Postage matters

I ordered a Kobo ereader on September 14th.

Long story short, it has taken a while to be sent and, on receiving an email from me, suggesting that at this rate, it would have been quicker to have it delivered on foot,  the seller sent it by special delivery, to arrive this morning.

This was unhelpful in that neither Keith nor I were going to be at home this morning and as yet, we haven't managed to train the dogs to answer the door or sign for packages. 

"Never mind," I thought, "Maybe this new brainwave of Royal Mail will finally kick in and our friendly postman will deliver it to the neighbour's house for me."

Of course, had I put money on that happening, my purse would now be somewhat lighter. (Well, you knew that was going to be the case, didn't you?)

So I took the dreaded red 'you were out' card down to the delivery office.

In the interests of Elf and Safety, they no longer allow us mere members of the public to park in their hallowed grounds, so we have to park at the nearby railway station (if there's room), pay and display and then traipse round to Royal Mail, or you can take a chance and park in the car park of a local pet store, pretend you are a customer and then sneak out to the delivery office, which is what I tend to do. 

Once I'd been handed my parcel, I engaged the man at the desk in the usual dialogue about getting parcels delivered to a neighbour and why it isn't happening and, guess what?

It turns out that Royal Mail had the audacity to inform the public of this new scheme WITHOUT checking with the union that it was OK first!

And of course, they don't think it is.

So it doesn't happen.

Privatisation? Bring it on!

Emergency Ward 10

I know, I haven't been very good at posting lately but time just seems to get away from me. We did manage a few days in Barmouth in the caravan last weekend, when the weather was - er, well, changeable would be the polite way of describing it, although, lying awake for half the night listening to the rain hammering on the caravan roof on Saturday night did not dispose me to being polite about it.

Keith has been a little under the weather for a few weeks now and, while we were away, this didn't improve, so we came home on Monday and he went off to the doctor's on Tuesday, without having to have his arm twisted up his back - not a good sign. While we had been away, he had had some pain in his chest one day, which he attributed to all the coughing he had been doing, and  the mention of the magic words 'chest pain' galvanised his GP into action and before you could say 'Jack Robinson', we were being welcomed into the Acute Cardiac Unit at the local hospital, where we spent the rest of the day, me revising my Welsh (yes, really!)  and Keith lying back, hooked up to a heart monitor and having armfuls of blood taken.

The end result of that day was that he hadn't got any heart problems.

But he still felt ill so went back to the GP yesterday, to be given more antibiotics and a couple of inhalers.

Oh and he has to have another X-ray in four weeks, under the care of the consultant for 'Medicine for the Elderly'. 

And yes, he is NOT impressed!

A Mother's Story: August 28th

A Mother's Story: August 28th

A Mother's Story: Anniversaries

A Mother's Story: Anniversaries

The Mold Cape

Yesterday, I went to see the Mold Cape as it's on display at present in Wrexham Museum, something which doesn't happen often as its usual home is the British Museum, London.

Three thousand, seven hundred years old, the thinking now is that it was made for a woman. Of course!
Having lived most of my life in the suburbs of cities, it is very refreshing to have facilities near to hand these days. So, the hospital and dentist are within walking distance, should I wish to walk there, as is the town itself, although a bit further away, and yet, turn the other way and we are within a hop, skip and jump of Snowdonia and are surrounded by green fields and countryside.
So I do appreciate the fact that the museum, albeit fairly small, is so close and accessible - and entry is free! What more could one ask for?

A conversation to cringe at

Overheard in a shop this morning, this exchange between two young shop assistants - and with apologies to my Canadian friend Dale:

Girl 1: Look, there's a foreign coin here - a cent. American is it?
Girl 2: Nah, it's from Canada.
Girl 1: Oh, how do you know that, then?
Girl 2: Look, it says Canada on it.
Girl 1: Canada. So where's that?  It's America, isn't it?
Girl 2: (uncertainly) No, I don't think so... it's somewhere over there.
Girl 1: But it's not abroad, is it? It's not foreign like?
Girl 2: Well, I think it is...
Girl 1: But it's British, though, isn't it?
(Girl 1's reply was inaudible, as was my gasp of disbelief!)

Arholiad Cymraeg

Dwi wedi pasio'r arholiad Cwrs Mynediad! 

Or, alternatively, I have passed my Welsh exam. 

Dwi'n hapus iawn.

A giggle for today

This came from TK this morning. Funny - but somehow, not surprising! :)

Keep up the fight!

I have just been reading this article on an Irish rural act of defiance. There are quite a few peat boglands  in Ireland where turf is cut and used as fuel, as it has been for centuries, but now, of course, we are in the 21st century and such activities are regarded as being bad for the environment.
I am not arguing the pros or cons for this, but what lifted my heart when I  read this article was the fact that, somewhere in Ireland, the 'little people' (no pun intended) are standing up to the powers that be, and all the better for it being the EU.
Excellent, I thought. Bring it on! There should be more of it. The EU interferes far too much in our daily lives, often with negative consequences and these peat farmers are making it clear that they want to reclaim the right to do what they have always done with their own land.

"They think it's all about money and that they can buy us off. They can't. This is about our rights to use our land as we wish," says parliamentarian Luke Flanagan.

Whatever the rights and wrongs of turf cutting, I am right behind their fight against the ever-intrusive powers of the EU.

Travelling

Today, I braved the heat to head south to Bristol to see Dad and bring him back to north Wales for a week or so. Hopefully, we'll be doing that tomorrow. Meanwhile, Elder Daughter and Husband have bravely, or maybe foolhardily, set off for Cornwall.  They will no doubt be accompanied by millions of families, whose children have been released from school for the next six weeks, so rather them than me.

Elsewhere, Younger Daughter, who has also been released from school, along with all her pupils, will tomorrow be zipping off from Newcastle to Liverpool.

The best bit will be that we will get to meet up with Younger Daughter on Monday or Wednesday (she hasn't decided yet) for lunch and Elder Daughter and Husband will be staying with us on Friday, having done a detour on the way home from Cornwall to Sheffield.

Let's hope the heat and humidity are a little more bearable by then!