Dairy products, giraffes and yellow labels

Another day and another bizarre (and obviously ignorant) caller at the door.  On hearing the doorbell I opened the door and was greeted by a middle aged chap (I should know what one looks like as he was the same sort of age as me)................the conversation went like this.

Chap	“Hello, I’m helping my friend Martin the milkman who delivers to your neighbours and I am trying to get some more customers for him”
Me	“Nobody has milk delivered along here”
Chap	“Yes they do, the people at number 21 have a delivery”
Me	“No they don’t as the lady works in Tesco and buys it from there.  Anyway, ( as I point and waggle my finger at the door) this sticker says I do not buy at the door so you shouldn’t have knocked”
Chap	“I didn’t see that (it is bright yellow, has the local Police emblem and details on and is positioned on the front door), but would you like to order a delivery?”
Me	“No, I don’t have milk”
Chap	“Oh right, do you have soya then?”
Me	“No, I told you I don’t have milk”
Chap	“How about juices?  I can do you a full range”
Me	“No, nothing like that, I am not interested and I don’t buy at the door as you know”
Chap	“Okay then, how about yogurts or cheese?”
Me	“No.  Bye now” (followed by loud bang as I closed the door)

Of course on reflection I should have sent him packing with directions to the local guide dog centre as his eyesight is obviously failing, this being confirmed by his inability to see a bright yellow sign in clear daylight.  I love the way callers claim not to see the sign and also lie about what my neighbours may or may not have delivered.  The solution is simple...............I need to erect a tower over the front door with a supply of grand pianos to be dropped one at a time on these people.

I am persevering with the Zumba class once a week in an effort to tone up a bit and have a laugh at the same time.  However hard I try to keep up with the movements and routines, I always end up performing with all the grace of a new born giraffe trying to stand for the first time and a windmill with sails all going in different directions.  Never mind though, I have a fun hour and it is a fiver well spent (plus I have bought the right clothing to wear so I need to get the value out of it).

My latest gripe with one of the ‘big four’ supermarkets is their so called ‘special offers’ which are not all they seem.  Bright yellow labels on the pricing strip attract the attention of shoppers and lead them to believe the product they are popping into their trolley is a bargain.  I am building up quite a collection of photos showing the pricing labels with offers such as “£1.5o or two for £3.00” (for cheese) or “£1.00 or five for £5.00” (pre-packed ham)............... You see what I mean?  This practice has apparently been brought to the attention of the media and several newspapers have printed relevant articles.  Unfortunately the supermarket gurus appear not to read the newspapers they sell. 

Cake, canoes and conservatories

I have now returned from a lovely holiday in Slovenia where exploring the country and eating chocolate cake for elevenses was the order of the day.  Despite the best effort of Thomson’s to scupper the plans by giving totally the wrong accommodation address (hotel details given not self catering apartment as booked – just as well I like a mystery tour), providing three contact numbers that were dead lines, failing to give the hire car company the necessary paperwork and generally being somewhat on the lax side...............the trip was great, beautiful scenery, delightful local people and a country where it was easy to get around.  Once again I noticed how mainland European countries are, shall we say, lacking in what they consider to be necessary health and safety requirements.

Of the many building sites and road works I encountered, only two hard hats were visible (and I believe these were being used for sun protection rather than to stop the wearers being clouted on the head by falling objects.  One chap had a wheelbarrow right at the top of a multi storey building without any form of guarding to stop it rolling off.  Another guy was happily chainsawing the roof timbers on his house and they were dropping through to where his mate was standing (un-hatted of course) and he simply stepped aside as each one fell.

The amount of children out on the lakes paddling canoes (whilst standing up no less) without a single lifejacket between them amazed me – the oldest child could only have been around nine years old.  In fact nowhere around the lakes were lifebelt rings installed.  One young boy stood on a body-board and paddled from one end of the lake to the other.  Despite these incidents nobody fell in the water and drowned and no site workers were left with a hammer sticking out of their skull so I guess perhaps we are rather over the top in the UK with the rules and regulations.  However, I am still not going for a paddle without my lifejacket, length of rope securing me to the promenade and a safety flare in my hand (you can never be too careful).

Since returning to Blighty I have received another offer for old age products.................this time it is ‘Retirement Homes in your Area’.  I am seriously thinking about contacting these folks and asking for more information as they are obviously determined to make a sale.  It is almost as ridiculous as the leaflet posted through my letterbox when I lived in a first floor flat............”Let Us Give You A Free Quote For Your New Conservatory”.................great bit of market research and a total lack of sense on the part of the delivery person.  Yes please, come along and quote – do I get a discount for your stupidity?

Homecoming, senior life and a time for remembering

Well then, the old folks returned at the weekend from their jaunt ‘up north’ and telephoned to say they had arrived home safely.  No mention of the newly Bazooka Joe coloured room................. Hmmm.......okay then, perhaps they have just walked through the front door and not been upstairs yet.  Three calls later with still no referring to the new decor, I headed up the road and was met at the door by my Mum complaining I had filled her kitchen bin with empty cola tins and other assorted rubbish.  At this point I helped her up the stairs (well she has had two weeks using an elevator so is a little out of practice), pushed open the spare bedroom door (that I had left further ajar than normal to prompt a viewing) and.....................”Oh, the boxes have gone then, that’s good......”  By now I am amazed that the bubble gum pink walls have not screamed out in protest, so I helped proceedings by pointing at the room.  Bing!  Realisation set in and Mum finally noticed the new colour scheme.  Praise be! 

Contrary to my previous missive where I expected a sort of backhanded compliment, I was in fact met with thanks and praise from both my parents, although Dad did say he had been about to make a start on the painting.................Ok, right, when would that be then?  This of course has confused my revenge plan.  Looks like I will have to cancel delivery of the goat.

This week’s excellent email offer from an outfit called 50 Plus Online Dating promises “Love and Seniors is Our Speciality” with a link to view the profiles of single seniors in my area.  Oh great, another organisation that thinks I am ready for Saga holidays, incontinence products and mobility support.  I have so far resisted looking at the profiles as I fear I will be envious of any powered scooters these seniors might have (they are bound to be better than the three wheeled skateboard I can afford).

The weekend saw the passing of the 10^th anniversary of 9/11.  Everyone can remember where they were when it all started to happen (I was sitting at my desk at Vodafone, trying to access the internet to see if it was true or just rumour) and how the sheer brutality of what happened that day unfolded on our television screens.  I clearly recall watching the coverage all evening on Sky News, and each time the scenes were shown hoping that the planes would not hit the towers.  The courage of all the rescuers, whether professional or members of the public, was incredible; the way the mayor of NYC went to the heart of the area; strangers of all races and religions coming together to help each other.................these images were captured by the media at the time and were expanded on last week during a series of documentaries to mark the anniversary.  Previously unseen footage was screened, including how the wounded were put on ferries to other areas of the Manhattan harbour area and emergency rooms were literally set up outdoors on the piers.  Hospitals took patients in without the reams of paperwork usually insisted upon, every type of injury imaginable was seen and dealt with.

I visited Ground Zero in 2004 once the foundations had been laid for the reconstruction works.  The builders had created a viewing area behind wire and board screens whilst the work was in progress.  It was an eerie experience, and the area where the twin towers had stood seemed far too small, but I am glad I made the trip.

The world changed forever on 11th September 2001, so many innocent people were murdered in the name of religion, but we must not forget it is the minority element of any religion that carry out these incomprehensible acts of violence, and this should not make us turn against people simply because their God figure is different to our own.  Only by uniting against those who choose to try and take all that is good away from the rest of us can we make the world as a whole a better and happier place for all of us.

R.I.P. all 2996 who died that day or as a result of it.

School reunion, school reports and could do better

Hurrah!  The decorating is finished and the blue paint has finally bitten the dust.  After four coats of one coat paint on each wall, a lick of white gloss on all the woodwork and a general tidy up in the vicinity, the spare room at my parents’ house is looking pretty good!  They have yet to view the transformation so final opinions on the new colour (and the fact that I have done any work at their house) are awaited.

I met with some friends in London at the weekend for a long overdue catch up.  We were at school together back in the 1970’s and most of us had not seen each other since then.  Spookily none of us have really changed all that much over the past few (ahem) years – we are obviously ageing gracefully.  So many funny memories from our school days were shared and the realisation that in today’s world our school would be condemned on many accounts – cats running freely around the buildings (and kitchen); meals eaten at our desks (this only after we had carried tray loads of hot food from the kitchen all around the school – including, in later years, to the house over the road); lessons and exams held in caravans; all sports events held miles away from school (the school was converted houses and the only ‘grounds’ were the gardens complete with washing line); lack of science facilities, cooking area and other basic provisions which today’s children take for granted.................I could go on........ We had a picnic in Hyde Park followed by a couple of hours standing under cover in the kiosk area by Speaker’s Corner to dodge the heavy rain. God bless the British summer.  The hunt is now on to track down more members of our ‘old girls posse’ with a plan to hold another reunion in 2012 before we all need to allow for zimmers and incontinence aids to make the day do-able.

I have since looked through my school reports..................they make interesting (if rather cringe worthy) reading.  “Lack of attention” rears its head several times over the various years.  Personally I attribute that to the way in which we were taught, i.e. if the teachers had been more engaging and made lessons more interesting and fun then I would very likely have paid more attention.  I have learned more historical facts from watching Blackadder and Horrible Histories than I ever absorbed from Mrs Hills’ lessons.  I am sure she was pleasant enough away from school, but her appearance in school gave the impression she was permanently sucking on a particularly manky lemon, which hardly inspired her teenage pupils in any way.

For some crazy reason I am persevering with the Zumba classes.  It is a great social event and I do have fun but my participation has all the grace of a new born giraffe and the co-ordination of a 1960’s psychedelic shirt.  Just when I think my arms and legs are moving in time with each other I look at the people around me and realise I still have a lot of work to do in this area.  Looks like I should dust off the treadmill now and make use of it before it vanishes under the mountain of stuff I am storing on it.

Blue walls, bubble gum and a short length of masking tape

Being the kind hearted daughter that I am, this week I have been decorating one of the spare bedrooms at my parents’ house whilst they are away.  The background to this started three years ago when they moved in and my Mum decided the room needed revamping.  Originally, Dad used the room as his office but subsequently relocated to yet another spare room (decorated with jungle creatures around the walls – he has always been a child at heart) so the front room became a proper bedroom.  Dad has been promising for a long time to repaint this room and got as far as putting one piece of masking tape along the top edge of the light switch, but then lost interest in the project.

The opportunity to do a bit of House Doctoring (how I love Anne Maurice) presented itself when the old folks booked a fortnight away visiting family and friends in the north east.  Mum has been saying for months that she wants pale pink walls instead of the gaudy blue, so last week I purchased some paint and lay in wait.  Having called them to make sure they had left the house, I headed up the road with the necessary bits, paint, roller, brush, ladder and iPod and set to work.

What started out as an easy job has morphed into a lengthy process as the blue paint is extremely resistant to change and keeps breaking through the pink to laugh at me.  There are in fact three different shades of blue on the walls, and it is evident that units have been painted around previously rather than moving them out of the way.  The socket covers needed sanding to rid them of the blue peril and the skirting and windowsill have also become part of the project as they have never been painted since the house was built.  In fact, new skirting (of a different style) has been added but was still in a raw state until I waved my gloss paint at it.

So far, the walls have had four coats of ‘one coat’ emulsion which goes to show how hard the blue is to shift, but things are looking up and the room is nearly finished.  The pink is now not as pale as was wanted (sort of a lighter Bazooka Joe bubble gum shade) but at least the whole place looks fresher and the woodwork has come to life.  Despite all this, I can imagine what my Mum’s reaction will be................. something along the lines of “Eeeee, well it looks better than that blue, but I really wanted it in pale pink you know...............”

To those in the know, this is a typical reaction of a Geordie woman.  I will of course get my own back by emptying the freezer of goodies prior to their return, installing a fish tank in the lounge (actually I did that once before when they went away, right in front of the gas fire which for the next umpteen years could not be used in the cold months) and signing Mum up for the local Meals on Wheels production service (well she is rather good at doing ‘light lunches’ for a couple of dozen people).  I have not altogether ruled out the possibility of a pet goat for their garden, but perhaps I should wait until the flowers have finished blooming.

I have kept the original (short) length of masking tape so Dad can make a start on another room – waste not, want not.

Beautiful Days, cycling pianist and Persil

I have just returned from my first time at a festival..................what a great weekend!  The venue was the Beautiful Days festival which takes place every August in Devon.  My initial concerns about camping again after many years avoiding it were unfounded, although plumbed in toilets rather than portaloos would have been welcome, however this is unlikely to happen in a field.

The weekend kicked off on Friday morning upon arrival in a field, following a line of festival goers in their various means of transport, where we were directed to our allotted car parking spaces.  Wristbands were fixed onto each ticket holder by the officials, different colours for adults, children, stall holders, caterers and performers.  Mine is still attached as I can’t yet bring myself to snip it off and end the magic of the weekend.  Unloading the car and heading to the tent (very kindly constructed the previous day by friends) I encountered my first sightings of folk of all shapes, sizes and ages decked out in every kind of outfit imaginable.  This theme carried on for the whole weekend with the addition of extra merchandise bought from the stalls and body painting appearing on every available skin surface. 

Sitting on the grass watching the various bands over the whole weekend gave me the chance to people watch (one of my favourite lazy day things to do) and I certainly had an eclectic choice to cast my eyes over.  Immediately obvious was just how happy everyone appeared, some dancing, others catching up with family and friends, children of all ages playing with bubbles and other simple toys, but most of all each person was having fun.  Costumes ranged from flowing jumbled up colours of the hippies, to groups dressed as mushrooms, dominoes, clowns and one guy dressed as Willy Wonka.  Quite a few chaps wore dresses and were obviously quite in touch with their feminine side and comfortable in their choice of tulle, frills, lace and full length gloves.  Above all, nobody batted an eyelid or derided anyone else.  Bizarre entertainers such as the cycling pianist (yes, he had a full sized piano attached to his bicycle); stilt walker; a man dressed as a tree; a line of people decked out as dominoes all added to the fun packed days.

My preconceived ideas about dreadlocked people being far removed from the real world have been blown to pieces over the past three days.  I spent many hours watching families where one or both parents sport these matted long hair creations and the way they care for and spend quality time with their children is above and beyond what I have seen from a lot of so-called “normal” parents.  The children are confident, happy and sociable and are growing up in an environment where the importance of respecting others, looking after the planet and not needing expensive electronic goods to have fun is their mantra.  So what if the grownups have long hair and mismatched clothing?  Does this affect their ability to be good parents and positive role models to others in the wider community?  No, it does not.  Life is one long learning experience and these children are fortunate enough to have families who ensure they are able to experience it in a very hands-on way.

I met a couple with a baby so tiny she was still folded up.  I asked how old she was and the reply came “four weeks.............but there is a three week and a two week old here too”.  Her parents were still at the stage where they weren’t quite sure how to pass her from one to the other; however they had sourced some funky ear defenders from Australia to protect her little ears.........shame she didn’t like the sudden silence and cried loudly!

Upon returning home I nipped out to buy some washing liquid to tackle the camp laundry pile.  I came across some Persil with added Comfort on offer at half price. Excellent, just what I needed.  Note to self..............next time have a sniff of the stuff before purchasing.  Unfortunately it has exactly the same scent as the blue sanitizing fluid used in the Portaloos.

Balearics, chavs and a few hats

I had reason to pop into my local town centre the other day, found a parking bay and set about my chores in the shops.  On returning I spotted the car next to me had three people removing a vacuum cleaner, fan and other items from the boot and back seat.  The older of the women had opened her rear door and she was wedged between it and the body of her car.  This caused her door to bang into mine and leave blue paint on my silver bodywork.  I told her she had damaged my car and unbelievably she flatly denied it despite the evidence.  She claimed she had held the door away from my car.  Errrrmm no you didn’t missus, I walked up behind you and saw exactly what you were doing.  The upshot of this was she claimed she had done nothing wrong and there wasn’t much space to move anyway.  Actually madam, had you not been the combined size of the Balearics you would have had plenty working space.  Please book in with Weight Watchers on Monday evening for a solution to your bulk problem.

The social uprisings from last week appeared to have abated now, I guess due to the electrical and tracksuit retailers being out of stock.  I even saw a picture of people looting crisps from Poundland for goodness sake.  As always happens in these incidents there are innocent people caught up in the melee and several people have been killed.  Quite rightly, the alleged perpetrators have been charged and are appearing in court.  Taking the case of the three Asian people who were run over in Birmingham, for the sake of a moment’s stupidity by the people in the car, so many lives have been taken and a large number of other people are feeling the impact of these deaths and will continue to do so for the rest of their lives.  The dignity shown by one of the bereaved fathers as he stood in the street holding up a picture of his son was one of the most memorable news items of the week.  Compare that to the masked chavs interviewed for the news channel bragging about watching their new plasma televisions and showing off some gaudy footwear (brand new but with tags ripped off......) and it is easy to determine who I would rather have for a neighbour.  It is simply not worth going out and causing trouble.  It is not fun, it is not big and it is not clever.

To be fair to the judicial system, the courts have been successful in getting the low lifes up before the beak quickly and many have received custodial sentences.  Quite how space has been found for them in the prisons is a mystery as we are continually told the jails are overcrowded.  Never mind, pile these dregs of society in one large cell like they do in Thailand and other places where breaking the law carries a proper punishment and not a token slap on the wrist.  That will sort the tough guys out from the cowards (and I can bet the majority will turn out to be the latter).

On a lighter note, I am making the most of my National Trust membership by visiting a place every weekend.  The latest outing was to Chedworth Roman Villa, an old relic hidden at the end of a long and winding country road where it could be a little tricky coming across a coach heading towards you.  Anyway, the site is currently undergoing excavation and building works to carry out some conservation so the main part of the attraction is closed.........this is detailed in the current yearbook but the remainder of the site information is rather exaggerated in what there is to see and do.  All I can say is that I am glad I didn’t have to pay to get in as I would have been rather annoyed to have spent £7 for what amounted to an area that could be covered in about ten minutes on foot.

Next weekend I am off to a music festival for the first time.  Having not been under canvas for some time this in itself will be an experience as will the lack of plugs for hairstyling gadgets.  Fortunately I have a selection of hats for the weekend.