Monthly Archives: October 2019

A Bonus Moaning Day

I lost the list of postcodes I was going to do, and it’s getting late. As no plan of mine ever survives contact with reality for more than a week, this is about what I expected.

I’m not going to give in to stress and attempt the impossible, so I’m going to relate a story instead.

We had a visitor today, who introduced himself as a police Detective Sergeant. This was a pleasant surprise as we thought they’d forgotten all about us.

This air of positivity was soon dispelled when he told us he wanted access to our cameras and asked if they covered the other side of the road. The owner said no, they didn’t cover the other side of the road and the detective as good as called him a liar, saying he could see from our monitor that it did.

The owner explained that although they could show the other side of the road they couldn’t show the detail required for police evidence needs, as had been pointed out to us last week.

Actually, it seems, they are good enough when the police say they are good enough. It’s only when they don’t want to take action that the cameras become unusable.

It ended with the detective telling us that he didn’t appreciate the hostility and reminding us that he was a human being.

To be honest, if you walk into a shop with boarded up windows, where the owner was told in the last seven days that his crime won’t be investigated because CID is too busy to look at the case, you are unlikely to be welcomed like a long-lost brother (1).

If you then demand access to CCTV footage from cameras that were judged to be inadequate last week and tell the owner that they are adequate this week because you are investigating a serious crime, you are not going to be reducing tension.

I agree that he is a human being, and shouldn’t be met with hostility because of poor management and political interference, but as you can see from this pay scale, he’s a human being that is paid quite well, particularly as his job description seems to exclude catching people who rob coin shops. He will also be getting paid the same this year as he was paid last year, whereas the shop owner is looking at a bill of over £15,000 for lost stock, lost trade and extra security.

Anyway, end of rant. He got the footage he needed because we always try to help the police. This is, I think, the fourth time we’ve let them have footage – it’s just a shame they aren’t there for us in the same way.

Finally, a lighter end to the rant.

We’d been joking a few days ago that people in Nottingham would be getting fake Kew Gardens 50p pieces in their change after we had a box of them stolen. And sure enough, someone brought one in today. We can’t prove it’s one of ours, but it’s marked “Copy” like ours and it’s a bit of a coincidence that it cropped up in change locally.

I couldn’t find any photos suitable for “theft” or “police” so I went for a Robin.

(1) To be greeted like a long-lost brother you need to bring biscuits.

Whining Wednesday

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I went to hospital this morning – the (inaccurately named) Treatment Centre at The Queen’s Medical Centre.

After a night worrying about being late I took a taxi and, as you do, found all my fears were groundless. I was then tested for blood pressure, height, weight and my ability to fill a small tube with urine.

I have blood pressure, height and weight, so that went well. The final part was trickier as I’d purposely not had a drink before going to hospital so I wouldn’t have to disappear to the toilet and have my name called in my absence. However, I did manage to provide a specimen, though not with any degree of accuracy.

The doctor then saw me. I had to drop my trousers. I moaned about not wanting to take my trousers down but they still made me do it.

It’s a flower – how should I know what sort?

Oh yes, the dignity of an elderly man (I’m dropping all this “middle-aged” nonsense as I’ll be lucky to make 80, let alone the 120 that “middle-aged” implies) comes second to a doctor wanting a look at my terra australis. How a pain in the finger becomes a viewing of my lower extremities I really don’t know.

The good news is that I finally have a diagnosis for the skin problem I’ve had for the last 15 years. It’s definitely psoriasis. This is mixed news. It seems they can possibly do something about it. On the other hand, all that time I spent learning to spell eczema has been wasted. This is all heading towards a diagnosis of psoriatic arthritis. Or gout. They haven’t ruled that out yet.In fact they haven’t ruled anything out, they have just sent me for more X-Rays and more blood tests. That is why, in the absence of any treatment, I consider the unit to be inaccurately named.

The X_Rays went badly, and involved more dropping of trousers so they could get pictures of my lower back without a zip and belt buckle getting in the way. They also asked me if I could move further up the table. As my head was already touching the wall I had to say no. They also asked if I could flex my knees “like this” (accompanied by a wrenching of my ancient knees). I replied, quite reasonably I thought, that if I was able to flex my knees “like that” I wouldn’t be in need of the X-Rays. Fair point, I thought, but my words seemed to produce a slight drop in temperature within the room.

This one might be an anenome

Then there was the blood test. The Phlebotomy room at the Treatment Centre is the best hidden department I’ve ever seen in a hospital. It has a small sign saying “Phlebotomy” over a solid door with a combination lock on it. I asked about how to gain access and was told to take a ticket from the machine and wait.

Machine?

It’s like a bollard with some badly sellotaped signage, not at all like the one with the big screen that says “Please take a ticket” at City Hospital.

That’s just over 500 words now so I’ll stop. There were plenty more moans in the day (after all, I’ve only just arrived at 11.30) but I think this sample will do.

I thought the flowers might lighten the moaning mood a little. I’m gradually easing into maximum misery mode.

Rudebekia – I know that one

Tetchy Tuesday

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Here goes, let’s see what happens as I embark on my new round of planned posts.

First, traffic. Yesterday there was just a light dusting of traffic on the ring road. Today there were even queues to get on the road. I didn’t immediately think anything of it as traffic can be slow sometimes and it’s not as if there was a choice of roads.The traffic system of Nottingham has never been particularly good and it seems to be getting worse every time they redesign it.

However, after twenty minutes we knew that there was a problem somewhere ahead. You can tell. I did see three accidents by the roadside but I think they were all caused by people queuing and running into each other. A lot of it is caused by impatience.

The hold up appeared to be a problem on one of the roundabouts. There was a large tailback onto the main carriageway and this was blocking one lane, at which point it all backed up for four miles. We’re not America so we only had two lanes to start with.

It took me over an hour to do a twenty minute journey. I then had to stop for fuel (the hire car was due back today) and make my way to work where I was due to swap cars. I was supposed to be there for 9.00 and finally arrived at 9.30. Not that it mattered – the recovery vehicle was stuck in traffic too and we eventually swapped cars at 10.00.

I like having my own car back. It may be unfashionable, boring, chugging, unpopular and battered but it suits me. I can’t see that a SEAT Ibiza would ever suit me. Apart from the size and build quality the name Ibiza just sets me on edge. And I couldn’t find Radio 4 Extra, Five Live or the World Service on the radio either. It did, to be fair, have Radio 4, but that can be a bit funereal at times and Women’s Hour on Saturday is so miserable it beggars belief.

I paid my £400 excess, muttering about car insurance and set to work.

Later, the owner got a letter. It was from the man who had popped by to give him a quote for a roller shutter last weekend. While he was doing the quote he did a bit of work to make the front more secure. He also left quite a bit of clutter, including screws and a broken drill bit on the front where we park our cars.

Despite coming out to give us a quote he has sent a bill for £120 call-out fee and £70 for an hour’s work. This proves beyond doubt my feeling that not every robbing bastard wears a mask or works at night.

Julia has just been watching the news – she says the cause of the traffic problems was a gas leak that caused a road closure. They still haven’t found the leak so it looks like my trip to hospital tomorrow will be fun and even Thursday could be a problem. On the other hand, forewarned, I may just pack a picnic and enjoy the delay.

Not sure about that header picture – a bear sniffing flowers in the sun is altogether too upbeat.

Bear in a tree

The Dangers of Frivolity

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Subtitle: Twenty minutes to keep my average up.

I’ve been thinking of how to structure my blogging week, having noticed that some people have certain days for certain types of post. I thought of the following.

Moaning Monday – which I will reserve for all my moans about other drivers, modern life and anything else that needs moaning about.

Tetchy Tuesday – which I will reserve for all my tetchiness about other drivers, modern life and anything else that needs me to be tetchy about it. Very much like Monday.

Whining Wednesday – which I will reserve for all my whines about other drivers, modern life and anything else that needs whining about. Very much like Monday and Tuesday, apart from the fact it’s my day off and is more likely to feature scones or fish and chips.

Postcode Thursday – Alliteration deserted me, and that Postcode tour needs at least one day a week to itself.

Friday – is obviously Poets Day in which I discuss the lives and best known works of various poets. Or I simply Push Off Early – Tomorrow’s Saturday.

Short Saturday – because the night is full of low-grade TV to watch and it’s too short to write a long post.

Sombre Sunday – which I will reserve for all my sombre thoughts about other drivers, modern life and anything else that needs someone to be sombre about it. Very much like Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday but more likely to include tales from the laundry.

I just hope that I don’t have so much fun on Thursday, Friday and Saturday that I become frivolous and frolicksome.

The Problem with Postcodes

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I’ve remembered why I gave up the Postcode Tour last time.

There are just too many postcodes and not enough time to write about them. They ended up taking over last time and they are doing the same again.

I have made a decision – I am only going to use the postcodes from Mondays, or Mondays and Tuesdays if Monday doesn’t produce enough. That way I preserve the random element of the tour but avoid submerging the blog in constant UK trivia.

Today I have ten postcodes, though one is a duplicate of one from last week – WN7. You can have too much of a good thing so I’m going to leave Wigan out this week. That still leaves me with nine, and that’s still a lot to fit in. However, as my plan calls for 3.5 extra posts a week this may be useful.

I’ve just been looking at the number of postcode areas – I think it came to 121 but I kept losing count. Then there are the ones for overseas territories and the special code – XM4 5HQ. That’s the one specially reserved for Santa, and it gets 800,000 letters per year.

Seems nice and whimsical doesn’t it? All cuddly and touchy-feely. And then you realise that 800,000 letters, even if they are Second Class, need £488,000 worth of stamps. It is pure commercial genius!

British children also send about 100,000 letters a year to Santa in Finland – another £135,000 at International Standard rate for a 10 gram letter. I will say no more, lest the words “Bah! Humbug!” are heard, once more, throughout the land.

This is an interesting article on the Santa Industry if you have time to read it. Uplifting in parts, depressing in others, and proving once again that modern British kids need a lesson in old-fashioned manners.

Just to show I know how to get into the festive spirit (it is October after all and the shops are filling with Christmas crap) this is a picture of me as Santa from several years ago, I scared two of the eleven children who visited, so be careful who you show it to.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Possibly the worst Santa in the World

FK4 and SE16

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I knew FK was in Scotland, so I’d guessed Falkirk, and found I was correct. If I ever need a second specialist subject for Mastermind this could be it.

It contains Bonnybridge, Allandale, Banknock, Dennyloanhead,Greenhill, Haggs, High Bonnybridge and Longcroft. As it’s first in the list I will select Bonnybridge. Wiki is not particularly helpful and, to be frank, I may not send them my customary donation next time they ask.

The Falkirk Local History Society does it better. Bonnybridge had a Roman Fort, just like Caerphilly and, in 1820 was the scene of a cavalry charge when a group of Hussars charged a radical demonstration.

I was interested to hear that because civil unrest of the 19th Century is an interest of mine. If I was to have another life apart from the grumpy shop assistant/world class procrastinator existence I am currently living I’d like to be a history lecturer at a reasonably rural university specialising in civil unrest from the Peasants Revolt to the Tithe Wars of the 1930s. Even with this interest in the subject, I hadn’t heard of the Scottish Insurrection of 1820 until I started researching this post.

I will now pass on to SE16. It’s Rotherhithe. I haven’t been to London for over 25 years so it’s a bit of a mystery to me. I know there’s a tunnel there, but I didn’t know it was where the Brunels built their Thames Tunnel – the first underwater tunnel in the world. Nor did I realise there had been two attempts before the Brunels succeeded.

It just goes to show how much I still have to learn.

Some Scottish stamps to remember Falkirk by…

That Difficult Second Post

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Is the world, I ask myself, ready for a second post today. Particularly a second post dealing with postcodes.

If you aren’t, you may want to pass on this. If you are thirsting for more of the tour of Britain through the medium of random post codes, read on.

Today we have WN7, SE16, FK4, WN2 and CF83.

Have I told you about the way I select them? I just sit there and as people order items I use the first part of the postcode as the subject of the visit. Simple as that.

We will go to Wigan first.

WN2 covers Abram, a village that was once in Lancashire but is now in Greater Manchester, which is not a county but a an example of how politicians have no respect for ancient tradition. At the same time I found myself moved from Huntingdonshire to Cambridgeshire. I still lived in the same house but it suited the powers that be to mess us about.

Anyway – Abram. On 18th August 1908 there was an explosion in the Maypole pit.This killed 75 men and boys and the last bodies were finally brought to the surface in November 1909. It left 44 widows and 120 orphans.

It was caused by a build-up of gas and dust and triggered by the use of explosives. We joke about Health and Safety these days, but it can be a good thing.

Reference to the church war memorial indicates that there were 46 fatalities in the village in the Great War. It puts the pit explosion into context.

There are a number of sites with details of the disaster, but while I was looking at them, thinking they were too depressing to inflict on you, I found this account of a strange event at Abram.

WN7 covers Bedford. After living near Bedford for years (the one in Bedfordshire) I was surprised to find that there was one in Lancashire too. It merged with Pennington and Westleigh in 1875 to form the town of Leigh.

CF83 is a Cardiff postcode which relates to Caerphilly. There has been a fortress in Caerphilly since Roman times and it was the site of various military expeditions until the around 1405. Since then it has relied on coal and cheese, and hosts a food fair every year.

Question: How do the Welsh make their cheese?

Answer: Caer-philly.

Not the world’s greatest joke, I admit.

Eventually Caerphilly cheese production moved to England and stayed there for many years before the resurgence of interest in cheese and its proper production. There are, it seems, 700 British named cheeses, and no time to waste!

Have to go again – Julia is calling for sustenance and I need to tell her we have 700 cheeses to find.

I will be back.

Back to ST7

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I didn’t have time to finish last night, as midnight is a tyrant as far as blogging targets are concerned. I need 1.5 posts per day and “day” is defined as a period ending at midnight. To keep up, today needs to be a two post day, or even more.

We’ll start with ST7. It is, as I thought, Stoke-on-Trent.The address we sent the parcel to was in Cheshire and I did wonder if the postcode might be Stockport, which is in Cheshire, but I vaguely remember Stockport being SK. Logically it could also be Stafford, but it isn’t, Stafford’s has a Stoke on Trent postcode, which is ST16 – ST18 and ST20 and 21.

Don’t ask about ST19. It just gets too complicated. I used to travel the Midlands for a living and even I am beginning to find this bit confusing. And dull.

ST7 includes the village of Talke Pits. As you may guess, this was a mining village. It is one of the few places I have ever searched where the Wiki entry has come up short. Some quick research comes up with the information that there’s a shopping outlet there so I may have to pop by one day and find some information to add to the Wiki entry.

I will be touring WN7, SE16, FK4, WN2 and CF83. If memory serves me right that is a tour of Scotland, Wales, London and Wigan (twice). You are in for as treat.

However, I’m off to watch Strictly Come Dancing. If there’s one thing I love to see it’s the torment of an inelegant celebrity. I’m no Fred Astaire myself, but then I’m not being paid thousands of pounds to dance.

I would actually prefer Celebrity versus Lions, but the BBC have not replied to my proposal for a pilot show and are refusing to take my calls.

Albert Ball VC – a Nottingham hero

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Life after the Care Farm