit less stressful than driving over there, but it involves so much hanging about. And you're either freezing cold (like when you're waiting on a rainy windswept platform for 25 minutes) or boiling hot (when you're in an immensely crowded train and don't have the space to take off your coat).
Gah.
On the way there, a nice Welsh lady was sat opposite me. When the ticket collector came to her, she asked for a single to Newport.
"Only a single?" the ticket man said. "How are you getting back?"
"Oh I have a lift home" she said, smiling.
The ticket man thought about this for a moment.
"Tell you what, love," he said. "Get a return. It's only 10p more expensive... your lift might not turn up, and then you'd be stuck."
So she did.
What a salesman. I might nominate him for an award.
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
Cold
Fucking heating's broken.
Mr WithaY goes away, the boiler decides to break. It is bloody freezing here.
I am tired, lonely, cold and grumpy.
Off to bed to try and get warm. Will hopefully have something worth reporting tomorrow.
Gah.
Mr WithaY goes away, the boiler decides to break. It is bloody freezing here.
I am tired, lonely, cold and grumpy.
Off to bed to try and get warm. Will hopefully have something worth reporting tomorrow.
Gah.
Monday, 23 April 2007
Cold
To celebrate St George's Day, I have a cold. It came on very suddenly (while I was driving home from work) so I thought it might just be pollen related, but as the evening's gone on my throat has got more and more sore, and my nose is blocked. Ugh. That's a week of feeling and sounding horrible then.
Apart from that (and being shattered) I am fine. Had a great weekend visiting family and friends, and feel very positive about life in general at the moment.
I'm hoping that we get a major milestone sorted out at work this week, which would be fantastic. But if I get a bloody cold that will more than likely slow me down. Gah. So, better search out the vitamins and try to stay healthy.
Overheard something in the supermarket that made me laugh yesterday. A little boy was looking at one of the fruit and vegetable displays, saying "Mum, mum, can we get an acorn?" His mum was busy, and not looking at what he was doing, and she said "No, there are no acorns in here." He carried on asking until she (and I) looked round the corner to see what he was on about. He was waving a coconut about. Heh.
Apart from that (and being shattered) I am fine. Had a great weekend visiting family and friends, and feel very positive about life in general at the moment.
I'm hoping that we get a major milestone sorted out at work this week, which would be fantastic. But if I get a bloody cold that will more than likely slow me down. Gah. So, better search out the vitamins and try to stay healthy.
Overheard something in the supermarket that made me laugh yesterday. A little boy was looking at one of the fruit and vegetable displays, saying "Mum, mum, can we get an acorn?" His mum was busy, and not looking at what he was doing, and she said "No, there are no acorns in here." He carried on asking until she (and I) looked round the corner to see what he was on about. He was waving a coconut about. Heh.
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