Gertsamtkunstwerk

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...

Sod's law

Have you ever noticed that you never feel so thirsty, or in need of a bath, just after a water main bursts and deprives you of running water? You never know how much you need it until it's gone.

Ah well, this week won't be the first time I've walked all the way to Brixton in order to get to Kings College Hospital for an outpatient's appointment on account of Brixton Hill being closed to all traffic. Not that I know it will be, but it has happened three times in my decade here. Fortunately, on two of those occasions I didn't have an outpatients' appointment.

Looking on the bright side, there isn't actually any snow on the ground...

Bolshie me Part 2

Approximately ten feet from my front window is a building site. It used to be a car showroom. In a year or two it will be hundreds of overpriced jerry-built yuppie flats. In the meantime it is a building site.

This morning they erected a two storey portacabin directly outside my window. Photos will be taken tomorrow...

When I came home at seven o’clock there was diesel generator (we think) running, directly outside my neighbours' bedroom window and audible, above the TV, from my house. At ten o'clock it was still running. At five past ten I phoned the Noise Patrol. They should be here by eleven.

To be honest, I do not know what they can do; I am fairly certain that it probably isn't a statutory nuisance. I shall be onto Planning in the morning seeking advice about what we can do about inconsiderate builders.

I am of no doubt they will pass me to another department. I do not expect to get very far very soon. The building work began in earnest this week. I shall be watching them like a hawk. Unfortunately, there isn't much one can do during normal working hours, except grin-and-bear it, but if they dare take liberties, I want them to know we will not tolerate it. Hopefully, by being proactive from the outset we will send a clear signal to the builders that they mess with us at their peril.

I fully expect that this, together with the sauna that is my workplace, will send me into a nervous breakdown. So I thought I might as well blog the process and you can watch me fall apart, car-crash bloggery.

I shall then have to decide whether to sue my employer or to sue the developers. Or both. Or you lot, for watching it happen, car-crash style. (This is where I'm supposed to insert a smiley to let you know I'm just kidding...)

Update: At quarter to eleven the noise patrol arrived and agreed that it was loud; agreed that we mustn't let the builders take liberties. They offered the view that it might be a pump, which would make sense because there are artesian wells dotted all round the area, a minor tributary of the Effra is said to run under the site, and the last two sets of yuppie flats that went up had terrible problems with sub-ground water. There did used to be a brewery and tannery very near here decades ago. And I wouldn't really know whether the site was properly cleared before it was built on following the demolition of the houses by a V1, or was it a V2, I don't remember.

The noise patrol said I should contact the office tomorrow, so that the daytime officers can visit the site during working hours, but they agreed it was sensible to call them out to vouch for the fact that it's running. Then, as he was leaving, one of them said "Are you a councillor?"

I laughed "I used to be - nearly four years ago now - I'm history, we select the next candidates next week." Prospective candidates I meant, of course. They don't become candidates until the nomination papers are submitted in April.

(I was, of course, Britain's first blogging councillor, but the archives from that period are no longer on this site...)

Howling

My neighbour next door is howling again.

Surprisingly, this does not make me angry.

I'm not exactly a quiet person, so have fairly little room to manoeuvre. I would hate to live next door to a quiet person, who complains at the sound of a light being turned on.

His howling did not disturb my enjoyment of Waking the Dead, although it was audible during the pauses in University Challenge.

Now I'm listening to a CD with headphones on, so, again, it doesn't bother me.

It's just pitiful, really.

Eevrybody sings around their home, either to a CD, or to an instrument, or a capella. Most of us would die of mortification if random strangers were to hear us.

Sadly, my next door neighbour is reported to be a professional musician.

Sadly, I can strum a guitar as well as him.

Even more sadly, he paractices sometimes four hours a day. And he never gets beyond the one chord. And the howling. Sometimes its more like yodelling. But tonight it's definitely howling.

I did describe it as Bob Dylan but without the lyricism or tunefulness.

On reflection, that does Mr Dylan a grave disservice.

It's definitely more like a wolf yodelling. Falsetto.

It seems, from t'internet, that the house has been sold. Whetehr they remain as sitting tenants, I don't know. Or whether we get new neighbours.

It's always a bit tension making, that. Do I want house-sharers who think two o'clock on the morning I start a new job is the best time to have a party, replete with bongo-playing?

Or do I want an aspirant couple replete with 1.8 children who anxiously explain that they would rather we didn't talk in the house between 2 and 4pm or after 7pm because it would wake the baby?

Or do I want someone who lets their cat poo in my garden?

Always a time of tension...

Update from Stinky Central

The Bulgarian mafioso* who actually owns next door's Little Portugal is currently burning wood on a bonfire in the back garden. I've had to close the back door and the back windows to prevent us being stunk out (but at least it isn't rancid lamb fat).

The wind is blowing in the direction of Colombia. I wonder how long the Colombian washing will stay on the line; or the Colombian backdoor will remain open? I must find out if the Australians and the French are as pissed off as we are.

What's the Spanish for Schadenfreude?

* did I ever tell you about how he beat up the Japanese man who was supposedly his friend/caretaker/tenant? Remind me to tell you the tales of Great Uncle Bulgaria of Balham.

The attention switches...

The barbecue at the back seems to have died down after twelve hours, and now it's Portugal next door taking over from Colombia at the back.

He's kicked off again. Drunk and abusive and loud and violent. If I can be sure he's hitting her and not just slamming doors, breaking furniture, and throwing things, I'll call the police.

Mind you, I think she can look after herself. She was the first woman gunner in the Portuguese army.

And it makes a change from the horrendous caterwauling he does whilst accompanying himself on three chord guitar or synth played with all the skill of a Grade 3 pianist. He's a professional musician, apparently. Although another neighbour informed me they're both taking courses at the moment.

"Oh, is he learning to sing?" I enquired sweetly. My other neighbour couldn't move for laughing.

It's never a dull moment round here, I can tell you...

Who says Romance is dead?

Jimmy bought me a present...

Albert and Randy

I went to meet my sister and neplings on Monday as they travelled to my cousin's place. According to my nephew's extended writing book, my cousin lives in a terrorist house. My cousin insists it's semi-detached. End of terrorist, I think.

I was thinking of bringing Albert and Randy with me, but Albert was tired after his long weekend. And Randy had a lot of catching up to do. Good thing, too, because Sophie the Koala has fleas, and Teddy has nits.

I don't want my boys going anywhere near that sort of stuff...

This evening, it seemed that the boys had a row.

Jimmy went upstairs. Would you believe that Randy was on the floor. Albert was on the bed, with a CD case. You know who the CD was of.

I don't know if Randy's jealous, and, if so, who of, but I don't like seeing my teddies fighting.

Day off

It's Jimmy's birthday today. His proper one, that is, not the pretend one he had last week. He was born during the London Olympics.

He's not a well boy. Stinking cold, thanks to certain over-indulgences last week. Let's gloss over, shall we.

I went to bed last night and was just getting to sleep, in a rather pleasant lucid dream phase. I now don't recall the dream but I do recall the sensuous snuggly feeling that comes from the feel of fresh bedding on skin. He started tossing and turning, and sneezing and coughing and generally making me feel sea-sick. Wide awake, I lay in bed thinking glumly I will never get to sleep. So I came downstairs, and returned at 4 am, when he gets up.

Currently, the car showroom outside my house is being demolished. They have an impressively manly tool that chops up concrete, reverberating around most of South London, literally shaking my house. I remind myself that having withstood V2s landing on the said car showroom site, a little bit of mechanical demolition is not going to harm it. They built houses to last in the days of King William. It also leaves a film of dust throughout the house. The old dilemma - keep dusting, or just leave it until they have finished.

Actually it's bloody annoying, and according to the newsagent, someone is going to complain because the dust is affecting her asthma. Apparently, they ought to have covered the site with tarpaulin - which, I don't think is customary. But despite its annoyingness, one can't really complain if they limit their demolition to 9-5 M-F, which, thus far, they do. I suppose I ought to take photos, but I can't be arsed.

So 9.30, I'm lying in bed feeling, literally, the earth move. Wondering about my chances of getting back to sleep. There's a loud knock on the door. I sigh, but feel I ought to get up. I pull on my dressing gown and am just halfway down the stairs when the knock comes again. "Coming!" I call out and open the door.

It's Mr Postman and he has a package I honestly did not think would be delivered until tomorrow. Tomorrow, when I would have no chance to listen to it.

But it came today, about which I feel slightly guilty, it being Jimmy's birthday.

Cordoned off

Michelle has posted a photograph taken just yards from my house (the pub on the left is the oft-mentioned Crown & Sceptre)

I am feeling so stroppy

I am surfing the web, and I have discovered, thanks to London Borough of Lambeth | Pollution control - smoke, smells and fumes that my disgusting neighbours who pollute my house with the smell of their rotting carcasses and their barbecue are potentially liable for a fine of up to £5000. Just a shame that Liberal Democrat Lambeth doesn't start its noise patrol until 10pm - exactly what am I getting from my steeply inflated Council tax from these wankers?

Isn't it extraordinary that people think they can get away with this?  Isn't it extraordinary that there will be legislation to ban smoking cigarettes from restaurants and pubs regardless of the wishes of the owner or tenant, and people seem convinced that this will be enforceable, yet is socially acceptable to blow fumes of smoke, and meat, univited into someone else's house with the Local Authority seemingly powerless to prevent this?

So, tomorrow I shall contact Environment Services. Quite how I can prove then what is happening now, I don't know. 

Update: I had just written this, and inadvertently posted, when I thought 'photo'

I also thought avi, so shot a very amateurish filmclip which shows how the smoke is blowing directly to me. I tried to upload the photos and the clip, but my E drive manage to crash my browser, then the phone rang, the caller being the subject of the next post, so then I had to make another phonecall, and received one in connection.

Watering the garden

One of the simple pleasures in life. Other Half finally gave into my nagging and acquired a hosepipe (cue - hosepipe ban). He has been taking responsibility.

On Sunday, I persuaded my mother not only that her garden needed watering but that, also, I was the person to do it. She was all for me filling and refilling the watering can from the water butt. She's good like that, my mother, she invented reduce/reuse before anyone else had ever heard of recycle. (Note to Joseph, Eleanor and Ben: Grandma is cool!)

But I thought 'sod that for a game of soldiers'. After about ten refillings, I was sweaty and knackered and the garden, not enormous, was barely touched.

So I insisted on the hosepipe. It made me feel quite manly, in a girly sort of way.

What a difference it makes! The very flowers leap into action, revived, they sing "Thank you Gert!". The temperature falls, the air freshens.

I finally persuaded Significant Other to let me do our garden. Twenty minutes I stood there saturating our gorgeous but small cottage garden (note to Eleanor - our garden is beautiful, full of flowers...).

It is one of the gorgeous, simple pleasures that makes life worthwhile.