The Visitors Book Revisited

So how was our Christmas? It was quiet, but it wasn't always so. Here are a couple of festive blog posts from the Nelly's Garden's earliest days. Sometimes, looking back, I wonder how I ever had time to blog with a full-time job and a hectic social life. What it was to be young - only a mere stripling in my early fifties.

My favourite Christmas picture. Lovely Holly no longer with us.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

The Visitor's Book

As I cannot be arsed to think up a new post I have decided to post some seasonal extracts from the pages of Nellybert’s Visitor’s Book.

…. We arrived on Christmas Eve. Unfortunately (once again) Bert went to the wrong airport. How was I supposed to know that Belfast City is the one in Belfast? Anyway Ma should have done her research properly. Everybody knows that flights from Norfolk come into the wee airport…

…. It wasn’t too awful a visit. As usual there were way too many scary aunts around. I just hid behind piles of cushions and dogs. Nelly gave me a very strange present….

…. The night I stayed there were so many people there I only got a sofa. It was my birthday too! That panelling in Nelly’s shower room is fabuloso. My projectile vomiting wiped off a treat…

…. If I weren’t an animal-loving vegetarian I’d shoot that fucking cat. Pissed all over me just as I was getting off to sleep….

…I toddled over for the New Year’s Eve party and had just the one drink. Nelly said it was a triple brandy or something like that. Very nice. But you should have seen those young ones. Bottle after bottle of stuff they were drinking. I never seen anything like it. Mind you I would have liked to try that red stuff the weans were at. Hardy Breezer they said it was called. Nelly had that oul camera out. She knows I hate getting my picture took….

…Nelly and me made pizza and salads then I played a game were all the dogs were sharks. They needed new shark names so Rosie was Peter, Scruff was Trevor and Paddy was Paul. Mammy had to chase me all round the house to try and get me to go to bed at half-twelve. Nelly tried to help her but Mammy dunted her out of the road…

…Nelly and me went for a walk and talked about life and stuff and I was telling her all about being a first-year at Slemish and about all my teachers and friends and stuff. Nelly started girning later about how we all get crumbs in the butter and spread it all over the surfaces. She kept getting me to make her coffee.

NB: Other visitors included Zoe, Dave, Jean, Jonny, Tricia, Brendan, Sadie, Naoise, Mel, PP, Jenny, Marty, Jazzer, Barbara, Martina, Ian, Lee, Martina, Caoimhe, Penny, Scruff, Macy and last, but not least, Gracie.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

The Visitor's Book 2006

Here are some of the comments left in Nellybert’s Visitor’s Book over the holiday period.

…. Nelly said it was Christmas Dinner but it wisnae! It wis beef and ye haftae hae fowl for Christmas Dinner! Nelly was that cheeky when I said – she said it was a dinner and it was Christmas and I was tae come ower before it got cowl and to tell you the truth she trailt me ower aginst my will. And her oul puddin’ was rotten too, it was as bitter as gall…

…. I always spend my New Year’s birthday at Nellybert’s and you’d think I’d get a bed by now but it was still the bloody sofa.

…. Nelly forgot to make the vegetarian gravy so I had to make do with cheese sauce which was exceptionally good. She did make me a special stuffing and it was yum-yum but there was something about it…you’d nearly have thought…but surely not? Nelly wouldn’t do that…would she?….

…It was great at Nelly’s. You should have seen all the toys Bert got from Santa. He got a rocking horse and a crane and he let me play with them. He wouldn’t let me play with his guns and he’s got three and they’re real ones too. Then Nelly showed me Harry de Cat’s grave and it’s got tiles on top. Nelly says that’s to stop Mr Fox digging him up which wouldn’t be very nice because he’s a skellington now. Nelly and me went for a really long walk in Portglenone Forest then she wouldn’t let me go to the shop for sweets because her exhaust fell off…

…Martina and me showed Nelly our Bebo pages and Nelly told Mum that I said I was 16 on mine and that Martina had a photo on hers with a Benson in her mouth. She’s a tout. You couldn’t tell her anything.

…The dinner was very nice but I swear to God you could not move through that house without bumping into some sort of an animal. Zoë had her wee dog Gracie out with her and though it’s a lovely looking wee thing, and there they were all oohing and aahing about how cute and sweet it was to see her playing with the new kitten, I saw the dirty looks that wee brute was giving that kitten when it thought no one was watching. I’d not like to leave them on their own for too long…

This year our visitors were Zoë, Dave, Hannah, Jamie, Eamon, Mel, PP, Jenny, Marty, Jazzer, Swisser, Martina, Erin, Ben, John, Buffy, Dirt Bird, Pearlie and Gracie. Ganching sent her apologies and some rather nice presents.

Oh Christmas Tree!

My oldest daughter called round the other day and I was telling her, what with one thing and another, I wasn't feeling the festive season this year. And I confessed that I wished I'd sorted out a Christmas tree because that would have cheered me up. After all, Lorraine, despite Robin being so ill, made the effort to dress a tree for the sake of their grandchildren.

Zoe said, 

Surely after that storm there will be something  in the wood that you could bring in for a Christmas tree.

Storm Darragh did bring down scores of trees in our wood. The Scots pines were hit hard and a young oak grove also sucuumbed to the wind. But most of the casualties were firs.

Zoe and her dog Posie headed out to scout for a suitable evergreen. I imagined she'd find the tippy-top of some brute of a fir tree that Bert would have to take the chainsaw to. But no. She returned with the news that they'd found a perfect tree, a little fir that she'd planted that was ripped right out of the ground by the winds. She'd marked it with a silky scarf and after she left Bert went out to bring it in. It was potted up and brought in to the house. After what it had been through (Zoe grew it from a seed) I didn't want to put it in any of the living rooms. Far too warm for it with the wood-burners. So I settled it in a cool corner of the kitchen. I hope the tree enjoys a few days there and in the meantime will be cheering me up no end. I don't even mind that it looks a little lopsided. Bert potted it that way.

I expect this little tree will be at Zoe's house next year. After all, she did grow it from a seed.

 

A Life In Pictures

Teller of tall tales. The General. The Wee Manny. A Rascal. A Traveller. An Adventurer. 

It has taken me all this time to begin this post and per usual I'm drawing on one I wrote almost ten years ago. 

I went to today's funeral (the first of the year) with the Wee Manny. He arrived at our house more than an hour early all suited and booted. In our part of the world, by the time a man is in his middle age he has his funeral rig ready at all times. This outfit will consist of a dark suit, a dark tie, black if the funeral is that of a close family member and, given the Irish climate, a heavy dark overcoat.

It was a battle getting Bert to wear his suit but he allowed himself to be persuaded. The funeral suit is a much easier option than trying to find other items of dark (clean) clothing. And the dark tie is always in the inside jacket pocket.

The reason I went with The Wee was because Bert was picking Hannah up from work and the Wee and I, both being Virgos, are  particular about punctuality. We were there at least half an hour before the proceedings began. The Cuningham Memorial is very close to where I live yet this was the first time I'd ever been inside it. The interior is traditional, with heavy roof beams and beautiful stained glass. The pews are those old-fashioned ones with doors. Ours seated just three people. As always, on entering the church, I had to stop myself looking for the holy water font and in the pew I noted the absence of kneelers. Presbyterians do not kneel. At least I did not attempt to genuflect as I entered the pew. I did that once but I hope no one noticed. That was at Church of Ireland wedding so you'd almost get away with it.

As we sat in that pew I reflected that The Wee is actually my oldest friend. Not old in terms of age, but old in the length of time we've known each other. I met him nearly forty years ago and knew of his existence a few years before that. The Wee was one of the cool dudes, living mostly outside Ballymena, in London, Amsterdam and other interesting places. I first met him in Dublin while I was visiting my sister who was at Trinity College. He and I had a mutual friend and the three of us went on a pub crawl. Little did I know that The Wee and I would still know each other forty years on and that we'd go to funerals together and that we'd have spent the time before discussing our favourite baking dishes and other mundane things. He introduced me to Bert nearly thirty years ago so I expect I'll have to be friends with him forever.

Turned out forever wasn't as long as I thought it would be. Robin, you will be missed and we will be talking about about you and your exploits forever.

Robin

Thirteen days ago I went with my friend to the local hospital to visit with her husband. Seven days ago he was discharged to spend his final days in his own home. Six days ago Bert and I visited him. Four days ago he died. 

He came back home today. And he will leave again on Friday.

I met him first in 1975. Some years later he introduced me to Bert. And we were friends from then on.

He is the third person in my circle of friends to die this year. All from cancer. I guess we're all around that sort of age. 

I'll write more after the funeral.

No Excitement and a Wee Catch Up

 No Excitement

Someone asked me today if anything exciting going on in my life. I replied that there was not and that I was glad of it.

So, definitely, no excitement to report on the blog since the last time I properly updated and that was the day we found out that quite a lot of people in the United States feel that they had not had enough of Donald Trump. Since then I deactivated ‘that’ platform and have resolved to take a break from the news.

I am also taking a Duolingo break and have been reading more. And sorting books as there are more books in this house than shelves to hold them and I have shelves enough to hold more than a thousand books. It’s going well. I’ve got as far as Proust and Pullman and both those authors are getting to stay. For now. I’ve filled three boxes for Tesco’s charity bookshelves. Keep an eye on the Ballymena store readers, it’s going upmarket.

Wee Catchup

As usual, there were visitors. Stand out was the Saturday that Martina and her children called with us. Despite it being a damp, late Autumn day the kids had a great time swinging, trampolining and feeding Clint’s calves. They are lovely children and I believe they enjoyed themselves as much as their mum used to when she was a little’un.

An evening at Ballymena Academy to see Martha and a host of incredibly talented young people in their school musical, The Addams Family. It was a great evening. Martha had two sets of grandparents, her parents and her sister to support her. Fun fact – every Martha in the school (all three of them) took part in the show.

There were two birthday suppers. Bert made both cakes. A Chocolate Guinness cake (Nigella) for Evie and a carrot and ginger cake (Hummingbird) for Dave. Both were delicious but Dave’s could have done with more ginger. Dave likes ginger.

Then we had a lovely evening at Les and Dawn's. They cooked us delicious Chinese food. And were great craic as always. A good night.

There were two trips to Belfast. St George’s Market on Remembrance Sunday. Hannah drove. We walked past City Hall just before 11 am but were too far away to spot Michelle. The second visit was by train to Botanic. I walked to the Palm House, bought some jeans in the Oxfam shop and did not buy a single book. But I did finish reading The Remains of the Day on the journey back and forth. So good.

Then the snow came. So pretty, so boring. The dogs, especially Chico, adored it and even old Judy had to get out for a jolly good sniff and a plod around. Now we are waiting to see what Storm Bert brings. Leitrim Sister messaged me to say that I should tell Bert to wind his neck in.

One From Thirteen Years Ago

 

Home Alone (November 2011)

I'm home alone. Pearlie has gone to one of her regular respite placements so that means two whole weeks without a battalion of carers tramping in and out. And it is also two weeks without her constant griping and complaining. It is a chance for Bert and I to have a taste of what it must be like to live as a couple in privacy and peace. We get this for eight whole weeks a year, and I know that makes us very fortunate people.

As I said I'm home alone. Bert has gone off to Malin Head with a couple of friends. I hope they get reasonable weather and aren't blown off the Head. I've been left with the chickens, the dogs, the pigs and the cats - not too burdensome. Clint has been left with the cattle. I'm supposed to be watching and listening for one of the heifers 'looking away' but we're not holding out much hope. The beast has had numerous goes with A.I. and a good run with the bull and she just can't catch. Clint came in to talk about it. He knows Pearlie isn't here so I've got nobody to moan at me.

Huh! The only place that one will be looking away at is the abattoir. She's far too big a baste to be keeping as a pet.

I interpret this as a dig at the kune kunes but I do not react. He goes on.

Aye! It's the freezer for her, no question about it.

I'm sure he'd like me to get sentimental about her so he can come over all manly and practical and farmerish but I do not give him a chance. He goes on,

Did Bert ever get the bags sorted out for the butcher?

I concur that if he did, I have not been informed of it.

Huh! He's an easy-going boy waltzing off to Donegal in this weather and no worries about the butcher! And in November! Sure it's wild up there! He has little or no sense. I don't know what would take him up to Malin Head at this time of the year!

I remark that I thought the break would do him good and mention that we've got a piano.

Aye! I saw that. I don't know what you thought you needed that for. Huh! What with that oul squeaky clarinet and dinnilin' away on an oul out of tune piano that'll hardly do him much good. It would answer him a lot better to finish that ranch fencing he started.

I have to agree that Bert has a rather dilatory attitude to general chores.

Well! I'm away down to get my own livestock foddered and in before it's too dark to see.

I bid him goodnight.

When he is gone I say to the dogs for there is no one else to say it to,

Y'know – there are a lot of things that Bert is good at, that Clint is not.

And I smile a little smile to myself.

Focus on the Positive

 Well! That was very disappointing. 

My first instinct was to become despondent, but I didn't want to feel disheartened, so instead I deactivated Twitter/X (about time) and decided to take a day off from The News. I have made plans and a list.

Today I will read.

I will light a fire.

I will throw out clutter as I come across it. So far I've binned a worn-out tea towel, an oven glove and another pudding bowl.

I will shower, put on a nice outfit and take Vee shopping.

And I will upload my holiday photographs and recall the lovely time I spent with family in Norfolk and London.

Then I will watch a light-hearted show about a group of people with some strong opinions and no politics. Hello, Sheldon Cooper.

Two photographs taken at Pensthorpe.

Katy and I spent some time at the inspiring West Acre Garden Centre and walled garden. 

James was keen to show me around one of his favourite places - Wroxham Miniature World where I discovered that my grandson is an expert on British railway engines.

Halloween is a really big deal where Katy lives. Emily and I were on the door for Trick & Treating. 

It seems I didn't take that many photographs in London. Too busy walking, eating delicious food and catching up with my sisters. The bench is a memorial to the comedian Sean Hughes and is situated in beautiful Highgate Wood. The second photograph was taken at the celebration for The Day of the Dead in Columbia Road. The reason I didn't get many pictures was because I was too busy  having my own photograph taken. It was a novel experience to have at least twenty photographers taking pictures of London Sister and myself outside We Are Arrow. We weren't even dressed up! 

October Reading

 After the shameful amount of books read in September I am pleased to disclose that October was a big improvement. I started slim, as in volume size.

The Sign Of The Sugared Plum by Mary Hooper.

I picked this one up at the Tesco charity bookshelf. At first I thought it might be a children’s book but apparently not. An account of life in London during the Great Plague. Moderately engaging and not recommended but at least it got me reading again. Otherwise avoid.

More Tesco finds – The Finding by Nina Bawden. Underwhelming.

Yet another Tesco find – My Folks Don’t Want Me to Talk About Slavery edited by Belinda Hurmence. A previous owner must have picked this one up at an estate in the Southern States of the USA. It was a quick read, interesting, part of an academic research project. My inbuilt cynicism led to some distrust of the editing process but I still found it interesting.

Ganching led me to Three Hours by Rosamund Lupton. She mentioned it in a blog and described it as something she read in a 24-hour period. I had a copy (Tesco again) and being in the mood for a binge read I found it to be just the job. 24 hours later – enjoyable read to be returned to Tesco charity bookshelves at my earliest convenience.

So that’s me back on track at the reading again. I was longing to read the new Elizabeth Strout, Tell Me Everything. According to the reviews it brings together many beloved Strout personalities including Olive Kitteridge, Lucy Barton and Bob Burgess. My only difficulty was – I hadn’t read The Burgess Boys. Well, I have now and I like it very much. Still haven’t begun Tell Me Everything but it is sitting there, waiting for me – a brand new copy. Long time before it ends up on Tesco’s charity bookshelf.

The last book I finished was Dirty Linen by Martin Doyle. I bought my copy in St George’s Market from yer man who runs Belfast Books. His is not a store I’d normally be in but the book was half-price and I’d wanted to read it. Yer man said it was a ‘tough read’ and I’m not sure what he meant by that. But there is this – I’ve often thought that the accounts of the people who died during the period of our Irish history that is called ‘The Troubles’ has been fairly well documented. What is less well documented are the stories of the injured and the bereaved. Martin Doyle’s book went some way to bring some of those stories to the fore.

I went to an event at Seamus Heaney HomePlace in Bellaghy on Friday evening. The writer Colum McCann in Conversation. It wasn’t quite a full house but it was nearly. Novel readers must be mostly ladies of a certain age. I’d guess the youngest person there was around forty-five. I did not tell the author that I’ve only read one of his books so far and that I picked it up from the Tesco charity bookshelf. Let The Great World Spin. Since then I acquired two more novels and bought another two at HomePlace. It was a good evening.

I’ll be taking Colum McCann on my holiday to Norfolk and London. This Side of Brightness. Already packed.  

Family Time

 

These past few days, I have had the pleasure of Ganching and Kerry Sister's company. They took a house close to where we are, and we were together for part of every day.

So I thought I'd illustrate this blog with a picture of the two of them but when I went to my vast store of digital photographs and looked at the file labelled Friends and Family/General Family/Ganching Kerry Sister the picture above was the only one I could find. I'm not sure what they were at.  Definitely not a prayer meeting. They are both divils for the culture so I suppose it was something of that nature. 

Which reminds me. Ganching, knowing that I'm always collecting random stuff from the internet, asked me to look out an article written by a priest about another priest. I'm off to do that now.

One From Sixteen Years Ago

Pearlie's Favourite Niece visited us today and I found myself remembering how  it was when Nellybert and Pearlie shared a roof.

What a difference sixteen years make. Back then I referred to myself as 'middle-aged'. Now I too am old. And dare to hope that in 10 years time - when I'll be as old as Pearlie was that my middle-aged people will have a lot more patience than I did.

But then - I don't intend to be a curmudgeon. Promise!

Choices

The following is based on a true event. One of the most difficult things about having Pearlie living with us is the struggle to hold on to a sense of myself as a fairly decent human being. There is no feelgood factor.

A few weeks ago I went on a shopping expedition to get Pearlie some decent clothes. Pearlie has never had the remotest interest in clothes and, as long as I’ve known her, has garbed herself in layers of hideous greying underwear, jumpers, cardigans, vile skirts, men’s socks, battered footwear and the lot topped of with a horror movie of a headscarf and a home-made and much patched apron. She had the look of a poverty-stricken Eastern European peasant from the nineteen-forties only with added nylon and polyester.

But now it’s up to me launder this gruesome stuff so I’ve been sneakily throwing out the worst of it and replacing it with decent clothes from Marks & Spencers and the Edinburgh Woollen Mill. There will be no more baggy, outsized interlock cotton vests with fraying hems in this house.

Sure ye could put a stitch in them.

Excuse me Pearlie. A stitch? I do have a life. (Or at least I used to)

Her hideous long-legged cotton knickers bought from the packman are slowly being replaced by similarly granny ones from M&S only the Marksy ones are light and thermal and almost pleasing to the eye.

Where’s all my other knickers? Did Margaret take them home to patch?

In the bin long, long ago.

I spent over three hours picking out a skirt, a cardigan and underwear for Pearlie. Had I been shopping for myself I’d have completed in half the time. But I know how hard she is to please. Skirts must be lined, they must not be too long or too tight. Knitwear must not be bulky but it must not be too light. The sleeves must be roomy, likewise the neck. Colours must not be too bright. I played safe and got dark green. I’ve seen her wear dark green a lot. The underwear was thermal, soft and it fitted her. Exhausted I made my way home.

I didn’t show her the new duds at first. I knew she’d be bound to hate something and I even had a notion of packing them in her case so that the first time she saw them would be when the care assistants at the respite home hung them up in her wardrobe. But next day she was in a good mood and I felt I could handle the criticism so I showed her what I’d got. And amazing joy – she liked everything! I was delighted.

But that was Sunday. On Thursday Favourite Niece came out to pack her suitcase. That evening I didn’t get home until nearly eight and I was feeling pretty tired. I was surprised to see that Favourite Niece’s car was still in the yard. Moments later FN bounced out of Pearlie’s room went straight up to me and said, “That skirt’s no good. It’s falling off her. Can you get it changed? And she doesn’t like those knickers. Says she’ll be far too cold in them.”

Did I stay cool? Not exactly. I swore a bit ( a lot) then I did get cool. Well maybe more cold than cool. You know that cold anger thing where you might like to kill somebody? That was me.

Since then I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’ve been thinking about choices and how it is supposed to be important to give old people as much autonomy as possible. And I was also thinking about how great it would be if middle-aged people got to exercise some choices too like whether we wanted to launder patched rags or not. Or maybe we could choose whether or not we welcomed an aged dictator and a haphazard team of carers into our lovely home.

So anyway after thinking long and hard I have decided that these are the really important choices to offer my aged dictator.

• Milk or Tea.
• Pink hot water bottle or blue hot water bottle.
• Shape up or Ship Out.
• My Way or the Highway.

A Sad Day

This has been a very sad day for all of us at Springhill. One of our Kune Kune pigs, Lily, had to be euthanised tonight. These past few months we have seen her becoming weaker in her hindquarters. This morning she had her breakfast as normal and went to the fields to graze. She didn't return in the evening. Bert found her collapsed five minutes from home. She was halfway through her fifteenth year on earth. I don't know how Rusty will get on without her, tonight will be the first time in his life that he will sleep alone.

An Update

 Daoine a chanann in éineacht le hamhráin, scriosann siad iad do na cinn atá ag iarraidh éisteacht leo*

I started October determined to update this blog more frequently but, as always, life got in the way and 'aussi' a little bit of Duolingo. I did not progress to the Diamond League last week and am trying to be more relaxed about it.

And! I finished two books. Short ones.

I still need to discover if marking the shells of garden snails with Tippex is a bad thing. My friend the naturalist says it is not and my missing snails have likely been eaten by thrushes. Maybe the markings make it easier for thrushes to see them? I should probably stop it. 

**created with the assistance of Google Translate

Just One Book

Unthinkable! In September I finished reading just one book. The Secret Scripture by Sebastian Barry. I quite liked it even though the ending wasn't quite the surprise it might have been. I only research books once I've read them so it came as news to me that the novel was made a film. Researching the movie made me realise that I never wanted to see it even though it featured Vanessa Redgrave. Also, it was only loosely based on the book as the unsympathetic Father Gaunt became Hot Priest Theo James. I passed the book on to a friend and told her I didn't want it back.

What kept me from reading? Three things,

Gardening, Duolingo and Snails.

Bert and I have been working in our garden a lot and have made some progress. We make a good team. My back and shoulders aren't amazing so he does all the spadework. His knees are dodgy so I do all the wheel barrowing. Between us, we make one great gardener. For the first time in years, I am looking forward to spring.

Duolingo. Ganching warned me not to get obsessed. At first, I didn't know what she meant. Then, about two weeks in, I realised I was in leagues. I got obsessed. Sundays were fraught as I struggled to get into the top three or, at the very least, the promotion zone. A few days ago I realised I'd spent 24 hours in the previous week on Duolingo. That's like A JOB! I have wised up. 'll still do it a bit but I am going to have to stop caring about leagues and just try and do a bit of French grammar. For fun.

Snails. The Garden variety. I have spent almost my entire life loathing slugs and snails but have, in the past couple of years, become fascinated by them. Most nights I'm out with my torch to see what they are up to. It's the snails I like best but now I'm also getting to like the slugs too. And fellow gardeners, here is something I have discovered. Don't be too tidy in your herbaceous borders for the snails and slugs seem to prefer decaying plant matter. And if you don't leave anything like that for them they will eat the good stuff. It doesn't apply to hostas though - they just cannot resist them.

So - here's to October, more reading, gardening and snail-watching and a lot less Duolingo. 

Making Slow Progress

I will soon be giving an account of my September reading and it will not take long. There will also be a format change. As I have written before I generally keep many books in my reading pile, usually around twelve as this number seems manageable. In September that number hovered around 14-15. 

I won't be photographing the 12 this month or ever again. That is because I feel a little bit disappointed that some books seem never to make their way out of the pile. There is one in there that I bought with last year's birthday book tokens and another that I found in a Sue Ryder in Fakenham when I was on my last visit to the Norfolk branch of the family. Those two are still on the go.

You see where I'm going with this?  The books that languish in my reading pile say far more about me than I want known.

Anyway, here are some of the books that I've been reading this past while. 

Eleven of them are yet to be finished and there is one other that I got fed up with and decided not to finish. Clue: It's on the top row.

One From Ten Years Ago

 

Fun With Cardboard

I have had the pleasure this weekend of the company of all my children and grandchildren. Yes folks - my darling Katkin and her husband are visiting from Norfolk. It's a whole year since I've seen her. Tomorrow we are going to Derry. There will be photographs. Until then here are some photographs.

What ever can Aunt Katy be pushing in the NinkyNonk? Dave knows but Jess doesn't.

My word! Small children. Someone needs to inform the Health and Safety Executive without delay.

Martha might be deciding that all she wants for Christmas this year is a selection of large cardboard boxes. Who needs toys?

Birthday

 

When a young woman hits her mid-teens (getting so old) she may not be just as excited about birthday cake as she once was. But that's OK. When you've experienced many birthdays, you can be excused for feeling a certain ennui.

Anyway - Happy Birthday, Martha!

PS - those photos were taken two days before her birthday. Today's the day.

An Update

Well, I was wrong. According to those Amazon people in the USA I did accidentally set up a Prime account in America. Set it up, never used it even once and then got billed for almost four years.

I spent more than three hours on Friday with Amazon.com and had interactions with four different reps.

The first seemed very pleasant (I wondered if she was AI) and after I explained myself she offered to cancel my sum and give me one month's refund which I declined.

The second advisor was also pleasant and again I wondered if he was AI. He did ask why it had taken me so long to complain. I continued to make my case and was offered two month's refund which I declined.

The third advisor spent around 10 minutes perusing the previous exchanges and passed me on to number four. 

There was quite a bit of waiting time for me during these exchanges which I spent cleaning my bookshelves.

Number 4 advisor, Priya (I visualised Leonard's girlfriend in The Big Bang Theory seemed like a human being. Priya was able to tell me when the American Prime had been applied for. I wish now I'd asked what was streamed because that would have given me some clue as to whether I had ordered it or someone else. Eventually, she offered me a year's refund. I was tempted. I answered as follows,

I got the two years which would have covered the period that Amazon sneakily got my new card details without my knowledge. I did wonder if I should have held out for the full amount but was exhausted with all the bargaining and bookcase cleaning and it was getting late. I also worried that I might have ended up with nothing. As the saying goes, half a loaf is better than no bread.

The next day 24 separate payment of $14.99 went pinging into my bank account. Music to my ears.

And as promised, Amazon business practices suck but the customer service part is pretty good.

Prime Idiocy

A confession. It took three attempts and many years for me to get to grips with online banking. During that time I was without paper statements so was never completely sure how my balance stood. I’d check it a few times a month at the ATM and sometimes I’d print out a mini statement.

So, when I finally got online with the bank I was jolly pleased and the first thing I did was check on my regular outgoings, you know, phone bill, charity subs, streaming services – that kind of thing. And the first thing I noticed was that I appeared to be paying for Amazon Prime twice!

A regular payment of £8.99 was going out on the 25^th of the month and a few days ahead of that another sum was also coming out of my account. It was never the exact amount, varied from month to month – always around £12. I couldn’t figure it out so contacted Amazon.

And it turned out they had no record of it. I was advised to contact my bank. The next day was Tuesday and I was too busy doing cakes and family meals. The day after that I was in to the bank to find out what’s what. And what it was – was that the bank closed on Wednesdays.

First thing today I was in there and met a very helpful young woman who looked into the situation. I was paying for two subscriptions but the extra one, the one I couldn’t understand was in the USA! Apparently Amazon Prime costs $14.99 in the States which is why my sterling withdrawals fluctuated from month to month.

I was relieved that whatever had happened wasn’t my fault, that I hadn’t accidentally set up an extra account in America. But still,  a shame not to have noticed it before now as it turns out I’ve been paying for another person’s Prime Video subscription for nearly four years.

As I said to the woman in the bank, God I hope it wasn’t a Trump supporter!

She agreed that it would be sickening if it was.

Now I’ve got to see if Amazon in the UK can sort this out for me. I am not sure if I’ll ever recover the money but I suppose I’ll have to try and claim something from somebody. Apparently, according to an article I read today, I should also contact the FBI although that seems pretty intense. Also overkill. And probably pointless.

Birthday Cake

It's sad if the birthday girl has to make her own cake, so I asked Bert to do it. All I had to do was choose the recipe, buy the ingredients, set everything out for him and go take a Duolingo lesson or three. 

I forgot to photograph the cake but the Hummingbird Bakery Cake Days book has a very nice picture which is almost exactly how Bert's cake turned out. 

It was yummy although the baker himself said,

Too much frosting and far too sweet.

Cleo had no complaints. Again no photograph, but if I had grabbed my camera when I caught her on the table snarfing my cake I could have captioned it, 

Le chien est sur la table et elle mange mon gateau !

Thats about my level in French. It might be a while before I can tackle that French translation of Apeirogon.