I am totally p****d off with the new editor! I tried to post with it tonight, keeping it simple, just to boldly go where I have trod before - no cut and paste as I occasionally do - and on preview I still got 'parsing errors'. How the hell am I supposed to know what the ineffective thing wants. If there are lots of toys to play with, are we not meant to use them? If not, what are they there for!

The blasted thing didn't copy and I lost yet another post.

Here I am sniffing away in my nosing glass with a good malt whisky to nose. This is the end of a very emotionally exhausting day.

Thursday 19th October 2006

The re-designed, remounting of the units that usually surround the boiler, that have, till now, blocked access to it, will have to be done at later date when, yet again, we shall have to dispose ourselves make a journey to the house, this time in winter.

Wednesday the 18th October 2006

To be continued.

Tuesday 17^th October dawned innocuously enough; having heard a feature on BBC Radio 4 on the blog History Project I decided to participate, it would take my mind off the heatless house.  I spent the day conserving memories of highlights of my day and there were quite a few. Because of this, I had to be tough with what I decided to write and finally, with editing my upload.

Our fervent hope is that the part for the boiler arrives on time and that nothing else goes wrong.  By the end of the day, we hadn’t heard from the technician and our thoughts remain unspoken.  I sit by the gas coal-effect fire, the real warmth of its flames disappearing up the smutty chimney.  

The customer base of one of the local bars increased by two.  It has a ‘hotspot’ where we can make ourselves busy in a warm convivial place, and choose to have a fortified drink or, in hubby’s case, enjoy a beer.

This visit to the hot spot, I intended to send in my ‘diary’ of the day to the U.K blog history project.  I had to reduce the size my offering, to less than 4,000 characters, including spaces.  I set about brutally hacking at my creation, absolutely refusing to eliminate my most important activities.  Some of the elements I did delete, some activities and observations I didn’t even include to begin with, I half hoped may have been picked up by some one else but how could they?  Who would have seen things the way I saw them, be doing what I was doing, how I did it, when I did it?

I checked the word count again and again and the characters I used.  I found I had got my figures well within the numbers required.  The site still didn’t take my offering.  After a bit more hacking and several more frustrating attempts to upload, I switched off and went home in the pouring rain, feeling dejected, my best efforts were unrequited.

continued...

Still the 14th October 06

14th October 2006

We’ve both had a quick cold water wash and dressed on the premise that we will be able to have a nice warm water cleanse later on. Meantime, we sit by the dinky decorative gas coal effect open fire that throws out all sorts of sizes of chimney smuts. No, we are not going to climb up chimneys or find chimney sweeps.

It is 10.10am; the technician said he’d be here about 09.30. We’re now getting a bit concerned. The deal is, hubby dials the mobile phone number if I speak to the guy. I can go with that. I gather our man is about 10 minutes away however, he admits he doesn’t know where the address is! I make a valiant attempt to advise him, bearing in mind I am not a native of these parts.

A young man arrives about 10.30pm - his voice has a deep musical baritone burr and he has a lovely Scottish accent and close cut dark hair. This man is the perfect good looking dark haired man for Hogmanay first footing, and I’ll bet he gets called upon to first foot to a lot of people.

The technician, (Grant is his name) sets to work on the boiler with the right spare parts and a mug of coffee. We can hear a lot of tinkering, a bang or two and lots of clicking. We call in on Grant to gain advice on re-pressurising the system. The pressure is almost zero and the gauge takes a while to start moving.

We return to the sitting room and calmly chat about his and that. 11.15a.m then Grant appears, he has the air of someone who wishes to impart a gentle confidence. The spares are fine but the boiler has a more intractable problem, the main valve has failed. We feel our spirits sinking and are left to plan our next steps. We sit, silent.

First things first, a cup of coffee (too early for a brandy, might enjoy one later on) then I’m going to boil a full kettle so I can freshen up gently.

I’m delegated to leave a message for the technician saying we’ll hold on till midweek; it left us anxious and needing to distract ourselves.

To be continued:

13^th October 06

 “Were you thinking of coming down to the house this weekend?” a female voice asked over the telephone wires, yesterday (Thursday). She continued, “Tell you for why, we’re having a 60^th birthday party this weekend and we’re looking for extra beds for our guests.”   The neighbours had just touched base again after their first long haul holiday, were emerging from their jet lag and planning a jolly old knees up.

 The thought of an excuse not to return to the house in its unheated state and all that went with negotiating access to the boiler, was a highly attractive proposition.  However, with the technician having confirmed his next visit with, as he assured us, the correct spare parts, there was no way to wriggle out of this trip.

 The whole boiler/heating saga started about 4 months earlier when, the cousin whose house this is was at home when his washing machine failed.  I am pleased I wasn’t around for that little disaster and its concomitant flood.  We offered to do a circular trip home sometime in the future via the house and take delivery of, and plumb in a new machine.  That was the first step upon the rocky road to discovering the hidden state of the house that Jack built.

Step number two was arranging dates nearly a month in advance to do receive a washing machine at the house.  The day I was preparing to travel from London to the house, I was making transatlantic calls to progress the purchase of the new washing machine.  Finally, I bought and arranged delivery of it, myself.   At this late stage, I was lucky to get a delivery date within our time frame. Worryingly, I was also hearing about the failed boiler.  By comparison with the boiler problem, the washing machine story is simpler though not without complications which, all being well, will finally get sorted when the plumbing/heating technician returns to the house.

13^th October 06

 “Were you thinking of coming down to the house this weekend?” a female voice asked over the telephone wires, yesterday (Thursday). She continued, “Tell you for why, we’re having a 60^th birthday party this weekend and we’re looking for extra beds for our guests.”   The neighbours had just touched base again after their first long haul holiday, were emerging from their jet lag and planning a jolly old knees up.

The thought of an excuse not to return to the house in its unheated state and all that went with negotiating access to the boiler, was a highly attractive proposition.  However, with the technician having confirmed his next visit with, as he assured us, the correct spare parts, there was no way to wriggle out of this trip.

 The whole boiler/heating saga started about 4 months earlier when, the cousin whose house this is was at home when his washing machine failed.  I am pleased I wasn’t around for that little disaster and its concomitant flood.  We offered to do a circular trip home sometime in the future via the house and take delivery of, and plumb in a new machine.  That was the first step upon the rocky road to discovering the hidden state of the house that Jack built.

 Step number two was arranging dates nearly a month in advance to do receive a washing machine at the house.  The day I was preparing to travel from London to the house, I was making transatlantic calls to progress the purchase of the new washing machine.  Finally, I bought and arranged delivery of it.  At this late stage, I was lucky to get a delivery date within our time frame. Worryingly, I was also hearing about the failed boiler.  By comparison with the boiler problem, the washing machine story is simpler though not without complications which, all being well, will finally get sorted when the plumbing/heating technician returns to the house.

Jelly sparks toxic waste alert

Now, I wait for a box to arrive from a security company, with the ignominious instructions to place it, and only it, into the receptacle and seal the iPod in the box with a returns label; that way, my little iPod can be returned in its pristine shiny white state, back to its maker.

Age doesn't come alone. Very true. For those of us who are experiencing this phenomenon that adage will have deep meaning.

I wait till stuff just off the steamy point before serving up. The rest of the meal is good but carrots turn out just a bit too al dente. My teeth are still fine, even if they are ageing with me, so they'll cope with the carrots okay.

I HAVE JUST WRAPPED UP THE FIRST CHRISTMAS PRESENT, NOTWITHSTANDING THE PILE TO COME - IT IS A CRUNCHY BATH TIME DUCK.  IT WAS SITTING ON MY DESK ALL BRIGHT EYED AND PEERING AT ME.  I DECIDED THERE WAS NOTHING FOR IT BUT TO SWADDLE IT IN GLITTERY WRAP, IN READINESS FOR ITS YOUNG RECIPENT.

There is much discussion at present around smiling eyes that are generated from hidden smiling mouths. In my view, that specific discussion is interesting but somewhat naive. We can all create smiles and train our eyes to follow, but what does the rest of the body and facial expression convey? A point was raised on BBC radio yesterday in an attempt to justify it was unnecessary for us to see who speaks, because, for example, radio audiences constantly hear but do not need to see who regales them. In the scheme of everyday communication, that justificiation is also naive.

My own experience of communicating with veiled women has lead me to conclude that we do not just hear with our ears. (See my blog of 17th July 2006 'Not Hearing'). Much can be missed, indeed,is missed, however closely you may listen. The mind can switch off with a voice that is uninteresting, or quiet (muffled) in its delivery; the ears very quickly follow. If one is tired, it is easy to lose concentration and so receive less. Extraneous noises and activities interfere, that applies to all kinds of listening. It is easier to stay connected and in communication when seeing the speaker's face and body language. If an unfamiliar accent is part of the communication, it is more helpful to all concerned be able to follow a conversation together with facial observations.

There is much tolerance in the UK for the mores of diverse groups, when compared with the dictats of other countries who strictly maintain their own culturual and religious codes, expecting all who 'enter' to ensure they follow suit. We have to be careful that within all the polemic that is being currently generated here, by what I perceive as a mix bunch of manipulators, we are not forced lose sight of our pluralistic tolerances because, we shall be the poorer for it.

On the other hand, we should also be able to expect that reasonable requests and wishes be adhered to and tolerated by the diverse groups that enjoy our culture and society, that a cry of 'foul' not be expected every time an opinion is publicly aired. The way forward, the centre ground has not yet been found, because, it appears, there are too many vested interests that do not want a bridge; the centre ground needs to be reached and soon.

A well known politican who had a penchant for alcoholic beverages and of course enjoyed the resultant blissful hazes, attended many a large function where he could give reign to his joy of tippling.  One event in  particular, was followed by a ball.  When the music began, he approached a brightly begowned person and requested a dance.

"There are two reasons why I must refuse you." came the reply.
"One, I am a Bishop and two, my Brazilian national anthem is being played."

If you want to benefit from a little bit of luxury, I saw on my recent travels just the thing.  A clean, shiny, cute bright yellow van advertising in bold black letters

POLISH
POLISH  - THE BEST
AT YOUR SERVICE.