Late
up (surprised? Oh, don't be!) and yet another excellent breakfast. Could
get way too used to these. They consist of Lincolnshire sausages (except
for Roxana, who has veggie sausages), bacon (except for Roxana, who has
cardboard), scrambled egg made with cream, baked beans, and mushrooms.
There's also toast, and tea or coffee. Steve makes most of it, but everyone
pitches in with the toast or the tea or the serving, and later with the
washing up, in a communal sort of way. And we talk lots while eating.
Today of course Alan was back, but the rest of us are: Steve, Ian, Roxana,
Geoff, and me. Ian composed another limerick:
There was a young man with a stutter
Who had trouble with words he would utter
Ashamed of his diction
And vocal restriction
He chose not to speak, only m-m-m-m-mutter
A scrabble into the bathroom for all of us, and then the briskest of brisk walks across the vast windy plain of the coach station car park towards Fisherton Street and the station, for Roxana, Steve and me to see Ian safely away on the 12.26 to Waterloo. Then a much slower walk into Salisbury for the rest of us, a little (unsatisfying) shopping (why did M&S have just one type of overcoat for sale?), then another stint in the Haunch. Oh the strange lure of that place! Home, and a doze on the sofa for me, while Steve and Roxana both slept upstairs (both apparently having odd dreams).
After the dinner which Roxana is now preparing, she, Steve, Geoff and I are going in the Mini to a party in Burcombe. I shall report on that next year! A very happy and prosperous 2007 to you. Cheers!
There was a young man with a stutter
Who had trouble with words he would utter
Ashamed of his diction
And vocal restriction
He chose not to speak, only m-m-m-m-mutter
A scrabble into the bathroom for all of us, and then the briskest of brisk walks across the vast windy plain of the coach station car park towards Fisherton Street and the station, for Roxana, Steve and me to see Ian safely away on the 12.26 to Waterloo. Then a much slower walk into Salisbury for the rest of us, a little (unsatisfying) shopping (why did M&S have just one type of overcoat for sale?), then another stint in the Haunch. Oh the strange lure of that place! Home, and a doze on the sofa for me, while Steve and Roxana both slept upstairs (both apparently having odd dreams).
After the dinner which Roxana is now preparing, she, Steve, Geoff and I are going in the Mini to a party in Burcombe. I shall report on that next year! A very happy and prosperous 2007 to you. Cheers!
We
won't be drinking again in the George & Dragon, Castle Street, Salisbury
Late
to bed last night, then up early this morning to get provisions
from Tesco's. Another fine breakfast by Steve was followed by
the household splitting up and going their separate ways. In my
case this meant taking Roxana's new scanner acquired last night
from PC World (emergency purchase after we found the old one was
knacked) and the laptop round to Mum and Dad's, to scan in what
ended up totaling fifty-one mostly black-and-white photographs
of ancient relatives and - more interestingly - many photos of
my parents courting (see right), and my father in his Army (national
service) days. Wow! I came away as they were off out, but was immediately summonsed to the Haunch. I met one drunk brother, one drunk sister, and one drunk husband. I couldn't catch up. On the way home we wandered into the George & Dragon on Castle Street, a "recently refurbished" establishment. I didn't know it before, although it had come recommended. Now however, it has become, in Ian's words, "anodyne and shite". I agree wholeheartedly. My main objections were these: the smoking area was tiny and disproportionate to the size of the pub; the landlady was rude and arrogant; the gents (called Knights - the ladies was called Damsels) opened straight onto the corridor; the hand-dryer didn't work; and the hand-basin was the size of a teacup. Is that enough? Don't go there. Home to pizza. Yum. And silliness. |
 |
Yesterday
we had thought we might go for a walk, but what with one thing and another
it ended up too late, so we put off the idea for today. But waking up
this morning we discovered it was raining, persistently and very, very
wetly. So after another fab breakfast, we sat around for quite a while
before heading off to Fifield Bavant in the car and a fifteenth century
church, then to Broad Chalke and the Queens Head. Back home and a few
cups of tea later, Ian, Steve and I walked, through what was by now driving,
freezing rain, to meet Roxana at the Haunch. We dried in the snug in time
to meet Geoff at the Poultry Cross, and get darned wet again walking through
town to the Rai d'Or, a pub-cum-Thai restaurant where we ate a very fine
meal indeed. Ian unwisely chose a curry several degrees too hot even for
him, but the rest of us fared rather better. As we couldn't face the rain
again we got a taxi home and spent a couple more hours listening to music,
looking at Peru on Google Earth and then looking through some of Geoff's
photos. A very good day was had by all.
Stress-free
living
Alison
and Richard came round, and more presents were exchanged. Then
a day of shopping for certain important items (a milk saucepan,
some boots, a shower hose and the makings of a curry dinner) in
Salisbury has ended in the Haunch (pictured), and several pints
of Courage Best, and is currently sliding into slow inebriation
as we wait for Steve to prepare the korma. For some reason pickled
onions are featuring. |
 |
We
left Croydon early, and drove up to Steve's parents for lunch and to exchange
a few presents. As we left London behind us, and particularly later as
the West Midlands receded into the distance, we felt the stresses leave
us. Steve had a very nasty cough by the time we got to Salisbury, but
the combined efforts of Roxana, Ian, a stiff whisky and lemon toddy, a
stiff brandy and lemon toddy, and a bizarre concoction designed to cure
just about anyone of just about anything (1 tsp cider vinegar, 1 tsp honey,
top up with hot water) seemed to cure him, by the time bedtime came around...
pretty late as it goes.
Boxing
Day 2006
A
bad start to the day, with the electricity failing while I was in the
bath. However, the man from EDF came very promptly and replaced the power
company's fuse, and all is now well.
All became even better after several pints down the pub with Steve and Clive.
All became even better after several pints down the pub with Steve and Clive.
Christmas
Day 2006
We
started early, with a bottle of pink Champagne (a wedding present from
Peter and Chris), and opened pressies before Steve really got stuck in
in the kitchen. After a truly scrumptious four course lunch (paté,
duck with all the trimmings, a fine selection of cheeses, and Christmas
pudding, washed down with a splendidly deep St Emilion) we watched a DVD
and snoozed until Doctor Who came on.
A
hunter returns
Steve
went into town, returning with a fat duck. Would be nice to imagine he'd
just returned from a shooting trip with gun over shoulder, but in fact
it was just from M&S. I sat on the floor with Carols from Kings on
the telly, surrounded by wrapping paper and sellotape. My favourite sort
of Christmas Eve.
Nearly
there
Having
been food shopping yesterday evening, we had a reasonably relaxed trip
into town today to buy a couple of last minute things. Crowded though.
"What
do you mean - the kitchen's closed?"
A
fight last night to get the advertised room service in my Worcestershire
hotel caused me to question their four stars, a feeling confirmed this
morning at breakfast where we were subjected to constant Radio 1.
Cloud
nine
Another
long drive today, from Edinburgh once more, to Worcestershire - then a
little diversion to Gloucestershire and back to Worcs. Earlier, near Penrith
on the M6, approaching the summit at Shap, I actually climbed through
a layer of cloud into the clear blue sky above for a time.
St
Albans day 2
A
wander through St Albans in the crisp winter sunshine, a look
at the Abbey (pictured) with its eclectic architectural styles,
a wander past Roman ruins and across muddy fields (good rugby
conditions), and finally to a warm pub, and a good lunch. Afterwards
along a most picturesque street (with possibly the world's most
dangerous kerb) to another pub, where the best beer was Beijing
Black, but as I was the driver we got a carry-out for me to enjoy
at home later. |
 |
St
Albans day 1
To
St Albans to stay, with Mike and David, at their mother's house. A pleasant
evening, involving a pub, I recall, followed by home cooking. Still a
little delicate, so care was taken.
Ssssshhh...
Last night was our team's Christmas do in Swindon. Stupidly I started the evening, on an empty stomach, with a strong winter ale, and then continued by mixing my drinks and smoking too much. Consequently I went to bed with a banging head, woke in the middle of the night to hurl impressively, and today am feeling very, very delicate.
Sinister,
dexter, sinister, dexter
After
breakfast at my Northumberland hotel, I set off westwards along the B6318,
which very closely follows the course of Hadrian's Wall. It feels rather
odd looking into a field and seeing an extant, if decapitated, section
of wall built nearly two thousand years ago just there, in some cases
as part of a field boundary, or with sheep grazing around it. In some
places the road itself is clearly running above where the wall once was,
as it is on top of the ridge, and very straight. I stopped a couple of
times, but the near horizontal rain and bitter wind forced me back into
the car. On another occasion, in better weather and with more time, I'd
like explore it more, and actually visit Housesteads and Vindolanda, and
the many mile-forts.
As I drove, and even more so when I was out of the car, I was struck by
the bleak and rather hostile terrain, and imagined a patrolling Roman
soldier, posted here from perhaps Spain or north Africa, muttering and
stamping his feet in the cold, and cursing his commander, the Emperor,
the gods, and all Britons (and the barbarous Picts and Celts to the north)
for his finding himself here, rather than some posting a little nearer
home!
Self-closing
drawers
To
Peter and Chris's, to drool over their new kitchen, and have a meal.
Three
capitals in a day
My
colleague phones me. I ask him if he has spoken to [name withheld],
who texted me this morning. Yes, he replies, he has spoken to
her. "I think she fancies you, mate," he tells me. "Well,"
I reply, "since I'm gay and she's a lesbian, I don't think
that's really going to work out, do you?" Honestly, some
people... How much is the contents of a whole tanker of Marmite worth? Started this morning in Edinburgh, drove down to South Wales (not quite Cardiff, but very near) and then home to Croydon (which for the purposes of the headline we'll assume is London). Well, OK, three countries anyway. Assuming you class Wales as a country. Oh whatever! |
 |
Wot
no J-Cloth?
| Am
I further away from home than Steve today? He's in Amsterdam,
and I'm in Edinburgh. On my drive up here (on the back roads,
natch) I was held up by temporary traffic lights at the site
of a bridge repair. It was very pleasing to see a gang of proper
stonemasons working, including some youngsters learning the
trade. Unable to book into my favourite Edinburgh hotel (the Malmaison in Leith), I decided instead to take a self-catering apartment for my one night up here. Couldn't find it (post code and even road not in sat-nav) so parked up near where I thought it was and called The Man (mobile phone - slightly worrying). He told me where to drive to, and to look out for a silver Mercedes and flash my lights when I saw him. Hmmm. So he led me into the underground car park - the roof of which was held up in places by a large number of temporary steel props - of a series of very modern apartment blocks, most of which were still being built. I mean, essentially the whole place was a building site. He took me up to the fifth floor, and ushered me into a very stark, but nevertheless enviably trendy, loft-style, open-plan apartment. Two bedrooms, en-suite, and a view towards HMY Britannia. Then he showed me the building work: enormous diggers were emptying vast quantities of earth into the nearby dock, and he explained that this whole site was on reclaimed land. Suddenly the props (and the huge pools of water) in the underground car park, as well as the fact that my sat-nav showed me to be in the water, made sense. Nicely appointed kitchen, but no tea towel and no J-Cloths. What is the world coming to? |
 
|
Scene:
a hotel reception somewhere in Lancashire; morning
Receptionist:
(conspiratorially) Oh, I've taken that off for you sir (pointing
to an item on the bill as she slides it across the counter for Hamish
to examine).
Hamish: (reading the bill but not understanding it) I... I didn't even know you'd put it on. What is it?
Recep.: It's just for our charity. When you checked in last night you were given a leaflet.
Hamish: (showing her his key-card and key) No I wasn't, I was just given this.
Recep.: (looking annoyed) Well, anyway, I've taken it off for you. How would you like to pay?
Hamish hands her his American Express card.
Recep.: There's a £2 charge for that.
Hamish: Why?
Recep.: Because it's a credit card. (Then, helpfully) You can put it on a debit card for nothing...
Hamish: OK. Well I'd just like to point out that the radiator in my room doesn't work, the shower sprays water literally all over the bathroom floor, and you can't turn the bedside lights off without taking the key-fob out of the holder over by the room door - which means you can't even turn the bathroom light on during the night.
Recep.: (after a tiny pause) Shall I put it on the card for you?
Hamish: (resigned) Yes, please.
Hamish: (reading the bill but not understanding it) I... I didn't even know you'd put it on. What is it?
Recep.: It's just for our charity. When you checked in last night you were given a leaflet.
Hamish: (showing her his key-card and key) No I wasn't, I was just given this.
Recep.: (looking annoyed) Well, anyway, I've taken it off for you. How would you like to pay?
Hamish hands her his American Express card.
Recep.: There's a £2 charge for that.
Hamish: Why?
Recep.: Because it's a credit card. (Then, helpfully) You can put it on a debit card for nothing...
Hamish: OK. Well I'd just like to point out that the radiator in my room doesn't work, the shower sprays water literally all over the bathroom floor, and you can't turn the bedside lights off without taking the key-fob out of the holder over by the room door - which means you can't even turn the bathroom light on during the night.
Recep.: (after a tiny pause) Shall I put it on the card for you?
Hamish: (resigned) Yes, please.
An
intimate moment with a straight man
I was parked up near the goods entrance to a large Manchester shopping
centre, at around ten at night, waiting for someone. The road was clearly
a major route between pubs and clubs, judging by the number of impractically-attired
youths walking along it. Two girls approached, one of whom was wearing
an extremely short skirt, and extremely long legs. A small group of girls
and lads walking in the opposite direction were chatting. One of the boys,
tall, dark and very good-looking, spotted the leggy girl, and couldn't
help staring, and, as lads do, looked around him to see who else might
be enjoying the view. Noticing me in my car, and catching my eye, he grinned,
in a conspiratorial, straight-bloke-to-straight-bloke, kind of a way.
Even though I am normally annoyed - or at the very least uncomfortable
- at blatant assumptions that I am heterosexual, I couldn't help grinning
back. It was worth it, because he had a really lovely grin.
Winter
warmer
Well,
it isn't winter yet, clearly, but when Peter and Chris came over this
evening Steve had prepared a really rich, warming casserole. It was deeply
comforting, and everyone came back for seconds. We talked into the early
hours
Return
At
the end of our team meeting this afternoon Marion joined us, and came
out with us bowling and to Pizza Hut for a meal. It was so nice to see
her again, although I know how difficult it was for her.
Blond
bombshell
Our
first delivery today from Ocado (Waitrose) was, by all accounts (I was
asleep) wonderful from a customer service point of view. Our trip to PC
World later in the day was anything but.
In the evening we drove to the Vue cinema on Purley Way to watch Casino Royale, which was splendidly different - and Daniel Craig is Bond - but the end was rather spoiled by the projectionist cutting the film, switching the house lights up full and putting the advert slides on half-way through the credits. Admittedly we are a bit sad and like to sit through the credits of films until the end, but with Bond it's different because it's nice to see the very last line: "Bond will return in ...". Now we'll never know.
In the evening we drove to the Vue cinema on Purley Way to watch Casino Royale, which was splendidly different - and Daniel Craig is Bond - but the end was rather spoiled by the projectionist cutting the film, switching the house lights up full and putting the advert slides on half-way through the credits. Admittedly we are a bit sad and like to sit through the credits of films until the end, but with Bond it's different because it's nice to see the very last line: "Bond will return in ...". Now we'll never know.
I'm
a good boy, I am
It
amazes me how often, when driving through speed-restricted roadworks on
the motorway, I'm the only person going even vaguely close to the speed
limit. I have six points on my licence currently (I had nine but three
came off in May, and the next three come off next summer) so I can't afford
not to, I suppose.
Crisis?
What crisis?
I
think I've given up having Birthday Crises. I realise I'm getting older,
and there's nothing I can do about it. I've stopped gasping every time
I work out that it's, for example, twenty-eight years since I first started
at boarding school, or that I've been in work now for twenty-one years
- twelve of them with WHSmith come the middle of next week.
Somewhere in Oxfordshire, or possibly Warwickshire, around 8.30 this evening, my car clicked over to 125,000 miles. Just thought I'd share.
Somewhere in Oxfordshire, or possibly Warwickshire, around 8.30 this evening, my car clicked over to 125,000 miles. Just thought I'd share.
An
idle thought
There
is an English word, which describes, I think, a small, slightly raised
piece of ground. But the word cannot be spoken alone without the listener
thinking of a very particular adjective, without which the word seems
somehow naked, but with which it invokes a particular sequence of events
which took place in 1963. The poor word, it occurs to me, can never again
be used just to describe a small, slightly raised piece of ground.
The word? Knoll.
The word? Knoll.
It
feels much more autumnal today, in terms of the colour of the leaves on
the trees, and the number on the ground. But for heaven's sake, it's the
14th of November! It should look like this around the middle of September.
This
afternoon I'm having a bit of an adventure. After staying overnight in
Lancashire, I had a meeting with someone in Nottinghamshire at lunchtime.
So I went across the Pennines on the M62, had my meeting, then decided
that as my next appointment was many hours away, in a small town in southern
Buckinghamshire, I would ask my sat nav to navigate me there by the shortest
(rather than the fastest) route. I was also fairly anxious to
avoid the M1 and M25 on a Friday afternoon. It set up as straight a line
between the two places as it was possible to do, and I set off merrily
through tiny little villages separated by huge fields, past little churches
and friendly-looking pubs, once in a while joining a main-ish road for
a short section before turning off again. Fortunately I didn't meet too
many cars coming the other way on the narrow lanes. Occasionally I had
to back up when I realised that I had been looking out of the window at
the scenery and not concentrating on the directions, and I'd missed a
turning. Tremendous fun, and a great way of seeing a little more of our
wonderful countryside: you should try it some time. And all told, it probably
took about the same amount of time as the motorway route would have done,
and I shall do more of this when the opportunity presents.
For some time to come I will remember the elderly lady in the hat and the scarlet jacket, directing the equally elderly flat-capped gent on the tractor as he tried to reverse up to a trailer, happily blocking the whole road; the ridiculous pedestrian crossing in Oakham, its lengthy red light sequences causing longer and longer tailbacks through the village every time someone wanted to cross the road; passing a 'Wards Of Olney' removal van and recalling how they packed and drove most of the contents of our house out to East Berlin in 1978, and back again two years later; noticing, driving through Olney itself, how there seem to be even more estate agents and antique dealers than ever before, at the expense of ordinary shops; the industrial estate on the edge of Milton Keynes where I had my first ever driving lesson; seeing a sign for the Open University at Walton Hall in MK, where I first learned how television studios work, and incidentally how to edit video; and other general recollections of a previous life, driving through such a familiar area.
For some time to come I will remember the elderly lady in the hat and the scarlet jacket, directing the equally elderly flat-capped gent on the tractor as he tried to reverse up to a trailer, happily blocking the whole road; the ridiculous pedestrian crossing in Oakham, its lengthy red light sequences causing longer and longer tailbacks through the village every time someone wanted to cross the road; passing a 'Wards Of Olney' removal van and recalling how they packed and drove most of the contents of our house out to East Berlin in 1978, and back again two years later; noticing, driving through Olney itself, how there seem to be even more estate agents and antique dealers than ever before, at the expense of ordinary shops; the industrial estate on the edge of Milton Keynes where I had my first ever driving lesson; seeing a sign for the Open University at Walton Hall in MK, where I first learned how television studios work, and incidentally how to edit video; and other general recollections of a previous life, driving through such a familiar area.
Once
upon a time there was a section of the Post Office called Telephone Engineering.
One day, the Government, who owned it (well, on behalf of all of us, in
fact) decided to sell this section off. It became British Telecommunications
plc - BT to you and me. Not unnaturally, when mobile phone technology
started to become widespread, BT were at the forefront. With their huge
market advantage, and tons of capital, they created the foremost mobile
phone infrastructure and network in the country. It was called BT Cellnet.
At some point, completely inexplicably, they decided that they, the main
British telecommunications company, should no longer be running the most
technologically advanced mobile phone company in the country, so they
sold it off. Unsurprisingly, this mobile phone company went on to greater
and greater heights (bizarrely changing its name somewhere along the way
to O2).
Then, some time later, sanity caught up with BT and they decided that perhaps they did ought to have a mobile phone business after all. Like, durrr. So they set one up, this time calling it BT Mobile. But of course they couldn't go out and create another whole technical infrastructure, so they had to use someone else's. And they could hardly use O2's. So they plumped for piggy-backing Vodaphone's - O2's historic rival. It's all such complete nonsense.
Then, some time later, sanity caught up with BT and they decided that perhaps they did ought to have a mobile phone business after all. Like, durrr. So they set one up, this time calling it BT Mobile. But of course they couldn't go out and create another whole technical infrastructure, so they had to use someone else's. And they could hardly use O2's. So they plumped for piggy-backing Vodaphone's - O2's historic rival. It's all such complete nonsense.
Lost
in translation
My work mobile broke last week, in an annoying way: I could make and receive
calls, and I could hear the person at the other end of the line perfectly.
They just couldn't hear me! On Monday I used the clunky, ambiguous, German
software (the phone is made by Siemens) to remove the 497 contacts from
the 'Addressbook' (phone's memory, as opposed to the 'Phonebook', which
is the SIM memory...) and save to the PC. Yesterday I swapped the phone
at head office. Today, I tried to put the 497 contacts back on to the
new phone. "This operation has Failed", it told me. Repeatedly.
Buggering thing. So I'm now carrying everywhere with me 10 pages of those
497 contacts in 6pt, woefully-formatted, type. The only saving grace is
that my company has finally decided to ditch Orange for another provider,
very soon. Halleluia! I'd like to think my own nagging over the last months
has played a tiny part in their decision. I'm hoping - against the odds,
admittedly - that the Nokia software which I expect will come with the
new phone can make some sense of the file with the 497 contacts in...
I'll let you know.
Get
down
Last weekend we went to IKEA and bought a wonderfully extravagant, enormous,
duck feather and down duvet, and a snow-white cotton cover for it. It
has been blissful sleeping under it! But one cover and set of pillow-slips
isn't enough, so today we searched Croydon for another worthy of it. And
predictably perhaps we ended up in House of Fraser.
Spamalot
Less than a week after losing the internet, I checked my e-mails this
morning. 518 messages, of which 109 were not spam. Despite filters
everywhere. At the moment, while there are still plenty of offers to increase
the size of my manhood, and to help me overcome my obesity, most suggest
I buy the stock of various companies in order to make a quick killing.
The scourge of our technological age.
More intolerable racket from upstairs all day.
More intolerable racket from upstairs all day.
Soup
and more beer
Steve
set off for work leaving the rest of us to stagger into hung-over wakefulness.
We eventually got ourselves together and into London (diverting to the
rather spectacularly-appointed Black Friar pub somewhat by accident),
where Ian and I visited the Photographers' Gallery to look at some...
well... photographs. We enjoyed soup in their informal canteen, watched
an odd Arab movie, shopped in the gift/book-shop, and then rejoined Mike
in the Porcupine on Charing Cross Road, where Steve arrived later. We
drank a little more, as you do, said goodbye to Mike, and headed home,
where we found we now had internet access again after nearly a week, and
ordered curry.
links:
photographers'
gallery
My
Birthday
Ian
arrived this afternoon into Croydon by train, met by Steve, both joining
Mike (who also arrived by train) and myself at the Royal Standard for
a few drinks before my birthday meal at Bibi and Beppe's Italian restaurant.
Very pleasant evening, even if too much was drunk by all.
The Cambridge Two brought a fine wooden cheese board and wonderful, French, bone-handled cheese knives, and Steve gave me a truly magnificent watch. He's also taking me to Berlin in the New Year. Mike also brought a DVD of our Civil Partnership ceremony, so at last we were able to see what happened. I think it did go OK, as everyone told us at the time. Still, nice to actually see it as others did. Thanks again, Mike.
The Cambridge Two brought a fine wooden cheese board and wonderful, French, bone-handled cheese knives, and Steve gave me a truly magnificent watch. He's also taking me to Berlin in the New Year. Mike also brought a DVD of our Civil Partnership ceremony, so at last we were able to see what happened. I think it did go OK, as everyone told us at the time. Still, nice to actually see it as others did. Thanks again, Mike.
More
than an hour is spent this morning listening to 'on hold' music. Firstly
at the so-called service company who are going to come - again - to fix
our washing machine. No apology when they do answer.
And then at what I thought was Virgin Money about my Virgin credit card. Actually, it turns out to be MBNA that I'm talking to. What I don't understand, and I can't get them to understand, is why I don't understand how come, when I paid in full by the due date earlier this month, I should be charged over £11 in interest. Admittedly the previous month I had paid late - one day late - and had therefore a) been charged £12 'late fee'; b) been charged £8 in interest; and c) had forfeited the 0%-interest-on-all-purchases-for-six-months deal which is why I'd taken out the card in the first place. So that's a slap on the wrist, a kick up the arse and a right hook to the chops for being - I repeat - ONE DAY LATE the month before. So how in God's name can they then charge me interest when I do exactly what we're all brought up to do - pay, in full, by the due date? Something about being charged interest daily. Something about moving the goal-posts, more like. I got a bit heated with them. They remained calm, but resolute. And incomprehensible. But they put me through to someone else who listened to me again, explained their nonsense again, and then agreed as "a gesture of goodwill" to refund the £11 interest, and to reinstate my zero percent, which runs out 'in November'. It's November tomorrow, so that was an empty gesture, which I pointed out to her.
I'm exhausted now, and I haven't even started on BT (we've had no broadband since Saturday morning).
And then at what I thought was Virgin Money about my Virgin credit card. Actually, it turns out to be MBNA that I'm talking to. What I don't understand, and I can't get them to understand, is why I don't understand how come, when I paid in full by the due date earlier this month, I should be charged over £11 in interest. Admittedly the previous month I had paid late - one day late - and had therefore a) been charged £12 'late fee'; b) been charged £8 in interest; and c) had forfeited the 0%-interest-on-all-purchases-for-six-months deal which is why I'd taken out the card in the first place. So that's a slap on the wrist, a kick up the arse and a right hook to the chops for being - I repeat - ONE DAY LATE the month before. So how in God's name can they then charge me interest when I do exactly what we're all brought up to do - pay, in full, by the due date? Something about being charged interest daily. Something about moving the goal-posts, more like. I got a bit heated with them. They remained calm, but resolute. And incomprehensible. But they put me through to someone else who listened to me again, explained their nonsense again, and then agreed as "a gesture of goodwill" to refund the £11 interest, and to reinstate my zero percent, which runs out 'in November'. It's November tomorrow, so that was an empty gesture, which I pointed out to her.
I'm exhausted now, and I haven't even started on BT (we've had no broadband since Saturday morning).
I'm
really sorry
Hey
guys, I haven't posted for a long time, and I'm really, really sorry.
I haven't been motivated to, despite lots of exciting things having happened.
There are a dozen or so entries below, some in short-form, and which I've
highlighted in green so you can see what I'm posting today; but I'll remove
the highlighting in a while and it'll all kind of merge in again. I never
intend not to post, but sometimes I don't get a chance for a few days,
then I get behind, then I get depressed about being behind, then I lose
the will... you probably know how it goes. Anyway, it's all done and up-to-date
now, and I hope it won't get more than a day or two behind from now on.
The
return
Very,
very choppy Irish sea, so the journey back from Douglas, on board Ben
My Chree, was a bit rough. They'd cancelled the morning's SeaCat
service, so all those passengers and vehicles had to be crammed onto our
boat, too. I got up at some ungodly hour, and the boat left late, so I
slept a bit on the passage across, and was knacked by the time we arrived
in Heysham. Fortunately I'd had the presence of mind to book a reserved
seat in the so-called 'Quiet Lounge', and so I was luckier than some.
Interesting news from Hamilton Road this evening. Not entirely unexpected news, mind you, but interesting nevertheless. If you know, you know.
Interesting news from Hamilton Road this evening. Not entirely unexpected news, mind you, but interesting nevertheless. If you know, you know.
links:
ben
my chree
Loon
It's
blowing a gale in Douglas this afternoon. I've just come across on the
SeaCat from Liverpool, and - perhaps because I was early checking in -
I've got a room with a sea-view. I've just spent five minutes watching
a total loon kite-surfing (or whatever it's called) across the bay and
back. He has to be the coldest and wettest person on the Isle of Man right
now - and there will be a lot of cold, wet people here today. I'll be
getting cold and wet shortly, 'cos I've got to go out in the rain. But
this guy presumably wants to be there. Oh well.
Each year on this day I think about my old sixth-form room-mate Andrew Strangeways, whose birthday it is exactly one week before mine. Happy birthday Andy, wherever you are (Australia, last I heard?). Get in touch if you read this.
Each year on this day I think about my old sixth-form room-mate Andrew Strangeways, whose birthday it is exactly one week before mine. Happy birthday Andy, wherever you are (Australia, last I heard?). Get in touch if you read this.
Someone's
being positive
On
the M1 today I've seen a number plate in the 'new' format which I predicted
would exist, on a rather expensive-looking black Range Rover - YE51CAN.
Selling
the family silver
Does
anyone, apart from some mega-rich corporations, own anything in this country
anymore? I ask after having read that even the BBC doesn't own its own
television transmitters. Everything's been flogged off for a quick profit
and an eternity of rental charges, it seems to me. A good deal on this
year's balance sheet, not so good in the years to come.
Very
good seats indeed...
...at
the Lyceum Theatre, to watch the Lion King musical. Novel, and huge fun,
spoiled only slightly by the little undisciplined brat and its useless
mother sitting next to us.
links:
lion
king
Going
to London to visit the Queen
We're
going to see the Queen on Saturday.
And today we met Roxana off her flight from Italy, and saw all her bites.
And today we met Roxana off her flight from Italy, and saw all her bites.
links:
the
queen
Oh
what a circus, oh what a show!
Please
excuse the predictable headline for our visit to Evita this evening, at
the Adelphi Theatre in the Strand. Again organised by Steve's colleague
Simon, with part of the ticket price going to Asthma Research, it was
a thoroughly enjoyable experience. Mind you I was nearly late, what with
the bloody Underground partially closed...
The lead actress, who incidentally danced beautifully, was in fact from
Buenos Aires, which was unusual; and the actor playing the Che character
seemed to take a while to get into his stride, vocally, although I suppose
that may be because
I'm sort of conditioned to expect to hear Antonio Banderas. No matter:
the staging was inspired, the cast energetic, and the songs as good as
they ever were.
Afterwards a group of us retired to the Retro Bar (formerly Popstarz)
just off the Strand, for a few wee drinkies.
Garbage
Have
you ever read the Terms and Conditions - pages and pages and pages of
them - before signing up to some online service or other? What in the
name of all that is holy does "the granting of usufructuary rights"
commit me to? Or them to? I didn't sign up.
After a week away in Italy, and then all that has gone on in the last few days, today we had a mountain of laundry and ironing to do, but hey-ho, it has to be done. And now it is, and the flat's straight again.
After a week away in Italy, and then all that has gone on in the last few days, today we had a mountain of laundry and ironing to do, but hey-ho, it has to be done. And now it is, and the flat's straight again.
'Bye
sis, 'bye bro
Today
we took Roxana to Stansted and put her on a plane to Napoli, then we carried
on to Cambridge, where Ian showed Denis, and us, around Trinity Hall,
and we ended the evening with a meal in the Clarry before leaving Ian
at his pad and returning to Croydon.
Tomorrow morning Steve will take his Dad into London and make sure he gets his coach home.
Tomorrow morning Steve will take his Dad into London and make sure he gets his coach home.
Well
what a day!
If you're reading this, you were probably there. I say that, not really
knowing who reads this, but assuming it to be mainly close friends and
family...
If you weren't, and don't know - well, Steve and I got married today!
There are pictures (click on pics in the bar at the top
of the page), but essentially what happened was this: big posh 8-seater
taxi picked up Steve and me, Steve's Dad, Ian, Roxana, Matt and Rhona
from the flat and took us to the Register Office, where another wedding
was about to start. So we waited in the gardens opposite, and loads of
people turned up, and kind of mingled. The weather was pretty good, which
was lucky.
Eventually the registrars arrived, the previous ceremony finished, and
Steve and I, together with Roxana and Matt - our official witnesses -
went in to go through some formalities and brief them on the music. Then
we stood at the front and everyone came in, and pretty much filled the
place.
After that, it's a bit of a blur, to be honest. I think there's a video
floating about somewhere, so I may well get to see what everyone else
did at some point. I do recall some laughter and some applause, so I'm
assuming it wasn't a complete bo**ocks. Roxana read - beautifully - The
Passionate Shepherd To His Love by Christopher Marlowe (the one that
begins "Come live with me and be my love"), which was partially
reprised in song by Annie Lennox on a CD while we were signing the register.
That was the bit that officially made us Civil Partners, which is the
closest we get to being 'married'. Before that, though, we read vows to
each other which we had written ourselves. Well, as I say, that was all
what the script said - I have very little recollection.
Earlier, before we left home, I had a beautiful text from Marion wishing
us luck (see 21st August entry below for why that was so poignant).
Then we all adjourned on foot round the block to the Spreadeagle pub,
where we had booked the function room upstairs. There was Champagne, (good)
beer, and food, and Steve and I tried to get round to see everyone who
had made us so happy by being there to share the day with us. We missed
a few people who we would have loved to have seen there, but about 40
actually came on the day, which was wonderful.
Then around twenty people came back to the flat, which had never been
so full! Our neighbour Clive brought down the flowers and Champagne which
should have been delivered, courtesy of Peter and Chris, long before we
left in the taxi earlier - but actually arrived after we'd left, just
as Clive was leaving to get to the ceremony. A further good time was had,
I think, by all, until gradually everyone left, leaving Steve and I to
open our cards and presents, along with Denis, Roxana, Ian and Leith.
Travelling
While
Steve went in to London to meet his Dad, and Ian, off coaches and trains,
I drove to Salisbury and picked up Roxana, her luggage for Italy, and
a car-full of bedding. We all ate, back in Croydon, at a noisy Il Ponte,
and contemplated the morrow.
Home
again
Back
from Italy tonight - very late. There will be, or is (depending when you
read this), a holiday journal. Look under travel
| past
We
tried to cheer ourselves up with a trip into town today, and a little
retail therapy. Having recently learned that the famous Beanos second-hand
record store is to close after thirty years, we took a trip there and
picked up some bargains, and we traipsed around Marks and Spencer's food
hall trying to find the veg to go with the main dish we'd chosen, but
ended up strangely drawn to the Italian desserts. We found them in the
end (the veg that is) and got some cheese for 'afters' instead.
This evening we settled down to watch a borrowed DVD of the Acorn Antiques West End musical. A good distraction.
This evening we settled down to watch a borrowed DVD of the Acorn Antiques West End musical. A good distraction.
links:
beanos
|
acorn
antiques
Pippa
has been getting more and more ill recently, and hasn't eaten for five
days. She's barely drunk any water either, and has got very very weak.
So Steve and I made the dreaded decision last night, and I took her to
the vets this morning, who confirmed that we were doing the right thing
for her. I'm sorry to everyone who knew Pippa. She was an unusual cat
in many ways, and Steve and I are already missing her like mad. It hasn't
been a good day.
Malcolm's
funeral was today. The crematorium, in Worcester, was packed, a fitting
tribute to the man most people knew simply as 'Hobday'. I don't want to
say too much, other than the service was very thoughtfully planned, and
a true celebration of his life. Marion, and Hobday's daughters, were extremely
brave, and I'm so pleased I attended.
It
has been gently pointed out to me that what I wrote (below) last Thursday
is a little opaque. What I was trying to convey was the almost unimaginable
horror of having to cope with the sudden death of your partner. I'm sorry
if that didn't come across.
Seems
someone else had the same idea (see entry 'Wingnuts' below). Rebecca in
New York is starting the whole seven series of The West Wing from the
beginning, weekly, and blogging about it.
By the way, please don't forget that you can read this blog on your pda, mobile or other portable small-screened device, by going to http://haymee.com/pda.htm Soon I hope to have a .mobi URL for that, and incorporate more features from the site in addition to the blog.
By the way, please don't forget that you can read this blog on your pda, mobile or other portable small-screened device, by going to http://haymee.com/pda.htm Soon I hope to have a .mobi URL for that, and incorporate more features from the site in addition to the blog.
links:
1600
memory lane
Why
have the Fates decided that at the most desperate time in your life when
you need the comfort and support of the closest person you know and love,
that person cannot offer it to you?
Shocking,
tragic news this morning. A phone call direct from Ian, the head of my
department, to inform me that my close colleague Malcolm died yesterday
morning of a heart attack. Completely unexpected, no signs or indications
beforehand. Malcolm enjoyed life, his job, his colleagues and his family.
I cannot begin to imagine what his partner Marion, who is my boss, must
be having to cope with now. Ian summed it up when he said that Malcolm
was her soulmate, at work and at home. Some difficult times lie ahead
for her and the rest of his family, and, through my own grief, I'm feeling
very much for them.
An
important day - we walked to the Register Office in Croydon this morning
to formally give notice of our intention to sign the Civil Partnership
Register. A very nice man - watched by an over-enthusiastic trainee lady
- asked us a lot of questions and filled in the responses on his screen,
after which we received our Notices (copies of which are on public display
in the Register Office).
Then we went to House of Fraser for a coffee and a danish whirl.
Then we went to House of Fraser for a coffee and a danish whirl.
"Cyclists
were left confused by a bilingual road sign telling them they had problems
with an inflamed bladder. The "cyclists dismount" sign between Penarth
and Cardiff became "llid y bledren dymchwelyd" in Welsh - literally "bladder
inflammation upset" (or tip or overturn). The Vale of Glamorgan Council
said new signs were being made. It is possible that an online translation
led to confusion between cyclists and cystitis. The temporary sign at
roadworks is to be replaced." Made me laugh.
One of my French friends in Edinburgh needs your vote to win the Street Performer of the Year Award (see the link below). He does amazing conjuring tricks and fire-eating too, as well as the rather scary activities you can see in the video on the FestivalHub website.
One of my French friends in Edinburgh needs your vote to win the Street Performer of the Year Award (see the link below). He does amazing conjuring tricks and fire-eating too, as well as the rather scary activities you can see in the video on the FestivalHub website.
My
sister's homemade marmalade is absolutely delicious!
I'm off work this week - excepting Thursday when I have a meeting - and I'm busy finishing things and tidying things and repairing things. And wasting time and dreaming and relaxing a bit too much, but hey, I don't care!
I'm off work this week - excepting Thursday when I have a meeting - and I'm busy finishing things and tidying things and repairing things. And wasting time and dreaming and relaxing a bit too much, but hey, I don't care!
Standing
in the reception at the vets this evening clutching a small test tube
of straw-coloured liquid. Mr Braid-Lewis walks past, smiles at me, and
says, "Your sample?" "Ha ha," I reply, "not mine!"
Clenched teeth. Mr Braid-Lewis, clever vet chappy that he is, didn't have
to wait in all day checking the little pile of special inert white bits
of litter in an otherwise empty tray every few minutes, waiting for Pippa
to decide to have a wee so I could pounce with the pipette and extract
a fresh sample. She eventually decided to go half-an-hour before the vets
closed.
Recorded
last weekend, we watched this evening the last West Wing ever. Very sad.
I think it went downhill after Aaron Sorkin stopped writing it after Series
4, but it still had its moments. We immediately got Series 1 off the DVD
shelf and watched the pilot. One episode a week, we've decided, until
we've watched the lot again. If you think we're a bit sad, that's your
prerogative.
links:
the
west wing
We
met late in the morning at the cemetery on London Road: Mum and Dad, Alison,
Roxana, Ian and me, and then David and his wife up from Blandford. Father
Andrew breezed in on his motorbike, disappeared somewhere and emerged,
robed, to conduct a simple ceremony to inter the small wooden casket of
ashes into the ground where Vera's sister (my grandmother), and their
father, also lie. We took turns to pick up a little dry earth and throw
it into the hole; as I did so I quietly said "Goodbye Aunty"
and turned around as unsentimentally as I could, just as I know she would
have done. In fact I could see her beside me in a blue dress, a slight
smile on her face, slightly stooped, clutching her handbag as we headed
for the car.
A
funeral is a strange event, I always think. It's not something you can
rehearse for, either practically or emotionally. You are - as with family
weddings - flung together in a slightly messy emotional state with people
with whom you may share little in common other than some DNA. However,
today we had in common our love and respect for that matriarch (wrong
word - she was a spinster, but the oldest person in the family) who had
now passed on. Newmans of Salisbury did her proud, and the Requiem Mass
at St Osmund's in Exeter Street (a short walk from where she lived most
of her life), and the shorter committal service at the crematorium, were
teary but celebratory affairs. In particular I should mention the Eulogy
written and delivered by my second cousin Gary - also a teacher. Father
Andrew conducted everything at a very decent pace, allowing silence its
own place in the services - to me at just the right moments, for exactly
the right length.
Vera
Harfitt 1906-2006
News
arrived this evening that the aged great-aunt passed away at 6.30pm. Expected
though this was, you cannot ever fully prepare, can you, for the phone
call? I have a fairly small number of nevertheless very strong memories
of her. To me, she was always a retired, slightly elderly, lady, still
with a strong instinct to teach, and who never patronised, always assumed
I was a grown-up and could make sensible decisions, even as a child. Having
said that, she didn't stand any nonsense, and a tut with pursed lips from
her said a great deal very economically.
I stayed with her during some half-term holidays from boarding school, where I would sit on her bed every morning as she drank a cup of tea, and 'help' her do the Telegraph crossword, and then perhaps we'd walk to Harnham and feed the ducks, or take a trip to a zoo or some gardens, but always at the end of the day return to write up a holiday diary (a habit I still have). She concocted - shall we say, interesting - meals, and worshiped the sun. There were always postcards and souvenirs around from what seemed to me at the time exotic holiday destinations like Austria or Switzerland.
She was a friendly, decent, clever and generous lady, and I share some of her genes and, I hope, a little of her character, and I'm very, very sad she is gone now.
I stayed with her during some half-term holidays from boarding school, where I would sit on her bed every morning as she drank a cup of tea, and 'help' her do the Telegraph crossword, and then perhaps we'd walk to Harnham and feed the ducks, or take a trip to a zoo or some gardens, but always at the end of the day return to write up a holiday diary (a habit I still have). She concocted - shall we say, interesting - meals, and worshiped the sun. There were always postcards and souvenirs around from what seemed to me at the time exotic holiday destinations like Austria or Switzerland.
She was a friendly, decent, clever and generous lady, and I share some of her genes and, I hope, a little of her character, and I'm very, very sad she is gone now.
The
usual
The
King William IV was once again our Sunday lunch venue, as members of the
party variously recovered and sought further liquid, or solid, sustenance.
Cheesecake
days
Up
very, very - and I emphasise, very - early, for me to briefly go to work
in north London, and then we flew as quickly as possible up the M11 to
Cambridge, where, after a short tour of a short French market, we enjoyed
a very pleasant barbecue/picnic on the banks of the Cam near Grantchester.
There were, eventually, I think, eight of us. We sent Ian off on a cheesecake
hunt, and he did very well, returning with a frozen selection, but throwing
himself (and the cheesecakes) recklessly from his bike on his way back.
Neapolitan
The holiday is booked. And we're flying BA, not Crap Air. We've asked
D&K if they can take us up Vesuvius this time, and to Herculaneum
(we 'did' Pompeii last time).
Monster
trucks
You know my views, I think, on unnecessarily oversized 4x4s; in fact,
I find myself in complete agreement with Ken who wants to start charging
£25 a day for access into the Congestion Charge zone for 'Chelsea
Tractors'. Well today I saw possibly one of the most ridiculous examples
of the type I have ever seen: it was a large American Dodge (or similar)
pick-up, but this particular one had huge, oversize, flared wheel arches.
Why? Because it had a double wheel each side at the rear! It took up far
too much road, and frankly should be paying extra road tax for the privilege.
Why people buy and drive these things anywhere (except for genuinely utilitarian
reasons) is beyond me, but in the UK? On our roads?
And we've made a decision to go to Santa Maria di Castellabate in September, in a kind of pre-ceremony honeymoon.
Memories
Once
upon a long ago I lived in a house in Farnborough. It was a very very
nice house. I had fun there. I went to school around the corner. Daddy
had a big white car. My brothers had a bedroom and played with their train
set there. When my big sister got married she left from the house in a
coach and four - well on a coach (it's a long story). I played
in the garden and I played on the stairs and I learned to ride a bike
there and I held my Mummy's hand when we went up the road to the shops...
Well, the house is still there, as we discovered when we drove past today. The roads have all changed and are scarily confusing now. It's not on a main road any more - it's sort of off an annexe off a cul-de-sac off a slip road - but it was kind of fun to sit outside and stare. Not sure what the occupants would have made of us if they'd seen us, but hey.
Well, the house is still there, as we discovered when we drove past today. The roads have all changed and are scarily confusing now. It's not on a main road any more - it's sort of off an annexe off a cul-de-sac off a slip road - but it was kind of fun to sit outside and stare. Not sure what the occupants would have made of us if they'd seen us, but hey.