23 August 2010 (Monday) - A Day Off

I woke with a terrible aching in my stomach muscles. I suspect yesterday’s little altercation with the mud at the fishing pond probably had something to do with this. Yesterday I mentioned our wet carpets – despite having had torrential rain all night long the weather forecast predicted a dry morning, so I dragged the wet carpets to the washing line to try to air them out. Even if it poured hard on them all day long, they couldn’t stay where they were.

I then took the costumes from Saturday back to the hire shop, where I met up with other party-go-ers returning their kit too. We chatted, and all agreed what a wonderful time we’d had. Talking of Saturday’s party I then dropped off a memory stick full of photos with the birthday boy, and then on my way home popped in to B&Q for a dustbin; I needed something to put garden waste into, and traditional canvas composters just go smelly, so I came home with a plastic dustbin, and hacked back the jungle coming over the fence from next door. I did plan to mow the lawn, but it was very wet, so I set about my correspondence instead.

As is so often the way I’d let my letter rack get to what could only be described as “overflowing” before I dealt with it. First of all the bank and credit card statements. Usually I’m very good at keeping track of what I’ve squandered my money on. Not so good this month, finding loads of expenditure of which I’d not made a note. I effectively wasted two months worth of money in August. Oh well; I’ll just spend a little less on beer next month. It was just as well the bank had also sent a letter confirming my overdraft arrangements. I must admit I’m rather cross with myself – I like to think I’m good with my money; clearly not this time.

Aviva had sent me several offers of cheap motorbike insurance, as had Carole Nash. I didn’t have the heart to tell them I’ve not ridden a motorbike for seven years. PlusNet offered me the best broadband I would ever see. To me it looked like all the other broadband offers I could see. ActionAid sent another begging letter. I wish they wouldn’t; I’ve told them they get their bit each month. The leccie company had written to me to tell me that emails were bouncing. I blame the anti-spam software; it can be somewhat over-zealous at times. And the Aspinall foundation sent their newsletter with the free entry voucher. Must actually use that this time; I always forget about it.

I then tried another plumber to see if they would service my boiler (!) So far despite promises to call back, no one actually has yet. The chap I’ve tried is in Tenterden and has good recommendations on-line. The lady answering the phone seemed keen to take my details. I wonder if he’ll phone. I’d like to think he will, but to be honest my hopes aren’t high.

After a quick sarnie for lunch I had another look at the lawn. It wasn’t *that* wet, so it got mowed; it hadn’t been done for three weeks, and really needed doing. I then got the carpets off of the washing line. One was dry, one nearly so. But judging by the colour of the sky if I’d left them there much longer they would have got very wet, so I put them back where they belonged. I did have a hankering to go fishing this afternoon (to make up for yesterday’s episode), but I didn’t fancy another afternoon in the rain. I then spent a couple of hours on the comet presentation for the astro club. It still needs quite a bit of work, but it’s getting there. And just as the afternoon was all but over, the sun came out. A glorious evening, so I went for a couple of hours fishing...

22 August 2010 (Sunday) - Fishing (in the rain)

Despite a skinfull of assorted beverages last night, I was wide awake at 6.30am this morning. And from experience I know there is no point in lying there wide awake. So I got up, had brekky, had a look at what was going on in cyber-space, and by 7.30am I was tired again. So I went back to bed and stayed put until after 10.30am. Perhaps this might be a better way to deal with insomnia.

After second brekkie I spent a little while in NeverWinter, where sea-elves are becoming a problem (!) And then the Folkestone contingent arrived with a tub of maggots, and we set off for an afternoon’s fishing. As we drove, so a few spots of rain fell, but I confidently announced that rain always sounds louder on the inside of a car, and that it was only a passing shower. So we decided to carry on with our plans; confident that glorious sunshine was only a few minutes away. How wrong we were. Within five minutes we were all soaked to the skin, but still desperately clinging to the idea that it was going to brighten up soon. A triumph of idiot enthusiasm over common sense, and as the rain slackened off to only being torrential, we all decided that we were right, and the weather was improving.

We fished for three hours, and in that time we had a whole ten minutes when the rain actually reduced to only being described as “drizzle”. We were all soaked right through, and there was a dodgy few seconds when I slipped in the mud and was flat on my face; slowly but inexorably sliding down the bank towards the water, giggling like a twit. But we had fun, we all caught fish; one of the fish was large enough to need the net. And even though the weather was atrocious, we enjoyed ourselves. I suppose we had a choice. We could have stayed indoors and done nothing, or we could have made the most of the day. We certainly did make the most of the day, but there is no denying that it was good to get home and put on some dry pants.

We found a minor hiccup when we got home. ‘er indoors ^TM had been defrosting the freezer, and the lobby and bathroom carpets are now soaked. I can’t hang the carpets outside, as it’s raining. I’ve put down some cardboard, and I’m desperately hoping the weather will perk up tomorrow so I can do something with these sodden carpets.

I then spent the evening researching comets. I’ve offered to do a talk on comets to the astro club next year, and I’ve been working on this presentation for some time. For some reason I just can’t seem to get up any enthusiasm to actually get on and prepare the thing, though…

21 August 2010 (Saturday) - Tudor

Even thought it was Saturday, I was up with the lark, brekkied, and at the costume hire shop early. More about the costumes later. And then round to Gore Hill to help with the moving house. I arrived, rang the door bell, and waiter. And waited. I rang the doorbell again, and shouted through the letterbox. And waited. So I gave the phone a ring. No answer, so I tried Matt’s mobile number. He was on the other side of the town, having forgotten that I’d said I was going to help him move house. So I went shopping for birthday pressies for half an hour or so. Once shopped, it was back with helping with the moving house. In retrospect I can’t help but feel we didn’t actually achieve much. In six hours we moved a bed, a sofa, an arm chair, a freezer and a few sundry bits from one house to another, and got some bits out of the loft. We then sat down for pizza, and listened to the nice man from Sky TV explaining why he couldn’t install a satellite dish because there was a great big building between the new house and the Sky satellite. He pointed out that if you looked up and down the road you could see all the houses hed satellite dishes except for a row of thirty houses all in the shadow of Charter House. Over to cable TV…

And then home, showered and into costume for a birthday party. Drew’s special birthday, and a Tudor banquet at Bewl Water was the order of the day. Due to a miscalculation on my part as to how far away Bewl Water was, we arrived a little too early, but that wasn’t a bad thing; we got to spend a while admiring the lake, and making plans to re-visit to walk or cycle round the pond (it’s huge!). Before long, other people were arriving, and we found the bar. A bottle of Spitfire slipped down nicely, but there was a minor hiccup – where should I keep my wallet and my change? Being back in the sixteenth century for the evening we were suitably attired, and the invention of the pocket was still a few hundred years into the future. In the event I shoved my wallet and my camera up my jerkin (oo-er!) and all was well.

We got news that that the birthday boy’s carriage was on the way, so everyone made their way outside where we staged quite a major photo shoot. Pretty much everyone had dressed for the occasion, and in retrospect I did feel a tad out of place in my traditional (for the period) velvet trousers. Quite a few of the other chaps there were wearing stockings and tights and were remarking how comfortable they felt. (Never confused!!). The costumes were wonderful, and the kiddies especially were hamming it up. There were Kings and Queens, lords and ladies, jesters and peasants, but I think I have to say my favourite costumes there was the row of Tudor cottages.

After a few minutes the Royal carriage arrived, and the embodiment of a rather svelte Henry VIII and his retinue emerged. I’m reliably informed that in his youth, the original “our enery” wasn’t the size that traditionally we remember him as. We all made our way to the lake where we boarded “Swallow” – a pleasure cruiser which took us around the lake. For someone who’s generally “into” ponds (like I am) this cruise was a wonderful way to spend an hour in the evening. And having a foxy Tudor lady dishing out free wine was a very much appreciated added bonus.

Back to shore, and as we made our way back to the Bewl centre for dinner we admired the fire eaters on the pavilion. Earlier in the week I was speculating on the possibility of a hog roast. Tonight we had one. It was smashing; really good food, washed down with a glass of champers. We joked with the birthday boy about a Mc Hog Roast and a Mc Tudor, and we struggled to eat all of what we’d been given. In the meantime, our Tudor entertainer told jokes, and wandered around the tables making balloon animals, and generally being really good at what he did. A shame he couldn’t make a balloon penguin, but I suppose (to be fair to him), penguins were only discovered in 1492, so it’s possible that our chap hadn’t yet heard of them.

After an excellent bit of dessert the floor was cleared, and we stepped up to trip the light fantastic. Normally I don’t do dancing, mainly because I’m crap at it. But I do enjoy country dancing where a caller shouts out what you have to do. Tudor dancing is in that style, and we promenaded a Pavane. Rather well, I thought. Even if I do say so myself.

All too soon it was home time, and having slept most of the way to Bewl, despite having downed copious quantities of ale, wine and champagne during the evening, I was wide awake all the way home where I staggered into bed shortly after 1am. If any of my loyal readers are looking to stage a special event, I really can’t recommend a hog roast at Bewl highly enough…

20 August 2010 (Friday) - Being Smart

Back to the hunt for a plumber. The chap I phoned earlier in the week hasn’t got back to me, so I tried the one that had been recommended to me. A woman’s voice answered the phone telling me that plumbing and boiler services were no longer available. I went back to check adverts on the internet and eventually got through to a chap who told me he was on the job (oo-er!), but said he’d get back to me.

I then wasted an hour or so in NeverWinter before going back to the dentist. I was not impressed. Well, let me elaborate on that. The chap’s dentistry cannot be faulted, but I know him; I know he’s good. He did X-rays, a replacement filling and a general all-over gob service and I was in and out in ten minutes.

However were I a first time patient I don’t think I would have sat in his chair; I would have turned round and walked out. Clad in jeans and T shirt, and not been near a razor blade for a couple of days, he just doesn’t look the part. Whenever anyone sees me in my work attire, people are amazed to see me in a shirt and tie. Perhaps I’m just hopelessly old fashioned to think that professional people should dress to inspire confidence. From the dentists I popped into Lidl’s where, to confirm my prejudice, I was mistaken for a member of staff. When I explained I wasn’t, the woman who’d mistaken me said that she assumed I was working, because I was wearing a tie.

Last night there was a minor problem when I came to have my shower. The shower head was gone. As in missing; not there.

It’s no secret that strange things happen in my world, and I suppose in the great scheme of things losing a shower head is no big deal. But it was a nuisance. This evening the thing has returned; it wasn’t there last night. Perhaps it had been lent out to someone? I don’t know. I have my suspicions as to who was messing the thing about, though….

19 August 2010 (Thursday) - TV Licences, Neighbours...

A late start, so I had the morning to waste. I started off with a trip to the dentist. I see they’ve now got six different dentists working there. I sat with the “great unwashed” for five minutes before being called in. I was in the chair for two minutes whilst the chap voomed around the inside of my cake hole with a mini camera. He then showed me the cracks in the filling which he will replace tomorrow. Just as well I’m on another late shift then.

And then home again to find the postie had called. He delivered my television licence. I begrudge paying for it. I’ve found a website which shows where my money goes. Nearly eight quid a month goes on the ten TV channels operated by the BBC. Yes – ten. I watch BBC 1 when Doctor Who is on, and other than that, I don’t think I watch any of their output. Two quid a month goes on their sixteen radio channels. I listen to Radio Four on the way to work and back, and occasionally at work when it’s my turn to skive. Sixty six pence a month goes on their on-line services. For me that’s sixty six pence each month for a weather forecast that rarely bears any relation to actuality. And one pound thirty five pence a month goes on various vaguely unattributed sundry expenditure. I see that translating the licence into Welsh is one of the things this one pound thirty five pence is wasted on.

So to summarise the licence fee: twelve quid a month gets me fourteen episodes of Doctor Who each year, half an hour’s radio a day, an unreliable weather forecast and the opportunity to have the thing translated into Welsh. Wasn’t the government talking about giving the public value for money a while back…?

Brekkie, and time to check my emails. I see my blog has been nominated for an award. Every day as well as writing my own blog, I read several other blogs. Those of my friends and acquaintances are linked in the panel to the right. I was invited to nominate seven other blogs for awards. I spent half an hour trying to do so, but gave up. I got down to a shortlist of ten, but seven? – I couldn’t get it down to seven.

Talking of blogs, this morning I read something in one of these blogs where a fellow blogger intimated that his relations with some of his neighbours are somewhat strained. This has got me thinking – for years I thought it was some failing in myself which was the reason for my poor relationships with neighbours.

As a child we lived next door to a shop on one side (no real relationship at all) and on the other side lived “Old Granny Gutsache”; a pinch-faced old battleaxe if ever I met one. I can’t remember her ever saying anything that wasn’t a complaint. When I was ten years old we moved house and very soon fell out with the neighbours there. When I left home I moved into the nurses home at the old Ashford hospital and spent the most miserable fortnight of my life there, trying to co-habit with the most antisocial misfits I’ve ever met. From there I moved to a flat in Folkestone where in two years we never saw any neighbours. There then followed what was in retrospect a blissful five years in Kingsnorth Road where we got on well with both neighbours.

We’ve been in our current house for nearly twenty years. On one side the first set of neighbours were a sour, bitter childless couple whose only interest in life was “peace and quiet”. Why people who were so obsessed with “peace and quiet” would have bought a house on what was at the time the main “A” road out of Ashford is anyone’s guess. They eventually moved out, and were replaced with a chap with whom I am slowly getting back onto speaking terms. A few years ago there were some rather nasty solicitor’s letters to-ing and fro-ing in which this chap was formally told that I did not need his approval or permission to lead my life how I wanted to. On the other side we’ve had a succession of temporary neighbours to finally end up with the current lot – a pleasant enough bunch, albeit with some rather noisy dogs.

I’m glad to find out I’m not the only one who has problems next door.

18 August 2010 (Wednesday) - Tea, Coffee, Fish

Up with the lark, and I got jiggy with the laundry whilst watching Al Murray DVDs. Socks don’t pair themselves up, you know. A dull job, but marginally better than lying wide awake watching the clock. And then to Asda. As well as lunch I bought coffee for tea breaks at work. Due to various health and safety considerations I cannot eat or drink in my workplace, and so for refreshment I need to actually go somewhere else for a cuppa. Consequently getting a break becomes a high point of the day, and not one to waste on something I’ve come to despise.

I’ve finally bitten the bullet and admitted that I don’t like green tea. I’ve been trying various flavours of the stuff twice a day for the past year and it’s true - they all taste horrible. I started off on the green tea ages ago; I see that on 17 November last year I mentioned that I found a flavour of the stuff that wasn’t “utterly disgusting”. Since arthritis got a grip on my right knee last year I’ve been advised that green tea will help the pain. (Not that my knee actually hurts – it just makes an awful noise when I walk). However since I’ve started on the green tea, the only change I’ve noticed with my joints is that over the last few months my right foot has got particularly painful. I’ve still got the noise and now I’ve now got a joint that really is a problem.

So much for green tea. Today I bought a packet of instant latte. To be honest I can’t tell a latte from an earl grey. All I know is that the box looked impressive. The stuff tastes OK I suppose. It’s better than green tea at any rate. In four days time I shall buy a jar of Nescafe and a jar of coffee-mate.

I came home from work to find a scratch on my car. Or, to be precise, ‘er indoors ^TM noticed a scratch on my car. I would never have seen it, and for all I know it may well have been there for weeks. Whilst it’s a shame that it’s happened, I can’t say I’m really that bothered about it. After all, it’s only cosmetic. The car can still get me and a serious amount of luggage from here to there and back again. I expect the scratch happened in the hospital car park at some point. These things often do.

Meanwhile, just down the road from my house, the country’s biggest carp has died. “Two Tone” who weighed in at some five stone and was probably the same age as “Yours Truly”, has croaked. (Or is it frogs that croak?) Apparently there are several local people who blame that fish for their divorce, the men having wasted so much time on the pond side trying to catch the elusive leviathan. As far as I’m concerned that’s just another vote in favour of my preferred style of fishing – “tiddler bashing”. I can’t understand spending days waiting to catch one fish. When I’m fishing, if I’m not into double figures of fish within half an hour, I go home.

17 August 2010 (Tuesday) - Stuff

I’m not quite sure how it came about, but I found myself researching the acquisition of a pig today. Not as a pet, but as something to stick on a barby. Some time over the last few days the subject of a hog roast was broached, and I think it might have been a suggestion for a forthcoming camp. I’ve found a butcher in Woodchurch who has a field full of suitable pigs, and with a week’s notice he can do the necessary so’s we could have a hog roast. And a whole pig isn’t overly expensive – considerably less than two hundred quid, and it comes ready to have the stick shoved up it’s bum. The only drawback is how much pig we’d get. The butcher seemed to think that just one leg would do us for camping for the weekend; the whole pig comes with four of these legs, and together with bellies, loins and briskets would probably do us through till Xmas. Perhaps I might content myself with just sticking a few pork sossies on the barby instead – it’s always worked in the past.

I then phoned a plumber to service the boiler. It’s not been done for a while and is probably overdue. I phoned about a dozen plumbers until I found one who’d actually answer the phone, rather than just letting the thing ring and ring. But it was his wife who answered. She’s taken my number, and said someone will call me back. We shall see…

An email via Friends Reunited. From someone with whom I lost touch some thirty years ago, but remember from before my first day at primary school. The chap’s left the army after twenty-odd years and is now a teacher in Lincolnshire. We started primary school together in 1969, and both went on to the Hastings Academy for Genius Boys in 1979. We lost touch when he left the school in 1980, but thirty years later here he is. There are so many from the old days with whom I’ve lost touch, and so few that I do manage to keep up with….