Today I am off to Bristol for the weekend to visit Dad. Take-off will be later than usual as the car needs two new back tyres fitted. They are still legal but it was an advisory on the MOT a couple of weeks ago to get them replaced so I would prefer to do it before the journey rather than after. After a week of reminders, Keith ordered the tyres on Monday (It's a man thing, you know, anything to do with the car, involves face to face conversations - no relying on the phone; that would be too easy!). They were promised for yesterday and, guess what, they hadn't arrived, hence the need for the job to be done this morning instead.
"They obviously forgot to order them," Keith said, after ringing the garage yesterday.
"Of course," I said, "I don't know why you use that garage. I've never been impressed with them."
"I think I'd better take the car in," said Keith hurriedly. Obviously doesn't want me to upset them...
Anyway, I'm hoping that the tyres will come with go-faster stripes so I'll get to where I'm going with no hold-ups. Yes, I know, unlikely!
Life at a leisurely pace
So, yesterday afternoon, we came back home from our pleasant weekend in Barmouth, where we had enjoyed our first outing of the year in our caravan.
Continuing with the theme of life at a leisurely pace, although this time, imposed rather than chosen, was my visit this morning to the post office. Not the local one - no, the powers that be decided to close that one, and not the next nearest, run by The Grumpy Man, but one in a nearby village which I have only popped into once or twice. Today's visit, however, was ... well, not a fleeting one anyway.
As I walked in, I noticed that there was a lengthy queue of people ahead of me, which, on a Monday morning was probably not unusual but there was one lady serving and a man 'faffing about' behind the scenes doing, I know not what, but definitely not showing any awareness of the fact that the place was filled with humankind. After several minutes, the realisation did dawn and he too began to serve. Slowly we shuffled forward and more people came in. Eventually it was my turn. I stood before the man, politely waiting for him to notice my existence. Behind me I heard someone saying, "You certainly need to cultivate patience in here!"
"You ain't kidding," I thought in reply.
Finally the man looked up. "Could you tell me how much this would be 'special delivery'?" I asked. I had given him a light package of a pair of glasses that I was sending to have new lenses put in. The firm had sent me a padded envelope and prepaid label but advised sending it by special or recorded delivery, so that's what I intended to do.
Post Office Man (POM) picked it up gingerly and scrutinised it for what seemed like about half an hour, muttering something about, "Not sure about this....label....amount..." before informing me that it would be £5.48. "So what would recorded delivery be, then?" I asked.
This defeated him completely and he turned to Post Office Woman (POW) to ask "What do we do with this?"
"I don't know," she said, "We never get those."
(It's a parcel! I wanted to shout.)
I eventually deduced that the problem filling their minds was the pre-paid label, as they weren't sure whether they could deduct the postage on the label from the cost of sending it recorded delivery.
"Is she returning something?" asked POW.
(I am HERE! You can ask me directly! I screamed internally.)
More muttering between them followed, during which I slowly lapsed into a catatonic state and the hands on the clock crept ever forward. Finally, a decision was made. Computer says cost of recorded delivery is 78p. More minutes ticked by as POM laboriously and one-fingeredly tapped the delivery details into the computer. By this time, I had ripped the correct money out of my purse and pushed it towards him, where he began to count it, pausing to scrutinise the date on each coin (OK, so I exaggerated the last bit).
After more than 20 minutes, I stepped out into the bright light of normality.
Next time, I'll just go to Grumpy Man's post office. At least there I get out before Keith and Paddy forget what I look like!
Continuing with the theme of life at a leisurely pace, although this time, imposed rather than chosen, was my visit this morning to the post office. Not the local one - no, the powers that be decided to close that one, and not the next nearest, run by The Grumpy Man, but one in a nearby village which I have only popped into once or twice. Today's visit, however, was ... well, not a fleeting one anyway.
As I walked in, I noticed that there was a lengthy queue of people ahead of me, which, on a Monday morning was probably not unusual but there was one lady serving and a man 'faffing about' behind the scenes doing, I know not what, but definitely not showing any awareness of the fact that the place was filled with humankind. After several minutes, the realisation did dawn and he too began to serve. Slowly we shuffled forward and more people came in. Eventually it was my turn. I stood before the man, politely waiting for him to notice my existence. Behind me I heard someone saying, "You certainly need to cultivate patience in here!"
"You ain't kidding," I thought in reply.
Finally the man looked up. "Could you tell me how much this would be 'special delivery'?" I asked. I had given him a light package of a pair of glasses that I was sending to have new lenses put in. The firm had sent me a padded envelope and prepaid label but advised sending it by special or recorded delivery, so that's what I intended to do.
Post Office Man (POM) picked it up gingerly and scrutinised it for what seemed like about half an hour, muttering something about, "Not sure about this....label....amount..." before informing me that it would be £5.48. "So what would recorded delivery be, then?" I asked.
This defeated him completely and he turned to Post Office Woman (POW) to ask "What do we do with this?"
"I don't know," she said, "We never get those."
(It's a parcel! I wanted to shout.)
I eventually deduced that the problem filling their minds was the pre-paid label, as they weren't sure whether they could deduct the postage on the label from the cost of sending it recorded delivery.
"Is she returning something?" asked POW.
(I am HERE! You can ask me directly! I screamed internally.)
More muttering between them followed, during which I slowly lapsed into a catatonic state and the hands on the clock crept ever forward. Finally, a decision was made. Computer says cost of recorded delivery is 78p. More minutes ticked by as POM laboriously and one-fingeredly tapped the delivery details into the computer. By this time, I had ripped the correct money out of my purse and pushed it towards him, where he began to count it, pausing to scrutinise the date on each coin (OK, so I exaggerated the last bit).
After more than 20 minutes, I stepped out into the bright light of normality.
Next time, I'll just go to Grumpy Man's post office. At least there I get out before Keith and Paddy forget what I look like!
Sun, sea and sand
The sky is blue, the temperature is lower than it has been but the sun is shining, just to prove that the weathermen don't always get it right. I have walked, Keith has cycled and Paddy is being extremely good, making me wonder if someone has slipped in during the night and given him a brain transplant. In fact, he has been allowed off his lead on the beach and came back when he was called. You see, miracles do happen.
Where are we? Answer tomorrow...or maybe Monday.
Where are we? Answer tomorrow...or maybe Monday.
Paddy being good
This morning, Paddy and I set off into the valley, under the bridge where the stream runs and into the fields beyond. The weather is beautiful and, even though the fields are still brown and most of the trees are bare, there are hints of a forthcoming explosion of green, if you look carefully.
Paddy had a bit of trouble negotiating the kissing gates but he enjoyed the walk and, on the way home, when we ran into a walking acquaintance who has two impeccably behaved collies, he too, on this occasion, was impeccably behaved.
Of course, he may just have been too tired to bother!
Of course, he may just have been too tired to bother!
Worried about squirrels on the bird table?
Kingswood Grammar School class of '59
On Saturday I got a letter from an old school friend of mine, one of the very few that I do still keep in some sort of contact with, telling me about a proposed school reunion in a few weeks and asking me if I was interested in going.
A few years ago, when Friends Reunited was all the rage, I joined and scanned down the lists of names, wondering what had happened to those I remembered but then the moment passed and I think I am now at the stage when I don't really want to be dragged into the past again. School days were mostly OK, although, of course, there were ups and downs, but I never have looked back on them as the best days of my life. Heaven forbid!
The problem is that, as the years go by, we change, so the people we were back then are quite different to who we are now and all we are likely to have in common is the idiosyncrasies of our teachers and who kissed who behind the bike sheds - assuming we can remember, of course. After all, we've done half a century of living since then!
So on balance, I think it's going to be a no. Sometimes, it's better just to stick with the memories.
And anyway, what if no-one remembers me?
A few years ago, when Friends Reunited was all the rage, I joined and scanned down the lists of names, wondering what had happened to those I remembered but then the moment passed and I think I am now at the stage when I don't really want to be dragged into the past again. School days were mostly OK, although, of course, there were ups and downs, but I never have looked back on them as the best days of my life. Heaven forbid!
The problem is that, as the years go by, we change, so the people we were back then are quite different to who we are now and all we are likely to have in common is the idiosyncrasies of our teachers and who kissed who behind the bike sheds - assuming we can remember, of course. After all, we've done half a century of living since then!
So on balance, I think it's going to be a no. Sometimes, it's better just to stick with the memories.
And anyway, what if no-one remembers me?
Remote preparations
Today was designated by Keith as 'get the caravan ready' day. The lack of rain, slightly raised temperatures and even the odd day of sunshine has put him in holiday mode and we are looking forward to making good use of the caravan this spring and summer. We only bought it at the end of last summer, so didn't get more than a few outings in it, but enjoyed our brief forays into 'wild Wales'.
So Keith has checked all the testical technical stuff and I have done the 'wimmin' stuff, like cleaning.
Paddy? Well, Paddy seemed to think that if he sat firmly in the caravan for as long as it took, it would eventually get moving and take him on his first break of the year. When that failed, he tried a bit of whining and looking dejected too.
Wagons roll! Well, soon, anyway.
So Keith has checked all the
Paddy? Well, Paddy seemed to think that if he sat firmly in the caravan for as long as it took, it would eventually get moving and take him on his first break of the year. When that failed, he tried a bit of whining and looking dejected too.
Wagons roll! Well, soon, anyway.
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