Huge house with huge mortgage for huge family, looks and decidedly is worse than your average bombsite. Plus I have tons of paperwork to sort, some lines to learn for a play, some broadcasting stuff to do and GOODNESS KNOWS what else. As six year old would say: "Mummy's feeling a bit stressed. Don't worry Mummy."
I made a new year's resolution to sort out, to write, to put photos into frames and to lose weight.
So, how am I doing?
You might well ask!
Weight loss is for me, on the better side of average. Just don't look too closely yet at the bits hidden by the things that clothes are supposed to hide. Well isn't that what clothes are for?
Two new photos are framed, which is on target - just!
And the sorting?
WELL.............
The sorting looks as if I have never started, which, other than a little flurry at the beginning of the month, is probably because I haven't really.
And the writing?
Other than the odd note to one of the many teachers that we communicate with, and many cheques for the new term of five children's activities, the only thing that I have written is my blog.
So be not offended by my absence from your blogs this week!
As a self confessed addicted blogger I am in rehab for the week, until I have washed all the paperwork, ironed the dishes, filed the clothes, dishwashed the children and got everything else back to normal.
Normal for me anyhow.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Friday, January 26, 2007
Sometimes, I hate the fact that it is 2007.
O.K. I understand the rationale. I understand the logic. It makes a lot of sense having lots of people crowded into one room to answer telephones.
One person writes a script with lots of possible combinations of answers.
Everyone has a computer screen to work from.
Even the numbers are automatically dialled.
It's easy, it's cheap and it's very nearly foolproof.
In fact, if you trained monkeys long enough you could probably use one voice over artist to record the entire script, and then get the trained monkeys to push the right buttons. That would be even cheaper, because instead of a thousand people sitting in a room in outer Mongolia, getting hot and bothered by irate customers that they haven't been trained to deal with properly, it would be a thousand monkeys in London zoo who they wouldn't even have to pay.
This would have many advantages.
Firstly, London Zoo could make it a special attraction for visitors to see the monkeys at work, and could make lots of money from it, which they could give to a nice animal rescue charity or something. Rescuing animals from call centres. That sort of thing.
Secondly, monkeys wouldn't be able to understand that the customers on the other end were irate and wouldn't therefore get upset themselves.
Thirdly, most importantly, it might finally bring the entire call centre system nonsense crashing down.
Yesterday, my sixteen year old daughter received three phone calls from our mobile phone provider, whose name I won't reveal in full, but starts with the letter T and ends in bile. She does have a contract phone with them, but her calls are charged to my bill, and always have been. I set up the contract for her. Have always dealt with them and am the account holder.
The payment was due. A bit overdue really. It's after Christmas and as anyone who reads my blog regularly will know, things are, hopefully temporarily, a bit tight at the moment for a number of reasons.
The company who starts the letter T and ends with bile however don't ring the acount holder for such calls (they clearly have lots of people like me). Instead, they just go by an automated system to dial out to the mobile concerned of any overdue bills. As the account holder, I myself had spoken to them earlier that day to sort out the problem. The system of course wasn't actually as quick as the humans involved on the case, and as such, it automatically dialled my daughter's number to ask for payment.
I was cross.
I was very very very cross.
I rang to tell them. They gave me a full expanation of their very complicated and inadequate computer system, which of course they think is just fine, but no apology. (They just shouted at me to not shout. So I am shouting to you instead.) Now of course, had hubby rang up on my behalf to complain, they wouldn't have spoken to him, because HE is not the acount holder.
Now do remember, that in order to speak to anyone in any call centre you have to give out a hundred security questions which make the word "security" a bit of a nonsense really. I am almost wondering if there is anyone left in England that DOESN'T know my date of birth and my postcode. Maybe next time I'll ask them to guess and then I'll tell them when it's the right one.
NatWest bank it seems have finally cottoned on to the fact that people like people. You can now speak to the branch manager at a moment's notice. We changed bank account last month to them for that reason. What a relief! They are still thieving b**t**s of a bank (I HATE banks), but at least they do it with a smile and some personal contact.
Sadly though, for now at least, NatWest do not provide mobile phones or fridges, or supermarket checkout people.
But perhaps as they have taken the lead in the race against time, to ban the call centre, they will indeed see sense and provide the other things too. One day.
p.s. Momo who comes from Romania, but whose written English is so good that I hadn't realised until her last post, sent a me request to Me Me myself in a different way. The challenge was to identify three of my posts that show my personality. Well, I've given you one those challenges. You know the sort, like that rabbit they hid in the countryside or something, for a rainbow, or a pot of gold. Can't remember the details. Lots of rabbits in the countryside too.
Anyway, the "personality" giver awayers are in this blog as hyperlinks. Go find!
p.p.s. I pass the challenge to Beccy of Minty Tea!
One person writes a script with lots of possible combinations of answers.
Everyone has a computer screen to work from.
Even the numbers are automatically dialled.
It's easy, it's cheap and it's very nearly foolproof.
In fact, if you trained monkeys long enough you could probably use one voice over artist to record the entire script, and then get the trained monkeys to push the right buttons. That would be even cheaper, because instead of a thousand people sitting in a room in outer Mongolia, getting hot and bothered by irate customers that they haven't been trained to deal with properly, it would be a thousand monkeys in London zoo who they wouldn't even have to pay.
This would have many advantages.
Firstly, London Zoo could make it a special attraction for visitors to see the monkeys at work, and could make lots of money from it, which they could give to a nice animal rescue charity or something. Rescuing animals from call centres. That sort of thing.
Secondly, monkeys wouldn't be able to understand that the customers on the other end were irate and wouldn't therefore get upset themselves.
Thirdly, most importantly, it might finally bring the entire call centre system nonsense crashing down.
Yesterday, my sixteen year old daughter received three phone calls from our mobile phone provider, whose name I won't reveal in full, but starts with the letter T and ends in bile. She does have a contract phone with them, but her calls are charged to my bill, and always have been. I set up the contract for her. Have always dealt with them and am the account holder.
The payment was due. A bit overdue really. It's after Christmas and as anyone who reads my blog regularly will know, things are, hopefully temporarily, a bit tight at the moment for a number of reasons.
The company who starts the letter T and ends with bile however don't ring the acount holder for such calls (they clearly have lots of people like me). Instead, they just go by an automated system to dial out to the mobile concerned of any overdue bills. As the account holder, I myself had spoken to them earlier that day to sort out the problem. The system of course wasn't actually as quick as the humans involved on the case, and as such, it automatically dialled my daughter's number to ask for payment.
I was cross.
I was very very very cross.
I rang to tell them. They gave me a full expanation of their very complicated and inadequate computer system, which of course they think is just fine, but no apology. (They just shouted at me to not shout. So I am shouting to you instead.) Now of course, had hubby rang up on my behalf to complain, they wouldn't have spoken to him, because HE is not the acount holder.
Now do remember, that in order to speak to anyone in any call centre you have to give out a hundred security questions which make the word "security" a bit of a nonsense really. I am almost wondering if there is anyone left in England that DOESN'T know my date of birth and my postcode. Maybe next time I'll ask them to guess and then I'll tell them when it's the right one.
NatWest bank it seems have finally cottoned on to the fact that people like people. You can now speak to the branch manager at a moment's notice. We changed bank account last month to them for that reason. What a relief! They are still thieving b**t**s of a bank (I HATE banks), but at least they do it with a smile and some personal contact.
Sadly though, for now at least, NatWest do not provide mobile phones or fridges, or supermarket checkout people.
But perhaps as they have taken the lead in the race against time, to ban the call centre, they will indeed see sense and provide the other things too. One day.
p.s. Momo who comes from Romania, but whose written English is so good that I hadn't realised until her last post, sent a me request to Me Me myself in a different way. The challenge was to identify three of my posts that show my personality. Well, I've given you one those challenges. You know the sort, like that rabbit they hid in the countryside or something, for a rainbow, or a pot of gold. Can't remember the details. Lots of rabbits in the countryside too.
Anyway, the "personality" giver awayers are in this blog as hyperlinks. Go find!
p.p.s. I pass the challenge to Beccy of Minty Tea!
Monday, January 22, 2007
Anti Ageing Device.
A few days ago I wrote about my diet, and in response to that post, Meredic replied that we should all weigh ourselves in Newtons.
Inspirational I thought. In fact it really got me thinking.
People are living longer, retiring later, being active for longer, and yet, on the whole, we still use the traditional way of defining middle age and old age. Not everyone of course. My mother had the longest "middle age" that I know of, and even now, at 80 this year, I think would still probably prefer to call herself middle aged.
The thing is though that given that we live on average a good sixty years after approaching adulthood, then really we need to think about redefining it all.
So, I have taken the initiative. An initiative which will mean that we are all young for much much longer. It's cheap. It doesn't involve any surgery. It lasts forever...
It's a new inspirational device to "de-age" all those of us who would like for it not to be quite so many years since that 18th birthday party.
The system is designed for those of us who don't want botox (too risky, can go wrong), certainly don't want a face lift (too expensive and too risky. Knife under the skin on the face? No thanks!), and those who have already found out that whichever cream you use, the main benefit is to moisturize …It's a new counting system.
They are called Sally adult years (SAY for short).
Counting starts aged 20 in traditional years. I could have started at 18, but I decided that 20 was better, because it's easier to count up from 20.
This means that those who are 21 traditionally are now aged 1(SAY). Those who are having a crises about their 30th birthday are just approaching double figures (SAY).
Those younger than 20 will be minus years. i.e. My sixteen year old daughter will be minus 4. That means that she still has four years in which to behave like an adolescent if she should wish, be frivolous and answer her parents back. At minus four she has far more licence to do these things.
And those like me in their (shhhh) forties) are once again in their twenties (SAY). Young again!! When I get to 50 I will be celebrating my 30th (SAY), and 60, my 40th (SAY). You can't go wrong.
Middle age will go from 40 (SAY), and people need not be considered elderly at all until they reach 60 (SAY), or 70 (SAY) …Whatever suits …
Thursday, January 18, 2007
The Rollercoaster
It was all because of that post Christmassy blues phase.
You know the sort?
When the house looks devoid of all character and charm, having taken down the decs. All the Christmas smells have gone, and it all feels a bit empty. You feel a bit full of food. The cupboards are empty. The bank accounts are crying out to be fed.....
So, I bought a nice candle.
It was a very nice candle actually. Came from a local craft centre and was handmade.
I put it in the dining room. That is the dining room that is really a dining room, but is currently pretending to be an office, as the office that was, has taken on the identity of a bedroom in the flat next door. So the dining room, which was the only clear and tidy room in the house, is now hugely untidy, full of papers and has the computer in it. It was once referred to on my blog as the dark room...
We lit it.
It smelt lovely.
The candle.
And, the next morning the smell of essential oils around the house was so strong that it nearly reached burning point. Or hold on, let me rephrase that. It did reach burning point. I realised that when I woke up and smelt ........... essence of ...........burn.
Hubby ran downstairs and just caught the candle as the wax had completely melted away and the flame had ignited. The office desk has a nice designer char mark on it now as a result, but otherwise no damage was done. Fortunately the flames didn't meet their friends, the paper.
This was very fortunate really, as not only did we not smoke or burn out the tenant in the flat, just one room away, we also didn't go up in flames as an entire family. The possible consequences just cannot be thought about.
We can also not think about the fact that last month we changed bank account, and very stupidly. Very very very stupidly forgot to tell our insurance company. As such, they didn't get a direct debit payment in December. They wrote to us of course. In December. Round about 23rd or 24th December. I can't think why we might have missed the importance of the letter. But we did. So their next letter was yesterday, telling us that as they had no payment in December, they had cancelled the policy from 31st December. This VERY VERY large insurance company which has merged with millions of other insurance companies over the last twenty years, and changed its name as often, has been our insurers for 20 years.
Sadly though, they do not appear to have any telephones.
Had the house gone up in flames, and we had survived, we would not have had any money to rebuild it.
Life on the rollercoaster can be quite scary at times.
You know the sort?
When the house looks devoid of all character and charm, having taken down the decs. All the Christmas smells have gone, and it all feels a bit empty. You feel a bit full of food. The cupboards are empty. The bank accounts are crying out to be fed.....
So, I bought a nice candle.
It was a very nice candle actually. Came from a local craft centre and was handmade.
I put it in the dining room. That is the dining room that is really a dining room, but is currently pretending to be an office, as the office that was, has taken on the identity of a bedroom in the flat next door. So the dining room, which was the only clear and tidy room in the house, is now hugely untidy, full of papers and has the computer in it. It was once referred to on my blog as the dark room...
We lit it.
It smelt lovely.
The candle.
And, the next morning the smell of essential oils around the house was so strong that it nearly reached burning point. Or hold on, let me rephrase that. It did reach burning point. I realised that when I woke up and smelt ........... essence of ...........burn.
Hubby ran downstairs and just caught the candle as the wax had completely melted away and the flame had ignited. The office desk has a nice designer char mark on it now as a result, but otherwise no damage was done. Fortunately the flames didn't meet their friends, the paper.
This was very fortunate really, as not only did we not smoke or burn out the tenant in the flat, just one room away, we also didn't go up in flames as an entire family. The possible consequences just cannot be thought about.
We can also not think about the fact that last month we changed bank account, and very stupidly. Very very very stupidly forgot to tell our insurance company. As such, they didn't get a direct debit payment in December. They wrote to us of course. In December. Round about 23rd or 24th December. I can't think why we might have missed the importance of the letter. But we did. So their next letter was yesterday, telling us that as they had no payment in December, they had cancelled the policy from 31st December. This VERY VERY large insurance company which has merged with millions of other insurance companies over the last twenty years, and changed its name as often, has been our insurers for 20 years.
Sadly though, they do not appear to have any telephones.
Had the house gone up in flames, and we had survived, we would not have had any money to rebuild it.
Life on the rollercoaster can be quite scary at times.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
It's all to do with babies really
It has taken me a while to work out how this tagging thing works.
This is my forty fifth post, so maybe because my rate of blogs has finally overtaken my age the dawning has occurred. Something like that. But I have just realised that being tagged is not just something that you are supposed to accept graciously, but something that you are supposed to respond to. And by response they mean telling the world about five things they didn't know about previously.
That's quite hard in my case, as for the last three months I have worn my heart on my sleeve and told the world all about me in my blog. I've told you things that I never thought that I would tell anyone, and I have certainly told you things that hubby thought that I would never tell!
So, with thanks to Beccy who tagged me, what don't you know?
Well let's see........
1. Nothern Ireland
We lived in Northern Ireland for four years from 1995 to 1999. I loved it and I still miss my friends from there, and miss living there.
2. Hospital
In December 1998 I spent Christmas day in hospital due to a burst appendix in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve. Hubby had shown great concern for me that day when I woke up with stomach pains. "I think you've got a hangover Sal. Bit of wind perhaps?" I walked round Safeways' that afternoon for a few last minute bits and pieces, only to be greeted by my neighbour. "Come and see the fish counter" she squealed. "They have prawns at half price." Very fortunately had done most of shopping the day before, so left supermarket VERY quickly with a few green veg.
Later that day when children were in bed and Christmas had been mostly attended to I thought that I was going to die.
In truth it was the closest that I have come to it.
From first calling, it took four hours to get any sort of medical attention to the house, but then was rushed to the hospital and operated on to save said life at 3 a.m. on Christmas morning. No keyhole surgery for me. Have big battle scar to show for the trouble. Christmas lunch was a glass of water, followed by a stay in The Ulster Hospital until almost new year on mind blowingly awful heavy duty antibiotics. Hubby was very remorseful for not taking my pains too seriously until it was nearly too late.
We then celebrated Christmas again on 8th January, and left the decorations up until then. "Oh, I'm sure that the bad spirits will forgive you" said my sister in law. BIG Mistake. Hence the blog about 12th Night this year.
I really think about it every year,
because...........
3. Crash
On January 14th 1999, just three weeks after my appendicectomy, hubby was in a car accident. Broke his sternum and had threatened heart damage so was put into the cardiac ward. Our third child, daughter number two, aged four, sustained internal injuries from the crash. She had to have major abdominal surgery and we very nearly lost her. Hubby was in The Ulster Hospital on one side of Belfast, DNT was in The Royal on the other side. It was a nightmarish ten days. The sort the you don't actually think has actually happened to you after the event. It did though. During that time our friends showed their true colours. So many people came to our rescue and I have never really felt that I have been able to thank them all enough.
4. Breastfeeding
Daughter number three, child number four was six months old at the time of all this. On the night that I went into hospital for my own op, I asked if I could keep her with me. The staff intially said I could, and gave me a side ward. They then realised the seriousness of the damage to my insides, saw what sort of drugs I would need, and changed their minds. So, she went from being an entirely breastfed baby, to hubby going to the maternity wing in the middle of the night to beg some bottles. He then had to scour town for an open chemist on Christmas morning to get some formula.
After coming out of hospital from my appendicectomy I managed to re-establish the breastfeeding. This was partly because I felt that I hadn't finished the job, partly because I enjoyed it, and partly because I WANTED TO CHOOSE when I gave up!
I succeeded.
Then when daughter number two, child number three went into hospital, I was allowed to stay, but the baby, daughter number three, child number four, wasn't. They didn't even allow her onto the ward with us. So she stayed with Grandma who came over to NI to help. I sent bottles of expressed milk home, and got glimpses of her when they came to visit.
When I got home I re-established the breastfeeding again. Probably because I am very stubborn at times!
Ironically the trauma that she suffered by being parted from me twice in quick succession - not that we will ever know how much - was possibly responsible for two molars growing though damaged, we are told. That is why she had to have those teeth removed just before Christmas just past.
5. Miscarriages
As well as having given birth to five children, I miscarried two. One between first and second child, and the other between fourth and firth child. Fifth child was planned, as I had felt devastated by the loss of the previous one, but nevertheless, surprisingly, was conceived very quickly after the miscarriage. I think that I had thought that I would probably not have another chance. But I did. And she's still a joy!
I tag Enid who I have recently come across, and who is very funny. Six Word Short Story which can be found via the Our Albion blogsite, because I think that this is a great mental challenge, and that you should all have a go at writing a six word short story, Meredic, Ignorminious and Nicole.
Enjoy!
This is my forty fifth post, so maybe because my rate of blogs has finally overtaken my age the dawning has occurred. Something like that. But I have just realised that being tagged is not just something that you are supposed to accept graciously, but something that you are supposed to respond to. And by response they mean telling the world about five things they didn't know about previously.
That's quite hard in my case, as for the last three months I have worn my heart on my sleeve and told the world all about me in my blog. I've told you things that I never thought that I would tell anyone, and I have certainly told you things that hubby thought that I would never tell!
So, with thanks to Beccy who tagged me, what don't you know?
Well let's see........
1. Nothern Ireland
We lived in Northern Ireland for four years from 1995 to 1999. I loved it and I still miss my friends from there, and miss living there.
2. Hospital
In December 1998 I spent Christmas day in hospital due to a burst appendix in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve. Hubby had shown great concern for me that day when I woke up with stomach pains. "I think you've got a hangover Sal. Bit of wind perhaps?" I walked round Safeways' that afternoon for a few last minute bits and pieces, only to be greeted by my neighbour. "Come and see the fish counter" she squealed. "They have prawns at half price." Very fortunately had done most of shopping the day before, so left supermarket VERY quickly with a few green veg.
Later that day when children were in bed and Christmas had been mostly attended to I thought that I was going to die.
In truth it was the closest that I have come to it.
From first calling, it took four hours to get any sort of medical attention to the house, but then was rushed to the hospital and operated on to save said life at 3 a.m. on Christmas morning. No keyhole surgery for me. Have big battle scar to show for the trouble. Christmas lunch was a glass of water, followed by a stay in The Ulster Hospital until almost new year on mind blowingly awful heavy duty antibiotics. Hubby was very remorseful for not taking my pains too seriously until it was nearly too late.
We then celebrated Christmas again on 8th January, and left the decorations up until then. "Oh, I'm sure that the bad spirits will forgive you" said my sister in law. BIG Mistake. Hence the blog about 12th Night this year.
I really think about it every year,
because...........
3. Crash
On January 14th 1999, just three weeks after my appendicectomy, hubby was in a car accident. Broke his sternum and had threatened heart damage so was put into the cardiac ward. Our third child, daughter number two, aged four, sustained internal injuries from the crash. She had to have major abdominal surgery and we very nearly lost her. Hubby was in The Ulster Hospital on one side of Belfast, DNT was in The Royal on the other side. It was a nightmarish ten days. The sort the you don't actually think has actually happened to you after the event. It did though. During that time our friends showed their true colours. So many people came to our rescue and I have never really felt that I have been able to thank them all enough.
4. Breastfeeding
Daughter number three, child number four was six months old at the time of all this. On the night that I went into hospital for my own op, I asked if I could keep her with me. The staff intially said I could, and gave me a side ward. They then realised the seriousness of the damage to my insides, saw what sort of drugs I would need, and changed their minds. So, she went from being an entirely breastfed baby, to hubby going to the maternity wing in the middle of the night to beg some bottles. He then had to scour town for an open chemist on Christmas morning to get some formula.
After coming out of hospital from my appendicectomy I managed to re-establish the breastfeeding. This was partly because I felt that I hadn't finished the job, partly because I enjoyed it, and partly because I WANTED TO CHOOSE when I gave up!
I succeeded.
Then when daughter number two, child number three went into hospital, I was allowed to stay, but the baby, daughter number three, child number four, wasn't. They didn't even allow her onto the ward with us. So she stayed with Grandma who came over to NI to help. I sent bottles of expressed milk home, and got glimpses of her when they came to visit.
When I got home I re-established the breastfeeding again. Probably because I am very stubborn at times!
Ironically the trauma that she suffered by being parted from me twice in quick succession - not that we will ever know how much - was possibly responsible for two molars growing though damaged, we are told. That is why she had to have those teeth removed just before Christmas just past.
5. Miscarriages
As well as having given birth to five children, I miscarried two. One between first and second child, and the other between fourth and firth child. Fifth child was planned, as I had felt devastated by the loss of the previous one, but nevertheless, surprisingly, was conceived very quickly after the miscarriage. I think that I had thought that I would probably not have another chance. But I did. And she's still a joy!
I tag Enid who I have recently come across, and who is very funny. Six Word Short Story which can be found via the Our Albion blogsite, because I think that this is a great mental challenge, and that you should all have a go at writing a six word short story, Meredic, Ignorminious and Nicole.
Enjoy!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
