We get all sorts of people in the shop.
When I am working a late shift, it's remarkable to see the number of customers who dash in for last-minute emergency beer or wine before we shut for the night. On sunny afternoons we get quite a few people calling in for booze for impromptu barbecues on their way home from work. There are one or two who come in for small bottles of cheap vodka, and who I suspect are not going anywhere to drink it.
The one who stands out for me this week though, is the Drunk Socks Man.
He came in for the first time mid-afternoon, buying a four-pack of chilled cans of cider. Fair enough. It was a sunny afternoon, and sitting under a tree with a cold cider would be very pleasant.
Two hours later he came back and bought another four-pack. Ah. Maybe he has some mates there too, and they're all enjoying a cold drink together.
Another two hours passed. By this time I was on my own in the shop. He reappeared, this time drunk. Very, very drunk.
"Hello my petal!" he said cheerfully. I said hello back, ignoring the over-familiarity. Well, you have to sometimes.
He selected a single bottle of beer and brought it up to the counter, then dug into a pocket for cash. I told him how much it cost, and he squinted at the handful of change, old receipts and oddments he was waving about in front of me.
"Have I got enough there, darling?" he asked. I told him no, he didn't.
"Well can you do me a deal then? Can I have it for *rapid counting of the coins he held* £1.28?"
I said no sorry, we wouldn't do that.
"What have you got that's cheaper, then?"
By now, I had realised just how drunk he was, and was beginning to wonder how I was going to get him out of the shop if he got stroppy when he discovered that I wasn't going to sell him any more drink. Cunningly taking the bottle of beer back to the fridge on the pretext of looking for something cheaper, I was able to convince him that we didn't sell anything alcoholic that he could afford just then.
"How about if I give you a cuddle? Can I have a deal then?"
Oh fantastic. The "drunk bloke is irresistible to women" stage has been reached. I declined the cuddle and got back behind the counter, wondering how much longer this was going to continue. He stood there, swaying a bit, then had an idea.
"What if I give you my socks?"
"What?"
"Look. Here. You can have my socks." He tried to hand me a pair of balled-up socks which he pulled from another pocket.
I declined politely.
After a few minutes of loudly telling the next customer who came in how terrible it is to be an alcoholic - the customer agreed politely whilst paying for his diesel - the drunk left, staggering over to the pub. He did tell me "I'm always around if you need me, darling," before he left. How reassuring.
I waited with some interest, and a little anxiety in case he came back to the shop. A police van then drove onto the forecourt and parked up, I waited for the police driver to come in and buy sweeties. They're buggers for sweeties, police. However, the driver simply stayed in his van.
The drunk left the pub very soon afterwards, and started making his way up the road towards town. The police van immediately pulled out into the main road, the driver got out and spoke to the drunk. I watched, interested, as they had a long chat, the drunk smoking a cigarette. A short time later a police car arrived, and took the drunk away.
You don't get that in the Civil Service.
Showing posts with label police. Show all posts
Showing posts with label police. Show all posts
Saturday, 23 May 2015
Friday, 25 March 2011
Kebab
As news stories go, this one is pretty splendid:
Frozen 18kg kebab stolen from Trowbridge takeaway
Astonishingly, it's not from our local paper, either...it's from the BBC website. Honest. Take a look.
The description of the kebab made me snort tea out of my nose. No charge for that image, blog fans.
"How big was the kebab, sir? We need a description for the Wanted posters."
"Hmm...pretty big, officer. Yeah, pretty big, I'd say."
"Pretty big? Can you be more specific at all, sir?"
"It was massive. And made of meat."
"Massive...meat... Ok, sir, got that. Anything else? Any distinguishing features?"
"Let me think...it was sort of meat-coloured I suppose. And massive. Did I already say that?"
"Yes, you did, sir."
"Oooh! It had a metal skewer through it. A massive one. Metal coloured."
"Excellent, thank you sir. We'll get that description out immediately. If you receive a ransom demand, please let us know."
I also love the idea that people might be offered "kebab meat in suspicious circumstances." You mean, other than at 2am from a food-vending caravan staffed by a sweaty man who has giant vats of chilli sauce close at hand?
Frozen 18kg kebab stolen from Trowbridge takeaway
Astonishingly, it's not from our local paper, either...it's from the BBC website. Honest. Take a look.
The description of the kebab made me snort tea out of my nose. No charge for that image, blog fans.
"How big was the kebab, sir? We need a description for the Wanted posters."
"Hmm...pretty big, officer. Yeah, pretty big, I'd say."
"Pretty big? Can you be more specific at all, sir?"
"It was massive. And made of meat."
"Massive...meat... Ok, sir, got that. Anything else? Any distinguishing features?"
"Let me think...it was sort of meat-coloured I suppose. And massive. Did I already say that?"
"Yes, you did, sir."
"Oooh! It had a metal skewer through it. A massive one. Metal coloured."
"Excellent, thank you sir. We'll get that description out immediately. If you receive a ransom demand, please let us know."
I also love the idea that people might be offered "kebab meat in suspicious circumstances." You mean, other than at 2am from a food-vending caravan staffed by a sweaty man who has giant vats of chilli sauce close at hand?
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Newspaper review
The local paper has been most informative of late.
Outcry Over Regalia Cost is a story all about the mayor having a new chain of office, and people getting grumpy because it will be expensive. Over £1,200 to be exact. That's a lot of chain. But there's more to it than that... The mayor has asked for a new chain because the old one is too heavy. She wants "a lighter chain attached to a collar," a request which has provoked "fury" from some of her colleagues. One of them was quoted as saying "People in the town have heard what has happened...and are furious. The Westbury online forums are full of comments."
Excellent.
That should stop those pesky chain-buyers...a bunch of ranting Westbury dwellers on a variety of forums (fora? forii?) arguing the toss in cyberspace. Yeah.
The thing that has particularly caught my attention, other than the idea that a good pet shop could probably provide a nice light collar and chain for about £12, is the fact that there is more than one forum for the people of Westbury to vent their fury on. Who'd have though it?
Historic Monocle Unearthed makes you think there's an Indiana Jones-stylee story coming, maybe involving the undead guardians of some forgotten tomb, or a bunch of fanatical ninja priest warriors, all sneaking round West Wiltshire in pursuit of the Monocle of Doom. But no. It's a bit of photography kit used by William Fox Talbot, "found" at Lacock Abbey, where he lived and worked. So not so much "unearthed" as "moved a few things and there it was, right where he left it. " How disappointing.
Post Office To Fish Shop Plan is a collection of words which, when put together, make no sense whatsoever. When you read the supporting paragraph, all becomes clearer. It's a planning application. Dull.
Other headlines to spark mental images:
Pavement to be widened
Thief Disturbed
Bingo Fun
Census Plea
Accordian Night
Spinning Fun
Historians Meet
This week, though, the prize for "non news item" goes to this, which I make no apology for repeating in full:
Parked car block. A poorly-parked Honda 4x4 blocked Kingsfield in Bradford-on-Avon from 10am for several hours on Friday before being towed away by police.
Fantastic.
Wiltshire. Where no news really is good news.
Other news: We had a call from the police this afternoon. The thieving bastards who robbed the garage at the weekend have pleaded guilty to the charges and are due to be sentenced in the Crown Court soon. Excellent. The police rang to thank us and to say that "your call was extremely valid" which was nice of them. Also the lovely people at the garage have given us some wine as a thank you for being helpful and community-spirited.
I think we should get capes and masks.
And utility belts.
Outcry Over Regalia Cost is a story all about the mayor having a new chain of office, and people getting grumpy because it will be expensive. Over £1,200 to be exact. That's a lot of chain. But there's more to it than that... The mayor has asked for a new chain because the old one is too heavy. She wants "a lighter chain attached to a collar," a request which has provoked "fury" from some of her colleagues. One of them was quoted as saying "People in the town have heard what has happened...and are furious. The Westbury online forums are full of comments."
Excellent.
That should stop those pesky chain-buyers...a bunch of ranting Westbury dwellers on a variety of forums (fora? forii?) arguing the toss in cyberspace. Yeah.
The thing that has particularly caught my attention, other than the idea that a good pet shop could probably provide a nice light collar and chain for about £12, is the fact that there is more than one forum for the people of Westbury to vent their fury on. Who'd have though it?
Historic Monocle Unearthed makes you think there's an Indiana Jones-stylee story coming, maybe involving the undead guardians of some forgotten tomb, or a bunch of fanatical ninja priest warriors, all sneaking round West Wiltshire in pursuit of the Monocle of Doom. But no. It's a bit of photography kit used by William Fox Talbot, "found" at Lacock Abbey, where he lived and worked. So not so much "unearthed" as "moved a few things and there it was, right where he left it. " How disappointing.
Post Office To Fish Shop Plan is a collection of words which, when put together, make no sense whatsoever. When you read the supporting paragraph, all becomes clearer. It's a planning application. Dull.
Other headlines to spark mental images:
Pavement to be widened
Thief Disturbed
Bingo Fun
Census Plea
Accordian Night
Spinning Fun
Historians Meet
This week, though, the prize for "non news item" goes to this, which I make no apology for repeating in full:
Parked car block. A poorly-parked Honda 4x4 blocked Kingsfield in Bradford-on-Avon from 10am for several hours on Friday before being towed away by police.
Fantastic.
Wiltshire. Where no news really is good news.
Other news: We had a call from the police this afternoon. The thieving bastards who robbed the garage at the weekend have pleaded guilty to the charges and are due to be sentenced in the Crown Court soon. Excellent. The police rang to thank us and to say that "your call was extremely valid" which was nice of them. Also the lovely people at the garage have given us some wine as a thank you for being helpful and community-spirited.
I think we should get capes and masks.
And utility belts.
Sunday, 27 February 2011
Police Camera Action
Well, what a night we've just had.
It all started rather well with a few friends over for dinner. Mr WithaY made us all cocktails ...or aperitifs...I'm not certain what they actually were, other than hugely alcoholic. It was a mixture of some odd French strawberry liqueur liberated from Father in law WithaY's house, 16 percent proof I think, mixed with Bison grass vodka. And ice.
Gah.
By the time the food was ready, the hilarity meter was registering HIGH. We ate, we drank some more, we laughed a lot, and by the time our guests left we were stuffed, exhausted, pissed and ready for bed. Mr WithaY announced that he was going to sleep the sleep of the dead.
No. No he wasn't.
At about half past 3, maybe quarter to four, we were woken by a dull rhythmic thumping sound.
Not a loud car stereo heading past the house.
Not a very, very fat person walking home.
Not a dinosaur on a rampage* through West Wiltshire.
No.
It was two thieving scroats, smashing their way through the front door of the petrol station with a sledgehammer.
Well, what would you have done?
My first instinct was to get tooled up with shooters and go out to Stop Them In Their Tracks, in the manner of some vengeful American cop out for Justice.
However, what with me not being a cop, American or otherwise, I decided that was a bit of a crap idea, so Mr WithaY went to call the police instead. He was able to give the police a running commentary on what was happening, looking out of the bedroom window, watching a crime in progress.
The vile little toads were in through the smashed door incredibly quickly.
They used, as well as the sledgehammer, a large concrete block which was sat outside a neighbour's garage, usually deployed as a hefty doorstop. We watched them pulling the broken glass out of the doorframe, then scramble through the door into the garage, smash open the locked cabinet full of cigarettes, and pretty much strip it bare. All this took about 4 minutes.
They ran out of the garage to a car parked in the dark by the recycling bins, and hared off along the main road towards town with no lights on.
Thrilling.
Mr WithaY and I continued to peek out of the window as the garage owners arrived, then the police. Mr WithaY got dressed and went out to tell them what we'd seen. He was gone for over an hour. Apparently they were making cups of tea and everything.
While he was over there, drinking tea and discussing the state of the nation with the police, reports came through on the radio that the robbers had been apprehended. Apparently the police had spotted them (no lights, speeding, probably driving like thieves in a getaway vehicle), given chase through several local villages, and finally collared them.
When searched, the sledgehammer, a huge sack of fags and a change of clothes for both perps were found in the car. Bang to rights, I'd say.
Turns out, our garage was the fourth one to be robbed that night. I can only assume that the crime statistics for West Wiltshire will be looking a little better after this. Assuming that the thieves in question aren't simply slapped on the wrist and released back into the loving arms of the local community, of course.
Mr WithaY enjoyed watching the robbery on the garage's CCTV recordings while he had his 5am tea.
Other news: There is, apparently, a "West Country Burlesque Artist" coming to perform in Frome. We may have to get tickets, it sounds too weird to miss.
I hope her costumes involve baler twine and feed sacks.
*It will happen one day, mark my words.
It all started rather well with a few friends over for dinner. Mr WithaY made us all cocktails ...or aperitifs...I'm not certain what they actually were, other than hugely alcoholic. It was a mixture of some odd French strawberry liqueur liberated from Father in law WithaY's house, 16 percent proof I think, mixed with Bison grass vodka. And ice.
Gah.
By the time the food was ready, the hilarity meter was registering HIGH. We ate, we drank some more, we laughed a lot, and by the time our guests left we were stuffed, exhausted, pissed and ready for bed. Mr WithaY announced that he was going to sleep the sleep of the dead.
No. No he wasn't.
At about half past 3, maybe quarter to four, we were woken by a dull rhythmic thumping sound.
Not a loud car stereo heading past the house.
Not a very, very fat person walking home.
Not a dinosaur on a rampage* through West Wiltshire.
No.
It was two thieving scroats, smashing their way through the front door of the petrol station with a sledgehammer.
Well, what would you have done?
My first instinct was to get tooled up with shooters and go out to Stop Them In Their Tracks, in the manner of some vengeful American cop out for Justice.
However, what with me not being a cop, American or otherwise, I decided that was a bit of a crap idea, so Mr WithaY went to call the police instead. He was able to give the police a running commentary on what was happening, looking out of the bedroom window, watching a crime in progress.
The vile little toads were in through the smashed door incredibly quickly.
They used, as well as the sledgehammer, a large concrete block which was sat outside a neighbour's garage, usually deployed as a hefty doorstop. We watched them pulling the broken glass out of the doorframe, then scramble through the door into the garage, smash open the locked cabinet full of cigarettes, and pretty much strip it bare. All this took about 4 minutes.
They ran out of the garage to a car parked in the dark by the recycling bins, and hared off along the main road towards town with no lights on.
Thrilling.
Mr WithaY and I continued to peek out of the window as the garage owners arrived, then the police. Mr WithaY got dressed and went out to tell them what we'd seen. He was gone for over an hour. Apparently they were making cups of tea and everything.
While he was over there, drinking tea and discussing the state of the nation with the police, reports came through on the radio that the robbers had been apprehended. Apparently the police had spotted them (no lights, speeding, probably driving like thieves in a getaway vehicle), given chase through several local villages, and finally collared them.
When searched, the sledgehammer, a huge sack of fags and a change of clothes for both perps were found in the car. Bang to rights, I'd say.
Turns out, our garage was the fourth one to be robbed that night. I can only assume that the crime statistics for West Wiltshire will be looking a little better after this. Assuming that the thieves in question aren't simply slapped on the wrist and released back into the loving arms of the local community, of course.
Mr WithaY enjoyed watching the robbery on the garage's CCTV recordings while he had his 5am tea.
Other news: There is, apparently, a "West Country Burlesque Artist" coming to perform in Frome. We may have to get tickets, it sounds too weird to miss.
I hope her costumes involve baler twine and feed sacks.
*It will happen one day, mark my words.
Friday, 31 December 2010
Review of the Year
January:
The addition of fish to our Christmas-present-to-ourselves aquarium. Glad to be able to report that we have only lost a very few over the intervening 12 months, and the ones who are still there look happy. Well, as happy as fish ever do. They've grown, and their colours are bright. And I think one of them was smiling at me.
Snow. Lots of snow. Inability to get to work, which started off as fun and exciting, and rapidly became irritating and constraining. No snow animals, though. Fail.
Chest infection. Yes, another bout of the Black Lung.
Ongoing SSFH fuckwittery from the police, proving that basic administration CAN be impossibly hard if you really work at it.
Sausage making. Oh yes. Oh yes indeed. Watch and be impressed, dear readers. The hands belong to our friend the chef, the splendid camera work was down to me. I didn't realise my camera recorded sound. Until I filmed that.
February:
More fuckwittery from the police. I suspect that I could say that every month, to be honest.
My blog was stalked by a mad optician for a bit, they added semi-literate comments to the same post over and over. Fool.
Big, long, fantastic holiday to the US of A was booked, which cheered us both up after the horrible year we had just had.
Joined Slimming World, after deciding that I really couldn't pretend that I was fine as I was any more. That was a surprisingly hard thing to do, it felt like an admission of defeat and failure somehow. And now, 10 months on, two and a half stone lighter so far, I realise what a fucking idiot I was for not doing it years ago.
March:
I had my hair cut at a posh hairdresser in Salisbury. And it was great. I will continue with that for the forseeable future I think. Well, at least for as long as I have a job and can afford it.
There was a lot of whining about trains. Again, I expect that is true for every month.
Minor domestic appliance chaos, and a huge crack in Mr WithaY's Landrover windscreen made it an expensive month.
April:
April was ALL ABOUT the visas. Following the SSFH, we discovered that we now need visas to travel to the USA, so we had weeks of incredibly stressful and depressing paperwork and expense. It all came right in the end, but I can honestly say that if we hadn't already booked the flights and hotel we would not have bothered.
Mr WithaY went off to Wales for a fortnight to help run the outdoor activity stuff with work. I don't remember any major domestic appliances breaking while he was away, for a change.
There was also a degree of ranting about fuckwits on trains.
May:
May saw the continuation of the Black Lung, which had stuck around on and off for about 5 months. Nice.
The weather improved and we did work on the garden.
Poor brother in law was taken ill, which was very frightening, but thankfully he is making good progress now.
Father in law was also taken very ill, rushed into hospital several times, all very upsetting. Oh, and the nursing home staff dropped him on his head, which didn't help matters. He is still with us, though, battling on and watching murder mysteries with glee.
Holiday preparation continued, having the visas meant that we actually started looking forward to it.
June:
We went to AMERICA. Hurrah! I can't believe it was 6 months ago.
We also had the house insulated - been much warmer this winter, so that was worth doing - and did lots to the garden.
Oh, and I got chatted up by the man who works at the rubbish tip. Bonus.
July:
AMERICA AMERICA AMERICA. We were over there for a month, it was marvellous. Best holiday ever.
I fell over in Nantucket like an idiot and fractured my ankle, not realising I had done so for about 3 weeks. Gah. Well, a bad sprain looks like a fracture, and vice versa, apparently.
The weather had been boiling hot the whole time we were away, we returned home and the rain started. Ah well.
August:
I started my new job, still in London, still in the same department, but in a different team and with a different role. Still enjoying that. Good chance that I will be made redundant though, next year. And to be honest, that would mean that I wouldn't have to spend 6 hours a day travelling, and would probably pay off most of the mortgage, so hey, not all bad.
Had the plumber in to do some minor work on the bathroom. Ended up with huge holes smashed in the walls and a craving for whiskey. Looks ok now.
September:
September is all about the Frome Cheese Show. I am already looking forward to the next one.
We persuaded father in law WithaY to sell his house, and spent many weekends travelling to Dorset to clear his stuff out and take photos for the estate agents. It's still on the market. Anyone with £300K to spare, drop me a line.
October:
Had a mini holiday in St Ives with some mates, the weather was lovely, the sea was blue, we saw a seal, Mr WithaY fell over backwards into a stream. Oh, and there were cream teas. Perfect.
Went to see our MP to try to resolve the ever-present SSFH aftermath.
I lost my blogging mojo for a bit, but not to worry, it came back. Like Lassie.
November:
Rained.
Return of the Black Lung. 4 weeks off work, antibiotics, chest x-rays blah blah fucking blah. Again.
Also, visit from two senior police officers to discuss the rather excellent letter which our MP wrote to the Chief Constable. Had almost 2 hours with them, explained exactly how their actions had affected us, and how incredibly fortunate we are to have a close group of friends and neighbours who looked after us when the SSFH broke over our heads, and basically made sure we didn't do anything stupid at a time when we felt as though we might.
Police apologised profusely and heartily. Police also said they would pay us a small token amount - NOT compensation, that would imply fault - but as a recognition of what we had suffered as a result of their "poor decision." We agreed that we would let the matter rest. We are waiting for a cheque.
Feel as though a line has been drawn under that now, which is a huge relief.
December:
Snow snow snow. Frost and fog as well. Very seasonal.
Catastrophe in the kitchen with a shelf collapse, and about £500 of china and glass smashed all over the floor. Waiting for a letter from the insurance company. Gah.
New curtains though.
SSFH:
So, yeah. We were arrested last summer. The police turned up at our house at 0630 with a warrant and a battering ram (thankfully not used) and arrested us both on very serious, very nasty allegations. We were held in the cells for 10 hours, photographed, fingerprinted, questioned under caution and finally released on bail. Our home was searched, a lot of our property was confiscated for examination, and we both felt as though our world had come to an end.
A week later we were told that the police would be taking no further action, and all our property was returned. I was off work for over a month with post traumatic stress, we were both very badly affected, and without the love and support of our friends and neighbours, I really don't know that we would both still be here.
We've spent a lot of time over the last 18 months trying to get an explanation as to how this could have happened, and why, and who was responsible for the original malicious and unfounded allegations. We'll never know, as it turns out the police didn't know either. But they decided to act anyway. As they said to us last month: "It was not our finest hour." No, it really fucking wasn't.
As a result of that, we now have to get a visa to travel to the USA. We have managed to get our DNA, photographs and fingerprints deleted from the central police database, and we have had an apology from the Chief Constable.
It should never have happened.
And the saddest thing, to me at least, is that we no longer trust the police.
But, at least we now have closure, to use a dreadful pseudo-psycholgical term. And as a result, next year will be a good one.
Thank you to all our friends, neighbours and family who got us through what was undoubtedly the worst few months of our lives. Onwards and upwards.
Hurrah.
Happy New Year, everyone. Thank you for reading, commenting and hopefully enjoying spending virtual time with me. Looking forward to the next chapter.
The addition of fish to our Christmas-present-to-ourselves aquarium. Glad to be able to report that we have only lost a very few over the intervening 12 months, and the ones who are still there look happy. Well, as happy as fish ever do. They've grown, and their colours are bright. And I think one of them was smiling at me.
Snow. Lots of snow. Inability to get to work, which started off as fun and exciting, and rapidly became irritating and constraining. No snow animals, though. Fail.
Chest infection. Yes, another bout of the Black Lung.
Ongoing SSFH fuckwittery from the police, proving that basic administration CAN be impossibly hard if you really work at it.
Sausage making. Oh yes. Oh yes indeed. Watch and be impressed, dear readers. The hands belong to our friend the chef, the splendid camera work was down to me. I didn't realise my camera recorded sound. Until I filmed that.
February:
More fuckwittery from the police. I suspect that I could say that every month, to be honest.
My blog was stalked by a mad optician for a bit, they added semi-literate comments to the same post over and over. Fool.
Big, long, fantastic holiday to the US of A was booked, which cheered us both up after the horrible year we had just had.
Joined Slimming World, after deciding that I really couldn't pretend that I was fine as I was any more. That was a surprisingly hard thing to do, it felt like an admission of defeat and failure somehow. And now, 10 months on, two and a half stone lighter so far, I realise what a fucking idiot I was for not doing it years ago.
March:
I had my hair cut at a posh hairdresser in Salisbury. And it was great. I will continue with that for the forseeable future I think. Well, at least for as long as I have a job and can afford it.
There was a lot of whining about trains. Again, I expect that is true for every month.
Minor domestic appliance chaos, and a huge crack in Mr WithaY's Landrover windscreen made it an expensive month.
April:
April was ALL ABOUT the visas. Following the SSFH, we discovered that we now need visas to travel to the USA, so we had weeks of incredibly stressful and depressing paperwork and expense. It all came right in the end, but I can honestly say that if we hadn't already booked the flights and hotel we would not have bothered.
Mr WithaY went off to Wales for a fortnight to help run the outdoor activity stuff with work. I don't remember any major domestic appliances breaking while he was away, for a change.
There was also a degree of ranting about fuckwits on trains.
May:
May saw the continuation of the Black Lung, which had stuck around on and off for about 5 months. Nice.
The weather improved and we did work on the garden.
Poor brother in law was taken ill, which was very frightening, but thankfully he is making good progress now.
Father in law was also taken very ill, rushed into hospital several times, all very upsetting. Oh, and the nursing home staff dropped him on his head, which didn't help matters. He is still with us, though, battling on and watching murder mysteries with glee.
Holiday preparation continued, having the visas meant that we actually started looking forward to it.
June:
We went to AMERICA. Hurrah! I can't believe it was 6 months ago.
We also had the house insulated - been much warmer this winter, so that was worth doing - and did lots to the garden.
Oh, and I got chatted up by the man who works at the rubbish tip. Bonus.
July:
AMERICA AMERICA AMERICA. We were over there for a month, it was marvellous. Best holiday ever.
I fell over in Nantucket like an idiot and fractured my ankle, not realising I had done so for about 3 weeks. Gah. Well, a bad sprain looks like a fracture, and vice versa, apparently.
The weather had been boiling hot the whole time we were away, we returned home and the rain started. Ah well.
August:
I started my new job, still in London, still in the same department, but in a different team and with a different role. Still enjoying that. Good chance that I will be made redundant though, next year. And to be honest, that would mean that I wouldn't have to spend 6 hours a day travelling, and would probably pay off most of the mortgage, so hey, not all bad.
Had the plumber in to do some minor work on the bathroom. Ended up with huge holes smashed in the walls and a craving for whiskey. Looks ok now.
September:
September is all about the Frome Cheese Show. I am already looking forward to the next one.
We persuaded father in law WithaY to sell his house, and spent many weekends travelling to Dorset to clear his stuff out and take photos for the estate agents. It's still on the market. Anyone with £300K to spare, drop me a line.
October:
Had a mini holiday in St Ives with some mates, the weather was lovely, the sea was blue, we saw a seal, Mr WithaY fell over backwards into a stream. Oh, and there were cream teas. Perfect.
Went to see our MP to try to resolve the ever-present SSFH aftermath.
I lost my blogging mojo for a bit, but not to worry, it came back. Like Lassie.
November:
Rained.
Return of the Black Lung. 4 weeks off work, antibiotics, chest x-rays blah blah fucking blah. Again.
Also, visit from two senior police officers to discuss the rather excellent letter which our MP wrote to the Chief Constable. Had almost 2 hours with them, explained exactly how their actions had affected us, and how incredibly fortunate we are to have a close group of friends and neighbours who looked after us when the SSFH broke over our heads, and basically made sure we didn't do anything stupid at a time when we felt as though we might.
Police apologised profusely and heartily. Police also said they would pay us a small token amount - NOT compensation, that would imply fault - but as a recognition of what we had suffered as a result of their "poor decision." We agreed that we would let the matter rest. We are waiting for a cheque.
Feel as though a line has been drawn under that now, which is a huge relief.
December:
Snow snow snow. Frost and fog as well. Very seasonal.
Catastrophe in the kitchen with a shelf collapse, and about £500 of china and glass smashed all over the floor. Waiting for a letter from the insurance company. Gah.
New curtains though.
SSFH:
So, yeah. We were arrested last summer. The police turned up at our house at 0630 with a warrant and a battering ram (thankfully not used) and arrested us both on very serious, very nasty allegations. We were held in the cells for 10 hours, photographed, fingerprinted, questioned under caution and finally released on bail. Our home was searched, a lot of our property was confiscated for examination, and we both felt as though our world had come to an end.
A week later we were told that the police would be taking no further action, and all our property was returned. I was off work for over a month with post traumatic stress, we were both very badly affected, and without the love and support of our friends and neighbours, I really don't know that we would both still be here.
We've spent a lot of time over the last 18 months trying to get an explanation as to how this could have happened, and why, and who was responsible for the original malicious and unfounded allegations. We'll never know, as it turns out the police didn't know either. But they decided to act anyway. As they said to us last month: "It was not our finest hour." No, it really fucking wasn't.
As a result of that, we now have to get a visa to travel to the USA. We have managed to get our DNA, photographs and fingerprints deleted from the central police database, and we have had an apology from the Chief Constable.
It should never have happened.
And the saddest thing, to me at least, is that we no longer trust the police.
But, at least we now have closure, to use a dreadful pseudo-psycholgical term. And as a result, next year will be a good one.
Thank you to all our friends, neighbours and family who got us through what was undoubtedly the worst few months of our lives. Onwards and upwards.
Hurrah.
Happy New Year, everyone. Thank you for reading, commenting and hopefully enjoying spending virtual time with me. Looking forward to the next chapter.
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.
Saturday, 17 April 2010
Lost and found
This is a public service announcement. Were you driving through rural West Wiltshire last night?
If so, did you lose this?
Or this?
Or these?
Does this look at all familiar?
Did you perchance leave these marks on the road?
Did your car make contact with this at high speed, flattening it into the pavement?
If so, please contact me as soon as possible, as I wish to slap you upside the head, you selfish, noisy, police-car-fleeing bastard, whoever you are.
Mr WithaY and I were having a lovely time in the land of the deep and dreamless sleepers, until we were rudely awoken* by the sound of cars being thrashed at high speed through the village. A resounding crash, blue lights flashing through the curtains and continued squealing tyres and engine-gunning ensured that whatever hope either of us had for continuing with our comfy snoozing were dashed.
It was like being in an episode of The Dukes of Hazzard, but without the amusing rednecks** or cute girls in short shorts.
Bastards.
Other news: Today is the lovely Mr WithaY's birthday. Happy birthday, you mad bugger. I love you to bits.
*and not in a fun way
**Wiltshire orcs excepted
If so, did you lose this?
Or these?
Does this look at all familiar?
Did you perchance leave these marks on the road?
Did your car make contact with this at high speed, flattening it into the pavement?
If so, please contact me as soon as possible, as I wish to slap you upside the head, you selfish, noisy, police-car-fleeing bastard, whoever you are.
Mr WithaY and I were having a lovely time in the land of the deep and dreamless sleepers, until we were rudely awoken* by the sound of cars being thrashed at high speed through the village. A resounding crash, blue lights flashing through the curtains and continued squealing tyres and engine-gunning ensured that whatever hope either of us had for continuing with our comfy snoozing were dashed.
It was like being in an episode of The Dukes of Hazzard, but without the amusing rednecks** or cute girls in short shorts.
Bastards.
Other news: Today is the lovely Mr WithaY's birthday. Happy birthday, you mad bugger. I love you to bits.
*and not in a fun way
**Wiltshire orcs excepted
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
Big Brother
Well, this is interesting.
A million or so people on the DNA database who have not committed any offence. Only 377 deletions in 2009. Bloody shameful.
The police can arrest you, take you to the station, fingerprint you, photograph you, take a sample of your DNA, decide they didn't need to arrest you after all, release you, send you on your merry way, and then retain all the photos, fingerprints and DNA samples for 12 years if they arrested you for a serious enough offence.
Then, unless you can make a compelling case to the relevant Chief Constable that the records ought to be deleted, you remain on the database. If you ever encounter another police officer, and they check up on you, there you are.
According to a police officer of my acquaintance, they won't look at your record and assume you were wrongly arrested, and that's how you ended up on the database. No. They will look at your record and assume that you got away with it last time, and then arrest you again.
Because, clearly, you are a criminal. Well, you must be, you're on the database.
Innocent until proven guilty? Hardly.
I know the police have a bloody awful job. That it's dangerous, frightening, tiresome, stressful, complicated, depressing, soul-destroying. I know all that. I wouldn't do their job for ten times what I am currently paid. And I know that the law, and the officers of the law are probably all that stands between civilised society and terrifying violent anarchy. More so in some places than others. I know that.
I just think they need to be a bit more careful about who they arrest, and why. And that they should offer to delete the records immediately and with a good grace when they release people without charge.
It might save a few lawsuits. It might have saved that poor bastard in the news report's life.
Welcome to the future. Every bit as scary and dystopian as I thought it might be.
A million or so people on the DNA database who have not committed any offence. Only 377 deletions in 2009. Bloody shameful.
The police can arrest you, take you to the station, fingerprint you, photograph you, take a sample of your DNA, decide they didn't need to arrest you after all, release you, send you on your merry way, and then retain all the photos, fingerprints and DNA samples for 12 years if they arrested you for a serious enough offence.
Then, unless you can make a compelling case to the relevant Chief Constable that the records ought to be deleted, you remain on the database. If you ever encounter another police officer, and they check up on you, there you are.
According to a police officer of my acquaintance, they won't look at your record and assume you were wrongly arrested, and that's how you ended up on the database. No. They will look at your record and assume that you got away with it last time, and then arrest you again.
Because, clearly, you are a criminal. Well, you must be, you're on the database.
Innocent until proven guilty? Hardly.
I know the police have a bloody awful job. That it's dangerous, frightening, tiresome, stressful, complicated, depressing, soul-destroying. I know all that. I wouldn't do their job for ten times what I am currently paid. And I know that the law, and the officers of the law are probably all that stands between civilised society and terrifying violent anarchy. More so in some places than others. I know that.
I just think they need to be a bit more careful about who they arrest, and why. And that they should offer to delete the records immediately and with a good grace when they release people without charge.
It might save a few lawsuits. It might have saved that poor bastard in the news report's life.
Welcome to the future. Every bit as scary and dystopian as I thought it might be.
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
Hidden agenda
There's been a lot of fuss* in the press this week about a shocking survey which claims that most working mothers only have nine recipes in their regular repertoire.
Even more dreadful, they sometimes cook the same meal on the same night of the week. How do these people live with themselves? Their families must be rending their garments and crying in the wilderness at the pain and woe caused by having the same meal on the same night of the week.
But hang on a minute.
Let's have a think. How do they define "meal" anyway? One of the press pieces I saw covering this scandal listed the "Top Ten Meals." The list included things like "Curry", and "Meat and Two Veg" and "Roast Dinner".
If I was in a restaurant and the menu said "Roast Dinner" I think I'd be asking a few questions. What exactly did you roast? Is it chicken? Pork? Beef? Snake? Cat? A bit more detail would be welcome there, thanks.
The same with Meat and Two Veg. That, to me, covers about four hundred different meals. Especially if you include sausages. Which I do.
Curry. Just look at a menu in any half decent Indian restaurant. If there was just the one entry - Curry - they wouldn't get too many people coming back for a second visit. Unless that one dish was incredibly fantastic, I suppose.
When you look at the actual survey results and the accompanying press release, it transpires that the whole thing emanated from Uncle Ben's.
It seems to be ok to have a small repertoire of meals, as long as some of them include ready-made sauces.
I quote:
"Nutritionist, Juliette Kellow said: ''Parents should feel reassured that kitchen shortcuts like ready-made sauces are the perfect solution to expanding your repertoire with exciting and nutritious meals all the family will love.'' "
But where, oh where can I find a selection of ready-made sauces? Tell me, Uncle Ben!
Gah.
Other news: We have a gardener! Yes, the Servant Question became more complicated today, as we added him to the long list** of people we pay to come and do stuff for us.
He is a very nice chap, and is going to give our poor old gnarly apple tree in the back garden a good hard pruning. He looked at my horrible weedy overgrown flower beds, at the ivy-infested hedge encroaching out across the mossy lawn, at the sad excuse for a vegetable patch, then asked me, "Shall I just come in and do what needs doing when I have time?"
God, yes. Yes. Come over whenever you can, and make my garden look nice. PLEASE.
We've been putting off doing any kind of serious work on the garden because we want to get all the hard landscaping torn up and re-laid, so spending ages on the plants seemed like a waste of time. However, the gradual decline of the garden into a dank, frog-infested, weedy, mossy wilderness has become too depressing, so the very nice gardener is going to help us fix it.
I'm quite excited actually.
We've been living in this house almost 8 years (I think) and have been gradually getting all the serious stuff done - electrics, roof fixing, central heating, replacement windows and doors, bathroom, kitchen, all that, but now the house is more or less finished, so we can turn our attention to the extensive grounds***.
Next Spring could be very lovely. And boy, it's nice having something so pleasant to look forward to after this, The Year of Unmitigated Shit.
On that note, for those of you who have been bored witless by us talking about the SSFH****, we have had an apology. And we are being deleted from the databases. I should fucking well think so.
Maybe one day when I find it all less horrific, traumatic and heartbreaking I will talk about it on here. For now, though, we are trying to move on.
In the meantime, life goes on and we will have flowers in the Spring.
*I've seen two articles
**The hilarious and brilliant cleaners. And I suppose Kevin the Decorator.
***Front and Back gardens. Oh, and the bit on the side. Fnar.
****Shit Storm From Hades
Even more dreadful, they sometimes cook the same meal on the same night of the week. How do these people live with themselves? Their families must be rending their garments and crying in the wilderness at the pain and woe caused by having the same meal on the same night of the week.
But hang on a minute.
Let's have a think. How do they define "meal" anyway? One of the press pieces I saw covering this scandal listed the "Top Ten Meals." The list included things like "Curry", and "Meat and Two Veg" and "Roast Dinner".
If I was in a restaurant and the menu said "Roast Dinner" I think I'd be asking a few questions. What exactly did you roast? Is it chicken? Pork? Beef? Snake? Cat? A bit more detail would be welcome there, thanks.
The same with Meat and Two Veg. That, to me, covers about four hundred different meals. Especially if you include sausages. Which I do.
Curry. Just look at a menu in any half decent Indian restaurant. If there was just the one entry - Curry - they wouldn't get too many people coming back for a second visit. Unless that one dish was incredibly fantastic, I suppose.
When you look at the actual survey results and the accompanying press release, it transpires that the whole thing emanated from Uncle Ben's.
It seems to be ok to have a small repertoire of meals, as long as some of them include ready-made sauces.
I quote:
"Nutritionist, Juliette Kellow said: ''Parents should feel reassured that kitchen shortcuts like ready-made sauces are the perfect solution to expanding your repertoire with exciting and nutritious meals all the family will love.'' "
But where, oh where can I find a selection of ready-made sauces? Tell me, Uncle Ben!
Gah.
Other news: We have a gardener! Yes, the Servant Question became more complicated today, as we added him to the long list** of people we pay to come and do stuff for us.
He is a very nice chap, and is going to give our poor old gnarly apple tree in the back garden a good hard pruning. He looked at my horrible weedy overgrown flower beds, at the ivy-infested hedge encroaching out across the mossy lawn, at the sad excuse for a vegetable patch, then asked me, "Shall I just come in and do what needs doing when I have time?"
God, yes. Yes. Come over whenever you can, and make my garden look nice. PLEASE.
We've been putting off doing any kind of serious work on the garden because we want to get all the hard landscaping torn up and re-laid, so spending ages on the plants seemed like a waste of time. However, the gradual decline of the garden into a dank, frog-infested, weedy, mossy wilderness has become too depressing, so the very nice gardener is going to help us fix it.
I'm quite excited actually.
We've been living in this house almost 8 years (I think) and have been gradually getting all the serious stuff done - electrics, roof fixing, central heating, replacement windows and doors, bathroom, kitchen, all that, but now the house is more or less finished, so we can turn our attention to the extensive grounds***.
Next Spring could be very lovely. And boy, it's nice having something so pleasant to look forward to after this, The Year of Unmitigated Shit.
On that note, for those of you who have been bored witless by us talking about the SSFH****, we have had an apology. And we are being deleted from the databases. I should fucking well think so.
Maybe one day when I find it all less horrific, traumatic and heartbreaking I will talk about it on here. For now, though, we are trying to move on.
In the meantime, life goes on and we will have flowers in the Spring.
*I've seen two articles
**The hilarious and brilliant cleaners. And I suppose Kevin the Decorator.
***Front and Back gardens. Oh, and the bit on the side. Fnar.
****Shit Storm From Hades
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
Mad scientists
Hello! Gosh, look, Wednesday already and I'm only just posting. I'd apologise, but as I know it will happen again it seems redundant.
Let's all just accept that I am posting less than I was, but with no corresponding increase in quality, and leave it at that, shall we? Then we can all get on with our lives.
Today, despite it being one of my "sitting at home and swearing at my laptop" days, I was in London.
Again!
I know!
How much more of this excitement can we stand?
London was looking nice in the sunshine today. And yesterday, when I walked back to Waterloo enjoying the scenery. I took some arty photos, when I am less tired I will upload them and share.
There were more police than I have ever seen in my life around Parliament Square, and when I saw the BBC website about the removal of the Tamil sit-down protest in the small hours, I realised why. It's all been remarkably low-key on the news; I can only assume that the BBC are trying not to raise the profile of the protesters by not mentioning it much.
I was at the Royal Society today, where the door handles are made of magical crystal with DNA helixes (helices? Spiral-type thingies anyway) embedded inside them.
It was an interesting seminar and a fine lunch, and I got to walk back to the office through St James' Park looking at the squirrels and birds. Not half bad.
But now I have to go to bed as I am up at 6 again tomorrow. I will of course have been awake since 4.30 but hey, at least it's light.
Let's all just accept that I am posting less than I was, but with no corresponding increase in quality, and leave it at that, shall we? Then we can all get on with our lives.
Today, despite it being one of my "sitting at home and swearing at my laptop" days, I was in London.
Again!
I know!
How much more of this excitement can we stand?
London was looking nice in the sunshine today. And yesterday, when I walked back to Waterloo enjoying the scenery. I took some arty photos, when I am less tired I will upload them and share.
There were more police than I have ever seen in my life around Parliament Square, and when I saw the BBC website about the removal of the Tamil sit-down protest in the small hours, I realised why. It's all been remarkably low-key on the news; I can only assume that the BBC are trying not to raise the profile of the protesters by not mentioning it much.
I was at the Royal Society today, where the door handles are made of magical crystal with DNA helixes (helices? Spiral-type thingies anyway) embedded inside them.
It was an interesting seminar and a fine lunch, and I got to walk back to the office through St James' Park looking at the squirrels and birds. Not half bad.
But now I have to go to bed as I am up at 6 again tomorrow. I will of course have been awake since 4.30 but hey, at least it's light.
Sunday, 12 April 2009
Captain, I'm sensing claws...
Once again, the police state the bleedin' obvious. To be fair, it is the Berlin police this time , but even so.
My favourite part of the story is the reaction from the police spokesman.
"The woman has proved herself to be careless by jumping into the enclosure," a police spokesman said afterwards. "Logic tells us that polar bears will do this type of thing in this situation."
I like to imagine him sighing deeply, and shaking his head sadly at the woman's carelessness.
My favourite part of the story is the reaction from the police spokesman.
"The woman has proved herself to be careless by jumping into the enclosure," a police spokesman said afterwards. "Logic tells us that polar bears will do this type of thing in this situation."
I like to imagine him sighing deeply, and shaking his head sadly at the woman's carelessness.
Wednesday, 8 April 2009
Tiger feet
Today I am mostly in between mobile phones.
I bit the bullet and got myself a new phone, because my little old Nokia was being erratic about battery charge life. Also, because I am used to the 2-hours-on-the-train-each-way madness now, I need something to amuse myself on the journey.
I have tried reading work stuff, but that can be dull, plus I don't get paid for an extra four hours work a day. I have issues about reading work stuff on trains anyway, because I know I always look at what the person next to me is reading, and I don't really want random strangers knowing what I am up to.
I have tried reading fiction, but I dislike my books getting squashed and bashed around in my rucksack.
I listen to music on my iPod, but that isn't sufficient to keep me entertained.
I have become a bit of a backgammon demon, as I found the game on my phone, and was beating the computer regularly on the Difficult level. However, the final straw came last week when the game threw up numerous javascript errors and failed to load. So. Time for a new phone.
I then ummed and ahhed about getting a little teeny laptop and a dongle to pick up internet access so I could waste yet more of my life on the internet. But I'd still need a phone. And an iPod.
What to do? What to do?
I decided to be a complete techno-geek, and I bought an iPhone. A pay as you go one, I didn't fancy being locked into a contract for two years. I will see how much it costs me per month, and whether it's worth it. The Apps store had better have a backgammon game.
Other news: I got caught up in the Tamil demonstration on Monday evening, which was interesting. I was walking to Waterloo from the office, as it was a nice sunny afternoon, and got to Parliament Square, where there were many, many police riot vans. Also horseshit, which indicated to my fine mind that police horses had recently been in the area.
I kept walking briskly, because I didn't want to miss my train. I knew that if I got stuck on the pedestrian crossings it could take me ten minutes to get round the square and onto Westminster Bridge.
I rounded the corner next to Big Ben, and there were hordes of angry flag-waving Sri Lankans sitting in the road, shouting stuff I couldn't decipher through megaphones. I kept walking, still determined not to miss my train, and ended up having to shoulder* through the crowd quite forcefully, as there were so many of them.
Finally I got to Westminster Bridge, hot, flustered and increasingly grumpy. A tape line was across the bridge, preventing people from crossing it, and many unsmiling policemen stood there.
"You can't cross here " they told me.
I looked at the people walking up and down on the other side of the tape and said "But I need to get to Waterloo station."
"Sorry madam, you must walk down to the next bridge."
So. I had to shoulder my way back through the protesters, down the steps, along the Embankment and across Hungerford Bridge. Took me bloody miles out of my way and meant I missed my train. Gah.
Too much bloody democracy, if you ask me.
Another thing. It is an illegal protest, given that there had been no notice sent to the police. Why, therefore, has it been it allowed to run for three days (and counting)?
*My shoulders, the top of most of their heads - they are quite a petite people, it seems
I bit the bullet and got myself a new phone, because my little old Nokia was being erratic about battery charge life. Also, because I am used to the 2-hours-on-the-train-each-way madness now, I need something to amuse myself on the journey.
I have tried reading work stuff, but that can be dull, plus I don't get paid for an extra four hours work a day. I have issues about reading work stuff on trains anyway, because I know I always look at what the person next to me is reading, and I don't really want random strangers knowing what I am up to.
I have tried reading fiction, but I dislike my books getting squashed and bashed around in my rucksack.
I listen to music on my iPod, but that isn't sufficient to keep me entertained.
I have become a bit of a backgammon demon, as I found the game on my phone, and was beating the computer regularly on the Difficult level. However, the final straw came last week when the game threw up numerous javascript errors and failed to load. So. Time for a new phone.
I then ummed and ahhed about getting a little teeny laptop and a dongle to pick up internet access so I could waste yet more of my life on the internet. But I'd still need a phone. And an iPod.
What to do? What to do?
I decided to be a complete techno-geek, and I bought an iPhone. A pay as you go one, I didn't fancy being locked into a contract for two years. I will see how much it costs me per month, and whether it's worth it. The Apps store had better have a backgammon game.
Other news: I got caught up in the Tamil demonstration on Monday evening, which was interesting. I was walking to Waterloo from the office, as it was a nice sunny afternoon, and got to Parliament Square, where there were many, many police riot vans. Also horseshit, which indicated to my fine mind that police horses had recently been in the area.
I kept walking briskly, because I didn't want to miss my train. I knew that if I got stuck on the pedestrian crossings it could take me ten minutes to get round the square and onto Westminster Bridge.
I rounded the corner next to Big Ben, and there were hordes of angry flag-waving Sri Lankans sitting in the road, shouting stuff I couldn't decipher through megaphones. I kept walking, still determined not to miss my train, and ended up having to shoulder* through the crowd quite forcefully, as there were so many of them.
Finally I got to Westminster Bridge, hot, flustered and increasingly grumpy. A tape line was across the bridge, preventing people from crossing it, and many unsmiling policemen stood there.
"You can't cross here " they told me.
I looked at the people walking up and down on the other side of the tape and said "But I need to get to Waterloo station."
"Sorry madam, you must walk down to the next bridge."
So. I had to shoulder my way back through the protesters, down the steps, along the Embankment and across Hungerford Bridge. Took me bloody miles out of my way and meant I missed my train. Gah.
Too much bloody democracy, if you ask me.
Another thing. It is an illegal protest, given that there had been no notice sent to the police. Why, therefore, has it been it allowed to run for three days (and counting)?
*My shoulders, the top of most of their heads - they are quite a petite people, it seems
Monday, 21 July 2008
Back on the road again
Well, took me an hour and a half to get home from work this evening. A journey of 33 miles, usually do-able in about 45 minutes, given the narrow, tractor-infested, hilly, blind-spot-filled roads I use.
Apart, that is, from the A303 (look on a map, American readers).
That is a fine, dual-carriageway-fied bit of road that allows you to overtake all the tractors, horseboxes, ancient farm trucks and doddery old twats who have been sat in front of you doing 20/30/35 miles an hour for the last 15 miles.
Apparently a truck full of flour had overturned* on the roundabout a few miles further on, so everyone was diverted off the road while the police made flour castles. Or maybe pancakes. I have no idea. They closed the road for bloody hours, anyway.
So, off we all went, through every Army camp in Wiltshire, a million cars nose to tail, various clever dicks doing u-turns in the road to find a different route. Yeah, good luck with that, matey.
After about 40 minutes of inching along, we got through a police traffic control checkpoint, most of the queue headed back to the main road and I continued along the glorious highways and byways of rural Wiltshire.
Well, it was a nice evening.
Other news: Went to Sussex and spent a lovely day with my Mum. We went to the Gribble Inn for lunch, where there was a beer festival with a live band. Hurrah. I had to be a bit guitar-nerdy and go and admire their 12-string**. They gave me their business card so I can email them with more nerdy questions at my leisure.
Also had the opportunity to admire my Eldest Nephew's new motorbike, which is huge. Much bigger than first-time bikes were when I was his age. Just as well, as he must be about 8 feet tall now. Maybe taller.
In case you were wondering, I had written a much longer*** post but bloody Blogger lost it when I tried to upload it. SO you get the condensed and less amusing version. Sozz.
*Been racking my brains for a hilarious "mix up" pun but failed. Be my guest.
**Insert double entendre here
**and funnier
Apart, that is, from the A303 (look on a map, American readers).
That is a fine, dual-carriageway-fied bit of road that allows you to overtake all the tractors, horseboxes, ancient farm trucks and doddery old twats who have been sat in front of you doing 20/30/35 miles an hour for the last 15 miles.
Apparently a truck full of flour had overturned* on the roundabout a few miles further on, so everyone was diverted off the road while the police made flour castles. Or maybe pancakes. I have no idea. They closed the road for bloody hours, anyway.
So, off we all went, through every Army camp in Wiltshire, a million cars nose to tail, various clever dicks doing u-turns in the road to find a different route. Yeah, good luck with that, matey.
After about 40 minutes of inching along, we got through a police traffic control checkpoint, most of the queue headed back to the main road and I continued along the glorious highways and byways of rural Wiltshire.
Well, it was a nice evening.
Other news: Went to Sussex and spent a lovely day with my Mum. We went to the Gribble Inn for lunch, where there was a beer festival with a live band. Hurrah. I had to be a bit guitar-nerdy and go and admire their 12-string**. They gave me their business card so I can email them with more nerdy questions at my leisure.
Also had the opportunity to admire my Eldest Nephew's new motorbike, which is huge. Much bigger than first-time bikes were when I was his age. Just as well, as he must be about 8 feet tall now. Maybe taller.
In case you were wondering, I had written a much longer*** post but bloody Blogger lost it when I tried to upload it. SO you get the condensed and less amusing version. Sozz.
*Been racking my brains for a hilarious "mix up" pun but failed. Be my guest.
**Insert double entendre here
**and funnier
Thursday, 17 July 2008
Inner Dolphins
In a vain attempt to revive my flagging good nature by flooding it with inner dolphins, I went to the gym after work. Bloody hell it was hard.
Also meant I didn't get home till 7pm which is quite late for me.
As I pulled into the drive, Mr WithaY was scampering towards the gate clutching his longbow and a quiver of arrows.
Oh how I wish I was kidding.
He stopped and waited till I got out of the car, and then explained "I'm off to next door's! They've got archery targets in their field!" It was said in the same tone of voice as an excited child might tell you that they are going fishing for tadpoles.
So, off he went to do some archery for a bit while I had some supper and watched repeats of Friends on TV to try and unwind after a frankly crap day in the office. We both had a very nice time, thank you.
Other news: Bloody secret police have been out in force today trapping speeding motorists. I saw two unmarked police cars* in the same village, and then two police speed camera vans within about a three mile stretch of road on the way to work. Must be coming up to Wiltshire's Trapped Speeding Motorists quota time again.
*They had their top secret police lights flashing, which is how I knew what they were. In case you thought I might be psychic. Which I'm not.
Also meant I didn't get home till 7pm which is quite late for me.
As I pulled into the drive, Mr WithaY was scampering towards the gate clutching his longbow and a quiver of arrows.
Oh how I wish I was kidding.
He stopped and waited till I got out of the car, and then explained "I'm off to next door's! They've got archery targets in their field!" It was said in the same tone of voice as an excited child might tell you that they are going fishing for tadpoles.
So, off he went to do some archery for a bit while I had some supper and watched repeats of Friends on TV to try and unwind after a frankly crap day in the office. We both had a very nice time, thank you.
Other news: Bloody secret police have been out in force today trapping speeding motorists. I saw two unmarked police cars* in the same village, and then two police speed camera vans within about a three mile stretch of road on the way to work. Must be coming up to Wiltshire's Trapped Speeding Motorists quota time again.
*They had their top secret police lights flashing, which is how I knew what they were. In case you thought I might be psychic. Which I'm not.
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
Trolls
I have decided that Wiltshire is a long-forgotten part of the evil Saruman's realm, and that there is some kind of subsidiary orc/troll/gnome spawning facility here, probably in Trowbridge.
Today I have mostly been on the train.
For what seems like days and days and days and days. Surrounded by slack-jawed, vacant-eyed, potato-headed, mouth-breathing meatbags. Eating pasties, the bastards.
Today's additional travel adventure meant we were delayed by 35 minutes at Bristol Parkway while the British Transport Police dealt with an "incident" on the train.
Fuck knows what. Maybe it was a teenager who was listening to his iPod too loudly. Or a commuter who was downloading unsuitable material onto his BlackBerry. I have no idea. They didn't tell us any of the interesting details.
So, we were squashed in like ugly, overweight sardines for an extra half an hour or more, staring at each others' newspapers and books, pretending we weren't.
God I hate trains.
Today I have mostly been on the train.
For what seems like days and days and days and days. Surrounded by slack-jawed, vacant-eyed, potato-headed, mouth-breathing meatbags. Eating pasties, the bastards.
Today's additional travel adventure meant we were delayed by 35 minutes at Bristol Parkway while the British Transport Police dealt with an "incident" on the train.
Fuck knows what. Maybe it was a teenager who was listening to his iPod too loudly. Or a commuter who was downloading unsuitable material onto his BlackBerry. I have no idea. They didn't tell us any of the interesting details.
So, we were squashed in like ugly, overweight sardines for an extra half an hour or more, staring at each others' newspapers and books, pretending we weren't.
God I hate trains.
Sunday, 16 September 2007
Catching up
Am enjoying a very lazy weekend. In fact, am still in my dressing gown and slippers as we speak, waiting for the dishwasher to finish so I can go and have a shower. Ah, life chez WithaY. Always something interesting going on.
So, what's new since I was last here?
Well, went to the gym after work on Thursday and ran (yes RAN*) on the cross trainer for a bit. A first for me, and I was bloody delighted, I can tell you.
ACDC are superb to listen to in the gym, they really are.
Mr WithaY was away Thursday night up in Skegness, so I enjoyed a quiet night in, and a quiet day at home on Friday drafting a presentation for next week. Mr WithaY rang to tell me he'd not be home till about 8.
Interesting how different people view the same conversation. To me, that call went like this:
Mr W: Just called to let you know I will be home about 8. (unspoken but obvious dialogue in my head: "So we'll eat the lovely venison chilli you're cooking after I get home. Mmmm, looking forward to that, you domestic goddess you.")
Me: Ok, see you later, have a good trip. (Ditto, in Mr W's head: "Excellent. I'll wait till you get home before eating, so we can enjoy a meal together and you can tell me all about your trip.")
Mr W: See you later then.
But no. The unspoken dialogue in his head was very different:
Mr W: Just called to let you know I will be home about 8. (unspoken but obvious dialogue in my head: "So we'll eat the lovely venison chilli you're cooking after I get home. Mmmm, looking forward to that, you domestci goddess you."
Me: Ok, see you later, have a good trip. (Ditto, in Mr W's head: "So you eat your supper as soon as you like because I had a sandwich on the road and am going to the pub when I get home. Hurrah!")
Mr W: See you later then.
So. I stayed in and ate chilli and watched Priscilla Queen of the Desert. Mr WithaY "nipped out for a quick one" and rolled in at 1am, pissed and giggly.
Tch.
Saturday was the big Day of Reckoning in the wardrobe. I dragged out a huge pile of clothes that for one reason or another don't get worn. I was quite strict. Basically if I couldn't remember the last time I wore something, or knew it didn't make me feel good when I wore it, out it went. So I now have a lot of space.
On the plus side I found several things I'd forgotten I had, which I will keep.
Stayed up late late, late, last night watching the first 6 episodes of Heroes, which I'd managed to miss to date. Blimey it was entertaining.
Sadly the next 3 episodes are on late tonight, which means I wil probably have to miss at least one of them as it's a school night.
Big excitement on Friday evening in the village. Was sat here with all the windows open, it being a warm day, and I heard a load of yelling and shouting outside.
Looked out (as you do) but all I could see was a big bloke sitting on next door's front garden wall, and a couple of cars stopped in the road. I assumed it was just some eejits messing about, and went back to my lawful business.
But no, the yelling and screaming went on, and I could hear a couple of guys shouting "Calm down! Calm down!" over and over. So I went to another room (with a better vantage point) and looked again. The bloke who was sitting on the wall was in fact helping to hold down a young lad who was lying on the pavement, while a couple of other blokes did the same.
More and more people joined the throng, and inevitably, after a litle while the police arrived, handcuffed the young bloke, bundled him into their car and sped off into the sunset. No idea what was going on, but it livened up my afternoon no end.
Off to an afternoon party in a bit. Better go and make myself look respectable.
*slowly, mind
So, what's new since I was last here?
Well, went to the gym after work on Thursday and ran (yes RAN*) on the cross trainer for a bit. A first for me, and I was bloody delighted, I can tell you.
ACDC are superb to listen to in the gym, they really are.
Mr WithaY was away Thursday night up in Skegness, so I enjoyed a quiet night in, and a quiet day at home on Friday drafting a presentation for next week. Mr WithaY rang to tell me he'd not be home till about 8.
Interesting how different people view the same conversation. To me, that call went like this:
Mr W: Just called to let you know I will be home about 8. (unspoken but obvious dialogue in my head: "So we'll eat the lovely venison chilli you're cooking after I get home. Mmmm, looking forward to that, you domestic goddess you.")
Me: Ok, see you later, have a good trip. (Ditto, in Mr W's head: "Excellent. I'll wait till you get home before eating, so we can enjoy a meal together and you can tell me all about your trip.")
Mr W: See you later then.
But no. The unspoken dialogue in his head was very different:
Mr W: Just called to let you know I will be home about 8. (unspoken but obvious dialogue in my head: "So we'll eat the lovely venison chilli you're cooking after I get home. Mmmm, looking forward to that, you domestci goddess you."
Me: Ok, see you later, have a good trip. (Ditto, in Mr W's head: "So you eat your supper as soon as you like because I had a sandwich on the road and am going to the pub when I get home. Hurrah!")
Mr W: See you later then.
So. I stayed in and ate chilli and watched Priscilla Queen of the Desert. Mr WithaY "nipped out for a quick one" and rolled in at 1am, pissed and giggly.
Tch.
Saturday was the big Day of Reckoning in the wardrobe. I dragged out a huge pile of clothes that for one reason or another don't get worn. I was quite strict. Basically if I couldn't remember the last time I wore something, or knew it didn't make me feel good when I wore it, out it went. So I now have a lot of space.
On the plus side I found several things I'd forgotten I had, which I will keep.
Stayed up late late, late, last night watching the first 6 episodes of Heroes, which I'd managed to miss to date. Blimey it was entertaining.
Sadly the next 3 episodes are on late tonight, which means I wil probably have to miss at least one of them as it's a school night.
Big excitement on Friday evening in the village. Was sat here with all the windows open, it being a warm day, and I heard a load of yelling and shouting outside.
Looked out (as you do) but all I could see was a big bloke sitting on next door's front garden wall, and a couple of cars stopped in the road. I assumed it was just some eejits messing about, and went back to my lawful business.
But no, the yelling and screaming went on, and I could hear a couple of guys shouting "Calm down! Calm down!" over and over. So I went to another room (with a better vantage point) and looked again. The bloke who was sitting on the wall was in fact helping to hold down a young lad who was lying on the pavement, while a couple of other blokes did the same.
More and more people joined the throng, and inevitably, after a litle while the police arrived, handcuffed the young bloke, bundled him into their car and sped off into the sunset. No idea what was going on, but it livened up my afternoon no end.
Off to an afternoon party in a bit. Better go and make myself look respectable.
*slowly, mind
Monday, 9 April 2007
Missing
I realised last night that it has been a few days since my last blog entry, so thought I'd spend some time today catching up. I have been busy setting up my funky new Blogspot page (http://livesbythewoods.blogspot.com/) which has been quite entertaining. It's basically a mirror of this blog, but with a few links and things added to sites I like. I am too thick to work out how to do that on MySpace. I also hadn't realised until fairly recently that unless other people have a MySpace account they can't see my blog, which seems unfair to those who choose not to sign up to the service. Deprived of my life story! Cruel!
What else? Been off work since Thursday which has been bloody fantastic. Went to see my Mum on Friday, and as a bonus also saw both my sisters and 4 of the 6 nieces and nephews. All seem well and happy, which was lovely. We didn't do a lot; spent much of the day drinking cups of tea and chatting, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I then scooted back up the M3 to my mate's house, on the way to which I suspect I may have picked up a speeding ticket. There was a sneaky police speed trap van in a layby which I only saw as I went tanking past at the last minute. Ah well, it's a fair cop.
Saturday was spent mostly hanging around at my mate's house, drinking tea and making each other laugh a bit. I then pottered back home via the fantastic organic pig place to pick up Mr WithaY's "surprise" birthday present. It's a little model of a German Short-Haired Pointer made of wire which I comissioned. I am an art parton! Hurrah! It's absolutely lovely, and he is very pleased with it. The lady who made it has a wide variety of wire animals there, all really cleverly and accurately made. Apparently she's a retired zoologist so understands how animals fit together I suppose. Anyway, if you need a wire 3-D animal, go to the Ginger Piggery and have a look in the barn.
Yesterday (Easter Sunday) we went out visiting family, and ended up staying out till quite late. Mr WithaY's dad is in hospital at the moment so we went to see him for a while. The nurses came round with cups of tea, and also gave him an Easter egg which I thought was kind of them. After we left there we drove down to visit Mr WithaY's uncle and aunt, and they very kindly asked us to stay for dinner, so it was after 9 when we got home.
A very sociable day, beautiful weather, glorious Dorset and Wiltshire countryside, not too many idiots on the road (apart from us, obviously). We then devoured my Green and Black's Easter egg whilst watching "Zoolander" on TV in the evening. Great.
Mr WithaY is a bit grumpy today because his PC is buggered. He had a repeating error message saying one of his .dll files (?) was corrupt, so tried to fix the problem. As a result of his fixing efforts he now needs to get the whole operating system reloaded. And of course the computer shop is closed today, it being a Bank Holiday. He is therefore wandering about, sighing and looking sad...no WW2 submarine warfare for him today.
I had the great pleasure of being able to teach someone how to do some stuff on a guitar they didn't know how to do yesterday. I know I am still very much a learner myself, but it is gratifying to be able to show somebody how to do a little riff or scale or something and have them go "Oh wow!" when they get it.
And I'm off work tomorrow as well. Excellent. Could today get any better? Well, I suppose someone could turn up on the doorstep with a huge sack of cash and an amusing clock for me, but otherwise, no, not really.
Currently Listening : Sixteen Stone By Bush
What else? Been off work since Thursday which has been bloody fantastic. Went to see my Mum on Friday, and as a bonus also saw both my sisters and 4 of the 6 nieces and nephews. All seem well and happy, which was lovely. We didn't do a lot; spent much of the day drinking cups of tea and chatting, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I then scooted back up the M3 to my mate's house, on the way to which I suspect I may have picked up a speeding ticket. There was a sneaky police speed trap van in a layby which I only saw as I went tanking past at the last minute. Ah well, it's a fair cop.
Saturday was spent mostly hanging around at my mate's house, drinking tea and making each other laugh a bit. I then pottered back home via the fantastic organic pig place to pick up Mr WithaY's "surprise" birthday present. It's a little model of a German Short-Haired Pointer made of wire which I comissioned. I am an art parton! Hurrah! It's absolutely lovely, and he is very pleased with it. The lady who made it has a wide variety of wire animals there, all really cleverly and accurately made. Apparently she's a retired zoologist so understands how animals fit together I suppose. Anyway, if you need a wire 3-D animal, go to the Ginger Piggery and have a look in the barn.
Yesterday (Easter Sunday) we went out visiting family, and ended up staying out till quite late. Mr WithaY's dad is in hospital at the moment so we went to see him for a while. The nurses came round with cups of tea, and also gave him an Easter egg which I thought was kind of them. After we left there we drove down to visit Mr WithaY's uncle and aunt, and they very kindly asked us to stay for dinner, so it was after 9 when we got home.
A very sociable day, beautiful weather, glorious Dorset and Wiltshire countryside, not too many idiots on the road (apart from us, obviously). We then devoured my Green and Black's Easter egg whilst watching "Zoolander" on TV in the evening. Great.
Mr WithaY is a bit grumpy today because his PC is buggered. He had a repeating error message saying one of his .dll files (?) was corrupt, so tried to fix the problem. As a result of his fixing efforts he now needs to get the whole operating system reloaded. And of course the computer shop is closed today, it being a Bank Holiday. He is therefore wandering about, sighing and looking sad...no WW2 submarine warfare for him today.
I had the great pleasure of being able to teach someone how to do some stuff on a guitar they didn't know how to do yesterday. I know I am still very much a learner myself, but it is gratifying to be able to show somebody how to do a little riff or scale or something and have them go "Oh wow!" when they get it.
And I'm off work tomorrow as well. Excellent. Could today get any better? Well, I suppose someone could turn up on the doorstep with a huge sack of cash and an amusing clock for me, but otherwise, no, not really.
Currently Listening : Sixteen Stone By Bush
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