Monthly Archives: October 2020

Masks! Rules! Hypocrisy!

I spent half an hour chatting to WP technical support last night. I forced something, I clicked links, I cleared my cache. As a result I seem to have lost my saved passwords and had trouble getting back into WordPress. I’m not sure why I bother, as the issue with missing pictures is, I’m told, down to me and my outdated browser (which I can’t update because the operating system is too old). Strange thing is that it’s been old and outdated for years, but I only started having problems when I was forced onto the new editor.

With household bills of several thousand pounds looming, I’m not going to be updating in the near future. I’m hoping the missing photos may come back. They weren’t there last night but came back about 20 minutes ago as I was typing, so I’m hopeful that something has been altered.

While I was in TESCO earlier in the week I noticed that three of the five people on checkout weren’t wearing masks. One had a mask, one had a visor (though some shops insist customers wear a mask with a visor) and three had no face covering at all. This is the shop that sent me an email recently, in which they said –

“We’ve provided all of our store colleagues with face coverings, and added protective screens at our checkouts, to help protect them and you.”

Presumably, having provided face coverings, the company thinks it’s OK for staff not to use them.

I nipped into ALDI today to buy flowers for Julia and a couple of bits and pieces. Yes, I know I shouldn’t be shopping so much. Three staff on the tills, no face coverings. More importantly, three customers out of the eight queuing had no face coverings. Difficult to enforce a rule you don’t keep yourself.

I’m not really sure how good the masks are – there is so much conflicting evidence. Common sense tells you they should be doing some good. However, common sense also tells me that if people aren’t wearing them they are prepared to break other lockdown rules too. Of course, if the politicians don’t follow the rules…

And that is only a short list of high-profiler politicians and public figures who have been caught breaking the rules. Footballers and cricketers, including those on international duty, local politicians and other MPs not listed in that article have all flouted the rules.

However, ordinary people, like a metal detectorist I know, are having to stick to the rules. Metal detecting clubs can only have six people at an event. They aren’t even allowed to have six on one field and six on another – to do that risks a fine.

The saddest thing about Covid, for me, hasn’t been the death or the disruption, we can work round this and death, after all, will happen to us all at some point. The saddest thing has been the way the rich and powerful have ignored rules, then acted as if it didn’t matter. And possibly the most shameful thing to come out of it is the way that ordinary people have been fined while high-profile figures have been allowed to get away with it.

Wednesday Afternoon

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My sister came to help with the packing today. As Nottingham has now shot up to fourth place in the national list of Covid numbers this may be the last time we see each other for a while.

The boxes arrived in the middle of the morning. What a wonderful world we live in when you can obtain reasonably priced cardboard boxes in less than 24 hours. It took about 23 hours from ordering to delivery. The six rolls of tape took around 23 hours and five minutes. They came on a separate van, and the second driver, watching the first van drive off, made a few observations about the vagaries of the delivery process, as did I.

We packed, went down to the storage unit and found the doors were closed. There was a note taped to the door telling us to use the car park. This was, unfortunately, easier said than done, as we were already past the car park entrance and on a busy road. I did manage to turn round and get into the car park but it was slightly irritating after the events of the previous day.

It meant keying in a ten digit security code, collecting trolley, taking it out by the rear entrance and then entering the code again to get back into the building. We had two trolley loads, so that’s a lot of numbers compared to simply parking in the loading bay and unloading. Yesterday’s satisfaction at getting a unit by the door dissolved, as the distance from car park to unit via the rear door is about ten times greater.

Then I made a second trip.

At least the electricians will be able to get to the wiring next week, assuming that they are still allowed to work in houses once the expected new lockdown commences.

Yes, it’s the same masked picture again, though I may have to take a new one next week – showing me sitting at home.

Another Wednesday & an ASDA Story

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At 6.22 this morning my telephone vibrated to signal an incoming text. Or did it. If there is no-one awake to here it buzz, did it actually happen? I continued to sleep the sleep of a man with a spotless conscience until 6.48 when my bladder dragged me from my slumbers.

ASDA had tested my card to check it was going to get paid for its groceries when it delivers tomorrow, but the card had been declined. Result – a text to me.

So my day started with a telephone call to ASDA. When I cancelled my card last week I borrowed Julia’s card and registered it on the ASDA site as I had to have a current card to secure a delivery slot for next week. I did this, and booked the slot, so I know the card works and that it is properly registered on the site.

However, the ASDA system was still using the old details. To be fair, those had been the correct details at the time I placed the order, but in my mind they should have a system where they check for new account details before declining the order. Instead, they declined the order, texted me and made it my problem even though I had done everything properly.

They needed the three digit code off the back of the newly registered card to alter things, but it’s Julia’s card and I don’t know the number. I could have woken her, but it’s her day off and she usually7 lies in until 7.30. I’d rather poke a sleeping lion with a short stick.

I said I’d use my new card, and they said they couldn’t do it over the phone, I would have to go into my account and do it.

So I did.

Having booked next week’s delivery using Julia’s card, and now having registered my new card, I’m expecting to repeat this whole rigmarole next week.

A slight improvement

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So, the second part of my day commences. It was, I’m glad to say, better than the first.

I ordered cardboard boxes on the internet. I’m hoping I’ve got it right because tomorrow is planned as a whirlwind of packing.

I have secured my new storage unit and everything is up to date, with many personal details supplied. I have even supplied details of my next of kin. The new one is near the loading bay, so no need to use the lift. This is handy. I just wish that I had worked things out better in my life so I didn’t haver so much rubbish to move round.

They gave me a hefty discount on this second one and gave me a free padlock, so you have to say that they are improving in my eyes. Perhaps i was a little harsh…

But then again, maybe I was fair.

I put some stuff in the unit and went to pick Julia up from work. She has had a bad day and the standard of management at her place is hitting new lows. I continue to tell her s should look for a new job. The good she does, and the enjoyment she gains from enriching the lives of her clients, is, in my opinion, not worth the hassle she endures.

We dropped off three bags of books in the local Oxfam bin and noticed that the clothing bank has a pile of bags around it already. The paper, plastic, glass and tin can banks are all now open, a sign of normality returning.

I have had an email from a local group concerning my offer to volunteer to help adults improve their literacy. They are inviting me to fill in an application form, to be interviewed and then take an on-line training course. It seems like a lot of effort to prove I’m fit to teach people to read.

And finally, the news has just announced that Nottingham has rocketed to the top of the Covid table and is now number 6 in the country for new infections. The government is likely to lock us down at the weekend, and the council is urging us to make several changes already.

The Council has issued the following advice in advance of the government announcement.

Do not mix with people from other households indoors unless you are part of a support bubble.

This includes your home, other homes and leisure and hospitality venues.

You can still visit venues but the City Council asks that it is only with you own household.bubble.

I haven’t mixed with anyone indoors since March, apart from my sister’s garage, with the doors open. I have socialised to the extent of one pub lunch, one meal out (both slightly forced on me) and two visits to a garden centre café. And a funeral. I’m not sure whether that counts as mixing indoors or socialising.

I do, of course, go to work, where I mix with people who aren’t part of my household. They are probably part of my support bubble, apart from the customers. It’s unclear where this falls relative to government advice – it’s probably OK as it’s keeping the economy going and it means we won’t cost them anything.

Ah well, no point worrying. Worse things happen at sea etc…

As One Door Opens Another Door Closes

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I know it’s not the usual saying,but it sums up my situation. One of the problems I have to solve, which I have mentioned only in passing, is that Julia has booked electricians to come in next week and rewire the house. Most people would get it properly cleared first but we are doing it differently…

The only thing I can think of doing is to rent storage space, so I went down to the place where we have our storage locker, intending to change my card details for the existing payment (as my card was replaced recently) and to arrange for short term rental of more space. As they checked my name on the computer everyone started looking shifty and muttering.

It seems I haven’t paid my bill since the beginning of the year.

Fortunately, due to lockdown, they hadn’t got round to selling the contents.

My debit card was renewed by the bank in January and at that time the payments stopped. They sent letters but they were all returned. They were sending them to the PO Box number I used to use when I was in the antiques trade. I’m sure we changed that years ago when they said they needed street addresses for fraud prevention purposes. Even so, it’s not a difficult job to trace the street address, as the Post Office won’t conceal it if asked.

They have never asked me for an email address.

All their phone calls went unanswered. I checked in case they were using an old mobile number, but they were using the home number.

So, despite me informing them by phone that my card number had changed (as I have been doing for the last ten years), they have no record. Despite the fact that the Post Office still occasionally delivers letters via the Box Number, none of their many letters got through. Despite me being constantly at home in lockdown all of their calls seem to have coincided with one of the few times we left the house. We both left the house four or five times during those months – when we went to pick shopping orders up from the supermarket. The rest of the time I was at home apart from blood tests, and JUlia was always at home while I was away.

Instead of clearing the house I’m now engaged in collecting things to prove my ID – the contract was ended when I stopped paying so I have to sign a new contract, which involves providing ID despite the fact they know perfectly well who I am.

If I say “pathetic” I will leave you to add the other words, the volume and the exclamation mark.

So, as the bank provided me with brilliant service yesterday, the storage place took it all back with their pathetic service and a receptionist who was trained by the NHS in the 1980s when harridans were in fashion and customer service was something that the British didn’t really see as necessary.

Meanwhile, I am having to wonder what I did in my past that was so bad I deserve all this misfortune.

Are you getting photographs with my posts? I haven’t had any for a couple of days. They are there as thumbnails, but they don’t seem to be showing when I view the post.

Two problems solved…

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Well, one problem has been solved. The bank has provided me with a new card in record time. It was a bit awkward at one point, because I couldn’t reserve a delivery slot at ASDA without a card, and had to register Julia’s card on the account,. However, that’s the worst thing that happened. Overall it’s not been a problem and the bank has provided excellent service.

I’ve also solved the problem which I don’t think I’ve mentioned.I think I said I’d scratched arms and hands after cutting my sister’s pyracantha last week. They are spiky plants, and I’ve often damaged myself when pruning them. I once even injured a foot when one of the spines punctured the sole of my shoes. That’s why you should garden in boots.

One of the wounds quite clearly wasn’t healing. in fact it was swelling, going red, itching and generally showing all the signs of being infected. I tried using antiseptic ointment and all the usual things but it just became slightly worse day by day. This afternoon I got fed up of it and, using my jeweller’s eyeglass and a scalpel, I started to dig. There was, as I expected, the point of a thorn broken off in there. It’s not there now and the hand already feels better despite the DIY surgery.

If only all my problems could be cured by ringing the bank or jabbing them with a scalpel.

I did win the Lottery again last week – £2.20. At this rate it’s going to take me 833,000 years to win a million on the Lottery, and cost me around £7.500.000. It’s probably not a great long term strategy.

A Trip to Leeds and a Startled Teddy Bear

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Second post of the day – first one is here.

We’ve been up to Leeds since I last wrote. Despite being allowed into the house if we are helping people move, we stuck to our original plan, using the back yard as a sort of airlock. Put things in, back out and close gate. Watch over the fence while they take the stuff in.

We delivered a pine box, a nest of tables, two table lamps and a full length mirror from Dad’s leftover furniture. My sister contributed a bean bag and we took kitchen equipment and a five foot weights bar which I haven’t lifted for at least ten years. We also took a selection of signed football shirts and a discus. Why, you may ask, a discus? The answer is that we don’t want it so he has to take it or we throw it in the skip (an apt end for a discus).

We also delivered some plug-in timers which look like startled teddy bears – part of a fine family tradition where male members buy too much stationery and gizmos then pass it on a generation. These originally belonged to my Dad, descended to me and are now off to a third generation.

Startled Teddy Bear

It was an easy journey, with very little rain and plenty of sun, despite the threatened bad weather. The trees are definitely on the turn compared to last week, and there seemed to be more people out and about despite the local lockdown in Leeds.

Number One Son had done us proud with a couple of takeaway coffees and some cakes from the local cake shop, which proved to be handy as it started raining at that point and we were able to take them in the car. If we’d have had drinks made for us we’d have got wet drinking them before handing the cup back, or, broken the lockdown rules. And we all know what happens when you start breaking the lockdown rules.

One of the cakes was a coconut slice with raspberry jam. I’m sure they have a better name than that. The other was a flapjack that tasted like parkin (treacle and ginger) though he says he thought it said apricot on the label in the shop. They were the last two sorts of cake left in stock. Fortunately they are two of my favourites.

On the way back we called at Wilko’s for glue for Julia’s art group on Monday, and saw this daisy-themed VW. I used to take photos of car wheels in car parks whilst waiting for Julia, I may start again.

VW Daisy Wheel

It’s nice to use some pictures I’ve taken on the day, instead of using random archive shots. The backlit leaf shots didn’t work – they were blowing too much and the colour rendition was very dull despite the sunlight and blue skies.

Sunday Morning, Fathers and a Haibun

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In literary convention, Sunday morning is a lazy day involving late breakfasts and a leisurely reading of a weighty Sunday paper. I can remember Sundays like that, walking to the paper shop with my father to collect papers because there was no newspaper delivery on Sunday.

As I became a father myself, and the kids started playing rugby, Sunday mornings became more hectic times, featuring lost boots and arguments. I remember one morning in a car park 30 miles from home when a familiar face pulled up with his son.

I said: “You’re in the wrong place Dave, the Under 12s are playing at home.”

“What are you doing here then?” he asked, with the triumphal air of of a man proving an important philosophical point in an argument.

“I’m with the Under 15s today. Julia’s with the Under 12s.”

“Ah!”

Modern Sundays seem so hectic.

Ten years after our walks to buy papers my father and I had developed a prickly relationship. Adolescents, as I would find in my turn, are awful examples of humanity and are barely human. Ten years after that, we still weren’t much friendlier. Ten years after that we had developed a better understanding, as I now had kids of my own. Ten years after that I no longer read newspapers. And ten years after that, having lost many games of dominoes and done a lot of jigsaws, I am left to regret the wasted time spent arguing, and the lessons I could have learned from my father. He may have lost a lot of things through Alzheimer’s, but he retained his competitive edge and his facility with numbers until the end.

To be fair, I wasn’t the only argumentative one (the apple not falling far from the tree) and some of his advice, whilst brilliant for the 1950s, was not so good when applied to the 1990s.

Here’s a haibun I wrote on the subject some time ago – first published in Haibun Today Volume 13, Number 1, March 2019.

Eternal Jigsaws

My father remembers who I am (though he can’t quite remember my name) and he’s keen to show me his jigsaw.

It’s one of the puzzles my sister ordered from a specialist supplier. They have larger pieces than normal and depict idealised, almost timeless, scenes from the 1950’s. Before she found these, he used to have jigsaws for children, bought from the Early Learning Centre.

When he clears it away, he puts the edges in a separate bag, so they will be easier to find next time. That could be as early as tomorrow, when it will be brand new as it comes out of the box.

winter afternoon
playing a child’s game
in the fading light

A Depressing Day – Apologies to my Readers

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I have bemoaned the fact, in recent posts, including yesterday, that I am becoming rather dull-witted with age.

Today I have been handed a reminder that although I may be in mental decline, some people, even at their peak, are not exactly blessed with brain cells. However, this does allow them to plough forward with tunnel vision, and does not necessarily mean that being able to think things through is an advantage.

Sadly, I can’t tell you much about it as it may yet come to court. I’ve been told how much it will cost me to settle and it’s a price I’m prepared to pay if it makes the problem go away. As the person in question has acted in bad faith all through the “negotiation” (which feels more like I have been mugged) I don’t actually trust them and I want to keep something in reserve.

The truth is that I have made concession after concession in an attempt to reach an amicable conclusion and I have, as a result. had more and more demanded of me. They haven’t paid a penny so far and they haven’t conceded a single point.

However, it’s only money. Whether they accept it in the end is another matter as I can’t help thinking that there is more trouble in store.

It’s a story waiting to be written. I had the note through the door six hours after my father died and I have used everything he taught me – manners, conciliation, and that money isn’t everything, in trying to deal with things tactfully.

The negotiation and the recollections of my father would make two parallel strands.

I’m not sure about the ending, but whatever happens to the garden fence I will walk away knowing I behaved properly and that my father would approve. I will also walk away knowing that people who behave badly seem to end up getting their way and taking the money.

Not cheery, but artistic.

Working title – “Karma would be better if you could hit people with it.”

I’ll put in a honeysuckle picture to lighten the mood. It was going to be a cat but the media system is playing up, as usual.

Adventures in Amnesia

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I fell for what was possibly an internet scam website last night. There is no fool, it seems, like an old fool. My computer loaded it, despite its normal disinclination to load websites without security certificates, so I suppose it must have one. The address started with https, so I thought is was OK. It even had some convincing testimonials on it. But you would do wouldn’t you?

When I came to pay, it didn’t seem to work properly, so I contacted their helpdesk. The email was returned. I looked for a phone number or address but there were none.

At that point I realised that I may have paid money for nothing, and that I had given up my name, address and three digit security code to a stranger who possibly had felonious intentions aimed at my bank account.

Fortunately the bank was very helpful. They confirmed that no payments had been made and that nobody had tried to use the card. It looked like someone had just left a dead website floating in cyberspace. However, they were very helpful and cancelled my card just to be on the safe side. It will take four working days to get a new card and it is already becoming a nuisance that I can’t use my card. Without my card, for instance, I can’t book an online shopping slot.

They did assure me that lots of people get caught every day by things like this and said there was no need to feel bad about it. (I was at the time bemoaning the fact that my mental faculties had become so blunt that I would fall for something like this.

It was a bit like the time I forgot my PIN number. It had, at that time, been the same for 25 years. Then one day and as I stood at a cashpoint I realised that my mind was blank. I did not have a clue what my number was. I couldn’t even think of the first number.

They told me then that it happened to lots of people, but I think they might have been lying to make the old fool feel better.

I am beginning to hate these senior moments.

I even forgot the title once. I thought of it as I wrote, but by the time I’d scrolled to the top I’d forgotten it. Scrolled down again, and I remembered.

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Life after the Care Farm