Gertsamtkunstwerk

Miscellany, including football

Things are slightly strange in Gert Cottage, with Jimmy currently being a man of leisure. He really needs the break; just looking at some of our holiday photos: never the most photogenic anyway, he looks spectacularly awful. Not one to relax, his idea of 'a break' is my idea of hyperactivity. Last week he repainted the hall, stairs and landing; next week, in my absence, he is doing the back reception (dining/computer) room. much preparation is needed, so I have spent most of the weekend sorting stuff, and we are now at the shifting stage. It all takes time. And energy.

It's nice to have a bit of football as a distraction. I think, anyway. I don't think I ever commented on the minor fact that United are through to the FA Cup Final. With the deepest respect to Watford, I never really had the major colly-wobbles about that one. I'm not complacent or arrogant, and certainly not when it comes to knock-out games, and my intelligence was contradicting my gut feeling. I was very disappointed when Chelsea beat Blackburn, and not just out of affection (huge!) for Mark 'Sparky' Hughes. I had a ghostly ghastly premonition, my blood running cold, at the realisation that Chelsea are on course for an unprecedented quadruple.

Oh, my boys like to suffer pain and suffering. Can you imagine the years, the decades, I have had to endure this? I have already blogged a bit - not enough - about the Old Trafford game against Milan. To take an early lead, to surrender it so sloppily, to feel my heart breaking. And the joy when they equalise, and end up winners .on the night. And then to go through the same thing again yesterday. Knowing that Chelsea were up against it at Stamford Bridge, and to see us struggling so badly at Everton - granted, never an easy away fixture. Then, first good reliable unglamorous John O'Shea gives up hope; then Phil Neville - of all people - gets an own goal (I wonder how much stick he got from Evertonians...and from Manchester United's currently injured club captain, er, Gary Neville...!). And then, when it was almost over, ex-Evertonian Wayne Rooney scores a spectacular goal. Sky commentators talking like it was all over...oh please, it doesn't take an accountant to work out that Chelsea are five points behind with nine to play for. Stealing shamelessly from Skuds - I can take the despair. Its the hope I can't stand.. Oh we have such an easy run in - Manchester City away, when the form book goes out the window; Chelsea away, which may or may not be the crunch decider. And, finally West Ham, who have shown a good run of form of late, and may well end up surviving if they win at Old Trafford.

And we have the return leg in Milan, when we find out whether we are set for the first ever all-English European Cup Final. Or not...See what I mean about the hope; it's unbearable.

It is strange sharing so much more time with Jimmy. It's nice that he's a lot less stressed out, and especially good that he is barely drinking at all. It's nice he sends me out to work with a lunch box, and creme eggs craftily inserted as an incentive to investigate my fruit bag! But we are back to the TV vs music conflict. It would be nice if he checked about putting the TV on while I have music playing. A couple of years ago he put the TV on. Pointedly, I said "I'm putting my earphones on," and he reassured me that my music didn't interfere with his TV. He knows it annoys me. He knows that the irregular noise of loud action films especially annoys me. It's a stupid thing to row about, but then, if I put headphones on, apparently, I'm like a zombie or a space alien. Or else, such as today, he moans because it then means he can't hear the music - silly me htought he was watching Arsenal-Fulham. I can't win, can I?

I have now upgraded to Thunderbird 2.0 (email programme), which seems like a downgrade to me. The spell-check no longer works, and it doesn't automatically consign junk to junk folders, so I keep being tempted by enormous cheques from the Republic of Benin.

And I keep forgetting it's April, because the daytime temperatures are hotter than July. That having been said, it is now very much Election Time of year, although not in London, and I know that mini heatwaves at this time are not unprecedented and may well be followed by miserable weather later.

And just for good measure, I have discovered the delights of Rapidshare, via the Yahoo Group, Operashare. I wasn't unaware before, but at first I had connectivity problems, then I found the free service frustrating in its vagaries. I then considered that the premium service isn't at all pricey. Yesterday, an 1981 Otello from Buenos Aires, today a 1968 Contes D'Hoffmann from San Antonio. Next, maybe a Pelleas with Shirtless, LHL and the lovely Gerald.

More money than sense

Typical of the rudeness of stuck-up neighbours.

We were woken at 7 am on Monday by work commencing in the garden at the back. At 7.30 I had to don a dressing gown and stick my head out of the window to request politely "No power tools before 8 am." Interestingly, I got a nod and compliance from the builder, who knew precisely what I meant.

Yesterday I took a photo of RSJs:

I told Jimmy to keep an eye on the party wall.

This evening, I take more photos:

It seems that they are extending their back room by resting it on the party garden wall. We can see through the garden wall. It's a garden wall; it's held up by dust and ivy. I would love to know how much they are spending on this job.  They've never knocked on our door to inform us of the building work, let alone have their architect or surveyor inspect the wall from our side. Maybe they did from next door (it's a three way party wall), but maybe it's in better condition next door...

I can't say I want to be underneath it when it crumbles under the weight - don't yet know whether it's going up two storeys. I would even less like to be in their extended back room when it collapses. I shall get onto Lambeth Building Control tomorrow, but I'm not messing around, I'm shall get onto a solicitor on Friday if Building Control are less than helpful

I don't want this hassle in my life. But I expect my neighbours at the back really don't want hassle or extra expense. If only they had shown neighbourly consideration in the first place, they wouldn't have gone ahead with such a ludicrous building project.  I know that wall; I suspect that a heavy wet load of washing or an extra strong gust of wind could send it falling.

I'm not sure about the law on Party Walls and Planning Permission. I don't particularly want to. I shall just refer it to a solicitor - if anyone can recommend a good relevant solicitor handy for my area (Brixton) do please let me know.

Freecycle Gert Cottage Style

As we find stuff, we dump it. At the end of "Gert Cottage Boulevard". So far, a computer monitor, an office chair and a radio-alarm clock have disappeared. The books have been rifled through. I appreciate that the Statistics and Accountancy books, and the empty Jewel cases, have limited appeal. but if you are one of the ten readers from the MRSRWCRA who read mmofm, we are dumping god condition stuff on a help yourself basis. If you are planning a Jumble Sale in SW2, please contact us. We have jumble but are too lazy to seek you out.

Sorry, this is a local post for local people.

But seriously, if you have a Jumble Sale, as long as it's not for Anti-Abortion or something, email me, and we can happily give you loads of stuff - books? I have dozens!!!!

It's kind of like Freecycle, but without exhausting the neurons that drive t'internet. It's a Brixton Village Freecycle. A few months ago, someone left out Skis to 'help yourself'. Oh, we're dead posh round here...

Seeking a life of leisure

It's going from molehill to mountain. The quiet predictable routine of my boring but satisfactory life has plunged into disruption and disroutine.

Jimmy has far too much time on his hands and it's not doing me any good. He's up as I go out to work, washing windows. He's washed all the curtains in the house. He's doing stuff. Like dusting and polishing my dressing table; re-arranging the bottles of body lotion - after years of amassing an impressive lake of body lotion, I have suddenly developed an almost obsessive enthusiasm about smearing unction over my body twice a day: I found 20 bottles in various locations. I managed to escape on Thursday without being nagged to take fruit to work; later in the day I received a severe ticking off, for 'sneaking out the house without a banana'.

Friday is supposed to be my day off, the day I mess around on the internet. Fat chance. Yes, I had to go to Streatham to settle the balance on our new furniture (of which we currently await delivery). Whilst there we looked for a toolbox. Now, colour me stupid, but I would have thought that a standard traditional toolbox would be easy to find. You know, traditional, slits down the middle to allow tiered compartments to open in a zig-zag way. I would have placed money on Woolworths selling them; failing that, Argos. There wasn't even one in the Argos catalogue. Jimmy thinks he will get one easily enough from Halfords, but Halfords is the opposite direction.

We did go into Sainsburys Local to search for puddings, but swiftly left again. I may write to their customer services. I do not especially want to be confronted by aggressive rap music when I walk into Sainsburys. I don't think it's especially the image that Sainsburys Corporately want to project. It probably attracts aggressive anti-social oiks. There's no shortage of alternative suppliers from which to choose. I don't choose to spend my time and money in somewhere that plays aggressive 'music'.

Back home, and it was non-stop work, clearing and cleaning the main bedroom. Yes, necessary due to the imminent arrival of new bed, and I can't complain about the logic of it. On Thursday, my colleagues, as is customary, wished me a good weekend, and I replied, I shall be returning to work next week to relax. I wasn't joking.

No time for internet, got to purge and blitz dining/computer room. TTFN.

Letting go

The house is a mess.

This is because even with out the CFS I am by nature lazy. And Jimmy has been working too long and drinking too much. It's easier to procrastinate.

But, let's be candid, a lot is to do with hoarding. I hate throwing things out. Part of me is worried about landfill, but frankly, it's too embarrassing for Freecycle and too shabby for Charity shops. I have a laptop, now, so I have thrown away two computer keyboards and we left a monitor by the roadside for 'help yourself'. Three house phones (broken) have been binned, although one retained because of its quaint ability to be used without electricity, no trivial concern. I have retained my first brick-like mobile for nostalgia, but put-to-recycling rolls of half-used Christmas wrapping paper dating back a decade. I still have my referee's whistle from 1970-something, and when I spotted my football boot rubber I did wonder what had happened to my Bryan Robson rubber. I told myself it didn't matter, one doesn't need to hang onto bric a brac in the delusion that there is symbolic value.

I feel I could ditch the case of cassettes taped off the radio during the 1980s, but I can't quite bring myself to that. It would be throwing away my memories.

And then there's clothes. I have approximately fifty tops that are appropriate for work, restaurants, concert halls etc. Perhaps a handful are beginning to look a trifle faded. I also have about thirty t-shirts, football shirts etc that are comfortable and practical for wearing the house (and remember, I am at home more days than I am out). I very bravely ditched seven M&S silk t-shirts I distinctly remember buying to wear under suits, in Ealing. In Autumn 1998. they have long been relegated to the 'wear around the house' pile. But I don't - into the bin. I have thrown three skirts from the mid-90s, because I haven't worn them in god knows how long. I tried one on, it fitted but didn't flatter.

Even so, I still have too many clothes. I ought to employ a strictly one-in one-out system. I can identify lacunae in the wardrobe - decent summer skirt and trousers, that aren't suits, for work etc. I refuse to let go the Sweatshirts, four of which date from 1990 or earlier. Or a yellow jumper I bought as a student. I no longer wear yellow. It never ventures outside the house. But I can't let it go because I'm scared I may need it sometime, just in case the other twenty or so jumpers and cardigans just won't do. I have about a dozen gorgeous pull-'em-up-stick-'em-out bras, and insist of wearing, round the house, misfits, with tired elastic or a missing underwire.

The truth is, I have too many clothes.

But Jimmy is even worse than me!

Leave me alone...!

Half-witted interfering neighbour called round while I was in the bath and spoke to Jimmy.

She's come up with this idea to change the name of "Gert Cottage Boulevard" (not its real name), our little private drive to four cottages, to Laundry Road.

Over my dead, or at least inert, body.

Laundry Road - where the scrubbers live. Laundry Road - why not go further and call it Gas Works Street. Or go the whole hog and call it "Red Light Brothel Lane where you can buy your slap'n'tickle."

Yes, I am going to say, it will affect property prices to be saddled with such a crap address.

But I've come up immediately with a list of fifty organisations - excluding friends and family - who will need notifying of a change of address. Am I going to have pay for that? In cash and time? Not on your nelly.

And that doesn't include Fire, Ambulance, and Police. Sorry, if there is the slightest risk of any of those being delayed looking for somewhere that isn't on the map, due to some ridiculous notion of changing a perfectly good road name, well, that makes it an idiot idea.

Frankly, if people have nothing better to do with their time than fart around on ridiculous half-witted notions, well there's a Youth Club across the road that would probably welcome a bit of extra help. Although they would probably prefer people with some semblance of reality; not just interfering busybodies living on another planet.

Fruit flies

I have never had such an experience of being over run by fruit flies. From time to time, if you leave a wine glass unwashed for a few days with dribbles in the bottom, you really notice them, especially in the heat of summer.

But it's getting ridiculous. Admittedly, we are not 100% operating theatre clean, but we are making a real effort at the moment to keep things clean. I poured myself a glass of wine, and left it for maybe five, ten minutes at the most, and six of the bastards had leaped in. It was a bloody good Shiraz...actually only a Vin du Pays D'Oc (but proper stuff from France, not the crap they pass off to supermarkets), and it was the last glass, so I'm a bit miffed.

I don't think I have ever have six flies in a wine glass. Certainly not in winter, certainly not indoors.

Jimmy thinks it's it do with the composting bin, which is kept at the bottom of the garden but not very far from the downstairs shower-room/loo.

I want to blame the bastard builders, but wonder if it's anything to do with the weird weather. I wonder if it's just us, or is it a widespread problem, and if we get the rumoured cold snap, they'll go away? Although, frankly, the forecast for night-time temperatures falling to - woo - minus one doesn't seem cold enough to me.

Everyday minutiae

I went out. Not very far, because I couldn't. "Gert Cottage Boulevard" was blocked. Not just to vehicular traffic but also to lil' ol' me.

I requested the crane be moved and was told by a man high in the sky that it would be ten or fifteen minutes. I expressed my anger that ten or fifteen minutes was well beyond the bounds of acceptability. I had an angry confrontation with a man on the ground who sneeringly and patronisingly informed me that ten or fifteen minutes is what it takes to move such a vehicle. I dare say that's correct, but I aver there is a bigger point being missed. I said I was calling the police because he was holding me prisoner against my will (Drama Queen? Moi?)

I discovered that in actual fact I could exit by crossing the site. Nice of Arsehole-on-the-Ground to have told me. I went into the site office and played merry hell, explaining that it was in no way an acceptable situation. If a fire engine or emergency ambulance were to come, ten or fifteen minutes simply was not good enough. I was told that fire engines don't come in fifteen minutes. Thankfully I don't know the accuracy of this, but the last time I had an emergency ambulance it had arrived in about five; there was a news story the other day criticising a situation where an ambulance took 18 minutes. Besides, sometimes when one requires an emergency vehicle, sometimes it isn't possible to go out and give prior notice to Anti-Social Neighbours.

I went to the doctors for a discussion about my CICA claim, and on my return I attempted to gain access again to the site office, only to find the way blocked by a a sort of trolley/ladder thing. Another builder lacking the standard quota of braincells suggested that I squeeze and crawl under the mini-scaffold. As if...I then remembered that there was another entrance so I crossed the site - without challenge - and entered the office block, where yet another arsehole said in 'mocking tones' "What now?" . Sharply I told him there was no 'what now' about it when his company were trapping me. I spoke to the Como site manager, Tony, who on a personal level is a pleasant and friendly man, but, as I have said before, it's warm words and bullshit.

It is total lack of consideration for them to imagine that having a lorry blocking pedestrian let alone vehicular access to my home all day is not something I should be informed of in advance. As I explained,  it's partly about emergency access, which needs no explaining as being of paramount importance, but actually it's also about the trivial: shopping, deliveries, visitors. It does not require any great effort to knock on the door and pre-warn us.

I also said I was very upset by the rudeness and attitude of people on site. I should have added that the Poles and Indians are with exception polite and courteous, the English, almost without exception are patronising and insulting. In a sense,  the sneering and contempt is almost worse than the physical and logistic inconvenience.

In between, I went to the doctor's surgery and spent a while in the waiting room. For some reason, I decided to peruse the leaflets and posters. Bad move! Some were potentially relevant, such as pain management for fibromyalgia, and Restless Leg Syndrome, but when you imagine yourself to have malaria, erectile dysfunction, teenage pregnancy and info on the PCT in Portuguese it's time to put the imagination to sleep.

And the worst  - "Anxious about having your womb examined?" Well, I wasn't before, but now I jolly well am...!

Crime victim

It is with very great gravity that I have to report that, yet again, the residents of Gert Cottage have been the innocent victim of a crime.

Someone nicked our wheelie bin.

Last night at about 2 am Jimmy heard the sound of a wheelie bin being wheeled past the window. He thought it a bit odd, but at 2 am one isn't inclined to leap out of bed, and challenge a wheelie-bin pusher with "Oi what are you doing?"

And when he left the house it was gone. He did a quick check round the neighbouring houses but, unsurprisingly, our upstanding neighbours hadn't crept out under cover of night. Jimmy reckons it was stolen to be used as a getaway vehicle in an unrelated crime.

Later I phoned the borough environmental services helpline* to report it stolen and request a new one. Perhaps with Jimmy's conspiracy theory on my mind I said, "Should I report it to the police?" and immediately thought "God, I'm stupid...". But the operator said "Yes please, and could you let us know the CAD number (crime number)". If I do, I'll get a letter from Victim Support.

I think Victim Support do a marvellous job and I also recognise that they do offer counselling to all crime victims without making value judgements about what is serious and isn't. For example, a theft of a wheelie bin might in some cases be the final straw of a traumatic saga of harassment and intimidation. However, I assure you that I am not traumatised but just irritated that we'll have to leave our rubbish in bags, which probably won't be collected.

In other crime victim news, I stepped out of the lift today to come face to face with my MilkSnatcher who looked me up and down in a contemptuous manner so favoured by catty teenage girls. If that isn't an admission of guilt, what is!

And I think I have collected my second enemy in a week. The other evening I stepped out of the building and was vaguely aware of somebody sounding off in a despising tone. I was rather shocked to then hear my name spat out with some venom. I didn't know her, and I don't go round trying to upset people at work, well apart from my own team, but that's not trying, that just happens. So I'm really puzzled as to what I could have done to make a complete stranger (albeit one I share a building with - along with about 4,000 others) hate me. It can't be work related, and I don't recognise her from my local area, so I'm at a complete loss as to know why...All I can say is, if it's work related, there are procedures. And if it's not work-related, it shouldn't be brought to work, even if we were technically on the public highway.

*by the way, Option 1 - Streetcare and Recycling doesn't seem the obvious choice for household rubbish related enquiries. But process of eliminating Options 2-4 makes me think it is...Plain English, please

Purple house

Last and previous summers (2004 and 2005) we were plagued by the curse of tenants from hell. Colombian Drug Dealers, Jimmy decided. They held barbecues, initially fired by paraffin. This amused Danny, who used to live next door, a professional barbecuer to Royalty and Filmstars, and Jimmy, an ex-professional purveyor of paraffin and related products.

It was the burnt meat that got to me, especially the smell that lingered in my house. It seemed they only had barbecues when the wind blew from theirs to mine. One day at 3 am I called over the wall "Please could you keep the noise down" and Senora Foghorn called back "Don't call the police, you won't call the police, they won't like your cannabis plant"*

We had a series of petty acts of revenge planned for this summer, to coincide with the barbecue season. We thought about creosoting the fence...woops, still needs doing. We thought about leaving the lid off the compost bin. We thought about burning our garden cuttings, when the wind blew from us to them. And then there's the Noise Squad, the Drugs Squad, Immigration, complaints about the Environmental Health Consequences of Overcrowding, the complaints about a business seemingly being run from domestic premises.

Bastards moved out in March.

The house (at least, I think it's this one - have to keep an eye on the value of one's equity...) has been obviously unoccupied since. Lack of curtains, light coming on for an exactly an hour same time every late evening. Lack of furniture. Yellow Pages abandoned outside. We haven't drawn our downstairs back curtains all summer. We've walked around in various states of nakedness, inside and out.

Summer's over, there are new occupants. It seemed they moved in yesterday. I heard a loud voice and my heart sunk. Although, on further investigation the loud voice appeared to be a sister or friend helping with the move. sounded very Clapham, all a bit if-I-talk-posh-I-sound-intelligent, probably working in the vacuous end of paramedia. The sister that is. the person in charge of box-unpacking was somewhat less stentorian.

* I have been told, rightly or wrongly that having a cannabis plant** in one's garden is not illegal
** it's no longer there - it's an annual

More about Tesco

The new Tesco opened locally in a damp squib. One Sunday Jimmy donned his false beard and burqa and ventured in for ready meals and came back empty-handed. Milk is more expensive than in the local, Asian-run, convenience stores. Whenever he or I pass the shop seems deserted of customers. Not that we pass very often; even though we live closer than just about anyone else, it's not a sensible way to get home. Except from the doctors or Post Office. Footfall past is, by my observation of eleven years, minimal.

There is a cash machine, which I have noted, as a cheaper alternative to paying £1.50 in a convenience store or walking to the erstwhile nearest free one.

Turns out that the man who goes to refill the cash machine has been robbed more than once. The Crime Prevention officer has advised Tesco to install CCTV but they can't be bothered. There's a gang who watch the machine. Perhaps they'll also be mugging people who use the cash machine. Or get cash-back in-store. No CCTV, no crime prevention.

Soon, Carphone Warehouse will open. And their customers will be mugged for their brand new phones.

When the rich move into their £300k jerry-built box-size flats in 30 Streatham Place, they'll be easy targets for the scrotey scumbags who have been decanted into the nearby area in order to prey on the superrich residents of Thirty Streatham Place.

The Regeneration Project are furious at the mini crimewave that has been visited upon our area.

Warm words, bullshit

If it's not Tesco it's the other lot of wankers, Como working for MacNiven and Cameron, working for Develica.

Half past seven this morning they started unloading paving slabs outside our house, using the back gate to the site, using heavy machinery.

There is a principle under English Law that people should be entitled to a quiet enjoyment of sunday. It is specifically against the Planning Consent to carry out building works on a Sunday (or overnight). Getting the matter resolved and stopped is difficult enough; if it is stopped, under pressure, there is no acknowledgement of the fact that people have had their lives disrupted, sometimes seriously so. I'm reluctant to use the word 'compensation' because it immediately gets dismissed as being 'money-grabbing' or 'part of the compensation culture'. But they cannot restore what they have stolen - peace, rest, sleep - so money acts as a proxy restitution. And more importantly, if they were required by law to pay an amount equivalent to the rental value of the property whose residents they have disturbed, this would act as a heavy disincentive to anti-social behaviour. (If it were a teenage hoodie, they would be ASBO'd: not so easy to ASBO smug white middle-class men for their anti-social behaviour which is worse than teenagers by a degree of magnitude). Enough compensation to pay for a two week holiday somewhere quiet and peaceful would be a small acknowledgement of the disturbance we have had to endure for a year.

There is another issue. Our area used to be plagued by prostitutes (and there are signs they are returning). In general, this just meant condoms littering the ground which are just unpleasant. Very occasionally we would realise that business was being conducted literally on our doorstep.

About five years ago the windows to my out house were smashed and broken into as a shelter for prostitute and punter; two years ago, when I was at the depth of my illness, sleeping all day and then unable to sleep at night, I was sitting on the sofa and heard a woman screaming as she was flung with considerable force against our front door, and a man's voice shouting angrily. We called the police, who agreed it was almost certainly prostitute and punter/pimp, and advised us if we ever hear such noises again to call them again.

What we have experienced recently is builders shouting ta all hours outside our house. If we followed the police advice to the letter, we should be calling them. Clearly common sense has to prevail; if they look builders, they almost certainly are builders, and thus, not a police matter. But at what point is my checking to see who they are, and asking them to move away, a breach of common sense. At what point am I endangering myself and my home by taking the common sense approach

Oh, and there is a crack in our front window. Naturally, I expect that to be replaced by the Como/MacNiven and Cameron/Develica...

30 Streatham Place

May I just point out to anybody who hits on this blog as a result of a search for the jerry-built crappy flats at Thirty Streatham Place, I wouldn't bother wasting your money on them, because you will have to put up with living on top of a Tesco store which cares nothing abouut whatever noise and anti-social behaviour they impose on their neighbours.

You also know that the block opposite - Arkwright House and the shops - is going to be demolished next year and there is a massive building project planned for that site. Oh, and the ex-petrol station next to McDonalds is also in the planning process. More noisy disruptive building works.

My apologies to regular readers - have blog, will manipulate google. Everything I say is true

The Ongoing Tesco Saga

See Dear Tesco

Because they started work at 7.30 this morning (according to Jimmy) and because their drill was going at 13:45, I replied:

Dear Steven Phillips

This is still a wholly inadequate reply.

Firstly, I am not a 'customer'; I am writing as someone who has had the anti-social behaviour of Tesco imposed on me irrespective of choice. So please do not patronise  me by calling me a 'customer'.

Secondly,  the paragraph  "When an Enforcement Officer agrees to undertake enquiries on behalf of one of our customers, we are unable to make direct comment to that customer until we are informed that all investigations have been concluded. No customer details are released until that time " is a complete abrogation of responsibility. Please do not try and pretend that some part of the Data Protection Act means you are unable to respond to my complaint. As you are no doubt aware, Local Authority Noise Enforcement sections are inundated with requests for help, especially in hot weather such as we have been having lately.

Thirdly, irrespective of whether or not my local authority are taking enforcement action, the fact remains that as I write, Saturday 13:45, your contractors are acting illegally in continuing their building work to the extent that it is encroaching on my right to enjoy the peace of my home. Previously, Tesco may have pleaded ignorance; I have now drawn it to your attention twice - this is the third time - and I do not believe there is any defence in law to continuing illegal acts having been notified that they are illegal.

As it is clear that Tesco have no intention of acting in a considerate way to neighbours, I feel that I am left with a choice of options. One is to consult my solicitor, which I shall do on Monday afternoon unless I receive a sensible reply to my correspondence. The second is to organise a leafletting campaign, including a picket of the store on Friday, its opening day, which I am perfectly capable of doing. Thirdly is merely to alert the local and national media to the sheer contempt in which Tesco holds ordinary people.

Finally, you have not acknowledged my request to meet with your store manager to discuss issues regarding the safety and enjoyment of my home. These issues include noise and parking: I am very concerned that Tesco customers will park in a way that will block access - including emergency access - to my house and that of my immediate neighbours. Your corporate silence on this matter will be included in any press release I write for the media.

I look forward to a constructive reply. In the meantime, I shall copy this to the local residents associations.

Yours sincerely

Gert Blog

I sent this at 13:58.

Dear Tesco

Thursday
Dear Madam/Sir

I live immediately adjoining the site at Streatham Place which is scheduled to be a new Tesco store opening 28 July. We had to endure drilling and hammering beyond five pm last Saturday, and we are having to endure it now at quarter past nine in the evening, quite contrary to LB Lambeth's policy on building noise.

I have witnesses that heard one of your builders say that they were perfectly aware of the rules, but by the time anybody tried to take any action, they've finished the job and moved on, so it doesn't matter. So much for Tesco's Ethical and Corporate Responsibility Policy.

I am very concerned at the impact that the new Tesco store will have on my peace and homelife, and therefore request a meeting with the store manager. She or he can contact me on xxxxxxxx so that we can arrange a meeting at a time that suits me. At that meeting we can agree a number of actions that I will expect Tesco to take if their shop or their customers have a detrimental effect upon my home life. I will take notes, and I will expect a written confirmation from Tesco of what is agreed in that meeting.

I will, of course, contact Lambeth's Noise Control officers on the morning of Friday 14 July.

I look forward to your prompt response

Yours faithfully

Monday
Wot, no Dear Gert!

Thank you for your email.

I was very sorry to learn about your recent experiences and I sincerely apologise for the inconvenience and upset that this has caused you.

In order to organise your request I would suggest that you contact our Head Office on 01992 632 222.

If you have any further queries please do not hesitate to contact us at [email protected] quoting XXXXXXXX.

Kind Regards

Helen Bowie
Tesco Customer Service

Monday evening

Dear Helen Bowie

This is really not an professional response. Please could you (or a colleague) forward my message to Head Office. It is quarter past ten in the evening and this building work is continuing.

I am not prepared to be fobbed off. I work during the day so it is not convenient to telephone your Head Office. Furthermore, I want everything in writing. I have been informed that a Lambeth Case Officer is dealing with the noise aspect of this case. But there are other matters, too.

If I do not receive confirmation by close of play on Tuesday, I shall escalate the matter.

Your sincerely

And now I have to sit around unrelaxed enduring the delightful summer music of hammer on metal and waiting for a hone call to inform me that a Noise Officer is en route.

Tesco think that if they fob people off for long enough, they just give in or give up. Which is probably true, because people generally have complicated enough lives as it is and often can't deal with the added stress.

Money grabbing bastards.

Another reason to boycott Tesco...

...they redefine 'bastard builders'.

My local authority, like most others, has guidelines for building sites which states

Generally, we restrict the hours when noisy activity can take place to:

* Monday-Friday, 8am-6pm
* Saturday, 8am-1pm.

The main contractors at 30 Streatham Place know this full well, and thus keep religiously to it, almost to the point of piss-taking - except for when they don't stick to it, and lie about it.

It doesn't apply to Tesco who had their builders on site until nearly six pm on Saturday, and are currently on site with heavy noisy machinery and hammering. I have witnesses that heard one of their builders say "We are fully aware of what the council says but by the time they get onto us we're out of there, it doesn't matter..."

Doesn't matter when they capricioualy and callously disturb the peace and homelives of local residents who they expect to be their customers. Of course it doesn't matter. The immediate local residents make up a tiny proportion of the expected footfall, especially when there is the opportunity for so much passing trade from the South Circular. And anyway the local residents will soon move on.

It doesn't surprise me in the slightest. Their main store at Brixton felt the need to expand when Sainsbury's opened at Clapham Common. They did the building work at night, to the misery of their neighbours. Their response...if we built during the day it would affect our customers.

It's all money, money, money. People do not matter in their sick world.

Bloody neighbours

Why are people so thick?

Not sufficient with having building noise five and a half days a week, we have the O'Bumpkins next door, breezed in on the last RyanAir flight, playing bloody country and western music, wouldya believe it, in the garden on a Sunday afternoon.

Bloody short-term tenants, here today and gone tomorrow, no investment in the area, no sense that this a very densely populated area. And now that the bloody tenants at the back have departed with their paraffin-fuelled barbecues of rancid meat, no one else sits in their back garden imposing their tastes on others.

Both houses rented by avaricious capitalists determined to make a fast buck at everyone else's expense; sod the people who live in the area year in year out and give their time and energy to making it a nice place to live

So far bad day

It doesn't help the day get off to a good start when the building site starts work - illegally and noisily - at quarter past seven. Especially when one has slept with one's windows open. Being that the weather forecast is for hot and sticky nights.

I emailed the Property Developers a letter on 1 June. They have not even acknowledged receipt. I have emailed again with a notification that if they do not provide a substantive response on Monday I shall take the matter further. I'm debating whether to approach the South London Press, who always appreciate pre-written stories or to go straight to the national media. Or other action...

The letter is in the extended entry.

And then I get cold-called. I'm usually cautious in answering the phone, but we are expecting calls, nd the caller-display didn't show up.

It was extremely difficult to understand what the cold-caller was saying. She was calling from France, and, I think, reading from a script that was probably phonetically written out. I demanded to know why she was calling my number, I had opted into theTelephone Preference Service, and how dare she disturb the privacy of my home. I demanded to know the name of the company and I really could not understand what she was saying. I asked her to spell it out, and she said "I don't understand you!" As I explained that I wanted a name so I could write and complain, she started to spout the script of 'thank you and goodbye and sorry to have disturbed you.' I asked her how dare she do that when she hadn't answered my question, could I speak with someone who spoke English. "Of course Madam," she said ingratiatingly and a few moments later the line went dead. As far as I could gather they are a French property company who want to invite me and my husband to an exhibition in our area.

What connects the two of course is greed and utter disregard for people's homelife. Greed, greed, greed. Of course we all want to earn a living, and money makes the world go round. Thankfully, I am a believer in karma, and I believe that all these people will get their come-uppance at some time. But some of us have values that are wider than sheer greed.

But the other thing that puzzles me is why cold-calling companies use people who have difficulty communicating with the target. It's happened before. Some company in Croydon called me and the caller had such a heavy West African accent that I had to keep asking her to repeat herself. I would hazard a guess that I am more familiar with heavy West African accents than most people. I can't see how it can be an effective sales technique to spew unintelligible stuff at a potential customer.

A part of me feels a bit guilty at being so angry at the caller this morning, she's only doing a job and so on. But ultimately, we do have to take responsibility for our jobs, however menial. Genuine call-centre staff are different. If they contact you they immediately identify which organisation they are from, often check that it's convenient to call and one suspects that they have been trained that most people do not like cold-calls but are prepared to talk to organisations with which they have an existing relationship.

Built environment

I have moaned on occasion about the monstrous carbuncle that is being built on my doorstep. I objected to the plans; our objections were only partly successful in that we succeeded in having some of the bulk reduced. We are currently experiencing stress as a result of the building works - having left the bedroom window a centimetre open last night I was duly awoken at three minutes past eight by intolerable noise coming from the building site. But I know that will pass eventually.

I accept that I am particularly resentful because this is an inappropriate building in an inappropriate setting. It fronts onto Streatham Place, the South Circular, but it backs onto an enclave of cottages - mine is from the 1830s, a neighbour's is from the 1780s, and there is no indication that the developers gave a stuff about respecting a rare gem in the cityscape.

I also recognise that there is a desperate need for more housing, and I do believe that where possible, it should be built on brownfield sites. Nor am I so naive that I don't understand the basics of capitalism and the economic system.

The whole process so far has been illuminating. The derisory consultation they undertook only after their initial plans had been rejected, and they realised that they were dealing with articulate educated people rather than what they had no doubt assumed, apathetic thickos. The absolute lack of communication from the company involved in developing the site, NacNiven and Cameron, and their disgrace of a project manager, Stuart Fanti, whose response to any suggestion that they act as Considerate Builders and Good Neighbours has been met with a standard response of "We are working within the law". Yes, of course, Stuart, actually you're not. Noise from the site starts at 7.15 am. A suggestion from me that the company should offer some gesture of Goodwill has been stonewalled - perhaps an offer to clean the house once a month, including the windows, the car, and the soft furnishings has been ignored.

There has never been an attempt to communicate with the local residents - all approaches have been made by us, searching on the net for their details. Naturally, they fail to respond on Saturdays, because that's not a working day, despite the fact they are happy to have noisy machinery working on site. They have deliberately positioned their noisy machinery at the rear of the site, with some lame excuse about deliveries,  demonstrating utter contempt for their neighbours.

They really do not care about the neighbourhood; once the ugly box is built, they will leave the site and move on, and it doesn't matter. They have an "artist's impression" of what the site will look like when finished, complete with twee pictures of people strolling happily on the street. All white. It's only a small point, but this is Brixton. Of no consequence but clearly indicative of the contempt in which they hold the local area. But they don't even know that they're in Brixton, choosing to describe it as Streatham. I also love the way they fail to represent the reality of the traffic congestion that creates bumper-to-bumper gridlock for two hours in the morning and evening, right outside the development. Not much point having car parking if you can't get in or out at school-run/travel-to-work time.

But that is all transitory. They describe the development as

Built, designed and finished to a high specification, Thirty Streatham Place's range of apartments will exceed your expectations

Well, I have been watching these flats being jerry-built over the past few months and even without any specialist expertise I can see that they are shonky. Since when has metal girders surrounded by breeze blocks, with a thin veneer of brickwork been high specification? As for the concrete...! Further along the South Circular the NDC is embarking on a £100 million plus scheme to demolish many blocks of flats because of the fundamental structural and safety problems presented by spalling concrete - this site from "The Concrete Centre -  the central development organisation for the UK cement and concrete industry" suggests strongly that the prevention of spalling is work in progress.

And yet they are marketing these as luxury apartments. I really can't see how they differ from the damp uninhabitable council flats that will be demolished further along the road, except that they will be selling for a third of a million. And some suckers are going to be suckered into buying them. They'll probably get 99-year leases, which won't be worth the paper they're written on, because they will have to be demolished about the time  my brick-built  freehold cottage reaches its bicentenary.  I cannot see the attraction of living in a steel-framed  concrete sarcophagus, but then I live in a properly built house.

And their website doesn't even mention the problems with the water table in the area, caused by the local underground river, the cessation of heavy water-intensive industry (the tannery and brewery) and the Artesian wells, nor the fact that rain water from, for example, my property, drains onto their site.

Hello Google.

The view from Gert Cottage

That's from the back garden looking to the front.

 

I need a drink...!

 

The rolling acres at Gert Cottage

Attitude problem

BBC NEWS | England | Kent | Three more hosepipe bans come in

This probably makes me morally wrong. You can tell me "if everyone else took your attitude..."

You can point out that we all have a responsibility towards society. Every little counts.

But while car washes and golf courses continue to use water, probbaly more in a day than I use for the entire year in my garden, well, shrug. It's not clear what the position is on swimming pools.

I mean we do have a water butt, and we've been using it to water the garden since we got back from holiday...not the past few days because it's actually been raining. But last summer, for example, we did get the hosepipe out on a couple of dozen occasions. And this year will be no different.

Update: Hosepipe ban criticised by union

Just 7% of rainfall in the South East was used by the public according to the GMB, and reservoirs were sold off and filled in for residential developments but new ones had not been built.

Meanwhile, firms had failed to repair Britain's creaking water system while paying out dividends to shareholders and in some areas more than a quarter of the water supply leaked out each day.

The Horticultural Trades Association said the hosepipe ban "doesn't even work as it currently stands." It said the rules were confused and gardeners need clarification.

With water wastage running at 793 million gallons every day, water company measures to reduce this leakage would be far more effective in tackling the shortage.

Not only that, but the hosepipe ban doesn't even work as it currently stands. For example you can use a hosepipe to fill your swimming pool, but not to keep alive plants which benefit the environment.

"People growing vegetables on a council allotment can irrigate them with a hose but gardeners growing vegetables in the back garden are prohibited.

Wheelie Bin Wars

In our little enclave we have four cottages. And three lidded wheelie bins and one without a lid. A year or so back we got a replacement for the lidless one. When I say we, I mean me. I don't mean the occupants of the other cottages, but me, complete with a job number and everything.

One of the lidded ones has been nicked. Beginning of February. So we rang up to get a job number and were told that it would be up to seven days before an Inspector checked our wheelie-binlessness. And when we got a new one would depend on whether they had them in stock. I remember the day precisely because it was my birthday.

The next bin day Jimmy found a wheelie bin at the end of the drive and we claimed it as ours. Weeks went by and we bumped into our neighbour, moaning her lack of wheelie bin. We mentioned that we had contacted Environmental Services and it was quite clear that she believed that we had stolen her wheelie bin, even though we were taking the view that it was First Come First Served. It was equally valid to aver she had nicked ours.

One Friday evening we were heading out at 7pm. We got to the bottom of the path, and Jimmy realised he'd left his Oyster Card indoors so went to get it, banging the door behind him as he left the house. In the mean time I was surveying our exit and realising that we were stuck, blocked into our front garden by the thoughtless parking of a car. There was insufficient room to allow a human being to pass either side.

A man came out of Our Neighbour's House and said "Oh, I heard you leave the house, you'll be wanting to get out." He was under the impression we wanted to go out by car, but I said, no, we just want to walk out. He was almost apologetic. Actually I lie, he was not apologetic but giggly and decided that he would move the car. With considerable difficulty - Jimmy had to use hand signals to assist him reverse up the neighbour's drive. Why he couldn't have parked there originally, I don't know.

I expressed my anger, saying that if it had been any other night I would have been coming in and would not have been able to get past, either to my own house, or to bang randomly on the doors of my neighbours to find out whose car it was. He still didn't apologise, so I called him stupid or thoughtless or some such, suggesting vociferously (but no swear words) that he should have realised that no one could get through, let alone anyone with a pram or luggage or in a wheelchair.

About three weeks ago the neighbours renting next door did a midnight flit and the house has been unoccupied. Every Monday morning a wheelie bin is placed on their driveway, depriving us of one. Every Monday afternoon we salvage a wheelie bin from the unoccupied house.

Jimmy reckons our neighbour is deliberately taking one to the unoccupied house to spite us, after we "stole" hers and were rude to her moronic visitor. I suggest that it might be the binmen, but there is no logic in constantly returning a wheelie bin to a house that doesn't start off with one, and has no rubbish bags, and still has the Phone Book, delivered last week, sitting on the path.

The simple thing would be to paint our house number and erotic pictures of the anti-christ onto the bin, but I always remember when it's raining or dark, and forget when it's painting weather.

It's so bloody suburban. If I wanted a neighbourhood dispute I would have moved to suburbia.

TV musings

It seems that our satellite TV problems may well be over, although I am firmly touching wood whilst holding everything crossed.

In retrospect it appears that we had a strange congruence of events.

The major problem was the crane, but that served to reveal two other faults. We have had the satellite dish moved for almost two weeks now and TV reception is fine, even when the crane is moving around during the day.

Indeed reception is better than it has ever been. Ever since we got the Sky+, things we recorded were subject to nano-stutters. This problem got bad after Christmas, and I found an explanation on the digital spy forum, which connected it to a download of new software coupled with an intrinsically piss-poor model of box. Sometimes this led to an entire phrase being missing from a drama.

We watched a two hour recorded drama (less ads, through which we fast forward) and it was pristine, with not even a nano-second of interruption.

Interestingly, the programmes we recorded prior to our one week outage, before the application of Joe's 'Magic Fingers', have been lost. they came up on the menu as 'Copy', and directed that the video recorder should be in record mode to play them - but that was fruitless. The programmes we recorded in between our two outages were preserved without hitch.

I cannot understand or explain the problem with the box, but I can assemble facts and draw conclusions. I suspect that the dish had gone out of alignment - apparently just a few millimetres can make a difference. To be honest, it does not surprise me that it should shift in two-and-a-half years, especially sitting in an exposed position on a chimney pot, but it's worth bearing in mind.

The Sky engineers failed to check the box, failed to check whether the dish was in perfect alignment, and failed to move the dish to a place where it would by-pass the concrete boom.

It seems that the episode might actually have ended satisfactorily. The construction company have correctly promised to pay for the costs of calling Joe out. Sky have responded positively:

Firstly may I apologise for the delay in my reply to your email, this is due to us currently experiencing a high volume of emails. As your equipment is out of warranty then the service call charge would be applicable. rs any repairs that are carried out with a 90 day warranty. Unfortunately I am able to issue copies of the programmes you have missed, I have however applied a viewing credit of 9.60 (GBP) to your account for 7 days lost viewing. I have also applied a special promotion to your account of 2 months half price subscription as a gesture of goodwill. I hope my reply clarifies matters. However, should you require any further assistance on this matter please contact the above email address and we will be happy to help.

I am due to receive a copy of the Welsh Dutchman and have no doubt that BBC4 will repeat the Folk Britannia concert. However, nothing will ever make up for missing Manchester United winning the League Cup for only the second time in history.

All I can say is that it is important to complain, important to investigate what your rights are, and most important to remain civil and constructive throughout. At the nadir of my stress I was envisaging getting my solicitor, my MP and the South London Press involved. None of this was necessary as we dealt with the companies grown-up to grown-up.

TV update

We had our satellite dish moved today. Our friendly neighbourhood construction company suggested this yesterday and agreed to pick up the bill. All the chaps - my dearly beloved; Joe, the engineer who moved it; Bert, the site manager; and the project manager - all seem to think it will solve our problem.

I must admit that I am sceptical, but I full endorse it as a sensible step. We will only find out in time, and with experience. And it would be extremely churlish of me to ignore the constructive and prompt reaction of the construction company. I don't do gratitude in such situations; on the other hand if their attitude had been difficult, arrogant or snotty, it could have caused a great deal more misery.

Crane interuption

Sorry if I'm boring regular readers with my step-by-step chronicling of the crane-Sky saga. I promise some online quizzes soon ;-) And if the demand is there, kittens*

But if my experience is of use to any Googlers, then I offer no apology.

I contacted Lambeth Noise and Pollution control, who were of the opinion that it might well constitute a Statutory Nuisance.

The suggested I contact Ofcom, which I did. Both Lambeth and Ofcom are of the view that I am not being unreasonable expecting an uninterrupted TV service at all times. Part of my mind was thinking that rights to daylight and sunlight are enshrined in planning legislation, but satellite TV isn't, and there will always be some smartarse who will exclaim "You don't need TV, read a book instead..."

Ofcom said that if the construction company are not prepared to take all necessary steps it would be a matter between Sky and them, and that problems often occur, either with building works or with when buildings have gone up.

NOTE TO GOOGLERS: When you are confronted with a planning application, whether you object or not, ensure that the conditions of consent include provision that the building works must not interfere with TV or radio reception (whether terrestrial, satellite or cable). If that is part of the planning consent, you have more ammunition.

The Ofcom woman also said that in general, construction companies are eager to do what is required, and it is unlikely to need legal action.

Jimmy went to see the site manager, who commented that the Manchester United v Newcastle match was very exciting, and Rooney should have had three. Cheers, mate...! He did offer to park the crane with the brake on - which would solve our TV problem - but Jimmy said "Best not". If it were a straight choice between no telly or a house destroyed by falling crane (plus concrete boom) I would choose the 'no telly' anytime. We had discussed and rejected that option yesterday. Bluntly, if that crane fell as a result of being braked and one person was killed or even injured neither of us could live with that on our consciences.

I shall wait for the project manager to get back to me. Which had better be quick, because I am not renowned for my patience.

*I lied about the kittens. There will be no kittens...

Our intermittent satellite TV problem

Or rather, an entire weekend without any digital TV and only poor quality terrestrial to sustain us.

I have contacted the Development company outlining the problem, and noting that their site manager has been helpful and constructive, but that is not sufficient.

It is possible to move the satellite dish but even if we find an alternative suitable spot I suspect that it will still hit the concrete boom at some point.

If the company does not respond to my email by mid-afternoon tomorrow I shall telephone them and explain that it is a matter that requires immediate attention. If they have not come up with an absolute and permanent solution I shall contact my solicitor, my MP and the site owners, the Metropolitan Housing Association. I will not hesitate to contact media outlets if necessary, starting with the South London Press but not ruling out national media.

In the interim I shall try and call out the Lambeth Noise Patrol people this evening. They are unbelievably womderful people and although our problem isn't Noise, it most certainly is a nuisance coming from a building site. Whether it constitutes a Statutory Nuisance, I do not know, but that is to find out! I am of the view that it is an "unreasonable intrusion", and I suspect if I hopped on an omnibus to Clapham and questioned a random man, he would agree.

A possible solution might be for the construction company to pay for us to have a motorised satellite dish installed, but even then, it would only be acceptable if we can still receive Sky Sports, the various film channels provided by Sky or equivalent, and Artsworld, as well as Sky Plus or an equivalent service. And receive them 24 hours a day 7 days a week if we so wish.

The obvious solution is for them to remove their crane and replace it one that doesn't have a concrete boom.

TV latest

Joe came round and used a super-douper meter to confirm that we are getting a strong signal into the house. He managed to get a picture on the box, by dint of fiddling, claiming that he has magic fingers...!

He is of the view that the crane should only interrupt momentarily as it moves. The particular make of box we have is First Generation and unpredictably erratic.

Jimmy and I strolled round to the red crane site and asked to speak to the site manager. He had had a message to call me, and I had done so this morning, but I must have been in the shower. He was a very nice man who immediately understood our problem and sympathised with our loss of telly - he would not have cared to miss Ireland winning the rugby over the weekend! He said he will make sure they park the crane in a position that is of assistance to us, although he warned it will swing round in the wind, it must do otherwise it will break and fall over. And there is a chance we will have interrupted service when it's working. But that sounds reasonable, if not ideal.

Later in the afternoon we settled down to watch the TV. From time to time we got a service interruption lasting from 10-30 seconds before returning. There have been no interruptions since half four. This is quite different from absolutely no service all last week irrespective of whether or not the crane was working or in what position it was.

Although I lack the technical knowledge I can only conclude that we have a minor, liveable with (grudgingly) problem with the crane and a more major problem with the box that means, perhaps, it can't be relied upon to regrab the signal after it's been interrupted. We are going to monitor it for a while, and see what happens. We may end up getting a new box, which will probably be on the cards anyway, seeing as though the model we have is reportedly barely fit for purpose.

I have written a firm but polite email to Sky outlining our problem and their failure properly to investigate it, and stressing the especial misfortune that it messed up this extra-special televisual weekend.

Blessed peace

Of this I dream

Not especially world peace, or an end to hate crimes, or coherent communities. These, I think, are all possible.

No, just the ability to sit at home and experience quiet. Sometimes it happens. At times it can be extraordinarily quiet, more beautiful than the most beautiful music. The smug Project Manager of the nearby site seems determined to impress upon me that the new development will act as a barrier to the noise from the South Circular, little understanding that South Circular noise never affects me. Before I even made an offer on the house I sat in the back graden, startled at how quiet it is considering its proximity to a major trunk road. If I happen to be up at five o'clock, not a frequent event, I notice the start of the rush hour. I once heard a car crash happen directly outside my house. And I hear sirens, from all over the neighbourhood. Heck, at night I even hear trains, and once in a while, when the wind is in the right direction and my windows are open, I hear the Town Hall clock. Situationally, it's only helicopters that I hear, and even then I generally miss the air ambulance landing outside.

Nah, my problem is what other people do. Five and a half days a week we have building noise. I have already made up my mind to hate everybody who moves into the yuppie flats on my doorsteps, and, especially Tesco.

We currently have the house at the back being decorated and DIY-ed. It's disconcerting to have a man standing in the back bedroom looking directly at where I'm sitting. (I'm not saying he is looking, he appears to be working hard, but I am in his sightline, unless i shut the curtain at 1 pm...hello SAD). And it's a bit noisy. But I have decided to be a bit wise about this one. It almost certainly means that the terrorist barbequers have departed (Woot! Yay!). Hopefully, the weekend working means that it now owner-occupiers rather than the noisy barbequers from hell.

So why live in the Inner City?

I don't think there's a great many places once can go and escape noise. I have lived in surburbia. Every Summer Sunday as a teenager was disturbed by the lunatic at the back hammering his pigeon coop at 8.30. For fifteen minutes. The weekend after I dislocated my shoulder was entirely disturbed by the obsessive lawn-mowing and hedge-cutting which even edges out carwashing as a Sunday morning occupation in Dullsville-on-Mersey. People in the country complain about cocks crowing, cricket on the village green and the smell of muck-spreading. No-one has a lawn to mow around here. The nearest village green is a couple of miles away, and, anyway full of dubious massage parlours. When we had a stables they bagged up their muck to be sold for gardening rather than spread it randomly. And I imagine most hen keepers are currently keeping them indoors.

I just feel I am being forced out of my house. And I am not happy about it.

Bum bum bum Swear words

The Sky chap has been and has reconfirmed that the Digibox is working just fine.

He climbed the ladder onto the roof and confirmed that the satellite dish is working just fine.

The problem is, it is pointing straight at the boom of the crane. Only one thing separates my satellite dish from the Astra satellite positioned above Congo - that concrete weight that stabilizes the crane.

The dish and boom are circled

The Sky engineer, who used to be a crane operator, said I should ask them to park it East-West rather than North-South. He further said that it shouldn't be parked in a constant position, anyway, it should be able to weathervane, rather than resisting the wind, I should ask to park it so that I can get a signal. However, we both witnessed that the site was deserted at 4.45

I got onto the Project Manager, only he said the site has been divided in two and he is no longer responsible for the red crane. He said someone would be there until five. I wasn't sure whether I should have told him his boys had a POETSday. If the red-crane site is working tomorrow, we can try asking them. If not then there is no chance of the Flying Dutchman live from Cardiff tomorrow. Or the other Flying Dutchman (van Nistelrooy...okay, I had to try...) live from Cardiff on Sunday afternoon. The rugby's on terrestrial,  but we get a shit terrestrial signal anyway. and someone is going to have to crawl around the floor to get it to work, even in a shit way. Assuming that the crane isn't directly between us and Crystal Palace. sigh

If I'm this pissed off at missing Brynny on the telly, can you imagine how I would be if it were Gerry or Pláci...

I feel so impotent, so angry and so stressed.

Oh, and this is the view from my front path. This is all a consequence of a V1 (Doodlebug) landing rather inconsiderately on my doorstep in 1944...