Gertsamtkunstwerk

Clothes advice

Real Fashion: Tips for real body shapes - I'm blogging this mainly for personal reference. I'm developing an urge to splurge. Suddenly, deep plums and greens seem attractive.

I am never sure what shops to shop at, and always end up at M&S by default. Default, to avoid the shoddiness of the high street stores aimed at the youth market; I look around places like House of Fraser, but find them either hideously frumpy or hideously expensive.

I used to like Next but it's years since I've found anything worthwhile there and Richards, but they shut down.

Hennes, BHS and Gap are okay for some things, but Hennes and Gap tend to be a bit casual, and the best of BHS can look good initially but doesn't have the robustness of M&S.

Whenever I buy a suit from BHS people say "Hey, I really like your suit, where did you get it from?" I always feel slightly embarrassed and say, "You're not going to believe it, but BHS..." I got a navy suit from Debenhams, which is really nice, but is getting a bit old and worn now. I have never really spotted anything else there.

I long ago discovered suits are just perfect. Excellent for work, and for eight years I spent manyyears in a work-like environment on the council. In central London, suits are perfect for going out to pubs, restaurants and concert-halls/theatres: apart from anything else, anybody who looks and cares will asume you've come straight from work. The same applies in Brixton and Streatham. ButI feel awkward wearing a suit at the weekend except for weddings, christenings etc.

Major Life Change

Woo! That got you going a bit I bet, didn't it?

I finally got round to going to Bravissimo today. What a revelation! I've managed to lose 4 inches and gain quite a few cup sizes. And I already feel like a new woman. I can feel the difference in support, and I am going to have to adjust my posture.

And I am no longer a saggy woman at the start of middle-age, but young and pert and sexy....

Do you want pictures?

Chip 'n' Pin again

I did get a new, Chip 'n' Pin, Switchcard, despite my bank telling me not to expect one. I was disappointed to find that Sainsburys at Clapham Common still expect one to sign the receipt.

How old fashioned.

Of course, getting a new card requires administrative changes, eg to Amazon, who store my details automatically.

And it's just struck me - I sent away an application form for tickets to Covent Garden nearly a month ago, and still haven't received them. The card details are, of course, my old card. I assume my bank will honour the payment? Or should I phone them in the morning in a state of panic?

It's a pain having to fill in a form for tickets. This is if you are a 'Friend' and are thus entitled to priority booking. 'Public' booking is available on-line. They encourage you to specify alternative dates, which is sensible, but it does make the diary look a bit messy with too many provisionals. I don't feel I can book for English National Opera until I have confirmation from ROH, then when I've sorted ENO, I can look again at the Royal Festival Hall and the Barbican, who have easy instant booking systems. Then at assorted other locations, too.

The Royal Opera House does say they are introducing on-line booking for Friends for the next booking period, which is good. The thing is, I find it difficult to decide which price level to pitch it at onthe form. If I choose a particular price level, I run the risk of either no seat, or a worse seat, whereas I would have been better going for one just a couple of pounds more expensive. Whereas, with online, you can choose your optimum level, and if that's not available, move gradually in either direction...

Bra fittings wrong

Blunderbras. I tried to convince Jimmy that all lingerie shops employ muscular tanned shirtless young men to measure for bra fittings; he pointed out that his niece does that job at Harrods...

Shopping advice

I have just discovered Bravissimo, 'the company that is committed to celebrating your curves'.

It wasn't so long ago that the idea of any woman above a 36C wanting sexy underwear was greeted with horror by some high street stores. Some moronic suburban slapper in M&S in Croydon actually told me 'there's no call for it'. A letter to M&S Head Office generated what was tantamount to a 'fuck-off' letter.

Five years ago I noticed a big sign in Knickerbox's window saying they now went up to EE cup, so I went inside and discovered that their D, DD, E, EE did not come in any size bigger than 36. The anorexic Kensington-clone informed me that women over that size didn't want Knickerbox's product.

I don't know what planet those shop assistants come from, but they seem to have been brainwashed into thinking that higher numbers are equal to 'frumpy'. Even in Richards Shop in Streatham, the assistant who I always found helpful and sensible once said "You don't look like a size 18." I patiently pointed out that a) the tape measure doesn't lie, and, b) I could fit into a 16 but why should I when I wanted to look good. What she actually meant was - 'consensus is that 18 is Fat, you're not Fat, you look good. therefore you can't be 18.'

I'm plump. I have boobs and hips and a waistline. Woman shaped. In my view, there are a few rules to looking good - not that I always follow them, of course.

1. Decent haircut; if dyed, get it done professionally.
2. Polished shoes (that's where I often fail)
3. Minimalism in jewelery. I wear ring, watch and ear-rings. On special occasions I wear my great-grandmother's pendant.
4. Minimalism in make-up. I generally don't wear make-up. As the year's advance I see a greater 'need' for foundation. When I'm 'going out' I wear foundation, lipstick, eyeliner and mascara. Occasionally nail varnish.
5. Manicure (I fail abysmally) - nails should be short and rounded and painted in a muted colour. I bit my nails and rarely varnish them.
6. If you follow those rules, most of the rest are of less importance.
7. Wear clothes that fit - if you want to look fat, wear a size (or more) too small that shows rolls of fat poking out.
8. Go easy on the patterns - I don't have very many patterned clothes. Those that are small and repeating. Never mix two patterns.
9. Understand what colours suit you. Or rather, what strength of colour. I look washed out in pastels. Fuschia, electric blue, and crimson are me.
10. If in doubt, wear navy or black. Beige is often a good bet, but only with other, strong colours.
11. Most important of all, is posture and deportment. African colleagues are amused at the way I carry a ream of paper on my head. Have you ever seen an African woman slouching?

Has anybody ever used Bravissimo? Any comments on their quality/service?

I'm going to a gig

You can imagine this situation being parodied on comedy sketch show.

Nice middle class lady, used to ordering tickets for concert halls and opera houses decides on a whim - or rather inspired by an email - to book tickets for a rock concert. (Imagine Lady Bracknell saying 'A Handbag'). Actually, not a rock concert as such, but pretty damn close. kd lang in November! Ooh, ooh, ooh!

I go through the various transactions pages, and discover that, in addition to the face value of the tickets, I am also being charged a £7 service charge and £2.50 processing fee.

Remember nice Lady Bracknell.

"But the Royal Opera would never do this!"

But, despite my chagrin at what I regard as a rip-off, I have booked two tickets. I don't know if Himself will want to go. If not, I'm sure I shall find someone else!

Squirrel Monkeys

A couple of weeks back I ordered an upgrade or migration from a basic-ish broadband service to one where I can send emails and access newsgroups. I was told that it would take 17 days to migrate. Yesterday I woke up to find that I could not connect to the old service, so asumed that, despite not getting a confirmatory email, I had now migrated.

However, my CD drive is broken, and I specifically checked when I ordered that it would be possible to download the necessaries from the internet. I was reassured it would be fine. I went to the website to download details of what I needed to connect. This was not helpful, because it focused on Parental Controls (as I told the provider, I don't need Parental Controls because I don't live with my parents), so I made a huge number of phonecalls, the details of which I will not bore you. TCALSS, I was told that I was not yet due for migration, and my access problems were due to a general problem affecting most users.

I tried again this morning, and still couldn't access Broadband, yet the status message was saying that there were no problems, so I started going round the houses, only to be told that my migration happened yesterday. Read it and weep.

I was directed to a website that would assist with my no-CD problem, but all I got was drivers for modems I don't possess, whilst I have a perfectly good modem, which I purchased 17 months ago, and has perfectly good drivers, and, I was assured, is compatible with the new service. So I was talked through a manual configuration - which, of course, I could have done myself with the help of a piece of paper that said the name of the server, and the dial code 0,38, like previously.

My arrows in the corner kept flashing yellow, so the chap said that I have been barred by "Billing". Oh, I said startled; he explained it's an error that they are barring everybody, but he would sort it oout within the hour. And, actually, he sorted it out within five minutes.

But let me get this straight - I spent about five hours on phone calls, and useless downloads (on Pay as You Go), and did all my internet yesterday until about 3pm today on Dial Up (And yes, Blue Witch, of course I shall be asking for a refund of the calls).

All of this could have been prevented if they had a) given me an email to confirm activation date, and b) told me what should be filled in in the Connection Wizard.

And if the various systems actually interfaced with each other...

Can you imagine, if these corporations actually functioned correctly, what a high level of unemployment there would be!

Just to add icing to the cake I sent three emails ths morning. One short one to two sibs; one to a cousin including a photo of about 350kb; and a long but entirely text based one to about 45 recipients.

I got a bit confused that I wasn't receiving read receipts, especially for the 45 recipient one. Even more confused when two of the recipients sent me (and about 30 others) emails on a related topic, without reference to mine.

So I rang up my sister. She hadn't received either of hers, and was also fretting about the wording of one she needs to send out. We were just discussing it when my neighbour called round.

Half an hour later I resend the sib one with an added message apologising for the interruption, but I am now cat sitting at the weekend (in addition to my car-light-checking duties - discharged). I am trying to resend the 45-recipient one, not aided by having changed my email configuration during the day, when my sister rings me up to confirm receipt of the sibling one, and did I know anything about Islam so that Joseph can get a house point tomorrow (This is ten past ten at this stage)?. Fortunately, I remember the five pillars of Islam, including hajj, and the Koran, so sister does a quick google. It's only when I put the phone down that I realise that my sister completed one year of a BA in Education and...Religious Studies. And she's asking me ...

And I've also volunteered to draft Pauline's round robin email!

Time Saving

Marks and Spencer 'Heat and Serve' Four Cheese Ravioli.

Instructions say "For your convenience, no need to pierce film lid"

Because, I guess, they've had so many complaints about how difficult and time-consuming it is to pierce the film lid.

I just wish they'd invent something that saves the hassle of having to open the microwave door.

/rant

The day I became the postie's unpaid assistant

I don't feel particularly comfortable slagging off underpaid public sector workers.

Sometimes it just has to be done.

I got some post on Thursday. It included magazines that were due last Friday. and some of my neighbours' post.

At about half one today, sat at this computer just inside the front door, I listened and watched as mountains of post came through the door.

I picked up the first piece and realised it was for next door. A cursory glance realised that many more were for occupants past and present of the three other houses in my block, as well as for me.

I opened the door, the postman was still standing there preparing to shovel another pile of post through my door. I asked him to wait while I sorted out my neighbours' post. He asked me where was Danny's house - I explained it was next door (it's one number higher than mine). He went away and came back. I said that I'd really prefer not to receive my neighbours' post. Besides, I'm honest - not everybody is. He said that he didn't normally do this round but he just had to get it delivered and he didn't have time to go to every house.

I found something that looked like a payslip for one of my neighbours. I showed it (unopened, I hasten to add) to the postman, and said, "See this - it looks like an important document for my neighbour. Do you think he would be happy if he knew it was being delivered to my house?" The postman grunted.

He asked me again where 'X cottage' is: I explained it was behind the sign saying 'X cottage'. I also pointed out that 'Y cottage' was behind the sign saying 'Y cottage'. Contemptuously he said that he knew that. I asked sweetly why, therefore, he was delivering the post addressed to 'Y cottage' to my door. I also gently reminded him that his bag was on my wheelie bin "Don't forget it," I said. The look he gave me...

I know there are numerous problems in Royal Mail, but I really do not find this in the slightest bit acceptable.

Royal Maul

You know, in a funny way, it's actually nice to come home and not have any junkmail or bills littering my doormat.

On the other hand, I pay £150 a year to get my New Statesman delivered through my door. And my employer pays much moolah so I can have Public Finance delivered through my door.

Then there is the three CDs from Amazon that went missing during the strike. And the book that was despatched last Thursday and, bizarrely, is scheduled to arrive next week or the week after.

So I phoned up the Royal Mail helpline. Apparently sick leave is 'above reserve level', which means that there is insufficient staff to cover absences, and the Expected Time of Delivery for my post code is 1400. Which wouldn't be too bad, but she didn't specify which week.

Perhaps if Royal Mail learnt a few things about staff management, and perhaps paid proper wages, they'd find sick levels remain 'below reserve level'. I wonder if they'll be taking on Temporary Christmas cover this year. I wonder if they will be able to recruit any.

It so makes me laugh when the skivers and scroungers round here complain that there aren't any jobs because 'they' (the immigrants) are taking them, yet Royal Mail can't manage a decent service, partly because they don't offer the wages that competing employers do.

Please take my money...

I telephoned T-mobile to settle an outstanding bill of Jimmy's. He forgot to pay it a while ago because he had decided to switch to pay as you go, and they had sent a demand.

I explained that I was paying it on behalf of my partner. They asked for his password. I said I didn't know it. They said I couldn't access his account, because it would be a breach of T-Mobile's security policy. I explained that I didn't want to access his account: I had his account number, address, phone number and outstanding amount in front of me and was prepared to read them out over the phone. I was, in fact, prepared to give them my Bank Account details, on trust, in order to settle the bill. "It's a breach of data protection," the pompous twit told me. I assured him it wasn't - they would not need to disclose to me anything about the account I did not have in front of me. I did my usual "I appreciate that you're not empowered to take such decisions, may I speak to your superviser." Twunt hung up. I vented my spleen. Tim and Lily both said that they often pay bills for their partners and vice versa. I pondered whether there was perhaps a technical breach of the Data Protection Act. Lily pointed out that if I took the bill to the bank and paid by cheque, the bank would not demand his T-mobile password.

I thought I would try Lambeth Parking. Driving in Bus Lane fine. Oops - actually, I thought they only applied 4-7 pm, this was 2.40 on a Saturday. Mistake. Genuine mistake. Hands up. Will pay fine. £50 if settled within 14 days; £100 within 28. Trouble was, it took 14 days to arrive, due, no doubt, to the post strike. The automated payment line was saying £100. I rung another number where a very pleasant young man, on hearing that I was happy, well willing, to pay the fine but felt the £100 was a little unfortunate, explained they were allowing a little leeway because of the strike, gave me another number and politely urged me to pay it promptly.

I got the most incredible woman on the phone. Sarf London's finest. I would say she was shouting, although not actually in volume. Very aggressive. I explained. She asked me whether I had got the right ticket. I double checked the number. "That was issued on the 11th October," she yelled, Jade-like.

"No, the incident occurred on the 11th October; the ticket was issued on the 23rd October"

"No, it says ere, 11th October."

"It says the incident was on the 11th October. The ticket was issued on the 23rd. It says so twice. It arrived on the 6th November. Delayed, I assume, because of the postal strike."

"When was the postal strike?"

"I didn't get any post in the week beginning 27 October. I got my first delivery on 3 November. This arrived on the 6th."

"And you want to pay £50?" incredulity."'Old on."

Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold.

"But it is only £50. You said it was £100."

"Well, I tried your automated service; it said £100."

"What automated service? Is this the right ticket?"

"Please please please can I give you my money."

And eventually, after various more " 'old ons", I was relieved of the fine.

I'm sure there must be an easier way to spend over a hundred pounds...

Grrrrrr

You would think that few transactions in life would be simpler than taking a disposable camera to Boots for D&P. Indeed, I did such a thing on Wednesday. Yesterday, I went to collect it but they couldn't find it. They said they would call me, but didn't.

I tried again this morning. You know, despite my rants in here, I'm actually quite pleasant and polite. But there comes a point. I enquired whether their system was able to say whether it had been developed. I was really quite stern when I said that I had waited twenty minutes yesterday and was already late for work. "And then you hand my slip to your colleague whilst he's busy serving this chap." I said it really was sloppy service. I pointed out that when I left it - yes, the place was busy - the film was just left lying on the counter. (Part of me is thinking that maybe they put it into someone else's envelope). the system said it is overdue. The other chap said that the machine had broken down and they had send it to another lab. He'll phone me this afternoon.

I think they have lost it. Which would be extremely annoying. That having been said, I don't even know whether the photos would have come out - I am convinced that Jimmy removed too much of the packaging and probably exposed the whole film in one fell swoop.

I am wondering whether I should turn on the tears and say how it contains some of our holiday photos and some of my brother's wedding. To be honest, I'm not saying this is the end of the world, even in a photography context, because they are similar to ones captured digitally. Still, it's not unreasonable to expect a D&P lab not to lose one's film.

NT Hell

I tried to send the following compalint to NTL, but I was told that there was a server fault and I was to contact the system administrator. Not that there any clues on how to do so. Or any othe rmeans of contact other than the non-functioning form.

I have just been cold-called by your sales rep. I (politely but firmly) said I do not do business with cold callers.

After I replaced the phone, I wondered whether perhaps the call was to inform me that your services were now available in my area.

They are not.

What kind of incompetent organisation are you that you try to market your (reputedly shoddy) product to people who could not receive it anyway, disturbing me in my own home.

I am not alone in being sick and tired of cold calling and would wish that money-grabbing incompetent organisations like your own would just leave us alone.

Incidentally, this form is also stupid.

Why do you require a title?

Why do you require an account number, when, as I have stated, I couldn't get your services if I wanted to. Which I don't.

How much?

My sister received a summons today. Seven days notice she's on, to pay a Southern Electric bill for £1400+. It's not actually for her address, where she has lived for 14 years. Nor has she ever been a customer of Southern Electric, choosing instead to pay a monthly direct debit to one of their competitors.

I'm not saying that my sister's name is common, but 192.com does throw up 67 of them. None of them actually at the address for this bill. I suppose the muppets saw someone with the same name in the same town and decided to bill her. Never the mind the fact that there is another person, also of that name, in the next town, who goes to the same dentist as our Pauline.

Don't forget that Pauline suffers from a chronic conditon exacerbated by stress. Or that she's on anti-depressants for anxiety.

Such a shame really, that our cousin is bored. He was made redundant from the legal department of a finance/debt collection firm at Christmas and is on a break from his world tour - awaiting his godson's wedding.

I think it's highly unprofessional to send out a letter to someone just because they happen to share the same name as a bad debtor. Surely an elementary credit check would show our P. has lived at her address for over 6 years. What do they do when John Smith or Mohammed Ali owe money.

Geekiness

How difficult can it be to spend a voucher valid in Dixons/Currys etc. This is the voucher supplied by my insurance company, which I have had for two months. To actually have the voucher, and proof of my address with me on a day where it is convenient not only to go shopping but to lug stuff home. Bear in mind that this included replacement cost of my original digicam and memory cards, but the model I wanted was not available from Dixons. A new Walkman is a must, a new printer overdue. I would like to get a travel charger and bluetooth for my Palm but that is proving quite difficult. I have managed to buy a monopod and a phonecam, although Caroline has pointed out that I won't be able to use the phonecam with the monopod. I still have £145 left. Conspicuous consumption is so difficult!

And made more difficult by a power cut on Victoria Street, the nearest shopping street to work. The bank was entirely closed - annoying, because I need to pay in a cheque. Dixons was open, but the tills weren't working. Card payments had to be filed in manually and endorsed using an old-fashioned manual machine. They were unable to take my voucher because they were unable to give change in vouchers.

I can't show you any photos from my phonecam because I am attempting to set up email settings on my mobile. I don't know whether the problem lies with O2, or with a very poorly designed anti-instinctive phone - Ericcsson T68i - but how come I am pretty competent at using a computer yet a phone baffles me.

Parcelfarce and Home-waste-of-Space

I received this email today:

Thanks for contacting me with your comments.

I was concerned to read about the problems you've encountered when trying to
arrange the redelivery of this parcel, please accept my sincere apologies for this
incident.

I've forwarded a selection of redelivery options which you may like to take
advantage of. Please forward your delivery address for cross-referencing.

-Collection from the depot which is open from 8am until 6pm Monday to Friday and
Saturday 8am until 12 noon - 2 forms of ID will be needed
-Redelivery to a neighbour
-Redirection to the an alternative address within the depot?s delivery area.
-Redelivery to a local post office in your area for a charge of 50p payable to
post office counter on collection of your parcel.(not currently available for
those parcels with customs charges)

Please let me know if you?d like me to set one of these up.

Thanks for contacting me with your enquiry. If you require any further assistance please do not hesitate to contact me again. Alternatively, you can contact our enquiry line on 08708 501150, Textphone 08000 855857 (for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing) or fax on 0113 382 2944.

Regards
Carolyn Clark
Parcelforce Worldwide

I replied:

Dear Carolyn

Thank you for your email.

Please could you explain why it is not possible to deliver to Chez Gert Postcode - the service for which I paid. Also, please explain how
you intend to compensate me for this ridiculous charade

Yours

Gert

My email to Homebase:

I have communicated by fax and telephone and have received an unsatisfactory service.

I received four out of six parcels on 17 May 2003. Since when, despite
numerous communications with yourselves and Parcelforce, I have not received
the other two boxes, despatched as one package. You, Homebase, have not had
the courtesy to reply to me. I was phoned by Parcelforce last week, who informed me that the parcel was too heavy to deliver. I suggested that they split it into two boxes and deliver it to me that way. I instructed them to do so on Saturday 7 June. Needless to say they didn't.

Today I received an email from Parcelforce. I have copied today's correspondence to my blog.

As you will see from the earlier installments, this is a matter of some interest to my readers.

If I do not receive a satisfactory response from one or other or both of you by the end of the week, I will be contacting You and Yours

Why should I put any more effort into this? I feel more robbed by these dreadful organisations than I do by the little sh*ts that burgled my house.

It was always going to be one of those days

In between work I had some interesting encounters with organisations supposedly providing a customer service. My first task was trying to get O2 to activate my GPRS on my phone. I phoned them three times. Each time I was dealt with by a different barely-out-of-school-boy. Each of them was barely articulate, poor enunciation and use of too much street slang. Trying to be clever and 'witty', and patronising me when I explained my problem. Trying to make out that I shouldn't have a signal indicator for GPRS, anyway (hmm, I have a blank one, plus the clever little side thing produces 'GPRS not allowed'); trying to make out that I don't have GPRS on my account, anyway. (Yes, I do). after three calls they told me to phone the Carphone Warehouse. There, I spoke to an articulate grown-up, who took no more than two minutes to explain that the GPRS is still linked to the SIM in my old phone, but should be activated on my new one by tomorrow evening. If not, I should call back Thursday.

I then received a call from Parcelforce at Mitcham explaining that they cannot deliver my flooring because it is too heavy. I expressed surprise, because they managed to deliver two identical parcels. They said, really, they shouldn't have done, because of Health and Safety. I said I won't argue with Health and Safety, but, because it contains two boxes, maybe they could split the package and deliver it as two. They said they would get it to me tomorrow. I said it would have to be Saturday, before I go out to the hairdressers. (I assume they contacted me because of the fax I sent to Homebase yesterday. Why they couldn't have contacted me earlier, I don't know!). Personally, I think that's not really the story - why would Parcelforce have accepted such a heavy parcel in the first place. And surely, with a customer such as Homebase, they must have some contractual arrangement about the maximum acceptable size of parcels! I said to my colleagues that I shall become a hermit and live in the wilds away from the demands of capitalist consumer society.

Fortunately, at lunchtime, I went to the bank to check that my Servicecard has been activated - I didn't want to try and get cashback and find my card being refused in front of former, current and future colleagues. For once, NatWest have got it spot-on.

After lunch someone from Royal Sun Alliance phoned. I have to say, I am impressed about how quickly they responded - I only contacted them last night, and this chap's coming tomorrow, at about nine o'clock to inspect things. Mind you, I expect that the claim will be turned down. Although, I've just re-measured the window: it's 8" by 10" and windows greater than 9" by 9" need to be locked.

The flower shop next to Jimmy's cafe was broken into last night. They don't touch the flowers, of course - to get any money from that would mean a day's work selling them at the traffic lights. Just the till, which Jane had left open, as per good practice. She just had the float in it. There was a very small handprint found.

The Pizza Chalet was done as well, which makes more sense than the flower shop, because the bulk of their takings are after banking hours. When Jimmy passed by this morning - about five o'clock - there was a heavy police present outside the Bingo Hall. The Wetherspoons was done a few nights ago. The Hand had its pool table forced with a crowbar last week; John opened the door to let them out before he realised what had happened. You go for months not hearing of any break-ins, then you get loads in a few days. The SoCOs told me there had been a spate.

And the cameras on my road began working yesterday.

Credit card signatures not checked

John's Journal reveals how easy is it to fake a credit card signature.

Yesterday I had to go to the bank to withdraw moolahs and moolahs to tide me over the weekend sans plastic.

It was a relaxed affair; I handed over my passport and a bank statement. She checked my account. As she was printing out the debit slip a man went to the next but one window and said, "I've lost my card, can I withdraw money, I have my passport. " We both laughed. She said there'd been a few that day. I signed the debit slip and she said she would check the signature against the system.

She returned and said "That's fine." I commented , "The signature you have is from when I was eighteen and I'm a bit more than...we won't go there..." She said it hasn't changed.

I knew that, because the Christmas before last, I wanted to transmit some money to my godson who was spending a year (with his parents, including my godmother - my father's goddaughter) in North Carolina. I sat down in comfy chairs and the chap showed me my signature on the screen, expressing surprise at how little it had changed since 1986.

via Krisalis

Boring diary catch up thing

Over the weekend I was terribly domesticated. but I created a little Notepad document of titles for things that I must blog. (I have the pleasure of an extended Bank Holiday - today is a day off for Queen Victoria's Birthday).

On Sunday Jimmy went off to B&Q and bought the last remaining undamaged box of Beech laminate flooring. This enabled him to laminately floor the whole front room except for a three inch strip on the hall/door side.

My other boxes are still seemingly lost in transit. Parcelforce were supposed to call me today, but haven't. (All your kind comments gratefully received).

 But not to worry, they will be required when we move into the hallway (which measures 1 doorway squared) and the back room. In the meantime, there will be hell to pay.

I didn't watch Eurovision and so far have not watched BB4. I gave up last year when I realised that they were a bunch of dull egoists. When I read that this year not one is above the age of 32, and I read round the Blogosphere that they are dullards, I say "Purlease" and conclude that Big Brother has dumbed-down.

I don't need reality TV, I have your blog to read.

Hiatus interruptus

Parcelforce have some serious explaining to do.

I was promised on Saturday and Monday last week that I would have my parcel delivered on Monday of last week, to be told early afternoon that I wouldn't.

One day's annual leave wasted.

I have made so many phone calls about this parcel I have lost count. Money wasted.

On Thursday, I was promised a Saturday delivery.

On Thursday evening I was becoming increasingly depressed about the mess that is my house, waiting for my floor to be laid.

I have cut my foot on the saw in the outhouse/utility room, borrowed to help with the laying of my floor, that is impeding my access to my washing machine and fridge-freezer.

Yesterday, I had an argument with my partner about the mess of my house. He felt annoyed at me so had an argument with his son.

My parcel has not turned up today, and my nerves are in shatters. I'm alternatively hyperventilating and trembling. I am told that my parcel is missing in the Mitcham depot of Parcelforce.

They say they tried to deliver it - yesterday, I think. I don't know. They didn't put a card through the door. The driver who returned it to the depot didn't bother to scan it back in, so they don't know where it is, and they can't be bothered to make the effort to find it today and deliver it.

How dare they take my money and not perform their job? How dare they show such callous disregard for all the above points?

I am emailing them a link to this blog entry, and therefore to this, this, this and this.

Rewind replay with variations

The other day I wrote about Tourists. Grrr.

Today I was in the same Boots, the same place. Again a single file was forming for adjacent tills. I was second in the queue. Again the right hand till cleared and a bloke went up to it, out of sequence with the queue. I said to the bloke in front of me, "I thought we were forming one single queue." He looked at me entirely blankly and I realised he was a foreigner (he paid with a Eurostar voucher). So, he had failed in the other part of queuing - barge in front of the bargers.

To add insult to injury the barging bloke queried something about his change (in fairness, he had been under-charged). The woman on that till didn't know what to do, so the man on my till had to tell her. When he had finally explained he had forgotten that I asked to pay with my points (there was a long queue at the Cash Machine), so had to void out my purchase.

Grrr.

My new favouritist shop

John Lewis, on the other hand, having scheduled me a delivery for 1300 to 1700, have delivered me a full order at 1240 (ssssh, they're trying to be ahead of themselves because today is, of course, Cup Final!)

Proving once again that quality is worth paying for.

I ♥ John Lewis

Not again!

Last week I ordered six boxes of laminate flooring. They were boxed up by Homebase into three parcels. Two of these parcels were delivered from Parcelforce's Mitcham depot at nine o'clcok this morning. The other parcel was despatched to Parcelforce's Cambridge Depot. The earliest I can get it delivered is Monday.

De dum de dum de dum.

Because having paid a premium for a Saturday delivery, I'm going to be at home on Monday, right?

D-I-Y update

Homebase has been visited. I agree with the point about using independents where possible. Unfortunately, the only independent hardware/D-I-Y shop immediately locally is one on my road. This is the man who touches up women - and girl - customers, sells illegally imported fireworks to schoolchildren from a shop that also sells calor-gas, and is more than happy to accept from a white man a credit card in the name of Mrs Patel. One of the Mrs Patel's I know - not her card - said she'll normally stick up for her own kind but not that scum.

Homebase store was not too helpful - yes they deliver, but only on Mondays, and can only specify between 10 and 6. There's no point getting a minicab, because we'd need an Estate car and there are few of those at the local firms. However, the very heavy flooring is now ordered from the interwebnet to be delivered next Saturday (hmm, must warn selfish neighbours who hog the driveway and fussy neighbour who needs a lorry's turning circle to negotiate a 1.1 litre car that I'm expecting two delivery vans).

Bizarrely, the underlay can only be delivered on a weekday, but I can pick that up after work.

Jimmy has read the instructions, and is relaxed. We got chatting to a woman who was looking to buy a toilet - more difficult that you would imagine - and she said it's a two hour job. I think that it will be physically simple, but the key will be preparation - and, let's face it, you can never be too prepared.

Curtain pole and chandelier were also procured and brought home on the bus.

All that is left to be bought is a rug, a coffee table (or nest of tables), an electric coal-effect fire and 'naff' coal tools, possibly a floor lamp or two, and a tablelamp.

Oh, and Dublin John and Scots John popped round this morning to finish off the tiling in the shower. The new tiles are a different size but I'm not fussed because the whole shower-room (aka downstairs loo) will be redone at some stage fairly soon.

Shopping

Shopping is not a lifestyle choice for me. I take no pleasure from passive admiration of designer products. Conspicuous consumption equals vulgarity. I do enjoy the many consumer goods I own, but shopping is merely the means to an end. I own possessions for their functionality or for their sensuality, not for the image. I pity people who live to shop, for whom shopping is a hobby.

I spent a good three hours in John Lewis this afternoon. It is a truly fascinating place, seeming to combine old-fashioned values with modern products. It has high staff-levels, and many of them seem to have come from another age. I imagine they must pay relatively well - they are definitely a different class from the slow woman at Somerfield who tells me her medical problems as I'm packing my rucksack. I imagine that, for many people, working for John Lewis is a life career. Many of the male employees are seriously camp, almost to the point of parody, in an almost Seventies way. And the customers were almost an epitome of Middle England - many were sensibly dressed, people who go to John Lewis to buy material to make their own clothes. Overall, they give the impression that they really don't want to sell you a lifestyle, but trust you, the customer to make sensible purchasing decisions, trusting in the reliability of their product.

I bought curtains and cushions and throws, but decided that the rugs were too expensive. I enquired about delivery - what I bought was bulky rather than heavy - and they will deliver a week on Saturday. I have to pay, but that's half the price of paying for a cab home.

I spent some time wandering around the furniture places. Again, £1200 coffee tables are well out of my price range, but I did enjoy looking at the little eye-catching touches. I particularly noticed the use of plain glasses as candle holders, a bright blue candle providing a streak of colour. Or a plain glass, a white candle, and a mound of beads that I would use with floating candles.

I was pleased that John Lewis allowed me, the customer, to shop in peace. No blaring pop music, and despite the many staff visible at every turn, no one hassled me or tried a hard sell on me.

When I nipped out for a cigarette in Cavendish Square, I was delighted to find a machine in the doorway for cling-filming wet umbrellas. I read about these things on a blog, somewhere, a week or so ago, but they were said to be a Japanese idiosyncrasy.

So, although I don't, on the whole enjoy shopping, this afternoon was pleasant and productive. Eventhough Oxford Circus tube was shut. Something to do with Madonna performing or something. Inconvenient end to a pleasant day.

Stupid Croydon horrible town

Didn't I say last night I would go to Croydon to spend a small fortune on things for my living room. You would have thought it relatively easy to buy curtains, cushions, throws, rugs, lighting. After all, there's Allders, BHS & Debenhams to choose from. But I walked out of each of those stores in disgust. The fact that they were vastly overheated was a minor irritant. The fact that they were playing music loudly - or rather, some tuneless howling that seems to pass as music these days - made it impossible for me to concentrate on what I was doing. So even though I realised I was turning into my parents, I walked out. If the course - which tomorrow is in Central London - finishes at a reasonable time, I will go instead to John Lewis.

Pah, stupid Croydon silly suburban town with stupid pretensions of being a city.

I popped into Homebase on the way home, to look at Laminate Flooring. The installation of it seems pretty daunting. Or perhaps a bit daunting to do this weekend. I'm going to suggest to loverboy that this weekend we finish off the very last of the painting, scrub the sofas, finish off the tiling in the shower-room and do the shopping for the flooring, but we don't actually lay the flooring until we have plenty of time for a clear run eg the next Bank Holiday weekend.

Arguing through the door

When I arrived home this evening there was a police car parked outside. My neighbour was emerging from his house and told me that the house in the corner had had a break-in.

I walked up my path to see some post hanging out of my letter box - the equivalent of a sign saying "This house is empty!" I had a look and it was from some company I had never heard of - AccuRead - saying that they had come to read my gas meter. Some mistake, I thought, I'm with British gas.

Half an hour later is a knock on the door. I looked out the peep hole but could see no one. I called out "Who is it?" He said he had come to read my gas meter; he had put a card through earlier. I explained that I am with another company. He said he was doing it for British Gas. I said that there was no mention of British Gas on the card. He said he wasn't going to murder me. So I let him in and he murdered me...

Seriously, I explained to him that I do not let strangers into the house without an appointment. He kept insisting that he was harmless. I had to say firmly four times that I do not let strangers into the house without an appointment. He said that he understood that people get nervous but he was only here to read the gas meter.

I didn't think it was necessary for me to stand arguing about whether or not I was letting him into my house. I expect this company have got the contract from British Gas for meter reading. The silly thing is, if it had been a BG card, I would have opened the door to see inspect some ID - unless I had fainted at the shock at seeing a BG meter-reader. I have only had my meter read twice in seven and a half years of living here. On each of those occasions, it was only on the third attempt following two broken appointments in each case.

Don't mess with me

(Throughout this piece bear in mind that my interlocutor mumbled indistinctly, and therefore I had to ask him to repeat everything.)

Mobile rang. I answered it. Bloke asked to speak to Ms G Blog. I asked who was calling. He said he was calling from some organisation or other, of which I had never heard, on behalf of Vodafone. I have recently used the call centre and he wanted to know about the level of service. He asked me whether he could ask my age - I replied he could, if he sent me a copy of their privacy policy and how they comply with the Data Protection Act. He then asked whether it was me or my employer who paid my bill. I said I would tell him if he sent me a copy of their privacy policy and how they comply with the Data Protection Act. "As a customer of Vodafone, how do you rank their service from very satisfied....to not satisfied at all?"

"I am no longer a customer of Vodafone."

The phone went dead.

So, you ring me unsolicited. You are from an unknown organisation. You ask me personal questions, possibly illegally. And you don't have the courtesy to properly end the conversation.

That's just fine. I don't mind at all.

Get rid of titles

It's happened again. Twice. On Saturday I went ot the travel agents to pick up the tickets for our holiday. I had a quick glance at them, and noticed that my boyfriend's name on the ticket had been arbitrarily assigned the title "Ms". Not very helpful, considering that not only is he 6 foot and quite male looking, but his passport designates him as male. I instructed the travel agents to change the ticket. They rang this morning to say that we have to change it at the airport. Great. Why exactly is it necessary to have a title on the ticket?

On Friday I finally got my network changed on my mobile. Apparently, it "normally goes swimmingly." Not in my case, so I was without a mobile service for 48 hours. I rang on Friday to set up the GPRS and was told it would be done by 6pm. It wasn't, and, not having time on Saturday to pursue the matter, I rang this morning. Turns out that they were unable to enable the GPRS service because the account is in the name of "Mr" G BLog. As you can imagine, I had to be scraped off the ceiling.

Because of this stupid insistence by society that everybody has to have a title, I am wasting hours of my time, chasing the incompetence of these private sector organisations. I am still puzzled as to why a title has any meaning. It adds nothing to establishing identity. It has no legal basis. And, in my experience, it is a major contribution to reducing effeciency in British industry.

I am seriously considering contributing my experiences to Watchdog or You and Yours. Has anybody any insight into what would be the most appropriate forum? Has anybody any experience they would wish to relate, or join me a joint submission?

I wonder how Professor Lord Winston or Doctor Lady Redgrave get on.

From now on you can address me as either Princess Gert or Reverend Rear-Admiral G Blog. I know that they are pretty arbitrary titles, but arbitrariness seems to be a prerequisite nowadays.

Streets of London

Don't be fooled into thinking from the post below that London is an unpleasant place. Far from it. I went shopping this evening, mainly Christmas presents, because I'm seeing my mother, siblings and neplings this weekend. I was also looking for an outfit to wear to a friend's wedding in a week's time. I saw a gorgeous dress in Ann Harvey, but concluded it was slightly too 'evening' for a wedding. Plus, I don't pay for £89 for something I'll only probably wear five times.

I have to confess I also treated myself to a couple of boxes of candles from BHS, £10 each reduced from £15. One's in cream, one's in red. Each contains a floating candle bowl, two votive holders, two tealight holdres, a dinner candle holder, a couple of dozen beads, and 27 candles in four different designs.

It was a very stress-free experience. The shops were not too busy, just like a *normal* Thursday night. Admitttedly, I am a very focussed shopper, not into browsing and dithering. the shops looked lovely, and the lights on Oxford Street are, for once, worth seeing - all white, but with no ghastly commercialism-sponsored-by-Tango.

The only shop in which I got annoyed was the Disney Store which is just the most cretinous place on the planet. All I wanted was gift vouchers. It takes a combination of three staff to get them - unlike every other shop which keeps them in the till. The woman on the till said there were no cards. The man who passed them to me said there were cards. The man who got them from the store said there were no envelopes. I told them they were 'tacky'. I do not understand why they want your name, as well as your signature, on the switch receipt. I hate the way they call you a guest. As in "Please stand aside so I can serve the next guest." Next time I go in I will wear a big sign saying "Just serve me, dammit. I'm only here on sufferance."

And there wil be a next time. My sister gets Disney vouchers for birthday AND Christmas. My nephew looked like following in his mother's footsteps when he requested Disney vouchers for his sixth birthday. He was a lot easier this time: HMV, DVD. More like his father. Although my sister and nephew both collect Beanies. My brother-in-law and niece do not approve. My mother has already bought the Barbie keyboard (as in, piano) from me for my niece, which saves me lugging it.

I decided to get a cab home - I don't have a car, so I don't apologise for the occasional taxi ride. He took me the slightly longer, but quicker route - via Sloane Square, Albert Bridge, Battersea and across Clapham Common. We went to Sloane Square via Eaton Square, one of the world's most exclusive addresses. It is a gorgeous square, with magnificent houses. As we drove through there, I thought, if I were rich enough I would live there. It would be handy for the office. Then, I remembered, if I were rich enough to live there, I most certainly would not be going to the office!

You may be interested to know that the dominant christmas decoration style on Cheyne Walk is trees with white lights. I think that's how mine will be too. (Or the two foot artifical tree I bought from Woolworths in 1991).

Incidentally, in attempting (unsuccessfully) to find pictures of Cheyne Walk, I came across these the photos taken by people who have walked from Teddington to Charing Cross and the Width of the A-Z, which only reminds me of how little I know of this great city of mine.

Then I discover that Teddington to Charing X man also has pictures of Nottingham University campus, including the famous cherry trees at the top of Cherry Tree Hill and - sob - demolition of the cowsheds.