Monthly Archives: August 2019

A Packed Day

I am writing this on a computer that has, according to the date of the last file I saved, not run since 2012. It has been switched off so long that we had to reset the clock before Google would allow us access. And, to even get to that point, we had to find the yellow cable that connects it to the router, as it has no wireless capability.

It runs on Vista and Microsoft Word 2010 and is a pleasure to use after so many weeks on the netbook.

The netbook was a mixed blessing, but it kept me going and I have been very grateful for it, despite my more than occasional criticism of its lack of speed.

All I need to do is wipe away six year’s supply of dust and spider webs, and it will be almost as good as new.

I say “almost” because there is the question of the On/Off switch.

There isn’t one. It broke and for the last six months of its active life I had to start the computer by hotwiring it, or, for those of you unaccustomed to the vernacular of the street (well, the 1970s street) touching two bare wires together.

It works, and more important, it cost nothing to do. These are two factors that are close to my heart.

That’s probably the biggest news of the day, though my three-centre medical excursion seemed big until we got the computer running.

It started with a visit to the doctor at 8.00 to discuss the pain in my little finger. At this point I’d like to say, because I have difficulty getting this point over to the medical profession, that although I don’t like to complain it is very difficult having an arthritic little finger. It doesn’t seem like much but it can be remarkably painful and it makes everyday life (like tucking my shirt in, packing parcels or washing up) painful and difficult, though the washing up water is very soothing.

So far it’s taken me a week to get the X-ray appointment, ten days to get the results and ten days to get this appointment (that could have been a week, but it would have meant missing work, and I don’t want that).

So are they going to give me anti-inflammatories, you ask, or an injection, or even a new wonder drug?

No.

The X-ray, I’m told is not typical of osteo-artritis so they need to find out exactly what is happening. Two arthritic fingers, two different types of arthritis. What are the chances of that? I can’t win a lottery, but when it comes to medical curiosities I lead the field. Having said that, I just looked up the different sorts of arthritis and am feeling slightly less blase about it now.

They sent me for blood tests. Eight blood tests. That’s nearly an armful. (I put that bit in for you Derrick).

After the blood tests I went for my 9.30 chest X-ray appointment.

In a week or so the results will be in.

At that point, you ask, will they give me anti-inflammatories, or an injection, or even a new wonder drug?

No.

At that point they are going to get me an appointment with a specialist.

If this carries on much longer I may have to resort to drastic measures.

We went for a drive in Derbyshire after the excitement of the morning and ended up buying raw milk from a farm. I’ve been meaning to get some for a while to see if it has any effect on my health.

When we got home we found a Painted Lady on the front garden, which gives me an opportunity to re-use the pictures I took earlier in the year.

We had more poppies too.

 

WordPress is a lot easier on a proper computer.

Crossing Off Another Day

I have packed parcels, as usual. I have drunk coffee, despite my preference for tea (because I am offered coffee and am too lazy to make my own drinks). And I have eaten my sandwiches.
It has not been a day of high excitement or great drama. We have been using the internet as a displacement activity, and to inform ourselves so we now know that Doctor Ferdinand Porsche was chauffeur to Archduke Franz Ferdinand during his National Service. This reminds me that although I know the names of the Archduke and the assassin, the name of the 1914 chauffeur seems to be absent from the records.
I also now know that Nickola Tesla was a Serbian, liked pigeons, liked walking and didn’t like paying his bills.
I then moved on to eBay, selling gold-plated coins with pictures stuck on the back.
They are not quality coins, but if you buy them from us they are reasonably priced. Buy them from the manufacturer and they will cost you a lot more.
I’m seriously thinking of  applying for a job copywriting for the manufacturers, using words like sumptuous and avoiding words like value for money. Today I managed to get the word “skullduggery” in, so sumptuous should be easy.
That’s why I’m going to be nice about the makers of crap coins. Well, maybe not nice, but possibly neutral. If they find the blog I don’t want to put them off by being honest about the expensive tawdry garbage they market so aggressively.
I finished off the day with coins which have been made into jewellery. The best bit is this 1676 Half Crown.
Half crown of Charles II

Half crown of Charles II

It’s not the prettiest coin, it’s been made into a brooch, and someone has started to make a hole at the top, but it has seen some history in its life.

When it was minted Charles had only been back on the throne 16 years and Cromwell’s head was still on a spike above Westminster Hall. It probably circulated during some of the wars with Holland, Monmouth’s Rebellion and the South Sea Bubble. It might have been handled by Prince Rupert, Sir Isaac Newton or Sir Henry Morgan.

You never know, it might even have still been in circulation when America declared its independence.

That’s a lot of history for one small coin.

A Letter from a Younger Man

As part of the decluttering process I’ve been finding a lot of paperwork from 20-30 years ago. Most of it lost its importance (if it ever had any) many years ago and has gone either into the bin or into the shredder.
Last night, this included a motivational document I wrote over 25 years ago (while I was still working for someone else). It’s similar to things that I do now, apart from the fact that I no longer appear so convincing.
It set out, in great detail, the number of days I had left before the age of 55 (possible early retirement date), 60 (my realistic early retirement date – remember that Julia’s retirement date was 60 in those days, before they changed the system) and 65, which used to be the statutory retirement date before the government stole two years from my life by changing the default retirement age.
It even had financial targets.
And a note not to waste any of those days.
If I didn’t know how the story ends, I’d thing that the neatly written, well-planned document, marked the beginning of a long and prosperous life for a man who knew what he was doing and became a successful mover and shaker.
Instead, he became me.
Fortunately I’m big-headed enough to believe that being me is reward enough in this life.
I’m happy to say that I’ve lived up to the standards I set myself, even if I did have to lower those standards on a regular basis.
I’ve also reset those standards to include things like children, who are a constant drain on both your hopes and dreams, your fridge and your bank balance.
It’s not that bad, despite my jaundiced tone, just a bit of a shock to see an unexpected glance of myself at the age of 35.

A Big Order from Peru

We had a big order from Peru this morning. That isn’t a sentence you get to use very often. Indeed, in 61 years I have never needed to combine those words in that order before. In fact, I haven’t needed to combine those words in any order in a sentence before.

Even at 61, life is full of novelty.

I wish I could say the same for the rest of my day, which consisted of parcels, eBay and coin sorting, as the temperature rose and the the office grew more stuffy.

It wasn’t all bad, as the boss treated us to ice creams in the middle of the afternoon. We’d barely finished them when one of the customers arrived, with a gift of ice cream.

The lightweights stammered and stuttered and mumbled. I merely smiled, said thank you and launched straight in with gusto.

Well, it seemed rude not to show enthusiasm.

Photos may follow, if I can conquer the increasing slowness of the machine. Meanwhile, I am off to make marmalade on toast for Julia. Those of you who recognise the link to Peru, should award themselves trivia points, and stop reading Paddington Bear books.

 

 

 

An Unusual £1

We had a busy day today.

At one time I actually had a queue of people waiting to sell me stuff. It wasn’t very exciting stuff, but it is all grist to the mill.

We also sold our error £1. It appears to be struck using the new dies for stamping the bimetallic 12 sided coin, but it has been struck on the blank of the old gold coloured round pound.

Here they are, side by side.

 

It had been the source of some discontent on the part of my co-worker, who didn’t want to buy it when it was offered to us while the boss was on holiday. I stepped in and bought it.

He wasn’t happy but sometimes you just have to make a decision. It isn’t always the right one, but after all the years I spent buying and selling I should be able to make the right decision most of the time.

Fortunately, it seems to have paid off.

Mammoths, Money and McDonalds

The day started with me dismantling  a stamp collection,  moved on to parcels, took in a brief rant at the stupidity of customers and degenerated into putting coins on eBay. Later we made some improvements to the storage system and I carried on with loading medals to eBay.

It’s close to 10.30 in the evening now and I’m watching a TV programme about recovering bits of mammoth from the tundra.

If anyone had told me, at the age of 16, that it was possible to become a world authority on mammoth tusks I may well have worked harder at school.

They are currently discussing how to get the best DNA from a mammoth – the best source being mammoth hair. (It seems they share their hair colour with us and could be blonde or ginger as well as brown).

I’m really regretting my career choices, particularly as they are now talking about cloning them. I reckon the best way would be to involve MacDonald’s. If they taste good you’d soon find them being raised by the thousand.

That’s all. The netbook is frustratingly slow and the TV is getting interesting…