on a roll

I'm feeling like a useful and capable person now, all-powerful and properly evil. Not that it's a huge deal, but cancelling direct debits for things I neither want nor need feels good; especially when I get all masterful (or is that mistressful) on the phone and in emails.

cue rant

WHY do we put up with all these 0845 numbers? I'd recommend saynoto0870 if, like me, you pay for a months worth of 'free' landline calls since you still have to pay for those numbers. Check on wiki: "When calling 0844, 0845, 0870 and 0871 numbers, part of the cost of the call is paid to the recipient; this is known as “revenue sharing”". I'd call it charging 2 or 3 times for the same thing (once for the call, once for the service that you are already paying the company for, and again for the 0845), four times in the case of government departments who are funded by our taxes, and the fact that half the police forces in the country make a profit of about £50k a year on them is criminal.

That goes for the lottery lot, who won't unlock your account by email so I sent one telling them I'd cancelled their direct debit, and the plumbing lot who want 1/3 of what I pay for 'unlimited' house and contents insurance and have so many restrictions on what they'll pay out for and limits on everything. That's cancelled too.

end rant

Didn't have the energy to deal with the Woolwich who want utility bills in the name I used to use before they'll change the address back from my mother's OLD address to my own one. Also procrastinating still about finding the key for garage2 so I can throw most of the contents away and give up garage1 which has become a resting place for everyone else's stuff. I suppose I should be grateful the bike IS in there!

Good news in the mail last week when the water bill came through; I used to pay nearly £400 a year water rates and eventually - very eve-ent-chew-ally - got a water meter fitted. They started by charging me £10 a month, reduced it to £5, put it up to £7,, and the last estimate was a whole 3 units higher than the real reading but they already owe ME £45.76. Result!

Good news also on the phone today when the Helphire lot called and I lied a teensy bit saying the cheque for the written-off Mazda arrived today and not Saturday. I was getting rather concerned about how much I might end up paying them since they have my credit card details but it seems I get to keep the car (rephrase - Paul gets to use the car) for 7 days after the cheque comes through. Over to him now to sort himself out a car before next Tuesday morning.

Good news too on last week/end: I camped out in Mark's kitchen most of the week where it was superbly sunny and there was a decent wireless connection so I could work. The desk booking system for the office failed spectacularly when my boss decided to wander in and purloin the desk I'd booked. Anyway, all allegations of skiving are out of court since I did do the working thing most of every day and was in the office till 9:30pm on Friday.

The teensy scars on my hand from the greedy squirrel in St James' Park are almost gone now, little beggar didn't think one hazelnut at a time was enough but Mark maintains it's because I'm Scottish and wouldn't let go. Glorious sunshine almost all week, easy enjoyable company, and dinner cooked for me every night - heaven.

Girlie points from the man coming out to the sticks to watch Six Nations (Ireland wouldn't have won otherwise). I had my voodoo pins at the ready and the Harlequins rugby ball from last year, when the London Irish won, was quaking on top of the cabinet. There was even time to watch the next match before Paul gave us a lift to D&Bs for a more than pleasant dinner on Saturday night. For a wonder I was ready on time, but then (my) normality reasserted itself and I mixed up the name of the road with the name of the village so we got there 'only just' on time.

Mothers Day brought more sun and also my filius and shorts bearing roses and a lovely card; Mark set off to be filial around lunchtime and then the late night and early morning caught up, leaving me in one of those tired, dreamy but not sleepy moods. The next door foreigns had an extended garden party involving a fire underneath a big cauldron suspended on a tripod. None of them had pointy hats but I couldn't understand a word they shouted so perhaps they really were casting spells. It was all quiet by midnight and there don't seem to be any eviscerated animals around; maybe it was just stew.

And as for 'my' local!!!!!!!! I've been there once, about two years ago, with Mark, not having been there for about two years before and with some trepidation since I knew it had gone downhill. It was awful then, half dismantled, half-painted and the landlady sporting a black eye. Luckily he thought it was amusing, including being asked at the bar if he was James Hewitt. This time however ...........

In the interests of confusing the hell out of me and attempting once more to catch me 'on the back foot', he parked outside my house and walked to the pub before calling me. He did say he was getting some funny looks but we agreed to meet up there. By the time I finished my coffee and found my shoes, he was on the phone again, walking back to my house, preferring to watch it there after seeing one 'mate' lay another one out on the floor which they saw as 'just a joke'. Wail! It used to be an ace place to go, anytime. At least I remembered how to switch it the TV and the stereo hookup was appreciated

There, all caught up now, apart from posting the rest of the kitchen pics (sorry, Mother)