I don’t know about you, but the public sparring match which is Nigella Lawson and Charles Saatchi is riveting me.
It’s a tabloid editor’s wet dream, of course, with all the salacious ingredients almost guaranteed to sell newspapers. Gorgeous curvaceous TV cook, millionaire art dealer several years older than her, publicly threatening behaviour, drugs, foreign servants, huge spending on fripperies and allegations of fraud by aforesaid foreigners. What could be better?
Apparently the tide of public opinion is supporting Nigella but that is hardly surprising. She is beautiful, talented, rich through her own endeavours and constantly on our TV screens. He is old, ugly, secretive and reclusive and not just rich but obscenely rich through the talent of others and plain old good luck in investment (you might argue he had foresight and exercised shrewd judgement, but that’s much less fun).
It seems that each new day brings further lurid allegations of wrong doing, law breaking or lack of morals. If it isn’t the fact (bandied across the front of various tabloids this morning) that they spent £25,000 on flowers in one year it’s their multi million pound collection of silverware stored in a special room and which costs £9,000 to clean (who cares? They can spend their money however they like). If it isn’t the coke sniffing, it’s the special fat free noodles which Nigella has allegedly been eating to attain her new, slim line figure. All grist to the mill!
I bought some of those noodles the other day in Holland and Barratt because say what you like about the rest of it, Nigella has lost a staggering amount of weight and surely it can’t all be due to stress? As you’ll know I’ve tried various diets over the years and not really had much success with any of them, or if so only short term. Whilst Christmas shopping at the weekend, I tried to find a new dress for Christmas Day, and failed because sadly, without putting too fine a point on it, I have an enormous overfed belly! So come post panto (about the third week of January) I plan to have another assault on the lard and therefore bought the noodles in anticipation (you may like to know that in an ironic twist, I am eating a homemade mince pie as I type this!).
To say fat free noodles look and feel weird is understating it. In appearance they look like nothing more than thin white worms, not noodle like at all. They have the feel of wet slimy string, all oozing about and slippery in the packet. I can’t honestly say they appear appetising in the slightest. They weren’t particularly expensive, but they certainly weren’t cheap and the packets are very small. I’m going to give them a try; but I don’t see them being a long term thing, although perhaps if you can afford to spend money on stuff to sniff up your nose and on costly flowers all year you don’t really care about that.
All the nasty allegations about one of my favourite TV chefs are rather disappointing (by the way she is also The Hubby’s favourite due to the food porn nature of her programmes. She’s lovely to look at, has curves in the right places and she can cook – what’s not to like?). No one is a saint, but she does seem to have had a rather colourful life over the last few years which, despite her earlier heartaches, can’t really be excused or justified. Mind you, Mr Saatchi certainly isn’t a saint either, so it would be completely wrong to apportion blame for the marriage break up to one or the other (allegedly he used to go round the house looking for dirt and make her grab the Marigolds and clean it up then and there – good job he never comes round to mine, then!).
No doubt this saga will run and run. There will be more scandalous allegations, and the press will have a field day. Nigella will bounce through it and after a short break will come back into the public consciousness more popular than ever (much like happened to Kate Moss when she was caught snorting coke on camera) and make loads more cash to fritter away on flowers. Charles Saatchi will disappear into his reclusive hole to be forgotten about by most and see his wealth increase further.
And no doubt some other public panto will come along with a couple more celebrities to entertain us. All depressingly familiar, and just showing what a shallow society we have become.
Wednesday 11 December 2013
Tuesday 12 November 2013
I wore my poppy with pride.
Yesterday was Armistice Day.
Along with many other people, I stopped work at 11am and stood for two minutes in silence remembering the atrocities of war and the valour of the young men and women who to this day continue to lay down their lives in the service of their country to preserve the safety, security and democratic rights of millions.
This year, I have been sickened by the very vocal objections to this commemoration by those who only have the right to voice their opinions because of the brave individuals who have fought for them. “It’s terrible” they opine “that you are celebrating war, which is a bad thing”.
That statement could be seen to be a moot point, of course. War may, in some circumstances, be the right thing to do. Was it right for instance, that Adolf Hitler be allowed to hasten his relentless march across Africa and Europe by invading and oppressing native peoples and quashing the diversity of mankind in his pursuit of the Aryan Dream? Of course it wasn’t, and in the end there was no option but to use military force to stop him. Is it ever right that one race try to enslave another or threaten its survival by sheer brute force and impose its beliefs and views upon others? Of course not! Believe what you like – believe little green men live on Mars if you like or believe that eating meat is sinful – but don’t try and impose your belief on me at the expense of my own. There is no situation, in terms of beliefs, where yours are right and mine are wrong. We are just different.
But the main issue is that they have missed the point of 11th November. It’s not about celebrating or glorifying war at all. It’s about remembering the best of the human character – bravery, dignity, sacrifice and friendship - and how our society is able to be what it is today because of it. It is about remembering the atrocity that is war, why it is sometimes necessary and providing a dignified means to show respect for those we have lost as a result.
Over the weekend I watched both the Royal British Legion Festival of Remembrance from the Royal Albert Hall and also the Sunday morning service at the Cenotaph. It always touches me that the veterans exhibit such pride in attending and I can imagine them as young men, full of bravado and outwardly confident, quaking inside at the prospect of going into war but doing it anyway not because they had been ordered to do so, but because they believed it was right. At the Albert Hall, the real tear jerker is the parade of war widows and orphans, people that have lost someone especially dear to them, and how they take such pride in wearing their late husband’s / boyfriend’s medals. I cry every time.
On a slightly more populist note, who hasn’t watched the final episode of the World War I Blackadder series and been touched by it.
I have no problem with someone not sharing my view that 11th November is something to commemorate (and I use the word ‘commemorate’, not ‘celebrate’) but I do have a problem with them trying to force others not to do so or rubbishing other perspectives about it. I also have a problem with them not recognising the amazing work done by charities such as the Royal British Legion or Help for Heroes, and how important it is. And I also have a problem with them trying to destroy the symbolism of the red poppy, surely the most potent and relevant symbol of remembrance there could possibly be and one which came about through a natural event in a very special place.
And so we come full circle. The objectors are able to say what they say because someone else has laid down his life and fought for his belief in a free world. It’s tragic that they can’t recognise that.
Along with many other people, I stopped work at 11am and stood for two minutes in silence remembering the atrocities of war and the valour of the young men and women who to this day continue to lay down their lives in the service of their country to preserve the safety, security and democratic rights of millions.
This year, I have been sickened by the very vocal objections to this commemoration by those who only have the right to voice their opinions because of the brave individuals who have fought for them. “It’s terrible” they opine “that you are celebrating war, which is a bad thing”.
That statement could be seen to be a moot point, of course. War may, in some circumstances, be the right thing to do. Was it right for instance, that Adolf Hitler be allowed to hasten his relentless march across Africa and Europe by invading and oppressing native peoples and quashing the diversity of mankind in his pursuit of the Aryan Dream? Of course it wasn’t, and in the end there was no option but to use military force to stop him. Is it ever right that one race try to enslave another or threaten its survival by sheer brute force and impose its beliefs and views upon others? Of course not! Believe what you like – believe little green men live on Mars if you like or believe that eating meat is sinful – but don’t try and impose your belief on me at the expense of my own. There is no situation, in terms of beliefs, where yours are right and mine are wrong. We are just different.
But the main issue is that they have missed the point of 11th November. It’s not about celebrating or glorifying war at all. It’s about remembering the best of the human character – bravery, dignity, sacrifice and friendship - and how our society is able to be what it is today because of it. It is about remembering the atrocity that is war, why it is sometimes necessary and providing a dignified means to show respect for those we have lost as a result.
Over the weekend I watched both the Royal British Legion Festival of Remembrance from the Royal Albert Hall and also the Sunday morning service at the Cenotaph. It always touches me that the veterans exhibit such pride in attending and I can imagine them as young men, full of bravado and outwardly confident, quaking inside at the prospect of going into war but doing it anyway not because they had been ordered to do so, but because they believed it was right. At the Albert Hall, the real tear jerker is the parade of war widows and orphans, people that have lost someone especially dear to them, and how they take such pride in wearing their late husband’s / boyfriend’s medals. I cry every time.
On a slightly more populist note, who hasn’t watched the final episode of the World War I Blackadder series and been touched by it.
I have no problem with someone not sharing my view that 11th November is something to commemorate (and I use the word ‘commemorate’, not ‘celebrate’) but I do have a problem with them trying to force others not to do so or rubbishing other perspectives about it. I also have a problem with them not recognising the amazing work done by charities such as the Royal British Legion or Help for Heroes, and how important it is. And I also have a problem with them trying to destroy the symbolism of the red poppy, surely the most potent and relevant symbol of remembrance there could possibly be and one which came about through a natural event in a very special place.
And so we come full circle. The objectors are able to say what they say because someone else has laid down his life and fought for his belief in a free world. It’s tragic that they can’t recognise that.
Tuesday 5 November 2013
I'm sick of it......
Is anyone else sick to death of the phone hacking scandal?
I know I am. Every time I turn on the TV news, listen to the radio or open a newspaper there is the smug face and ginger Ninja mane of Rebecca Brooks looking back at me with her equally smug husband learing over her shoulder and Andy Coulson smirking in the background.
In my opinion, of course they did it and knew all about it! And if they didn’t they should be sacked for gross incompetence, because if one of my staff wanted to d something so momentous I’d certainly want to know about it and sign it off. We all know the media are crooks, up there with estate agents and running bankers a very close second. They manipulate, misrepresent and distort almost everything they report because by and large and barring enormous natural disasters like tsunami and earthquakes which cause immense human suffering, news is boring and dull and doesn’t sell papers. So it’s all spiced up, sexed up and amended to be more existing and juicy.
It would come as no surprise to me to learn that in actual fact the hacking is far worse than we even now realise and more ‘big’ names come out of the woodwork. Recently it has been revealed that police and palace officials have been selling confidential lists of mobile numbers belonging to public figures so maybe even Her Maj herself has been hacked. Now what a coup that would be!
They ought to just lock all these people up in cells which have 24 hour CCTV broadcasting live on the web and see how they like it if their every move, word and bodily function is available for all to view. Give ‘em a taste of their own medicine.
And while we’re about it, I am also sick of the ‘plebgate’ scandal which is following close behind phone hacking in news reports and the media generally. So what if some prat of a politician called a few coppers plebs and so what if he actually didn’t and they’re fibbing? Just like we know all of the media, estate agents and bankers are crooks, we also know that all politicians are idiots. How much is the bloody five second episode costing to investigate, is what I’d like to know? Shouldn’t they all just sit down together, say sorry (even if it’s not their fault), shake hands and agree to move on? That’s what we’d tell our children to do but we seem to be allowing this ridiculous episode to assume an importance far beyond what is deserved. Grow up Andrew Mitchell, and focus on what you were elected to do – run the country and represent your constituents instead of trumpeting your inflated view of your own importance!
A couple of years ago I resolved not to read a newspaper again or watch the news because it just made me frustrated and cross, and sometimes depressed. It’s a feeling I get when I’ve been on holiday and not read an English newspaper for two weeks, then get back on the plane, buy one and become increasingly bad tempered as I read through. In particular the Daily Mail, which never misses jumping on a band wagon and only really deserves to be called a comic and not a newspaper, produces this effect.
I think I am going to have to revisit my resolution. I can feel my blood pressure rising as I type. Doctor …….
I know I am. Every time I turn on the TV news, listen to the radio or open a newspaper there is the smug face and ginger Ninja mane of Rebecca Brooks looking back at me with her equally smug husband learing over her shoulder and Andy Coulson smirking in the background.
In my opinion, of course they did it and knew all about it! And if they didn’t they should be sacked for gross incompetence, because if one of my staff wanted to d something so momentous I’d certainly want to know about it and sign it off. We all know the media are crooks, up there with estate agents and running bankers a very close second. They manipulate, misrepresent and distort almost everything they report because by and large and barring enormous natural disasters like tsunami and earthquakes which cause immense human suffering, news is boring and dull and doesn’t sell papers. So it’s all spiced up, sexed up and amended to be more existing and juicy.
It would come as no surprise to me to learn that in actual fact the hacking is far worse than we even now realise and more ‘big’ names come out of the woodwork. Recently it has been revealed that police and palace officials have been selling confidential lists of mobile numbers belonging to public figures so maybe even Her Maj herself has been hacked. Now what a coup that would be!
They ought to just lock all these people up in cells which have 24 hour CCTV broadcasting live on the web and see how they like it if their every move, word and bodily function is available for all to view. Give ‘em a taste of their own medicine.
And while we’re about it, I am also sick of the ‘plebgate’ scandal which is following close behind phone hacking in news reports and the media generally. So what if some prat of a politician called a few coppers plebs and so what if he actually didn’t and they’re fibbing? Just like we know all of the media, estate agents and bankers are crooks, we also know that all politicians are idiots. How much is the bloody five second episode costing to investigate, is what I’d like to know? Shouldn’t they all just sit down together, say sorry (even if it’s not their fault), shake hands and agree to move on? That’s what we’d tell our children to do but we seem to be allowing this ridiculous episode to assume an importance far beyond what is deserved. Grow up Andrew Mitchell, and focus on what you were elected to do – run the country and represent your constituents instead of trumpeting your inflated view of your own importance!
A couple of years ago I resolved not to read a newspaper again or watch the news because it just made me frustrated and cross, and sometimes depressed. It’s a feeling I get when I’ve been on holiday and not read an English newspaper for two weeks, then get back on the plane, buy one and become increasingly bad tempered as I read through. In particular the Daily Mail, which never misses jumping on a band wagon and only really deserves to be called a comic and not a newspaper, produces this effect.
I think I am going to have to revisit my resolution. I can feel my blood pressure rising as I type. Doctor …….
Wednesday 23 October 2013
Top tips for harmonious commuting.....
Below are a few tips for commuters to have a harmonious journey and avoid irritating your fellow man to the point of homicide….
1. Always, but always, carry a hanky or tissues. Even if you do not have a cold, your nose can run for all sorts of reasons and they are useful for mopping up spilled coffee, too.
2. Turn off the annoying beep which happens when you push the buttons on your mobile. You may have your headphones on, but we can hear it.
3. Turn your music down. I don’t care if hip hop, techno, garage and rap are best played at ear splitting volume. I don’t like it, and I don’t want to listen to it.
4. Do not try to walk across a crowded concourse whilst texting, scrolling through your music list or messages or continuing to read your ipad, kindle, book or newspaper. Put your head up and LOOK WHERE YOU ARE GOING!
5. If you must stand in the doorway of the train or tube, GET OUT OF THE WAY when it reaches a station so others can get on or off.
6. Do not squeeze yourself between other people that have had the courtesy to remove their rain soaked coats without taking yours off too.
7. Do not use up all the miserable allocation of table space with your laptop, newspaper or ridiculously large tote bag. Those facilities are there for all of us, and I want my share.
8. Do not stop immediately at the top or bottom of flights of stairs and gaze round aimlessly. There are about a thousand people behind you, all trying to get up/down/out/in. If you are lost, stand to one side, find a map or ask someone in a lurid fluorescent jacket for help. Similarly, do not dawdle – YOU ARE IN THE WAY.
9. Do not brush your long, flicky hair on the crowded train so that hair, dandruff and God knows what goes all over other people. It’s unhygienic. Either wait until you get to work, or get up two minutes earlier and do it at home.
10. Do not converse loudly either to a friend or on the phone about intimate, personal information or brag about your latest business deal or how important you are. It is embarrassing and frankly, you are not that interesting. Try to be discreet.
Finally, and this is the ultimate tip of all about commuting, if you can avoid it, DON’T DO IT!
1. Always, but always, carry a hanky or tissues. Even if you do not have a cold, your nose can run for all sorts of reasons and they are useful for mopping up spilled coffee, too.
2. Turn off the annoying beep which happens when you push the buttons on your mobile. You may have your headphones on, but we can hear it.
3. Turn your music down. I don’t care if hip hop, techno, garage and rap are best played at ear splitting volume. I don’t like it, and I don’t want to listen to it.
4. Do not try to walk across a crowded concourse whilst texting, scrolling through your music list or messages or continuing to read your ipad, kindle, book or newspaper. Put your head up and LOOK WHERE YOU ARE GOING!
5. If you must stand in the doorway of the train or tube, GET OUT OF THE WAY when it reaches a station so others can get on or off.
6. Do not squeeze yourself between other people that have had the courtesy to remove their rain soaked coats without taking yours off too.
7. Do not use up all the miserable allocation of table space with your laptop, newspaper or ridiculously large tote bag. Those facilities are there for all of us, and I want my share.
8. Do not stop immediately at the top or bottom of flights of stairs and gaze round aimlessly. There are about a thousand people behind you, all trying to get up/down/out/in. If you are lost, stand to one side, find a map or ask someone in a lurid fluorescent jacket for help. Similarly, do not dawdle – YOU ARE IN THE WAY.
9. Do not brush your long, flicky hair on the crowded train so that hair, dandruff and God knows what goes all over other people. It’s unhygienic. Either wait until you get to work, or get up two minutes earlier and do it at home.
10. Do not converse loudly either to a friend or on the phone about intimate, personal information or brag about your latest business deal or how important you are. It is embarrassing and frankly, you are not that interesting. Try to be discreet.
Finally, and this is the ultimate tip of all about commuting, if you can avoid it, DON’T DO IT!
Wednesday 9 October 2013
Two blogs in one day! Things must be bad ....
It’s been a hell of a week since we got back from holiday!
While we were away, we got a phone call from Daughter One, an unusual enough event in itself. “Mum”, she wailed 2000 miles down the line to Crete, “I’ve broken my leg”.
Resisting the temptation to say “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”, I exhibited suitable motherly sympathy and asked all the right questions.
When we got back, I escorted her to East Surrey Hospital where she spent five hours of her life getting x-rays, a new plaster cast and seeing an orthopaedic consultant with no bedside manner whatsoever. She has broken the bottom end of her tibia, and is likely to be off work until Christmas. She cannot drive, which means that both she and the Granddaughter need to be ferried around to school, appointments etc. She will also go stir crazy not being able to do anything for twelve weeks.
Last weekend, Daughter Two went out clubbing with her friend Rosanna, who she is meant to be going on holiday with next Monday. Unfortunately, whilst getting cash out of a machine opposite said club at 1am on Sunday morning, they got mugged. Stereotypical situation – two young white women assaulted by two young black lads in hoodies, but fortunately no threatening behaviour with knives or anything. Daughter Two is OK apart from losing her stuff, a bit of a headache and a few bruises plus a fair dose of shock, but her friend is still in hospital and very poorly. She was assaulted quite hard and fell with a whack onto the pavement, hitting the back of her head. Apparently they cannot stop it bleeding, and she still cannot answer a full set of basic questions (ie what day is it?). It doesn’t look likely that they’ll be going away and we have to hope that this incident doesn’t have very sad repercussions. Poor Daughter Two!
Sister-In-Law has now also had some bad health news and has to go and see an oncologist. It may not be anything dreadful, but it’s worrying.
Work has deteriorated even further whilst I was away, and now I have to curb my working at home time to one day a week at least for a while to get a bunch of whinging, permanently dissatisfied staff back on track. Working at home two days each week has made the hideous commute bearable, and I am seriously concerned that I will have increased incidences of back and knee pain commuting four days a week. There’s no way I want to return to the days of daily Tramadol and ice packs.
So at the moment, as far as I can see it, the only way is up. Despite having come back from Crete for the third time this year only ten days ago, I feel like I’ve never been away. My stress levels are through the roof and God knows what my blood pressure reading is; I suppose I ought to take it as the next time I go along for my tablets I know Dr Williams will ask for it.
There is, of course, a lot to look forward to in the remaining months of 2013. Chris’s birthday, our tenth anniversary with a couple of great concerts in December and two nights away to celebrate, plus another trip to Crete.
The way things are here, this time I seriously might not come back.
While we were away, we got a phone call from Daughter One, an unusual enough event in itself. “Mum”, she wailed 2000 miles down the line to Crete, “I’ve broken my leg”.
Resisting the temptation to say “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”, I exhibited suitable motherly sympathy and asked all the right questions.
When we got back, I escorted her to East Surrey Hospital where she spent five hours of her life getting x-rays, a new plaster cast and seeing an orthopaedic consultant with no bedside manner whatsoever. She has broken the bottom end of her tibia, and is likely to be off work until Christmas. She cannot drive, which means that both she and the Granddaughter need to be ferried around to school, appointments etc. She will also go stir crazy not being able to do anything for twelve weeks.
Last weekend, Daughter Two went out clubbing with her friend Rosanna, who she is meant to be going on holiday with next Monday. Unfortunately, whilst getting cash out of a machine opposite said club at 1am on Sunday morning, they got mugged. Stereotypical situation – two young white women assaulted by two young black lads in hoodies, but fortunately no threatening behaviour with knives or anything. Daughter Two is OK apart from losing her stuff, a bit of a headache and a few bruises plus a fair dose of shock, but her friend is still in hospital and very poorly. She was assaulted quite hard and fell with a whack onto the pavement, hitting the back of her head. Apparently they cannot stop it bleeding, and she still cannot answer a full set of basic questions (ie what day is it?). It doesn’t look likely that they’ll be going away and we have to hope that this incident doesn’t have very sad repercussions. Poor Daughter Two!
Sister-In-Law has now also had some bad health news and has to go and see an oncologist. It may not be anything dreadful, but it’s worrying.
Work has deteriorated even further whilst I was away, and now I have to curb my working at home time to one day a week at least for a while to get a bunch of whinging, permanently dissatisfied staff back on track. Working at home two days each week has made the hideous commute bearable, and I am seriously concerned that I will have increased incidences of back and knee pain commuting four days a week. There’s no way I want to return to the days of daily Tramadol and ice packs.
So at the moment, as far as I can see it, the only way is up. Despite having come back from Crete for the third time this year only ten days ago, I feel like I’ve never been away. My stress levels are through the roof and God knows what my blood pressure reading is; I suppose I ought to take it as the next time I go along for my tablets I know Dr Williams will ask for it.
There is, of course, a lot to look forward to in the remaining months of 2013. Chris’s birthday, our tenth anniversary with a couple of great concerts in December and two nights away to celebrate, plus another trip to Crete.
The way things are here, this time I seriously might not come back.
My mouth hurts.....
I have toothache. Or, to be more accurate, I have pain in my mouth near my teeth.
I don’t actually think it is toothache per se. I’ve had that before, and it’s like having a hammer drill going at it in your mouth all the time and at double speed when you dare to move your head.
This, I think, is just an enormous ulcer at the back of my mouth where my embedded wisdom teeth leave a teensy gap between the gum and the fleshy part of my cheek. I’ve had a good gawp at it in a very bright light this morning (you know, in front of the mirror with a torch, pulling a sort of gurning competition face with my mouth stretched out) and that’s what it looks like, almost like some sort of giant, pulsating, slimy protuberance with a life of its own. Disgusting, isn’t it?
I have started to assault it with Corsodyl mouth wash (foul, but effective), a Corsodyl spray and some sort of industrial strength Bonjela type substance called Gingigel. Also rather foul, but something which in the past I have found effective.
I always do this for at least a fortnight before I even think of going to the dentist unless the pain is excruciating and preventing me living my life. I have a fear and hatred of visits to the dentist which is not equalled by my feelings about anything else associated with the normal routine of life. I have blogged before about my complete failure to see the need for six monthly or even annual checkups so long as you have good oral hygiene and don’t regularly crack your enamel on packets of rock hard pork scratchings. You don’t go to the doctors for a routine check up, so why the dentist? Just go when you have something wrong with you, for goodness sake.
The Hubby, who was brainwashed by his dentistry practising (and subsequently rich) ex sister in law, always goes along like a good little boy for his checkups and annual lecture from the hygienist. But it’s all to no avail; he has had more trouble with his teeth in the past five years than I have had in the whole of my five decades.
I am not afraid of needles, drills or anaesthetic. What I hate (really, really hate) is ‘things’ intruding into my mouth (ribald jokes now – come on, get them over with). I have a very strong gagging reflex, and just one little metal implement poking around my gums makes me retch. And as for those little square things they put into your cheeks to take x-rays , well, I’m outta there!
So I won’t be going to the dentist, at least not unless I really have to. My self help remedies from Boots have always worked so far, even if I have had to persist for a few days and run the risk of being a drooling slime monster when out in public as my mouth produces more saliva to cope with and try to counteract the alien presence growing within.
Increasing mouth ulcers and gum issues seem to be yet another thing which is increasing with my ‘certain age’. There is a definite link between when these things happen and other biological happenings, on a regular basis. And these are the things no one tells you about; yes, they tell you about hot flushes, mood swings, erratic monthly cycles etc, but not about an upset digestive system, aches and pains and dentistry difficulties.
I tell you, it’s a pain in the arse being a woman in her fifties – you blokes have it easy!
I don’t actually think it is toothache per se. I’ve had that before, and it’s like having a hammer drill going at it in your mouth all the time and at double speed when you dare to move your head.
This, I think, is just an enormous ulcer at the back of my mouth where my embedded wisdom teeth leave a teensy gap between the gum and the fleshy part of my cheek. I’ve had a good gawp at it in a very bright light this morning (you know, in front of the mirror with a torch, pulling a sort of gurning competition face with my mouth stretched out) and that’s what it looks like, almost like some sort of giant, pulsating, slimy protuberance with a life of its own. Disgusting, isn’t it?
I have started to assault it with Corsodyl mouth wash (foul, but effective), a Corsodyl spray and some sort of industrial strength Bonjela type substance called Gingigel. Also rather foul, but something which in the past I have found effective.
I always do this for at least a fortnight before I even think of going to the dentist unless the pain is excruciating and preventing me living my life. I have a fear and hatred of visits to the dentist which is not equalled by my feelings about anything else associated with the normal routine of life. I have blogged before about my complete failure to see the need for six monthly or even annual checkups so long as you have good oral hygiene and don’t regularly crack your enamel on packets of rock hard pork scratchings. You don’t go to the doctors for a routine check up, so why the dentist? Just go when you have something wrong with you, for goodness sake.
The Hubby, who was brainwashed by his dentistry practising (and subsequently rich) ex sister in law, always goes along like a good little boy for his checkups and annual lecture from the hygienist. But it’s all to no avail; he has had more trouble with his teeth in the past five years than I have had in the whole of my five decades.
I am not afraid of needles, drills or anaesthetic. What I hate (really, really hate) is ‘things’ intruding into my mouth (ribald jokes now – come on, get them over with). I have a very strong gagging reflex, and just one little metal implement poking around my gums makes me retch. And as for those little square things they put into your cheeks to take x-rays , well, I’m outta there!
So I won’t be going to the dentist, at least not unless I really have to. My self help remedies from Boots have always worked so far, even if I have had to persist for a few days and run the risk of being a drooling slime monster when out in public as my mouth produces more saliva to cope with and try to counteract the alien presence growing within.
Increasing mouth ulcers and gum issues seem to be yet another thing which is increasing with my ‘certain age’. There is a definite link between when these things happen and other biological happenings, on a regular basis. And these are the things no one tells you about; yes, they tell you about hot flushes, mood swings, erratic monthly cycles etc, but not about an upset digestive system, aches and pains and dentistry difficulties.
I tell you, it’s a pain in the arse being a woman in her fifties – you blokes have it easy!
Monday 16 September 2013
Professional moaners....
I have made no secret of my desire to retire to the beautiful Greek island of Crete and live out my latter years in sunshine, with the amazing food and a slower lifestyle. I hate the climate in the UK, the greyness and the sheer pressure and grind of daily life.
Although to a certain extent when you aren’t there yet, the grass is always greener on the other side, my guess is that life is definitely better in the Med and although they may not be intrinsically happier, by and large people are healthier and more relaxed despite the ridiculous working hours many put in over the summer months.
Many other Brits (and those intrepid souls from other nations, of course) have clearly felt as I do about living in the land of their birth and have taken the enormous step of emigrating and living somewhere which fits more with their psyche and the way of life they wish to lead. It is not a step to be taken lightly, as it involves leaving your family and friends for a foreign country with new traditional and customs and probably learning to at least a basic level of proficiency a new language. Top that with a different alphabet in Greece, and you are looking at a significant life change. But many have gone ahead and taken the plunge.
I regularly view an expat website for Crete which I believe was set up to help those wishing to emigrate and live there, and provide an information exchange for those who already do so. And the point of this rather rambling introduction to this blog is that the people that use this expat website would appear to be a bunch of whinging moaners unhappy with their lot who bicker about the slightest thing and who, if you choose to take notice of them, would put anyone off going to Crete at first glance.
What is the matter with these people? They are living in Paradise and what’s more, a paradise of their choosing. They have a lifestyle within which they (largely) don’t have to work, have time to indulge their hobbies and presumably enjoy the wonderful food which is grown locally and a climate which mostly eradicates health grumbles such as bronchial difficulties (unless smoking related, of course) and rheumatism. For nine months of the year, the sun shines in a reassuringly dependable way and for quite a bit of the winter it is amazingly mild. Yet they complain.
Perhaps it’s a British disease, being a professional complainer? It is very tempting to post an answer on this website which says “If you don’t like it, then go back to where you came from” but of course the likelihood is that they can’t. The astronomical cost of housing in the UK probably prohibits it, and life is still more expensive here even though prices in Greece have caught up in some aspects of life such as petrol and the supermarket.
I suspect these people retired in their early fifties or maybe even sooner on reduced pensions (because they took them early) which gave them a fantastic lifestyle in southern Europe 15 or 20 years ago, but which has now been eroded by falling exchange rates, the recession generally and rising prices whilst their pensions have stayed relatively stagnant or increased only by UK inflation rates which are lower than those for most of Europe (Germany possibly excepted). So now they’re hard up, having to tighten their belts and blaming anyone but themselves.
It’s also a fact that the expat community is small and tight knit, an advantage when you need expertise or assistance from someone that speaks your language but a distinct disadvantage when it comes to integration into a new country and broadening your mind, as small groups within wider cultures become cliquey and very parochial. I have never forgotten an incident about 8 years ago when we bought our house, speaking to an English couple that owned a business in Crete (but obviously hated it) who said to me “Well, you don’t have to mix with the locals you know. There’s plenty of Brits around”! I was staggered; why wouldn’t I want to mix with local people, integrate myself with their society and learn their language? I love their country enough to want to live there, and it’s almost a duty to do those things. If you don’t, you are as bad as immigrants to this country who keep within their own communities, don’t learn English but take our benefits and healthcare. We all criticise those people, where ever they are from, and this couple were doing exactly the same thing; I bet they would have been the first to criticise if their position was reversed.
It is a salutary lesson that although The Hubby and I want to retire early we are determined that we will have a good income upon which to do so, so that we can enjoy life without watching the pennies too much. It simply isn’t realistic to expect to live a good life as a couple on 800 euros per month including all your living expenses and taxes which some of these people want to do – it isn’t the 1980s anymore! Going out and socialising costs money as does indulging in hobbies, even relatively solitary and sedate ones such as gardening, sewing or cooking. What is the point of loads of free time and early retirement if you have to restrict your social life to once a week and then only one or two drinks? You need contingency money and also a financial comfort blanket in case of ill heath or emergencies.
You must also embrace your new country just as much as you would embrace life within your village or town in England. Gaining new friends and experiences keeps your mind and body active and keeps life fresh and interesting. What is the point in moving somewhere else just to stagnate and be as miserable as you would have been in England?
We have a medium term plan to get there, and I definitely will not degenerate into an expat moaner (I am currently an in-pat moaner, if there is such a thing). My expectations are realistic, and I will plan, plan, plan and plan again to ensure I’ve got the money and decisions right (The Hubby will probably agree with me, although I will consult him!). The earliest I can do it is 2 ½ years’ time, and it can’t come soon enough.
Several more sleeps……
Although to a certain extent when you aren’t there yet, the grass is always greener on the other side, my guess is that life is definitely better in the Med and although they may not be intrinsically happier, by and large people are healthier and more relaxed despite the ridiculous working hours many put in over the summer months.
Many other Brits (and those intrepid souls from other nations, of course) have clearly felt as I do about living in the land of their birth and have taken the enormous step of emigrating and living somewhere which fits more with their psyche and the way of life they wish to lead. It is not a step to be taken lightly, as it involves leaving your family and friends for a foreign country with new traditional and customs and probably learning to at least a basic level of proficiency a new language. Top that with a different alphabet in Greece, and you are looking at a significant life change. But many have gone ahead and taken the plunge.
I regularly view an expat website for Crete which I believe was set up to help those wishing to emigrate and live there, and provide an information exchange for those who already do so. And the point of this rather rambling introduction to this blog is that the people that use this expat website would appear to be a bunch of whinging moaners unhappy with their lot who bicker about the slightest thing and who, if you choose to take notice of them, would put anyone off going to Crete at first glance.
What is the matter with these people? They are living in Paradise and what’s more, a paradise of their choosing. They have a lifestyle within which they (largely) don’t have to work, have time to indulge their hobbies and presumably enjoy the wonderful food which is grown locally and a climate which mostly eradicates health grumbles such as bronchial difficulties (unless smoking related, of course) and rheumatism. For nine months of the year, the sun shines in a reassuringly dependable way and for quite a bit of the winter it is amazingly mild. Yet they complain.
Perhaps it’s a British disease, being a professional complainer? It is very tempting to post an answer on this website which says “If you don’t like it, then go back to where you came from” but of course the likelihood is that they can’t. The astronomical cost of housing in the UK probably prohibits it, and life is still more expensive here even though prices in Greece have caught up in some aspects of life such as petrol and the supermarket.
I suspect these people retired in their early fifties or maybe even sooner on reduced pensions (because they took them early) which gave them a fantastic lifestyle in southern Europe 15 or 20 years ago, but which has now been eroded by falling exchange rates, the recession generally and rising prices whilst their pensions have stayed relatively stagnant or increased only by UK inflation rates which are lower than those for most of Europe (Germany possibly excepted). So now they’re hard up, having to tighten their belts and blaming anyone but themselves.
It’s also a fact that the expat community is small and tight knit, an advantage when you need expertise or assistance from someone that speaks your language but a distinct disadvantage when it comes to integration into a new country and broadening your mind, as small groups within wider cultures become cliquey and very parochial. I have never forgotten an incident about 8 years ago when we bought our house, speaking to an English couple that owned a business in Crete (but obviously hated it) who said to me “Well, you don’t have to mix with the locals you know. There’s plenty of Brits around”! I was staggered; why wouldn’t I want to mix with local people, integrate myself with their society and learn their language? I love their country enough to want to live there, and it’s almost a duty to do those things. If you don’t, you are as bad as immigrants to this country who keep within their own communities, don’t learn English but take our benefits and healthcare. We all criticise those people, where ever they are from, and this couple were doing exactly the same thing; I bet they would have been the first to criticise if their position was reversed.
It is a salutary lesson that although The Hubby and I want to retire early we are determined that we will have a good income upon which to do so, so that we can enjoy life without watching the pennies too much. It simply isn’t realistic to expect to live a good life as a couple on 800 euros per month including all your living expenses and taxes which some of these people want to do – it isn’t the 1980s anymore! Going out and socialising costs money as does indulging in hobbies, even relatively solitary and sedate ones such as gardening, sewing or cooking. What is the point of loads of free time and early retirement if you have to restrict your social life to once a week and then only one or two drinks? You need contingency money and also a financial comfort blanket in case of ill heath or emergencies.
You must also embrace your new country just as much as you would embrace life within your village or town in England. Gaining new friends and experiences keeps your mind and body active and keeps life fresh and interesting. What is the point in moving somewhere else just to stagnate and be as miserable as you would have been in England?
We have a medium term plan to get there, and I definitely will not degenerate into an expat moaner (I am currently an in-pat moaner, if there is such a thing). My expectations are realistic, and I will plan, plan, plan and plan again to ensure I’ve got the money and decisions right (The Hubby will probably agree with me, although I will consult him!). The earliest I can do it is 2 ½ years’ time, and it can’t come soon enough.
Several more sleeps……
Friday 13 September 2013
TV heaven! I'm easily pleased.....
Twenty things that make me happy when watching the TV
1. Pointless (which is definitely the best TV quiz show ever made – I want Alexander Armstrong and Richard Osman to come to dinner!!)
2. Having control of the remotes
3. A large cup of tea (white, two sugars)
4. A large glass of wine (Pinot for preference)
5. Pointless
6. Chocolate (Dairy Milk, or possibly Old Jamaica)
7. Crisps (Cheese and Onion)
8. Biscuits (Bourbon, Garibaldi or Lemon Puffs)
9. A roaring log fire (in winter only, of course)
10. Pointless
11. A James Bond movie (now which is the best.... Goldfinger?)
12. A ‘Carry On’ movie (Definitely 'Carry On Cleo' is the best, followed by 'Carry on Cowboy')
13. Johnny Depp (in anything except where they make him look freaky)
14. Sam Neill (in anything)
15. Pointless
16. Something that makes me laugh, usually an old sitcom on ‘Gold’ – the world is too grim for anything else
17. Snuggling up on the sofa with The Hubby, The Dog and The Cats (even if it does get a bit crowded)
18. Another large glass of wine
19. More chocolate
20. Pointless
1. Pointless (which is definitely the best TV quiz show ever made – I want Alexander Armstrong and Richard Osman to come to dinner!!)
2. Having control of the remotes
3. A large cup of tea (white, two sugars)
4. A large glass of wine (Pinot for preference)
5. Pointless
6. Chocolate (Dairy Milk, or possibly Old Jamaica)
7. Crisps (Cheese and Onion)
8. Biscuits (Bourbon, Garibaldi or Lemon Puffs)
9. A roaring log fire (in winter only, of course)
10. Pointless
11. A James Bond movie (now which is the best.... Goldfinger?)
12. A ‘Carry On’ movie (Definitely 'Carry On Cleo' is the best, followed by 'Carry on Cowboy')
13. Johnny Depp (in anything except where they make him look freaky)
14. Sam Neill (in anything)
15. Pointless
16. Something that makes me laugh, usually an old sitcom on ‘Gold’ – the world is too grim for anything else
17. Snuggling up on the sofa with The Hubby, The Dog and The Cats (even if it does get a bit crowded)
18. Another large glass of wine
19. More chocolate
20. Pointless
Wednesday 11 September 2013
Dentists - agents of Satan.....?
We all have our favourite pet hates when it comes to professions. For some people it’s bankers, for some politicians, maybe estate agents, lawyers or accountants or for others, like me, it’s dentists. And hygienists.
I hate going to the dentist with a vengeance. It’s expensive, uncomfortable and you get an unwanted lecture into what a bad, unhygienic person you are and how you must have appalling eating habits or personal hygiene. “Look” says the hygienist sticking a sharp implement into your gums, “It’s bleeding”. “Yes”, you reply grimacing, “It damn well is now”.
The frequency with which we visit the dentist often doesn’t (in my opinion) make any difference to whether you have good or bad teeth or gums. The Hubby diligently goes to the dentist every six months for a check up and a lecture by the hygienist. Personally, I think he was brainwashed by his ex sister-in-law who was a dentist and was married to a dentist. He seems to be of the view that if he doesn’t go somehow or other that makes him into a bad person and all his teeth will rot, go black and fall out.
As for me, on the other hand, well I haven’t been to the dentist for years. I did pop in about 18 months ago for a quick check up when I had a sore gum, was just about to go on holiday and didn’t fancy having to go for emergency treatment at a Greek dentist's surgery, but that aside, it must be at least seven years since I went for anything at all.
There is a reason for this. I am not afraid of blood, drills, needles, weird masks or chemical substances but I have a pathological fear of too many things in my mouth which, because I have a very strong gagging reflex, make me want to retch. Yes, I simply cannot stand anyone putting anything I don’t want them to into my mouth (ribald jokes, now, please, get them out of the way before we go any further!) In particular, I am up and out of that chair in a flash if I see those little rectangular things they tuck into your cheeks to take an x-ray coming towards me. God, I feel sick even just thinking about it!!
Taking all that into account, who do you think has spent the most emergency time at the torturer’s surgery and spent the most money on dental work in the past few years? Yep, you got it in one! The Hubby has spent a fortune on various fillings, caps and whatever despite the fact that he goes along religiously, brushes at least twice a day, flosses and uses mouthwash. I do all that stuff at home (well, not the flossing. Bloody stuff gets stuck between my teeth, even the waxed version) and despite my ‘just once in seven years’ visit when no work was done, I have no problems.
So is there really anything in the assertion (put about by dentists, of course) that we must get along and get our teeth checked out regularly or they will all fall out and we will all become diseased, ugly, toothless crones and hags? Personally, whilst regular check ups appear to be eminently sensible for children up to the age of maybe 16, for adults I don’t think so. I think that as long as you have good personal hygiene habits which include regular oral routines, and you have practised those good habits from childhood, then you shouldn’t need to go. You don’t go to the doctor for preventative visits, so why should you go to the dentist? It’s all a con to justify their enormous charges and buy their next Jag or next seven star holiday in Bermuda.
Toothache, or any sort of oral pain is, of course, almost some of the worst you can experience without having a life threatening condition. And when you do have a problem a good dentist, like a good emergency doctor, can be like an angel from heaven. But let’s get this in perspective and recognise the brainwashing for what it is.
And I’m not going, even though you’ve written to me this week and ticked me off for not attending an appointment in ages or finishing a ‘prescribed’ course of treatment (what treatment? I don’t remember that!). So there!
I hate going to the dentist with a vengeance. It’s expensive, uncomfortable and you get an unwanted lecture into what a bad, unhygienic person you are and how you must have appalling eating habits or personal hygiene. “Look” says the hygienist sticking a sharp implement into your gums, “It’s bleeding”. “Yes”, you reply grimacing, “It damn well is now”.
The frequency with which we visit the dentist often doesn’t (in my opinion) make any difference to whether you have good or bad teeth or gums. The Hubby diligently goes to the dentist every six months for a check up and a lecture by the hygienist. Personally, I think he was brainwashed by his ex sister-in-law who was a dentist and was married to a dentist. He seems to be of the view that if he doesn’t go somehow or other that makes him into a bad person and all his teeth will rot, go black and fall out.
As for me, on the other hand, well I haven’t been to the dentist for years. I did pop in about 18 months ago for a quick check up when I had a sore gum, was just about to go on holiday and didn’t fancy having to go for emergency treatment at a Greek dentist's surgery, but that aside, it must be at least seven years since I went for anything at all.
There is a reason for this. I am not afraid of blood, drills, needles, weird masks or chemical substances but I have a pathological fear of too many things in my mouth which, because I have a very strong gagging reflex, make me want to retch. Yes, I simply cannot stand anyone putting anything I don’t want them to into my mouth (ribald jokes, now, please, get them out of the way before we go any further!) In particular, I am up and out of that chair in a flash if I see those little rectangular things they tuck into your cheeks to take an x-ray coming towards me. God, I feel sick even just thinking about it!!
Taking all that into account, who do you think has spent the most emergency time at the torturer’s surgery and spent the most money on dental work in the past few years? Yep, you got it in one! The Hubby has spent a fortune on various fillings, caps and whatever despite the fact that he goes along religiously, brushes at least twice a day, flosses and uses mouthwash. I do all that stuff at home (well, not the flossing. Bloody stuff gets stuck between my teeth, even the waxed version) and despite my ‘just once in seven years’ visit when no work was done, I have no problems.
So is there really anything in the assertion (put about by dentists, of course) that we must get along and get our teeth checked out regularly or they will all fall out and we will all become diseased, ugly, toothless crones and hags? Personally, whilst regular check ups appear to be eminently sensible for children up to the age of maybe 16, for adults I don’t think so. I think that as long as you have good personal hygiene habits which include regular oral routines, and you have practised those good habits from childhood, then you shouldn’t need to go. You don’t go to the doctor for preventative visits, so why should you go to the dentist? It’s all a con to justify their enormous charges and buy their next Jag or next seven star holiday in Bermuda.
Toothache, or any sort of oral pain is, of course, almost some of the worst you can experience without having a life threatening condition. And when you do have a problem a good dentist, like a good emergency doctor, can be like an angel from heaven. But let’s get this in perspective and recognise the brainwashing for what it is.
And I’m not going, even though you’ve written to me this week and ticked me off for not attending an appointment in ages or finishing a ‘prescribed’ course of treatment (what treatment? I don’t remember that!). So there!
Monday 9 September 2013
There's no justice in the world.
I don’t usually read the ‘trade’ magazines which we get at work, deeming them too dull and boring to merit my attention. It is hard to think of a more stultifying title for a magazine than ‘Local Government Lawyer Today’ or ‘Public Sector IT’.
However today a strap line on the front cover of one of these august publications caught my eye, highlighting the escalating cost of benefits and how other local authority services (like mine) are struggling for funding because of it.
Now if there’s one thing which exercises me politically, it’s why I should be burdened with supporting the welfare state when I have never taken a penny from it in my lifetime and I see profligacy and waste all around from its recipients?
That is, of course, a sweeping statement which tars all with the same brush. And I do accept that there are many deserving people out there drawing on the state’s purse who thoroughly deserve to be helped in many ways, whether with money or with caring. But there are lots that don’t, and several of them seem to live in my area.
I am going to cite one particular family as an example. This family have six, soon to be seven, children. God knows where they all sleep in a three bedroom semi! The father doesn’t work in the conventional sense and when she isn’t pregnant or nursing an infant, the mother would appear to work as a shelf stacker doing night duty, so presumably earns comparative pennies. Both these adults are physically fit, although we understand the Dad has some sort of mental difficulties around socialisation (but there are lots of jobs which require lone workers). The children all have large numbers of toys and some quite expensive stuff, such as a mini motorbike and fishing gear. For a bit of cash in hand (we guess) ‘Dad’ often goes off with loads of good quality gardening equipment (certainly better and more powerful than we have), returning later in the day. Their garden and house is immaculate partly due to ‘Dad’s somewhat casual earning arrangements which leave him plenty of time at home and partly due to the fact that the Council has, to the best of our knowledge, provided a new kitchen, bathroom and roof for the property within the last 3 years. The kids all go to school and are immaculately turned out.
These people cannot possibly support six children on income support and shelf stacking wages, probably just two adults would be a struggle, and now they are bringing a seventh child into the world. We can only assume that they are doing it for the money, a jaundiced unkind view but one fuelled by the fact that presumably they have lost money in the government’s benefit reforms and caps and are now looking to bump up (no pun intended) the monthly income.
I’m doing something wrong here. All my life I have worked hard, even when my daughters were small, to make my own way in life. I pay my taxes and my bills and I would never deliberately bring about a situation for my family which I could not support financially. And yet this family are not alone, and the situation is tolerated.
If it were me, I would change the law to say that the maximum number of children that the state would support is two. Any more than that and you’re on your own; after all, contraception is free on the NHS and our population is expanding at an alarming rate which needs curbing. I would issue child allowance in food vouchers and in vouchers which could be used at Boots for ‘baby’ supplies such as nappies and children’s clothing and not in cash. Rent and Council Tax would (if it has to be paid) be paid direct to the local authority or landlord, and the remaining benefit would be paid partly in food vouchers and only partly in cash. Those drawing benefit would have to have regular health checks by a qualified nurse to ensure that they are not smoking or excessively drinking and if so, part of their benefit would be withdrawn to encourage them to stop. The savings that were made would pay for the nurses tenfold.
This does, of course, all sound a bit like a Communist State and rather extreme. But The Hubby and I (actually mainly The Hubby, out in the rain yesterday) have just spent this weekend – all weekend – sorting out things on our property to maintain its value and we both work all the hours just to we can pay the mortgage and have a decent quality of life. No one subsidises us and whichever way we seem to turn, there is another bill to be paid or another unexpected expense.
I’m sick of it. And now we have been told that if we want to retire, we’ll have to wait until we’re 67. These people are in their early forties at most and are probably younger, and living a better basic quality of life on the state than we’ll be able to afford for the next 15 years despite their ever expanding tribe of children. Oh, and I don’t have any money at work to run my service and even the slightest investment has to be justified by endless reports and cost benefits analyses because…. wait for it …. bloody social care services are mopping up all the cash. So we’re back to where we came in, aren’t we?
Oh, if only I were in charge........
However today a strap line on the front cover of one of these august publications caught my eye, highlighting the escalating cost of benefits and how other local authority services (like mine) are struggling for funding because of it.
Now if there’s one thing which exercises me politically, it’s why I should be burdened with supporting the welfare state when I have never taken a penny from it in my lifetime and I see profligacy and waste all around from its recipients?
That is, of course, a sweeping statement which tars all with the same brush. And I do accept that there are many deserving people out there drawing on the state’s purse who thoroughly deserve to be helped in many ways, whether with money or with caring. But there are lots that don’t, and several of them seem to live in my area.
I am going to cite one particular family as an example. This family have six, soon to be seven, children. God knows where they all sleep in a three bedroom semi! The father doesn’t work in the conventional sense and when she isn’t pregnant or nursing an infant, the mother would appear to work as a shelf stacker doing night duty, so presumably earns comparative pennies. Both these adults are physically fit, although we understand the Dad has some sort of mental difficulties around socialisation (but there are lots of jobs which require lone workers). The children all have large numbers of toys and some quite expensive stuff, such as a mini motorbike and fishing gear. For a bit of cash in hand (we guess) ‘Dad’ often goes off with loads of good quality gardening equipment (certainly better and more powerful than we have), returning later in the day. Their garden and house is immaculate partly due to ‘Dad’s somewhat casual earning arrangements which leave him plenty of time at home and partly due to the fact that the Council has, to the best of our knowledge, provided a new kitchen, bathroom and roof for the property within the last 3 years. The kids all go to school and are immaculately turned out.
These people cannot possibly support six children on income support and shelf stacking wages, probably just two adults would be a struggle, and now they are bringing a seventh child into the world. We can only assume that they are doing it for the money, a jaundiced unkind view but one fuelled by the fact that presumably they have lost money in the government’s benefit reforms and caps and are now looking to bump up (no pun intended) the monthly income.
I’m doing something wrong here. All my life I have worked hard, even when my daughters were small, to make my own way in life. I pay my taxes and my bills and I would never deliberately bring about a situation for my family which I could not support financially. And yet this family are not alone, and the situation is tolerated.
If it were me, I would change the law to say that the maximum number of children that the state would support is two. Any more than that and you’re on your own; after all, contraception is free on the NHS and our population is expanding at an alarming rate which needs curbing. I would issue child allowance in food vouchers and in vouchers which could be used at Boots for ‘baby’ supplies such as nappies and children’s clothing and not in cash. Rent and Council Tax would (if it has to be paid) be paid direct to the local authority or landlord, and the remaining benefit would be paid partly in food vouchers and only partly in cash. Those drawing benefit would have to have regular health checks by a qualified nurse to ensure that they are not smoking or excessively drinking and if so, part of their benefit would be withdrawn to encourage them to stop. The savings that were made would pay for the nurses tenfold.
This does, of course, all sound a bit like a Communist State and rather extreme. But The Hubby and I (actually mainly The Hubby, out in the rain yesterday) have just spent this weekend – all weekend – sorting out things on our property to maintain its value and we both work all the hours just to we can pay the mortgage and have a decent quality of life. No one subsidises us and whichever way we seem to turn, there is another bill to be paid or another unexpected expense.
I’m sick of it. And now we have been told that if we want to retire, we’ll have to wait until we’re 67. These people are in their early forties at most and are probably younger, and living a better basic quality of life on the state than we’ll be able to afford for the next 15 years despite their ever expanding tribe of children. Oh, and I don’t have any money at work to run my service and even the slightest investment has to be justified by endless reports and cost benefits analyses because…. wait for it …. bloody social care services are mopping up all the cash. So we’re back to where we came in, aren’t we?
Oh, if only I were in charge........
Thursday 5 September 2013
I don't have the time (or energy) to go to work!
We’ve had a busy few weeks, socially, and there are a few more things on the calendar.
Concerts, exhibitions, country fairs, meals out and social evenings with friends have all been very pleasant and totally enjoyable.
As with everything however, there are downsides and for these, the two downsides are that we are exhausted and skint. God, isn’t having a life expensive?
Over the next few weeks we really must make a concerted effort not to spend so much money enjoying ourselves. I mean honestly, why on earth should we, in our fifties, be allowed to go out and have fun after a lifetime of working bloody hard and bringing up our families with, it must be said, a reasonable degree of success moulding them into fairly well balanced people.
We do feel guilty, of course, at going out and spending all that cash which we could use paying off our debts or reducing the term of our mortgage. But then all my life I have done things for other people, been sensible, have had times when I’ve had cash and times when I’ve haven’t, and in the run up to my (late) middle age feel like I’ve accrued the right to have some fun for me, and not choose an activity just because others like it.
In recent months I have had time ‘off’ from shows; I haven’t performed, directed, helped backstage or been otherwise engaged in theatrical activity apart from going along to watch occasionally. I have started the radio DJ’ing, which is completely enjoyable and engrossing, even the evening spent in front of the computer choosing that week’s playlist. I have taken up tapestry, which has proved surprisingly satisfying and relaxing, and done some home brewing, a hobby I last did in my twenties (and pretty decent my Pinot Grigio is too!)
Making a concerted effort to have some ‘us’ time has certainly made us feel our age! We’re collapsing into the chair of an evening, after we’ve cleared away dinner and walked the dog, feeling totally shattered. We’re certainly sleeping well, better than we have for ages. The Hubby valiantly tries to read the paper and his eyelids droop (not an attractive sight, I can tell you) and I try and do the tapestry constantly unpicking stitches where I’m getting it wrong because I can no longer see straight. Honestly, what a pair!
There’s only one thing for it. We’ll have to retire. We don’t have time to go to work; we’re too busy! Now, how can we make that happen – sooner rather than later.
Thinking caps on. All sensible and polite suggestions welcome, please!
Concerts, exhibitions, country fairs, meals out and social evenings with friends have all been very pleasant and totally enjoyable.
As with everything however, there are downsides and for these, the two downsides are that we are exhausted and skint. God, isn’t having a life expensive?
Over the next few weeks we really must make a concerted effort not to spend so much money enjoying ourselves. I mean honestly, why on earth should we, in our fifties, be allowed to go out and have fun after a lifetime of working bloody hard and bringing up our families with, it must be said, a reasonable degree of success moulding them into fairly well balanced people.
We do feel guilty, of course, at going out and spending all that cash which we could use paying off our debts or reducing the term of our mortgage. But then all my life I have done things for other people, been sensible, have had times when I’ve had cash and times when I’ve haven’t, and in the run up to my (late) middle age feel like I’ve accrued the right to have some fun for me, and not choose an activity just because others like it.
In recent months I have had time ‘off’ from shows; I haven’t performed, directed, helped backstage or been otherwise engaged in theatrical activity apart from going along to watch occasionally. I have started the radio DJ’ing, which is completely enjoyable and engrossing, even the evening spent in front of the computer choosing that week’s playlist. I have taken up tapestry, which has proved surprisingly satisfying and relaxing, and done some home brewing, a hobby I last did in my twenties (and pretty decent my Pinot Grigio is too!)
Making a concerted effort to have some ‘us’ time has certainly made us feel our age! We’re collapsing into the chair of an evening, after we’ve cleared away dinner and walked the dog, feeling totally shattered. We’re certainly sleeping well, better than we have for ages. The Hubby valiantly tries to read the paper and his eyelids droop (not an attractive sight, I can tell you) and I try and do the tapestry constantly unpicking stitches where I’m getting it wrong because I can no longer see straight. Honestly, what a pair!
There’s only one thing for it. We’ll have to retire. We don’t have time to go to work; we’re too busy! Now, how can we make that happen – sooner rather than later.
Thinking caps on. All sensible and polite suggestions welcome, please!
Monday 2 September 2013
A grand day out
Yesterday, The Hubby and I had a day out.
I appreciate that may not sound like the most exciting statement in the world, and ‘having a day out’ is something that people do all the time, but we haven’t done it for ages due to various pressures and obligations and it was a timely reminder of how important it is to make time to spend just with each other and enjoy each other’s company. For starters, we went to the British Museum and saw the special exhibition about Pompeii and Herculaneum. Unless you’re into ancient history that may sound a little dull, but the exhibition was superb and the plaster casts made from the voids in the volcanic ash where organic matter had decayed, but the ash around it had set into solid rock, were strangely touching and evocative. I cannot imagine the terror that the occupants of those cities must have felt when the volcano erupted, and the casts are so precise that on some of the statues the facial expression was visible. One group of people, thought to be a family huddled together in a room when the pyroclastic surge caught them, were particularly touching with the mother clutching one child and the other child contorted in fear.
After that, we went over to the South Bank originally with the intention of just having a wander and looking at the arts and crafts stalls. However it was such a beautiful day that we took advantage of practically no queue at the London eye and paid the extortionate fare for the 30 minute revolution. The view was staggeringly clear and I’m really glad we did it; last time we went up it was also a lovely day but we faffed, worried we hadn’t intended to spend that money and putting it off ‘until next time’. We almost did the same yesterday but in the end took the plunge and it was amazing, well worth the money. If you haven’t been, I suggest you do.
In the evening, we rounded off the day by going to Pizza Express for a pizza and nice bottle of rose. Lovely!
As I say, we haven’t done a day out like that for ages. Demands of teenagers, a newly bereaved mother in law and financial constraints have meant weekends spent ferrying others or doing chores. Time together has been at a premium and we have been endlessly tired. What little down time has been available has been spent slumped in front of the telly with little energy for anything else. As a result, the pleasure we have always taken in each other’s company has been hard to come by as to be honest, at the weekends we haven’t seen much of each other.
We have resolved, after yesterday which was a salutary reminder of how good it can be, not to let such a situation happen again. Once a month at least, provided we are not going on holiday that month, we will keep one weekend ‘for us’ and plan something nice, even if it is just a trip to the cinema and a curry afterwards. We will be disciplined about putting money aside for this, so that even in our straitened circumstances lack of cash is not an excuse.
So the challenge is to find something to do in October (we’re going away in September) which fits the bill. Maybe a trip to the seaside – haven’t been to seedy old Brighton in ages, or sedate and genteel Eastbourne! Or maybe the zoo, to see some tigers and gorillas.
Any more imaginative suggestions (which don’t involve either extreme physical exertion [ie no sport] or a second mortgage) welcome!
I appreciate that may not sound like the most exciting statement in the world, and ‘having a day out’ is something that people do all the time, but we haven’t done it for ages due to various pressures and obligations and it was a timely reminder of how important it is to make time to spend just with each other and enjoy each other’s company. For starters, we went to the British Museum and saw the special exhibition about Pompeii and Herculaneum. Unless you’re into ancient history that may sound a little dull, but the exhibition was superb and the plaster casts made from the voids in the volcanic ash where organic matter had decayed, but the ash around it had set into solid rock, were strangely touching and evocative. I cannot imagine the terror that the occupants of those cities must have felt when the volcano erupted, and the casts are so precise that on some of the statues the facial expression was visible. One group of people, thought to be a family huddled together in a room when the pyroclastic surge caught them, were particularly touching with the mother clutching one child and the other child contorted in fear.
After that, we went over to the South Bank originally with the intention of just having a wander and looking at the arts and crafts stalls. However it was such a beautiful day that we took advantage of practically no queue at the London eye and paid the extortionate fare for the 30 minute revolution. The view was staggeringly clear and I’m really glad we did it; last time we went up it was also a lovely day but we faffed, worried we hadn’t intended to spend that money and putting it off ‘until next time’. We almost did the same yesterday but in the end took the plunge and it was amazing, well worth the money. If you haven’t been, I suggest you do.
In the evening, we rounded off the day by going to Pizza Express for a pizza and nice bottle of rose. Lovely!
As I say, we haven’t done a day out like that for ages. Demands of teenagers, a newly bereaved mother in law and financial constraints have meant weekends spent ferrying others or doing chores. Time together has been at a premium and we have been endlessly tired. What little down time has been available has been spent slumped in front of the telly with little energy for anything else. As a result, the pleasure we have always taken in each other’s company has been hard to come by as to be honest, at the weekends we haven’t seen much of each other.
We have resolved, after yesterday which was a salutary reminder of how good it can be, not to let such a situation happen again. Once a month at least, provided we are not going on holiday that month, we will keep one weekend ‘for us’ and plan something nice, even if it is just a trip to the cinema and a curry afterwards. We will be disciplined about putting money aside for this, so that even in our straitened circumstances lack of cash is not an excuse.
So the challenge is to find something to do in October (we’re going away in September) which fits the bill. Maybe a trip to the seaside – haven’t been to seedy old Brighton in ages, or sedate and genteel Eastbourne! Or maybe the zoo, to see some tigers and gorillas.
Any more imaginative suggestions (which don’t involve either extreme physical exertion [ie no sport] or a second mortgage) welcome!
Thursday 29 August 2013
By popular demand
By popular demand, and in response to considerable public pressure (well, one or two people at least) the rant is back!!
“The View on the Street” is extremely gratified to know that it has been missed. Its return may be on a somewhat less regular basis than before and rather erratic due to other pressures on time and frankly, there’s only so much creativity to go round. There certainly isn’t any shortage of topics to write about since the world does not appear to have become any saner in 2013 and in many cases has deteriorated significantly in sanity terms as well as in many other ways.
So what to choose as the first topic after a good rest?
Well there is the controversial stuff such as the civil war in Syria and the UK government’s dithering on what do to, if anything. There are the usual topics of immigration, the incompetence and inadequacies of the public transport system, the economic situation and politics.
There is also my ongoing battle with my weight and my aging body’s increasing propensity to regress to its teenage years in terms of spots, moods and odd sleeping habits.
There are the positive topics of ambition, plans for the future, happy events and celebrations such as Christmas (soon to be upon us, rather scarily) and birthdays (all too frequent and coming round ever more quickly with each year that passes), engrossing hobbies and activities we have engaged in (endless viewing of ‘Pointless’ [the best TV quiz programme EVER], concerts and exhibitions as well as a new hobby of home brewing which has seen the recent bottling of 40 bottles of Victorian ale and 13 bottles of home-made Pinot Grigio, and pretty passable Pinot Grigio at that).
There are the let downs and the arguments, gossip about others and just general observations on life as we know it.
Perhaps it’s best not to plan what to write in advance but just do so as the mood and activities of life take me. I think one of the things which has appealed about TVOTS is that it is not only superbly written, eloquent and articulate (my own opinion, not what I have been told but goes without saying, of course!!) but that it has been spontaneous and current, without a pattern and not predictable apart from the fact that it is quite frequently, of course, just a cathartic rant. One of the reasons I slowed it down before was because I didn’t want it to become formulaic, planned or too repetitive, so this time it may only be once or twice a week or maybe even less frequent if nothing significant has happened.
But it’s back. It never went away but was just sleeping, gathering its strength and refortifying for the coming few months. It will sit alongside other activities which will, I am convinced, bring me fame and fortune or at least one of those fickle companions if not both. It will be frank, fearless and controversial. It will say things you disagree with and which many think but few will have the courage to voice, or make assertions which make you think “Silly cow, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about”.
But you’ll notice it. Definitely!
Friday 26 April 2013
Taking a little break....
The View on the Street is taking a little break for a while to, as they say, pursue other interests!
I have a number of projects in the pipeline which I have been meaning to do since I started my break from shows after panto. Stuff round the house, health issues and also a few outside interests. Have I done any of them? Hardly any and the main reason is time. Therefore I have decided to take the pressure off for a while and stop blogging for a few months ("Thank the Lord", I hear you say, "at last!") to focus on my other writing projects which have taken a back seat for far too long.
I had thought that once panto was over and I had my evenings to myself, then I'd really crack on with things. But of course what happened was I collapsed in an exhausted heap for several weeks, then got side tracked by the DJ'ing (Do you all listen by the way? You ought to, it's great fun and a very professional little radio station) and a major restructure at work which I was leading. I now want to write more, paint and perhaps be in a show again.
No doubt at some stage in the future, the rant will be back and over the next few weeks I will be scribbling down ideas and radical views to be shared with you all at a future date. In the meantime, thank you to those of you that are regular readers or even occasional 'dippers in' - your comments and views are much appreciated and very welcome.
Watch this space and Facebook, when it's back it will be bigger and better than ever, and no doubt more controversial.
I have a number of projects in the pipeline which I have been meaning to do since I started my break from shows after panto. Stuff round the house, health issues and also a few outside interests. Have I done any of them? Hardly any and the main reason is time. Therefore I have decided to take the pressure off for a while and stop blogging for a few months ("Thank the Lord", I hear you say, "at last!") to focus on my other writing projects which have taken a back seat for far too long.
I had thought that once panto was over and I had my evenings to myself, then I'd really crack on with things. But of course what happened was I collapsed in an exhausted heap for several weeks, then got side tracked by the DJ'ing (Do you all listen by the way? You ought to, it's great fun and a very professional little radio station) and a major restructure at work which I was leading. I now want to write more, paint and perhaps be in a show again.
No doubt at some stage in the future, the rant will be back and over the next few weeks I will be scribbling down ideas and radical views to be shared with you all at a future date. In the meantime, thank you to those of you that are regular readers or even occasional 'dippers in' - your comments and views are much appreciated and very welcome.
Watch this space and Facebook, when it's back it will be bigger and better than ever, and no doubt more controversial.
Thursday 11 April 2013
Feelin' hot, hot, hot!
Today, I’m off to the sun (in fact, by the time you read this, I’m probably there).
You’ve probably got used to these blogs being a little erratic over the past few weeks due to busyness, laziness, whatever, but they will now be missing entirely for a period of about 10 days whilst I laze in the sun on my Cretan balcony.
I have been accused of being profligate about my holidays, chiefly because I have so many (“What, you’re going on holiday again?” people cry), but I would like to point out that I book my flights on the first day they are released and so get them dirt cheap. I have four holidays booked this year and for the two of us, the flights have cost less than £1,000 all in. We have very little in the way of living expenses when we are away because we eat cheaply and pretty much self cater about half the time with the usual housekeeping plus a little extra, and we don’t spend a fortune on ‘extras’ or excursions.
All in all, we spend about as much on four holidays probably as a family will spend on a fortnight’s package tour each year costing around £800 quid a head half board at the height of summer.
This year, I have booked one flight to Crete, connecting via Thessaloniki, for less than £60. My return ticket in September flying direct was under £100. I phobically check the Easyjet web site when I know the release date is imminent to get in right at the start for the best deal. The Hubby says I am obsessed, and he’s right. But I live for and love my holidays in the sun in the same way that some people can’t go without a skiing holiday or trekking through some insect infested, dangerous forest somewhere, and so I do anything I can to make it affordable.
I can see why many people would think we are lucky and spoiled with our apartment, and that we must be rich. But we’re not; we have chosen to step off the UK property ladder and be content with a low value house on an ex local authority estate and put our money into a place we love and which will serve for our retirement. I don’t see what’s wrong with that. We have chosen to have two mortgages now, when we are earning, to fund a dream for when we are older and in the meantime we have determined to take maximum advantage of or capital asset by using it as much as possible. We may be different or unusual in that respect, but we’re not rich and we’re certainly not spoiled – we’ve worked hard for what we’ve got, so why shouldn’t we enjoy it?
Holidays spread throughout the year are also a chance for some down time together. I’ve always believed that you have to work at a relationship if it is to have any chance of success, and that you have to make time and energy for each other too. During a standard working week we simply don’t have that; in between work, chores, pet care and running after the rest of the family almost every waking minute is taken up and we are exhausted. Going away means we can concentrate on each other, do things we both enjoy with enough time to do them properly and go back to having fun together, which is so important for a couple.
This time we are going to do some DIY (See? Not rich so doing it ourselves!) but even that will be an adventure in a small way, going together to the Greek version of Homebase and then working in the sun with a nice lunch as a reward. That’ll be done in three or four days and then we’ll have a nice relax before coming home, and it won’t be too long until the next time.
Can’t wait. See you all soon!
Tuesday 9 April 2013
A Marmite character - you loved her or hated her.
Margaret Thatcher was a strong character (her gender is irrelevant) and like all strong characters, she had a somewhat Marmite effect, in that you either love her or hate her. That divide seems to be in place even now, several years after her last term in office.
Whatever you might think of her politics, I have been genuinely appalled by the vitriolic and inappropriate comments from many people I know, and from many that I don’t, in the 24 hours since her passing.
Many people did not agree with her views and approach and did not vote for her. Many simply weren’t old enough to do so when she put herself forward for election; younger ones may be thinking “Who was she? What’s all the fuss about?” However many did know her and vote for her, and she was a democratically elected leader for this country three times.
Yes, she got things wrong (the poll tax is a key example), but she also got much right. She had more balls than all of her Cabinet put together and more than most people I know when it comes to making difficult but necessary decisions. She successfully defended our overseas territory against a violent invasion from a dictatorship which is still, even now, sabre rattling about it when most men would have given in and tried talking about it interminably and to no effect until it was too late.
She may have lost it and become slightly imperious towards the end (the famous “we are a grandmother” speech), but that shouldn’t detract from the rest of her time in office when she stood by her principles and did what she felt was right or truly believed in. Oh, that our politicians now were so principled!
Let’s not forget that before their back was broken (again, whether you agree with how it was done or not is another issue) the unions held this country to ransom and we had blackouts and many other inconveniences that stopped us living our daily lives. Rubbish piled up in the streets and old people got cold. Since her time, home ownership and a pride in your area and property has radically changed for the better (and it hasn’t led to a shortage of social housing, since the same people were occupying the properties just with a different tenure and it’s local authorities that have stopped building due to cost causing the shortage) and we have become a wealthier nation. Yes, we still have people on benefits and minimum wage, but by and large we are better off one way or another.
But whether you agree with me on all of that or not, let’s not forget that she was a human being who contributed towards making Britain a real player on the world stage as well as being a mother, grandmother and friend to many people who will genuinely mourn her passing. Anecdotal evidence of her private face is that she was a compassionate person who really cared about those around her. Comments such as “tip her down a coal mine” (I paraphrase) which I saw on a recent Facebook post are not only disrespectful but vicious and unnecessary. Those who make them, even in jest so soon after her passing, should be ashamed of themselves.
There’s nothing wrong with an objective analysis of her achievements and also with putting forward an alternative view. That’s what politics and the right to free speech is all about. But don’t cheapen it by vicious, spiteful and pathetic, childish remarks about the woman before she is even cold.
It’s not clever and it’s not funny. And you can almost hear her saying that.
Wednesday 3 April 2013
Video didn't kill the radio star....
I have just had great fun choosing my playlists for my Friday and Saturday shows this weekend on Ridge Radio (www.ridgeradio.co.uk)
Tune in on Friday at 5pm for the Friday Footlights show when I’ll have Flo O’Mahoney and Libby Bliss as my guests talking about their Young Oxted Players production of ‘The Herd’ which premiered at the Southern Counties Drama Festival a few weeks ago to critical acclaim, and which is showing again at the Barn Theatre, Oxted on 27th April.
If you can’t manage that, why not listen to the Saturday Morning Breakfast show from 7am to 9am this coming Saturday for news, views, the best in popular music and classic golden oldies as well as a chart run down and information about what’s on locally.
I must say this radio lark is great fun. I get to choose my own music and talk without anyone telling me to shut up for two hours on the trot, which is a real treat. The pleasurable hour spent in front of the computer picking out the music for the week is even more fun. I’ve rediscovered songs and artists I had totally forgotten about and the lists I’ve put together have certainly been eclectic if nothing else.
The downside is that I’ve spent a fortune on i-tunes, which I have decided is a wonderful resource. Thank goodness we bought a new computer just after Christmas so I have plenty of memory left to download stuff. I’ve also made good use of Wikipedia to get background information on shows I know very little about, or on singers and songwriters. Wikipedia gets a bad press due to its inaccuracies, but for my purposes it’s great.
It’s just a shame that I can’t make my living doing the DJ thing. Maybe someone from Radio 2 would like to retire and the Beeb would consider me instead? Apparently, according to the radio station trainer, I’ve taken to it like a duck to water. I don’t know why, I’ve never done it before. Must be the performer in me!
Amazingly, I’d never heard of Ridge Radio before I started doing this and that says something about their PR. They are an incredible little local station, broadcasting for 18 hours a day, seven days a week when most community stations manage just two or three hours a day only. Run solely by volunteers, it’s a small but quite professional set up which deserves to be successful, but is apparently always in a perilous financial state as it depends entirely on fundraising. Being a radio station, it is not eligible to register as a charity. They really need to improve their own publicity; more people need to know about them.
However I am determined not to get involved in the running of the thing because if there’s one thing my involvement in am-dram has taught me, it’s that if you get caught up in the running or the administration of something it ceases to become a pleasure and becomes a chore. I’m just going to go along and do the bit I enjoy and maybe participate in a bit of fundraising from time to time (such as bag packing in Morrisons), but I’m not organising anything and no way am I doing anything official. I’d love the place to carry on for years, but if that means I have to become an organiser then it will have to go to the wall. Let someone else do that for a change.
But in the meantime, tune in and support. With increased listeners comes improved reputation and hopefully more funding as advertisers begin to feel it’s worthwhile spending their cash. And you get to listen to my dulcet tones for four hours each week! What more could you want?
Thursday 28 March 2013
Two weeks on, and it still feels like the arctic!
I have to say that I am now well and truly sick of being cold and more often than not, also wet.
Living in one of the highest and one of the few steep, north facing parts of Surrey, the ice and snow hang around here longer than anywhere else and when they fall, do so with a vengeance and we get far more than anyone else locally. I have resorted to taking photos of the garden marked with the date and time and sending them in to work when I can’t get out of the road with the car, as they don’t believe me. For instance as of now, everywhere else the white stuff has disappeared, but not here! Oh no, it is lurking in corners and on the flower beds looking like it will be there until July. There remains a reasonable sized bank of it nestled up against the side of the greenhouse which is frozen solid.
The forecast for the Easter weekend, which being at the beginning of April we might have had not unreasonable hopes of being spring like and warmish, looks dire. Top temperatures of four degrees all weekend, significantly lower than average, with drifting fronts of rain and sleet criss-crossing the country. We might avoid those in the south east, but with what can only be described as a needling, bitter wind still in evidence it still looks as though we have become a far flung outpost of the arctic.
“Don’t be such a wimp” I hear some of you cry! “You can dress for the cold and when you get out and do a bit of exercise you get so warm!” Maybe, and if that’s what you want to do then bully for you, but personally I can do without weather which means it takes about ten minutes to get ready to go out of the front door due to the amount of clothing and thermal protection you have to put on. To walk the dog, I am wearing leggings with jeans over the top, a T-shirt, then a long sleeved shirt, then a thick jumper, then a Barbour. I have a thick scarf which is wrapped round my neck about three times, a woolly hat which makes me look as though I am going to a fancy dress party as an elf, two pairs of sock, wellies and leather gloves. Quite frankly, I look ludicrous and am a fair impersonation of the Michelin Man, being practically circular once everything is on.
There would appear to be no let up in this abysmal weather for the foreseeable future, quite possibly through to the middle of April. It will really piss me off if the moment I go away for my holidays in the second week of April the weather breaks and the UK gets sunshine and mid teens temperatures. I remember two years ago going to Greece with two friends mid April when the weather here had been awful and saying “It’s lovely in Crete in April, temperatures mid twenties and we’ll be on the beach”. The minute we left, temperatures in the UK became tropical and the whole week that we were away, it was 27 degrees here but tipped it down in Greece and was cold. It didn’t ruin the holiday, but it didn’t help after I’d bigged it up so much.
I dread to think how much money we will owe the gas board by the time (if ever) we get to switch the heating off. Four days a week (the weekend and the two days I work at home) the boiler is going for about 16 hours, virtually all day. This is a naturally cold house due to the two open chimneys, an unheated kitchen (the radiator is behind an extra cupboard we installed as I have so many pots and pans, and so we switched it off) and the fact that the French windows don’t shut properly with a gap at the top you can see daylight through. I keep meaning to get them fixed, but they’re not a security risk as the locking mechanism still works and have simply dropped slightly in the centre away from the frame, so it isn’t really a priority. I’m not even sure if you can get things like that fixed, or if they have to be replaced. That definitely isn’t affordable, although if I offset the gas bills I might manage it.
The best investment I have made in recent weeks was an electric blanket, which I bought through an ebay ‘Deal of the Day’ for about a quarter of its usual price. About an hour before we go to bed one of us goes and switches it on and it’s toastie in the extreme when we eventually slip under the duvet. Lovely, and no need for bedsocks.
Now there’s an image to leave you with!
Tuesday 12 March 2013
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow (again!)
So after having been lulled into a false sense of security, we have again been deluged with snow in the south eastern corner of the UK.
Highly localised, the late evening and overnight snowstorms have caused havoc, with motorists stranded for 10 hours and more on the A23 towards Gatwick and Crawley. This morning we have about 5” of snow in the garden and on the way to the station (where unfortunately the trains were running into Victoria and so I had to go to work) there were drifts at the side of the road at least two feet deep.
We seem to have been well prepared for the snow a few weeks ago, but this lot really caught us out. Right up until the last minute, the forecast was for ‘a few flakes’ but what we actually got was a total blanket. At 6pm yesterday the roads had not been gritted and the traffic crawled along in both directions on a white ribbon with two crooked tyre tracks in the middle. Morrison’s car park, where I leave my precious soft top during the day, was pristine white and the slope leading to it particularly hazardous. It took me 30 minutes to do a 10 minute journey, but that was nothing compared to someone I know who took seven hours to get from Guildford to Sevenoaks.
Central London, of course, is totally snow free. It’s as though there is under street heating for all the toffs in town whilst the poor peasants in the countryside wade through drifts and fall into ditches. My work colleagues don’t understand why I turn up in about three jumpers, snow boots, a rather fetching bobble hat and thick coat when the streets are clear of ice and the sun is shining. I have resorted to taking photos of my garden and gate with its icy hat on to convince them that it really is a totally different world just 20 miles as the crow flies south of the big smoke.
You all know, if you read this blog regularly, how much I hate the weather in England. My sinuses block up, I am prone to chest infections and viruses (have been ever since I was a kid) , I am afraid of falling on ice due to a dodgy back and knees and fundamentally, I just hate being cold and hate being wet. It seems like it has been cold and wet since late October, and I don’t think we have seen any sustained period of sunshine all winter. I feel so much better in the summer when the sun shines, and even better in a drier climate.
I read my horoscope the other day and it said that a fundamental change would happen soon in my life which would make me completely rethink my future direction, including my work and well being. Clearly, that means I am about to win a large sum of money which will enable me to stick two fingers up at my employer, retire early and go an live in Crete, occasionally popping back to visit The Hubby, Daughters One and Two, The Dog and The Cats. In fact I will probably take The Dog and The Cats with me. It is highly likely in that scenario that I may not return to the UK from my April holiday and will simply stay there planning our retirement mansion in the sun, getting all the pets shipped out to me.
Of course, we all know that horoscopes are complete bunkum, but it’s nice to dream isn’t it? And the weather has been c**p, so why not?
Friday 8 March 2013
These people should be subject to mediaeval tortures...
Today, I have discovered that for the second time in a month, one of my bank cards has been cloned and used for fraudulent purchases.
About three weeks ago, upon checking my bank statement through, I noticed that my debit card had been used for two large purchases in John Lewis totalling over £600. They weren’t mine and to give them credit (no pun intended) the bank refunded the money without any argument and replaced my card very promptly.
I have now discovered that my Barclaycard has been used by someone else to purchase large amounts of stuff from Amazon. Amazon did pick it up, stopped the order and alerted me, and Barclaycard have been equally good at suspending the account and are sending me a replacement despite the fact that their call centre sounded like it was in Delhi and something out of 'The Bext Exotic Marigold Hotel'. So I haven’t lost any money, just about two hours of my life on the phone. But it is the sheer inconvenience of it all which is so galling.
The first time I was without access to my bank account for about a week (it’s with First Direct, so is entirely internet and plastic card based). I had very little cash in my purse, so was forced to borrow from The Hubby. And I couldn’t buy anything in shops as I had no card and they won’t take cheques any more. I had Tesco groceries on order paid for by said card, and the payment was refused because by then the card was suspended. Ensuing lengthy phone calls to Tesco Customer Services ensured we didn’t starve, but did nothing to reduce my blood pressure for which the doc has already upped my medication.
This time it’s a credit card, so not quite so pressing as I have others, but still bloody inconvenient. My visa card is the one which I have had for years and which I know the number of, expiry date and security code off by heart. I use it all the time over the web (which is where some bastard probably hacked the details from) so don’t have to go and get it out of the safe every time I want to buy a CD or book (I don’t carry credit cards in my purse any more – too tempting). I have it logged as my payment method with lots of web sites I use regularly so I don’t have to go through the tedious process of entering the information every time. Supposedly these sites are encrypted – they all display the little padlock sign at any rate – so it must be someone in their back office who has access to the full card details who is doing this.
The Fraud Department at the bank tell me that the details could have been copied ages ago, and then sold on to unscrupulous people who sit on them for a while and after several months, make purchases from temporary addresses using false names, get the goods then scarper. Frequently, they buy stuff which they can sell on for the cash. Often, they wait until just a few weeks before the card expires (my Barclaycard was due to expire at the end of April) as they know they will only get away with a few transactions on each card. They have it down to a fine art.
My shiny new visa card will, I’m told, arrive in about a week’s time. Even though this has happened to me about five times in the last few years, inevitably, I will log it onto the same web sites for routine shopping and treats because I now use the web so much to live my life I’m not sure I could manage any other way. Groceries delivered, flights and hire cars booked, birthday and Christmas presents purchased are just a few of the things I use it for and which make life manageable. Without using the web in this way, which I’m sure was never envisaged when Mr Berners Lee invented it, there simply wouldn’t be enough hours in the day.
If I ever come face to face with the scum which have either nicked the card details and sold them or those that have actually used them to defraud both me and the bank, I think I will ask the government to revert to mediaeval times and bring back punishment by chopping off their fingers and cutting out their tongue. Then the thieving toe rags won’t be able to use their keyboards and phones to steal from anyone else, and it’ll serve them right.
Wednesday 6 March 2013
Too much to do and not enough time!
You may have noticed that I haven’t blogged lately. That isn’t a product of a stagnant creative urge, but more a lack of time with not enough hours in the day. Much of that busyness is self imposed, but not all.
Work is just ridiculous at the moment. We are going through a complicated restructure to make savings (although the official message is to create efficiencies) which I am leading as many of my teams are affected. It is taking up an inordinate amount of time and effort to dot ‘I’s’ and cross ‘T’s’ to make sure that it is not only thought through but ‘union proof’ as well, and immune to challenge. Couple that with a bunch of senior colleagues who do not want to listen to my advice (of course me being the only one qualified in general management as well as project and programme management means I am not worth listening to) and it makes for a very frustrating and demotivating experience.
On the more positive side, I have just started DJ’ing for a local community radio station, which I am thoroughly enjoying. That is something which I didn’t anticipate doing when I said in January “Now, I’m going to have a rest for a few months”, but it is an opportunity which has just presented itself and is proving to be great fun. So tune in to www.ridgeradio.co.uk (it’s a web based broadcast, not over the conventional airwaves) from 5pm to 7pm every Friday evening for ‘Friday Footlights’ or from 7am until 9am alternate Saturdays (starting this Saturday, 9th) for the Breakfast show with news, views, popular music and classic golden oldies to hear my dulcet tones where ever you happen to be. You’ll enjoy it, I promise! You can even send in a request or dedication and I’ll try and play it for you.
All this is running alongside the fact that we are making sterling efforts to get the house sorted out the way we want it to be, after many years of compromise to accommodate our tribe of children. We have tidied the hallway to make it more welcoming and moved all the admin stuff and the computer upstairs to create a proper study. Next up is to tidy the outside lobby and have a massive chuck out (hopefully over Easter if the weather is fine as we will have to put everything outside overnight before we can sort it and put it back in a more sensible order) and then the loft (which we will do instead at Easter if it is horrid weather) which has stuff in it we haven’t touched for ten years and therefore probably don’t need or want. After that, we will move the lounge round to face the garden again and use the ‘front room’ as the dining room, which it is much more suited for.
I’m also making efforts with my health, trying to sort out all the medical issues which have plagued me for the last few years and trying to get slimmer, fitter and basically with more zest for life. I am tired of being tired all the time (forgive the pun). I want to put myself in good shape to have a long and fulfilling old age, ideally in the Mediterranean sun, and so need to be healthy enough not to have to rely on the Greek medical system (not that there’s anything wrong with it, it’s just not the NHS [maybe that’s a good thing] and it’s expensive!).
Finally, I have all these creative ideas flowing for children’s books, a TV cookery series and goodness knows what else. Despite now having had almost two months off from doing shows, I’ve done nothing about any of it, and it’s about time I did; I’m sick of what I currently do for a living.
So I’ve been busy. But I like blogging, and I know that quite a few people read it, so they must enjoy them. So I’ll make more of an effort in future, I promise! Now, back to work…..
Wednesday 20 February 2013
Chocaholics anonymous for me!
My colleague has just had to resort to a large bar of chocolate to get her through the stress that is the remainder of the working day. Although she is a coeliac, she is able to buy large bars of milk chocolate from M&S that are gluten free and which she shares with the rest of us. Being the person that sits next to her most days, I usually benefit quite nicely. I have had a large chunk today, as well as a bar of Twix. Just can’t resist.
Most of you know my love affair with the cocoa bean, which is responsible for quite a lot of my excess weight (although not all – the fermented grape and curry has quite an impact too). For me a dinner party isn’t a proper dinner party without a chocolate pudding of some sort (mousse, trifle, baked cheesecake etc) usually accompanied by extra thick double cream. Yum!
Chocolate is one of the major feel good foods of the world. Apparently it contains some enzyme or other which is similar to the one that is generated by the body during sex and which makes you feel fantastic. Can’t remember what it is, but it is mildly addictive and the more chocolate you have the more you crave it (presumably the same rule applies to sex!?)
I saw a programme on the telly the other day about how chocolate is actually produced in Ghana. The farmers there work for Fairtrade and use sustainable crops which they properly care for rather than treat them with growth hormones to get the maximum crop after which the plants die (as is the case elsewhere). The coca bean is the most unattractive thing, and whoever thought of extracting it and doing whatever they do to make Cadbury’s was a genius.
A few years ago I belonged to something called the Chocolate Tasting Club. For a payment of about £15 each month you got sent a box of the most gorgeous chocolates which were new fillings manufacturers worldwide were considering for their collections. You had to taste them all, and then give marks out of ten on a special website. Each month, one person won a box of posh chocolates worth £100. They have now been taken over by the retailer Hotel Chocolat, and have stopped giving away expensive boxes. And anyway I stopped being a member a couple of years ago – can’t afford it financially and weight wise – but it was fun while it lasted.
My next door neighbour has a pack of three bars of yummy chocolate next to her, so it must be a very stressful day indeed. I’ll have to go now and help her out!
Friday 15 February 2013
Did video kill the radio star? I think not...
Friday. At last!
It seems like it’s been a long week and gosh, hasn’t it been cold? Even today, when the sun has been shining and there’s been enough blue in the sky to make a sailor a pair of trousers (an old saying of my mother’s) the wind has cut through you like a knife.
Most of the day, of course, I have been indoors slaving away over a hot keyboard, apart from the time when I nipped out to officially put my name down for a spot of volunteering.
Yes, you did read aright. Volunteering, but possibly not in the way that you think.
I am not going to work in an Oxfam shop sorting out rancid clothes from black sacks. I am not going to clean out animal cages at the RSPCA. I am not going to work at the local day centre serving up cabbage and gravy to toothless old ladies. No, I have volunteered to be a DJ at the local community radio station from 7am until 9am on a Saturday morning.
I got involved in this only recently through a friend (the lovely Alex) who already DJ’s this slot and wants someone to alternate with him, as getting up at some unearthly hour every Saturday morning as well as doing it in the week has got a little too much. The plan is that we share the slot for a few weeks until I feel confident and they trust me, then we do alternate weeks so we each get a week off and a lie in.
So today, I went over and met the head honcho, who is an ex BBC radio producer, to fill in the official forms and be initially approved. I seem to have passed the test, and tomorrow bright and early I will be broadcasting alongside Alex for the very first time.
I’m really quite excited about this, the 6.15 alarm call aside. It’s something I’ve always fancied having a go at and now I have the chance, although I have no idea whether I’ll be any good or not. Two hours is quite a long time to fill with popular music and chatter, and I have no idea whether I’ll cope. But it’s got to be worth a shot!
So if you’re up and about bright and early tomorrow tune in to Ridge Radio on the internet (www.ridgeradio.co.uk) and click on ‘Listen Live’ and you’ll hear Alex and me exchanging banal chatter and amusing anecdotes.
Apparently, they get an average of 10,000 listeners to the show, based upon the number of hits they get on their web pages. I had no idea so many people listened to web based stations, but they are growing all the time. Ridge do work experience for schools, training for kids that want to go and do media at university and loads of fund raising events and other stuff as well as broadcasting from 7am until 1am seven days a week, quite an achievement when you consider that most community radio just does a few hours on a Saturday only.
It’ll be fun, and although I’ll be knackered because of the early start (mornings are not my optimum time of day) I will thoroughly enjoy it. I went along with Alex last week just to see how it all worked and have a look at the equipment and this week I get to have a little go myself under his supervision! So if there are any nasty silences, that’s my fault.
Go on, tune in and see what you think. In a few weeks hopefully, I’ll be going solo, and then you can e-mail me with your messages, requests and dedications. Only nice ones, mind!
Wednesday 13 February 2013
Tangled up in red tape
I have just been presented with a list of 180 separate pieces of red tape planning legislation to filter through and decide which we ought to comment upon, so that the government, bless their little cotton socks, can decide which to scrap and which to retain.
If my employers think I am going to read all that lot, they are seriously mistaken. I have foisted quite a few off onto colleagues, and have just gone through the headings of the rest trying to find something remotely interesting.
But the point is, why the f**k are there 180 separate pieces of legislation in the first place? If there are 180 just dealing with planning law, how many are there dealing with really serious stuff like care of vulnerable children and adults, with education and public health? No wonder the Civil Service is so huge; they must spend vast amounts of their time just filtering through this drivel trying to find something meaningful and useful.
To give credit where it is due, the Department of Communities and Local Government is trying to streamline stuff like this and that’s why they are asking for our comments. But they must know that the vast majority of it is useless and the rest could be distilled into one or two relatively short, plain English documents that would be understandable by planning geeks and Joe Public alike, and which would make all our lives easier. Why do they need us to tell them? Aren’t they supposed to be the experts?
But then CLG has been a shambles ever since the ignoramus Eric Pickles took the helm. What David Cameron sees in the man is a complete mystery, and how he survived the last reshuffle even more so. I have long been convinced that he is a Slitheen, which any aficionado of Doctor Who will know is an alien shaped like a big green pig which disguises itself inside a zipped up human skin, and which farts all the time in a particularly loud and noxious way. Having never been in the room with Mr Pickles I cannot personally comment on whether the farting takes place, but all the outward signs of Slitheen-ness are there.
So I am now going to waste probably several days of my life going through this rubbish just to say at the end of it that we ought to recommend scrapping 95% and rewriting the rest. Not that I’m pre-empting the outcomes, but it is almost inevitable. So I better get to it, or maybe I ought to save it up for this afternoon and the ‘graveyard slot’ so that it can help me nod off in a quiet corner where my colleagues won’t notice.
Difficult decision!
Thursday 7 February 2013
A waste of my life
My commute took me almost three hours this morning. That, quite frankly, is ridiculous. I could get to southern Europe in the time it took me to get from Bletchingley to Kensington, if you cut out the hanging about at the airport.
Problems this morning were numerous, so much so that a list is called for:-
1. The train was late getting to Oxted
2. There was a signalling equipment failure at Clapham Junction (the busiest station in England), which held up everything going everywhere
3. Someone was very inconsiderately taken ill on a train at Clapham too, compounding the problems
4. There was a fire at Victoria underground, so the tube station was closed
5. About a million extra people were trying to cram on the buses, so the queues were enormous
6. I had a heavy rucksack, so didn’t want to walk all the way
7. There are road works in Knightsbridge (again)
8. There was an accident by the Albert Hall and the police shut the road temporarily.
It was a complete and total catalogue of disasters!
As you will know if you read this regularly, I hate commuting. On a good day it takes in excess of three hours (ie 90 minutes each way) and usually it’s nearer four. But to take almost three hours to go one way, into one of the most well served cities in the world for public transport, is ludicrous as well as being a complete waste of my life and time.
I am just building up the energy to make the journey home. Hopefully they will have sorted out the signals, put out the fire and there won’t be any problems on the road at the homeward end. And to be fair, problems over the past few months have been minimal so this is the first time I have been seriously inconvenienced for ages. The frustration comes, I think, from not being able to do anything about it (and being stuck next to the most irritating girl in the world on the train who talked in a penetrating nasal voice to her friends the whole way up to London).
I am equipped for the journey now – sweets, bottle of water, magazine, ipod and a game on my Blackberry which I am getting quite good at and achieving very high scores (it’s so absorbing I nearly missed my stop the other night).
Girding the loins – off we go!
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