Phone call from Geraldine

Well it has to happen every now and again.  Yep, an unsolicited phone call from a service provider who states they can undercut the cost of the widgets you are presently getting from your current service provider.  Now how do you react?  Well put the phone down on them, deny you are the person they have asked for, say that person left weeks ago and you have never heard or seen of them, continue the phone call and string them along, because after all it has been quite a boring evening, there's not much on the telly and you have time to spare. Guess what I did?  Yep, I took the last option.  With the resolve I will change the service provider who has rang me on an unsolicited phone call as soon as I can get my apathetic arse out of my chair.

I spoke to a Geraldine, who was ringing from South Africa.  I said firstly I didn't believe her name was Geraldine, she said she was originally from India but now as in South Africa.  Geraldine went on to advise me I could save a lot on my telephone calls if I were to change to her service provider's package.  I asked her how she knew this and she went on to quote how much it was I was being charged for my phone package.  Which although a little disturbing it is probably quite easily available finding out what the standing charge line rental is for any phone company.  I then asked her how she could possibly know I would save money in consideration of the phone calls I make and the present package I was on.  I don't know if Geraldine was born on a different planet let alone call plan package but she persisted to talk about the standing charge.  I said OK Geraldine, what if I find my phone bill with you is actually more expensive than the present phone bill I have, would you allow me to instantly change back to my previous provider?  She was a little unsure of her answer her.  I think I had her on the ropes for a moment.  But there is no stopping a fast talking unsolicited caller.  They have only one thing in mind and that is to get the sale.  I had only one thing in mind, keep them talking and waste their precious time because all the time Geraldine is talking to me she can't persuade some other unsuspecting sap.  So Geraldine continued quoting how much the provider she represented charged, she then went on to another tact as I was showing a little bitty bit of interest.  Geraldine asked me if I would ask some security questions.  Brilliant I thought.  Why should you ask me security questions I asked Geraldine when you are the one who rang me up?  She seemed to understand this, but again her fast moving jaw dropped a comment about the Data Protection Act.   Great.  So I asked what data protection act Geraldine was referring to, was this the 1984 Act or the  1998 Act?  Geraldine hadn't a clue.  I also asked being that she was in South Africa did these Acts actually apply to her?  She said they did.  Again I asked her what she knew about these acts.  For a millisecond the fast talking phone rep had a pause.  It was quite clear she didn't have a bloody clue.  Her next tact was to get out of the conversation by stating if I was unable to answer the security questions then she would have to terminate the call.  I had at last hit the bloody jackpot.  The call didn't last much longer.  I thanked Geraldine for her phone call, wondered whether I should get a stop watch for the next unsolicited call and see how long I could string them along.  How long I could make their life hell for ringing me up when I didn't want, ask or need them to talk to me.  The conversation still hadn't lasted long enough for my liking, I really have got to learn to keep them strung along a bit more.

I can only wonder if there is an Olympic medal for keeping unsolicited telephone reps on the phone for as long as possible.  For the best delaying tactics.  Hmm, I could of said I needed to take a pan of boiling milk off the stove and put down the phone for a moment, but then it would of given Geraldine a chance to close the call and let someone else take it as soon as I picked up the phone again.  On the other hand I may have just talked myself out of saving a few pennies.  What a bloody shame it would of been.

Geraldine, if you are reading this give me another call, you might of had a point or two, but I just need to clarify a couple of things, hold on, some one's at the door, don't go away now...

Passport in a jiff

I had to pop home from the Fish Factory at lunch time.  The postman had been and there was an envelope from the passport people.  The ones who allow you to go on holiday only if your passport is valid.  I'd hardly used my old passport and it seemed a shame but these things have to be renewed.  So about a week ago I sent of the application form with a cheque payment.  Looking at the little envelope there was only one thought in mind, it was too soon and what the hell had I done wrong on the application form?

The application form was a nightmare to complete.  It was because of the little booklet which came with it, the instruction guide which was 24 pages long.  Being a renewal and not a new passport appeared to be the easiest passport to apply for.  However, it didn't stop me from reading through the 24 page booklet of gobbledygook.  A booklet which is designed to cause the most confident person in the world to doubt their own abilities.  The thing was it just simply had not been designed for someone to understand.  It would probably of been easier to understand were it in a different language.  Even on google now it is possible to get translation software.  As I read through the pages of this guide they didn't seem to quite differentiate from one kind of passport to another.  It was as though the applicant could just flick the pages over and then stab it, while blind folded with a drawing pin.  Then to use the page and section the pin had pierced as guidance.  I might of lost my marbles, but knew I was not going to let the bloody thing get the better of me.  I would get through it.  In addition I wasn't going to pay the bloody Post Office my hard earned spondulies just so they could check over the form to see if I had filled it in properly.  For the Post Office it was the easiest £20 quid they could make.  Hell, I could now stand outside a Post Office and check passport applications and charge them half the price they were charging.  It's a way of shafting the public, especially as they make you have to cue up to get a passport application, just so they can then try the hard sell checking service. 

At this point before I opened the letter I was regretting taking the decision to go DIY on my own passport application form.  In fear the image of my old passport with a note saying the application was incorrect, no signature, wrong part completed, photo's not authorised and something wrong had happened, then I would have to re-apply.  Tearing open the package a brand new passport stared me in the face, amazement and happiness all at once came over me.  And the question of whether I could of had an even better picture taken.  It had been done, yes!  No problem.  Right this moment I could strut my stuff around the front room doing a chicken dance and sticking two fingers up to the Post Office.  No checking service for me because I don't fit in the thicko category, so stick it in your pipe and smoke it.  Yes!  I can now go around the world and see places, do things, and then write little post cards with wish you were here messages.  All curtisy of the Post Office.  Well they are good for something.

A sharp intake of shaving foam

I didn't shave yesterday.  It was the Bank Holiday Monday apathy thing.  An extra day off nothing to do or plenty to do and no motivation.  Which consequently led to not shaving.  Why shave when you don't have to, once in a while it is good to miss the sharp end of a razor.  The result being this morning there was twice as much stubble which needed removing.  Not too long, but definitely a reminder why I do shave and maybe I should of shaved.  Anyway.  To help cope with this extra bit of shearing or scraping, I put a little more shaving foam on my face.  Lathered it up into about a centimetre thick, way too much, got a nice bowl of hot water and began to take it away.  For a moment I thought I had a cold.  At this point I took a slightly sharper intake of breath than the usual calm morning intake.  In just a moment shaving foam had reached the back of my nose and began to trickle down my throat.  I could taste it.  Being a cheap foam I think they must of been a bit frugal with the soap element as it really didn't taste too bad at all.  I mean it didn't make me feel like I was going to vomit even though I had just eaten breakfast.  By the way, before I ate brekky I had a glass of water, which apparently is one method of sating appetite.  Unless of course it was the extra water which stopped a soap flavour from becoming overbearing.  The moral of the story is.  Don't breath in deeply when shaving, stay calm and collected.

As for those anonymous phone calls a good cure for that would be a face full of shaving foam, an expensive shaving foam at that.

An Extra Day

It has been a long time since I saw Sparkling.  I usually get to see her every 5 or so weeks.  It's like I have to have a booster of Sparkling.  Not seeing her makes me unhappy and I then wonder whether it is all worth it.  In addition it seems I am going through some kind of hormonal thing.  Being unable at time to control my feelings.  Such as my earlier BLOG about listening to music, Steph Stevenson.  Well right this minute I'm checking out some old reggae music, real old reggae music.  OK had enough turned it off.  Well I was listening to it but turned it off.  Off.  I don't get much of a chance to speak to Sparkles because of our working days.  Mine starts when Sparkles is usually catching up with her sleep, if she's had the chance.  Then just about the time I'm finishing work she is starting it.  We pass each other and communicate mostly in text messages, then maybe one day or two if I'm lucky in the week I get to chat to her.  As the saying goes.  Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it certainly does where loved ones are involved.

It's a bank holiday Monday.  I got on my bike and had a good cycle today.  It was for a purpose, for a little shopping.  But as an extra day off from the Fish Factory it has felt like a welcome break, actually quite relaxing.  I should of got outside and done a bit of painting as well.  But that will have to wait a little bit more. I certainly have enjoyed the break from everything.  What one day can do is remarkable.  I bought two pairs of dress trousers for the Fish Factory and a shirt.  There was also a cheap tie going.  Being as I liked the look of it, I got that as well. This afternoon like clockwork, while the telly was on I laid back my head in the chair and dozed off.  This has now become my new talent.  I've even done it at lunchtimes before.  I went to a nice bench ate my sandwiches, finished a bottle of juice, then let my head rest on my chest and closed my eyes.  I had about 15 minutes of power napping in the sun.  It was very relaxing actually.  I wonder if other people have this talent besides me.  I'm sure some do.  The stronger the ability the more able you are to switch it on when and wherever you want.  I hope it isn't some kind of sleep disorder.  Maybe it's the age thing again.  The thing you can not get away from.  It's like a piece of recalcitrant chewing gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe.  No matter how much you scrape at the sole it still feels sticky when you walk.  It's hanging around.  Yep, that's what age is.  Some stubborn old chewing gum.

Yes the extra day has been very nice.  Wish I could of had a chat with Sparkles, oh well, we'll catch up soon, as I'll be heading up there again in the next few weeks.  See you then Sparkles.

Going for a walk

I think all the food and my unhealthy feeling got to me this evening.  So much I had to go for a walk.  It took about 40 minutes, but I strode with purpose.  The light had just faded to say autumn is well on it's way.  I texted Sparkling and asked if she'd like a chat.  I couldn't remember if she was working or not.  A few  minutes later my phone rang while I was in mid stride.  It was wonderful to hear Sparkling and to communicate with her.  Then for some reason as I was walking and talking at the same time my breath shortened and I breathed heavier.  I was a heavy breather in the real sense.  It must be with the extra couple of stone I'm carrying around my waist.  If only it would drop off, but that sort of thing never does.  There wasn't a great deal of time to chat as Sparkles was waiting on Rock Chick coming out of her work.  Rock Chick did and immediately demanded they get a move on.  Well, Sparkles wasn't going to drive and chat at the same time.  Rock had to get home, it didn't matter Sparkles and I hadn't really chatted for a few days, because of Rock's needed to get home and her personal chauffeur was to put the peddle to the metal.  It was a shame.  One reason why is because I had to walk past a chip shop and chatting to Sparkles would of been an additional distraction.  Fortunately I was on the other side of the road and the aroma of salt and vinegar didn't waft in my direction.  I had managed to save myself from about a thousand calories.  Unfortunately eating a couple of chocolate biscuits earlier probably counter balanced the 40 minutes of exercise.  I now have it in mind to try and do a little bit of exercise each day.  Just something small but effective to know I've nearly built up a sweat.

So tomorrow I'll go for another exercise.  Another walk, and maybe if I am lucky, just maybe not eat a chocolate biscuit before I do.  Well as one of my favourite sayings goes.  How do you eat an elephant?  A little bit at a time.  Not the whole bloody lot fatboy.

Not so bright today

It seems I get fatter every day.  I'm now getting really fed up with it.  I am so missing Sparkling Eyes, I didn't get to chat to her yesterday and now I'm not a bright spark.  Perhaps I should walk all the way to Scotland, then I'll lose weight and get to see Sparkling.  Perhaps I'll then stop calling myself the little fat man.   Oh food, food what am I going to do about you? 

Stop eating Chinese, biscuits, donuts, crisps, sweets, carbohydrates then whistle a happy tune you wholly.

Touched by music - Steph Stephenson

Every once in a while I find listening to music does something emotionally to me.  If I really like the music even if it is the first time I have heard it, I am moved.  I don't know what it is and there's no controlling it.  My eyes can well up, the song may not be sad, I just know there is something special.  So when I logged onto YouTube for no particular reason I had a pleasant surprise.  YouTube's front page recommendations are things I normally skip, at least 99 per cent of the time.  Yet not always.  This was the not always 1 per cent occasion and I'm happy I didn't.  I sat an listened to a short music video by a singer called Steph Stephenson.  It looks like she had made the video herself, she performed it, sang it and I am sure wrote the music as well.  It is unique and wonderful to hear.  The song was The Girl Who Has Everything.  I liked the lyrics, the tempo the guitar music, a touch rough but bloody good going.  I couldn't help myself so and followed an impulse to listen to all her other songs.  The more I listened the more I liked them.  She has talent.  She is not a big star, just someone who has done a bit here and a bit there, but the ingredients are all present.  With all the wanabes out there who just want five minutes of fame, here is a girl who sings because she loves it.  So I'm asking whoever you are who reads this BLOG go and check out Step Stephenson on YouTube, give her a thumbs up and if you like her a lot buy the tracks.  I'd like to say her music should go viral, but it's not for me to dictate, except in my own way with the handful of people who read my BLOGs.  What a voice she has, what more could you want.  Like an advert on TV, It does what it says on the tin.

One song Steph sang was Tracey Chapman's Fast Car.  I sat listening and in just a moment found my eyes welling up.  It could be a hormonal thing kicking in.  Age.  Or maybe some latent emotional genes which are really kicking in and hitting me like a baseball bat.  Bloody lucky I am a bloke and not a Shirley.  Hell I'd be having some kind of emotional life crisis, being a grumpy old man though I can't.  I just can't.  GOMs don't have emotionally charged crazy rampant don't know anything and but love the world and everything in it turmoils.  Bollocks.  This one does.  It is called being human.  Hell, this is happening more frequently in my life than I would like to admit.  Especially when I am in the vicinity of Sparkling Eyes, I just let rip.  Maybe I'm just being moved a lot, maybe sometimes the secrets of life really are not secrets at all.  They are there and open for the entire world to see, to feel, to hear but blinkers get in the way.  Which has got to be it.  I've left my blinkers on the side board, or keep forgetting them.  There can't be any other reason.  It's just the way it is.  Bloody age again.  Just keep me away from the padded cells and men in white.

A new passport picture

I got a new passport picture yesterday.  Rather than using one of the boxes, where you drop coins in and it then makes you look like a convict I went into a shop where a real person took a photograph, with a real camera.  I noticed the lighting was a lot different.  This time I kept my glasses on even though I was asked to remove them.  The photo is definitely much better.  The only problem is I have an odd looking set of lips.  They are neither a smile nor are they a frown.  I think it was my attempt at not looking like a grumpy old man when the picture was taken, but knowing I definitely would not be allowed to smile.  The cruel thing is only recently I saw a passport where the individual had a big happy smile on their face.  How on earth did they get away without it not being rejected I don't know.  Maybe they only reject grump old men trying to look happy but not quite pulling it off.  Hence the pedantry with rules.  Maybe they were only made for my sort.  Bollocks.

A Fox, whale tickling and a squirrel

Yesterday I began the task of stripping a set of windows, three in all and painting them.  It seemed to take forever.  Even with the help of Layabout lad it took ages.  He wasn't particularly efficient and he has worse breathing problems than I do.  After each stint of being up the ladder he came down panting and exhausted, after which he had to have a fag.  As if inhaling smoke would somehow help his breathing and make him any better.  More than ironic.  During the day I saw a fox.  A bloody big fox, run through the garden.  It was timid and looked about as if he was on camera and was doing his best not to be photographed.  Obviously this fox had a run in with the paparazzi.  It must of been when he was on a date with Lady Gaga.  Lucky young fox.

In the evening I had a good long hot soak in a bath, but I don't know why my muscles are still killing me.  A text came through from Sparkling Eyes she to had just finished work and was exhausted.  Ten straight hours with only a cup of tea to keep her going.  She just so happened to be watching TV, it was a BBC documentary about whales and other large sea mammals.  On her advice I quickly went to the web site and began to watch it as well.  They were such wonderful giant graceful creatures.  A little dingy boat when out to the sea at one point with sightseers on it.  They were able to touch the whales, and tickle them.  Sparkling said to me she wanted to tickle a whale, and we should go on holiday where she could tickle a whale, but it should not be Iceland.  For Iceland was too cold.  It had to be somewhere hot.  The she said it had to be in a bigger boat then the one the people were in.  Because it looked too small and like it was going to tip at any minute as tourists all pressed to one side in order for some whale tickling.  I tried t explain they probably didn't have any bigger boats.  It didn't matter, because Sparkling wanted to tickle whales and we were now in the throws of a conversation about my getting a passport and again if I didn't get it she would go without me.  I was being well and truly warned and it was all my fault.

This morning during breakfast I let the cat out, or rather kicked him out with a tea towel as he is a reluctant outdoor cat.  Five minutes later he came scampering in like he had seen a ghost.  I went out to have a look and there running across the garages was a squirrel.  And I don't have a shot gun.  Just when you need one you don't have one.  Mind I'm sure I would get carted away if I did have one and started waving it, quite rightly at vermin.  What do I do?  I'm sure he has got into the roof.  And with our brick walls it's easy for a squirrel to go anywhere.  They are like the James Bond of the vermin world.  They can go anywhere they like.  No wonder I haven't heard the magpies in a while.  They must of moved on.  I know they are the only bird I have seen to attack squirrels and drive them away.  I just don't know what to do.  There's no such thing as a squirrel trap, or is there.  I'll have to do some research on them.  See if there is something I can find out, some way to dissuade them.  I suppose I could always hide their nuts.  Ouch.  Well it was an attempt at humour.  Could be worse, I could show them I am nuts.

Google goes to the Jungle

At one time in history the world was an unknown place.  Where early Victorian explorers could find money from fellow rich Victorians and sponsor their treks around the world.  Such adventures were then documented in all the European newspapers, especially at the great and wonderful discoveries made.  The Victorians then would pilfer the treasures of Africa or India for example, and put them into museums.  This was a sign of their greatness how they saw themselves.  But let this not blind people to the reality.  These Victorians were a class of society separate from the normal working man.  They were from the upper classes whereas the working classes could barely make ends meet.  Which does kind of piss off most of the working class people when citizens of a plundered country generalise to the whole of Great Britain.  Certainly non of my relatives have ever been on such trips.  So we all get tarred with the same brush.  As there was more and more learnt about the world it no longer became some big adventure, technology helped a lot in this respect as the invention of air travel in turn led to the package holiday.  Europe is not a mystery and the mapping of streets from a Google car has made every road open to being viewed.  Only the most enduring feral places which do not have long term human residence are unmapped.  Until now.

This morning's news had an item about google in the jungle.  The Amazon.  They have now rigged up a large heavy camera which can be trekked through the jungle.  However, being pretty heavy it does require a few strong men to help lift it off the boat when it lands off some inlet from the Amazon.  The mobility issues is a real problem because it means they can not actually go everywhere.  They will pick and chose special treks.  Or rather available and well trodden treks.  After all you really don't want to get your machete out every two or three yards to cut down jungle for a decent picture.   This could also lead to places of the Amazon becoming open and available to ordinary holiday makers.

Acme inc (fictitious holiday company) already has a line up of several planners waiting to see the jungle camera view.  They have proposals of riverside apartments on the Amazon.  These will of course be on stilts or concrete pillars, they will also have to chop down a little bit of forest to allow for aeroplanes and helicopters.  Not to mention the most useful method of travel which will be by boat.  A contract is already being drawn up with a local pygmy tribe to man these boats and take the new owners of these apartments up or down stream.  Except nobody has yet realised Pygmies are a small tribe and their boats are small as well.  This may cause a little difficulty with some of the fatter Europeans.  So presently they are looking for rich anorexic short Europeans.  Their plans are still on the drawing board as Acme Inc has not yet had any enquiries through their web site.  They haven't yet got round the issue of building a swimming pool.  Health and safety wise there are murmurs of what would happen if a croc or some large snake were to take a dip at the same time as an appartment resident.  So they are playing with high doses of chlorine to see if this will dissuade the local wildlife from adventuring into swimming pools.  One likely suggestion is to have a local sit on a high chair with a blow pipe.  This will provide much needed employment opportunities to the pygmy's who are only just realising there is more to life than just putting a bone through your nose.  Mind there is caution they do not want barriatric sight seers being mistaken for hippopotamus and darted in error.  In an earlier expedition the Pygmies had inadvertently captured one of the google expeditions (prior to the beads-can-buy-anything negotiations) and found out the use of the Apple Tablet after appropriating it.  When it stopped glowing and giving of light images it made a wonderful chopping board.  Google is investing more into jungle level street view as they believe the world could change and give pygmies greater opportunities.  However, there is a suspicion this was because one of their chief executives had married 5 pygmy brides in the last two months.   He is now being sort by several tribal members, because polygamy is seen as wise, not any man can put up with five wives.

Of course there have been some protestations.  The international Wildlife Fund, believe crocks could be pushed to extinction.  Acme Inc's biggest rival MicroMe Corp (not to be confused with MicroSoft) as MicroMewatch this space.

I suppose it has to be accepted the world is changing.  Google seems to be leading the way on this. I have made enquiries in the background whether there are some upper class British aristocrats oiling the cogs.  The reply has been no, they are an equal opportunities employer nowadays and as the cogs on their wheels are pretty low down, yes, you got it.  Pygmies are now the preferred assistance.

Sleeping on my back and scarey spiders

I noticed this morning, probably more than before, how I had slept on my back.  This is something I never used to do.  It has crept up in the last 10 years becoming more frequent.  My breathing pattern has also changed.  Breaths are shorter and inhaled into the lungs rather long drawn ones inhaled downwards towards the diaphragm.  This probably come about through a more sedentary lifestyle.  Less getting out there and running, cycling or hitting the gym.  It's like getting hot sweaty and worn out just doesn't excite me as much as sitting in front of a TV and watching a film.  It could of course all be a factor of aging, or it could be pure lazyitus.  So sleeping on my back which used to once feel very alien and odd is more of a natural thing to do.  Weird.  Though possibly a fear I used to have also played it's little part.  The thought if I let myself sleep on my back my tongue might slip back into my throat and block my airways then I'd die of suffocation.  This may seem out of the ordinary but it is a very true conscientious fear I had.  I'm sure there is probably a name for this phobia.  So besides not doing enough exercise it could be I have overcome a fear and cured myself of it by getting older and fatter.  Well there is something to be said for being a short fat man then.  I have become fearless.  Well lets not over exaggerate, just fearless with sleeping on my back, nothing else.  Spiders and other creepy crawly things are still there.  But rather than flinch from them I force myself not to be a scaredy cat.  The thought has now occurred to me what would happen if a spider climbed on my face and into my mouth or over my nose while sleeping on my back.  What if it then spun a web?  I'd possibly suffocate again.  I knew I shouldn't trust those things, those little creepy things.  The crawlers.  No.  I'll get over it.  I'll just build a moat around my bed and then nothing will get close to me, I'll be safe.  Maybe stick one of those medical tubes down my throat which keeps my tongue out of the way and allows me to breath air.   Now I feel a lot better.  Who ever would of thought sleeping on your back can cause problems?

Which reminds me of spiders.  This is something Rock Chick has a phobia about as well.  I know it's cruel but when I hear her shout out "mum, there's a spider in my room!" or "mum, there's a spider in the bath!"  I do have a little smile on my face.  Yes it is perverse and cruel I'll admit it.  Sparkling does her duty and quickly takes the culprit crawly thing and throws it in the garden.  She then sadistically shows me and nearly pushes the thing in my face.  At this point I usually hold my breath, do my best to hide any fear I have, not and say something non commitive.  "oh yes, what a nice spider" or "isn't he a big one" and with fingers crossed Sparkles throws the thing out the door.  Cold sweat is abated.  Relief.  But I'm not manically afraid of them, just enough to know they are scary, hairy, little creepy crawly things.  Bloody hell, I  hope I can get to sleep tonight.

Autumn and Cheese

I think the first signs of autumn are in the air.  It's noticeable from crab apples.  A tree I pass on the way to the train station is just dropping them.  They get squashed on the pavement and then become slippery under foot.  So like a Wally I pretend to be practicing football and always kick a few into the road.  It's OK for the cars, but for us two legged people slipping on a pavement hurts, or worse.  There is more wind and the odd leaf is dropping as well.  So without much ado, autumn is sending silent fingers out upon the world.  In no time it will be appropriate to put on jumpers, bigger coats and boots.  I must get out at the weekend and attack a flaking window, with a little luck I might get to it before autumn is fully blown.  It needs complete sanding, and I have some wood preserve which kills of fungus and stuff.  I'll give it a coat or two, wait a few more days and then get on with an undercoat.  It may take a couple of weeks. 

The chance of chatting to Sparkling didn't arise today, it looks like we'll have to catch up another time.  I can't wait for a break from the Fish Factory.  I made my own sandwiches at lunch time.  Took myself out and away from the smell of fish then ate them on a bench.  Newspaper in one hand.  I even laid my head back for a moment and closed my eyes. Catching a very quick power nap.  It was relaxing.  The sandwiches were just about edible.  Too much cheese and pickle though is sure to drive me crazy as well.  Tomorrow I'll probably hit the Chinese again.  Better lap up what time there is, in a few weeks it'll be all rain and blustery winds.  Nothing to do with the cheese either.

Fare rises and opportunities

It was really nice to have a five minute chat with Sparkling today.  It was off the cuff, I sat in a Chinese and was waiting on my mains to turn up.  A lovely dish of chicken in black bean sauce and very reasonably priced.  I should of made my own sandwiches and have cheese and pickle on the ready, but just didn't get round to it.  It must of been my rush to hit the Fish Factory and leaving early.  Beginning the fish processing at 7:50 a.m., it's been a long day, but because I have been so busy it has gone past like the blink of an eye and I've enjoyed it.  So the lunchtime chit chat with Sparkles was a lovely break in the middle of the day and so good to hear her voice.  Hopefully I'll get a longer chat tomorrow.

I popped my complaint letter to East Coast in the post box on the way to the station. A news item on this morning stated train fairs are allowed to increase by 8 per cent this year, and the companies were even allowed to add another 5 per cent on top of this.  If this carries on it will unviable for some people to catch the train to work.  Car pooling will become very real, bicycles will be pulled out of their sheds and in some cases employees will consider changing job, retiring early, or just not working at all.  If you were earning minimum wage and had to travel into London it would make sense to not even bother and go on the Brew.  All because the price of a ticket has gone up.  Something just doesn't seem right.  Public transport has to be subsidised it can not make a profit, certainly not if it is truely public.

The old burnt out Weather spoons building has been boarded up after the riots.  People have now taken to writing on the boarding their love for the area and their unhappiness it had been rioted.  Some have been put out of work because of the actions of the rioters.  It is a shame, I hope they can find other work.  Talking about the unemployed I saw Layabout Lad this evening and told him about an article I'd read in the paper about volunteering.  I said to him I don't know why I'm telling you this, it's like water of a ducks back.  Twenty-three years old and never held down a proper job.  The writing is on the wall. I love him but he just needs to pull his finger out, and I don't mean the fingers or thumbs stuck to his Playstation.  I could so easily give him a good kick up the arse, hell I'd buy an industrial firework and stuff that up it as well, maybe then he would do something proactive than sapping benefits off the state.

I recall being unemployed for nearly a whole year when I was young.  It was the most depressing period of my life.  I used to despise seeing people go off to work and think to myself "I bet I could do their job."  It was hard as hell to drag myself out of that situation.  I was lucky, then got a low paid shop job to barely make ends meet.  It was a life time ago.  So it is.  We all have our own lives, our own choices, and where we are now is both the sum of choices made, and opportunities created. 

East Coast don't delay and pay

This evening I received a second letter from East Coast Mainline train company.  A month ago I had asked for a refund under their delay and pay scheme.  On a return journey from Scotland which had been delayed by one hour and twenty two minutes.  This would mean a part refund on the ticket I purchased.  The first time requested for a refund was made on their a standard Delay and Pay form.  Their reply was as my journey had been delayed by two minutes I was not entitled to a refund.  In response I wrote back to them and clearly stated the journey details, the header number for the train, date, scheduled journey times and then actual journey times.  To sum up the justification of the delayed journey I then gave a description of why the train was late.  Thunder strikes in Welyn Garden City.  This I thought would give my letter an air of authenticity. 

My response letter was very diplomatic, I didn't rage and rant like some complainants might.  I advised they had got it wrong and asked they properly check their records.  So today when I received a second letter which again states I am not entitled to any refund again I am somewhat vexed.  It seems clear personnel at  East Coast customer services either have a problem with maths, the twenty-four hour clock, and very possibly the ability to read.  None of the points raised in my letter were acknowledged or answered.  There was no explanation of how East Coast had calculated I was delayed by two minutes.  Add into this annoyance, this second letter was not signed, there was no contact phone number and only a printed name on the bottom.  The printed name is of someone from a developing country for it is not an indigenous United Kingdom name, although I am pretty sure the letter was not sent from abroad.  No international post marks, just a reply address in Plymouth if it was not received by the addressee. 

The one thing in favour of East Coast mainline is they have given a free post address.  So no matter how many rejection letters they send it will not cost me anything in postage to reply to them again.  This is something I fully intend to do if they reject this letter.  After of course I've researched on who the directors of the company are and who the regulator is, or even ombudsman, then they are all going to be included in a response.  I'll give them waste my time.  The gloves are off East Coast.

Gardening gives the aches

I've spent a good part of the day gardening.  Muscles have been used which didn't know they existed.  They are crying out, screaming in pain and agony.  A hot bath did calm them a little, but still they scream out they are saying "ouch, ouch, ouch."  My body feels so heavy it is like a sack of potatoes.  The phone rang while I was in the middle of it and retired English Teacher was on the line.  The conversation lasted about an hour, maybe more.  My muscles got stiff, they had been given a chance to rest and they then began to scream, "no more, no more, no more," but it has been a sunny day, the job had to be done.  It was hard physical going.  Shovelling dirty from one place to another.  I will get a good night's sleep I'm sure.  Perhaps even comatose.  Good and long. Eyes feel heavy.  For a moment I closed them when sitting down for some telly time.  I dosed off, as I am now so prone to do and consider part of the aging process.  If I were younger things would be different.  Then it would be no problem at all.  My hands are covered in grazes and I have a massive blister on one palm.  It cries out.  "soothe me, soothe me, sooth me."  There are so many messages this aging body is giving I don't know where to start.  At one point when I was so tired I felt like I had pushed myself to the limit and would collapse.  I was going on fumes.  Had lost my breath and my arms were refusing to work.  My body very nearly went on strike. 

A back rub would be nice.  Where's Sparkling when I need her?  Seems like a I'll just have to go to bed early and let these heavy limbs hold me down and fight off dreams of gardening, dirt, shovels and buckets.

Passport picture of a convict

After a little motivation from Sparkling which went along the lines of "we have got to go on holiday.  Am I going to have to go on my own?"  and "I will have to go with someone else then" followed by "all because you don't have your passport!"  I went out of my way spent a little more time trying to work out how to complete the passport application form.  Rang up the help line.  Got a bored stiff girl on the line who no doubt felt because she had fielded so many calls from idiots who can't complete the form she had either contemplated suicide or chemical induced coma.  Well the booklet is about 30 pages long and most of it completely irrelevant.  It's design is awful and you just can't find the information you need in an instance.  Shame on you Identity and Passport Service.  Getting back to the point.  I completed the form and went off to get a photo done.

Now I am sure there is no Australian connection in my family genes.  But maybe it is down to the genes, because 5 minutes after I've had a shave I look like I need another shave.  So having a permanent dark shadow.  Being it was a Saturday and there was no particular need to look beautiful, I tend to spend the minimum time shaving.  A bit like the song What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor?  The razor wasn't quite rusty but it was on it's last couple of shaves.  Essentially the longest stubble had been cut back but there is always a little which persists.  I headed of to the shops for a photo machine.  Thinking to myself it will only be a couple of quid, in, then out, done and ready for posting.  Well this was my first mistake, the photo machine cost £5!!! Bloody hell, I could of gone to a professional photographer and got it done for that.  It's only a poxy photo machine.  There's nothing special about it.

I got the right change sat in the machine and went throught the photo taking process.  The voice of a woman told me what to do.  She must of been sitting inside the machine because it sounded a bit mechanical come echo like.  Not sitting on my seat but behind the lens.  Mind I have never seen anyone open a door at the back and climb into it, but it would account for the extortionate price.  Obviously she needed to head off to Mayfair for a cup of tea at some bistro.  Hence conning passport photo seeking saps like myself.  The machine flashed once.  I sat dead straight, so still like it was an early 1900s camera.  Bloody idiot.  I wasn't too happy with the image it had taken, so pressed a button for it to take another shot.  Maybe it would be better.   I didn't have any make-up, not that make-up is something I carry around with myself, but I know if Sparkles was there she'd off chastised me until somehow the picture looked better.  Oh yes, you are not allowed to smile either.  This is what the instructions said.  It flashed a second time.  Hmm still not looking so good.  Maybe it will print out different I thought.  Wolly.  I swished the curtain back stepped outside and waited patiently.

It must be the extra cost they have put on these photo-me machines, because it didn't take long at all.  I'm sure I heard a printer working in the background.  A light flashed red where the photos drop out so I collected them.  Which was when I understood why the light was red.  My face must of been similar to an escaped convict.  This isn't good I thought to myself.  Opened up my rucksack slid the picture in a book, closed up the ruck sack and walked out as calmly as possible.  Just in case the red light was supposed to have a siren with it and the thing wasn't working.  Maybe the £5 was a bribery charge.  Giving me enough time to get out of there before the men in blue picked me up, handcuffed me and looked at any outstanding arrest warrants.  Then put the thumb screws on and I'm sure someone would review the footage of the recent riots with my photo one side of the monitor.

Now I am set with a dilemma.  The passport picture will be used for 10 years, so do I want to look like a convict for the next 10 years.  May I add an older more mature, hardened looking convict.  Probably one who had a string of petty crimes and loads of tattoos.  Except I don't have any tattoos, but am lucky the photo machine didn't put some on just for good measure.  I had also taken off my glasses so there wouldn't be a flash across the lenses which would of made the photos invalid.  So perhaps I was squinting without realising it.  My eyes look narrow and beady.  Hell, if I saw myself walking down the street looking like that, I'd arrest me. I am going to have to think about this now.  Shall I get another picture done?  Or be a convict for the next 10 years?  God, will I get stripped searched next time I go through customs?  Pounced on by men in uniforms.  Arrested for looking shifty, shady or related to some kingpin character?  Or am I The Kingpin character?  Ten years could seem like a long time.  But they don't have anything on me, I'm innocent I tell you, innocent!!!  God what will Sparkling say?

A wise man and some post it notes

I'm missing Sparkling Eyes.  It's been too long since I last saw her and with the rotas at the Fish Factory it may be a few more weeks before I can get the leave.  This has been a long hard Fish preparation year.  Leave owing to me is stacking up faster than airplanes over a strike affected airport.  I'm chained to the gut table, where serrated knives are skillfully used to dissect those little sprats.  But I sure don't know why we're gutting sprats of all fish, they haven't harmed anyone.  I spoke to Sparkling and she told me how she needed a back rub and a hug and missed me.  I too need a back rub, it just feels so tight.  All those knots have to be eased out.    I need to stop eating chips as well, both belly and heart are telling me this.

I think with the less time you have to calm down and chill out with the people you love the more likelihood of bad habits creeping in.  And this is something they do actually do, creep in.  Then again some of the culprits are family members and are equally liable to the causes of stress and strain, as they do things you can not understand.  Things which defy logic and sensibility.  This is the way of human nature.  Or rather of other individual's human nature for it is just another thing which can not be controlled, they will do what they do.   Even when the actions result in pain and discomfort which is so obvious.  It's like some are on a trip to make their life even harder and more difficult and put themselves into awkward places.  There's a kind of inevitability about it.  Insome part I have become a misanthrope and so prefer my own company.  I can rely on myself or not rely on myself.  If I can't rely on myself then I know the reasons why.  This is why as society there is the need of rules and law, of social norms to pull and tug us into line.  Unfortunately sometimes those rules and laws can be a hindrance to some.  What can you do?  Nothing.  To use the old overworked cliche "at the end of the day" we all have to make our own mistakes and then live with them.

This reminds me of a story I once heard.  A wise man went to a village while he was on a long trip and sort shelter.  There word soon got around the wise man was temporarily shacked up.  The people of the village asked the wise man to help them, they pleaded with him.  They all had problems, they all thought they could not deal with their problems and were unhappy and stressed out by it all.  So the wise man led the villagers out of the village to a field where there was a large tree, with lots of branches.  He said to the villagers to take all their worries and write them on post-it notes.  Then to stick them on the tree.  These post-it notes were weather proof and had exceptionally strong glue.  He then said to the villagers to go away for the night and sleep, given they had lifted such a weight off their minds.  The next day he said to the villagers then to go up to the tree and read the notes and take away a worry or problem.  So they all went reading the notes and removing them till the tree was bare again.  The wise man went off on his journey.  A few days later the villagers discussed what had happened.  It was then found each villager had removed their own post it notes again rather than someone elses.  Which probably says  a couple of things.  People like their own post-it notes, or they prefer their own problems to anybody elses.  They are comfortable with them.  Problems are like friends, held close and then spoken about with affection or maybe not if they are not much of a friend.  Well at lease for one night the villagers got a good night's sleep.

Yes, I'm missing Sparkling.  When I speak to her I tell her I love her and when I text her I love her some more and when I sleep she is always the last thing on my mind as I wish I could hug her.  As for post it notes I got lots of them, but rather than write problems on they hold reminders.  Memo, stop eating chips.

Rioters cause a shortage of mayonnaise

Where I live in London there have been riots.  To tell the truth, not exactly where I live but in the immediate area of the Fish Factory and the area I was born in.  It certainly has been a sad time when looking at the aftermath of what happened.  But it is not a full reflection of society here, just the disaffected youth who are crying out for attention and more importantly their own self esteem, give them a job and I'll bet you'd not see them out on the roads doing the stuff they did.  They certainly are not "sick" as David Cameron would label them.  If we put labels on people then they become stigmatised.  If I were a Christian then forgiveness would be the word of the day.  Followed up by reflection.  How could we have made them feel they do not need to demonstrate and cause criminal acts, where have we gone wrong in society?  Questions politicians no matter how powerful they are do not know the answer to, there are just too many factors to consider.  As Sparkling would say to Mr Cameron "walk a mile in my shoes."  Of course being a millionaire this is something he could never do or understand.  Shame on you Mr Cameron, big shame on you.

 

The riots personally hit me today as I left the pub and decided to go for a portion of chips for my tea.  In normal circumstances I have got into the habit of popping into another pub part of the Wetherspoons chain, inside there I would pilfer a sachet of mayonnaise or two and some ketchup.  I'd head to the chippy, order my chips, dose them with copious salt and vinegar then put the mayo on top and really enjoy them.  There is something ultimately satisfying about having mayonnaise on chips.  It always reminds me of the first time I tasted this combination, which was in Belgium, Brussels if I am not mistaken.  There I went with the retired English teacher and a big group.  English Teacher would organize it and as a group get us a good deal on a break lasting 5 or 6 days.  Traveling usually to two different places, but really enjoying it.  So without doubt chips and mayo have a marker in my memory, not just their great combined taste but also of Brussels.  Not the sprouts, the real place.  So today, I went to the chip shop, where there is not a man who thinks he is Elvis, but there were two blokes who looked Nepalese and ordered my chips.  Salt then vinegar on top.  Then as I walked out I could not put mayonnaise on top of them.  Because the Wetherspoons pub was burnt out.  There is nothing there but a blackened burnt shell.  All because of the rioters. So I can no longer enjoy the taste of mayonnaise with my chips.  I'll not hide it this makes me a little sad, even though it is probably good news for my waistline and the weighing scales.

So in trying to find the good side of something which was not pleasant, the rioters have saved me a few pounds in weight.  But it didn't stop me for buying chips.  Which is my own fault.  Sparkling sent me a text as though to say the world was all doom and gloom and the government would be brought down.  However, I don't think it will.  The sun will raise and set each day.  Birds will tweet, and pigeons will vex me, as will the pigeon man who still persists in feeding the flying rats.  Help needed anyone with an idea of how to sort him out please get back to me.  Read earlier blogs to get a jist of it.  Oh well back to the chips.

The roof pigeons have invited a guest

This morning I got up early, took my skipping rope to the garages and had a little hop.  After only a couple of hundred skips I'd pulled a muscle in my calf, great.  Saw the nefarious man who throws bread to the pigeons as he took his car out of the garage.  I hold contempt for him and have been mindful of how angry he makes me feel.  As I said to Sparkling the other day, if I lamp him one and get carted off to the cop shop, it's not going to look good at the Fish Factory.  My running out to the garages at the ungodly hour of 5:45 a.m. is to catch the bastard, but he daren't feed the birds with me about.  I went in after only 600 skips, I just couldn't do it with a pulled muscle and kept whipping myself with the rope.  Not intentionally, it's made of leather and spins pretty quick.  The rope. So heading in I put some toast on, and kept an eye on the roof.  A few pigeons flew overhead.  One went onto the roof and I sprayed him with water.  Put the kettle on, buttered my toast, then had a look out the window, to see a bunch of the disease ridden flying rats come swooping down.  The bastard had done it again.  I went out in the garden and could just see a couple of pieces of rolls thrown up on a garage.  He is sneaking into the garages again after I finished my skipping and then because I've been throwing his bread back into his garden he now throws it on the garage roofs.  I can feel my anger welling up.  I say to myself, if it wasn't for him I wouldn't have a skip in the morning once in a while.  It looks like the only way I'm going to sort him out is to sit out in the garages on a chair the entire morning the bollock him out if he tries a sneaky.  I'm waiting for the cat to have a big crap in his dirt tray, because it's got the bastards name on it and is going to get bunged over into his garden.

So I went back in the kitchen after spraying some more water at the pigeons and the flew off leaving the bits of bread on the garage.  I didn't think much.  Just pissed off.  Had a sip of fresh coffee, bite of my toast, walked out in the garden, looked over the wall into the garages.  Turned round to head back in the kitchen, and there sitting on the wall was a big porky, hairy, fury flipping squirrel.  My paranoia with pigeons has now moved to a new level.  The last thing anyone wants in the roof is a squirrel.  Shit.  Picked up the hose, turned it on and sprayed the furry flea bitten pest, it bounded away and quite easily dodged the water.  I turned off the hose.  Went back into the kitchen for another sip of coffee and bite of my toast, added a little black pepper.  Went out in the garden looked over at the garages.  Blow me down, the squirrel had come back, got ontop of the garages and was eating the bread.  Little fecking shit.  I now have no doubt there is a time and place for the ownership of a double barrelled shot gun for pest control purposes.  This is the time and the place.  Unfortunately I'm not a person interested in fire arms or keeping them, just on mounting pigeon heads or even the odd squirrel head.  After all the grey ones are not indigenous to this country and are classed as vermin here.  Our native species is the red squirrel.  I personally think we should capture all the grey ones and send the to America in one big bloody tanker.

If I am lucky I will get up early tomorrow.  If I am really lucky I'll prevent the pigeons, squirrel and local bastard from getting their own way.  If they are really unlucky I'll inherit a shot gun from a long lost deceased uncle and bloody use it.  Then look up ways in which to cook both squirrel and pigeon while the.  Anyone for some pie?

Tottenham riots, pigeons and flat screen TVs

The roofer rang back only 36 hours late. I guess a workman's idea of punctuality is in a different time zone to the rest of us.  The man who puts bread in the garages for the pigeons is still doing it.  And if I get up early enough I just pick it up and bung it back over the garages into his garden.  Riots are taking place in North London.  Police cars on fire, buses on fire and shops being looted.  I heard the radio and one bloke said "if I were walking down the street and a rioter come up to me and asked if I'd like a flat screen TV for ten quid, I'd buy it," If you ask me there'd be a cue of people and a riot to buy the flat screen off the rioter.  Cheap at five or six times that price.  I also heard of Innocent bystanders being mugged by gangs of youths.  This quelled my notion of getting a bus to Tottenham, I don't want to add a little fat man to their statistics.  Not only that if they burnt the bus leaving how'd the hell would I get home.  By following the pigeons no doubt. There's a Yahoo video of a storm brewing in Canada, it appears as a cloud spreads outwards the head of a man appears.  Blimey, I thought I recognise that bloke looks like the one who feeds the pigeons.  I threw some bread at the monitor and watched it disperse.  Wondering if I should shave and wash today or be stinky and unshaven, well if I were in Tottenham I wouldn't want to be recognised.  I could put some clothes on which well make me look different so no one would recognise me.  Because descriptions of people are really descriptions of clothes and general physical appearance.  Perhaps some ballet shoes and a tutu.  Fat hairy legged short arse gets mugged in Tottenham.  He says to a reporter "the Tutu didn't do it's job, and I thought my body odour would ward them off."  Ambulance stops and takes him away.  The newscaster on the radio seemed to sympathise with him saying "he only wanted a flat screen TV and now he's been sectioned, poor bastard."  Mind there are reports of rioters having a certain feeling, a feeling in the air (not like Phil Collins) one more of being hard up and angry at the government.  Another caller on the radio said it was the police who started it, they made it worse by not talking to an earlier group of protesters.  Can't say I've ever seen the police selling flat screen TVs cheaply.  I'm sure with all that riot gear they'd have a problem sticking them in the van.  The one which didn't get torched of course.  Or maybe this was why they were ablaze in the first place?  I'm sure it's a localised incident and will not spread.  Better put these running shoes away then.  Which reminds me of someone who once used plastic bottles for his Molotov cocktails.  I think he was fifty pence short of a pound, if not more.

Oh well looks like a nice day.  Better get on my bike, good thing about a Tutu is although it might ride up yours arse it never gets in the way of a bicycle chain.

Painting a gate, looking at mortar, and lots to do

Today I creosoted a garden gate.  It was in desperate need before further decline takes place.  Hopefully it will last another 10 years.  I got in touch with a roofer who was going to ring me back and give an estimate on the pigeon situation.  Alas I got no call back.  It seems those pigeons have got someone looking over them.  Well if they have they had better keep a close eye for there are now 6 different roofer phone numbers written on post-it notes in front of me.  I'll choose another one and have another go.  If they can't be bothered with calling me back I can't be bothered in chasing them up and the obviously don't need the money or my custom.  Lastly I have been checking out pointing again.  It seems the best tool to get is a mortar raker, however this would be bought in conjunction with an angle grinder.  However, I am now stuck on one thing.  It's getting black or very dark grey mortar to match the rest of the mortar.  It seems DIY stores just have bog standard mortar and don't take into account people have different mortar needs.  I don't know if it is a man thing but gathering all this information about how to point and understanding a good consistency of mortar I do actually find quite interesting.  It is good to keep busy doing things.  It's odd I also can't help feeling there is so much to do and so little time to do all the things I want to do.  I suppose, what matters is doing some of them and at least making the attempt, because even with the creosote today, it had to be done, was a small but job even though it took some time and had a practical and useful purpose.  A little bit of success is useful (I said that).

I have barely drunk any alcohol this week.  Amazingly I can't believe how much extra money ended up in my wallet, but has got spent on tools.  It has been weird seeing a wallet with notes in it.  I don't drink a great deal mind a pint is expensive.  Perhaps it was the substitute soda and lime which has helped.  Or the really hot days which make me want to drink first quenching refreshing liquids..  Alternatively I could be going through some kind of phase changing from one habit to another.  Not forgetting we are in a recession and every penny does count.  The next money saving tip is to cancel gym membership.  Even though Ive been a member for years and years.  Like just being a member is enough to be fit and stave off obesity.  When in fact it has to be used.  My gym kit is under a desk somewhere getting dusty.  Economically it makes sense, and anyway, my body isn't so much body beautiful but more of slobba body but trying not to be, but I've learnt, even short fat men can be productive.  Now then angle grinders, yes, 115 mm is equal to 4 and a half inches.  This is one fact amongst many I also learnt.  OK feather in hat what's next?  Should I get a safety hat incase the walls falls on top of me?  Fingers crossed, if not trowels.

Moving building

The Fish Factory is about to move.  From a 1960s building into a 2011 brand spanking new building. I went and visited the new place today.  Lets just say human nature is change, but at the same time it is a resistance to change.  Especially when you have no control over it and someone else has imposed their god like will.  In this case it would be the very big fishes who have such a will, whereas I'm just a lower down the pecking order just-about-middling fishy.  So mine will is to be bended every which way both from above and from below.  I digress as I wonder whether I should of taken the tactic of being arrogant and disliked.  The scare the crap out of them all stance.  Nope.  The thought has gone, because I'm just not like that.  So next week the big move takes place.  It's not like it will take place in a single day either.  It will take two days but has in actuality been longer to prepare, as I've thrown out reams of redundant paper work.  The hoarder in me would normally say this is all important and should be kept.  However, at the new building there will not be space.  In fact there is so little space there is barely enough room on a work station to have a keyboard.  Add into it the factor of a book or two and it becomes cramped.  Very cramped.  It's one of these so called paperless offices.  I find it difficult using the term paperless and find it difficult when someone from above wants to tell me how I should work, when I already know the best way I do work.  For me it's with a lot of paper, on a middle to large desk and being utterly untidy.  Then I just get up from the chair when I am about to leave and don't give a monkey's fart how dishevelled my desk is.  Because the next morning I'll sit down to it and know exactly where I am and where I should start.  But the big fishes never asked the opinions of anyone else, they held the cheque book and thought it would be wonderful to control the working lives of thousands of little fish because it made them feel important.  Hail big fish, hail big fish. 

So you can probably tell there is a little discontent of having to adopt new working practices.  Imposed practices.  I can see it now, it will not take too many days before there have been some complaints put against me because I've left an untidy desk.  Oh I nearly forgot.  All because the Big Fish loves a hot desk.  Hot desk!  I'll give them hot bloody desking, matches and incendiary fluids come to mind.  The reality is, it might be a new building but the working methods prescribed are no more than adopted fashion statements which may have worked in other businesses but those other businesses were a little bit different to the business of Fishy counting, gutting or filleting.  See fashion comes and goes.  It then comes back round again.  Research I once read on clear desk workers stated those workers where the type who preferred to do monotonous tasks.  The same thing repeatedly.  Whereas the untidy desk people were generally categorised as thinkers, their level of working was not related to the mass production of widgets but rather the piecing together of the Titanic, where the rudder was big enough to turn it so it didn't crash into icebergs.  Which is a case where statistics are not always everything.  Especially if you don't know how to interpret them and very, very many people don't.  What I will try and do is find a desk inside a fridge, take a light with me and some air ventilation and stay there.  It will also prevent other people from finding me and be nice and quiet.

It looks nice, it looks new, and on my viewing I just happened to spill water from my disposable cup onto the lovely new carpet.  It didn't notice too much, I kind of shuffled my feet over it so it soaked in.  Fortunately there will be no eating at desks either.  I'd hate to drop a few chunks of curry chicken onto the lovely carpet, especially if someone else saw.   Memo to self: Stay inconspicuous.

One predicament after the other "I can't believe it!"

My evening has been full.  It began with opening a letter from East Coast Mainline.  I had applied for a part refund because of the delay delay on a train coming back to London after seeing Sparkling Eyes. The letter stated as my journey had been delayed by 2 minutes they were going to give me vouchers to the value of "£."  That is a pound sign with a full stop.  It meant of course there were no vouchers to refund part of a trip which was actually delayed by 1 hour and 22 minutes.  I looked at the letter and the words which come out of my mouth echoed those of Victor Meldew.  Yes they were "I can not believe it," followed by a little bit of John McEnroe "You can not be serious!"  My gaze was somewhat fixed on the letter in disbelief.  For now it meant I would have to expend more effort and write back to them.  As if life isn't short enough as it is, they want me to waste more of it because East Coast Mainline can't read or understand their own tickets and time tables.  It was delayed you idiots, pay me back my part refund per your own Customer Charter.  I would jump up and down and shout "NOW, NOW! I WANT MY MONEY BACK NOW!"  However the whole excitable episode would be completely missed if there was no one to see it or sympathise with my predicament. 

I did not get right onto the letter straight away.  I had to hit the local DIY store jumping on my bike and cycling a mile and half down the road.  My mind was still buzzing from yesterdays quote"do what you can do" see yesterday's blog for details.  I was now in search of drill bits which would allow me to do some pointing work.  Something I have never done in my entire life, but have seen on You Tube.  Every DIY enthusiast must love YouTube.  So I got on my bike pretty quick as time was ticking past and I'd lost about an hour of it when I hit the pub for a two non alcoholic drinks to quench my first after Fish Factory hours.  Down at the store I did a military march to the power tools section, walked round, picked up a small trowel thinking I would need this.  Then put the trowel down because I also thought it wouldn't be worth it if I couldn't buy the drill bit.  I found the drill bits section.  With the eyes of a kestrel I stood there scanning each displayed set of drill bits.  Searching.  Going from one section of the display to another.  I had walked sideways and didn't even blink, because I couldn't miss these bits.  I needed it.  I must have it or I won't be able to do the pointing.  It wasn't there.  I didn't jump up and down again, although at this point it was justified and I would of been a bit better in my making a scene, on account of having had previous experience with East Coast Mainline and their astutely moronic letter.  I shuffled sideways again, not blinking or taking my attention anywhere else, I was like a cat about to pounce.  As if it would do me some good.  What a waste of time.  It definitely was not there.  So I got back on my bike and went home and spent an hour writing a letter.

I rang up the retired English teacher, because it was about time I found out how he was getting on.  He was still in the throws of a campaign stopping the local Council from building on some land next to where he lived. It is on the front facing the river Thames.  He had successfully pulled together a community group and given them an acronym just for this purpose.  They in turn recently had a full page spread in the local rag about how they were fighting the development process and were tidying up the river front with the help of local volunteers.  He had also got a petition presented at parliament by the local MP.  This retired chappy was building bonds in the community and showing the Dunkirk spirit.  I can't imagine the number of hurdles he had to go through to get to this point.  Whereas there I was, in one evening and unable to get a bit or my money back from East Coast Mainline.  I'll also mention how he is about to have his 5 year check up to see if he is in full remission of a bowel cancer he had removed.   I strongly expect retired English Teacher did not jump up and down, either when he organized a campaign or when he found out about his cancer.  But I'll tell you what I'll do it for you mate, because someone deserves to shout out in anguish.  By this time I would be on my third run and quite proficient.

The moral of the story, keep yourself busy and if you need to jump up and down, do it so no one else sees it because then you might of just lost it and the sound of sirens will hit you before the feel of a relatively tight little jacket.  White is quite a nice colour, isn't it?

Ladders are for men

Fantastic, I have now weaved through the process of purchasing a set of ladders.  What a palaver.  Especially getting payment details set up.  But it's done.  So in the next few days I can expect a phone call from the DIY people and a delivery date.  So I can then get on with stripping and painting a window which desperately needs attention, then having a closer look at guttering and even the slate where the pigeons appear to be entering.  Although this part may be limited as the entry point is a few feet away from the gutter.  My arms wont quite stretch that far, unless I happened to be Mr Fantastic from the Fantastic 4.  But were I Mr Fantastic there would of been no need for ladders in the first place.  Being fantastic certainly has its advantages.

Understanding what is needed for a set of ladders is a bit of a process.  There are so many kinds on the market.  Three section and two section extension ladders come in various lengths.  Not to mention the three way, five way, twelve way combination ladders.  They can also be bought in different grades.  Depending on how much weight they are to hold.  If I were a hod carrier I'd need something a bit stronger, but I'm not and fortunately don't suffer from excessive overweight.  In addition, no matter how long the ladder is, this length isn't the length it will be used for.  The base has to stand away from the wall.  It's always difficult to tell this, but the taller the ladder is the easier it is to give yourself more space between the ladder and the wall.  It's convenient to have some length to play with.  I opted out for a nice long two section ladder, with each section at 4.2 metres.  Which was another minor issue.  Bloody metres when I'm a foot and inches person.  They never did metres when I was at school.  A metre is just a little longer than three feet, I'm guessing about 3 feet and 4 inches, approximately.  Which is enough to know.  Too much more information and it will knock some other vital piece of data out of my memory.  Something I may need one day and then will not know I need it because I've forgotten it.  So when my ladder eventually turns up it should be about 8 inches high.  No, it must be a bit higher.  At 8.4 metres when at full length.  Enough.  Yep, enough and manly enough, I think as I nod my head.  I should be able to do a great deal with it.  Lots of man things.  Ladders are for men hmmm.

Funny how doing something like ordering a set of ladders has now inspired me.  To the extent I have now checked out the local DIY store to find it closes at 9 p.m. tonight.  I'm almost of  a mind to go there, but as it's only 25 minutes to closing time, I'll not fully savour the aroma of being a butch man in a butch man store.  Amongst all those tools and things.  Not to mention the weird fascination looking at screws can give me.  When I check them out I wonder what they would be used for.  Some are flat topped, some rounded, they may be cross or flat faced, sunken or not, and made in all different lengths and different materials, you name it and I'm sure there is a screw made from it which has a specific purpose. It must be absolutely wonderful to know exactly the type of screw you need for the job you are doing.  Each with it's purpose.  Not quite but nearly as exciting as looking and purchasing stationary.  I honestly love buying blank notebooks.  I don't know if it's an odd thing to admit, but a few hours in a big stationary shop or a DIY shop to me is relaxing.  Maybe I should go to them more often. 

For the time being I'll settle on the ladders.   I just hope they will love me as much as I will love them.  Damn better not let Sparkling know she has got some competition.