8th November 2019
Dear Dennis,
The younglings pot of white spirit - it was an empty dried yeast tin with a plastic lid - for his art oil painting, was knocked over by a cat this morning .... it (the pot of white spirits) was on the dining room table ..... he had put the lid on, however the lid leaked and white spirit soaked through the multi newspaper layers and under the cutting board protecting the table from his paints. Oil paint doesn't run at all but the white spirit spread and covered half the polished wood table .... the house now stinks of white spirits. But at least the table is nice and shiny. One of the cats was sick, in the sink, over the washing-up I'd stacked ready to be washed..... bluly cats. I wiped the table and dried it as best I could with a roll of kitchen towel. I just looked outside and one of our cats (the big tom) is sitting on a plank of wood I'd strategically place, to dry out, near the boiler flue outlet. He looks to be asleep .... are cats affected by CO ? Uh and I've now noticed the dining table is mostly devoid of polish and is looking particularly dull - the white spirit and my vigorous drying has taken all the polish off. This is definitely one of those Thursdays. Before the brunette gets in this evening I now have to re-polish the dining table and somehow get rid of the white spirit smell from the house ... a cut onion is supposed to do the trick but how do I then get rid of the smell of onion from the dining room?
Do you have Thursdays where you are?
Kind regards (what on earth does that mean?
D6
09 November 2019
29 July 2019
Belfast Sinks
I trust you are well. We've not spoken for a while now although I expect you've been on holiday and sunning yourself somewhere peaceful. I suffered an embarassing episode the other day and felt I ought to warn you of the dangers as soon as possible.
First thing, the other day, my plans got hijacked.
I was told I had to collect 2 "Belfast" sinks from places around Berkshire. Blimey bloke they're heavy. The first caused a bit of a todo, as I bent to help the chap lift the sink, I didn't notice I stood on a cord from my hareem trouser leg ... yes, as I stood up, my trousers didn't; and at the same time, the wind I was holding on to, since I got out of the car, let go noisily and uncontainably at the trouser surprise. Mel and the chap trying to help me lift the sink just stared at me in disbelief. Of course I tried to laugh it off but I don't think they saw the funny side.
Upon getting out of the car when we arrive to pick up the sink, I should have feigned a problem with the car and fiddled with something mechanical around the front whilst at the same time releasing my wind gradually and in a more controlled fashion and yes, I should have hitched my new trendy "Hareem Trousers" before attempting the lift but we learn from our mistakes and eventually we manhandled the sink into the back of my car however Mel didn't speak to me all the way home.
24 September 2006
Dear Dennis
Dear Dennis,
I would just like to type how reassuringly warm it was to speak with you again after so long, on the telephone the other day. I am pleased to hear you’ve not lost your sense of humour in the clamour for brownie points at the factory. I thank you for the parcel of qty 4xRJ45 inline connectors and assure you I’ve placed one of my rubber cheques in the post to you for a suitable amount which ought to cover at least some of the cost to your personal expenses, although as you know, I’m currently in dispute with my Barclays bankers (Company name disguised to protect the innocent) and so I wouldn’t try cashing the cheque if I were you as you’ll be laughed out of your branch and ridiculed all the way down the street and back to your car. You’ll be barked at by stray dogs and scowled at by cats sunning themselves on garden walls. Old ladies may even approach you with tightly furled umbrellas and clear plastic, elasticated rain-hats. My cheque merely serves to indicate to you an amount of reparation I would be prepared to make, if the decision as to the amount was left up to me. I shall be making representation to my local newspaper regarding my Barclays bankers (Company name disguised to protect the innocent) appalling attitude towards me (a once valued customer) who even “won” a popcorn maker for being such a promising young candidate when I took out the Barclays Bankers (Company name disguised to protect the innocent) account at my University Fresher Fair, just a few short years ago). I was, a couple of days ago and still am, threatened and not a little haunted by their statement that if I didn’t pay them the money they wanted (I am just a couple of hundred of pounds overdrawn) they’d;
“pass your account to a debt collection agency and they’re not as polite as we are, (the boy paused on the phone for effect and then added) … sir”
and when I complained by letter, all they could say on the matter was (patronisingly) that they were;
“sorry to hear you were offended by one of our staff telling you that we are more polite than a collection agency might be”.
Clearly they’d twisted my words to suit themselves and were in no mood to reprimand their staff for anything. I suspect they probably gave him a bonus for thinking up such a thinly veiled line. I feel sad for the brunette as she used to work for the Barclays Bankers (Company name disguised to protect the innocent) and had many, many good years of history with them – likewise though, as soon as she became a “student” again and they summarily changed her account to a “Student” account they now treat her like chaff as well. Well stuff ‘em, I’ll take my overdraft elsewhere. There, that’ll show them.
I was considering our conversation regarding my sophist neighbours and their latest campaign to “save the greyhound” with their banners [I am dying to entertain you]. Wouldn’t they be better to adjust their target and save the poor rabbit instead as you suggest. That poor creature gets chased ragged every night and for what? Well, I don’t know what but I’m sure my neighbours can find out for me. It is probably for an old cabbage stalk and half a carrot after it’s evenings work. Perhaps that is where their cage of rabbits came from … night time raids on greyhound tracks, rescuing exhausted, tailless rabbits. I’ve seen them on the telly – you can’t even see their legs moving or touching the ground they move that fast mate. I’ll try surreptitiously to examine their rabbits the next time I’m out in the garden. “Save the Rabbits” [I am exhausted and tailless for your entertainment] quite a catchy slogan if you ask me. I’ve noted your request for a photo of the neighbours and although at some risk to my personal health and livelihood if caught, I shall attempt to oblige.
I have been “aks’d” by our Burberry neighbours to fit a new bathroom tap set (sink + bath taps). You know the sort – laminate flooring nailed on top of uneven boards to give the impression of a modern Victorian Terrace leaving footsteps echoing for several seconds with each movement, massive telly filling the whole of the front room so they all have to watch through the hatchway from the dining room, kids all have PS2’s and telly’s in their rooms, four dustbins outside, all with different house numbers on and not a recycling bin among them, latest trainers and tracking suits, closely cropped hair, short-legged pug ugly muscle-dog with “diamonique studding in it’s collar (sex undetermined as no one has been able to get close enough yet) – salt of the earth bless ‘em. They also “aks’d” if I’d fit a new “power shower” for them but as I’ve seen their electrics - the guy has looped the electrics for their current shower out through and around the outside of their house as opposed to routing the cable under floorboards and up/down wall and the like and has strung the 6mm twin & earth up the wall on nails and then back into the house through an air-brick half way up his outside wall – I think I’ll pass on going anywhere near his electrics. He called me in one night last year as all their electrics had “gone orf whilst ‘avin a shower” – I went to examine his fuse box – he only had one fat 30 amp fuse wound up with several odd bits of wire, covering the whole house !! I removed it and prodded a replacement in with a long stick then left quickly as his lights slowly came up to heat and lit the house with an increasing glimmer. These people need protecting from themselves ! He is planning to sell his house soon and move – no one will ever get a full mortgage on it once a surveyor sees the electrics ! Still I suppose then it will be rewired and made safe at least. Seems daft though that mortgage companies are the only ones to police this sort of thing and it is generally only because of them that any work gets done properly and to within standards & regulations. They bought their boy an electric ride-in jeep last Christmas – massive thing it is – it was so big they couldn’t get it in through their front door ! Eventually, after loudly swearing at each other up and down the road, they knocked on several doors all the way down to a house with a side alley and got everyone to pass it over their fences until it reached them – they store it in their back garden (size of a postage stamp) – I hear the boy riding it sometimes – 5 yards forwards then 5 yards back again and all the time the dog trying to bite it’s wheels. He’s a sad kid, never knowing quite what to do with the presents they buy him and always trying to please his parents and thanking them so very much for the toys he doesn’t know quite what to do with – if only someone would buy him a box of soldiers or some colouring books and crayons or Lego. He struts up and down the street like Tony Blair and tries to spit just like his dad and only because it makes his mum and dad happy to see him – he’s only 5 … bless him.
Anyway the brunette has gone and got herself a new car – a red one – so I’ve been solemnly and ceremoniously handed the keys to the Escort – although she took them back today as she still needed to drive it around somewhere or other whilst I spent this morning tidying the house and making a futile attempt to coax the hoover into sucking up dirt, dust and small pieces of Lego. I have been made aware that I am expected to now deliver and collect Saul from crèche as well as deliver and collect Charlie from his school. I also must do the delivery and collection of Charlie on his swimming lesson days. I, on my part, have expressed an assumption that the brunette is going to hand over an amount of money each month, however this was met with a blank stare and a mutter.
Any way, thanks again – will you be forwarding any photos of your most recent holiday?
D
I would just like to type how reassuringly warm it was to speak with you again after so long, on the telephone the other day. I am pleased to hear you’ve not lost your sense of humour in the clamour for brownie points at the factory. I thank you for the parcel of qty 4xRJ45 inline connectors and assure you I’ve placed one of my rubber cheques in the post to you for a suitable amount which ought to cover at least some of the cost to your personal expenses, although as you know, I’m currently in dispute with my Barclays bankers (Company name disguised to protect the innocent) and so I wouldn’t try cashing the cheque if I were you as you’ll be laughed out of your branch and ridiculed all the way down the street and back to your car. You’ll be barked at by stray dogs and scowled at by cats sunning themselves on garden walls. Old ladies may even approach you with tightly furled umbrellas and clear plastic, elasticated rain-hats. My cheque merely serves to indicate to you an amount of reparation I would be prepared to make, if the decision as to the amount was left up to me. I shall be making representation to my local newspaper regarding my Barclays bankers (Company name disguised to protect the innocent) appalling attitude towards me (a once valued customer) who even “won” a popcorn maker for being such a promising young candidate when I took out the Barclays Bankers (Company name disguised to protect the innocent) account at my University Fresher Fair, just a few short years ago). I was, a couple of days ago and still am, threatened and not a little haunted by their statement that if I didn’t pay them the money they wanted (I am just a couple of hundred of pounds overdrawn) they’d;
“pass your account to a debt collection agency and they’re not as polite as we are, (the boy paused on the phone for effect and then added) … sir”
and when I complained by letter, all they could say on the matter was (patronisingly) that they were;
“sorry to hear you were offended by one of our staff telling you that we are more polite than a collection agency might be”.
Clearly they’d twisted my words to suit themselves and were in no mood to reprimand their staff for anything. I suspect they probably gave him a bonus for thinking up such a thinly veiled line. I feel sad for the brunette as she used to work for the Barclays Bankers (Company name disguised to protect the innocent) and had many, many good years of history with them – likewise though, as soon as she became a “student” again and they summarily changed her account to a “Student” account they now treat her like chaff as well. Well stuff ‘em, I’ll take my overdraft elsewhere. There, that’ll show them.
I was considering our conversation regarding my sophist neighbours and their latest campaign to “save the greyhound” with their banners [I am dying to entertain you]. Wouldn’t they be better to adjust their target and save the poor rabbit instead as you suggest. That poor creature gets chased ragged every night and for what? Well, I don’t know what but I’m sure my neighbours can find out for me. It is probably for an old cabbage stalk and half a carrot after it’s evenings work. Perhaps that is where their cage of rabbits came from … night time raids on greyhound tracks, rescuing exhausted, tailless rabbits. I’ve seen them on the telly – you can’t even see their legs moving or touching the ground they move that fast mate. I’ll try surreptitiously to examine their rabbits the next time I’m out in the garden. “Save the Rabbits” [I am exhausted and tailless for your entertainment] quite a catchy slogan if you ask me. I’ve noted your request for a photo of the neighbours and although at some risk to my personal health and livelihood if caught, I shall attempt to oblige.
I have been “aks’d” by our Burberry neighbours to fit a new bathroom tap set (sink + bath taps). You know the sort – laminate flooring nailed on top of uneven boards to give the impression of a modern Victorian Terrace leaving footsteps echoing for several seconds with each movement, massive telly filling the whole of the front room so they all have to watch through the hatchway from the dining room, kids all have PS2’s and telly’s in their rooms, four dustbins outside, all with different house numbers on and not a recycling bin among them, latest trainers and tracking suits, closely cropped hair, short-legged pug ugly muscle-dog with “diamonique studding in it’s collar (sex undetermined as no one has been able to get close enough yet) – salt of the earth bless ‘em. They also “aks’d” if I’d fit a new “power shower” for them but as I’ve seen their electrics - the guy has looped the electrics for their current shower out through and around the outside of their house as opposed to routing the cable under floorboards and up/down wall and the like and has strung the 6mm twin & earth up the wall on nails and then back into the house through an air-brick half way up his outside wall – I think I’ll pass on going anywhere near his electrics. He called me in one night last year as all their electrics had “gone orf whilst ‘avin a shower” – I went to examine his fuse box – he only had one fat 30 amp fuse wound up with several odd bits of wire, covering the whole house !! I removed it and prodded a replacement in with a long stick then left quickly as his lights slowly came up to heat and lit the house with an increasing glimmer. These people need protecting from themselves ! He is planning to sell his house soon and move – no one will ever get a full mortgage on it once a surveyor sees the electrics ! Still I suppose then it will be rewired and made safe at least. Seems daft though that mortgage companies are the only ones to police this sort of thing and it is generally only because of them that any work gets done properly and to within standards & regulations. They bought their boy an electric ride-in jeep last Christmas – massive thing it is – it was so big they couldn’t get it in through their front door ! Eventually, after loudly swearing at each other up and down the road, they knocked on several doors all the way down to a house with a side alley and got everyone to pass it over their fences until it reached them – they store it in their back garden (size of a postage stamp) – I hear the boy riding it sometimes – 5 yards forwards then 5 yards back again and all the time the dog trying to bite it’s wheels. He’s a sad kid, never knowing quite what to do with the presents they buy him and always trying to please his parents and thanking them so very much for the toys he doesn’t know quite what to do with – if only someone would buy him a box of soldiers or some colouring books and crayons or Lego. He struts up and down the street like Tony Blair and tries to spit just like his dad and only because it makes his mum and dad happy to see him – he’s only 5 … bless him.
Anyway the brunette has gone and got herself a new car – a red one – so I’ve been solemnly and ceremoniously handed the keys to the Escort – although she took them back today as she still needed to drive it around somewhere or other whilst I spent this morning tidying the house and making a futile attempt to coax the hoover into sucking up dirt, dust and small pieces of Lego. I have been made aware that I am expected to now deliver and collect Saul from crèche as well as deliver and collect Charlie from his school. I also must do the delivery and collection of Charlie on his swimming lesson days. I, on my part, have expressed an assumption that the brunette is going to hand over an amount of money each month, however this was met with a blank stare and a mutter.
Any way, thanks again – will you be forwarding any photos of your most recent holiday?
D
28 July 2006
Dear Dennis 28/7/2006
Dear Dennis,
My apologies for leaving you like that – I’ve just resuscitated a starving cat. It was pawing at the window pathetically and making as if chewing its arm – I think the teeth marks in the food sachet were going a bit far but I got the message and gave it two sachets to make up for starving poor “Thompson” (ginger tom) [ thinner than it used to be].
Last night I found a brilliant way to silence our dribbling, swearing, raging, shouting, screaming, kicking nine year old … I shoved him out of the front door in his pyjamas to stand on our front step – he shut up immediately and asked very politely to be let in and promised to be good and to go to bed without disturbing his brother. You see, in our street some of the kids go to bed at normal times and others are allowed to roam around well into the night. Youngling comes into the first batch but would dearly like to be in the second and I presume until now has hidden the fact that he goes to bed at a normal time (8:30) from the first batch. Whilst he was outside the front door in his pyjamas he could hear the roaming batch coming up the street kicking the dustbins and, I would think, he correctly imagined what would happen if they saw him standing there. Another fine weapon for my arsenal.
Anyway the upshot is that I now have less than a day to return the house to some semblance of order and to feed the kids all the food I was supposed to have been feeding them whilst the brunette has been away.
Actually I made a salad for lunch the other day – half way through Youngling said he didn’t like cheese, he didn’t like quiche (I don’t blame him), doesn’t like potatoes, doesn’t like hard boiled eggs, isn’t keen on cucumber, Oh and he thought the lettuce and tomato’s tasted like they had “gone off”. He only liked “squeezy cheese” and hot-dogs.
Did I tell you I emailed MP Jim Murphy [mailto:jimmurphymp@parliament.uk] with my problems regarding the Unemployment people – I told him the whole sorry story (he is the minister in charge of that lot after all) I had an email from his secretary yesterday saying he couldn’t help as I wasn’t a constituent of his (Renfrewshire) and that she had forwarded all my emails to the DWP !! I’m for it now, they’ll tie my claim up in red tape and pointless to’ing and fro’ing between different offices for months ! Bugger ! There that’ll teach me to complain ! I won’t do that again in a hurry. I’m stuffed now. When I go in to sign on next Tuesday I just know they’ll give me a good spanking.
My sister just emailed – she wants me to go over and help her empty our Dads loft – is she mad? It is going to be the hottest day of the century and she thinks she’ll get someone to willingly go and work in a loft? Why today? Why at all? Why would anyone want their loft emptied? Well it could be an excuse for not being able to tidy the house before the brunette gets back … but at what price? It’s going to be hot in that loft and not to mention the wasps nests he seems to cultivate. But the silly old sod needs help so I’d better go … he can feed the kids hmmm
My apologies for leaving you like that – I’ve just resuscitated a starving cat. It was pawing at the window pathetically and making as if chewing its arm – I think the teeth marks in the food sachet were going a bit far but I got the message and gave it two sachets to make up for starving poor “Thompson” (ginger tom) [ thinner than it used to be].
Last night I found a brilliant way to silence our dribbling, swearing, raging, shouting, screaming, kicking nine year old … I shoved him out of the front door in his pyjamas to stand on our front step – he shut up immediately and asked very politely to be let in and promised to be good and to go to bed without disturbing his brother. You see, in our street some of the kids go to bed at normal times and others are allowed to roam around well into the night. Youngling comes into the first batch but would dearly like to be in the second and I presume until now has hidden the fact that he goes to bed at a normal time (8:30) from the first batch. Whilst he was outside the front door in his pyjamas he could hear the roaming batch coming up the street kicking the dustbins and, I would think, he correctly imagined what would happen if they saw him standing there. Another fine weapon for my arsenal.
Anyway the upshot is that I now have less than a day to return the house to some semblance of order and to feed the kids all the food I was supposed to have been feeding them whilst the brunette has been away.
Actually I made a salad for lunch the other day – half way through Youngling said he didn’t like cheese, he didn’t like quiche (I don’t blame him), doesn’t like potatoes, doesn’t like hard boiled eggs, isn’t keen on cucumber, Oh and he thought the lettuce and tomato’s tasted like they had “gone off”. He only liked “squeezy cheese” and hot-dogs.
Did I tell you I emailed MP Jim Murphy [mailto:jimmurphymp@parliament.uk] with my problems regarding the Unemployment people – I told him the whole sorry story (he is the minister in charge of that lot after all) I had an email from his secretary yesterday saying he couldn’t help as I wasn’t a constituent of his (Renfrewshire) and that she had forwarded all my emails to the DWP !! I’m for it now, they’ll tie my claim up in red tape and pointless to’ing and fro’ing between different offices for months ! Bugger ! There that’ll teach me to complain ! I won’t do that again in a hurry. I’m stuffed now. When I go in to sign on next Tuesday I just know they’ll give me a good spanking.
My sister just emailed – she wants me to go over and help her empty our Dads loft – is she mad? It is going to be the hottest day of the century and she thinks she’ll get someone to willingly go and work in a loft? Why today? Why at all? Why would anyone want their loft emptied? Well it could be an excuse for not being able to tidy the house before the brunette gets back … but at what price? It’s going to be hot in that loft and not to mention the wasps nests he seems to cultivate. But the silly old sod needs help so I’d better go … he can feed the kids hmmm
Dear Dennis 28/7/2006
Dear Dennis,
Let me put you in the picture … temperature at my keyboard is 29 degrees, one child dressed and the youngest refusing (Saul stayed in pyjamas all day yesterday), listening to Chas ‘n’ Dave, children have breakfasted, bathroom needs cleaning, front room needs tidying, kitchen needs a ceiling, Sauls bedroom (can’t see the floor) needs tidying as does Charlie’s, fridge still full of the food the brunette left and planned for me to feed the kids with whilst she was away, takeaway wrappers overflowing from the bin, dining table currently supporting:
my cordless drill,
a Tennon saw,
set of spanners (English),
two IDE hard drives,
dismantled stereo (Chas ‘n’ Dave playing on PC),
two temperature gauges,
several dead or dying batteries
seven used breakfast bowls
three cups of cold tea (Asam)
1 pile of unopened mail
another pile of unopened mail
1 roll of sellotape
instruction leaflet for a pedometer
pile of washing I took off the line yesterday in the rain
1 broken place mat
half of Sauls bowl of “Cheerio’s” (cats have seen off the milk but refuse the cheerio’s)
Next doors front door key (they went away at the beginning of the week and left me to … FEED THEIR CAT … hang on back in a bit
Let me put you in the picture … temperature at my keyboard is 29 degrees, one child dressed and the youngest refusing (Saul stayed in pyjamas all day yesterday), listening to Chas ‘n’ Dave, children have breakfasted, bathroom needs cleaning, front room needs tidying, kitchen needs a ceiling, Sauls bedroom (can’t see the floor) needs tidying as does Charlie’s, fridge still full of the food the brunette left and planned for me to feed the kids with whilst she was away, takeaway wrappers overflowing from the bin, dining table currently supporting:
my cordless drill,
a Tennon saw,
set of spanners (English),
two IDE hard drives,
dismantled stereo (Chas ‘n’ Dave playing on PC),
two temperature gauges,
several dead or dying batteries
seven used breakfast bowls
three cups of cold tea (Asam)
1 pile of unopened mail
another pile of unopened mail
1 roll of sellotape
instruction leaflet for a pedometer
pile of washing I took off the line yesterday in the rain
1 broken place mat
half of Sauls bowl of “Cheerio’s” (cats have seen off the milk but refuse the cheerio’s)
Next doors front door key (they went away at the beginning of the week and left me to … FEED THEIR CAT … hang on back in a bit
21 July 2006
Dear Dennis 21/7/2006
Dear Dennis,
Thanks for Tims email address thing and for looking out for the TR thingy.
Did I tell you about the little boy we meet on the walk to school in the mornings?
Some children have an imaginary friend – some may have an imaginary animal – this chap has an antelope! – well a whole herd of imaginary antelope actually! His poor mum was having terrible trouble getting him to school as the herd kept raiding gardens on the way and the little chap couldn’t handle them very well. Things have moved on a bit and thankfully his herd of imaginary antelope have gone to a zoo for a while – but he has now got an imaginary Red Panda. Trouble is they don’t move very fast (well not as fast as antelope in any case) so his mums journey to take him to school now takes three times longer as Red Pandas only have short legs and small feet!
I hope you and C have read the latest additions to my web log [www.d6equj5.blogspot.com]
One of our neighbours has an autistic 15 year old. One night a couple of weeks ago he got out of their house at 3 in the morning with their car keys, got into and started their car and was revving it up surrounded by shouting neighbours (I didn’t hear a thing and only caught up with the news the following day) luckily he couldn’t manage to jam the car into gear but did do some damage to the car in front as he let the handbrake off and rolled into it. Well, last week he got out of the house again – this time at four in the morning and he made a “camp” with sheets and garden sticks in the middle of the road. Last night / this morning he was out again although this time he had some tins of different colours of gloss paint from a neighbours front garden (apparently left out for the dustman). He painted the road purple, blue and terracotta. Thankfully and miraculously he missed all the parked cars but the road looks quite pretty now. It must be the heat or something because Saul got up last night, crept into our bedroom and removed the kittens from their basket one by one and took them down stairs and we didn’t realise until the morning. I think we’re going to “stair-gate” his room for a while.
We have 17 tomatoes on our plants and have had a dozen strawberries although it doesn’t look like there will be any more of those.
You all have a good weekend too … dude man.
D.
Thanks for Tims email address thing and for looking out for the TR thingy.
Did I tell you about the little boy we meet on the walk to school in the mornings?
Some children have an imaginary friend – some may have an imaginary animal – this chap has an antelope! – well a whole herd of imaginary antelope actually! His poor mum was having terrible trouble getting him to school as the herd kept raiding gardens on the way and the little chap couldn’t handle them very well. Things have moved on a bit and thankfully his herd of imaginary antelope have gone to a zoo for a while – but he has now got an imaginary Red Panda. Trouble is they don’t move very fast (well not as fast as antelope in any case) so his mums journey to take him to school now takes three times longer as Red Pandas only have short legs and small feet!
I hope you and C have read the latest additions to my web log [www.d6equj5.blogspot.com]
One of our neighbours has an autistic 15 year old. One night a couple of weeks ago he got out of their house at 3 in the morning with their car keys, got into and started their car and was revving it up surrounded by shouting neighbours (I didn’t hear a thing and only caught up with the news the following day) luckily he couldn’t manage to jam the car into gear but did do some damage to the car in front as he let the handbrake off and rolled into it. Well, last week he got out of the house again – this time at four in the morning and he made a “camp” with sheets and garden sticks in the middle of the road. Last night / this morning he was out again although this time he had some tins of different colours of gloss paint from a neighbours front garden (apparently left out for the dustman). He painted the road purple, blue and terracotta. Thankfully and miraculously he missed all the parked cars but the road looks quite pretty now. It must be the heat or something because Saul got up last night, crept into our bedroom and removed the kittens from their basket one by one and took them down stairs and we didn’t realise until the morning. I think we’re going to “stair-gate” his room for a while.
We have 17 tomatoes on our plants and have had a dozen strawberries although it doesn’t look like there will be any more of those.
You all have a good weekend too … dude man.
D.
19 July 2006
Dear Dennis 19/7/2006
Dear Dennis,
I have just secured voluntary work creating and updating the local church web-site to stop me going completely insane.
Do you have or do you know of a TrueType font called “in_tongues” as I think this could be the thing that would jazz up their site nicely.
God Bless
D
-----Original Message-----From: dennis [mailto:Dennis] Sent: Thursday, July 20, 2006 5:09 PMTo: David Subject: Re: and
D,
you are a first class idiot.
That's tempting fete.
I have just secured voluntary work creating and updating the local church web-site to stop me going completely insane.
Do you have or do you know of a TrueType font called “in_tongues” as I think this could be the thing that would jazz up their site nicely.
God Bless
D
-----Original Message-----From: dennis [mailto:Dennis] Sent: Thursday, July 20, 2006 5:09 PMTo: David Subject: Re: and
D,
you are a first class idiot.
That's tempting fete.
18 July 2006
Dear Dennis 18/7/2006
Dear Dennis,
I am dreaming of a Token Ring hub 19” rack unit thingy – you know, the box what screws into the racks – Token Ring hub – you don’t need them any more at the factory as you use Ethernet so you must have one for the skip – come on bloke, send me one eh? Eh? I need it to run my temperature controller in my shed – it couldn’t handle the 42 degrees today and popped. You used to tinker with Maplin Electronics didn’t you? I have one of their K8000 and K8001 units controlling the temperature and two stepper motors for my solar panel to make it “chase the sun”. It also looks after the door lock on the shed and the lighting and the external garden light system and cat intrusion alarms. So you see how desperate this is Dennis. Come on just one of the old Token Ring boxes eh? Eh? Eh?
D
I am dreaming of a Token Ring hub 19” rack unit thingy – you know, the box what screws into the racks – Token Ring hub – you don’t need them any more at the factory as you use Ethernet so you must have one for the skip – come on bloke, send me one eh? Eh? I need it to run my temperature controller in my shed – it couldn’t handle the 42 degrees today and popped. You used to tinker with Maplin Electronics didn’t you? I have one of their K8000 and K8001 units controlling the temperature and two stepper motors for my solar panel to make it “chase the sun”. It also looks after the door lock on the shed and the lighting and the external garden light system and cat intrusion alarms. So you see how desperate this is Dennis. Come on just one of the old Token Ring boxes eh? Eh? Eh?
D
Dear Dennis 18/7/2006
Dear Dennis,
Not to worry – the brunette has found an ‘otel (and amazingly we could pay using paypal!). They seem to converse in a strange dialect up there but I’m sure she’ll cope – she is after all a BSc Hons and no longer a HSe Wf.
I sign-on today so I’m gathering myself for the inevitable anti-self-esteem gas they release in ‘that’ building. It smells like a mixture of B.O., Linx and OMO washing powder. It is always worse in this weather but then at the end of the summer we start to get feint traces of coconut essence from the tanning lotions and the floor gets slightly sandy from where my co-signers time it a bit tight and have to dash over from the airport once they touch-down from their hols. I just don’t know what the excuse will be this week for not granting me any benefits but hopefully they’ve not added any other branch offices to the wide range they seem to send my claim to on a regular basis. I know they are trying to “lose” my claim and miraculously it has resisted being “lost” up until now but some day soon they are going to tell me they have no record of my claim and I’ll have to start the process all over again. I gave up on my MP a while ago as he just seemed to make things worse with his “I demand you do something about this” letters.
Have to go now as washing up needs doing and my hot-melt glue gun is warmed and ready for the daily toy mending session.
D
Not to worry – the brunette has found an ‘otel (and amazingly we could pay using paypal!). They seem to converse in a strange dialect up there but I’m sure she’ll cope – she is after all a BSc Hons and no longer a HSe Wf.
I sign-on today so I’m gathering myself for the inevitable anti-self-esteem gas they release in ‘that’ building. It smells like a mixture of B.O., Linx and OMO washing powder. It is always worse in this weather but then at the end of the summer we start to get feint traces of coconut essence from the tanning lotions and the floor gets slightly sandy from where my co-signers time it a bit tight and have to dash over from the airport once they touch-down from their hols. I just don’t know what the excuse will be this week for not granting me any benefits but hopefully they’ve not added any other branch offices to the wide range they seem to send my claim to on a regular basis. I know they are trying to “lose” my claim and miraculously it has resisted being “lost” up until now but some day soon they are going to tell me they have no record of my claim and I’ll have to start the process all over again. I gave up on my MP a while ago as he just seemed to make things worse with his “I demand you do something about this” letters.
Have to go now as washing up needs doing and my hot-melt glue gun is warmed and ready for the daily toy mending session.
D
14 July 2006
Dear Dennis 14/7/2006
Dear Dennis,
I have an idea. Bear with me for a moment. (Bear or Bare?)
Q. What is it that we all do when turning the tap on to get a drink of water?
A. We let the tap run for a minute or so to let the colder, clearer water come through.
Q. Is that not a criminal waste of resources?
I don’t know of any such device on the market just now.
If only some plumbing genius such as you could come up with a design of tap which continually circulates the water in the very top end of the pipe back down to further back in the system so that the water at the top is continually renewed and constantly cool and fresh. It needn’t be pumped using electricity as capillary action or convection could possibly be used to circulate cool>warm>cool water.
Once you have considered this and put it to your mates at the pub and decide to knock up a trial device – I’ll test it for you.
D.
I have an idea. Bear with me for a moment. (Bear or Bare?)
Q. What is it that we all do when turning the tap on to get a drink of water?
A. We let the tap run for a minute or so to let the colder, clearer water come through.
Q. Is that not a criminal waste of resources?
I don’t know of any such device on the market just now.
If only some plumbing genius such as you could come up with a design of tap which continually circulates the water in the very top end of the pipe back down to further back in the system so that the water at the top is continually renewed and constantly cool and fresh. It needn’t be pumped using electricity as capillary action or convection could possibly be used to circulate cool>warm>cool water.
Once you have considered this and put it to your mates at the pub and decide to knock up a trial device – I’ll test it for you.
D.
11 July 2006
Dear Dennis 11/7/2006
Dear Dennis,
Thanks for your words mate, you cheer me up no end. Hows the guzzi?
On the matter of the brunettes course – she has decided to take the one at Liverpool Uni as it is only four days whereas the Keale course was for two weeks and although she really wants to meet you and Carol, we’ve decided we can only do without her for four days at the moment but really, thank you so much for your kind offer.
Aiye come the revolution.
D.
-----Original Message-----From: dennis [mailto:dennis] Sent: Tuesday, July 11, 2006 5:34 PMTo: David Subject: Re: Tuesday
Holiday!! not yet matey weeks to go yet. I reckon you should send your saga to the department of work and pensions minister and No.10 so they can see what a shambles it is and how they are messing peoples lives up. Come the revolution eh?
Dennis
Thanks for your words mate, you cheer me up no end. Hows the guzzi?
On the matter of the brunettes course – she has decided to take the one at Liverpool Uni as it is only four days whereas the Keale course was for two weeks and although she really wants to meet you and Carol, we’ve decided we can only do without her for four days at the moment but really, thank you so much for your kind offer.
Aiye come the revolution.
D.
-----Original Message-----From: dennis [mailto:dennis] Sent: Tuesday, July 11, 2006 5:34 PMTo: David Subject: Re: Tuesday
Holiday!! not yet matey weeks to go yet. I reckon you should send your saga to the department of work and pensions minister and No.10 so they can see what a shambles it is and how they are messing peoples lives up. Come the revolution eh?
Dennis
Dear Dennis 11/7/2006
Dear Dennis,
I trust you are well and on holiday somewhere relaxing and recovering your composure to return with gusto and renewed presence to the factory.
Me? Well I phoned the Unemployment people yesterday – my local branch told me that they had sent my claim to Kent (this is new but I soon found out they are now calling the infamous Canterbury – Kent) and also, because Kent now had my claim, they at the local branch couldn’t answer any questions. I called Kent (on the Canterbury number) and they answered straight away! Wow this was indeed a change for the good. Unfortunately for me though they then told me they had sent my claim to Nottingham (second time in eight weeks). I dutifully called Nottingham to be told that since it was a Reading claim, they couldn’t answer and I’d have to speak to my local branch…
I emailed my MP and asked him to please stop helping me as his intervention had caused my claim to be dumped into some interminable loop by the Benefits Agency – I’d rather just sit it out until they figured I’d waited long enough and was again compliant and suitably subservient, showing enough deference and stopped asking awkward questions.
This morning I did the same and rang the Benefits agency local office – I was told my claim was at Kent.
I rang Kent (Canterbury) – I was told my claim was at NEWCASTLE!
“Could I have the number for Newcastle please?” “Sorry Newcastle don’t accept telephone enquiries”
There, they’ve sorted it out – clearly each time they said they'd sent it to Nottingham they’d actually sent it to Newcastle but the people they employ on the telephones don’t know the difference as they’ve not been in the country long enough to learn our geography and so kept telling me my claim was sent to the wrong place – no wonder Nottingham never knew anything about my claim!
We are just waiting for the Income Tax refund … what a day that will be. I must admit we shed group tears the day I received the notification from the tax office that the factory had taken money they shouldn’t have. After all they didn’t need to take the money, I was broken by that time – it was just weeks after Saul was born and we were scared stiff. I suppose it was just an extra kick just because they could, but the difference it would have made to me and the brunette is astronomical – I’ve been taken to court twice for Council tax where I could have paid. Credit cards and mortgage are "distressed" and behind with payments where they needn’t have been – if only they’d had just a little empathy or social conscience instead of viciousness and for what? I hadn’t even really done anything wrong otherwise they’d have sacked me instead of the redundancy farce. I needn’t have sold so much stuff from the shed on @bay, I might just have been able to get further in my degree before we ran out of money … they really needn’t have done it mate.
Ah deep breaths.
Saul and I have watered the tomatoes and now we’re gonna watch StarWars
Laters
D.
I trust you are well and on holiday somewhere relaxing and recovering your composure to return with gusto and renewed presence to the factory.
Me? Well I phoned the Unemployment people yesterday – my local branch told me that they had sent my claim to Kent (this is new but I soon found out they are now calling the infamous Canterbury – Kent) and also, because Kent now had my claim, they at the local branch couldn’t answer any questions. I called Kent (on the Canterbury number) and they answered straight away! Wow this was indeed a change for the good. Unfortunately for me though they then told me they had sent my claim to Nottingham (second time in eight weeks). I dutifully called Nottingham to be told that since it was a Reading claim, they couldn’t answer and I’d have to speak to my local branch…
I emailed my MP and asked him to please stop helping me as his intervention had caused my claim to be dumped into some interminable loop by the Benefits Agency – I’d rather just sit it out until they figured I’d waited long enough and was again compliant and suitably subservient, showing enough deference and stopped asking awkward questions.
This morning I did the same and rang the Benefits agency local office – I was told my claim was at Kent.
I rang Kent (Canterbury) – I was told my claim was at NEWCASTLE!
“Could I have the number for Newcastle please?” “Sorry Newcastle don’t accept telephone enquiries”
There, they’ve sorted it out – clearly each time they said they'd sent it to Nottingham they’d actually sent it to Newcastle but the people they employ on the telephones don’t know the difference as they’ve not been in the country long enough to learn our geography and so kept telling me my claim was sent to the wrong place – no wonder Nottingham never knew anything about my claim!
We are just waiting for the Income Tax refund … what a day that will be. I must admit we shed group tears the day I received the notification from the tax office that the factory had taken money they shouldn’t have. After all they didn’t need to take the money, I was broken by that time – it was just weeks after Saul was born and we were scared stiff. I suppose it was just an extra kick just because they could, but the difference it would have made to me and the brunette is astronomical – I’ve been taken to court twice for Council tax where I could have paid. Credit cards and mortgage are "distressed" and behind with payments where they needn’t have been – if only they’d had just a little empathy or social conscience instead of viciousness and for what? I hadn’t even really done anything wrong otherwise they’d have sacked me instead of the redundancy farce. I needn’t have sold so much stuff from the shed on @bay, I might just have been able to get further in my degree before we ran out of money … they really needn’t have done it mate.
Ah deep breaths.
Saul and I have watered the tomatoes and now we’re gonna watch StarWars
Laters
D.
08 July 2006
Dear Dennis 8/7/2006
-----Original Message-----From: dennis Sent: Friday, July 07, 2006 11:59 AMTo: David
Subject: RE: Radio Active
Dear Dave
I have had a neck since some twit ran into the back of my company van some years ago. Congrats to the brunette it's a big thing. Not the hat the degree. An hons eh , I 've seen that somewhere too. I believe though that it means more depending upon whom it is attached and what their actually like in action.Saul has what I believe is called a "hole in the heart". I had one of those when I was born and had a pioneerin op when I was 3. As you see I am unaffected and I will gladly show him my scar. I believe that they are more common than I knew and that indeed they do heal up on their own. I read an interesting study though that showed a link between that and migraine. They found that in many sufferers that they either had had or had an undiagnised / unhealed HITH. It's on the web somewhere.Still no Fridgemagnets cd sorry.I'm listening to the Stones at the moment they were great you know and some of the songs are very easy. I need some sheet music and a slide guitar now. Dino
Dear Dennis,
I believe I’ve never been to bed with an “Honourable” person before (I presume hons means honourable). I made her honourshipness two cups of coffee yesterday – I’m trying to get some birthday honours.
Yes, you’ve hit the HITH on the head there mate although looking it up on the wibbly wobbly and all I get from googly is Hole In the Head – some affliction of tropical fish I believe. We’ve got pamphlets though and the brunette is virtually a doctor now so she surely knows. I’ve been adjusting an old parking radar module I had from one of the robots, trying to tune it to be able to “see through” clothes, skin and gizzards – I can’t find out what frequency to use though and I can’t even “see through” one of the kittens (one has to test these things on animals first) but don’t tell the ALF neighbours! Maybe I should increase the voltage in the transducer. I thought in one experiment I had it tuned just right and it was seeing through the kitten but when I looked around the lead screen the little bugger had moved! I had to get the sellotape out.
Did I tell you there was a SAUL WHATSIT picking up a degree in Geography (human) at the Uni ceremony? What a coincidence.
I’ve got no Stones music – something I’ve regretted for a while now.
Ah! Good news – Mr Income Tax contacted me and has completed his investigation of my tax payments whilst at the factory and especially the money Rita took off my redundancy settlement – Mr Tax is going to refund me a thing for more than a FASAND QUID !! a windfall indeed! I’m over joyed! My thoughts immediately sidled over towards a roof extension for the shed but the brunette caught me looking at the lumber catalogue and says the children need clothes and shoes then food then banks then credit cards then car service then ink cartridges for the printer … my shed didn’t even feature on her list! Still, never mind, I expect she’s right – she normally is – I’ve seen a skip down the road with some interesting bits of wood in so I’ll take a trip out late this evening and see what I can get.
Now, I’ve got the tax question resolved so who do I speak to about the weight problem? Since they spat me out of the factory three years ago, I’ve gained an incredible 5 stones! It is clearly the factory’s fault so who can I talk to about it? Compensation? I’ve only put it all on as a result of being made redundant so surely it is Rita’s fault. I should maybe try writing to Paul & Gordon in the first instance.
Any road it’s a Saturday and I’ve some very important things to be doing.
D.
Subject: RE: Radio Active
Dear Dave
I have had a neck since some twit ran into the back of my company van some years ago. Congrats to the brunette it's a big thing. Not the hat the degree. An hons eh , I 've seen that somewhere too. I believe though that it means more depending upon whom it is attached and what their actually like in action.Saul has what I believe is called a "hole in the heart". I had one of those when I was born and had a pioneerin op when I was 3. As you see I am unaffected and I will gladly show him my scar. I believe that they are more common than I knew and that indeed they do heal up on their own. I read an interesting study though that showed a link between that and migraine. They found that in many sufferers that they either had had or had an undiagnised / unhealed HITH. It's on the web somewhere.Still no Fridgemagnets cd sorry.I'm listening to the Stones at the moment they were great you know and some of the songs are very easy. I need some sheet music and a slide guitar now. Dino
Dear Dennis,
I believe I’ve never been to bed with an “Honourable” person before (I presume hons means honourable). I made her honourshipness two cups of coffee yesterday – I’m trying to get some birthday honours.
Yes, you’ve hit the HITH on the head there mate although looking it up on the wibbly wobbly and all I get from googly is Hole In the Head – some affliction of tropical fish I believe. We’ve got pamphlets though and the brunette is virtually a doctor now so she surely knows. I’ve been adjusting an old parking radar module I had from one of the robots, trying to tune it to be able to “see through” clothes, skin and gizzards – I can’t find out what frequency to use though and I can’t even “see through” one of the kittens (one has to test these things on animals first) but don’t tell the ALF neighbours! Maybe I should increase the voltage in the transducer. I thought in one experiment I had it tuned just right and it was seeing through the kitten but when I looked around the lead screen the little bugger had moved! I had to get the sellotape out.
Did I tell you there was a SAUL WHATSIT picking up a degree in Geography (human) at the Uni ceremony? What a coincidence.
I’ve got no Stones music – something I’ve regretted for a while now.
Ah! Good news – Mr Income Tax contacted me and has completed his investigation of my tax payments whilst at the factory and especially the money Rita took off my redundancy settlement – Mr Tax is going to refund me a thing for more than a FASAND QUID !! a windfall indeed! I’m over joyed! My thoughts immediately sidled over towards a roof extension for the shed but the brunette caught me looking at the lumber catalogue and says the children need clothes and shoes then food then banks then credit cards then car service then ink cartridges for the printer … my shed didn’t even feature on her list! Still, never mind, I expect she’s right – she normally is – I’ve seen a skip down the road with some interesting bits of wood in so I’ll take a trip out late this evening and see what I can get.
Now, I’ve got the tax question resolved so who do I speak to about the weight problem? Since they spat me out of the factory three years ago, I’ve gained an incredible 5 stones! It is clearly the factory’s fault so who can I talk to about it? Compensation? I’ve only put it all on as a result of being made redundant so surely it is Rita’s fault. I should maybe try writing to Paul & Gordon in the first instance.
Any road it’s a Saturday and I’ve some very important things to be doing.
D.
06 July 2006
Dear Dennis 6/7/2006
Dear D.
Coo what a life you lead.
I have a neck too and I can only look right.
What'sup with Saul then, kids eh?
I heard today that if you find bringing up kids expensive then you can send them to abroad. Apparently they can then be supported via oxfam for £15 per month.
I called my surgery today for a repeat prescription. They were closed but informed me that they were open from Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr............
I notice that the furniture shop near here sells Chester drawers. Do you have them down your way?
Dino
Dear Dennis,
We went to the brunettes University today for a crisp 'n' champagne buffet (I quickly trained Saul to refill my palm with crisps at regular intervals) and then we watched her ceremoniously receive her degree from some dusty old soak who was dressed in a red batman cape and a kind of overly large flat cap similar to the ones the goodies used to wear. Various other dusty professors watched from up on a high stage, in comfy chairs, in different coloured capes and hats and in different stages of consciousness. Charlie was at school so Saul and I cheered and clapped til our hands hurt as the brunette went up to collect her scroll but then the other parents around started whispering "ssshhhhh!!" so I got Saul down off the chair and we sat down. She is now a "BSc Hons." Actually you get Hons if you score above 40% and she got double that so maybe she should be BSc H2oNs? I'll send you a photee or two, I took loads. She had to give the cape and mortar board cap thing back as they can only hire them for a couple of hours. A shame really as it'd have been great on Halloween. They put on a cracking do' though and it was a great day indeed. AND there was a student picking up his degree and he was called SAUL, AND he had the same surname!
You've never said you had a neck before now - how long have you had it? We ought to get a driving job together then you can look right and I'll do the leftism bit. A milk round sounds good. I want to be a park keeper though and they don't drive around much - unless of course we get a motorised wheelbarrow and besom Â…
Little Saul has a "murmur". I can't hear it on his stethescope from his doctors outfit but the doc reckoned it was worth a trip to the hospital and a scan. The "specialist" says he has a small hole in some ventricle or wall thing or other but he could still be an Olympic athlete if he wanted (personnally I'd rather he was a famous rock star or a high powered business man). It is only a couple of millimetres and will probably close up as he grows. I asked for the measurement in Queens Imperial but he couldn't work it out and said we should come (go) back to see him in 3 years time - bloody hell my calendar doesn't go that far - it only goes to December this year! I hope they send me a reminder. The only special measure is that if he has to have a tooth out at the dentist we have to let the dentist know first and get him on a course of anti-biotics. He didn't say what to do if he got a tooth knocked out at the mother and toddler group on a Wednesday but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
Arent kids weird - did you ever have an imaginary friend? Well I hear it's normal for some kids to have one and they grow out of it after a while. Well we met one of Sauls toddler mates on the way home the other day (his name is Fred) and he has an imaginary animal friend! Not only that, it is an imaginary antelope! Worse than that it is a herd of imaginary antelope! They caused havoc in the gardens on the way home from school I can tell you and his poor mum is at her wits end! I didn't know what to advise apart from jab him with a spoon or something. Poor girl.
Your doctors surgery must have the same telephone system as the Benefits Agency. "Hello I'd like to ask an awkward question please" "certainly sir" click bbbrrrrr ...
Chester drawers are a northern thing and not allowed down here.
D.
Coo what a life you lead.
I have a neck too and I can only look right.
What'sup with Saul then, kids eh?
I heard today that if you find bringing up kids expensive then you can send them to abroad. Apparently they can then be supported via oxfam for £15 per month.
I called my surgery today for a repeat prescription. They were closed but informed me that they were open from Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr............
I notice that the furniture shop near here sells Chester drawers. Do you have them down your way?
Dino
Dear Dennis,
We went to the brunettes University today for a crisp 'n' champagne buffet (I quickly trained Saul to refill my palm with crisps at regular intervals) and then we watched her ceremoniously receive her degree from some dusty old soak who was dressed in a red batman cape and a kind of overly large flat cap similar to the ones the goodies used to wear. Various other dusty professors watched from up on a high stage, in comfy chairs, in different coloured capes and hats and in different stages of consciousness. Charlie was at school so Saul and I cheered and clapped til our hands hurt as the brunette went up to collect her scroll but then the other parents around started whispering "ssshhhhh!!" so I got Saul down off the chair and we sat down. She is now a "BSc Hons." Actually you get Hons if you score above 40% and she got double that so maybe she should be BSc H2oNs? I'll send you a photee or two, I took loads. She had to give the cape and mortar board cap thing back as they can only hire them for a couple of hours. A shame really as it'd have been great on Halloween. They put on a cracking do' though and it was a great day indeed. AND there was a student picking up his degree and he was called SAUL, AND he had the same surname!
You've never said you had a neck before now - how long have you had it? We ought to get a driving job together then you can look right and I'll do the leftism bit. A milk round sounds good. I want to be a park keeper though and they don't drive around much - unless of course we get a motorised wheelbarrow and besom Â…
Little Saul has a "murmur". I can't hear it on his stethescope from his doctors outfit but the doc reckoned it was worth a trip to the hospital and a scan. The "specialist" says he has a small hole in some ventricle or wall thing or other but he could still be an Olympic athlete if he wanted (personnally I'd rather he was a famous rock star or a high powered business man). It is only a couple of millimetres and will probably close up as he grows. I asked for the measurement in Queens Imperial but he couldn't work it out and said we should come (go) back to see him in 3 years time - bloody hell my calendar doesn't go that far - it only goes to December this year! I hope they send me a reminder. The only special measure is that if he has to have a tooth out at the dentist we have to let the dentist know first and get him on a course of anti-biotics. He didn't say what to do if he got a tooth knocked out at the mother and toddler group on a Wednesday but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
Arent kids weird - did you ever have an imaginary friend? Well I hear it's normal for some kids to have one and they grow out of it after a while. Well we met one of Sauls toddler mates on the way home the other day (his name is Fred) and he has an imaginary animal friend! Not only that, it is an imaginary antelope! Worse than that it is a herd of imaginary antelope! They caused havoc in the gardens on the way home from school I can tell you and his poor mum is at her wits end! I didn't know what to advise apart from jab him with a spoon or something. Poor girl.
Your doctors surgery must have the same telephone system as the Benefits Agency. "Hello I'd like to ask an awkward question please" "certainly sir" click bbbrrrrr ...
Chester drawers are a northern thing and not allowed down here.
D.
05 July 2006
Dear Dennis 5/7/2006
Dear Dennis,
One of my uncles died the other day and following a week of directional @mails we went to say a sad, very fond and quite lovely farewell last Friday at the crematorium some 300 miles away. It was a “good day for a buryin’” as they say in all the best westerns. The sun was shining bright over the Cornish moors and quite a crowd turned out to see him off and at the small, local pub after. He was indeed “one of the good ones” from this world, I have many splendid memories of him – he owned and ran a couple of pubs during my late teens and early twenties (always a good move if you want to be favourite uncle) and took one of my sisters and me to motorbike scrambling meets around the south a few times. He used to race stock cars in younger days and regaled me with stories of how during race weekends his girlfriend of the time used to cook up breakfasts on a camping stove in the tent behind the paddock of the various race tracks for some of the (now/used to be famous) drivers and how, after a particularly hard crash one weekend he was so bruised on his back and legs that he couldn’t walk and could only crawl around the house for a week or so afterward. How he used to over-bore and tune his engines so much that normal head gaskets wouldn’t fit and in order to get some material between the cylinders in the block for the head to bolt down onto, he used to lay lengths of cotton between them on the block before tightening down the head to act as a gasket. I went to a Halloween fancy dress at one of his pubs once and he judged me 1st and I won a bottle of wine – he was great. I never ever heard him say a bad word about anyone. His neighbours say that in recent years, every weekend was like a party at his cottage and he made a legendary “three week casserole”. Whiskey soaked Sundays every other weekend watching the Grand Prix with mates, seven cats, three dogs and three tortoises (they played the Fleetwood Mac track as the curtain closed). A plumber by trade in recent years and one of those people who you wouldn’t think amount to much maybe in themselves but whomever they touch, their lives were made so much better. He lived his life and had a great time doing it. He was happy and everyone he met was happy. The world has without doubt, lost a good one.
I shall endeavour to return for the scattering of the ashes and hopefully it won’t turn into a dust storm like the day we scattered my mum – see 28/7/2005 but if it does it’ll make the buffet afterwards more fun and I’ll have a laugh.
I met family I’d not seen for years – how they’ve changed! I was told how proud I must be of my brother as he is so rich and entertaining. And caught up with family gossip. One of my cousins “Strawberry” used to be known by some normal name – her father used to be a naval commander and very staid (probably an admiral or something by now) – she rebelled in a most spectacular fashion, changed her name to Strawberry Blue and married a damn yank!
D.
One of my uncles died the other day and following a week of directional @mails we went to say a sad, very fond and quite lovely farewell last Friday at the crematorium some 300 miles away. It was a “good day for a buryin’” as they say in all the best westerns. The sun was shining bright over the Cornish moors and quite a crowd turned out to see him off and at the small, local pub after. He was indeed “one of the good ones” from this world, I have many splendid memories of him – he owned and ran a couple of pubs during my late teens and early twenties (always a good move if you want to be favourite uncle) and took one of my sisters and me to motorbike scrambling meets around the south a few times. He used to race stock cars in younger days and regaled me with stories of how during race weekends his girlfriend of the time used to cook up breakfasts on a camping stove in the tent behind the paddock of the various race tracks for some of the (now/used to be famous) drivers and how, after a particularly hard crash one weekend he was so bruised on his back and legs that he couldn’t walk and could only crawl around the house for a week or so afterward. How he used to over-bore and tune his engines so much that normal head gaskets wouldn’t fit and in order to get some material between the cylinders in the block for the head to bolt down onto, he used to lay lengths of cotton between them on the block before tightening down the head to act as a gasket. I went to a Halloween fancy dress at one of his pubs once and he judged me 1st and I won a bottle of wine – he was great. I never ever heard him say a bad word about anyone. His neighbours say that in recent years, every weekend was like a party at his cottage and he made a legendary “three week casserole”. Whiskey soaked Sundays every other weekend watching the Grand Prix with mates, seven cats, three dogs and three tortoises (they played the Fleetwood Mac track as the curtain closed). A plumber by trade in recent years and one of those people who you wouldn’t think amount to much maybe in themselves but whomever they touch, their lives were made so much better. He lived his life and had a great time doing it. He was happy and everyone he met was happy. The world has without doubt, lost a good one.
I shall endeavour to return for the scattering of the ashes and hopefully it won’t turn into a dust storm like the day we scattered my mum – see 28/7/2005 but if it does it’ll make the buffet afterwards more fun and I’ll have a laugh.
I met family I’d not seen for years – how they’ve changed! I was told how proud I must be of my brother as he is so rich and entertaining. And caught up with family gossip. One of my cousins “Strawberry” used to be known by some normal name – her father used to be a naval commander and very staid (probably an admiral or something by now) – she rebelled in a most spectacular fashion, changed her name to Strawberry Blue and married a damn yank!
D.
01 July 2006
Dear Dennis 1/7/2006
Dear Dennis,
I hope you and your Carol are well and even more rested after your most recent holiday - where did you go this time? I trust the factory are well and all the little Ritas are performing to summarily directed SLA's and targets. Our adoptive cat gave birth to four kittens on Tuesday - on young Charles bed of all places and at 2:30 in the morning too! The cat seemed to be handling things alright by itself so I went back to bed and told Charlie to sleep on the floor but by that time the brunette had surfaced and the whole affair turned into a full-scale operation with towels, cups of coffee, oo's, ah's and a blow-by-blow account being called out around the house. It was very hard to maintain a sleep posture throughout but I think I pulled it off ok. I've been rewarded for my efforts by being tasked with cleaning out the old litter tray I threw on the compost heap last year after our original cats had finished with it. The cat (ah bless) refused point-blank to sleep with her new kittens in the fabulous timber miniature shed I'd fashioned and instead is firmly ensconced in a plastic clothes basket next to our bed where the brunette can keep a close eye and break my sleep pattern with regular 'leaning-over-the-bed' exercises to check on kittens safety. The first time she sprawled over the bed in her double layer winceyette I thought it was my cue, I was though, immediately and firmly rebuffed and made to feel like rather a cad actually. "How could [I] possibly think of things like that at a time like this".
D
I hope you and your Carol are well and even more rested after your most recent holiday - where did you go this time? I trust the factory are well and all the little Ritas are performing to summarily directed SLA's and targets. Our adoptive cat gave birth to four kittens on Tuesday - on young Charles bed of all places and at 2:30 in the morning too! The cat seemed to be handling things alright by itself so I went back to bed and told Charlie to sleep on the floor but by that time the brunette had surfaced and the whole affair turned into a full-scale operation with towels, cups of coffee, oo's, ah's and a blow-by-blow account being called out around the house. It was very hard to maintain a sleep posture throughout but I think I pulled it off ok. I've been rewarded for my efforts by being tasked with cleaning out the old litter tray I threw on the compost heap last year after our original cats had finished with it. The cat (ah bless) refused point-blank to sleep with her new kittens in the fabulous timber miniature shed I'd fashioned and instead is firmly ensconced in a plastic clothes basket next to our bed where the brunette can keep a close eye and break my sleep pattern with regular 'leaning-over-the-bed' exercises to check on kittens safety. The first time she sprawled over the bed in her double layer winceyette I thought it was my cue, I was though, immediately and firmly rebuffed and made to feel like rather a cad actually. "How could [I] possibly think of things like that at a time like this".
D
28 June 2006
Dear Dennis 28/6/2006
Dear Dennis,
I went to see my doc last Tuesday and yes, true to form he told me how he always has curry for breakfast and that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. After that he asked how I was. “Its my foot doc” I told him. “Do you do much exercise?” he enquired (I’ve been here before, many times) “What with this foot?” I countered. There, that silenced him. He then noticed I was struggling to do up my boot after he’d seen my foot from safely behind his desk. He checked out my neck and I told him I had been getting pins and needles in my right arm for a couple of months now. He twisted my head a couple of times and added “stiff neck” to the x-ray form then ushered me out of the door. I gathered my family and we made a trek to the hospital the very next day – Saul had to go for a scan thing but that’s another story – and me for my x-rays. Now, forgive me but I thought x-rays went through things like clothes. Why then did they (three young nurses and not a matron in sight) insist I get completely undressed, stand against some machine out of Dr Who, with one arm up in the air and the other straight down and holding a really heavy bottle? And why did they need all those “student nurses” (some of them were blokes so I didn’t believe a word of what they were telling me) to come in and “observe”? After several retakes and lots of kafuffle, I left the hospital with my family in tow, not feeling any better for my experience and everywhere I went in the hospital nurses stopped and stared, they even stopped whispering and looked at me when I walked into the cafeteria for a perky cup of No-Name Assam. I did ask if I could see the x-rays but the nurse told me they were to be analysed and then sent on to my doctor and that I should make an appointment to see him – oh if only she knew the trouble trying to make an appointment to see a doctor round our way. Well that is where I am this week – still hobbling, looking only to the left, slightly more radio active than last week, NOT eating curry for breakfast and awaiting an appointment to see my doctor.
All the best.
D.
I went to see my doc last Tuesday and yes, true to form he told me how he always has curry for breakfast and that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. After that he asked how I was. “Its my foot doc” I told him. “Do you do much exercise?” he enquired (I’ve been here before, many times) “What with this foot?” I countered. There, that silenced him. He then noticed I was struggling to do up my boot after he’d seen my foot from safely behind his desk. He checked out my neck and I told him I had been getting pins and needles in my right arm for a couple of months now. He twisted my head a couple of times and added “stiff neck” to the x-ray form then ushered me out of the door. I gathered my family and we made a trek to the hospital the very next day – Saul had to go for a scan thing but that’s another story – and me for my x-rays. Now, forgive me but I thought x-rays went through things like clothes. Why then did they (three young nurses and not a matron in sight) insist I get completely undressed, stand against some machine out of Dr Who, with one arm up in the air and the other straight down and holding a really heavy bottle? And why did they need all those “student nurses” (some of them were blokes so I didn’t believe a word of what they were telling me) to come in and “observe”? After several retakes and lots of kafuffle, I left the hospital with my family in tow, not feeling any better for my experience and everywhere I went in the hospital nurses stopped and stared, they even stopped whispering and looked at me when I walked into the cafeteria for a perky cup of No-Name Assam. I did ask if I could see the x-rays but the nurse told me they were to be analysed and then sent on to my doctor and that I should make an appointment to see him – oh if only she knew the trouble trying to make an appointment to see a doctor round our way. Well that is where I am this week – still hobbling, looking only to the left, slightly more radio active than last week, NOT eating curry for breakfast and awaiting an appointment to see my doctor.
All the best.
D.
23 June 2006
Dear Dennis 24/6/2006
Dear Dennis,
She’s probably been sacked by now and I sold the camera on @bay.
I don’t know but it’s been painful to walk for about two years now ever since young Charlie stomped my foot one day – I’ve got an appointment with Dr on Monday (unless he calls in sick again). Whenever I go to the Benefits Office they ask how I am and I always tell them my foot is giving me gip – they don’t really want to know how I am it’s just a ritual we go through. Blog = http://d6equj5.blogspot.com as a matter of interest have you ever done a search on “6equj5” on the inter wibbly thing?
D.
-----Original Message-----From: dennis] Sent: Friday, June 23, 2006 11:36
Subject: RE: The Giro
I think you should call the nice lady back. You never know you could get a picture of you holding a giro up to the camera while your suffering family gaze up at you in a pleading way. I 've seen such photos.
What's wrong with your foot?
How does one get to the blog then, I have a right to know if I'm being slandered and missing out on compo.
Dennis
She’s probably been sacked by now and I sold the camera on @bay.
I don’t know but it’s been painful to walk for about two years now ever since young Charlie stomped my foot one day – I’ve got an appointment with Dr on Monday (unless he calls in sick again). Whenever I go to the Benefits Office they ask how I am and I always tell them my foot is giving me gip – they don’t really want to know how I am it’s just a ritual we go through. Blog = http://d6equj5.blogspot.com as a matter of interest have you ever done a search on “6equj5” on the inter wibbly thing?
D.
-----Original Message-----From: dennis] Sent: Friday, June 23, 2006 11:36
Subject: RE: The Giro
I think you should call the nice lady back. You never know you could get a picture of you holding a giro up to the camera while your suffering family gaze up at you in a pleading way. I 've seen such photos.
What's wrong with your foot?
How does one get to the blog then, I have a right to know if I'm being slandered and missing out on compo.
Dennis
Dear Dennis 23/6/2006
Dear Dave
I think the world has gone mad!! Have you tried feigning drunkenness and speaking "foreign" you may get what you need just to get rid of you.
I should take all of your experiences to your MP's surgery.
Dino
Dear Dennis,
The world, except you and me, has indeed gone mad. I did send an account of my experiences with the Benefits Agency to my MP as you suggest and he replied! He wanted to know my full name, address and National Insurance number – these I duly emailed back and I’ve heard nothing since … I suspect being a Labour MP he just passed them to the Agency and told them to watch out as I could be someone who would ask awkward questions of switchboard operators. However last night the local “Evening Post” called my mobile – I didn’t pick it up because if your number isn’t known by my phone I refuse to answer – I need formal introductions first. I did a Wibbly Wobbly search for the number and it came back as belonging to: Judith Toner advertising@reading-epost.co.uk Maybe she wants to advertise on my Blog or at least get a mention. Job done Judith and you’re welcome. I wonder how they got my number though as I haven’t given it to them and didn’t give it to my MP. I didn’t want him pestering me asking which way he should vote in “der House”. Did you know that the distance between the Government and Opposition benches is designed to be two sword lengths apart so they can’t come to parries during a debate? If I was one of them I’d make myself an extra long sword or is there a regulation sword length and anyone caught with a longer one goes straight to the factory?
I shuffled into town yesterday with Saul and the brunette (my foot is giving me gip). A really helpful young lady at the Benefits House (a bit of a loose canon I suspect) looked up the number at the top of my giro and told me at which Post Office I could cash it. She suggested I didn’t put in for a "change request", as this would probably result in my claim being lost in the system forever and said it was probably best just to go to that Post Office and cash the thing. I was on a roll. I asked when I might get some benefits and she told me the whole sorry saga of “Canterbury”. Apparently they are just drafted in to make up the numbers and are not fully trained whereas the operatives in the branch offices know the whole system and can provide real help (except of course the telephone operators and receptionists). Also “Canterbury” regularly ship claims off to different parts of the country (including my experience with Nottingham) to “help the figures”. And she advised me to not ring “Canterbury” as each time I only get through to their menu system and voice thingy I am charged for the call even though I don’t actually get through to anyone – bloody hell I’ve been ringing them on and off about 100 times a day for the last three weeks – I just press ‘redial’ until I get a real person on the line. Bloody hell! I am going to email MP Laughing Clown about this one aswell. By this time the security guards were gathering and scowling firstly at my audacity to go in expecting some help and secondly at her for daring to give out accurate and sensible information. I expect her days are numbered at the Agency. I gathered up my family and hurriedly left the building.
The upshot of all that is that I did get my giro cashed and dutifully handed it over to the brunette. She then took me and Saul into the 99p shoppe to get Saul and Charlie a treat. Whatever happened to Pound Shoppes? It was all so much easier back then – maybe they should team up with the Busses as they must have too much change and the busses don’t give any out.
There was a report in our Local “News Paper” that the council were stopping the free service of exterminating rats and that their subjects would have to pay £25 a time in future. Another report says that the council are stopping weekly dust-bin collections and will only collect every other week instead – surely these two are connected and are a part of some crazy money making scheme for the councils Christmas Do? If they park a skip outside every residence they’d only have to collect rubbish once a month and would make a fortune from rat catching! They’d have to buy a load of skip lorries though and employ several thousand rat catchers. There is quite a furore going on about it all but what amazes me is that residents think that by complaining they can get the council to change it’s policy or get anything done – don’t they realise this is READING COUNCIL and the town belongs to them not the residents. Gone are the days when we used to turn our school caps around and pretend to be dust-bin-men because it was fun and they were seen as some sort of hero of the neighbourhood and our dad used to give them a Christmas box each year. These days they won’t collect all the rubbish we put out and they don’t even put the bin back in our garden after emptying it. It is a sad testament to town councils and progress.
The brunette has gone off for the day to show potential undergrads the work the Chemistry Department does, Saul is at crèche and Charlie is at school, the cats are fed and asleep, the stereo still only works on the left channel, telly aerial is slopping at 45 degrees to the roof so the signal is rubbish, washing up needs doing, bathroom floor tiles need finishing off, wind turbine needs tinkering with, window frames need painting, push bike needs oiling, solar panel needs cleaning, police helicopter is hovering overhead looking for some local ner-do-well. I think I’ll make a cup of tea and go sit in the shed for a while.
The blog message wasn’t spam but don’t worry as it’ll carry on without you.
D.
I think the world has gone mad!! Have you tried feigning drunkenness and speaking "foreign" you may get what you need just to get rid of you.
I should take all of your experiences to your MP's surgery.
Dino
Dear Dennis,
The world, except you and me, has indeed gone mad. I did send an account of my experiences with the Benefits Agency to my MP as you suggest and he replied! He wanted to know my full name, address and National Insurance number – these I duly emailed back and I’ve heard nothing since … I suspect being a Labour MP he just passed them to the Agency and told them to watch out as I could be someone who would ask awkward questions of switchboard operators. However last night the local “Evening Post” called my mobile – I didn’t pick it up because if your number isn’t known by my phone I refuse to answer – I need formal introductions first. I did a Wibbly Wobbly search for the number and it came back as belonging to: Judith Toner advertising@reading-epost.co.uk Maybe she wants to advertise on my Blog or at least get a mention. Job done Judith and you’re welcome. I wonder how they got my number though as I haven’t given it to them and didn’t give it to my MP. I didn’t want him pestering me asking which way he should vote in “der House”. Did you know that the distance between the Government and Opposition benches is designed to be two sword lengths apart so they can’t come to parries during a debate? If I was one of them I’d make myself an extra long sword or is there a regulation sword length and anyone caught with a longer one goes straight to the factory?
I shuffled into town yesterday with Saul and the brunette (my foot is giving me gip). A really helpful young lady at the Benefits House (a bit of a loose canon I suspect) looked up the number at the top of my giro and told me at which Post Office I could cash it. She suggested I didn’t put in for a "change request", as this would probably result in my claim being lost in the system forever and said it was probably best just to go to that Post Office and cash the thing. I was on a roll. I asked when I might get some benefits and she told me the whole sorry saga of “Canterbury”. Apparently they are just drafted in to make up the numbers and are not fully trained whereas the operatives in the branch offices know the whole system and can provide real help (except of course the telephone operators and receptionists). Also “Canterbury” regularly ship claims off to different parts of the country (including my experience with Nottingham) to “help the figures”. And she advised me to not ring “Canterbury” as each time I only get through to their menu system and voice thingy I am charged for the call even though I don’t actually get through to anyone – bloody hell I’ve been ringing them on and off about 100 times a day for the last three weeks – I just press ‘redial’ until I get a real person on the line. Bloody hell! I am going to email MP Laughing Clown about this one aswell. By this time the security guards were gathering and scowling firstly at my audacity to go in expecting some help and secondly at her for daring to give out accurate and sensible information. I expect her days are numbered at the Agency. I gathered up my family and hurriedly left the building.
The upshot of all that is that I did get my giro cashed and dutifully handed it over to the brunette. She then took me and Saul into the 99p shoppe to get Saul and Charlie a treat. Whatever happened to Pound Shoppes? It was all so much easier back then – maybe they should team up with the Busses as they must have too much change and the busses don’t give any out.
There was a report in our Local “News Paper” that the council were stopping the free service of exterminating rats and that their subjects would have to pay £25 a time in future. Another report says that the council are stopping weekly dust-bin collections and will only collect every other week instead – surely these two are connected and are a part of some crazy money making scheme for the councils Christmas Do? If they park a skip outside every residence they’d only have to collect rubbish once a month and would make a fortune from rat catching! They’d have to buy a load of skip lorries though and employ several thousand rat catchers. There is quite a furore going on about it all but what amazes me is that residents think that by complaining they can get the council to change it’s policy or get anything done – don’t they realise this is READING COUNCIL and the town belongs to them not the residents. Gone are the days when we used to turn our school caps around and pretend to be dust-bin-men because it was fun and they were seen as some sort of hero of the neighbourhood and our dad used to give them a Christmas box each year. These days they won’t collect all the rubbish we put out and they don’t even put the bin back in our garden after emptying it. It is a sad testament to town councils and progress.
The brunette has gone off for the day to show potential undergrads the work the Chemistry Department does, Saul is at crèche and Charlie is at school, the cats are fed and asleep, the stereo still only works on the left channel, telly aerial is slopping at 45 degrees to the roof so the signal is rubbish, washing up needs doing, bathroom floor tiles need finishing off, wind turbine needs tinkering with, window frames need painting, push bike needs oiling, solar panel needs cleaning, police helicopter is hovering overhead looking for some local ner-do-well. I think I’ll make a cup of tea and go sit in the shed for a while.
The blog message wasn’t spam but don’t worry as it’ll carry on without you.
D.
20 June 2006
Dear Dennis 20/6/2006
Impressed with your constructions. I should check that the house is well pegged down as it might just lift off. Have you thought that sprog may have been watching daddy's building skills an has constructed a well disguised lift platform from which to fire footerballs at your wind farm?
I have two brothers neither called Barbera.
Dennis
Dear Dennis,
You could be right - I'll check the bamboo clump for iron fret-work and pulleys. My sister is called Beverley and she is not my brother who is also not called Albert.
I was startlingly awakened this morning by young Saul jumping on my bladder shouting "Daddy I need a wee wee!" Ah the joys of parenthood at it's best. I followed him down stairs and out the back door to the lavvy. Arty from next door was already installed on his throne and was warming the air from his side. "Morning Art" I called while settling Saul on the seat. "yep mornin' Davey lad" "I've got young Saul with me" I told him before he started going on about the Saphist dog next door the other side. Have you got the picture? Can you see me in your mind there Dennis?
A deep breath was summoned and I went to sign-on this afternoon. A ponytailed er ... security badged, person stopped me in my tracks and said "you can't go up there wiv no appointment know what I mean?" as I tried to go through the door as usual, to the first floor. I had the brunette with me so I had my polite but sarcastic hat on. "It's the management" he said, taking the line straight from a Monty Python sketch without so much as a by-your-leave (nor a smile). I turned and looked at the brunette "you're not Management are you darling?" she raised her eyes skyward then I confirmed it to Mr Security "no, we're not management". The security person looked puzzled for a moment but then came back with "only one can go upstairs". The brunette looked at me and said "go on, you go up and I'll wait" but I cut her off, leaned toward him and asked in my loudest whisper "which one of us do you want to go upstairs?" the brunette went and stood and examined a display of leaflets and I waved my ES40JP at the security person, thanked him for his help and slipped through the door and up the stairs. It was obviously being mulled over and sank in to his brain a few seconds later as he called up the stairs as I neared the top "OK". They are so funny, I love going there every second Tuesday.
Catch ya soon eh?
D
I have two brothers neither called Barbera.
Dennis
Dear Dennis,
You could be right - I'll check the bamboo clump for iron fret-work and pulleys. My sister is called Beverley and she is not my brother who is also not called Albert.
I was startlingly awakened this morning by young Saul jumping on my bladder shouting "Daddy I need a wee wee!" Ah the joys of parenthood at it's best. I followed him down stairs and out the back door to the lavvy. Arty from next door was already installed on his throne and was warming the air from his side. "Morning Art" I called while settling Saul on the seat. "yep mornin' Davey lad" "I've got young Saul with me" I told him before he started going on about the Saphist dog next door the other side. Have you got the picture? Can you see me in your mind there Dennis?
A deep breath was summoned and I went to sign-on this afternoon. A ponytailed er ... security badged, person stopped me in my tracks and said "you can't go up there wiv no appointment know what I mean?" as I tried to go through the door as usual, to the first floor. I had the brunette with me so I had my polite but sarcastic hat on. "It's the management" he said, taking the line straight from a Monty Python sketch without so much as a by-your-leave (nor a smile). I turned and looked at the brunette "you're not Management are you darling?" she raised her eyes skyward then I confirmed it to Mr Security "no, we're not management". The security person looked puzzled for a moment but then came back with "only one can go upstairs". The brunette looked at me and said "go on, you go up and I'll wait" but I cut her off, leaned toward him and asked in my loudest whisper "which one of us do you want to go upstairs?" the brunette went and stood and examined a display of leaflets and I waved my ES40JP at the security person, thanked him for his help and slipped through the door and up the stairs. It was obviously being mulled over and sank in to his brain a few seconds later as he called up the stairs as I neared the top "OK". They are so funny, I love going there every second Tuesday.
Catch ya soon eh?
D
19 June 2006
19/6/2006
Dear Dennis,
Thanks for offering to put the brunette up while on her course, you are tremendously generous and I have a warm glow because of it. I mentioned your generosity to the brunette and she was quite blown away. It would be quite an occasion to meet after all these many years of ridicules @mail to-ing and fro-ing. She is still working on details and which course is the one for her – we’ll let you know if and when, some time before she knocks your door. Thank you.
I have attached a quadruplet of photo’s of my wind generator turbines currently in development.
Mk1 is residing on the bathroom roof and is a fixed direction, triple blade applied to a 24v motor being used wired in reverse to generate small amounts of electricity and has problems because the gearbox I used to get the motor to turn faster than the wind, takes too much power to turn although in a strong northerly it fairly buzzes.
Mk2 is a development blade system which won’t need a vane type thing to turn it into the wind as it will always spin in the right direction no matter where the wind comes from. It is effectively two halves of a drain-pipe.
Mk3 is the Venetian blind turbine. It turns into the wind, has six blades, uses a properly wound generator (coil moves around fixed armature and it can either store electricity in an on-board storage capacitor or send it directly into the kitchen for charging rechargeable AA / AAA batteries. I have deformed the blades forward to stop it clattering on the pole. In wind and when turning, the blades flatten out but never (so far) enough to strike the pole. The blades are approx 10” long and the pole is attached via two varnished noggins of seasoned lelandii, to the house wall thereby lifting the turbine to about 30’.
Charlie “accidentally” managed to hit the vane with his footerball this evening and shatter the vane blade so it has been temporarily replaced with a slightly smaller version. Quite how he managed to hit it 30 foot up on a thin pole I don’t know but he came in and apologised so I thanked him and told him I was impressed with his footerballing skills and accuracy.
I have to “sign-on” tomorrow so I’ll be practising my deep breathing and sea
19/6/2006
My dearest Dennis,
I’m not sure if I told you but I managed to make an appointment last week to see the doctor for this morning. Well who should ring first thing? It was the doctors’ secretary phoning to say he’d called in sick and asking if my appointment was urgent. How on earth should I know if it is urgent, I haven’t managed to see him since I started trying to make appointments four weeks ago – for all he knows it could have dropped off by now! I know what he’ll say when I eventually get to see him and tell him that my arm keeps going numb and getting pins and needles – he’ll say “how long has this been happening?” I’ll tell him “oh about five or six weeks now” and he’ll say, “why didn’t you come in sooner?” and I’ll have to tell him about the saga of trying to make a doctors appointment in the real world, how the first appointment took 12 days from my first phone call, then the secretary talked me out of an appointment as I didn’t know if it was urgent or not and then he was off sick and how I can never get an appointment sooner than 7 or 8 days from phoning. His eyes will glaze over and he’ll go off into his “I have curry for breakfast” routine and I'll have lost his attention for another few weeks.
I cooked a blinder of a barbeque yesterday – we don’t encourage young Charlie to cook any more, not since the episode a couple of weeks ago where the brunette and I ended up dashing to the loo in the night and Charlie was shouting “ROLF!” down the toilet. He of course maintains it was heat stroke and little Saul wasn’t affected at all (stomach of steel that boy) (it’ll be those caterpillar eggs and sharing his breakfast with the cats that does it). Anyway we all sat down on the concrete slabs arranged in a patio fashion and started to eat. I noticed something was missing – my burger had gone! Of course I kicked up a stink and was about to fling a fork at the nearest cat when Charlie pointed out that my burger was sauce side down and stuck to the top of my shoe. The mustard sauce is still engrained in the suede. I’ll put them in the washing machine hidden in a bundle of towels when the brunette isn’t looking. I don’t know what next door paint their fence with but it must be tasty because their bull whatsit terrier was eating great chunks off it while we were having our barbeque. Daft as bat that dog. Did I tell you it climbs their tree and barks at the kids when they play footerballs in the garden? I’ll tell you, if it ever makes it through or over the fence I’ve told the brunette to scoop the kids and I’m diving straight for my shed and my collection of sharpened blunt implements.
The wind turbine is giving cause for concern this morning. I used the Venetian blind slats for the six blades and it all looked beautiful and worked a treat but this morning the wind has got up a bit and the blades get pushed out of shape temporarily by the wind and in strong gusts now thwack on the pole holding the contraption up in the air. Causes quite a noise too. A bit like when we used to peg playing cards on our bike forks to make them clatter on the spokes like a spitfire noise - why don't kids do that any more? I’m going to try shortening the blades little by little but that will then take some of the power out of the system as it won’t have the same inertia although it should spin faster in a slower breeze – I’ll play with it a bit to find the optimum. I could ‘step the pole’ I suppose, to allow the blades to deform with impunity – may be better in a high wind and would act as a feathering device to govern the speed a bit … maybe … gotta go … brunette got hold of my ear …
I’m not sure if I told you but I managed to make an appointment last week to see the doctor for this morning. Well who should ring first thing? It was the doctors’ secretary phoning to say he’d called in sick and asking if my appointment was urgent. How on earth should I know if it is urgent, I haven’t managed to see him since I started trying to make appointments four weeks ago – for all he knows it could have dropped off by now! I know what he’ll say when I eventually get to see him and tell him that my arm keeps going numb and getting pins and needles – he’ll say “how long has this been happening?” I’ll tell him “oh about five or six weeks now” and he’ll say, “why didn’t you come in sooner?” and I’ll have to tell him about the saga of trying to make a doctors appointment in the real world, how the first appointment took 12 days from my first phone call, then the secretary talked me out of an appointment as I didn’t know if it was urgent or not and then he was off sick and how I can never get an appointment sooner than 7 or 8 days from phoning. His eyes will glaze over and he’ll go off into his “I have curry for breakfast” routine and I'll have lost his attention for another few weeks.
I cooked a blinder of a barbeque yesterday – we don’t encourage young Charlie to cook any more, not since the episode a couple of weeks ago where the brunette and I ended up dashing to the loo in the night and Charlie was shouting “ROLF!” down the toilet. He of course maintains it was heat stroke and little Saul wasn’t affected at all (stomach of steel that boy) (it’ll be those caterpillar eggs and sharing his breakfast with the cats that does it). Anyway we all sat down on the concrete slabs arranged in a patio fashion and started to eat. I noticed something was missing – my burger had gone! Of course I kicked up a stink and was about to fling a fork at the nearest cat when Charlie pointed out that my burger was sauce side down and stuck to the top of my shoe. The mustard sauce is still engrained in the suede. I’ll put them in the washing machine hidden in a bundle of towels when the brunette isn’t looking. I don’t know what next door paint their fence with but it must be tasty because their bull whatsit terrier was eating great chunks off it while we were having our barbeque. Daft as bat that dog. Did I tell you it climbs their tree and barks at the kids when they play footerballs in the garden? I’ll tell you, if it ever makes it through or over the fence I’ve told the brunette to scoop the kids and I’m diving straight for my shed and my collection of sharpened blunt implements.
The wind turbine is giving cause for concern this morning. I used the Venetian blind slats for the six blades and it all looked beautiful and worked a treat but this morning the wind has got up a bit and the blades get pushed out of shape temporarily by the wind and in strong gusts now thwack on the pole holding the contraption up in the air. Causes quite a noise too. A bit like when we used to peg playing cards on our bike forks to make them clatter on the spokes like a spitfire noise - why don't kids do that any more? I’m going to try shortening the blades little by little but that will then take some of the power out of the system as it won’t have the same inertia although it should spin faster in a slower breeze – I’ll play with it a bit to find the optimum. I could ‘step the pole’ I suppose, to allow the blades to deform with impunity – may be better in a high wind and would act as a feathering device to govern the speed a bit … maybe … gotta go … brunette got hold of my ear …
16 June 2006
16/6/2006
Hi my nearly geek friend,
Life is certainly looking good this morning. On a walk of the neighbourhood I spied a discarded Venetian blind in a front garden propped against a wheelie bin, I knocked the door and asked if I could have it and they said yes! It is a bit grubby but it’ll clean up just nice and I only want a few of the slats to use as turbine blades. Then, I was up in our loft searching for things to sell on the ebay and found an old tin marked “coins”. I eagerly brought it downstairs and cut it open with the brunettes’ best scissors. Out tumbled several twenty pence pieces, a few five pence’s, one’s, two’s a paper clip and a florin! There isn’t quite enough for a tin of cat food but we’re certainly on the way!! My MP hasn’t replied to my email regarding the Benefits people but it was quite a tome so he’s probably getting one of his researchers to read it for him. I brought up quite a few points but left out the tussle with the traffic warden and that unfortunate incident with the rubber pigeon decoy in the magistrates’ court at my council tax hearing. Have you tried dropping a “Minto” into a bottle of coke? It goes mad!! Something to do with the coating causing the carbon dioxide to very rapidly exit the cola! Brunette got her results yesterday and achieved the impossible – we go to watch her pick up her degree at the end of the month. I’ll take my camera as there’s always some idiot with a backless gown and no pants trying to get a laugh, you know what students are like. So it is one year of post grad to go and I can stop walking on eggshells and going to bed on my own whilst the brunette burns the midnight oil. It is fathers day on Sunday – a sad day as my grown up kids (with the red-head) won’t speak to me but then a happy day as Saul (of brunette issue) makes me laugh so much. I was showing him a butterfly last evening in the garden and pointing out it’s antennae and wings and we agreed it was very pretty but then he bounced the football on it and said “it’s gone now”. I don’t know which is worse, that or laughing at the cats as they jump around the garden trying to catch and chew them. We found some caterpillar eggs neatly arranged on one of the leaves of my tomato plants and we both examined them through a magnifying glass. Saul wanted to eat them but when I said “yes go on then” and stood back, he eyed me suspiciously and didn’t try them. Apparently Eingerland played a match of footerballs and won yesterday which is good from what I understand from the neighbour and from whom I refused, several times, a swig from his tin of special brew. I haven’t managed to find out what team they were playing or in what league but I’ll try to keep you informed if you’re interested.
Life is certainly looking good this morning. On a walk of the neighbourhood I spied a discarded Venetian blind in a front garden propped against a wheelie bin, I knocked the door and asked if I could have it and they said yes! It is a bit grubby but it’ll clean up just nice and I only want a few of the slats to use as turbine blades. Then, I was up in our loft searching for things to sell on the ebay and found an old tin marked “coins”. I eagerly brought it downstairs and cut it open with the brunettes’ best scissors. Out tumbled several twenty pence pieces, a few five pence’s, one’s, two’s a paper clip and a florin! There isn’t quite enough for a tin of cat food but we’re certainly on the way!! My MP hasn’t replied to my email regarding the Benefits people but it was quite a tome so he’s probably getting one of his researchers to read it for him. I brought up quite a few points but left out the tussle with the traffic warden and that unfortunate incident with the rubber pigeon decoy in the magistrates’ court at my council tax hearing. Have you tried dropping a “Minto” into a bottle of coke? It goes mad!! Something to do with the coating causing the carbon dioxide to very rapidly exit the cola! Brunette got her results yesterday and achieved the impossible – we go to watch her pick up her degree at the end of the month. I’ll take my camera as there’s always some idiot with a backless gown and no pants trying to get a laugh, you know what students are like. So it is one year of post grad to go and I can stop walking on eggshells and going to bed on my own whilst the brunette burns the midnight oil. It is fathers day on Sunday – a sad day as my grown up kids (with the red-head) won’t speak to me but then a happy day as Saul (of brunette issue) makes me laugh so much. I was showing him a butterfly last evening in the garden and pointing out it’s antennae and wings and we agreed it was very pretty but then he bounced the football on it and said “it’s gone now”. I don’t know which is worse, that or laughing at the cats as they jump around the garden trying to catch and chew them. We found some caterpillar eggs neatly arranged on one of the leaves of my tomato plants and we both examined them through a magnifying glass. Saul wanted to eat them but when I said “yes go on then” and stood back, he eyed me suspiciously and didn’t try them. Apparently Eingerland played a match of footerballs and won yesterday which is good from what I understand from the neighbour and from whom I refused, several times, a swig from his tin of special brew. I haven’t managed to find out what team they were playing or in what league but I’ll try to keep you informed if you’re interested.
16/6/2006
Hi, yes I am more up-beat and thanks for your email.
I made some coca-cola ice lollies today but all the taste is concentrated into one small glob at the top while the rest just tastes of water. I asked the brunette why this was and do you know what she said? She turned around and said, “I’ve got a degree now and I don’t have to answer your stupid questions any more” … I nearly fell off my chair! This is how I’m treated! After all I’ve done for her too. Coca cola doesn’t separate like that in the bottle in the fridge so why should it do that when being frozen?
Ah that’s something I meant to ask you. How long have you had a brother for? I ‘ve never heard you mention him before your email the other day. I’ve got a brother. We’re so alike you and me. Have you got two sisters? Is one called B?
D
I made some coca-cola ice lollies today but all the taste is concentrated into one small glob at the top while the rest just tastes of water. I asked the brunette why this was and do you know what she said? She turned around and said, “I’ve got a degree now and I don’t have to answer your stupid questions any more” … I nearly fell off my chair! This is how I’m treated! After all I’ve done for her too. Coca cola doesn’t separate like that in the bottle in the fridge so why should it do that when being frozen?
Ah that’s something I meant to ask you. How long have you had a brother for? I ‘ve never heard you mention him before your email the other day. I’ve got a brother. We’re so alike you and me. Have you got two sisters? Is one called B?
D
14 June 2006
14/6/2006
I wrote to my MP last night and this morning the stereo only works on the left channel so Leonard Coen hasn’t got the same bounciness to him when I play “Suzanne takes you down …”. I was mending the brunettes’ bike yesterday and left my tools out – now I’ve got a water cooled hammer and socket set. Talk-Talk left a message on our answer phone for us to ring them but they’ve cut us off so we can’t ring out. I’m going to sit in my shed for a while with a tin of sardines. I may be gone for some time.
13 June 2006
13/6/2006
Dear friend,
Thank you for your kind words.
I have today reached the end of my tether. I received a letter from the Job Centre and it didn’t contain a giro for cash dated from 5th April as I was expecting but instead it was a letter from the Nottingham Branch requesting confirmation from the University that I am not a student any more and details of mine and the brunettes student loans accounts and they want this information before tomorrow otherwise my “claim will be affected”. I called Nottingham to ask why they needed this as I’d already handed that information to my local branch some weeks ago and could I have more time to locate the original documentation. Nottingham were puzzled and said the letter hadn’t come from them even though it had their letter head and telephone number at the top and that Canterbury sometimes do this to adjust their call figures … (I swallowed hard) they couldn’t help me and instead suggested I ring my local branch. I rang as suggested but they said they couldn’t help with a Nottingham query and suggested I ring the mystical ‘Canterbury’. I rang Canterbury and after about the 60th time of dialling (literally) and getting their recorded message, I spoke to a person. The person told me she couldn’t help. I asked to be put through to someone who could help – “sorry I can’t do that”. “Well could I speak to your supervisor?” “I’m sorry I can’t do that, I suggest you ring [your local branch]” Well could I have an extension on the time needed to gather the information you ask for in the letter from Nottingham?” “If you don’t give us the information we ask for then your claim will be affected and may be delayed“. I asked the significance of the brunettes student loan details – “it is an income” “No it’s not” I said “it has to be repaid so it can’t be classed as an income” “we class it as an income” was the curt response. I rang my local branch. I spoke to Ms P (a Welsh speaker I think) but she couldn’t access my information as my details are “with Canterbury”. I asked to speak to her supervisor “certainly sir” … click … brrrr. I rang again “I think I was cut off, could you put me through to your supervisor please?” “Certainly sir”. Click, brrrr. I got the message and rang their switchboard “Hi, could I make an appointment to speak to someone about my claim?” “Yes, just a moment” … click, brrrr. I rang back “Hi, I think you cut me off, could I make an appointment to speak to someone about my claim?” “Yes, just a moment” … click, brrrr. I rang back “Hi, I think you’ve got a problem with your phones, I was cut off again” “How can I help sir?” (It was the same girl I spoke to seconds ago for the other two calls.) “Could I make an appointment to speak to someone about my claim please?” “Have you already made a claim?” “yes” “when did you make the claim?” “5th April” “Have you spoken to Canterbury?” “Yes” “OK I’ll just put you through to someone” click … brrrr.
I thought carefully about phoning the local paper to say there was a bomb at the Unemployment office but I thought of the crying mothers trying to get crisis loans to tide them over until their claims are sorted and the poor guys who dash in from the vans with paint all over their clothes to pick up their giros, the spitting teenagers with bull mastiffs and bettattood girlfriends tied to the bike rails outside and the wide eyed middle aged blokes with neatly bound folders clutched tightly to their chests sitting on the chairs in the corner not knowing quite what to do and trying really hard to avoid looking at anyone. I settled on a cup of tea instead and fought off a sob. My friend, I am suffering for my art but I don’t know what my art is any more. I tried cutting a noggin off a piece of 4x2 yesterday and couldn’t even get enthused about that. And it ended up all crooked. I couldn’t even make an appointment to see the doctor today. I rang the surgery but the receptionist started to ask awkward questions like “is it urgent” (how do I know until I’ve seen the doctor about it?) and “what do you want to see the doctor for” I didn’t like to say and she talked me out of it. I’ll try again another time. I made a nice box for the cat to sit in and have her kittens though, it is wooden with a bit at the front to stop the kittens falling out and it is lined with news paper. She of course refuses to go anywhere near it and the brunette just laughed. I don’t think I could fix a computer any more even if I was paid to do it.
Ah well, I’ve just got to find something I’m good at
D
Thank you for your kind words.
I have today reached the end of my tether. I received a letter from the Job Centre and it didn’t contain a giro for cash dated from 5th April as I was expecting but instead it was a letter from the Nottingham Branch requesting confirmation from the University that I am not a student any more and details of mine and the brunettes student loans accounts and they want this information before tomorrow otherwise my “claim will be affected”. I called Nottingham to ask why they needed this as I’d already handed that information to my local branch some weeks ago and could I have more time to locate the original documentation. Nottingham were puzzled and said the letter hadn’t come from them even though it had their letter head and telephone number at the top and that Canterbury sometimes do this to adjust their call figures … (I swallowed hard) they couldn’t help me and instead suggested I ring my local branch. I rang as suggested but they said they couldn’t help with a Nottingham query and suggested I ring the mystical ‘Canterbury’. I rang Canterbury and after about the 60th time of dialling (literally) and getting their recorded message, I spoke to a person. The person told me she couldn’t help. I asked to be put through to someone who could help – “sorry I can’t do that”. “Well could I speak to your supervisor?” “I’m sorry I can’t do that, I suggest you ring [your local branch]” Well could I have an extension on the time needed to gather the information you ask for in the letter from Nottingham?” “If you don’t give us the information we ask for then your claim will be affected and may be delayed“. I asked the significance of the brunettes student loan details – “it is an income” “No it’s not” I said “it has to be repaid so it can’t be classed as an income” “we class it as an income” was the curt response. I rang my local branch. I spoke to Ms P (a Welsh speaker I think) but she couldn’t access my information as my details are “with Canterbury”. I asked to speak to her supervisor “certainly sir” … click … brrrr. I rang again “I think I was cut off, could you put me through to your supervisor please?” “Certainly sir”. Click, brrrr. I got the message and rang their switchboard “Hi, could I make an appointment to speak to someone about my claim?” “Yes, just a moment” … click, brrrr. I rang back “Hi, I think you cut me off, could I make an appointment to speak to someone about my claim?” “Yes, just a moment” … click, brrrr. I rang back “Hi, I think you’ve got a problem with your phones, I was cut off again” “How can I help sir?” (It was the same girl I spoke to seconds ago for the other two calls.) “Could I make an appointment to speak to someone about my claim please?” “Have you already made a claim?” “yes” “when did you make the claim?” “5th April” “Have you spoken to Canterbury?” “Yes” “OK I’ll just put you through to someone” click … brrrr.
I thought carefully about phoning the local paper to say there was a bomb at the Unemployment office but I thought of the crying mothers trying to get crisis loans to tide them over until their claims are sorted and the poor guys who dash in from the vans with paint all over their clothes to pick up their giros, the spitting teenagers with bull mastiffs and bettattood girlfriends tied to the bike rails outside and the wide eyed middle aged blokes with neatly bound folders clutched tightly to their chests sitting on the chairs in the corner not knowing quite what to do and trying really hard to avoid looking at anyone. I settled on a cup of tea instead and fought off a sob. My friend, I am suffering for my art but I don’t know what my art is any more. I tried cutting a noggin off a piece of 4x2 yesterday and couldn’t even get enthused about that. And it ended up all crooked. I couldn’t even make an appointment to see the doctor today. I rang the surgery but the receptionist started to ask awkward questions like “is it urgent” (how do I know until I’ve seen the doctor about it?) and “what do you want to see the doctor for” I didn’t like to say and she talked me out of it. I’ll try again another time. I made a nice box for the cat to sit in and have her kittens though, it is wooden with a bit at the front to stop the kittens falling out and it is lined with news paper. She of course refuses to go anywhere near it and the brunette just laughed. I don’t think I could fix a computer any more even if I was paid to do it.
Ah well, I’ve just got to find something I’m good at
D
11 June 2006
Dear Dennis 11/6/2006
Dear Dennis,
The assault on Waitrose was successful and we were victorious. My team arrived back at camp almost exactly halfway through the Grand Prix so all of the brunettes’ objectives were met. I have averted two minor skirmishes between Saul and Charlie and have lit the barbeque although apparently I always burn everything and so Charlie has been tasked with blackening the sausages. I don’t really mind but I set his chair on the edge of the patio so when he sat down he fell off – there that’ll show him. I received a scowl from the brunette for my efforts but at least Saul thought it was funny and we giggled. I have organised three books, an AV multi-selector and a pair of two-way radios to sell on Ebay so far. I am going to mount my wind turbine on the wall/roof this afternoon and am whittling a couple of clamping blocks for the pole to do the job. I could really do with a circular saw as in all my years I’ve never been able to saw a straight or true line and spend hours trying to sand things straight again and then they usually end up too small or short and I have to try again. Our pregnant queen is suffering in the heat and she is lying under the dining table now but her tummy keeps bobbling as the kittens move about (I just hope there aren’t too many). Saul needs me to go and play with him now – I’m going to be General Grievous but I do get to fly the Millennium Falcon – I’ll let you know how it all goes later or tomorrow.
David
The assault on Waitrose was successful and we were victorious. My team arrived back at camp almost exactly halfway through the Grand Prix so all of the brunettes’ objectives were met. I have averted two minor skirmishes between Saul and Charlie and have lit the barbeque although apparently I always burn everything and so Charlie has been tasked with blackening the sausages. I don’t really mind but I set his chair on the edge of the patio so when he sat down he fell off – there that’ll show him. I received a scowl from the brunette for my efforts but at least Saul thought it was funny and we giggled. I have organised three books, an AV multi-selector and a pair of two-way radios to sell on Ebay so far. I am going to mount my wind turbine on the wall/roof this afternoon and am whittling a couple of clamping blocks for the pole to do the job. I could really do with a circular saw as in all my years I’ve never been able to saw a straight or true line and spend hours trying to sand things straight again and then they usually end up too small or short and I have to try again. Our pregnant queen is suffering in the heat and she is lying under the dining table now but her tummy keeps bobbling as the kittens move about (I just hope there aren’t too many). Saul needs me to go and play with him now – I’m going to be General Grievous but I do get to fly the Millennium Falcon – I’ll let you know how it all goes later or tomorrow.
David
Dear Dennis 11/6/2006
Dear Dennis,
I got up at 10 o’clock this morning. The brunette was on the phone to her mother and young Charlie was shouting at her that she was a liar. Saul came upstairs for some sanctuary and we sat in bed watching a cooking programme for a while and once the dust had settled we got up and went down stairs. I think we’re having another barbeque today for lunch as the brunette is planning a raid on Waitrose for just about the time the GP is due to start. I’m told I have to mend the brunettes’ bike although I was chatting to the ‘sophist’ sisters over the fence and they gave me one of their old bikes the other day so, I can make one good out of the two and don’t have to de-rust and re-cable the Brunettes' Sturmey Archer three speed. The brunette is starting a week’s school experience on Monday at Charles school so I have the car for a week but I don’t know what to do with it. I have the doctors on Monday morning and shall get a replacement x-ray card for my foot (he gave me one two years ago but I lost it and haven’t liked to go back and ask for another) and I’ll mention my pins and needles and he’ll point out my excessive weight, tell me of the virtues of curry for breakfast and we’ll part both muttering under our breath. I have dug out some more stuff from my shed to sell on Ebay this week and talk-talk have restricted our out-going calls although they’ve not said why and their offices don’t open until Monday morning. I’ve just been informed that I am involved in the imminent attack on Waitrose …
I watched a short bit of the town festival this morning but it’s all too noisy these days and I can’t understand what they’re singing and the crowds’ state of undress embarrasses me.
My brother doesn’t call me these days – I think it may have something to do with the cold icy day 2nd Rayners Lane cubs played 1st Rayners Lane cubs at footerballs on Roxbourne park and I was so cold I couldn’t run after the ball or even get changed afterward as my hands were too numb and hurt. I gave up footerballs after that and grew my hair longer.
The brunette has mentioned Waitrose again and rattled her keys – catch up later …
D.
I got up at 10 o’clock this morning. The brunette was on the phone to her mother and young Charlie was shouting at her that she was a liar. Saul came upstairs for some sanctuary and we sat in bed watching a cooking programme for a while and once the dust had settled we got up and went down stairs. I think we’re having another barbeque today for lunch as the brunette is planning a raid on Waitrose for just about the time the GP is due to start. I’m told I have to mend the brunettes’ bike although I was chatting to the ‘sophist’ sisters over the fence and they gave me one of their old bikes the other day so, I can make one good out of the two and don’t have to de-rust and re-cable the Brunettes' Sturmey Archer three speed. The brunette is starting a week’s school experience on Monday at Charles school so I have the car for a week but I don’t know what to do with it. I have the doctors on Monday morning and shall get a replacement x-ray card for my foot (he gave me one two years ago but I lost it and haven’t liked to go back and ask for another) and I’ll mention my pins and needles and he’ll point out my excessive weight, tell me of the virtues of curry for breakfast and we’ll part both muttering under our breath. I have dug out some more stuff from my shed to sell on Ebay this week and talk-talk have restricted our out-going calls although they’ve not said why and their offices don’t open until Monday morning. I’ve just been informed that I am involved in the imminent attack on Waitrose …
I watched a short bit of the town festival this morning but it’s all too noisy these days and I can’t understand what they’re singing and the crowds’ state of undress embarrasses me.
My brother doesn’t call me these days – I think it may have something to do with the cold icy day 2nd Rayners Lane cubs played 1st Rayners Lane cubs at footerballs on Roxbourne park and I was so cold I couldn’t run after the ball or even get changed afterward as my hands were too numb and hurt. I gave up footerballs after that and grew my hair longer.
The brunette has mentioned Waitrose again and rattled her keys – catch up later …
D.
09 June 2006
9/6/2006
Hi, Dear Denisos,
you’re a sweet-heart and I’m sorry for my words in my last @mail. ‘Bothered’ was not the right word and now I’ve bothered you. I’m sure you’re right only to answer some of my many, many questions and interminable drivel. If I’m honest most of it is rhetorical or devised to spawn a short debate. I have little interest in much these days although I found some fly fishing line the other day and have downloaded an EBook on knots from the wibbly wobbly and practise tying my knots of an evening sitting in my rocker on the decking under the shed veranda trying to blot out next doors reggae and her down the road screaming at her kids. The budgies and rabbits are strangely calming although I can’t see how their owners (being card holding A.L.F. members) square with keeping them locked in a cage all the time and not letting them go free and wild. I’m relieved your Carol has recovered. The brunette is still waiting for her exam results and keeps telling me that no-one has got a ‘first’ at the local Uni for Chemistry for the last four years. I reassured her not to worry her pretty head and that I was sure she did her best but she is still worrying and hasn’t spoken to me since. I wish to incorporate a self-feathering device into my turbine design to optimise what little wind there is at times and then blasting gusts at others. I thank you for your time, indulgence and patience. Perhaps you could make an off-the-record approach to Bal and ask something like “brrr brrr brrr click, Hi Bal me old mate, what became of that D who applied for the IT support job”? Please view my other items for sale on Ebay.
D
you’re a sweet-heart and I’m sorry for my words in my last @mail. ‘Bothered’ was not the right word and now I’ve bothered you. I’m sure you’re right only to answer some of my many, many questions and interminable drivel. If I’m honest most of it is rhetorical or devised to spawn a short debate. I have little interest in much these days although I found some fly fishing line the other day and have downloaded an EBook on knots from the wibbly wobbly and practise tying my knots of an evening sitting in my rocker on the decking under the shed veranda trying to blot out next doors reggae and her down the road screaming at her kids. The budgies and rabbits are strangely calming although I can’t see how their owners (being card holding A.L.F. members) square with keeping them locked in a cage all the time and not letting them go free and wild. I’m relieved your Carol has recovered. The brunette is still waiting for her exam results and keeps telling me that no-one has got a ‘first’ at the local Uni for Chemistry for the last four years. I reassured her not to worry her pretty head and that I was sure she did her best but she is still worrying and hasn’t spoken to me since. I wish to incorporate a self-feathering device into my turbine design to optimise what little wind there is at times and then blasting gusts at others. I thank you for your time, indulgence and patience. Perhaps you could make an off-the-record approach to Bal and ask something like “brrr brrr brrr click, Hi Bal me old mate, what became of that D who applied for the IT support job”? Please view my other items for sale on Ebay.
D
06 June 2006
6/6/2006
My dear friend,
I’m quite pleased your ears are back to normal but how is Carols throat? Have you any more info on Watford? Do you know ought about Savonius vanes? Where is that piece of scaffold pole? My experiences with the benefits agency took an unexpected turn today – I’m still not receiving benefits after first applying on 5th April (that’s not the surprising bit) but today I was asked if I was still a full time student – I was flabber ghasted – I’ve not been a full time student since April 2005 – this clerical error is apparently the main cause of me not receiving any benefit money for our little family of four. I have to admit to getting rather hot under the collar with them today and was immediately surrounded by non-english speaking security boys who kept saying “man back come” at me. At first I thought they wanted me to come back and I explained I hadn’t yet gone anywhere but it later transpired that I should wait until some guy came back from going to investigate the problem. Any road I think I’ll write it all down under the title “It took me two years to claim unemployment benefit and this is how I did it”. Tell me, if a Tourette’s person was never taught swear words, what would they shout? If one of our kids suffered from it I’d try only to teach him complicated math formulae or something more useful than w@nkers! Just imagine … E=Mc2!! or Hydrolysis!! I’m probably being insensitive but it all makes perfect sense to me at this moment although in a weeks time I’d struggle to find the mind-set that took me to that thought.
Right then I’ll hear from you in a month or so …
Ah you’re a pilot aren’t you? Could you get me a gyroscope? I’m making a self balancing wheeled device.
Thanks
D
I’m quite pleased your ears are back to normal but how is Carols throat? Have you any more info on Watford? Do you know ought about Savonius vanes? Where is that piece of scaffold pole? My experiences with the benefits agency took an unexpected turn today – I’m still not receiving benefits after first applying on 5th April (that’s not the surprising bit) but today I was asked if I was still a full time student – I was flabber ghasted – I’ve not been a full time student since April 2005 – this clerical error is apparently the main cause of me not receiving any benefit money for our little family of four. I have to admit to getting rather hot under the collar with them today and was immediately surrounded by non-english speaking security boys who kept saying “man back come” at me. At first I thought they wanted me to come back and I explained I hadn’t yet gone anywhere but it later transpired that I should wait until some guy came back from going to investigate the problem. Any road I think I’ll write it all down under the title “It took me two years to claim unemployment benefit and this is how I did it”. Tell me, if a Tourette’s person was never taught swear words, what would they shout? If one of our kids suffered from it I’d try only to teach him complicated math formulae or something more useful than w@nkers! Just imagine … E=Mc2!! or Hydrolysis!! I’m probably being insensitive but it all makes perfect sense to me at this moment although in a weeks time I’d struggle to find the mind-set that took me to that thought.
Right then I’ll hear from you in a month or so …
Ah you’re a pilot aren’t you? Could you get me a gyroscope? I’m making a self balancing wheeled device.
Thanks
D
25 May 2006
25/5/2006
My dearest nearly geek friend,
How are you and your Carol? On holiday again? Working hard? Running a Donkey Sanctuary on Cyprus?
My signing on was an experience and I continue to be in receipt of no benefits what so ever. I signed on Tuesday – sat down in front of the bloke and he asked, “how are you today?” I started to tell him that my foot was giving me gip but he cut me short and asked what I was doing to find work. I handed over my “Finding Work” form filled with page after page of job details I’ve applied for. He seemed taken aback. Apparently their “customers” generally only put one or two job details on the form every couple of weeks and I filled the whole 6 pages in my first week! I explained that I was keen and it was sure to wear off soon but asked for a continuation form anyway. I asked him if he knew when I might get any benefit money, “four to six weeks from date of signing” (apparently their stock answer) “I signed eight weeks ago” I told him. I got the distinct impression I was now getting annoying as he sighed deeply and prodded his computer even harder. “We have no details” he explained and then added “you have to ring Canterbury; we sent your details to them” Now, I’ve been in this position before or somewhere similar “Anyone in Canterbury?” I asked thinking maybe Town Hall, Post Office, Mrs Jessing at No.42 Glebe Place or maybe the fish shop “Yes just ring Canterbury and they’ll put you through” I asked for their number and got another big effort sigh. On my return home I rang the number he gave me (I won’t bore you with the 37 minutes it took me to get through) Well it turns out Canterbury don’t have my details. “Reading told me they’d sent them to you and that I should give you a call to find out when I might get benefit payments” I whimpered with desperation creeping into my voice “Why did they tell you that?” I was asked, by “Katttrania” I didn’t shout “HOW THE FECK SHOULD I KNOW” but was sorely tempted. After a while it emerged that my local branch had not in fact sent my details to Canterbury (another of their tricks they play on new signers probably). Canterbury insist I ring the local branch to find out where my details are … this is going to drag on I’m sure.
Do you have a spare aluminium scaffold pole? About 10M should do the job – post it if you have one – you shouldn’t need a postal tube nor should you need to wrap it up, just write my address in indelible ink along its length. I should sellotape the stamp if I were you though.
The brunette had her last exam yesterday and is now mooning about the place like some lost sheep although she has laid a bet that she will find a job before I do … I snook down the bookies and put a pound on that one to win.
Our local museum needs a Documentation Assistant again – someone to document the archaeology collections – they ask for someone with “an interest in archaeological material of all periods” well I’m interested of course and can identify a broken pot when I see one but I wouldn’t know if it came from the Jurassic or Crustacean periods – was the Jurassic period in the bronze age? I know from school that the Dark ages were when all the knights were roaming about the place.
Have you heard any more about any jobs at the factory? Anything in Watford maybe? Still no word from Tim or Bal. I got a new set of “Trainer Tamers” yesterday and spent this morning cutting them to shape and fitting them into my shoes then I listened to the Gypsy Kings for a while until the tape switched and Steve Earl came on yelling about some hillbilly road.
I’m going to clean the kitchen cupboards tomorrow.
D
How are you and your Carol? On holiday again? Working hard? Running a Donkey Sanctuary on Cyprus?
My signing on was an experience and I continue to be in receipt of no benefits what so ever. I signed on Tuesday – sat down in front of the bloke and he asked, “how are you today?” I started to tell him that my foot was giving me gip but he cut me short and asked what I was doing to find work. I handed over my “Finding Work” form filled with page after page of job details I’ve applied for. He seemed taken aback. Apparently their “customers” generally only put one or two job details on the form every couple of weeks and I filled the whole 6 pages in my first week! I explained that I was keen and it was sure to wear off soon but asked for a continuation form anyway. I asked him if he knew when I might get any benefit money, “four to six weeks from date of signing” (apparently their stock answer) “I signed eight weeks ago” I told him. I got the distinct impression I was now getting annoying as he sighed deeply and prodded his computer even harder. “We have no details” he explained and then added “you have to ring Canterbury; we sent your details to them” Now, I’ve been in this position before or somewhere similar “Anyone in Canterbury?” I asked thinking maybe Town Hall, Post Office, Mrs Jessing at No.42 Glebe Place or maybe the fish shop “Yes just ring Canterbury and they’ll put you through” I asked for their number and got another big effort sigh. On my return home I rang the number he gave me (I won’t bore you with the 37 minutes it took me to get through) Well it turns out Canterbury don’t have my details. “Reading told me they’d sent them to you and that I should give you a call to find out when I might get benefit payments” I whimpered with desperation creeping into my voice “Why did they tell you that?” I was asked, by “Katttrania” I didn’t shout “HOW THE FECK SHOULD I KNOW” but was sorely tempted. After a while it emerged that my local branch had not in fact sent my details to Canterbury (another of their tricks they play on new signers probably). Canterbury insist I ring the local branch to find out where my details are … this is going to drag on I’m sure.
Do you have a spare aluminium scaffold pole? About 10M should do the job – post it if you have one – you shouldn’t need a postal tube nor should you need to wrap it up, just write my address in indelible ink along its length. I should sellotape the stamp if I were you though.
The brunette had her last exam yesterday and is now mooning about the place like some lost sheep although she has laid a bet that she will find a job before I do … I snook down the bookies and put a pound on that one to win.
Our local museum needs a Documentation Assistant again – someone to document the archaeology collections – they ask for someone with “an interest in archaeological material of all periods” well I’m interested of course and can identify a broken pot when I see one but I wouldn’t know if it came from the Jurassic or Crustacean periods – was the Jurassic period in the bronze age? I know from school that the Dark ages were when all the knights were roaming about the place.
Have you heard any more about any jobs at the factory? Anything in Watford maybe? Still no word from Tim or Bal. I got a new set of “Trainer Tamers” yesterday and spent this morning cutting them to shape and fitting them into my shoes then I listened to the Gypsy Kings for a while until the tape switched and Steve Earl came on yelling about some hillbilly road.
I’m going to clean the kitchen cupboards tomorrow.
D
10 May 2006
10/5/2006
Hi me old china – (cockney rhyming slang),
I’m on the Rock and Roll (cockney rhyming slang)
Zsd;foi ia poaewrtpo aw]epo]poawetpo ]awetpok (nonsense)
The brunette has ordered me not to look for full time work but in it’s stead I should search out some part time thingy. Apparently I am needed to take kids to school and then collect them again afterward. This leaves me free to start work at 10am and finish again at 14.00hrs. I expect I’ll get used to these new long hours but it may take some while. So unless Rita needs someone to lend a hand for a while around lunch time every day he can get stuffed – actually no don’t say that as the brunette would change her mind if I explained the benefits of money to her. For now though I’m being compliant – it’s only fair until her finals are over in a couple of weeks time.
I’ve taken to selling junk on @bay – I listed a camera lens I dug out of the far corner of the shed last week – some twit in Austria gave me a bunch worth of intergalactic PayPal credits for it ! I’ve now dug out some old amps, a CB radio (10-4 good buddy), two portable CD players and an old black and white luggable video camera. I’m trying to keep it quiet from the brunette but I may have to use her bank account as my three appear to be broken.
How cerise of me – how was your holiday bloke? Get a tan did you? Buy a plot of land eh? Tuck into some goat stew or haloumi on toast with honey? Did yer go and see Aphrodite’s whatsit?
All the best
Your favourite seller
D
I’m on the Rock and Roll (cockney rhyming slang)
Zsd;foi ia poaewrtpo aw]epo]poawetpo ]awetpok (nonsense)
The brunette has ordered me not to look for full time work but in it’s stead I should search out some part time thingy. Apparently I am needed to take kids to school and then collect them again afterward. This leaves me free to start work at 10am and finish again at 14.00hrs. I expect I’ll get used to these new long hours but it may take some while. So unless Rita needs someone to lend a hand for a while around lunch time every day he can get stuffed – actually no don’t say that as the brunette would change her mind if I explained the benefits of money to her. For now though I’m being compliant – it’s only fair until her finals are over in a couple of weeks time.
I’ve taken to selling junk on @bay – I listed a camera lens I dug out of the far corner of the shed last week – some twit in Austria gave me a bunch worth of intergalactic PayPal credits for it ! I’ve now dug out some old amps, a CB radio (10-4 good buddy), two portable CD players and an old black and white luggable video camera. I’m trying to keep it quiet from the brunette but I may have to use her bank account as my three appear to be broken.
How cerise of me – how was your holiday bloke? Get a tan did you? Buy a plot of land eh? Tuck into some goat stew or haloumi on toast with honey? Did yer go and see Aphrodite’s whatsit?
All the best
Your favourite seller
D
13 April 2006
13/4/2006
Dear Dino,
After our day in the big city, the nine year old is even grumpier today – doesn’t want to pack for his holiday skiing in French Alps, just wants to do something exciting. I explained that going on holiday was exciting but he couldn’t see it. Brunette has taken him to pony club thing this morning with her mother then they’ll come back for lunch and t’other nanna will arrive to take him away (I’ve not been told for how long yet but I expect to be put in the picture in due course).
Once we got back from t’smoke last evening we watched a Narnia DVD thing to settle them before bed and consequently we weren’t woken until after 7:30 this morning. Nine year old didn’t want to eat breakfast because it was boring. He didn’t want to wash or brush his teeth because it was boring. Getting dressed was too boring. Getting his pony club gear together was boring and waiting for Grandma to arrive was even more boring. Getting piles of clothes from the wardrobe and putting them on his bed ready to be packed was boring and he was too bored to do up his pony club tie. Apparently winding the three year old up wasn’t boring, but me putting soap in his mouth for swearing at his mother was the last straw and he was too bored to even exist and just sat in his room with hoodie and dark glasses on whilst spitting bits of soap into his bin. Grandma arrived bringing armfuls of toys left at her place during our last visit and then they left to watch nine year old horse riding.
Three year old and I are now watching StarWars episode 2 and raiding the cupboard for biscuits and sweets.
Brunette keeps pointing out jobs in the local paper – “driving for the elderly”, school caretaker, supermarket trolley collector, leaflet deliverer etc etc. I would like to be a park keeper with a leaning towards robotics but there don’t seem to be any of those jobs about (I could even supply my own shed, wellies, deckchair and kettle).
How come the ALF dislike zoos but next door can keep rabbits and budgies in their own private petting compound? I leant over the fence the other day and said how the kids loved the animals – “it’s like having their own petting zoo” I said “and its cheaper than visiting a real zoo” “No” she said, “zoos are bad”. I stood in silence for a moment looking at their wire and concrete compound, then went, and leant on our other fence to see what the other neighbour was up to.
I’m going to be squeezing filler into various gaps around the house today – but am not allowed to sand anything down as it makes too much mess…
Catch up later
D
After our day in the big city, the nine year old is even grumpier today – doesn’t want to pack for his holiday skiing in French Alps, just wants to do something exciting. I explained that going on holiday was exciting but he couldn’t see it. Brunette has taken him to pony club thing this morning with her mother then they’ll come back for lunch and t’other nanna will arrive to take him away (I’ve not been told for how long yet but I expect to be put in the picture in due course).
Once we got back from t’smoke last evening we watched a Narnia DVD thing to settle them before bed and consequently we weren’t woken until after 7:30 this morning. Nine year old didn’t want to eat breakfast because it was boring. He didn’t want to wash or brush his teeth because it was boring. Getting dressed was too boring. Getting his pony club gear together was boring and waiting for Grandma to arrive was even more boring. Getting piles of clothes from the wardrobe and putting them on his bed ready to be packed was boring and he was too bored to do up his pony club tie. Apparently winding the three year old up wasn’t boring, but me putting soap in his mouth for swearing at his mother was the last straw and he was too bored to even exist and just sat in his room with hoodie and dark glasses on whilst spitting bits of soap into his bin. Grandma arrived bringing armfuls of toys left at her place during our last visit and then they left to watch nine year old horse riding.
Three year old and I are now watching StarWars episode 2 and raiding the cupboard for biscuits and sweets.
Brunette keeps pointing out jobs in the local paper – “driving for the elderly”, school caretaker, supermarket trolley collector, leaflet deliverer etc etc. I would like to be a park keeper with a leaning towards robotics but there don’t seem to be any of those jobs about (I could even supply my own shed, wellies, deckchair and kettle).
How come the ALF dislike zoos but next door can keep rabbits and budgies in their own private petting compound? I leant over the fence the other day and said how the kids loved the animals – “it’s like having their own petting zoo” I said “and its cheaper than visiting a real zoo” “No” she said, “zoos are bad”. I stood in silence for a moment looking at their wire and concrete compound, then went, and leant on our other fence to see what the other neighbour was up to.
I’m going to be squeezing filler into various gaps around the house today – but am not allowed to sand anything down as it makes too much mess…
Catch up later
D
10 April 2006
10/4/2006
Hi Dino,
We’re (Brunette, me, 9 year old goldfish brain and three year old) off up to the big smoke tomorrow. I’ve spent the morning planning my route via Google and various travel web sites. I’ve found it very difficult to know whether we are going to be travelling in “peak” or “off peak” times. We are to be leaving very early so as to arrive at the passport office near to Victoria Station at 8:15am and I simply needed to know at what time “peak” started of a morning – all the sites inform one as to what time “off peak” starts – 9:30am until 4:30 and then it is “peak” but surely it can’t still be “peak” at 4:00am the next morning? Well the best answer I could get was “peak starts in the morning sir” from a very polite but savvy lacking Brick Lane accent. Political politeness restrains me from letting on which end of Brick Lane but you’ll get the gist.
Our nine year old took part in a “fun run” this last Sunday (quite what “fun” has to do with running I’m not sure) any road it was ran or run at the same time and in the same rough area as the now infamous Reading Half Marathon or “4 ½ yard beetle” as my mate calls it (half the full nine yards). As you can imagine, Readinge (pronounced Readinge) comes to a complete standstill for this one day a year with nearly all roads closed except to busses, taxis, steel band mini-busses and lunatic cyclists. Well to make a short story longer; our portion of the day’s events ended about 7 hours ahead of the main event – it being a fun 2k and not 13. whatever miles – so I had two choices – stay for the next 7 hours and enjoy the pain on the staggering finishers contorted faces or use my direction-finding skills to get us home for an afternoon of crocus and bind-weed pulling. I smugly flicked on the local radio station in the car to be greeted with “Here is the traffic report for all you people trying to get home or to the shops while the Reading Half Marathon is on … most of the surrounding area is grid locked and the list of road closures is on our web site”. The brunette giggled nervously. I took up the challenge. The brunette tightened her seat belt and called over her shoulder to the kids to do likewise. With a 23 mile detour I made it to the far side of Town in just under 3 hours 57 but then to my utter dismay, we had to stop for an hour and a half at a MacDonald’s (it wasn’t my idea – I was just humming the tune – the kids said we had to stop). Anyway as it turned out by the time we’d scoffed our way through the best part of three quid, the roads were opened again but for next time, how on earth can I get the inter wibbly in the car? Am I that far out of date and it is common place these days to surf the wobbly while tackling the hairpins on the B348?
Any who, to get to the point of my email – how are you dear chap? Have you completed your decorating task? Have you written it down for t’book? Any news of my imminent appointment as lay-about in-waiting at the City Office?
We’re (Brunette, me, 9 year old goldfish brain and three year old) off up to the big smoke tomorrow. I’ve spent the morning planning my route via Google and various travel web sites. I’ve found it very difficult to know whether we are going to be travelling in “peak” or “off peak” times. We are to be leaving very early so as to arrive at the passport office near to Victoria Station at 8:15am and I simply needed to know at what time “peak” started of a morning – all the sites inform one as to what time “off peak” starts – 9:30am until 4:30 and then it is “peak” but surely it can’t still be “peak” at 4:00am the next morning? Well the best answer I could get was “peak starts in the morning sir” from a very polite but savvy lacking Brick Lane accent. Political politeness restrains me from letting on which end of Brick Lane but you’ll get the gist.
Our nine year old took part in a “fun run” this last Sunday (quite what “fun” has to do with running I’m not sure) any road it was ran or run at the same time and in the same rough area as the now infamous Reading Half Marathon or “4 ½ yard beetle” as my mate calls it (half the full nine yards). As you can imagine, Readinge (pronounced Readinge) comes to a complete standstill for this one day a year with nearly all roads closed except to busses, taxis, steel band mini-busses and lunatic cyclists. Well to make a short story longer; our portion of the day’s events ended about 7 hours ahead of the main event – it being a fun 2k and not 13. whatever miles – so I had two choices – stay for the next 7 hours and enjoy the pain on the staggering finishers contorted faces or use my direction-finding skills to get us home for an afternoon of crocus and bind-weed pulling. I smugly flicked on the local radio station in the car to be greeted with “Here is the traffic report for all you people trying to get home or to the shops while the Reading Half Marathon is on … most of the surrounding area is grid locked and the list of road closures is on our web site”. The brunette giggled nervously. I took up the challenge. The brunette tightened her seat belt and called over her shoulder to the kids to do likewise. With a 23 mile detour I made it to the far side of Town in just under 3 hours 57 but then to my utter dismay, we had to stop for an hour and a half at a MacDonald’s (it wasn’t my idea – I was just humming the tune – the kids said we had to stop). Anyway as it turned out by the time we’d scoffed our way through the best part of three quid, the roads were opened again but for next time, how on earth can I get the inter wibbly in the car? Am I that far out of date and it is common place these days to surf the wobbly while tackling the hairpins on the B348?
Any who, to get to the point of my email – how are you dear chap? Have you completed your decorating task? Have you written it down for t’book? Any news of my imminent appointment as lay-about in-waiting at the City Office?
08 April 2006
8/4/2006
Hey Hi,
I went onto “google earth” yesterday and it looks like the day they took the photy of your house you were outside sunbathing – where did you get those trunks? I know it is you as I recognise the tattoo on your calf. What is Rita’s’ address?
I went onto “google earth” yesterday and it looks like the day they took the photy of your house you were outside sunbathing – where did you get those trunks? I know it is you as I recognise the tattoo on your calf. What is Rita’s’ address?
24 March 2006
24/3/2006
My dear Dino,
I’ve not heard from the man yet from my interview this past Tuesday as he promised and so can only surmise he delved into my background just a little too deeply and has deemed feedback unnecessary, as I should have known better than to apply in the first place. I’ve heard of a job going at the London Zoo training Meer Cats to use computers – apparently the Army has suffered cutbacks and now is considering using them to act as lookouts and then to email in reports on enemy positions. I understand a server is to be buried and installed underground in a burrow with terminals in each burrow branch opening and linked via Ethernet and fibre. I suggested at my interview they ought to maybe consider Blackberries but it seems the meer cats can’t hold them properly and they keep pressing the volume button when climbing trees behind enemy lines and they’ve tried giving them belts with pouches for the devices but they keep slipping down as they don’t have discernable waists. Personally I think they could have persevered and tried braces or shoulder holsters but I didn’t push it as I didn’t want to appear too cocky at the first interview. If I do get the job though it’ll be nice to wear my camouflage jacket and slotted balaclava again. Any way I’d better go as the brunette is doing something with aubergines and seems to have forgotten the meat again. Hope you’ve got over your jet-lag now from your Bolivian adventure. Chin up fella.
D
I’ve not heard from the man yet from my interview this past Tuesday as he promised and so can only surmise he delved into my background just a little too deeply and has deemed feedback unnecessary, as I should have known better than to apply in the first place. I’ve heard of a job going at the London Zoo training Meer Cats to use computers – apparently the Army has suffered cutbacks and now is considering using them to act as lookouts and then to email in reports on enemy positions. I understand a server is to be buried and installed underground in a burrow with terminals in each burrow branch opening and linked via Ethernet and fibre. I suggested at my interview they ought to maybe consider Blackberries but it seems the meer cats can’t hold them properly and they keep pressing the volume button when climbing trees behind enemy lines and they’ve tried giving them belts with pouches for the devices but they keep slipping down as they don’t have discernable waists. Personally I think they could have persevered and tried braces or shoulder holsters but I didn’t push it as I didn’t want to appear too cocky at the first interview. If I do get the job though it’ll be nice to wear my camouflage jacket and slotted balaclava again. Any way I’d better go as the brunette is doing something with aubergines and seems to have forgotten the meat again. Hope you’ve got over your jet-lag now from your Bolivian adventure. Chin up fella.
D
10 March 2006
It only took me two weeks to change the light bulb in our kitchen and this is how I did it
Brunette - "Oi ! when you've finished sglurping your breakfast, the bulb in the kitchen has blown again!"
Me - (cheerily) "Yes dear! just coming!" and as an after-thought "what wattage would that be dearest?"
Brunette - "You tryin to be funny!!??"
Me - (hesitantly) "umm, probably, umm dearest"
.
.
Anyway, I went to change the light bulb whereupon the light fitting just crumbled and broke in my hands. We needed a replacement light fitting for the kitchen. Cor a technical job I could really get into. I went out and bought a sparkly new chromed fitting from ye olde DIYe shoppe.
Wobbling on the kitchen three legged stool and on attempting to fit the fitting, I immediately noticed two things.
1) The wires coming down from the ceiling did not include an Earth - essential for this type of fitting.
2) The wire protruding from the ceiling was of the old 'rubber' type and the insulation was crumbling away.
We needed new wire ..This job was getting bigger very quickly. I may have to don my brown workshop coat and tape a pencil behind my ear - should impress them down at the hardware shoppe.
Upstairs in the box room, I merrily pulled up the carpet to reveal the floorboards which needed removing to allow me to replace the wiring. This then also revealed another problem.
1) The boards were crumbly and riddled with woodworm.
I scuttled back to the ‘olde hardware shoppe’ with tape measure in hand to purchase a tin of their finest 14 Star Wood Worm Treatment. At the same time I impressed myself by purchasing some lengths of replacement floor boarding and a reel of twin and earth.
I could tell there had been some DIY in this area before – aha! A rare chance to study someone else’s DIY techniques without them noticing me watching from the bushes. Under the floor boards should have been an albeit dark and dusty – space. Yes, space was missing. I had the dark and dusty but I was somehow missing the ‘space’ bit. It was full of old bits of copper 15mm & 22mm pipe, cut wires, broken terminal blocks, bits of brick, plaster and chunks of general masonry, spent matches, old floor-board nails, half of a workman’s cap (left side), a screw driver (large flat bladed) and a house number plaque for No.27 ! (we live at No. 32 so this was particularly worrying). Finally, there was the handle from a china t-cup. I rubbed my hands together – at least my DIY will be better than the last bloke I thought and hopped around the room on one leg (the other had gone to sleep seven minutes previously). I removed all the affected wood and carted it down stairs to the dust bin, dispersing infected wood dust around the house to ensure years of DIY pleasure for decades to come. I retrieved my workshop hoover from the shed and set about reclaiming the spaces between the joists then shut the door on the dust until the morning.
I sploshed the 14 Star Wood Worm Treatment around the area and, whilst it all soaked into the wood, read the instructions on the tin
"Keep away from cables and wiring"
"do not replace carpets for 6-8 weeks"
"Highly flammable - keep away from sparks and live wires"
"not suitable for wood"
"do not liberally splosh about the place"
yada
yada
I beetled down stairs and removed the relevant fuse (clearly pencilled “smorl bedrume”), from the Bakelite fuse-box on the wall, after, of course, first removing three tonnes of junk from in front of the afore mentioned.
Down in the sitting room the telly went off. We were bathed in silence for a short yet metric second …
"Hey! mum! the telly has gone off!" shouted the eight year old from the sitting room. I thought ... "Coo that boy’s bright – he’ll go a long way he will." Then called “Oops, wrong fuse”. I replaced that one and as none proclaimed to be for kitchen lights, removed the one marked "Dawn Stares Sokits". Prayers went out to the Mr Previous Owner - Hey presto, the box room light went out. Off I went again, up the ever lengthening stairs. I stopped and thought - Ah yes of course - although I'm working in the box-room (upstairs), the light fitting is the kitchen fitting (downstairs) - simple but deadly mistake. I'd better check and label those fuses - one flat Monday.
I examined the fittings for the light switch in the space under the floor boards and below in the kitchen - the two screws normally firmly twisted into a beam or some such were actually just poking through one of the lathes (yep lathe and plaster ceiling below). These were then prevented from disappearing into the kitchen by having a piece of wire wrapped around the two threaded screws.
After a rummage in my “Battleship Blue” shed I found just the piece of wood I needed. Pine I think, or maybe Leylandii or Horse Chestnut. Up to the box room and a short while sawing, planing and sanding later I fitted the best looking noggin you've ever seen. It fitted in all the right places, it had clean sleek lines and crisp edges. I’d waxed it as well so whom ever came after me could see the sheer quality of the DIY that I could do. Unfortunately while I was doing this, the pull-cord switch fell from the ceiling below and shattered into small fragments on the cold, hard kitchen floor. This then elicited a barrage of loud calling from below as the Brunette was mixing a practice batch of Yorkshire Pudding at the time and the shock of the crashing light switch caused her to have a sudden movement (momentous occasion) and consequently the batter mixture sprayed liberally around four walls and the Brunettes best Sunday outfit (its a Saturday).
Once I'd cleaned the kitchen, (it somehow became my job as the Brunette had to sit down and recover) I returned to the box room, gathered my tape measure, attached it to my trouser belt and popped out to the olde DIY shoppe once again - this time for a new light switch. As a rule, I’ve always found it best to visit the DIY shoppe looking as though I know what I’m doing, (hence the tape-measure) otherwise I get palmed off with something I don’t want and then have to find another shoppe to get what I really wanted in the first place, as I’m then too embarrassed to go back to the original shoppe to exchange the wrong thing for the right thing.
So, back up to the box room. Then down again to the kitchen – “up down up down up down like a whores drawers!” “What’s that?” “Nothing dearest, just up and down stairs a lot, that’s all”. I screw the new light switch through the ceiling and into my smart looking ‘noggin’. Beautiful! Both screws ‘do-up’ tightly. I trundle back up to have a look.
Back in the box room, something in the floor space sparks – “Woah!!” I jump back and fly down stairs – the fuse is not on the ironing board where I left it! “Err, Brunette?” I call tentatively, “Do you know where the fuse is that I left on the ironing board?” “Oh I put it back in the fuse box – I thought you’d finished with it” My mind wanders back to just the other evening. The Brunette was asking about my life insurance … I remove the fuse once again and place it carefully in my pocket.
Wires get replaced with proper 5A ‘twin & earth’, fittings get installed, dust and debris get brushed and vacuumed and all works wonderfully. Hoorah! The stairs light hasn't flickered since either, which is just a little strange. I cut the floor boards and screw them down – I don’t like using nails as I know I’ll only have to pull them out again and it’s always much easier when the boards are screwed down. Measure twice – cut once. Measure twice – cut once. Measure twice – cut once.
Basking in my success with the noggin, I examine the step down into the box room – turn of the century terraces have strange configurations sometimes - there really ought to be two steps as opposed to the one glopping great cliff in place at the moment. I mentally plan re-fitting the step and making two smaller ones to replace the one large step. “It’ll be a doddle love and it will be easier for you when carrying the baby” Brunette looks at me with that knowing but doubtful look of hers. “Why don’t we sit in front of the TV tonight and share a pot of ‘half-baked’?” she says, her steely look softening. I'm already thinking about replacing the shower unit and I spend the remainder of the day replacing my tools into their proper marked places in my shed and checking my stock of plumbing bits and pieces for next weekend - it shouldn't take long surely... just remove the old shower and put a new one in its place ... surely ...
Me - (cheerily) "Yes dear! just coming!" and as an after-thought "what wattage would that be dearest?"
Brunette - "You tryin to be funny!!??"
Me - (hesitantly) "umm, probably, umm dearest"
.
.
Anyway, I went to change the light bulb whereupon the light fitting just crumbled and broke in my hands. We needed a replacement light fitting for the kitchen. Cor a technical job I could really get into. I went out and bought a sparkly new chromed fitting from ye olde DIYe shoppe.
Wobbling on the kitchen three legged stool and on attempting to fit the fitting, I immediately noticed two things.
1) The wires coming down from the ceiling did not include an Earth - essential for this type of fitting.
2) The wire protruding from the ceiling was of the old 'rubber' type and the insulation was crumbling away.
We needed new wire ..This job was getting bigger very quickly. I may have to don my brown workshop coat and tape a pencil behind my ear - should impress them down at the hardware shoppe.
Upstairs in the box room, I merrily pulled up the carpet to reveal the floorboards which needed removing to allow me to replace the wiring. This then also revealed another problem.
1) The boards were crumbly and riddled with woodworm.
I scuttled back to the ‘olde hardware shoppe’ with tape measure in hand to purchase a tin of their finest 14 Star Wood Worm Treatment. At the same time I impressed myself by purchasing some lengths of replacement floor boarding and a reel of twin and earth.
I could tell there had been some DIY in this area before – aha! A rare chance to study someone else’s DIY techniques without them noticing me watching from the bushes. Under the floor boards should have been an albeit dark and dusty – space. Yes, space was missing. I had the dark and dusty but I was somehow missing the ‘space’ bit. It was full of old bits of copper 15mm & 22mm pipe, cut wires, broken terminal blocks, bits of brick, plaster and chunks of general masonry, spent matches, old floor-board nails, half of a workman’s cap (left side), a screw driver (large flat bladed) and a house number plaque for No.27 ! (we live at No. 32 so this was particularly worrying). Finally, there was the handle from a china t-cup. I rubbed my hands together – at least my DIY will be better than the last bloke I thought and hopped around the room on one leg (the other had gone to sleep seven minutes previously). I removed all the affected wood and carted it down stairs to the dust bin, dispersing infected wood dust around the house to ensure years of DIY pleasure for decades to come. I retrieved my workshop hoover from the shed and set about reclaiming the spaces between the joists then shut the door on the dust until the morning.
I sploshed the 14 Star Wood Worm Treatment around the area and, whilst it all soaked into the wood, read the instructions on the tin
"Keep away from cables and wiring"
"do not replace carpets for 6-8 weeks"
"Highly flammable - keep away from sparks and live wires"
"not suitable for wood"
"do not liberally splosh about the place"
yada
yada
I beetled down stairs and removed the relevant fuse (clearly pencilled “smorl bedrume”), from the Bakelite fuse-box on the wall, after, of course, first removing three tonnes of junk from in front of the afore mentioned.
Down in the sitting room the telly went off. We were bathed in silence for a short yet metric second …
"Hey! mum! the telly has gone off!" shouted the eight year old from the sitting room. I thought ... "Coo that boy’s bright – he’ll go a long way he will." Then called “Oops, wrong fuse”. I replaced that one and as none proclaimed to be for kitchen lights, removed the one marked "Dawn Stares Sokits". Prayers went out to the Mr Previous Owner - Hey presto, the box room light went out. Off I went again, up the ever lengthening stairs. I stopped and thought - Ah yes of course - although I'm working in the box-room (upstairs), the light fitting is the kitchen fitting (downstairs) - simple but deadly mistake. I'd better check and label those fuses - one flat Monday.
I examined the fittings for the light switch in the space under the floor boards and below in the kitchen - the two screws normally firmly twisted into a beam or some such were actually just poking through one of the lathes (yep lathe and plaster ceiling below). These were then prevented from disappearing into the kitchen by having a piece of wire wrapped around the two threaded screws.
After a rummage in my “Battleship Blue” shed I found just the piece of wood I needed. Pine I think, or maybe Leylandii or Horse Chestnut. Up to the box room and a short while sawing, planing and sanding later I fitted the best looking noggin you've ever seen. It fitted in all the right places, it had clean sleek lines and crisp edges. I’d waxed it as well so whom ever came after me could see the sheer quality of the DIY that I could do. Unfortunately while I was doing this, the pull-cord switch fell from the ceiling below and shattered into small fragments on the cold, hard kitchen floor. This then elicited a barrage of loud calling from below as the Brunette was mixing a practice batch of Yorkshire Pudding at the time and the shock of the crashing light switch caused her to have a sudden movement (momentous occasion) and consequently the batter mixture sprayed liberally around four walls and the Brunettes best Sunday outfit (its a Saturday).
Once I'd cleaned the kitchen, (it somehow became my job as the Brunette had to sit down and recover) I returned to the box room, gathered my tape measure, attached it to my trouser belt and popped out to the olde DIY shoppe once again - this time for a new light switch. As a rule, I’ve always found it best to visit the DIY shoppe looking as though I know what I’m doing, (hence the tape-measure) otherwise I get palmed off with something I don’t want and then have to find another shoppe to get what I really wanted in the first place, as I’m then too embarrassed to go back to the original shoppe to exchange the wrong thing for the right thing.
So, back up to the box room. Then down again to the kitchen – “up down up down up down like a whores drawers!” “What’s that?” “Nothing dearest, just up and down stairs a lot, that’s all”. I screw the new light switch through the ceiling and into my smart looking ‘noggin’. Beautiful! Both screws ‘do-up’ tightly. I trundle back up to have a look.
Back in the box room, something in the floor space sparks – “Woah!!” I jump back and fly down stairs – the fuse is not on the ironing board where I left it! “Err, Brunette?” I call tentatively, “Do you know where the fuse is that I left on the ironing board?” “Oh I put it back in the fuse box – I thought you’d finished with it” My mind wanders back to just the other evening. The Brunette was asking about my life insurance … I remove the fuse once again and place it carefully in my pocket.
Wires get replaced with proper 5A ‘twin & earth’, fittings get installed, dust and debris get brushed and vacuumed and all works wonderfully. Hoorah! The stairs light hasn't flickered since either, which is just a little strange. I cut the floor boards and screw them down – I don’t like using nails as I know I’ll only have to pull them out again and it’s always much easier when the boards are screwed down. Measure twice – cut once. Measure twice – cut once. Measure twice – cut once.
Basking in my success with the noggin, I examine the step down into the box room – turn of the century terraces have strange configurations sometimes - there really ought to be two steps as opposed to the one glopping great cliff in place at the moment. I mentally plan re-fitting the step and making two smaller ones to replace the one large step. “It’ll be a doddle love and it will be easier for you when carrying the baby” Brunette looks at me with that knowing but doubtful look of hers. “Why don’t we sit in front of the TV tonight and share a pot of ‘half-baked’?” she says, her steely look softening. I'm already thinking about replacing the shower unit and I spend the remainder of the day replacing my tools into their proper marked places in my shed and checking my stock of plumbing bits and pieces for next weekend - it shouldn't take long surely... just remove the old shower and put a new one in its place ... surely ...
It only took me two weeks to change the flapper valve on our loo and this is how I did it
“Lover?” the gorgeous brunette whispered in my ear “If I sit the kids in front of the telly and come back to bed for a while, do you promise to eat this hot, buttered, bacon sandwich?” It was of course a dream, and one from which I really didn’t want to surface.
Muffled voices from down stairs, “The loo won’t flush” more muffling and slightly louder voices “what’s he done to it?”, “bloody thing … COME ON FLUSH” sounds of persistent handle yanking – the type where you just know the handle will break off at any moment. Then silence. With the handle yanking session over (later I’d see the handle survived its ordeal) heavy footsteps appeared on the stairs. Not so muffled and becoming clearer by the footstep. “Are you still in bed?” Head around the door now, “I said, are you still in bed?” “yes dear, will you be joining me?” “No I bloody won’t – what’ve you done to the toilet? It won’t flush” “I haven’t done anything my love, I’ve been in bed” “I can see that. Get up and fix it ‘cos it won’t flush” “ok my equine brunette, I’m getting up now. You could pour some water down it for now to manually flush it” “Eh? How much water?” “Oh probably a gallon or two love, I won’t be long” Mumbled steps get fainter as the brunette descends the stairs once more. I hear mugs being moved about … the brunette calls up the stairs “how many mugs of water to a gallon?” Now, I could have said twenty, just to keep the brunette busy whilst I got up and dressed, also it would have taken far too long to explain the problems with the one-mug-at-a-time strategy but, I decided on option three and just called “ok love, won’t be a minute” and went back to getting my sock on without falling off the bed. The eight year old came up the stairs “the bog won’t flush and mums done a po …” “THANK YOU” I hastily interrupted, “yes I know and we call it a loo or a toilet in our family” “what?” “What, what?” “What do we call a loo or a toilet?” “Pardon?” “You said we call IT a loo or a toilet”. An eight year old brain at work is an awesome and rare event and he’d clearly forgotten what he’d just that second asked me. This was a somewhat strange conversation to have first thing in the morning, whilst sitting on the bed half dressed – even with an eight year old goldfish brain. Come to think of it though, maybe its not that strange, there must be many, many parents who notice conversations getting more and more difficult as their little sugar lumps race towards nine, ten and beyond. The question is really, do I persist and explain that the white porcelain bowl he so admirably and regularly misses in the bathroom is called a ‘toilet’, or do I divert his strange train of abstract thought and get him to do something vaguely useful. “Can you go down the road and buy a paper? – you can keep the change – ask mum for a quid” This should fox him. The newsagent is up the road and has been for at least the past 13 years to my knowledge but we’ll see how far he gets. Unlaced trainers scramble down the stairs to claim that ‘quid from mum’.
I took a peek around the bathroom door and quickly retreated deciding breakfast was required before anything else.
The cistern lid lifted off without any problem to expose the inner workings. There was an array of rusty bits, lime scale encrusted bits, plastic bits, remains of ‘blue-loo’ bits, a marble, a yellow Lego man with missing head, one dead bee, a large red ball on a long metal rod and a gallon or two of water. I gently moved the flushing handle to see all the levers and pulleys working. All appeared to move in unison but the water stayed where it was. I flushed more vigorously – the calm water remained. I began to yank. Then harder and harder. Rust began to fall off the inner parts of the handle mechanism and into the choppy but flush resistant water. Yanking like a man possessed I yanked to a crescendo of flashing arm movements. I sank back against the bathroom door, sweat forming on my brow and breathing heavily. What was I going to do if it did eventually flush? Would I tell the brunette to yank the handle a couple of dozen times really frantically and that it would be all right because then it may or may not flush? To be honest, if it didn’t flush with the first movement of the handle then it needed fixing so, it did absolutely no good at all to work myself up to a sweat but it felt good that I was at least doing something and they (the now huddled and whispering family) could tell I was doing something.
I knelt down and stuck my head as far as I could round the underneath of the cistern immediately recoiling, stumbling to the shower, fumbling for the tap in blind panic and drenching my head over the side of the bath. Now, I knew those firemen we see on the telly don’t really look quite so daft in their totally enclosed Germ Warfare Suits and I wished I had one. I slowly stood up and reached for the towel. I (remarkably) calmly called to the brunette that I wouldn’t even think of fixing the loo until it had been totally cleaned at least twice. The cleaner liquid and a cloth appeared through the gap in the door and then it closed again. I notice my knees are wet and realise all too late just where all the odd drips and splashes go over the weeks, months, years. I mentally shrug, recovering my composure, resigned to being germ ridden and smelly for a day or so … and silently vow never to have a carpet in a bathroom or anywhere near a toilet again.
I tore up the sodden carpet and rolled it as neatly as possible, touching it only with my finger tips and my boots. Calling to the brunette to get the front door open, I paused and waited for her confirmation. I dashed through the kitchen and the dining room – but, but “NO” the eight year old goldfish brain had arrived back with a newspaper and is now stood at the bottom of the stairs and directly in my line of sight to the front door “what doing?” he asked but by this time I was running at full tilt and could only shout “GET BACK”. He fell backward onto the bottom few steps as I rhino’d passed and on through into the sitting room and out the front door narrowly missing the milkman who was busily arranging milk bottles on my freshly tended annuals. The two year old was shouting out of the window “Yeah, Daddy winning yeah”. I tossed my carpet caber over to the right as I headed down the path and on into the street knowing our car would stop me. I thudded into the door and flattened the wing mirror, setting off the alarm. Brian, a couple of doors down, stopped polishing his car and called “Hi Derek, I see they’re building new flats in George Street then” as I collapsed against our car. Then adding “Ah, I see you’re sitting down then, Derek” as if to show off his talent for stating the bleedin’ obvious. The brunette came out and asked if it was our car alarm and the two year old was jumping up and down at the window yelling “YEAH yeah Daddy winner yeah”. Goldfish brain looked out of the front door and said “The bog won’t flush” I couldn’t take any more. I cut the top off a nearly empty, one gallon, washing liquid container, leaving a bucket sized vessel to be filled from the bathroom sink and used for flushing down the loo. Then I packed my tools away for the day, sank into a hot bath and then the sofa, in that order.
A day became three. The eight year old couldn’t understand how to flush the loo with the one gallon plastic washing liquid container.
I thought long and hard about the problem. Three days became a week …
I awoke that morning feeling suddenly and alarmingly alive. I was ready for action and capable of tackling anything. Before breakfast I’d turned the water stop cock off. Then turned it back on again when I realised I couldn’t wash or brush my teeth. Also that I would need to clean in and around the loo at least twice again before sticking my head anywhere near it. So, I turned the stop cock back on.
First of all, the cistern needed emptying. I had just the right tool to empty the cistern – a drill operated water pump. I’d seen it in Alan’s Hardware a couple of years ago and knew it would come in handy one day. And I knew exactly where it was – in my shed, under the workbench and in a wooden crate on the left – where the brunette couldn’t stumble across it and ask awkwardly “when did you get this?” and “what are you going to use this for?” I turned the stop cock off and organised my drill-pump. A few minutes later and the cistern was empty, except for a layer of lime scale and rust flakes.
It then took two hard fought hours to get the cistern off as the wing nuts underneath were rusted solid and by the time I’d got them both undone my fingers were bruised and hurting, covered in WD40 and the colour of rust, as was the toilet bowl and seat and the cistern. I lay the cistern on the floor. If I ever have to do this again I’ll soak the wing nuts in WD40 for a day or so first. I easily removed the siphon tube arrangement by undoing the large plastic nut on the bottom of the cistern and lifted the whole contraption out and onto the floor.
The old flapper valve dismantles quite easily but has the looks and consistency of an old and torn plastic sandwich bag – surely it has to be more substantial than this? I look around for something more substantial yet still pliable. I cut the flat side from the plastic container used for the flushing to now use as a flapper making sure it is a good fit but doesn’t chafe on the sides of the siphon body - the diyee shoppe didn’t stock them but my new stronger flapper will surely last for ever. I quickly make plans to make hundreds and market them. I have a brilliant idea for a TV advert campaign involving a stingray and a surfer. I visualise brightly coloured cardboard signs in DIYee Shoppes. So long as I can get hold of lots of empty plastic gallon containers I could be a millionaire. It’d be named after me - known as ‘The Flapping Derek’ – after the ‘Spinning Jenny’. I quickly reassembled everything and practised ‘dry runs’. It seemed to function as it should.
I turn stop cock back on. There was water coming from absolutely everywhere but I need to try my fabulous “Flapping Derek”. Disappointingly it takes three goes to flush and then it only flushed a bit and not even all the water from the cistern. I quickly dive under the kitchen sink and turn the stop cock off once more. I begrudgingly undo all the joints and seals, squeeze in plenty of Gutter Sealing Compound, and retighten the joints. Turn stop cock back on and two new leaks appear but the originals have gone away – at least for now. Once again I turn the stop cock off. All this is fast becoming tedious. Every five minutes someone wants to use the loo or wants to make a cup of tea or do the washing up. I have to admit to stamping my feet when the eight year old wanted to do some painting with his water paints. The brunette leaps to his defence but I counter with a brilliant “It’s the middle of July” I state the bleedin’ obvious; “he got them for Christmas, why does he need to do his painting now when I’m trying to fix the loo?” I plead. Her look stops my pleading in its tracks. I turn the stop cock back on and sulk out to the shed then wished I’d made a mug of tea first to take out with me.
I return after an hour to find painting wasn’t done as he got bored within five minutes and couldn’t decide what to paint. I turn the stop cock off.
After closely examining the fibre washers in the compression joints and the soldering skills of Mr Previous Plumber I decide to renew all the fittings and solder new joints, fit new fibre washers and new compression olives. As is normal with this type of work I quickly burn a finger on a recently resoldered joint but ha! The water is off so I can’t soak my smarting finger under cold running water – I hop around the bathroom with my hand under my armpit whilst calling to the brunette for help. She has gone for a rest upstairs and says it is my fault for turning the water off. The nearest water is in the cats bowl. I fall to my knees like some dying desert escapee and hold my finger in as little of the murky luke warm and slimy liquid as is possible while still gaining some cooling effect. I struggle to my feet and lurch back to the bathroom to finish replacing the joints and connections.
Whilst I was in the shed sulking, I rummaged in my plumbing bits box and found a brand new, still in a plastic pack, isolator valve. I carefully cut pipe under cistern 11 mm shorter (I measured it twice) position the isolator valve and tighten against the compression olives. There is no space between the radiator and the cistern but I get a little pressure on the spanners and do them up as much as possible. In my experience the compressions have to be done up as tightly as possible but joints with fibre washers just need to be finger tight then a quarter of a turn with a spanner as any more and they would distort and leak.
Turn stop cock back on – I can hear running water from somewhere … I run to the bathroom. Again there is water everywhere – blind panic search for screw driver (flat head not cross head) turn isolator valve off – there is only one leak but it could be from any one of three places. I stick a bowl under the dripping leak then clean up the standing water from bathroom floor and pack up for the day … this becomes another week.
Some days later and one afternoon, I visit ye local olde diyee shoppe to get a new ball valve assembly as the mounting thread had gone all messy and skewed on the existing one after so many attempts to stop leaks. I notice a special deal on towel heater radiators and make a quick decision to replace the rad that is too close to the cistern (I keep burning my arm on it when I’m sitting on the loo) with the towel heater as I can mount it higher meaning
a) I won’t burn my arm any more and
b) There would be enough space to tighten the compression fittings for the pipes to the loo.
Trudge home, head bowed, feet shuffling. I’m becoming older by the hour.
clean the area around the inlet hole and fit the ball valve assembly to the cistern as shown in diagram 1.8.D.
Turn Isolator valve off – stop cock remains on so the rest of the house can function while I work. Well, what d’ya know? The ball valve assembly is the wrong length and ball jambs between the siphon tube and side of cistern and I buggered it up trying to make it fit so can’t even take it back to ye olde diyee shoppe for the correct model. I sit and sob on the bathroom floor; but what’s this? I notice on the hastily discarded packaging, a note could this be the problem with most of my leaking joints?
I strip the whole thing down again and meticulously clean all the seals and joints.
A Long think and some cooking sherry later I measure the old ball valve – 13 inches from bottom to top. Wearily I slump into an arm chair and call for the local directory to check for plumbers merchants – brunette graciously reminds me “I told you to look in there first thing - a week ago”
I spy a pack of flapper valves on a hook by the door as I enter the crowded merchants shoppe – ten for about fifty pence. I make a lunging grab incase they’re the last pack on earth then clutching my pack of flappers I shuffle over to the counter and ask for a ball valve with bottom entry and it has to be about 13 inches from bottom to top. Lots of teeth sucking and head scratching later; they don’t have a special long ball valve with bottom entry but they say there is a merchant at the end of the trading estate who does have one. Payment made for pack of flappers I shuffle out to find the next merchant – they say they don’t have a long valve – “but” I tell them with desperation creeping into my tone, “the other place said you did” – “did they tell you what shelf it is on?” they ask and several other proper plumbers at the trade counter end of the shoppe laugh.
Anyway, they find one – a special silent fill model with special short ball and lever arrangement. I am expecting a special price by this time but it turns out to be surprisingly comparable to the one I got from the DIYee shoppe earlier in the day. I pay by cheque – I am told by Mr Important behind the counter “not many people use cheques these days” … I’m tempted to ask how I’m supposed to pay when I’ve got no money in my bank and at least with cheques I know I’ve got a couple of days to get some cash into the account, but I bite my tongue and just smile, lamely pretending to be some sad DIYer who doesn’t know what he’s doing…
Ridiculed but with special and correct parts I return home expecting the worst. A cup of tea is waiting for me as I walk through the front door with my purchases. I sit and read the instructions on the packets while sipping my tea.
The cistern is back together now and the loo flushes just fine although now I need to lay some vinyl tiles on the bare floor and there is still a bowl under a bend in the piping to the cistern because somewhere there is a leak which drips about once every two hours. Maybe I’ll be able to tighten the compression joints a bit when I get around to changing the radiator for the heated towel rail. If only I’d called a plumber two weeks ago, I’d have been sitting on my loo in comfort by now …
Muffled voices from down stairs, “The loo won’t flush” more muffling and slightly louder voices “what’s he done to it?”, “bloody thing … COME ON FLUSH” sounds of persistent handle yanking – the type where you just know the handle will break off at any moment. Then silence. With the handle yanking session over (later I’d see the handle survived its ordeal) heavy footsteps appeared on the stairs. Not so muffled and becoming clearer by the footstep. “Are you still in bed?” Head around the door now, “I said, are you still in bed?” “yes dear, will you be joining me?” “No I bloody won’t – what’ve you done to the toilet? It won’t flush” “I haven’t done anything my love, I’ve been in bed” “I can see that. Get up and fix it ‘cos it won’t flush” “ok my equine brunette, I’m getting up now. You could pour some water down it for now to manually flush it” “Eh? How much water?” “Oh probably a gallon or two love, I won’t be long” Mumbled steps get fainter as the brunette descends the stairs once more. I hear mugs being moved about … the brunette calls up the stairs “how many mugs of water to a gallon?” Now, I could have said twenty, just to keep the brunette busy whilst I got up and dressed, also it would have taken far too long to explain the problems with the one-mug-at-a-time strategy but, I decided on option three and just called “ok love, won’t be a minute” and went back to getting my sock on without falling off the bed. The eight year old came up the stairs “the bog won’t flush and mums done a po …” “THANK YOU” I hastily interrupted, “yes I know and we call it a loo or a toilet in our family” “what?” “What, what?” “What do we call a loo or a toilet?” “Pardon?” “You said we call IT a loo or a toilet”. An eight year old brain at work is an awesome and rare event and he’d clearly forgotten what he’d just that second asked me. This was a somewhat strange conversation to have first thing in the morning, whilst sitting on the bed half dressed – even with an eight year old goldfish brain. Come to think of it though, maybe its not that strange, there must be many, many parents who notice conversations getting more and more difficult as their little sugar lumps race towards nine, ten and beyond. The question is really, do I persist and explain that the white porcelain bowl he so admirably and regularly misses in the bathroom is called a ‘toilet’, or do I divert his strange train of abstract thought and get him to do something vaguely useful. “Can you go down the road and buy a paper? – you can keep the change – ask mum for a quid” This should fox him. The newsagent is up the road and has been for at least the past 13 years to my knowledge but we’ll see how far he gets. Unlaced trainers scramble down the stairs to claim that ‘quid from mum’.
I took a peek around the bathroom door and quickly retreated deciding breakfast was required before anything else.
The cistern lid lifted off without any problem to expose the inner workings. There was an array of rusty bits, lime scale encrusted bits, plastic bits, remains of ‘blue-loo’ bits, a marble, a yellow Lego man with missing head, one dead bee, a large red ball on a long metal rod and a gallon or two of water. I gently moved the flushing handle to see all the levers and pulleys working. All appeared to move in unison but the water stayed where it was. I flushed more vigorously – the calm water remained. I began to yank. Then harder and harder. Rust began to fall off the inner parts of the handle mechanism and into the choppy but flush resistant water. Yanking like a man possessed I yanked to a crescendo of flashing arm movements. I sank back against the bathroom door, sweat forming on my brow and breathing heavily. What was I going to do if it did eventually flush? Would I tell the brunette to yank the handle a couple of dozen times really frantically and that it would be all right because then it may or may not flush? To be honest, if it didn’t flush with the first movement of the handle then it needed fixing so, it did absolutely no good at all to work myself up to a sweat but it felt good that I was at least doing something and they (the now huddled and whispering family) could tell I was doing something.
I knelt down and stuck my head as far as I could round the underneath of the cistern immediately recoiling, stumbling to the shower, fumbling for the tap in blind panic and drenching my head over the side of the bath. Now, I knew those firemen we see on the telly don’t really look quite so daft in their totally enclosed Germ Warfare Suits and I wished I had one. I slowly stood up and reached for the towel. I (remarkably) calmly called to the brunette that I wouldn’t even think of fixing the loo until it had been totally cleaned at least twice. The cleaner liquid and a cloth appeared through the gap in the door and then it closed again. I notice my knees are wet and realise all too late just where all the odd drips and splashes go over the weeks, months, years. I mentally shrug, recovering my composure, resigned to being germ ridden and smelly for a day or so … and silently vow never to have a carpet in a bathroom or anywhere near a toilet again.
I tore up the sodden carpet and rolled it as neatly as possible, touching it only with my finger tips and my boots. Calling to the brunette to get the front door open, I paused and waited for her confirmation. I dashed through the kitchen and the dining room – but, but “NO” the eight year old goldfish brain had arrived back with a newspaper and is now stood at the bottom of the stairs and directly in my line of sight to the front door “what doing?” he asked but by this time I was running at full tilt and could only shout “GET BACK”. He fell backward onto the bottom few steps as I rhino’d passed and on through into the sitting room and out the front door narrowly missing the milkman who was busily arranging milk bottles on my freshly tended annuals. The two year old was shouting out of the window “Yeah, Daddy winning yeah”. I tossed my carpet caber over to the right as I headed down the path and on into the street knowing our car would stop me. I thudded into the door and flattened the wing mirror, setting off the alarm. Brian, a couple of doors down, stopped polishing his car and called “Hi Derek, I see they’re building new flats in George Street then” as I collapsed against our car. Then adding “Ah, I see you’re sitting down then, Derek” as if to show off his talent for stating the bleedin’ obvious. The brunette came out and asked if it was our car alarm and the two year old was jumping up and down at the window yelling “YEAH yeah Daddy winner yeah”. Goldfish brain looked out of the front door and said “The bog won’t flush” I couldn’t take any more. I cut the top off a nearly empty, one gallon, washing liquid container, leaving a bucket sized vessel to be filled from the bathroom sink and used for flushing down the loo. Then I packed my tools away for the day, sank into a hot bath and then the sofa, in that order.
A day became three. The eight year old couldn’t understand how to flush the loo with the one gallon plastic washing liquid container.
I thought long and hard about the problem. Three days became a week …
I awoke that morning feeling suddenly and alarmingly alive. I was ready for action and capable of tackling anything. Before breakfast I’d turned the water stop cock off. Then turned it back on again when I realised I couldn’t wash or brush my teeth. Also that I would need to clean in and around the loo at least twice again before sticking my head anywhere near it. So, I turned the stop cock back on.
First of all, the cistern needed emptying. I had just the right tool to empty the cistern – a drill operated water pump. I’d seen it in Alan’s Hardware a couple of years ago and knew it would come in handy one day. And I knew exactly where it was – in my shed, under the workbench and in a wooden crate on the left – where the brunette couldn’t stumble across it and ask awkwardly “when did you get this?” and “what are you going to use this for?” I turned the stop cock off and organised my drill-pump. A few minutes later and the cistern was empty, except for a layer of lime scale and rust flakes.
It then took two hard fought hours to get the cistern off as the wing nuts underneath were rusted solid and by the time I’d got them both undone my fingers were bruised and hurting, covered in WD40 and the colour of rust, as was the toilet bowl and seat and the cistern. I lay the cistern on the floor. If I ever have to do this again I’ll soak the wing nuts in WD40 for a day or so first. I easily removed the siphon tube arrangement by undoing the large plastic nut on the bottom of the cistern and lifted the whole contraption out and onto the floor.
The old flapper valve dismantles quite easily but has the looks and consistency of an old and torn plastic sandwich bag – surely it has to be more substantial than this? I look around for something more substantial yet still pliable. I cut the flat side from the plastic container used for the flushing to now use as a flapper making sure it is a good fit but doesn’t chafe on the sides of the siphon body - the diyee shoppe didn’t stock them but my new stronger flapper will surely last for ever. I quickly make plans to make hundreds and market them. I have a brilliant idea for a TV advert campaign involving a stingray and a surfer. I visualise brightly coloured cardboard signs in DIYee Shoppes. So long as I can get hold of lots of empty plastic gallon containers I could be a millionaire. It’d be named after me - known as ‘The Flapping Derek’ – after the ‘Spinning Jenny’. I quickly reassembled everything and practised ‘dry runs’. It seemed to function as it should.
I turn stop cock back on. There was water coming from absolutely everywhere but I need to try my fabulous “Flapping Derek”. Disappointingly it takes three goes to flush and then it only flushed a bit and not even all the water from the cistern. I quickly dive under the kitchen sink and turn the stop cock off once more. I begrudgingly undo all the joints and seals, squeeze in plenty of Gutter Sealing Compound, and retighten the joints. Turn stop cock back on and two new leaks appear but the originals have gone away – at least for now. Once again I turn the stop cock off. All this is fast becoming tedious. Every five minutes someone wants to use the loo or wants to make a cup of tea or do the washing up. I have to admit to stamping my feet when the eight year old wanted to do some painting with his water paints. The brunette leaps to his defence but I counter with a brilliant “It’s the middle of July” I state the bleedin’ obvious; “he got them for Christmas, why does he need to do his painting now when I’m trying to fix the loo?” I plead. Her look stops my pleading in its tracks. I turn the stop cock back on and sulk out to the shed then wished I’d made a mug of tea first to take out with me.
I return after an hour to find painting wasn’t done as he got bored within five minutes and couldn’t decide what to paint. I turn the stop cock off.
After closely examining the fibre washers in the compression joints and the soldering skills of Mr Previous Plumber I decide to renew all the fittings and solder new joints, fit new fibre washers and new compression olives. As is normal with this type of work I quickly burn a finger on a recently resoldered joint but ha! The water is off so I can’t soak my smarting finger under cold running water – I hop around the bathroom with my hand under my armpit whilst calling to the brunette for help. She has gone for a rest upstairs and says it is my fault for turning the water off. The nearest water is in the cats bowl. I fall to my knees like some dying desert escapee and hold my finger in as little of the murky luke warm and slimy liquid as is possible while still gaining some cooling effect. I struggle to my feet and lurch back to the bathroom to finish replacing the joints and connections.
Whilst I was in the shed sulking, I rummaged in my plumbing bits box and found a brand new, still in a plastic pack, isolator valve. I carefully cut pipe under cistern 11 mm shorter (I measured it twice) position the isolator valve and tighten against the compression olives. There is no space between the radiator and the cistern but I get a little pressure on the spanners and do them up as much as possible. In my experience the compressions have to be done up as tightly as possible but joints with fibre washers just need to be finger tight then a quarter of a turn with a spanner as any more and they would distort and leak.
Turn stop cock back on – I can hear running water from somewhere … I run to the bathroom. Again there is water everywhere – blind panic search for screw driver (flat head not cross head) turn isolator valve off – there is only one leak but it could be from any one of three places. I stick a bowl under the dripping leak then clean up the standing water from bathroom floor and pack up for the day … this becomes another week.
Some days later and one afternoon, I visit ye local olde diyee shoppe to get a new ball valve assembly as the mounting thread had gone all messy and skewed on the existing one after so many attempts to stop leaks. I notice a special deal on towel heater radiators and make a quick decision to replace the rad that is too close to the cistern (I keep burning my arm on it when I’m sitting on the loo) with the towel heater as I can mount it higher meaning
a) I won’t burn my arm any more and
b) There would be enough space to tighten the compression fittings for the pipes to the loo.
Trudge home, head bowed, feet shuffling. I’m becoming older by the hour.
clean the area around the inlet hole and fit the ball valve assembly to the cistern as shown in diagram 1.8.D.
Turn Isolator valve off – stop cock remains on so the rest of the house can function while I work. Well, what d’ya know? The ball valve assembly is the wrong length and ball jambs between the siphon tube and side of cistern and I buggered it up trying to make it fit so can’t even take it back to ye olde diyee shoppe for the correct model. I sit and sob on the bathroom floor; but what’s this? I notice on the hastily discarded packaging, a note could this be the problem with most of my leaking joints?
WITHOUT USING ANY JOINTING OR SEALING COMPOUNDS
I strip the whole thing down again and meticulously clean all the seals and joints.
A Long think and some cooking sherry later I measure the old ball valve – 13 inches from bottom to top. Wearily I slump into an arm chair and call for the local directory to check for plumbers merchants – brunette graciously reminds me “I told you to look in there first thing - a week ago”
I spy a pack of flapper valves on a hook by the door as I enter the crowded merchants shoppe – ten for about fifty pence. I make a lunging grab incase they’re the last pack on earth then clutching my pack of flappers I shuffle over to the counter and ask for a ball valve with bottom entry and it has to be about 13 inches from bottom to top. Lots of teeth sucking and head scratching later; they don’t have a special long ball valve with bottom entry but they say there is a merchant at the end of the trading estate who does have one. Payment made for pack of flappers I shuffle out to find the next merchant – they say they don’t have a long valve – “but” I tell them with desperation creeping into my tone, “the other place said you did” – “did they tell you what shelf it is on?” they ask and several other proper plumbers at the trade counter end of the shoppe laugh.
Anyway, they find one – a special silent fill model with special short ball and lever arrangement. I am expecting a special price by this time but it turns out to be surprisingly comparable to the one I got from the DIYee shoppe earlier in the day. I pay by cheque – I am told by Mr Important behind the counter “not many people use cheques these days” … I’m tempted to ask how I’m supposed to pay when I’ve got no money in my bank and at least with cheques I know I’ve got a couple of days to get some cash into the account, but I bite my tongue and just smile, lamely pretending to be some sad DIYer who doesn’t know what he’s doing…
Ridiculed but with special and correct parts I return home expecting the worst. A cup of tea is waiting for me as I walk through the front door with my purchases. I sit and read the instructions on the packets while sipping my tea.
The cistern is back together now and the loo flushes just fine although now I need to lay some vinyl tiles on the bare floor and there is still a bowl under a bend in the piping to the cistern because somewhere there is a leak which drips about once every two hours. Maybe I’ll be able to tighten the compression joints a bit when I get around to changing the radiator for the heated towel rail. If only I’d called a plumber two weeks ago, I’d have been sitting on my loo in comfort by now …
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