Mice, And Routers, And Glasses; Oh My!

Yesterday didn't start all that well. It got better, as time went on, and ended very well indeed (with Desmond Carrington, sewing, laughter, and the unexpected gift of a bottle of port), but to begin with; it was a disaster.


To start with, I awoke to find that the little cold that has been threatening to develop had made good its threat and developed, leaving me feeling achy, groggy and disorientated, and with a nose that couldn't make its mind up whether to block or stream.


Then upon yawning my way into the livingroom avec my usual morning glass of water, I saw the little Interweb Box Thingy sat on the floor and remembered that - oh yes! - it had gone insane yesterday and if a night's rest hadn't fixed it, I would have to ring the Post Office Broadband Customer Care Line and try to get them to fix it.


Then upon starting work, I endeavoured to move aside a wooden board so as I could sweep behind it - an action I perform over and over again, day after day, with no problems at all - only to have it fall forwards and hit me in the face.
     Luckily - or unluckily? ...no, I still think; luckily - my glasses took the brunt, leaving me with one slight bruise across the bridge of my nose (good), and minus one of my lenses (bad).
     It took a little while to locate it, and when I finally (thankfully!) did, I trudged back to the cleaning  cupboard to retrieve my spare pair - which were the same prescription, but as I wasn't used to wearing them, of course, far less comfortable - and then trudged back to retrieve my broom and then carried on sweeping feeling even less jolly than I had(n't) been feeling before.


Then I found a dead mouse!
     Except that upon closer inspection, I found that it wasn't dead at all, but terribly ill. Or at least I assumed it was; it was trembling, and I can think of no other reason that any self-respecting wild mouse would let a human come within touching distance of it.
     This left me with a quandary as to what precisely to do. My usual course of action would be to take it to the vet, who would a) know how to cure it or b) if it was incurable, have the skills and tools to end the poor creatures life as quickly and humanely as possible. But that wasn't an option this time. It was 6:20-AM; no vet to be had, even if I could have managed to get myself and the mouse out of the building and right the way across town to reach him/her, which I couldn't.
     In the end, I fetched a clean, dry, soft cloth - yes, one of the expensive, 'high grade ones', even though I knew that I would have to throw it away afterward - lifted up the mouse as carefully as I could, carried it into the garden centre and ushered it gently underneath the furthermost shelf in the furthermost corner in the hope that it would either revive or die peacefully on its own.
     It was the only action I could think of that wouldn't result in the mouse being trodden on by unsuspecting feet or run over by the wheels of a trolley being unsuspectingly pushed. Or indeed, being trodden on deliberately upon the mouse being discovered. People can be horrible. Even certain members of B&Q staff, people that appear to be generally nice, I have noticed show a disrespect for wildlife that boarders on the cruel.
     So, for better or for worse, that was what I did. And then I walked away to carry on working, feeling not only decidedly unjolly, but utterly wretched.


Then when I got home (after stopping in and confessing to the staff at the opticians that my glasses had broken ...again...) and had had lunch and nerved myself up, I turned on the little Interweb Box Thingy. Or rather I didn't turn it on, because after an afternoon of dementedly flashing its little lights on and off at random and refusing to connect to the Interweb so that I could watch the episode of CSI Cyber that I missed last week, it now refused to respond at all; all of the little oval-ish/rectangle-ish lights staying dark.
     So! THEN I nerved myself up again - I know its silly, but I have to nerve myself up for things like that - and rang the Post Office Broadband Customer Care Line, and after waiting on hold for a little while (who is it that picks the music for that? Because I think we need to have a chat), I was transferred over to a Scottish man called Steve.


.....And that, readers (all two of you), is when things started to get better.


Steve was lovely.
     He completely understood my anxiety over malfunctioning technology - or at least if he didn't he pretended that he did, which over the phone is all that matters - and had a pretty good idea of what was the matter with the box (..."it sounds as though it has died"...) and assured me that the Post Office would provide me with a new one within 3-5 working days.
     All I had to do was wait for it to arrive, connect it - which is okay, as after a 45 minute session on the same Customer Care Line with some poor soul named Paul 8-and-a-half years ago, I know how to do that - and then send the old, dead Router (which I have been informed is the actual name of an Interweb Box Thingy) back to the Post Office in the nifty prepaid and addressed plastic bag they are going to give me. Simple.


Well, after that little triumph, I felt a little better and up to facing the rest of the afternoon.
     First I vacuumed.
     And then I prepared dinner (beef hot pot. Thanking Oxo for the providing of the stock cube; very much appreciated).
     And then I wrote a bit of The Story for half an hour.
     And then I took Bingo for a stroll. And then we ate dinner.
     And then we popped up to The Grandmama's for the usual Friday night ritual of radio listening and spent a relaxed couple of hours there; during which time we talked and laughed and listened and sewed (well, I sewed, the other two prefer to knit) and talked and laughed some more, and watched the dog play with his toys and discussed The Grandmama's upcoming operation scheduled for 21st January and all the pre-operation rigmarole associated with that (a lot of pre-operation rigmarole is involved; more than any of us expected).
     And then we came away from The Grandmama's again; avec the dog, two more coats sent by Flo (don't ask), a parcel The Grandmama desires to chuck back at Daxon Clothing Ltd., a list of errands for The Mother and I to get done over the next week (along with her bank card. My suggestion that we fly to Las Vegas with it and "go mad" was turned down flat owing to the pitiful amount The Grandmama has in the bank) and a full, unopened bottle of port that The Grandmama doesn't want any more.
     And then we went home, enjoyed a glass of port (well, why not?), and collapsed into bed.


So, while the day may have started badly, it ended pretty splendidly, all told.


.....Oops! my hour at the library computer is almost up.
     I best be going.


Before I do though, here is a quote from The Grandmama yesterday evening:


"Al, remind me to show you how I pull my knickers up. It's ruddy marvellous!"


.....Yep.
     =nods=
     She's here all week folks. Try the veal.


I thank you.
     =bows=


Alice x