I have icy-cold fingers – in April! Actually it’s May tomorrow. I’ve just pegged out a line of washing and it is freezing out there. The sun is out so hopefully it’ll warm up a bit. Richard really annoyed me last night so his ‘pants’ have been hung in full view of anyone who wishes to check them out from a bedroom window. Hung and stretched out until they look like they might fit an elephant. That’ll teach him. He hates it when I do that. He says, ‘Do you have to hang them out so that they look SO big?’ How do you hang out huge pants so that they look small?
I didn’t get to blogging yesterday as I had things to do and people to see. Namely, take a trip into town and sort out my bloody-minded bank. A week ago, as I sat in all innocence doing something or other, Richard dropped a letter in front of me. We have this very uncivilised way of half throwing things at each other. When I opened it I saw that it was a letter from my bank, informing me that there had not been enough funds in my current account to cover a cheque which they had honoured by granting me an emergency overdraft.
This sent me into panic mode. Emergency overdraft? Not enough funds? I instantly thought someone had hacked my account. On inspection, on-line (yep, I can do that) it appeared that I hadn’t transferred the money for the fence which my son had erected for me. Yes, thanks to Matt I was overdrawn. Obviously I instantly transferred the funds.
By yesterday the bee in my bonnet had irritated me so much that I climbed up onto my high-horse and galloped off down to the bank. OK, the oversight might have been mine but did I ask them to give me an emergency overdraft and charge me £10 a day for the pleasure? No I did not!
The lady on the desk looked to be having a good day and I did have the slightest twinge of guilt that I was about to put an end to that but, hey-ho, principles are principles. She smiled sweetly and asked what she could do to help me so I asked if there was anyone available that I could rant at? She asked if she could help?
Cutting a long story short I explained that yes the oversight was obviously mine BUT I’d banked with them for over thirty-five years, had NEVER been as much as a penny overdrawn and took great exception to having been given (charged for) an emergency overdraft. What happened to bouncing cheques? Anyway, after massive conversation with several people behind closed doors it was concluded that I was an idiot and they dropped the charges. Just as well. It all got blamed on my internet provider. Obviously there had been a dip in connection just as I had attempted to transfer the funds! Sorry internet provider.
I then popped over the road to make an appointment to get the bonce trimmed and my lovely hair stylist (I call her a stylist … it isn’t her fault that my bonce is style-free) said she could ‘do’ me immediately. I think she just wanted to get it over with and not have the sheer horror of knowing I was coming in later in the week.
Then I popped into the garden centre to purchase some canes for the runner beans which still haven’t popped their heads above the plant pot rims but I’m still optimistic that they will.
The horse muck exercise went well at the weekend and that has been spread into position.
I decided, as I walked back to the car, that I like where I live. It’s an old mining area and there is a lot of ‘closure’ all over the place. But it’s the people. Many are as old as the hills. They remind me of my dad. I still see him standing in the precinct chatting to his cronies. I catch the local dialect. It is a friendly mashing together of words. I do fear though that when these ‘oldies’ have moved on the town will have lost something precious. A rich, deep core of community.
I’ve lived here now for twenty-two years. I don’t think I intended saying this long. I came here originally to be near to my parents as they entered their ‘later’ years and would need someone to keep an eye on them. They have both gone now and I still remain here. I can’t say that it’s the mansion-sized property that is the draw. The house is modest. A semi-detached. Most people I know have larger, more prestigious properties. But what the house lacks, the garden makes up for. It is narrow but long and it backs onto fields and I love it. And I don’t need to surround myself with bricks and mortar, six bedrooms, four en-suites and a staircase wider than the M1 to feel contented. I have a sweet house, a nice garden, a man who dotes on me (sometimes) a cat who dotes on me (mostly) and I’m a jolly nice dude (?) so I think I’m pretty lucky. And I don’t need more.
And as usual, I don’t know how I ended up at this point, don’t know what I’m talking about, and so I’ll go.
Chea has been absent for the last hour so I’m just hoping she isn’t upside down in the loo!!
Take care my lovelies x