My week and welcome to it
Dec. 20th, 2008 12:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chrishansenhomeIt's been kind of a roller-coaster week, with the highlight being finally catching and dispatching one of the bolder mice which inhabit our humble home.
Monday I came down with the dreaded lurgy (otherwise known as the norovirus) and couldn't stir too far away from the downstairs loo or eat much of anything. Monday was a washout, although the letter carrier left a note in my mailbox saying s/he had a parcel for me that she had to bring back as no one was home. Well, had she rung the doorbell, she would have quickly found that someone was home. I was livid. More to come on this subject.
On Tuesday I could finally wait no longer and enquired of HR what the terms of redundancy vs. a negotiated settlement would be (she was supposed to have gotten them to me by the end of last week). When I got them, I quickly decided that nearly £10K (1/2 of which would be tax-free) vs. statutory redundancy (around £5K) was a no-brainer, even though the negotiated settlement includes language that prevents me from suing my Dear Employer for such things as discrimination on the basis of age or sexual orientation or even because of the stupidity of management. I think I can handle that. So I asked for the negotiated settlement.
In addition, I was told that my Intermediate Certificate in Software Testing was indeed reimbursable, and I should file a claim forthwith. Of course, as is usual with my Dear Employer, who makes us all eat our own rotten cat food, the website for filing was down. When I finally got into the site today, the choices offered did not include the Intermediate Certificate, so I just chose the Foundation Certificate and explained in the "Remarks" section, which you cannot leave blank. What if you have no Remarks to make? Do you write, "The weather's pretty nasty here; how is it in Mumbai?"
Tuesday and Wednesday (until the evening) I was pretty well still washed out (literally as well as figuratively), so didn't stir out of the house. Our houseguest bought in the newspaper for me, which was very much appreciated. Of course, another note appeared in my mailbox saying that yet another package was too big for my letterbox and the letter carrier was really sorry that I wasn't home to receive it. I went to the Royal Mail website and finally found the place to make a complaint (they hide it pretty well, just like they hide some days and don't bother to deliver at all). Did that, but I'm certain that no one will take a blind bit of notice. As Royal Mail has required the letter carriers to speed up to 4 mph on their route, rather than ring a doorbell and wait 2-1/2 minutes for someone to answer, I believe they write the cards out in the post office, then just drop the cards in the mailboxes and bring all the parcels back. The postal unions are pretty powerful, but Royal Mail is trying to flog off 49% of itself to the private sector to help make improvements. The reaction from the labour unions and their lackeys in Parliament was not that this might cut jobs, it was righteous indignation that a great British public service organisation like Royal Mail was going to go and sell 49% of itself to Johnny Foreigner (the Dutch and German postal services are thought to be likely candidates). What a bunch of maroons. Perhaps we should sell 49% of Parliament to Johnny Foreigner and see how MPs like it.
Thursday I finally went out to get the parcels. The gentleman behind the counter shrugged and said, "I'll make a note of it." when I mentioned that I had been home both days. His tone of voice suggested that he would then toss the note in the bin, and he wasn't best pleased when I said, "I've already complained on the website."
One of the parcels was my 2009 proof set of coins from the Royal Mint. I am still puzzled by the fact that none of the coins now have their denomination in Arabic numerals, only in English words. So, the five-pence piece used to have a "5" on it somewhere. Now, it just says "FIVE PENCE". If you are not able to read English, you're sunk. Even the Cambodians, bless their little cotton socks, put the denomination of their notes in Arabic numerals in one corner so that us benighted non-Khmer speakers can figure out what denomination of note we are getting (it's usually 2000). The Khmers don't use coins either, only notes. Mostly US dollars.
So unless you know what "one", "two", "five", "ten", "twenty", "fifty", "pence", and "pound" mean you're sunk.
The other parcel was my caganer of the Pope, drawn to my attention by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
trawnapanda, I think. It's gloriously kitsch, and while we don't put up a Nativity scene, normally, perhaps I'll snap one up at the after-Kitschmas sales and display the Poop^WPope in it next year. With my luck, he'll go to the Holy Lavatory Above in 2009 and I'll have to put a black armband on him or something.
We have been having mice as unwelcome guests for years. This particular mouse of which I write has become quite bold. Normally you don't see them in daylight. However, our neighbour and I were having coffee Thursday afternoon in the kitchen and I saw the mouse peeking out of the top of the cooker, reconnoitering his move toward the jar of peanuts reserved for feeding the squirrels. He then ran across the countertop and stood next to the jar, looking straight at me. I waved my hand at him and he went away.
I decided to put two peanuts in a sticky trap and leave it behind the rice cooker next to the wall. Our neighbour said, "You'll catch him within the afternoon," and, sure enough, I did. I drowned him in a bucket and put him in a Tesco's plastic bag and laid him to rest in the bin outside. HWMBO was very sad about this, but I told him, "Either you stop complaining about the mouse droppings in the kitchen, or you stop complaining about my dispatching the mice when I catch them in a trap." Heard nary a peep.
I also finished Clarissa Dickson Wright's autobiography Spilling the Beans and it was a splendid read. I knew she was from money, and that she'd had an alcohol problem, but wasn't aware of the full extent of both. She was and remains the youngest woman ever to qualify as a barrister (at 21), and had a pretty horrible childhood (kind of the stock story these days, I think) and descended into the bottle when her mother died. Her story of loss and then "rebirth" into sobriety as the sidecar rider of the Two Fat Ladies is really a wonderful read and I could hardly put it down. I recommend it highly. For those of you in the US, just substitute ".com" for ".co.uk" in the Amazon address referenced above and you will be able to buy it there.
Thursday was also HWMBO's birthday. As we don't usually do much except eat out for our birthdays, that's what we did. We went with an old workchum of mine to kiasu at Queensway, since the workchum is now living on the Isle of Wight and commuting on Mondays to London, staying in a hotel at Paddington until Friday, when he makes the trek back again. I had Hainanese Chicken Rice, and enjoyed the food and the conversation quite a bit.
I have been trying for two days to get in touch with the housing association, since the metal plate over the front door latch has been jemmy'ed up (but the miscreant has not been able to actually pop the latch). I also need to discuss with them the propensity of the ladies of the evening who ply their trade along the New Kent Road to nip into the side garden here at St. Matthew's Court to earn enough money to go home with their daily fix. I say "ladies", but I understand there are some TV/TS people among them. In addition, there are quite a few large objects in the rubbish area which must be disposed of before Christmas, if possible, to ensure that we are able to throw rubbish out there during the time that the bin-people are out partying for Christmas and New Year's.
(BTW, I am not TV- or TS-phobic, but for the safety of the residents and of the sex workers it is probably not the best thing to be lying on the ground hiking your knickers in the kind of wet and cold weather we've been having, especially since said knickers will probably be covered in mud and detritus left by the previous occupant.) I recall vividly walking past the gate of the side garden and glancing in to see a very handsome man of colour moving away from the very large wet spot he'd made on the wall, zipping himself up as he walked away. The fact that he was dressed in a Southwark Council "Clean Team" uniform and his bin-on-wheels was helpfully parked next to the gate only lent a bit of colour to what was obviously an opportunity I missed taking only because I do not do council binmen (or anyone other than HWMBO) in these troubled times.
Anyway, the phone has been engaged for two days running. Either the housing association isn't interested in answering it and has knocked it off the cradle (Oopsie!!) or the phone is out of order and they are giving thanks for not hearing the phone ring for a few days. Didn't manage to get in touch. May pop by there next week and deliver my message personally if the phone is still non compos mentis on Monday.
The church drop-in centre had its Christmas Lunch today. For £5 we got turkey, roast and new potatoes, stuffing, green/orange vegetables, soft drinks, pudding, and coffee as well as a free ticket for a raffle. Enjoyed it immensely but ate too much Christmas pudding, for which I am now paying the price.
Tomorrow we will probably have to go to Tate Modern, and I have to write my Sunday sermon, for which I have already chosen a theme and written most of it in my head.
A very busy week indeed. I apologise for this being so long.
Monday I came down with the dreaded lurgy (otherwise known as the norovirus) and couldn't stir too far away from the downstairs loo or eat much of anything. Monday was a washout, although the letter carrier left a note in my mailbox saying s/he had a parcel for me that she had to bring back as no one was home. Well, had she rung the doorbell, she would have quickly found that someone was home. I was livid. More to come on this subject.
On Tuesday I could finally wait no longer and enquired of HR what the terms of redundancy vs. a negotiated settlement would be (she was supposed to have gotten them to me by the end of last week). When I got them, I quickly decided that nearly £10K (1/2 of which would be tax-free) vs. statutory redundancy (around £5K) was a no-brainer, even though the negotiated settlement includes language that prevents me from suing my Dear Employer for such things as discrimination on the basis of age or sexual orientation or even because of the stupidity of management. I think I can handle that. So I asked for the negotiated settlement.
In addition, I was told that my Intermediate Certificate in Software Testing was indeed reimbursable, and I should file a claim forthwith. Of course, as is usual with my Dear Employer, who makes us all eat our own rotten cat food, the website for filing was down. When I finally got into the site today, the choices offered did not include the Intermediate Certificate, so I just chose the Foundation Certificate and explained in the "Remarks" section, which you cannot leave blank. What if you have no Remarks to make? Do you write, "The weather's pretty nasty here; how is it in Mumbai?"
Tuesday and Wednesday (until the evening) I was pretty well still washed out (literally as well as figuratively), so didn't stir out of the house. Our houseguest bought in the newspaper for me, which was very much appreciated. Of course, another note appeared in my mailbox saying that yet another package was too big for my letterbox and the letter carrier was really sorry that I wasn't home to receive it. I went to the Royal Mail website and finally found the place to make a complaint (they hide it pretty well, just like they hide some days and don't bother to deliver at all). Did that, but I'm certain that no one will take a blind bit of notice. As Royal Mail has required the letter carriers to speed up to 4 mph on their route, rather than ring a doorbell and wait 2-1/2 minutes for someone to answer, I believe they write the cards out in the post office, then just drop the cards in the mailboxes and bring all the parcels back. The postal unions are pretty powerful, but Royal Mail is trying to flog off 49% of itself to the private sector to help make improvements. The reaction from the labour unions and their lackeys in Parliament was not that this might cut jobs, it was righteous indignation that a great British public service organisation like Royal Mail was going to go and sell 49% of itself to Johnny Foreigner (the Dutch and German postal services are thought to be likely candidates). What a bunch of maroons. Perhaps we should sell 49% of Parliament to Johnny Foreigner and see how MPs like it.
Thursday I finally went out to get the parcels. The gentleman behind the counter shrugged and said, "I'll make a note of it." when I mentioned that I had been home both days. His tone of voice suggested that he would then toss the note in the bin, and he wasn't best pleased when I said, "I've already complained on the website."
One of the parcels was my 2009 proof set of coins from the Royal Mint. I am still puzzled by the fact that none of the coins now have their denomination in Arabic numerals, only in English words. So, the five-pence piece used to have a "5" on it somewhere. Now, it just says "FIVE PENCE". If you are not able to read English, you're sunk. Even the Cambodians, bless their little cotton socks, put the denomination of their notes in Arabic numerals in one corner so that us benighted non-Khmer speakers can figure out what denomination of note we are getting (it's usually 2000). The Khmers don't use coins either, only notes. Mostly US dollars.
So unless you know what "one", "two", "five", "ten", "twenty", "fifty", "pence", and "pound" mean you're sunk.
The other parcel was my caganer of the Pope, drawn to my attention by
trawnapanda, I think. It's gloriously kitsch, and while we don't put up a Nativity scene, normally, perhaps I'll snap one up at the after-Kitschmas sales and display the Poop^WPope in it next year. With my luck, he'll go to the Holy Lavatory Above in 2009 and I'll have to put a black armband on him or something.We have been having mice as unwelcome guests for years. This particular mouse of which I write has become quite bold. Normally you don't see them in daylight. However, our neighbour and I were having coffee Thursday afternoon in the kitchen and I saw the mouse peeking out of the top of the cooker, reconnoitering his move toward the jar of peanuts reserved for feeding the squirrels. He then ran across the countertop and stood next to the jar, looking straight at me. I waved my hand at him and he went away.
I decided to put two peanuts in a sticky trap and leave it behind the rice cooker next to the wall. Our neighbour said, "You'll catch him within the afternoon," and, sure enough, I did. I drowned him in a bucket and put him in a Tesco's plastic bag and laid him to rest in the bin outside. HWMBO was very sad about this, but I told him, "Either you stop complaining about the mouse droppings in the kitchen, or you stop complaining about my dispatching the mice when I catch them in a trap." Heard nary a peep.
I also finished Clarissa Dickson Wright's autobiography Spilling the Beans and it was a splendid read. I knew she was from money, and that she'd had an alcohol problem, but wasn't aware of the full extent of both. She was and remains the youngest woman ever to qualify as a barrister (at 21), and had a pretty horrible childhood (kind of the stock story these days, I think) and descended into the bottle when her mother died. Her story of loss and then "rebirth" into sobriety as the sidecar rider of the Two Fat Ladies is really a wonderful read and I could hardly put it down. I recommend it highly. For those of you in the US, just substitute ".com" for ".co.uk" in the Amazon address referenced above and you will be able to buy it there.
Thursday was also HWMBO's birthday. As we don't usually do much except eat out for our birthdays, that's what we did. We went with an old workchum of mine to kiasu at Queensway, since the workchum is now living on the Isle of Wight and commuting on Mondays to London, staying in a hotel at Paddington until Friday, when he makes the trek back again. I had Hainanese Chicken Rice, and enjoyed the food and the conversation quite a bit.
I have been trying for two days to get in touch with the housing association, since the metal plate over the front door latch has been jemmy'ed up (but the miscreant has not been able to actually pop the latch). I also need to discuss with them the propensity of the ladies of the evening who ply their trade along the New Kent Road to nip into the side garden here at St. Matthew's Court to earn enough money to go home with their daily fix. I say "ladies", but I understand there are some TV/TS people among them. In addition, there are quite a few large objects in the rubbish area which must be disposed of before Christmas, if possible, to ensure that we are able to throw rubbish out there during the time that the bin-people are out partying for Christmas and New Year's.
(BTW, I am not TV- or TS-phobic, but for the safety of the residents and of the sex workers it is probably not the best thing to be lying on the ground hiking your knickers in the kind of wet and cold weather we've been having, especially since said knickers will probably be covered in mud and detritus left by the previous occupant.) I recall vividly walking past the gate of the side garden and glancing in to see a very handsome man of colour moving away from the very large wet spot he'd made on the wall, zipping himself up as he walked away. The fact that he was dressed in a Southwark Council "Clean Team" uniform and his bin-on-wheels was helpfully parked next to the gate only lent a bit of colour to what was obviously an opportunity I missed taking only because I do not do council binmen (or anyone other than HWMBO) in these troubled times.
Anyway, the phone has been engaged for two days running. Either the housing association isn't interested in answering it and has knocked it off the cradle (Oopsie!!) or the phone is out of order and they are giving thanks for not hearing the phone ring for a few days. Didn't manage to get in touch. May pop by there next week and deliver my message personally if the phone is still non compos mentis on Monday.
The church drop-in centre had its Christmas Lunch today. For £5 we got turkey, roast and new potatoes, stuffing, green/orange vegetables, soft drinks, pudding, and coffee as well as a free ticket for a raffle. Enjoyed it immensely but ate too much Christmas pudding, for which I am now paying the price.
Tomorrow we will probably have to go to Tate Modern, and I have to write my Sunday sermon, for which I have already chosen a theme and written most of it in my head.
A very busy week indeed. I apologise for this being so long.
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no subject
Date: 2008-12-20 01:40 am (UTC)This has been true of US coins for as long as I can remember, and longer. And (starting when I was old enough to notice this kind of thing at all) I've always thought it was incredibly stupid and arrogant.
Of course, the US system is even worse, because the units are all different: "five cents", but "one dime" and "quarter dollar".
no subject
Date: 2008-12-20 02:52 am (UTC)I hadn't made that connection, though of course you're right. One of the things that comes with living in an officially bilingual country, all our money has either dual English/French text, or it uses bilingual words/symbols. "dollar(s)" and "cent(s)" and "Canada" mean the same in both languages, so all our coins bear such captions as "5 cents" or "dollar" or "2 dollars", and "Canada". The titles around the Queen are her name, and Latin titles (no-one's language) Elizabeth II D G Regina
no subject
Date: 2008-12-20 03:20 am (UTC)I liked your explanation of the difference between Liturgical Latin and Legal Latin (i.e. Italian vs. British pronunciation), as in "Re-jee-na Coeli" vs. "Re-jye-na Brittania".
(Spa-dee-na, Spa-dye-na, Re-jee-na, Re-jye-na, let's call the whole thing off...)
no subject
Date: 2008-12-20 08:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-20 05:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-20 08:44 pm (UTC)Me, I hold in my heart a half-warmed fish.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-20 08:03 am (UTC)The pound note was discontinued in England and Wales in the 1980's, I think. No one seems to miss it publicly and pound coins are relatively thick and heavy, making them easy to separate out in your coin purse. Two pound coins are even heavier.
I had never noticed, while living in the US, that US coins did not have the denomination in numbers--although I believe that the Presidential dollar coin series does have "$1" on the reverse, next to the Statue of Liberty. As few people want to use them, perhaps this is a coin hiding under a bushel basket.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-20 03:58 am (UTC)my short street is a place where sex-trade workers ply their trade too, and most of them are actually boys-who-present-as-girls. They don't bother moi - everyone has to make a living - but then the actual activity never takes place nearby. It would surprise me if any of them wear knickers of any kind while they're engaged in business - all the faster for action, rather than any safety consideration.
I'm so glad that you're enjoying the papal caganer. I think he should take up residence in your loo, given his activities, when he's not actually participating in a nativity setup.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-20 08:11 am (UTC)I would prefer that sex work were legalised and moved to quarters where people could ply their trade safely, healthily, and taxedly, just like any other profession. In fact, as St. Matthew was a tax collector, I'm sure that he would be very pleased if the sex workers using the side garden of St. Matthew's Court were safe, legal, and taxed.
I am blissfully unaware of the underwear habits of sex workers, and I devoutedly wish that to continue. Thus, if any sex workers were offended that I accused them of wearing knickers, my sincerest apologies.