The Most Expensive Car In The World

Marooned

..and so I dribble to the end of one of the most full, stressfull, penniless and dismal months of my short young life. With no irony whatsover (considering the medium on which you are reading this), I won’t bore you with the minute details. A lot of you with whom I speak on regular basis will know about most of it. The maroon metal monstrosity pictured above played it’s part in no small measure. So far this year, I must have spent the best part of £1000 on it, despite only paying £595 about 3 years ago. The world is full of people willing to dish out advice when this happens but the answer is never so simple as most believe. “Get rid of it!” they yell. But you can’t “get rid” of a car that is broken can you? Who will take it? So, you fix it and then you don’t need to “get rid of it” at all. In fact, the thing you have just fixed is one more thing on it that is less likely to go wrong again. I use this dubious logic to convince myself that after this year’s repairs – the thermostat, clutch, exhaust and alternator will not go wrong again for ages. I know…I know…

Anyway, it’s booked in tomorrow at the garage next to work (I know…I know) that I have often spoken about. Yes, I always feel stupid in there but you have to understand that it’s very convenient and thanks to my kind friends, I won’t have to spend £25 on taxis. By this time tomorrow, I will be able to stop disconnecting the battery every time I park up at home, at work and anywhere else where I am going to be more than about 10 minutes. It’s amazing what you can put up with sometimes isn’t it? If it does have one downside, it’s that I  have to wait around at work so that all my colleagues have driven off before I lift the bonnet to fiddle with the battery. They are all really kind but you do get a bit fed up of “are you ok?” or “do you need a hand?”. It’s my fault really. I shouldn’t know so many nice people.

I shouldn’t knock it too much though. As is always the case in the middle of diversity like this, I have learnt so much. I can now disable and re-enable the immobiliser with consumate ease. I know where the fuse for the horn is, I know how to change the battery, I know how to tell if the battery is charged just by looking at it and I even finally got round to putting new batteries in my key fobs.

But you are right. I should get rid of it. But look at it..it’s 13 years old and it’s still so shiny. It still has new car smell. Still!

So one final thank you to the RAC men who have helped me these past few weeks. Most of you were friendly, kind and helpful. One of you wasn’t but in his defence, it was very early, very cold and I did jibber like an idiot in an effort to pretend I knew the first thing about motor vehicles. To say I have got my money’s worth out of an annual RAC membership this year would be something of an understatement.

So that’s what’s been happening. It is certainly the only part of it entertaining enough or amusing to post here.

Progress

Long time pals will have been watching this blog on an almost daily basis for signs that it is going to be a going concern anytime soon. Well, I have now finished putting the last seven years of blog posts in and like most such jobs, it was a drag. This is mostly my fault as I re-read most of them before putting them in. Some I left out as a result of sheer tediousness or irrelevance. Some of them were too short to bother and after reading and disregarding the third of forth such dribble, I remembered that my first blog template was a skinny, single-columned affair where such tiny snippets would have filled half a page. Most of them would barely fill a Tweet these days.

Some of the entries reflected how much has changed since in the last 5 years. I had few friends at work who read my blog and it was very much a school friends blog. This is by no means a bad thing but nowadays, many of my work friends read this and would be a bit bored and/or mystefied by talk of things boarding school. I did (unwisely) bitch about work on occasion too. Why I thought this was appropriate is a bit of a mystery.

There is no mention of my dad passing away although there is of his funeral a week later. Likewise, there is little mention of my being diagnosed of Diabetes but there is of my memorable visit to a medical “workshop” a few weeks later. On reflection, I probably didn’t feel like blogging about dad at the time. I suppose the same could be said of my medical bombshell too.

So I guess I am “back” now.  My next blog post will be the first concerning the writing of my book. If you didn’t know I was doing such a thing then you will no doubt be fascinated by what I have to share with you over the coming weeks. If you did know, then once again I promise that I will actually get on with it.

All of a sudden it was a bank holiday Monday (yes, foreign friends, I know the name doesn’t make sense) and here I am with a head full of words and nonsense. Time to verbally vomit over your shiny new shoes.

Usually, a reappearance like this is driven by an amazing happenstance in a normally dull week but to be honest (love that phrase), I just felt like it. I spent the last month or so doing a little naval gazing and pondering. Nothing earth shattering has emerged from the meditation and self-indulgence but I still live in hope. I am not sleeping very well at the moment but I have no idea why. Work is busy but no more so than at any time over the last year or so, so I am pretty sure it ain’t that.

Am I on the verge of a mid-life crisis? Those of you who see a lot of me might wonder if I am already having it and lately, I can see what  you mean. I have no great secret personal life hidden from all of you. What you see me doing is pretty much what there is.

Ardent Slimming World junkies such as myself don’t get Bank Holiday’s off, so today I was there bright and early. Very early as it happens. Not as much traffic on the roads at 9am as usual you see. Had I half a ounce of common sense, I would have realised this and hence avoided the need to run round the house like my trousers were on fire 30 seconds after the alarm went off this morning. It was worth the trip though, I lost 3½ pounds which is very cool. Slightly less cool when you discover that I put 3 on last week. If only I could determine what I did this week that I didn’t do last week and vice-versa. Sadly, if it were that simple, I could make a fortune and I would be already wearing the 34 inch waist jeans hanging like a mocking denim bat in my wardrobe. There are now 5 of us from work at my group which adds to the fun. Laughing at other people might be wrong but its a great way to start the week. Before you go and call me (us) cruel, rest assured that sometimes it goes both ways. This week, I was first in line when we “went round the room to see how everyone got on”. The nice consultant lady tells everyone how well we did (they never say how much we put on) and we have to talk about our week. Normally the words come easily and I have taken to using 3 or 4 stock speeches that seem to keep everyone happy. This week, I was caught off-guard and wittered on like an idiot long past the point of polite embarrassment. The usual round of applause that follows each speech re-defined the term “smattering”.

So it wasn’t my weight…

The diabetes is ok. I have one of my 6 monthly M.O.T. checkups any week now. I feel ok. I always know when things are going a bit wonky because I either feel really tired, need to drink or need to pee. None of these really happens at all at the moment. I have virtually no thirst reflex anymore. Drinking fluids of any sort is either a habit (coffee at work) or something I have to remember to do. I know my inner bits need fluid, so I am not letting myself get into stupid bad habits, it’s just not a situation I ever expected to find myself in. During the time before I was diagnosed, I was drinking about 5 litres of water/squash/coke every day and peeing out about the same amount. How I ever got anything done is anyone’s guess.

So not that then…

My friend Hayley is leaving work this week. This sucks big time but for me not her. It is totally the right thing for her to do but it doesn’t make the fact that she won’t be at work anymore any less sucky. For the last 4 or 5 years ago she has been one of only a very few people I can trust with anything and one of only two who took the time to see how I was every day. We nearly always had lunch together, she mostly laughed at my purile yet sophisticated humour and without her I would have never gone to Slimming World. She was and is also blonde, pretty and in her early 20′s which never does my ego any harm. I may be her friend but I am also male and 40. It would be poetic, poignant and full of pathos to end with the phrase “I wish I had told her all that to her face” but I will have to disappoint you all. I think I tell her about once a month. The last time, she told me to stop being an arse. I will probably tell her again on Friday night whilst drunk and leaning on the bar in C103.

C103 is a night club. The first time in 20 years that I have ever been in one.

There will probably be photos. Photos I will apologise for in advance.

All of a sudden it was a bank holiday Monday (yes, foreign friends, I know the name doesn’t make sense) and here I am with a head full of words and nonsense. Time to verbally vomit over your shiny new shoes.

Usually, a reappearance like this is driven by an amazing happenstance in a normally dull week but to be honest (love that phrase), I just felt like it. I spent the last month or so doing a little naval gazing and pondering. Nothing earth shattering has emerged from the meditation and self-indulgence but I still live in hope. I am not sleeping very well at the moment but I have no idea why. Work is busy but no more so than at any time over the last year or so, so I am pretty sure it ain’t that.

Am I on the verge of a mid-life crisis? Those of you who see a lot of me might wonder if I am already having it and lately, I can see what  you mean. I have no great secret personal life hidden from all of you. What you see me doing is pretty much what there is.

Ardent Slimming World junkies such as myself don’t get Bank Holiday’s off, so today I was there bright and early. Very early as it happens. Not as much traffic on the roads at 9am as usual you see. Had I half a ounce of common sense, I would have realised this and hence avoided the need to run round the house like my trousers were on fire 30 seconds after the alarm went off this morning. It was worth the trip though, I lost 3½ pounds which is very cool. Slightly less cool when you discover that I put 3 on last week. If only I could determine what I did this week that I didn’t do last week and vice-versa. Sadly, if it were that simple, I could make a fortune and I would be already wearing the 34 inch waist jeans hanging like a mocking denim bat in my wardrobe. There are now 5 of us from work at my group which adds to the fun. Laughing at other people might be wrong but its a great way to start the week. Before you go and call me (us) cruel, rest assured that sometimes it goes both ways. This week, I was first in line when we “went round the room to see how everyone got on”. The nice consultant lady tells everyone how well we did (they never say how much we put on) and we have to talk about our week. Normally the words come easily and I have taken to using 3 or 4 stock speeches that seem to keep everyone happy. This week, I was caught off-guard and wittered on like an idiot long past the point of polite embarrassment. The usual round of applause that follows each speech re-defined the term “smattering”.

So it wasn’t my weight…

The diabetes is ok. I have one of my 6 monthly M.O.T. checkups any week now. I feel ok. I always know when things are going a bit wonky because I either feel really tired, need to drink or need to pee. None of these really happens at all at the moment. I have virtually no thirst reflex anymore. Drinking fluids of any sort is either a habit (coffee at work) or something I have to remember to do. I know my inner bits need fluid, so I am not letting myself get into stupid bad habits, it’s just not a situation I ever expected to find myself in. During the time before I was diagnosed, I was drinking about 5 litres of water/squash/coke every day and peeing out about the same amount. How I ever got anything done is anyone’s guess.

So not that then…

My friend Hayley is leaving work this week. This sucks big time but for me not her. It is totally the right thing for her to do but it doesn’t make the fact that she won’t be at work anymore any less sucky. For the last 4 or 5 years ago she has been one of only a very few people I can trust with anything and one of only two who took the time to see how I was every day. We nearly always had lunch together, she mostly laughed at my purile yet sophisticated humour and without her I would have never gone to Slimming World. She was and is also blonde, pretty and in her early 20′s which never does my ego any harm. I may be her friend but I am also male and 40. It would be poetic, poignant and full of pathos to end with the phrase “I wish I had told her all that to her face” but I will have to disappoint you all. I think I tell her about once a month. The last time, she told me to stop being an arse. I will probably tell her again on Friday night whilst drunk and leaning on the bar in C103.

C103 is a night club. The first time in 20 years that I have ever been in one.

There will probably be photos. Photos I will apologise for in advance.

As has been the case for many years now, it started well but not too early. Breakfast being the cursory affair it is sometimes, involved an apple, a yoghurt and a cuppa. I sometimes don’t bother with official breakfast these days as I have determined that my 2pm-10pm work shift actually shifts my whole day and I had drifted the habit of a four-meal day, breakfast at 8, lunch at 11, work lunch at 5 and snack time when I get in at 10. However you look at it, not good. For a Slimming World devotee like myself, the road to ruin.

So, brunch at 10 usually replaces both breakfast and lunch. All this detail serves no purpose. Sorry. I have probably mentioned it before anyway. It’s just that the weight-loss has slowed and I need to add variety to my eating day and resist the urge not to eat. Yes, it’s true. In the space of a year or so, I have gone from eating anything and all the time to not wanting to eat most of the time. This has the effect of making you even more hungry and less fussy when you do eat.

Anyway, it’s Friday morning. It’s the end of my last week of being “released” at work. This basically means I don’t have to do the usual job of keying and instead have to work on other things. This for me, inevitably means spreadsheets, spreadsheets and the odd spreadsheet. I don’t really mind this but it’s quite a shock to suddenly find yourself involved in something involving a little pressure. I usually a terrible one for procrastination but not this time. Every moment of the past 5 or 6 weeks has been full of typing and numbers. On Friday, it all got out of hand and just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Mr Migraine came to call.

But, I am getting ahead of myself.

This Friday started nicely with coffee on the Hoe with some chums. Ok, so I could have had decaffeinated but the Latte would probably have suffered. I could have probably gone without the butterscotch syrup too.

After a pleasant hour, it was off to work. Here’s where it started to go wrong. For some reason, I decided it was a good idea to grab a coffee in the canteen on the way. More caffeine. An hour later and I could actually feel my heart thumping. What an idiot. No worries though, plenty of relaxing Excel work ahead to take the edge off.

Unfortunately, at this point the true scale of the amount of work I had still to do dawned on me. Time to fess up and ask for some help. A few minutes and an understanding manager later, my chum Scott (fellow Excel nerd) was despatched and also released from his duties to help. So pleased with this was I that I made a stupid error and erased the previous 3 days work. Irrecoverably. Well, almost. I had a backup at home.

There was literally no choice other than to drive home and get it.

At 5.30pm. In a city.

At 10pm, the journey home is a care-free, speedy 15 minute drive. At 5.30pm, it is a frustrating 30 minute crawl through traffic hell. At one point, I was going downhill behind a 7-seater people-carrier doing 20mph. When they eventually reached the top of the valley, they actually slowed down to 10mph to crawl past a speed camera and then they forgot to speed up again.

At home, the file-copying took 10mins and I was soon heading back to work…and the migraine from hell decided to accompany me.

At work, I took pills but it didn’t help. My new assistant helped in a big way and in the space of an hour, solved about 5 problems that had been bothering me all week. I rewarded him by being grumpy and cross most of the time.

By 9.30pm, the pills had worked and it was time to go home.

xxx

As a little follow-up to last weeks teary ode, the little man came home yesterday and once more sleeps on the landing. Ok, a little sentimental perhaps but at least I know where he is. I won’t be scattering his dusty remains, mainly due to the fact that the box won’t open and as it doesn’t look too ghoulish and coffin-like, on the landing bookshelf he will stay. At least I will be able to say “Good Morning” and “Good Night” the same way I always did.

I promise I will stop this now.

Bizzy

It’s been a funny old few weeks at work. There I was, adjusting my spreadsheets to work with the new proposed shift plan on July 7th when I offer (foolishly some might say) to help out more closely with the organisation of said shift plan. Now, I am deeply involved and whilst the relief that it is almost done is wonderful, the knowledge that I have seemingly upset more than a few people with my supposed choices is a little unsettling. Truth be told, I haven’t had any say whatsoever in who goes where and even my radical ideas in other areas will have to be approved by authority and committee before they are ever put into action. To be honest, a few weeks ago, I thought it would be very cool for hundreds of people to work according to plans I had forged. Now, I am not so sure. After all, what if it’s a disaster? Gulp.

Still, once more the opportunity has forced me to learn some new very cool Excel stuff.

I am really reaching now aren’t I?

Wrong

I often ponder on the brilliance of my sardonic wit and the endless quest to comment on the absurdity and oddness of the world around me. Wouldn’t it be so much better to be positive and talk about nice things and not point the finger of criticism at the funny, the odd, the absurd, the ugly or the chav? It would be, but I can’t help but think that nobody would be interested in reading it. I feel very lucky to have been blessed with the gift to see the failings and misfortunes of others.

Ok, I will stop this too now.

You have to understand some of my life to see where I am going with this. I don’t go out much you see. Not in a sad, hermit-like way, it’s just that I don’t “go out” drinking, clubbing or partying. When I do venture out of the door, it’s either to work (still loving it) or shopping or visiting or whatever. So. Quite a lot then. What’s my problem? Well, to be honest, when I started this paragraph, I felt the need to clarify but now I wish I hadn’t bothered.

So there I was, buying the hernia-threatening pile of plastic, cardboard, paper and CD’s that once called itself a newspaper. I’ll be honest, it’s not a shop I normally patronise. The owners are quite nice but it usually boasts a crowd of Burberry inside and out that would make most of us steer clear. No well-known, corporate identity hangs over the door and there is the usual smell – almost out-of-date milk, cheap chocolate and disinfectant. Behind the counter is someone and on my side of the counter (sometimes on a stool) is their mate, talking to them.

In the corner is a cash machine that will dispense £10 for a modest fee of £2.85 and all around is the world of convenient, own-brand merchandise, most of which I have sworn never to eat again. As always, it seems rude to interupt the bloke behing the counter and his chatty mate but you have to pay don’t you? Handing over a £10, I smile and look around the counter area, only to notice a  scribbled piece of A4 sellotaped to the side of the glass “shoplifter sweetie barrier”. In large letters across the top are the words “LASANGYER RECEPEE”. Underneath, presumably was a recipe for lasagne but I couldn’t say for sure. As I have done many times before, the author of this gastronomic guideline had underestimated how much room the recipe would take up and as such, had to write progressively smaller and smaller until they reached the bottom of the page. By the time they hit the bottom, they just had room for a tempting instruction “tastes fabb and is reely cheep”.

Where would a nice person do when presented with this? Who cares.

What the f**k kind of world do I live in?

I don’t know where to begin.

Appalling spelling aside, what thinking process puts something like that on display?

Who is it for?

What do you do if it takes your fancy? Take out your PDA and copy it down? What of the queue behind you? If money is your god, why not just buy the 89p frozen one in the fridge behind you?

Was the voice in my head shouting “run..drop the paper, forget the change and run” wrong to do so?

Stop the train, I want to get off. I don’t care if there is no station. I want to get off now.

Health

So here’s a first. A post on a Tuesday morning at 11:43am. Of course most of the sensible ones amongst you will be at work but being a plodding shift worker, here I am. I had a bit of an early start today. I always like to get doctor’s appointments out of the way as early as possible, otherwise you find yourself sitting in the waiting room listening to Enya and flicking through the same copy of Bella you flicked through 3 months ago, worrying about Jordan’s ever shrinking frame. So 8.50am arrived this morning and there I was flicking through the same copy of Bella I flicked through last time. The LED display beeped far louder than it was ever meant to and helpfully notified me that the good doctor was running 20 minutes late. Woohoo.

I had my 6 monthly Diabetic checkup last week and here was the compulsory follow-up with my GP, my first since joining Slimming World and my first since I at last lost some weight. For the first time since diagnosed, he smiled and was very happy with my progress. Everything is down and all is well. My blood pressure is a bit of a puzzler though. It’s always all over the place when ever someone medical takes it. After 3 or 4 goes, it finally settles down. Stressing about this is not a good idea, as stress raises your blood pressure. And so on…

Photos

Should boredom strike and you have nothing better to do, you may find yourself browsing through my old blog entries. On doing this, you may notice that some of the photos are gone. In accordance with my employer’s policy, all photos of work have been removed. They weren’t picking on me individually and to be honest, the people at work had seen them and not been bothered. Photos of chairs, empty rooms and lift doors closing are not likely to pose a security risk but I can see what they mean.

Seat

Highlight of last weekend would have to be the fitting of a new loo seat. One more thing to tick off on the great list of things Neil can’t do.

So here’s a first. A post on a Tuesday morning at 11:43am. Of course most of the sensible ones amongst you will be at work but being a plodding shift worker, here I am. I had a bit of an early start today. I always like to get doctor’s appointments out of the way as early as possible, otherwise you find yourself sitting in the waiting room listening to Enya and flicking through the same copy of Bella you flicked through 3 months ago, worrying about Jordan’s ever shrinking frame. So 8.50am arrived this morning and there I was flicking through the same copy of Bella I flicked through last time. The LED display beeped far louder than it was ever meant to and helpfully notified me that the good doctor was running 20 minutes late. Woohoo.

I had my 6 monthly Diabetic checkup last week and here was the compulsory follow-up with my GP, my first since joining Slimming World and my first since I at last lost some weight. For the first time since diagnosed, he smiled and was very happy with my progress. Everything is down and all is well. My blood pressure is a bit of a puzzler though. It’s always all over the place when ever someone medical takes it. After 3 or 4 goes, it finally settles down. Stressing about this is not a good idea, as stress raises your blood pressure.

And so on…

So, where was I?

Oh yes. If you haven’t watched any of the Terminator TV series, don’t read on yet…

Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles may have the most lumpy and ill-advised title ever to spew forth the creative machine that is the US TV system, but it is (surprise, surprise) damn good. It started a few weeks ago on Virgin 1 and I have been concientiously using SKY+ to record it. Unfortunately, at 10pm on a Thursday I am usually driving home through Plymouth’s dark streets with only Robin Lustig and Radio 4′s The World Tonight team to keep me company.

Regular readers will know that the first Terminator film ranks only second to Jaws in terms of cinematic excellence as far as I am concerned. A simple film, made with a small budget at a time when I was busy failing my O Levels. I watched it first in the 6th form common room after a school dance, completely wasted and only able to concentrate for 5 minutes at a time. Several months later, it arrived in Wolseley house and I watched it all the way through for the first of many, many times.

In an almost Phantom-Menace like moment, the sequel arrived in 1991 and after huge anticipation before and momentary excitement during, it faded away. Apart from the advancement of the mythos and ground-breaking special fx, I didn’t like it much. All of those “thumbs-up-hasta-la-vista-fake-smile-boy-and-his-terminator-I-promise-not-to-kill-anyone” moments didn’t sit well with me at all.

Almost predictably, I quite liked the third one.

So the TV series arrives. It completely ignores the third film (at least I think so, I am still not quite sure) and continues the story of a 16 year old John Connor and his mother still running from Skynet. As tradition dictates, the future John Connor sends a terminator (Summer Glau) back in time to protect his mother and younger self. Skynet has also sent back at least one Arnie-type evil terminator to kill John Connor. By the end of the first episode, the heroes have leapt forward in time from 1999 to 2007. At the beginning of the second, we learn that Skynet has been sending people back in time as far as the 1960s and that John Connor has been sending resistance fighters back for many tasks, not just protecting his younger self.

So far, this sounds pretty predictable and if you were not a fan of the film series, you are probably not converted. To be honest, I can’t see anyone being truly converted by the TV series alone. Apart from the issue with the third film, it is incredibly faithful to canon and will confuse the hell out of anyone who has not seen the films. I see from online episode guides that future installments in this 9 episode first series wil feature Dr. Silverman and Kyle Reese. So far, there have been previous few “friendly-terminator-becoming-human” moments, indeed Summer Glau’s character is written as far closer to Arnie’s character from the first film than anything else. You are left to wonder how this tale can be stretched over 6 or 7 years worth of episodes though.

On the plus side, the actors are all great, the budget seems to be huge and as far as I can tell from the interweb, seems to have been given at least one more series.

Back.

I hurt my back. Again. At almost exactly the same time as last year, I was reminded that I am no longer the lithe and agile I being I have never been. I was just bending down to switch off the PC before work when a shiver of pain shot up my right side from foot to armpit and I was frozen. After a few moments, it calmed down to a dull ache that only manifests itself after long periods of sitting or lying in the same position. Just the right thing for me then…

Its 4 days later now and it is much better. I finally got a few hours sleep last night and felt all the better for it.

On.

In hot dietting news, I had a disastrous few weeks. The graph in the sidebar of this blog died a few weeks ago when I installed Vista (long story) so I am going to sort it out later (update: Done!). Anyway, back to Slimming World. I put on ½ pound then stayed the same, then lost ½ pound then last week put on 1½ pounds. Perhaps not a disaster but damn demotivating. I have been so good this week and after Hayley returned from her holiday in the States and had a slight gain we have both promised to stay under 6 sins a day. This is hard but I have managed it so far. Don’t ever underestimate the value of having someone you see all day doing the Slimming World thing with you.

My sister Jo continues her journey to slimdom. After 8 weeks, she is now ½ pound away from her 2 stone award and has now been Slimmer of the Week for 4 of the last 5 weeks.

The end. There is no more..]]>

At last! A day without the need to hunt for decent title. I am not sure what happened to last Sunday’s post, it was obviously not meant to be. I was off work until the Wednesday giving me plenty of time to make up for it but other things got in the way.

Tavistock.

It’s a lovely place, Tavistock. About 15 miles from here, just on the edge of Dartmoor. It’s small town architecture and winding streets are a stark contrast to the violent, depressing, chav-infested sprawl that stands not more than a burning tyre’s throw from my gaff. I am a frequent buyer of spices, pulses and other such diabetic friendly/Slimming World friendly commestibles from either the indoor market or a great little shop on the high street.

Unusually, I was there on Monday this week. Normally, the Rover is berthed in the riverside car park by 9am on Saturday, long before the hordes arrive and in plenty of time to park within easy walking distance of the ticket machine. It’s not the walk to the machine I object to, just the walk to AND from the car. Do you lock the car and walk to the machine or do you risk it and keep one eye on the car while you are gone? Why does it seem so stupid and pointless to walk to a machine, very often in the same direction of your ultimate destination, then walk back to the car, then walk….

…but I digress. It’s Monday and its about 2.40pm. Off work and ferrying Mum and her sister (my auntie) to Tavistock Cottage Hospital so that a consultant can have a poke and a prod at a troubling wound on Mum’s thumb. Her most recent visit to the GP had scared the bejesus out of her and me by suggesting it might be something awful, so I dropped them off and parked up, fully intending to wander into the town, buy some cooking stuff, a newspaper, perhaps a cuppa and then go and pick them up when signalled on the mobile to do so.

Having parked up (see paragraph 2), I wandered into the town, bought some vanilla pods, some sugar-free, 90% cocoa solids chocolate and a newspaper. Then I had a cuppa and read the paper. Then I went back to the car and read my paper some more until the 90p, 1 hour ticked ran out. Exiting the car-park, I drove to a place approximately, 100 yards from the hospital and parked. Yes, parked free of charge. I could hardly believe it, in a space by the side of a road. No double-yellow lines, no single-yellow lines, no “resident’s parking only” sign – nothing. By now it was almost 4pm, but as it was a hospital appointment I was quite prepared for the possibility that she might still be waiting to go in. So I read my paper some more and listened to some more Dale Winton on the radio. 4.15pm and my window-steaming slumber was rudely awoken by my amusing, if alarming, ringtone – the phone ring noise from “24″. Reality dawned and having ascertained that she “would start walking down the hill” (why do they do that?), I duly collected the two smiling and strangely similar ladies.

It turns out all is well and the poorly is just a deep infection, easily vanquished by some strong antibiotics.

The mood driving away from the hospital was much improved on when we arrived, The Dixie Chicks are on the Ipod and sugar-free Sherbet Lemons (everyone suffers for my condition) flow like wine. At the bottom of the hill, I click the indicator on “right” only to be asked “What are you doing?”. It turns out that the only thing that had kept them going whilst sitting in the tiny, sterile waiting room was the thought of Omellette and Chips in a cafe and a walk round the shops.

So once more, there I was parked in the riverside car park in the same berth. I walked to the ticket machine, bought another 90p ticket, walked back to the car, walked to the high street, went into some shops….well, you get the idea.

By now, however, it is gone 4.30pm and in that wonderful, customer-focused way, everyone and everywhere is shutting. Only in this fair land could an establishment, whose sole purpose is to feed people, close just prior to the point in the day when people are getting a bit peckish. We are on the verge of giving up when the smell of roasted coffee pulls us into a side street and we sit down, just the three of us alone at a corner table in a very homely, tea-shop-style establishment. The walls are adorned with blackboards featuring every sort of food the tired shopper could imagine, but then the waitress comes over…

“We are just serving drinks and things from the patisserie at the moment”.

I swear to god, there were 4 members of staff wandering about in that place. It was just before 5pm and they weren’t serving any food. Up and down the land, kitchen tables were groaning under the weight of fish fingers, beans and chips but Kenco and a donut was the best we could hope for. For all I know, they started serving hot food just as everyone began taking after-dinner walks to aid digestion, just in time perhaps to catch that all important “full-up”trade.

Only in England folks.

So, the ladies both had a cream tea and a cappacino and I had a small Earl Gray.

Time Of The Month.

It’s a wonderful time of the month at the moment. Traffic-shaping technology has once more temporarily reduced by broadband speed to that of a milk float. Not a new milk float mind you, one long overdue for a service. I just have to put up with this until a random point either a few days or weeks from now when it the download speed shoots skyward and normality is resumed. This is all part of a “fair use policy” that I unintentionally agreed to many years ago when I neglected to read a lengthy Email with a jeweller’s eyepiece.

I noticed the words “fair use policy” on a mobile phone advert the other day. This provider was offering “unlimited texts” all of the time for £30 a month or something similar but the words “fair use policy” briefly appeared at the bottom. Now, I am no lawyer (like Tony Hancock, I never really bothered) but this kind of thing really gets my goat. I am on an “unlimited” tarriff with my broadband but I notice (now that I finally decided to read the terms and conditions) that “in order to guarantee an acceptable level of service to all customers” my broadband speed “will be reduced after periods of excessive traffic”. This is mysteriously murky and non-specific but no doubt perfectly in keeping with the huge wad of cash I chuck in their direction once a month. I also pay line-rental on telephone line I don’t use just so I can have ADSL.

“Get cable” I hear you cry. Well I would, but for at least two reasons…

1. Virgin won’t run a cable to my house as it would have to run through 4 gardens to get to my little corner.

2. Two words – 13 months of an 18 month contract left.

I notice that Virgin are now offering 32Mb speeds. Whoopie-flipping-do. If this post doesn’t go live until Monday afternoon, at least you will now know why.

Work.

It is Monday tomorrow and my Excel project has come to an end. Tomorrow I am back to the day job and at least 5 days of solid data-entry keying awaits. On the positive side, I will finally catch up on all that music and all those audiobooks I have kept on standby since July 8th last year. Further blogs will no doubt reveal more.

Tap, tap, tap, tap…]]>

Sorry, I am a bit late with this. I realise that many of you were clinging to edge of your seats in anticipation of my dieting progress. Worry no more. Wait no more. Last Thursday, I gingerly stepped on the scales and the smiling lady told me I had lost another 2½ pounds making a total of ½ stone since joining on 3rd Jan. She wouldn’t give me my chart back either because I would get it back with an award later on. Excited wasn’t the word. So there it is. Yay me…

As part of the above plan, I have stopped drinking huge quantities of milk and switched to that wonder of wonder, Marvel powdered milk. I am looking at a cup now with the nostalgically familiar bits of smeg floating on the surface. I am indeed home again.