Tag Archives: complaining

Thoughts on Watching TV

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I just spent an hour messing about with thoughts and coming to no real conclusion. At that point I thought I’d give myself a deadline of 20 minutes. In that take I have to write something and do all the tags and stuff so I can post before midnight. point.

\it’s a useful target and cuts out all the woolly thinking. What happened was that I watched a TV programme about social media. It was a poor programme in many respects but did give me a few things to think about, including the mixed messages being sent by a presenter who drifted from one thing to another without any real thread to it. I cancelled Facebook years ago and felt better for it. I don’t use Twitter, except to announce new posts, though I’ve had  a message coming up recently that indicates that might not be happening. I’m not really bothered and haven’t followed it up. WP, I regard as writing practice rather than social media, and that’s my lot.

The most interesting bits were the rage/jealously segments. It seems that one Tik-Tok user had his car and house burned by people who took exception to his posts. I really can’tb understand why he became so popular, but I definitely don’t understand why someone would set fire to his car. I think it’s all down to the modern desire for fairness and equality. It breeds envy. Instead of looking at a successful person and finding out how they made their success, people just moan that it’s unfair.

Life, as I was always told, is unfair. But it’s also what you make it, and if you want to make it a place of misery and envy then you are free to make that choice. It’s just that no matter how bad my life becomes, I’d rather use my time to enjoy it than moan that other people have been luckier than me, and don’t deserve their success. Strangely, the people who moan most also seem to be the ones with the least talent and work ethic. I wonder if there could be a link . . .

I’m now going to use the title of this post for a poem. Looks like I’m back in the game.

 

The Second Shot

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I wrote a 350 word post earlier. It was about the GP surgery not having my blood test paperwork sorted despite me organising it three days ago. Then it went on to discuss the pharmacy and the lie they told me about texting me when my prescription was ready this afternoon. I feel you’ve heard the same complaints before so after ridding myself of the burden, I consigned it to WP limbo and decided to move on. I moved as far as the cooker, then as far as my seat in front of the TV. There I stayed for a while. I am now back writing a new post, and hoping that it’s going to be more interesting than the previous list of complaints.

It is ten months since I started taking poetry writing more seriously and in that time I have made 39 submissions. It’s going to be a bit of a slog raising that to a hundred a year, because I already feel that I spend a lot of time writing. I’m in the middle of a good patch at the moment – plenty of successful attempts with an even spread of rejection to keep my feet on the ground.

When I get a cluster of rejections I always start to think I’ll never be accepted again, and when I have  a good run of acceptances I worry that it can’t last forever. It is also the case that after a run of acceptances the next rejection hits harder. The mind of a writer is a strange thing.

I need two sets of submissions in the next couple of weeks – one to a magazine where I have had some minor success and one where I have had no success at all since a change of editor. I had a look through my list of pending/unfinished/work in progress and decided that there is very little there of any merit. I need a surge of enthusiasm and a flash of inspiration to set me going again.

Appointments, Complaints and Click & Collect

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I can smell pasties. They are warming rather than baking in the oven, because I bought them instead of making them. In the end they will still taste good and it has saved time.

I couldn’t bake at the moment even if I wanted to. I do not have enough flour. I did have some on order for my Click and Collect run tomorrow, but I see they have cancelled it because they have run out.

It looks like I will be shopping in person next week because I cannot get a delivery or a Click and Collect slot for the next three weeks. Looks like I’m going to have to disguise myself as a pensioner again and see what is on the shelves. They cancelled my broccoli too, and the antiseptic wipes. It’s not much of a service really, even on the rare occasion when you can get a slot. Tomorrow I have to drive to the opposite side of town to do my shopping, but as it limits my contact to one shop assistant in a car park rather than dozens of shelf stackers and pensioners in the shop, I’m prepared to put up with the inconvenience.

Julia had an email last week, telling her she had an appointment with the doctor today at 11.10. She rang just after the email to query it but the receptionist said that the appointment had been entered on the system by the doctor herself and (a) she couldn’t tell Julia what was about or (b) why it was necessary to go to the surgery. You could probably have added (c) couldn’t be bothered to find out. To be fair they seem to be working with just one receptionist these day, so she probably didn’t have time to do anything else.

A few days later I had a letter from the hospital telling me that my telephone appointment with rheumatology had been brought forward and that I had to be at the hospital for 10.45 on Thursday morning. This arrived on Saturday so I had to wait until today to ring and check.

We obviously weren’t happy with these appointments as there’s no point in self-isolating if you get called out by the NHS to mingle with all manner of sick people.

We were on the point of leaving for Julia’s appointment when the phone rang.It was the doctor.

“Oh!” Said Julia, “I’m just setting off for the appointment now.”

This puzzled the doctor, who thought she’d arranged for a telephone appointment. Clearly, there is room for improvement with the system.

I then rang the hospital. It took me over twenty five minutes to get an answer as everyone passed me on or avoided picking up the phone. Eventually I did get an answer, the letter was a mistake and they would phone me to conduct the appointment.

So again, a system that isn’t working. It’s difficult to understand how, having sent me one letter with a telephone appointment, they didn’t just reprint it with the new details. This isn’t really a problem due to the coronavirus, it’s a problem with basic inefficiency.

However, I smiled and thanked everybody as they passed me on. They have enough problems without me grumbling and complaining.

But it doesn’t mean that I’m not going to grumble and complain on here – if we’d left five minutes earlier than planned, or if I’d just turned up at hospital what would they have done then?

Just to make my day worse the card reader on the computer packed up. I really don’t know why they can’t build one that lasts. Camera manufacturers seem able to build durable systems, why can’t computer manufacturers?

Fortunately, the pasties and ratatouille were good, and the rhubarb and apple crumble was excellent, so it all turned out well in the end. There is little that can’t be improved by the addition of fruit crumble.

Sorry about the lack of photos – I took an easy shortcut and duplicated a couple of recent shots.

Robin
Robin

The Crowded Bookshelf of Life

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No, not a blog about books. A friend of mine once provided me with an analogy of life being like a crowded bookshelf, where you put a new book on the shelf and one drops off the end.

In this case, I added the two post a day project and the Postcode Safari posts dropped off the end. They always seem to drop off. I think it’s because they take a lot of concentration compared to a post where you just start at one end, describe your day, or your concerns, and come to the end.

Even the scone chronicles suffer from this – I sometimes forget to take the photo, and there’s no point writing about a selection of crumbs. In that case I’m also a creature of habit, and you can’t keep writing about the same few places time after time. Nor can you keep making the same complaints. We go to several places that don’t serve particularly good food but they are convenient and the staff are friendly. Do you really want to read me droning on about it yet again?

Talking of which, we have joined the National Trust again and will doubtless be going to the worst cafe in the world again. This time we will be writing to the National Trust if things aren’t up to scratch,which will be something new to write about. Complaining is considerably easier, but seems to be less effective, since the rise of email contact forms.

That is why I have developed a new form of complaining. Instead of just ignoring things or complaining at the time, I leave it for a while and compose a stinging email telling people how much business they have lost as a result of me not dealing with them. It’s still like the old way in one respect – I never actually get round to sending it.

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Green Howards War Memorial

More photos from the “lost” Whitby photos – the new War Memorial (well, 2013). It’s like a lot of other towns in that it had a War Memorial Hospital, which was then lost to reorganisation. Casualties in recent wars highlighted the lack of a focal point for commemorations and resulted in this memorial being built – it’s local sandstone with a central column of a rather striking stone from Norway – Masi Quartizite. It’s appropriate, as the Green Howards (the local regiment) lost 156 men in the Norway Campaign – an often forgotten part of the Second World War.

 

Finally – a New Internet Hub!

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I’m now communicating with you via my new internet hub. It’s version 7.0. The one we just removed is version 2.0. This might be one reason we’ve been getting poor service.

It doesn’t seem to be any faster, despite some BT claims about speed, but I wasn’t actually expecting that. I’ll probably need a new computer for that. It should, however, be more reliable and, as we have sorted the bills out, it will actually be cheaper.

Everything was surprisingly easy to connect. Two connectors for the back of the hub, one button to press and a code to put into the computer. Only the three months of hassle that preceded these actions provided any difficulty.

It’s amazing how useless some companies can be whilst staying in business. And at this point I will make my normal comment – BT may be unbelievably bad but Virgin are far worse. Far, far worse.

I’m very tempted to write to BT and complain.

 

Recovery

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I struggled manfully with cold all day. “Manfully”, in this context means sniffling, sneezing and whining.

I also took a relaxed attitude to work, looking a few things up, taking some photos and dealing with customers.

On the way back from work I stopped off at Sainsbury’s, parked, decided to listen to the chapter end of my audio book, and fell asleep for 45 minutes. Considering I was in bed for 14 hours last night I was surprised I needed more sleep.

After taking pills and eating a large helping of fish pie I am now feeling quite good. Naturally I am trying to conceal this from Julia as she seems happy serving me with cups of tea and stuff. It would be unkind of me to deprive her of the feeling of virtue that comes from looking after me.

The man who parked on our forecourt yesterday seems to have taken the hint and parked outside his own house. As he can’t park on the road he is blocking the footpath. Some people really don’t have much consideration for others.

I’m now deliberating whether to go to bed early (it’s 9.45) just just fall asleep in the chair. The chair is favourite, as I stand a chance of Julia waking me up with a cup of tea,

 

Fish, Chips and Disappointment

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Well, I’m back home already. No overnight stay, no pain, no blood.

On the downside, there was no operation.

I rose at 6.00 and, like Paddington Bear, breakfasted on marmalade sandwiches. Five and a half hours later I was washed, packed and provisioned. I was also starving and slightly nervous, as medical staff kept drifting through, asking to see my appointment letter. In the end one of them, having drawn the short straw, sidled up and asked me to step through, obviously trying to separate me from the herd.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not on our list.” she said, and like a modern nightclub the NHS operates on the policy of “if you aren’t on the list, you aren’t coming in”.

So, despite having a letter telling me when to report, despite having rung to confirm and despite having had my pre-op done while I was on the ward last week, I was sent home.

That’s the summary anyway. In real life it took longer, with more muttered excuses and a lot of waiting.

I’m now waiting for a new date.

On the positive side, this gave us the time to enjoy the sunshine and go for haddock and chips at The Big Fish  and Julia allowed me to have syrup sponge and custard to get over my disappointment.

I’m now engaging in one of my favourite activities – mentally composing a letter of complaint about my cancelled appointment. I always seem so much more intelligent at this point – the draft always seems so much better than the final written version.

I’m currently debating whether I should offer to fit catheters to the staff concerned as this might concentrate their minds on the delay in removing mine.