Flea Baby

Back from holiday for just over a week (thank goodness) and we have a house full of visitors. I’ve had personal contact with several of them and I’ve exacted the wrath of the vacuum cleaner and the tumble drier on several others. If I meet any more then they are quite definitely going to DIE.

My fur baby, the utterly delicious Mrs Poppy Chihuahua has quietly, and without my particular permission, invited them to stay. On herself.

How kind and generous my darling is. How utterly ruthless I am.

She is the warm and friendly hostess. I am the cold hearted hunter out to get these most unwelcome guests, tracking them down, wiping them out. I am the flea-o-saurus rex, the flea-dalek, exterminate, exterminate, exterminate!

They shall be gone, if not with the wind, then with the vacuum cleaner and the special spray.

Phshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh……………… die, flea baby, die!

Get Netted

Get Netted!

Small, sleek, smooth, and seductive the dark red object begs to be opened. Inside is a vision of the universe and the hint of possibility beyond. Inside are images of the world which take the breath away. Inside is scientific discovery of a magnitude never before envisaged. Inside is knowledge, knowledge so vast that a human lifespan could never discover it all.  Inside is the sociologist’s macro and micro - the scale of humanity, the enormity of life and the minutia of all. Inside is a qwerty keyboard in all its glory.

Inside is an Intel Atom processor and all of the electronic gadgetry and wizardry required to produce any type of document, chart, spread sheet, or power point that I could desire. Or there would be, if I’d paid for it, but I didn’t, so Mr Gates or his sidekicks, will only let me have a little trial version insofar as they can advertise on it.

This is my new, small red netbook, the result of a hard fought battle between tiny technology or touch screen rapidity. Netbook or ipad. Netbook won, obviously. This is my new toy to aid and abet my dream of being a writer. This is the result of an epic battle, not only between choices of technology, but between consumer and provider, customer and seller, me and the sales boy.

Not salesperson, not salesman, but quite definitely sales Boy. Of course anyone under thirty is boy to me when you add up my years on earth. To the sales boy, anyone of my age carries certain characteristics. We conform to a stereotype, especially if we are, dare I say it, female.

You see, women of my age, caught mid-way between fifty and sixty, shortish, blondish, fattish even, are undoubtedly stupid and misguided and badly in need of the attentions of a sales boy.  Usually the attentions of boy-men are a source of amusement rather than flattery. This sales boy was not of the flattering type, neither was he amusing. He was just exasperating, annoying, insulting and confusing and he almost undid my resolve never to hurt anyone deliberately. He buzzed around me throwing questions into the air not waiting for them to land before he threw the next one. I resisted the urge to swat him, and swat him hard with a verbal put down that would stun him into silence and then finish him off with a quick blow to the psyche that he would never recover from.  Instead, and to cause him no offense I played the game.

So what happened?

I went in to a large and well known store near to where I work on a reconnaissance mission. With the help of a very sweet young lady I investigated ipads and net books until deciding on this one – the one on which I type now. Last minute indecision meant that I called back the following day to make my purchase, having a last look at the choices on display. I didn’t see him until he spoke

‘Do you need any help at all?’

‘Yes. Thank you. I would like to buy this net book’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, this is the one I want’

‘What would you be wanting it for?’

‘Knitting’ I replied ‘Knitting and making macaroni’ (I made that up, I really said ‘for word processing, for creative writing’)

The sales boy told me that I didn’t want a net book at all. If I would like to follow him he would show me what I wanted and he walked around the display to the lap tops. He explained that they were portable and much, much better than a net book. I began to realise that he thought I was computer illiterate at best, absolutely stupid at worst. I explained that I wanted a very small machine and he clearly didn’t believe me, again showing me a lap top.

‘Small enough to go in my handbag’ I said helpfully.

‘How big is your handbag?’ he replied, so I waved it at him. Tiny, Kipling. Cerise pink… really consolidated my either blonde or old persona.

Explaining that I already have a lap top of my own, access to two others, a PC t home and a PC at work eventually convinced him that I knew which size of machine I wanted. Just then my phone rang.

‘You’ve got an iphone!’ he exclaimed. At last, in his reckoning I moved into the 21^st Century but swiftly fell back out when he questioned me about it.

‘I can get you a great deal, an upgraded phone and that thing there for half price’

I didn’t want a new phone. I wanted a small red net book and eventually I convinced him.

A minor spat ensued regarding windows installation and internet security, except he didn’t call it that and gave it a brand name which I didn’t recognise. Taking a guess at his meaning and being exasperated beyond belief I told him that I could extend  security from my home computers (yes, plural)for seven pounds. He assumed I meant household insurance.

‘No’ he said, ‘you don’t understand. Do you have a garden ? Well, in your garden you have plants that you want and plants that you don’t, you can’t help the ones that you don’t…….’ I butted in and stopped him and but for the arrival of another sales person, would have told him to stuff the little red net book into any area able to accommodate it. , We then entered the battle of the Microsoft Office. I didn’t need it, but caved in under pressure and regretted my weakness (returned it for refund the next day’).

I’m a teacher. I can patronize to my heart’s content but I respect my learners, so I don’t. He clearly had little to no respect for any intelligence I might have. He asked another sales person to handle the sale.

‘Please set this up for the lady’ he requested ‘It’s only £70 today but would be £100 if you couldn’t manage it yourself and had to come back’.

Astonished I declared that I could indeed set up a PC and install programs. He stepped back in disbelief.

‘Are you sure? You need a user name and everything.’

I am no longer sure. I am a mere whisper of the person I was when I entered the store. I do not possess a degree in social and political theory; neither do I have two further professional qualifications. I am defeated. I give up and behave like I am expected to, like an idiot, and I go to the till and pay my money and get out of the experience. He doesn’t get to set it up though as I fib and say that my husband can do it. I so obviously cannot.

What is it about me that signals my stupidity? What is it about me that marks me as an incompetent customer and an incapable consumer who needs little boys to take over and think for me. Well, nothing actually, the mistake was all his.

The fact that you are a Fones4U boy, interfering in the business of the real sales people tells me that you didn’t do so well at school. Come to my college little man and I will show you how to REALLY treat people with intelligence – intellectual and emotional. You’ll like it. You might learn some manners.

This was to be a really witty post. It started off Ok, but dwindled into whinge mode as I remembered how much fun I didn't have buying this net book.

 

just a little cross......

.....but not yet angry enough to be rude to anyone.

Dear @@@@@ Club

I am writing with regard to the club site at xxxxxxxx.

My husband and I use this site every year – for seven years in fact. We always enjoy our stay there, sometimes stopping over, sometimes using it as a base for touring, sometimes just for the pleasure of being there.

The facilities are not state of the art, but they are spotlessly clean and perfectly adequate. The wardens on site are always dedicated and helpful, companionable and informative too.

I have really looked forward to this year’s visit. I even saved up my washing for my few days of chilling out at xxxxxxx. Except, I’m not exactly chilled out, because the laundry facilities are out of order, and have been, so I’m told, for some weeks now.

Overnight, there was a spate of illness in our campervan resulting in an urgent need for the bedding to be laundered. Alas, the facilities advertised in the site directory are not available necessitating the need to visit the dry cleaning establishment in town. An expensive visit, during which the proprietor told me that she has enjoyed many visits from folks ‘at the campsite’.

The tent campers, without drying facilities have a particular problem, one young lady hanging rain soaked clothing in the ladies’ changing area.

After cleaning up this morning, I showered …….no hairdryer! Not so bad for me as I have a spare travel one, but again the tent campers are at a disadvantage.

On investigation, it seems that there are many issues at  this site beyond the control of the wardens and about which the club has done very little, if anything. The situation is losing custom and portraying the club in a negative manner to non members. Perhaps the club no longer cares about the little, tucked away, quaint place as xxxxxxx?

I care. Very much so. Please pay attention and resolve these issues immediately as it is a disgraceful state of affairs indeed.

As I cannot seem to contact you about the issues outlined above, I'm posting you on the world wide web instead.

Bus - y

Horror of horrors, there is no hot water in my house. The immersion heater has been leaking for a couple of days and thanks to a supply of towels to rival any health spa, we have managed to save the floorboards - and the ceiling of the room below. His Majesty has battled bravely all day firstly trying to fix the existing tank and secondly by buying a new tank.. the old one refused to be mended.

As I start a new programme of study on Monday evening I needed to go into the city to buy the three set texts. I also wanted a little look at some nice yarns in the department store. H.M. being so busy, I went by bus. After all, it more or less stops at the end of my crescent (street) it would be daft not to take advantage of it. It certainly took advantage of me! The last time I travelled by bus it cost £3.50 for a day return ticket. The driver asked for £6. I had £5 in cash. No matter, I paid for a one way trip, after all I could pop to the 'hole in the wall' and get the return fare when I got there.

By car the journey takes about forty minutes. One and a half hours later and several chapters of Thomas Hardy I arrived, too stiff to move, hungry and needing the toilet. Ah well.

Straight to the cathedral book shop. Oh dear, all of my required texts are sold out. I ordered them and left, passing the 'Big Issue' seller.

" 'Haven't sold one all day love" he said.

I scrambled about in my purse, £1.90 something.

'They're £2.50 love' he added. I told him that I'd pick one up on the way back to the bus stop, walked about 100 yards and thought better of it, returned and gave him what was left in my purse. I may not see him on the way back to the bus stop, and I could get to the bank machine - he couldn't. I didn't take a magazine. They used to be £1. Inflation hits everyone!

No books and no yarn later it was time for the trip home. One bus at 17.31 and another at 18.01. Missed one, too early for the other....ooooh here one comes, 17.50. Work that one out.

Settled into a seat with the Kindle and began to sink into the novel again but the little child in the seat in front began to leap up and down and shriek. He was around two and a half years old with a gorgeous mop of curls and the brightest brown eyes I have ever seen. Mum looked dreadful, exhausted, drawn and ill. She was. Poor lady has the current flu bug. Jamilla and I sang all the way home. We sang about black sheep, wheels on the bus, Postman Pat, Bob the Builder, Miss Polly's dolly, Humpty Dumpty and a host of other top ten hit with tots. Mum took the opportunity to take her flu medication while Jamilla and I took the opportunity to discuss the sand and water play at his playschool. They left the bus in the village before mine, she looking a little better and he waving goodbye. Kindle and I became reacquainted and as I settled back into the story a voice behind me said

'You getting on alright with that darling?'

'A leading question' thought I, and replied ' yes, its great, got it for Christmas. Smashing on the bus. Can't replace a real book though, not the same'. Right answer. Gentleman works for a book distributor. It's always good to agree with people on a bus!

The day had faded into darkness when I alighted just around the corner from my house. H.M. had worked all day on the hot water system and we managed a couple of baked potatoes with cheese before he went to bed. The simple stuff is always the best.

And me? Well, I've been cared for by my lovely husband, mindful that I like to shower in hot water, snuggled by Poppy Chihuahua, I've been 'loved' by a homeless magazine seller and 'darlinged' by a warehouse packer. But most of all, I've been appreciated by a small miracle, a little boy with curly hair and brown twinkling eyes. What more could I want?

Barred of soap

Gifts. Gifts are special, special to receive and special reminders of who gave us them. Usually gifts are welcome and appreciated but we all have experience of a gift that we might not have liked, or even one that insulted us in some way.

I love giving and receiving gifts and I try to take as much care of those I receive as possible, and to appreciate both the gift and the giver.

Today I have thrown away a gift. I've half-used it, disliked it, and thrown away a perfectly good gift. In the bin. Gone. Dissolved, deleted, eliminated. Oh what bravery!

It was a bar of soap, a simple bar of soap. Being a lady who appreciates lovely smellies as gifts - soaps are treasured. As children my sisters and I were well scrubbed with a bar of rough red stuff called carbolic (excuse the spelling if you know better). I can smell it now. Very coal tar - ish. I quite liked the smell. We would watch TV adverts for more beautiful and less utilitarian soaps such as Lux or Camay. Camay came in PINK. Important to three sisters used only to rough red slabs of scrub-a-dub-dub, cold water, kitchen sink and a shared towel. How we dreamt of such luxury as Camay.

'It's scenty' my mother would say 'No good for your skin. It will give you spots'.

Now children know what spots are. Itchy things with names such as Chicken Pox or German Measles. We'd had them and we didn't want them again, so we acquiesced and stopped piping about Camay and Lux, and, luxury of luxuries - Pears.

As teens luxury soaps became ours as friends and families moved their gifts to us from toys to more adult offerings. How we delighted in them. They were indeed 'scenty' and needed to kept well away from one's glorious complexion, but we loved them all the same.  Later I became an Avon lady and would furnish my bathroom with soaps which reflected the changing seasons, always of course using a mild and gentle soap on my own babies and certainly not carbolic.

The gift I disposed of was a scented bar of soap which my subconscious presented as precious and needing to be used to the last tit bit . It was given by a Not Friend. That is someone who pretended to love me but didn't. This Not Friend was only too able to target me as someone to emotionally blackmail and bully...yes, you have read about her before. Anyway, the Not Friend has gone now but sadly some of the damage she caused lives on still. Why is she a Not FRIEND? Because she told me how fond she was of me whilst wreaking her trail of destruction, that's why. A friend? Not.

Remember the song 'I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair'? Well, using the soap I thought would wash the Not friend out of my mind. It hasn't. It serves as a daily reminder, and not only that, it has dried the skin of my hands into wrinkly claws. So begone, you demon. I want to be mended. I want my hands to be nice again and I want my mind to be fixed again. Into the bin you go. I don't want you, I don't even need you... there are other, less pretentious soaps in my repertoire that will be kind to me. And so, out with the trash went the soap. Finito. The emotional scars may take a while to surface properly and then dissipate but hey ho, they will go!

Imperial Leather. That's what you would normally find in my bathroom. I have used it since leaving my parent's home in 1978. It is simply the most gorgeous soap with a clean and crisp scent. Opening a new bar instantly transports me back to the camping days and my dad getting washed in the tent. He always had Imperial Leather on camping trips. Add to that memory those ones of my children playing with the lather and I have a lifetime of pleasant thought and happy memories to scrub out the Not Friend unpleasant ones.

Gifts. Good to give and good to receive, especially when they are given and received with love. Those precious gifts given by God may hold a few surprises, but they will be good. His most precious gift, that of His son Jesus Christ is one which will last a lifetime and beyond. Accept it and wash away the cares and the sins of the world. A true friend and a true gift. Enjoy.

Alas me Hearties!

When you've got a pain midships and it feels like you're coming to the end of your keel row you know that you may get hoisted by your own petard. I'd no wish to descend to Davy Jones so visited me old bosun at the health centre. Nothing wrong. Still the old pump kept being a bother and it seemed to want to cause chaos in the engine room. Easily solved me hearties! A little less stress and the engine purrs like a kitten. A brand new set of rigging in a slightly smaller size for the heavy ballast midships and Captian Jack! No more problems.

And the moral of the story is: ladies on diets who get chest pains - try a smaller bra. (and visit ye olde bosun too just in case).

Weeza and the Terrierists

Blessed as I am I have many wonderful friends to compliment my darling family. I have my precious God Sister - that's she with the many children and then my much valued Christian colleague who keeps me grounded and sane. I have another friend too and she is gorgeous and funny and sunny and golden all the way through. She is Weeza and she has a pair of terriers who are absolutely adorable.

I am so blessed that I know that I am loved. That is an amazing feeling. In my younger days when I wasn't sure what love was or even how love (in the agape sense) was demonstrated, I was probably badly behaved in response and very insecure and lacking in self worth. No longer. I cherish my beloved family and friends and I am cherished in return. Weeza too is a 'cherisher', she loves wholeheartedly and unselfishly and she is loved and cherished in return.

When someone loves and is loved then carries the confidence that goes with it, they are able to offer the treasure of their love outwards drawing in those who don't feel loved. That's a great gift, one from God.

Sadly, not everyone responds well. I remember a former colleague who seemed to despise me and I could never understand why. One day, after treating me with the utmost contempt she said that I had too many friends and she wasn't going to be part of my falseness just for the sake of it. If only she knew! If only she had taken the love offered! Another response is jealousy. Some people try hard to be liked but aspects of their character are hard and spiteful and when they see a popular person, the need for them to be the centre of attention creates hard and spiteful actions. Others do not want to suffer the same fate as the popular person, so they join forces with the jealous one so that the jealous one does not turn on THEM. Contrary to popular belief, those of us who are loved don't always have an easy time of it!

This is happening to Weeza right now. Right now she is under attack from the Spiteful and Jealous Ones. Right now her beautiful sunny nature and her generous loving spirit are being jet-washed with nastiness. Right now she needs our support and our prayers.

 It is the love of God that people like Weeza and I try to reflect. If we are commanded by Jesus to be like him, then anyone should be able to look at us and see His light reflected there.  

On your kneeza for Weeza - right now!