I am now connected to the Internet.
Thank you.
That is all.
=bows. walks off=
Alice x
Wednesday, 13 January 2016
Saturday, 9 January 2016
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
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
Friday, 1 January 2016
The Dream Started Ordinarily Enough.
Myself and Best Friend 0.5 were sat in Starbucks enjoying
our respective drinks – him a gingerbread latte, me a cream blend concoction
thing – and chatting.
Everything was
good.
Everything was
normal.
It was as we left that stuff started to get…weird.
To start with, I had apparently decided at a previous date
that today would be the day that I would visit every last one of my currently
unaware relatives – both close and distantly related, and both living and dead
– in turn and with Best Friend 0.5 holding my hand for moral support; confess
my homosexuality to them.
Or at least I
assume that I had, because that is precisely what I did. And for those
interested, the end results varied, but the overall theme of each encounter was
a general awkwardness felt by all present.
That done, we trotted outside the last house and straight
into the depths of a Midsomer Murder
mystery. Not that that is all that unusual in itself, of course, as I am a big
fan of the program; it was the fact that not only were we hunting for a demonic
killer as apposed to a human one alongside the fact that Rosemary and Thyme also decided to pop in and get involved that
made it a little different from the norm, and also caused quite a bit of
friction between both sets of principle characters (along with general
confusion over exactly whose case it was).
During an argument over what kind of incantation might best
be used to garner information from the latest mangled corpse – Thyme wanted to
use the more traditional Bindweed and maple flower blend, while Barnaby swore
by Klinswort – Best Friend 0.5 noticed a film crew setting up their wares in
the grounds of a nearby manor (the sudden appearance of which caused no
surprise at all) and suggested that we leave them to it and go and find out
what was happening, so we did.
Informed by a
passing cameraman that it was ready for a new and upcoming period-blend drama
(don’t ask. The stupid Dickension
series started it), Best Friend 0.5 eagerly asked if we could audition for it,
to which the answer was “yes” (of course).
Sent away to mull
over three things about ourselves that would best describe our suitability for
the film, we retreated once more to Starbucks – ignoring the violent fracas
that appeared to be going on around us involving humans, vampires and,
bizarrely, monkeys of various sizes – we sat down with pencil and paper and
started brainstorming ideas. Or at least Best Friend 0.5 did. I, as it turned
out, knew exactly what I wanted to say, resulting in the following
conversation:
BEST FRIEND 0.5: go on then; what three words or phrases
would best describe your suitability for the film.
BEST FRIEND 0.5: (doubtfully) …really? Memorize? You?
BEST FRIEND 0.5: (nodding thoughtfully) oh, right.
Noticing that my piece of paper was grubby, I then went
hunting in my black hole of a handbag (metaphorically speaking. Dream or not,
this was not something that became literal) for my notepad to retrieve a new
piece, as we would be handing the paper in soon (of course) and I wanted it to
be perfect. Finding the notepad to be full of Story Scribble (again, of
course), I turned back to the bag and started to take everything out, object by
object, determined to find one.
Glancing up from
his piece, which using only a 2b pencil he had managed to turn into a colourful
work of art (yet again, of…), Best Friend 0.5 picked up something that caught
his eye, a DVD case, and looked at it. Then having looked at it, he tried to get my attention, starting with:
BEST FRIEND 0.5: (obviously stunned) Alice , where did you get this?
BEST FRIEND 0.5: (still stunned) this film, from your bag.
Where’d you get it?
BEST FRIEND 0.5: (still stunned) …oh…
BEST FRIEND 0.5: (still stunned) well…it’s a dirty
movie.
BEST FRIEND 0.5: (still stunned) a dirty movie. A dirty
movie involving two dominatrix lesbians.
BEST FRIEND 0.5: (nodding) …yeah…?
BEST FRIEND 0.5: my question is more why he thought it an
appropriate thing to give to his granddaughter.
BEST FRIEND 0.5: (incredulous) what, hand out gay S&M
porn?
BEST FRIEND 0.5: (also nodding thoughtfully) indeed… (then,
after a pause) …shall we watch it?
BEST FRIEND 0.5: (spreading his hands) well, it’ll be
educational, won’t it? And in any case, The Grandpapa did give it to you 'specially.
...And that, folks, is the moment when I woke up, leaving
the question unanswered.
Which was
annoying to say the least.
But there you
are.
Someone once told me, you know, that dreams are merely a
manifestation of our subconscious mind brought to the fore.
So with that
said, when you add all of the above up:
What the heck is the
matter with me?!
P.S. by the way, for those of you that know who Best Friend 0.5 is (all one of you), when imagining his voice in your head, bear in mind that approximately half the time he is speaking with a distinctly Welsh accent.
...Don't ask...
Thursday, 31 December 2015
Two Weeks In Bullet Points.
Well!
The past fourteen days have seen the following:
~~~
* the eating of a heck of a lot of food, most of it terribly nice and massively unhealthy.
* the making of two and a half dog toys; one pig, one elephant (named 'Unique-o'), and a second elephant (thus far, named 'half done, but neater than the last one').
* the putting up of decorations.
* a lot of sitting in the dark and looking at pretty fairy lights and/or candle.
* the ordering of two takeaway meals.
* the watching of a heck of a lot of television; some old, some new, some enjoyed, some not.
* the rereading of three Agatha Christi novels.
* a heck of a lot of talking.
* a heck of a lot of listening.
* a lot of snuggling with a mostly disinterested but very obliging dog.
* a lot of thinking while sitting in the dark and looking at pretty fairy lights and/or candle.
* the attendance of an extremely successful and highly enjoyable Gala Christmas Concert.
* the sucking down of many drinks; quite a few of them alcohol based.
* the playing of games; a few 'board' and a few 'card'.
* the receipt of several Christmas cards and a few presents that are Christmas presents, except not really, because "look, it's not wrapped; see? I'm obeying your rules".
* the listening to a lot of music; most of it Christmas based, some not.
* the unexpected drop in of Best Friend 1 (I gave her an apple. Merry Christmas).
* a heck of a lot of laughing.
* a heck of a lot of crying.
* the start of That Special Time Again (on Christmas day, no less).
* the finalizing of The Mother's birthday present ready for January 5th.
* the sending of my (living) Cousin's birthday present and my (late) Father's birthday card; both ready for January 4th.
* the making of three new years' resolutions.
* the admittance of a problem (okay, a few problems. ...Okay, more than a few...).
* the arrangement of one visit to Worcester to see Cousin open aforementioned birthday present (on the 3rd. A day early, but; meh).
* the purchase of two pairs of walking boots (one of them mine).
* the purchase of two pairs of jogging bottoms (both of them mine).
* the writing of a whopping two whole paragraphs of The Story and the jotting down of a few odd words and/or sentences of many other stories that I am supposed to be ignoring right now.
* the understanding (finally!) of the offside rule (really!).
* the experience of the Mother getting hot under the collar over two terribly important issues: the rolling around of tin cans outside our front door (first noticed a few days ago), and the totally unacceptable crookedness of Les Dawnson's tie in a recently watched episode of Family Fortunes (first aired a couple of decades ago).
...and! Last but not least...
* the wanton and rapid destruction of one cuddly hedgehog named 'Snuffles'.
~~~
Good, eh?
I think that's pretty good.
Alice x
Tuesday, 29 December 2015
That Special Time Again.
.START.
Scene is set; Alice and Best Friend 0.5 are having a conversation via text message. Alice has just confessed that she shall not be joining Best Friend 0.5 for coffee/chat that day, as she feels unwell. Best Friend 0.5's responses to this are outlined (albeit paraphrased) below:
BEST FRIEND 0.5: ...oh, that's a shame. Been overindulging over Christmas, have we?
ALICE: a bit, yes. And also that thing that happens only to ladies around once a month and that isn't spoken of in polite society...
BEST FRIEND 0.5: ah! I see. You are a werewolf. Well, I understand. You aren't the only one, you know. Just rest up, avoid going out and try not to bite anyone. x
ALICE: =laughs= that is a bloody good description of how I am feeling right now. x
P.S. I'll try.
BEST FRIEND 0.5: good, good. See you soon. x
Scene fades out with Alice smilingly putting her phone back in her pocket before snuggling down on the sofa under her blanket to continue her viewing of her favourite Sex & The City episodes.
.END.
Alice x
P.S. By the way, Best Friend 0.5; if you are reading this, it's safe to come out now. I am no longer a werewolf; the danger has passed. For the next month or so, anyway...
Sunday, 6 December 2015
Another Fun Fact.
Did You Know:
When on the run from a rouge giant-super-mutant octopus that has broken free and is running wild in a futuristic zoo; the best way to out run its killer tentacles is to jump into a shallow tank with just enough water to cover you and lie very, very still?
Yeah. Because a) the octopus can't see very well - rather like a T-Rex - and b) the octopus also can't smell you due to the salt in the water masking your scent.
...Uh-huh. That is totally true.
Or at least, according to the dream/nightmare I had last night it is.
Yep.
I saved a whole load of people that way, including my mother. And then I killed the giant-super-mutant-killer octopus with a (conveniently placed and then perfectly aimed) silver-plated javelin.
Yep.
Go me, with my bad-arsed dream self.
I rock.
...Also according to my dream/nightmare, in another part of the futuristic zoo (bizarrely, we were still meandering round for quite a while post Killer Octopus Incident) there is a small robot in the meerkat enclosure (ordinary meerkats, that is, not giant-super-mutant-killer meerkats) that looks innocuous but isn't. Supposedly it is just an insentient little box on wheels with a computer screen on the front and two little speakers positioned in such a way as to look like eyes, that drives around quoting snatches from the 'Compare the Meerkat' saga, but in actuality it is a captured alien forced to pretend to be an innocuous computerizing wheeled quoting thing while it drives around stealing samples of people's DNA for reasons that are as yet unknown by the nefarious owners of the futuristic zoo, who are actually master criminals intent on world domination and infinite riches and universal warfare and all the usual malarkey that master criminals tend to get up to.
So there you go.
You heard it (or rather, I dreamed it) here first, people.
Watch this space.
Yep.
=nods=
Alice x
When on the run from a rouge giant-super-mutant octopus that has broken free and is running wild in a futuristic zoo; the best way to out run its killer tentacles is to jump into a shallow tank with just enough water to cover you and lie very, very still?
Yeah. Because a) the octopus can't see very well - rather like a T-Rex - and b) the octopus also can't smell you due to the salt in the water masking your scent.
...Uh-huh. That is totally true.
Or at least, according to the dream/nightmare I had last night it is.
Yep.
I saved a whole load of people that way, including my mother. And then I killed the giant-super-mutant-killer octopus with a (conveniently placed and then perfectly aimed) silver-plated javelin.
Yep.
Go me, with my bad-arsed dream self.
I rock.
...Also according to my dream/nightmare, in another part of the futuristic zoo (bizarrely, we were still meandering round for quite a while post Killer Octopus Incident) there is a small robot in the meerkat enclosure (ordinary meerkats, that is, not giant-super-mutant-killer meerkats) that looks innocuous but isn't. Supposedly it is just an insentient little box on wheels with a computer screen on the front and two little speakers positioned in such a way as to look like eyes, that drives around quoting snatches from the 'Compare the Meerkat' saga, but in actuality it is a captured alien forced to pretend to be an innocuous computerizing wheeled quoting thing while it drives around stealing samples of people's DNA for reasons that are as yet unknown by the nefarious owners of the futuristic zoo, who are actually master criminals intent on world domination and infinite riches and universal warfare and all the usual malarkey that master criminals tend to get up to.
So there you go.
You heard it (or rather, I dreamed it) here first, people.
Watch this space.
Yep.
=nods=
Alice x
Fun Fact.
Did You Know:
When heard through our living room wall, the sound of certain high heeled shoes on the pavement in the distance sound just like that coughing-slash-choking sound that cats make just before they throw up?
Because it does; it sounds exactly like that.
Impressed?
I was. I was very much impressed.
Mother however, when I pointed this out as she entered the building wearing her posh church shoes, was less so.
Very much less so,
...Ah well.
A very merry un-birthday to me,
Alice x
When heard through our living room wall, the sound of certain high heeled shoes on the pavement in the distance sound just like that coughing-slash-choking sound that cats make just before they throw up?
Because it does; it sounds exactly like that.
Impressed?
I was. I was very much impressed.
Mother however, when I pointed this out as she entered the building wearing her posh church shoes, was less so.
Very much less so,
...Ah well.
A very merry un-birthday to me,
Alice x
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