Technical Hitch

Nothing better than having your routine disturbed at 8 am.  

Sitting seeking enlightenment via coffee and the online newspapers, the bell rang and there stood an 'Outreach' worker come to fix my broken phoneline.  I was not enlightened enough to respond properly at that time.  In he came, faffed about with the box on the wall, informed me of various items I could not comprehend, and then screwed everything back in and headed off to the green box on the corner, once I had mentioned which green box it was. He appeared to have not noticed the one at Tesco.  After two and a half hours of bleeps and flashing light from the router, and a couple of calls from his phone (which does not work well from the green box) he managed to fix all things and brought the internet speed up to 65, it had been as slow as 23, and the phone once again works properly.  Just don't tell my sister, or she will call it!

This palaver meant nothing could be done, so I managed that, and wisely shifted all things for today over to the Thursday 'to do' list.

Except of course I had to wait in.  'Parcelforce,' were delivering my box from Forres today.  It ought to have been yesterday but something went wrong.  I wonder if the 'Trunker' from up north got held up by those attention seeking loons hanging of Motorway gantry's?  Anyway, by almost three he had reached me and soon I was having pie and chips for tea.  Not luxury to some, but fine for me tonight.

What's that...?  Oh!

Fame and Fortune the Slappers Way

I am contemplating the suggestion that I ought to set up a video link and offering myself to the world on 'Only Fans' or some such channel.  One of my young women has made this suggestion and I have been cogitating on it all day.  

Obviously the days of the week would determine the normal routine, though some may not notice a difference, and carrying the camera through the park and into Tesco or wherever might find some difficulties arising.  Especially with that big bloke on security at Sainsburys.  

However, my daily trip to the laptop ought to be worth something cash wise from DELL, as it is their machine that is driving me mad.  Also Microsoft would get many a mention throughout the day, just as they did yesterday when I could not work my way through 'Outlook' as it has been amended again by a 13 year old maniac.  Their name was used often.

'Firefox,' would get less attention as bad language is rare with that browser, but for a fee it could be mentioned daily.  As indeed would 'Opera,' which I use to scribble this rubbish as it has a much used spellchecker on it.  

A camera in an appropriate place would offer views of me slumming it working during the morning, hopefully with a bit of sunshine creeping in.  I say 'working,' I mean 'reading the online press and Twitter.'  My opinions are freely offered loudly if the neighbours are out.   Surely there is a number of viewers for such a sight?  

Also, when I rise, like Larry the Cat chasing a Fox from Downing Street, the viewers would then enjoy my catering skills at the oven.  Brandishing sauces (donated by a variety of companies) while placing mince pies from Murdoch's Butchers in Forres in the oven would surely acquire interest from the far north.  Indeed even abroad!  The dash and daring with which I stir the pot, throwing in, and I mean throwing, a variety of spices, sauces, and things found at the back of the freezer, would be an encouragement to many in these 'hard up times.'   Enabling the world to note how a large pan can produce enough soup for a week must be worth something, if even only to the 'Food Banks!'  

'Waterstones' and 'Amazon,' not to say 'World of Books,' must be willing to part company with the readies for an advert?  I could pose on the filthy couch surrounded by their offerings, reading the latest (non-fiction) tome that has been obtained through a gifted book token.  My opinion would surely be of benefit to the aspiring author, to those concerned with the subject, and readers desiring to purchase.

Doing this while quaffing 'Sainsburys Red Label Tea,' or 'Bells Scotch Whisky,' surely would deserve a decent response?  

The surrounding scenery, the dust on the mantlepiece, the unhoovered floor, the drying washing hanging around like a bad smell,  would ring a bell with many a man devoid of women to tidy up.  They too would enjoy the coverage of football, even if their team was losing.  After all, it's not whether you win or lose but how you play the game.  All football fans agree to this.

What...?  Oh!

Obviously, with the latest Tory Chancellor denying outright his intention to become the next Prime Minister and thereby making clear his intention to become the next Prime Minister, we can be assured that energy costs will rise again.  This may mean mush of my coverage on these 'TikTok' channels will be somewhat dark.  This, especially when advertising swimwear, which appears to be the only thing that the women actually do, might of course be better in the dark.  

Political harangues,  football commentary, Sunday sermons (that will bring in the crowds, to complain), travelogues of places I have never visited, family history, until the injunctions arrive, and constant references to 'The War,' though I will probably mean the 'Great One,' are surely the stuff to bring sponsors knocking on my door, instead of 'Hermes Drivers' looking for my neighbour. 

I can start planning the camera positions, not counting the one seeking stars in the sky as there is little room in the sink, and then await the many offers that must fall through my door.  

Of course, if successful the price demands rise accordingly.

Pink Laundry, Conservative Liars and Pies.

After several sad episodes this week I rose determined to ensure a successful day.

I was careful to make sure the kettle was filled with water, that I switched it on to boil, and that the tea and milk were in the cup before I filled it.  Special care was taken not to spill tea over the (now very clean) laptop again.

I also placed my shoes near the door so that I would remember to put them on before leaving.  Something I failed to do twice this week.

Impressed by my ability I continued my day by changing the bed, removing the new scarlet duvet cover after a month or so, and thrusting it into the washing machine along with the routine T-shirts and stuff.  I selected a shorter wash slot, I put the 'Poundland' soap goo into the machine, switched on, and left it.  

Being Thursday, (Thor's Day, named after the Norse God, why?  Was it his day off?) I took the rubbish bag and the recycling bag down into the cold weather (only early 70s today) and dumped them in the appropriate smelly places.  

Naturally, when later I made my lunch, I discovered so much veg in the fridge had gone off and another trip to the bins was required an hour later.  My lunch was delightful, as long as taste is not required, reduced priced pork chops with tomato and cucumber.  The choice based on whatever was lying around.  It will do.

After this the washing machine cranked quietly to a halt.

I removed the bundle of wet, soggy material and dumped it in the west wing.  

It was then I noticed a slight flaw in the day. 

The white shirt, of considerable age and, to put it mildly, somewhat done, had changed colour to pink!  Not wishing to be mistaken for a member of a 'Pride' parade this was dumped! 

Also found in the heap was a once white, hankie, and several other items which had darkened or changed colour, not always badly it must be said.  The scarlet duvet was untouched by this I am happy to say.  Hanging to dry, it appears to have suffered no harm today.  I might have to be wary next time...

Politico

 

Talking of mistakes, another vote occurred regarding selecting the person to lead the Conservative Party into oblivion at the next General Election.  The crassly stupid Braverman woman has been removed thankfully.  However, the crassly stupid and incompetent Liz Truss remains, and appears to be the 'Daily Mails' hope.  Mordaunt, possibly more vile than Braverman remains in second place.  The others, though I once had hopes for Tugendhat, will fail next time.  

We have had Cameron, who we thought looked like a PM but wasn't one, was bad. He failed because he fell for the ERG ruse about Brexit.  Theresa, equally useless, attempted not to be ruled by anyone, including those who spoke the truth and offered facts, instead appealing to the 'wide eyed loons,' and failed.  

Then we had Boris.  

I considered it impossible to find someone worse than Boris, but we have Truss, Mordaunt and Sunak in the lead!  I tell you, this is a judgement on us!  

Murdoch Butchers Forres

Having done all, with little energy left (how do women do all these jobs?) I found I had a space in the freezer.  Hmmm thought I, how about filling it with pies and Sausage Rolls, good ones?  So, it was off to Murdoch and by this time next week the fridge and freezer will be, like me, groaning!

Good innit?

Oh, and another thing, never go food shopping when hungry!
Don't ask how I know...

   

Let's Have a 'Butchers' at Pies.

Today's excitement, such as it is, came from the arrival, eventually, of the famous 'Killie Pies.'  I thought I would try a different butcher to see what they were like and chose the pie claimed to be the best at Scottish football grounds.  

Naturally, with me involved things go wrong.  

For a start the famous 'Killie Pie' Butcher had a falling out with the famous 'Kilmarnock Football Club' where they were sold.  A dispute of the trademarking the name 'Killie,' a name Kilmarnock have trademarked years ago and are unwilling to lose.  The butchers, 'Brownings,' a local company, wished to trademark 'Killie Pie' the name used on the pies sold at the ground.  In spite of putting money into the club, in spite of making money from pie sales, and with an already bad feeling between owner and butcher, the dispute went to court.  'Brownings' now sell the 'Kilmarnock Pie,' and they sell well around Scotand's supermarkets.  What Kilmarnock use for their pies now I know not, but I think they call theirs 'Killie Pies.'  Not that there is anyone in the ground these days.

Anyway, the pies, steak pies at that, are not bad, I had two for lunch along with a mixture of salad veg.

It surprised me how long they took to deliver.  I ordered on a Tuesday and noticed they sent out the orders on a Wednesday.  However, acknowledgement implied the delivery would be the next week.  

So I waited.  

The next week I looked to the Thursday delivery and was surprised at no notification of delivery arriving.  I checked order, they have dated it for the next week again!  

What?  

Too late to worry, so I waited.

 

 

Last night an email informed me the delivery would be today.

Today I kept watch on the APC delivery log to see when and if.

Eventually the time of possible delivery appeared along with a map indicating drivers whereabouts.  This is a good idea but the DPD one is much better!

So, in between today's other jobs I was ignoring I watched the map.  

The driver followed a sensible tour round the town in a fashion I remember from the distant past when doing similar in London.

I waited.

Eventually the map said he was two drops away, just down the road, so I prepared.

I took the rubbish out, posted a wrongly delivered letter through correct door (another debt collector) and weeded a bit of the front.

Then I waited. 

The postman came, chatted and departed, informing me he is 62 (I call him the 'Old fellah,') and I waited.  

No van came.

I checked the map and for no good reason it no longer offered me a map!

The van had gone!

I checked, I was right, the van had gone, no map, no contact?

Had he missed me?  

Had he dropped me?  

Had he lost the packet?  

Would a man like me panic?

Yes!

I panicked sufficiently to phone the APC company, phoning is not what I do, it costs money!

A young woman with a 'tired' if not 'exasperated' voice convinced me, eventually, that he was on his way.  I accepted this with good grace, though I was puffing as I had rushed up the stairs!

Five minutes later the van arrived.

He smiled, offered the goods and departed to drop number 31.

She must have texted him to put his dinner aside and deliver the goods!

Satisfied I ate the pies, they were quite good, and understandably popular.

 

 

However, this must be compared to 'Murdoch' up there in Forres, the usual man who I order pies from. 

Had I ordered on Tuesday I suspect by evening I would have had an email informing me the order was on it's way, certainly this would have arrived by the next day.  The box would be taken to Inverness, trunked to Newcastle by midnight down the A9, and thence to Harlow by 6am, the time I was waking up. 

The white van man would load his van, press buttons on the computer, and by 10:30 I would know he was on his way.

Just after lunchtime, usually around two o'clock he would be banging on the door.  

So, within 24 or 48 hours I would have had a delivery.

Very good. 

Murdoch's 'Champion Scotch Pies' are also, Champion!

 

The chattering postman gave me one letter, a brown envelope!  These are usually things that demand a response to officialdom.  In days of old the had OHMS along the top with a 2 indicating it was 2nd class urgent.  In this case however, there was no indication along the top of the envelope, just an address on the rear.  

This was the new driving licence.  My age, 32, had demanded I renew the plastic card, so, as it cost nothing I renewed.  It is useful as an ID card if for nothing else.  

Considering I have not driven since getting it, no job, retirement, the pension, all combining to rob me of the transport I wished for and instead I have a Bus Pass!  Useful, but not quite what I had been dreaming off going through all that far off paperwork.  I could have done with transport this past few months.  

Anyway, I'm alive, and grateful for that.