The correct response to the above title would be "Don't!"
Back in July, I was asked to do some work with someone who had appeared on a popular daytime show, which I duly did and then sent in my invoice as requested. That's where the problems started. To begin with, weeks went by and no money was forthcoming so I emailed the person I had dealt with originally and she asked me to send her my invoice, which I did.
First reply to that was from the Business Service Centre, to tell me that, since November, payment could only be made into an account and not by cheque and I would have to send my bank details, which I did.
Second reply was to tell me that the information I had sent, including the invoice, could only be accepted in pdf format or by post, so I duly used Open Office and converted said invoice into pdf format.
Third reply was to inform me that the invoice couldn't be accepted from my email address as they do not accept invoices from Yahoo, Hotmail or Gmail addresses so I sent it again, by post, this time with a stiff letter pointing out that, had I been paid when I should have been, the new arrangements would not yet have been in place.
This time, it was returned, accompanied by a letter telling me that the invoice couldn't be dealt with as there was no purchase order and that the new arangements had been in place since July anyway. As I had not previously been told anything about a purchase order, I rang the Business Service Centre, from whence the letter had come and explained to a nice lady that I had now tried four times to get this invoice paid and was getting a little cheesed off at being constantly asked to jump through more hoops.
Nice lady asked me to send her the invoice by post, marked for her attention and she would sort it out, which I did,
That was last week. This morning I have received an identical copy of the letter I had last week and, guess what, my invoice (now looking a little battered) was returned again.
Another phone call, this time to speak to another nice lady who told me that first nice lady is off until Monday and she thinks that whoever opens the post, didn't notice that the letter was for her attention only and it had gone through the same system again.
"Could you email it to her?" she requested.
So I have.
"If you do any work for them again," she advised, "make sure you ask them for a purchase order number," she said.
"Don't worry," I said, "If they ever contact me again, I'll just say no!"
Remembrance Sunday
This is the beach at Burbo Bank, Crosby, home of Antony Gormley's cast iron statues, collectively known as 'Another Place'.
We were there on Sunday, with our memories.
More from Paddy
A couple of weeks ago, Jenny went to Bristol for the weekend and I stayed behind with Keith - all boys together, you know the sort of thing - he lets me on the bed all night, gives me extra biscuits etc. But this time, I messed up a bit, well a lot actually. So much so that I have only just felt able to write about it, sensitive little chap that I am.
It happened on the Saturday. Keith had a job to go to out in the sticks and took me with him. I love going in the van. I get to sit on the passenger seat, sniffing all the lovely smells out there as we go. Anyway, Keith left me in the van, securely attached by my lead (as he thought) while he got on with the job and I was quite happy watching the world go by - at least, I was until an enormous truck went past. Nothing remarkable about that, you might think, except that this truck was filled to bursting with squealing, fat, juicy pigs!
Well, how could any self-respecting terrier not react to that? As it happened, I was able to get out of the van quite easily and raced after the truck as fast as my little legs would carry me. The truck was going slowly, so I easily kept up with it and, very cleverly I thought, dodged in and out between its wheels in an effort to see more of those delicious pigs.
By this time, of course, Keith was following in the van, flashing his lights and hooting the horn. I think he was trying to get the driver to stop, which he eventually did, at the farm down the road. Very thoughtful of them, I thought, it would give me a chance to get at least one mouthful of pig, but no! Why is it that humans always spoil a dog's fun?
The driver, the farmer and Keith started chasing me round, trying to catch me, which they eventually did, but not before the driver had done a flying tackle and wrestled me to the ground.
Keith didn't seem very pleased. I guessed this from the loud voice and rude words he used as he dragged me back to the van. He tied me up again, but this time very securely and I heard phrases like 'back to the rescue centre' and 'swap you for another dog' which didn't bode well.
When he was telling Jenny about it, I heard him say that I was lucky to be alive and not to have been squashed under the wheels of the truck. Well, cats can have nine lives, so why not dogs?
Anyway, maybe I won't try that again, not for a while, anyway. So for now, I'm doing my best to keep my head down and be good -
but it is such hard work!
It happened on the Saturday. Keith had a job to go to out in the sticks and took me with him. I love going in the van. I get to sit on the passenger seat, sniffing all the lovely smells out there as we go. Anyway, Keith left me in the van, securely attached by my lead (as he thought) while he got on with the job and I was quite happy watching the world go by - at least, I was until an enormous truck went past. Nothing remarkable about that, you might think, except that this truck was filled to bursting with squealing, fat, juicy pigs!
Well, how could any self-respecting terrier not react to that? As it happened, I was able to get out of the van quite easily and raced after the truck as fast as my little legs would carry me. The truck was going slowly, so I easily kept up with it and, very cleverly I thought, dodged in and out between its wheels in an effort to see more of those delicious pigs.
By this time, of course, Keith was following in the van, flashing his lights and hooting the horn. I think he was trying to get the driver to stop, which he eventually did, at the farm down the road. Very thoughtful of them, I thought, it would give me a chance to get at least one mouthful of pig, but no! Why is it that humans always spoil a dog's fun?
The driver, the farmer and Keith started chasing me round, trying to catch me, which they eventually did, but not before the driver had done a flying tackle and wrestled me to the ground.
Keith didn't seem very pleased. I guessed this from the loud voice and rude words he used as he dragged me back to the van. He tied me up again, but this time very securely and I heard phrases like 'back to the rescue centre' and 'swap you for another dog' which didn't bode well.
When he was telling Jenny about it, I heard him say that I was lucky to be alive and not to have been squashed under the wheels of the truck. Well, cats can have nine lives, so why not dogs?
Anyway, maybe I won't try that again, not for a while, anyway. So for now, I'm doing my best to keep my head down and be good -
but it is such hard work!
Grumpy?
OK, so I am probably going to make myself really unpopular now and do wonders for the Society of Misanthropes but, here goes...
I DO NOT LIKE Hallowe'en. I hate the idea of children going house to house, in the dark, in imitation of what is done across the pond and what is, in effect, begging. If they want to celebrate the modern equivalent of a pagan festival, that's fine, although I do wonder how many of them are aware of anything beyond the blatant commercialism which is the main focus these days. But I would prefer that they do their celebrating at home rather than having a constant stream of knocks on the door all evening and the splatters of flour and eggs when the door remains unanswered. To be fair, although this used to happen when I lived on Merseyside, here merrymakers are generally admirably restrained and polite.
Ah well, a few more hours and it will be over for another year.
Next up is November 5th and trying to keep Paddy calm during all the noisy fireworks.
So call me a misery, if you wish. Bring it on! The shoulders are broad!
I DO NOT LIKE Hallowe'en. I hate the idea of children going house to house, in the dark, in imitation of what is done across the pond and what is, in effect, begging. If they want to celebrate the modern equivalent of a pagan festival, that's fine, although I do wonder how many of them are aware of anything beyond the blatant commercialism which is the main focus these days. But I would prefer that they do their celebrating at home rather than having a constant stream of knocks on the door all evening and the splatters of flour and eggs when the door remains unanswered. To be fair, although this used to happen when I lived on Merseyside, here merrymakers are generally admirably restrained and polite.
Ah well, a few more hours and it will be over for another year.
Next up is November 5th and trying to keep Paddy calm during all the noisy fireworks.
So call me a misery, if you wish. Bring it on! The shoulders are broad!
Walking up the avenue
Imagine, if you will, that life is like a long, winding avenue leading up to a stately home. Now picture the scene last Sunday chez Jennyta, Kathy sitting on the sofa telling me about a Shefield artist who is fast gaining in popularity, Pete McKee. She tells me of someone she knows who bought the first in a series of limited edition paintings for £1000, and it is now worth £16,000. My ears prick up, but, although there are still limited edition paintings to be had, I imagine that they would take longer to increase in value.
"A good investment," Kathy says, "but, yes, you would have to hang on to them for ten or twenty years to get a good return."
And suddenly it hit me. I looked up and saw that the stately home was somewhat nearer than I had thought...
"A good investment," Kathy says, "but, yes, you would have to hang on to them for ten or twenty years to get a good return."
And suddenly it hit me. I looked up and saw that the stately home was somewhat nearer than I had thought...
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Plaster board and dust
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