PARCEL DELIVERIES - AGAIN

Delivery companies are certainly tightening their game. The other day I received a parcel, handed to me by a friendly young man who asked for my full name. The Parcel was addressed to Mrs D but that wasn’t enough for him, he wanted the full Christian name. I told him, but in the same breath I asked why he wanted it. After he had written the full name against the item in his little blue book, he explained. 

Apparently, the system (a new one with his company) is to check the name of whoever takes in the parcel, neighbour or whoever. Surnames are not enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day we’ll be asked for our date of birth! Seriously though, it makes sense to record the receiver of parcels, it certainly makes life easier for the delivery people.

Proof of delivery is so important these days, with so many crooks trying to get something for nothing. I thought this practice was almost as good as the one where the delivery guy took photographs of the parcel lying inside my porch, but it went against the grain a little. Not sure why except that I’m not one to reveal my name to all and sundry. Something must have happened in my past to make me feel secretive with strangers. Thinking cap at the ready… wish me luck!

Oh, I forgot to mention a casual meeting with the postman. I don’t normally see him or her. This one time I startled Mr Postman by opening the inner door just as he was putting the mail through the letter box in the outer door. There was a whole porch between us but it didn’t stop him offering me a toffee which I accepted with good grace.

How’s that for service? I must tell him next time that I prefer fruit drops.

Valerie

IRKSOME STUFF!

The new iPhone has caused me more angst than anything I’ve ever known. And it’s not as if I’m a stranger to them. I’ve lost count how many years I had the other one and right from the start I sailed through like someone born to be iPhone queen. Still, I guess even queens have their problems.

Thankfully, I have Luke. He is the odd job boy young man who comes once a week to do - odd jobs. I don’t know how I would have coped without him especially as he has a memory similar to the one I could brag about not so many years ago. I lost all recollection of one of my passwords so I sent him a text pleading for assistance. He didn’t need to come to the house, he knew it after only hearing it once. Hmmm, shouldn’t we avoid people like that?!

So, Luke saved the day once again. My friend, Judy, is asking if I can spare him one day to sort out her IT affairs. Gerroff! Sorry, matey, he’s mine and mine alone, anyway he lives too far away from you.  

I know you’ll be fed-up listening to my IT problems so I’ll move to the subject of furniture.

But first, the painful back.

After suffering for years the back has finally decided that ongoing pain is something I have to put up with. Except now it’s worse than ever, until … I’m always happy when there’s an ‘until’….

After Joe died I took over his chair, one of those that recline at the press of a button. It once belonged to my aunt and when she died it came to us.

It struck me that after a few sessions with legs extended my back would feel some sort of relief. Wrong. The pain worsened. Something had to be done other than constant visits to my chiropractor. Getting personal now….

A few pushes and prods in the painful area had me realising that tummies are meant to be held in. Not so in my case, I could only hold mine in by pressing hands FIRMLY. There was no way I could hold tummy in without help yet when it was helped the pain disappeared. That decided me to purchase some girdles… not hefty things like women wore in olden days, but with enough pressure to hold the tummy firm. It seemed to work in the shop but after a few hours the pain was agonising. Now they look pretty in the drawer where they will probably spend a few months or years.

One day, in desperation I flopped onto the sofa, a piece of furniture that I never used, and stayed there for a couple of hours until I realised the pain had lessened.

AND THEN IT DAWNED ON ME – the problem wasn’t with the tummy, it was the

Picture taken where chair now rests,
on patio.
Sunlight seemed to remove the
lovely green colour but not in real life. 

damn chair all the time. Close inspection made me see the reason. The padded upholstery was all wrong. The back of the chair was designed to look attractive, but the middle of its design was a receding square panel much deeper than the rest. And that was where the painful spine rested, day in, day out. No wonder it got worse. The picture cannot portray the depth of the annoying section but I promise you it is quite an indentation. Oh my poor back!

The chair had to go.

Luke called round and shifted everything to where I wanted it and the culprit chair was put out on the patio until such time as it can properly be disposed of.

Brilliant.

It’s not easy to get rid of furniture but he has a friend with a van who, he thinks, might dispose of it for me. I am still waiting to see if anything transpires with the friend with a van!

You will have worked out by now that Luke is a godsend, in more ways than one although I have my doubts about the friend with the van.

I still have the spine problem but it’s nothing like as painful. Now, if it starts up I sit down for a while until the pain goes away and of course there is still my lovely chiropractor to see me through. 

POLITICS? NO DISCUSSION!

My Mom and Dad supported different political parties and they would never discuss the matter. I can understand that, imagine the arguments that could ensue. In all the years I lived with them I never knew who supported which party. Unlike today, when people shout their preferences from the rooftops.

The past experience did something to me because now I will never discuss politics with anyone. I won’t advise or cajole or even listen, except when a debate or discussion is shown on television. Joe was the same. He and I had different views, but we didn’t want to fall out over politics so we kept quiet. Arguing wasn't our thing.

In my younger working days, because I was employed by a Government body, I was required to go counting every time there was an election. I loved it. There was such an air of excitement as a count progressed, or when a count went wrong, or results were too close which meant we had to start again. Yet none of us revealed which party we had voted for.

The room was closely guarded. Naturally the candidates and their henchmen were not allowed in but most would remain by the door and do their best to try and work out if they were on a winning streak, almost hopping from one foot to another as they tried to anticipate the outcome.

These days I have postal votes and every time I fill in the necessary form I remember how a chosen few had to attend the counting station to open all the envelopes and do a separate count. That was prior to the standard vote count.

Before all that took place we had to attend a meeting at the Town Hall to pledge our silence and confidentiality.

I was never detailed to attend a polling booth, but was always present at the count and whenever there’s an election I remember those days. Sadly, it is doubtful if peaceful polling days will ever return?

PS

Just letting you know that..........

Alex did come back!

FORGETFULNESS - OR SOMETHING!

Recently I had a visit from a guy I have known for a while but didn’t see often rarely saw. In fact, I’ve probably only seen him three times in three years!

It was Alex. Alex from a now ceased trading carpet-shop, Alex who laid the wooden flooring in the hall, Alex who laid the wooden flooring in the new shower-room. Yes, it was Alex, who I couldn’t remember. How embarrassing is that? He took it all in good part, well he could hardly do anything else, could he?

Can you imagine how awful I felt? Embarrassed isn’t adequate enough. I really wanted the earth to open and swallow me wholesale. Even his good looks didn’t help. I mean, how could I forget a handsome, good looking man with an excellent physique, nice manners and friendly,

He obviously guessed my predicament because he went on to say that he had

done some jobs for me… including fixing the central heating timer. That last should have been enough to remind me since we had such a laugh over it.

Under the pretext of closing a door to stop Charlie getting out (I don’t allow him near passing traffic) I moved away and tried to get the brain in working order. Eventually I went back to where he stood, outside, and somehow felt brave enough to confess that I didn’t remember him. Then, as I spoke, it all came back. OF COURSE, I remembered him. He was the guy who helped me when I had that fall, made me a cup of tea, and settled me down while he proceeded to do the job he came to do.

I couldn’t apologise enough and he took it in good part, or seemed to, goodness only knows what he actually thought.

The daft thing is that he had been on my mind because I needed someone to do some work for me, yet when he appears unexpectedly at my door I don’t know him. Saints preserve me and everyone else who suffers with severe forgetfulness.  That’s my worst experience so far, please God don’t let there be more!

Alex is going to fit a carpet for me, that’s if he turns up. In his shoes I would want to keep well away from someone who seems to be rather mad.

PLAYING SAFE

I am a most security conscious person. Even when Joe was alive I was the one who double checked doors and windows, and still do. These days you can’t be too careful.

The last job of the day is to check all doors and make sure keys are in their rightful places, the last doors to check are at the front of the house.

I have an inner front door and an outer porch door facing the road, both of which need careful checking since they are the main entrances. Outside the bungalow there is a lantern light that goes on at night.

As you can see, the porch is narrow.  Not quite big enough to sit in even though it greets the sun and provides plenty of heat. Last night I checked both doors at around 10 o’clock, making sure they were both locked so I could sleep easy. I don’t go to sleep that early but I like to have good long read. By this time, Charlie was out and about in the garden or wherever it is he goes.

I drifted off to sleep at around 11 o’clock and the next thing I heard was what I thought was someone knocking on the inner front door. It was 2 o’clock. Jeez, I was petrified. Then I realised it was the inner porch door that was being knocked. Whoever it was must have broken a window to get in the porch.

I thought it better not to move for a while. If I went to the door I would be seen through the frosted glass. I waited, all was quiet. Still I waited, wondering what to do. Then I heard it, a very loud Meow.

I have never moved so fast in my life…. 

Charlie must have slipped into the porch when I was locking the front door and there he had to stay, from 10pm until 2am. No bed to lie on, just a cold tiled floor. And I never heard a peep. Daft thing is every night I check that he hasn’t slipped past me…. every night except that one. 

Valerie