Happiness is a Comfortable Bed

I’m writing this on Friday instead of Saturday because unusually I’m working tomorrow. I have a week’s holiday booked from next Monday, so my kind boss swapped my days around at the weekend so I could start my holiday a day earlier. He also set my working days as Thursday, Friday, Saturday the following week so I get a total of eleven days off in all – which is lovely.

It’s sure been a hectic week! I worked Sunday, Monday, Tuesday. Smashed my week’s target out of the park on Sunday, which was great. It’s always nice to finish the first week of a new month ahead of target – it gives me some breathing space. Anyway, Monday and Tuesday were also good sales days, and I am already through my target for the week so anything I sell tomorrow will be a big, fat cherry on top.

A weird thing happened on Monday though. My boss had gone for his lunch hour and had left the premises. Lone working happens quite a lot, especially when a staff member is on holiday, but usually, it’s fine and I can cope. However, I was dealing with a lovely customer when a pair of young girls came into the shop and asked if I were alone. I didn’t think anything of it and replied that my colleague was on lunch break. They said, no problem, they’d go and look upstairs and call me if they needed help and I continued helping my customer.

Ten minutes later, one of them called down asking for assistance and my customer told me to go and see to them – she wanted to lie for a bit longer on the mattress she had potentially chosen – so I went upstairs. One of the girls exclaimed how hot she was and that she needed to get out of the shop for some air and that she’d meet her friend outside when she was finished. She stomped off downstairs and I didn’t think anything of it. I talked to the other young girl about mattresses, and she laid on a few. I didn’t think she was serious about buying even though she seemed interested in one.

As she was laying on one of the mattresses, I moved to the balcony to check my lady downstairs was still there and still happy and saw the other young girl about to leave the shop with armfuls of pillows!

Shocked, I shouted out – “Excuse me! What do you think you’re doing? You can’t take things out of the shop without paying for them!”

She jumped about a foot in the air and looked up at me. Her friend leapt off the mattress and rushed to the balcony beside me, crying out – “Oh, have you picked those out for me to look at?”

“Yes,” replied her friend. “I thought you might be interested in them, so I picked them up for you to take a look at.”

“Well, she can’t look at them in the car park, can she?” I replied and hurried downstairs. “Take them to the till,” I ordered. Flustered, the young girl staggered back to the till with them and dropped them down. I glanced over them – there was about £300 worth of product there.

“You made me jump!” the girl said. “Shouting at me like that. I was only bringing them upstairs for my friend to look at.”

“You were heading out the door with them,” I snapped.

“No, no, I wasn’t,” she tried to convince me.

“You were nowhere near the stairs; you were at the door!” I wasn’t having any of it.

“I’m sorry,” the other girl said. “She’s a bit, a bit…” she never finished the sentence and shrugged sheepishly, so I’m not sure what she thought her friend was a bit of. A bit of a thief?

Now, wouldn’t you think because their distract and steal plan hadn’t worked that they would have got out of the shop as quickly as possible before I changed my mind and called the police? They didn’t and this is where it gets weird. The second girl bought the mattress she’d lain on, so gave me her name, address, and mobile phone number!

Then they left.

Remember my original customer? Well, once the girls left, she sat up on the bed and told me that she thought my instincts had been spot on. She had watched the young girl look at the pillows, then pick up four and go around the back wall to get to the door – not going anywhere near the stairs – and that if I hadn’t seen her and shouted out, she would have been out into the car park leaving her friend to take the rap if I noticed the pillows were gone – which, to be honest, I probably wouldn’t have done until later.

The lady then purchased her mattress and said if I needed a witness statement, she would be quite happy to supply me with one.

When my boss came back, I told him what had happened, and we talked about it. We were both stunned that the girl had bought the mattress. Surely, if it had been a simple distraction robbery then why didn’t they both leave as quickly as possible when I caught them? It makes no sense to go through with buying it and leave full contact details.

My thoughts were that they hadn’t come into the shop planning on stealing anything – after all, a bed shop is not your first thought of somewhere that has small, easily shoplifted items – that they came in because one of them genuinely wanted a mattress. Then her friend came downstairs, spotted the pillows, and didn’t see my customer lying on the bed – or forgot she was there – and snatched them up on the spur of the moment.

It shook me up a little – it could have turned nasty, after all – but I’ve been working there four years and this is the first time anything like this has happened and when it was happening, I didn’t feel threatened by these girls in any way. In fact, I think there were a little bit scared of me.

Wednesday I was up bright and early packing for our road trip oop North to visit Miss F’s university. The weather forecast said heavy rain and I was hoping it was wrong. I hate motorway driving in the rain. The roads are slippery, and vision is impaired – especially as my windscreen wipers probably need replacing – and there are always idiots still driving way too fast despite the fact they can’t actually, you know, see!

I’d wanted us to be on the road no later than 10-ish and it was five to ten when we put the bags in the car and set off to get petrol on the way. The heavy rain held off, and although we did drive through a few downpours, it certainly wasn’t the monsoon we’d been promised. The roads were reasonably clear, and we made good time. We stopped at midday for lunch at one of those services they have on every motorway. This was a complex containing a Burger King, Subway, KFC, Krispy Kreme doughnuts, Waitrose, Starbucks, and bizarrely a WH Smiths – I suppose for any stationery emergency you might have.

Right up until we got there, Miss F had stated her desire for a Subway, then at the last minute changed her mind to a Burger King. I ordered a cheeseburger with bacon, but when it came it was minus the bacon despite the fact, I’d been charged 70p extra for it. Of course, Miss F wouldn’t let me say or do anything about that – what is it with teenagers and complaining about bad service? Will they grow out of it or are we raising a generation so afraid of being considered a “Karen” that they let everything go so good customer service will soon be a thing of the past?

Lunch was okay – it was a Burger King, there’s not a lot else to say about it – and 45 minutes later were back on the road.

The last time we took the M6 toll road there was a big accident up ahead causing three-hour delays so we’d had to get off early and try and make our way cross country, and I was hoping that wouldn’t happen again. But no, clear road and plain sailing all the way, and it was just gone 2:30pm when we pulled up outside the pub where we had booked to stay the night.

We checked in, booked our breakfast, and were given the key to our room. There were seven rooms in all, in what I think might have previously been a stable block. The room was lovely, cosy, and quirky, with a king-size bed in the main room, a nice size shower room, and a single bed in a nook for Miss F. We quickly unpacked, then drove to the local town of Nantwich to have a look around.

My bed!
Love this hare lamp
Armchair – room even had an AC unit
old chest of drawers
Miss F’s sleeping nook

Like most very small towns, there wasn’t a lot to look at. We did pay a visit to the museum of local interest – and spent twenty minutes in there – it was a very small town, so not a lot of interest had ever happened. We wandered about a bit, then because we were both tired, we drove back to the pub, parked the car, and wandered down to the local shop to see if they sold any playing cards.

They didn’t, so we bought a soft drink each and returned to the pub and sat in their gorgeous garden. The sun was shining, and the bees were having a wonderful time in all the lavender and rose bushes that ringed the garden. Our dinner was booked for 6:30pm, so we killed an hour sitting in the sun, talking, and playing silly quiz games on Miss F’s phone before going back to our room and getting ready for dinner.

The pub we were staying in is over 250 years old and the restaurant was fabulous. All low wooden beams, tiny leaded windows, quirky tables with bookshelves built into them, and everywhere you looked a plethora of curiosities, knickknacks, and other oddities. It was wonderful, very atmospheric.

Our table with its own built in bookshelf

Miss F was still full of lunch so decided to just have a bowl of nachos and cheese. I chose the duck served in a wild cherry jus, with summer vegetables and sweet potato rosti. Then we both had dessert. I went for the raspberry and rhubarb crème Brulee and Miss F had raspberry and passionfruit cheesecake and ice cream – she went through about four lactase pills on that meal so she could digest the dairy.

Nachos – boring but what she wanted
My meal was more adventurous
Raspberry and rhubarb Creme Brulee
Raspberry and passion fruit chessecake and ice cream – it came with flowers

Bizarrely, we had to vacate the restaurant at eight. I have no idea why, maybe it was because of the football or something, as England were playing Denmark that evening, but I took my second glass of wine back to the room and we sat on my bed and watched mindless TV for a while before going to bed.

So far, the mini-break had been fab, but then it all went wrong because my mattress was the most uncomfortable thing I have ever slept on! Seriously, extra firm doesn’t begin to cover it. The damn thing was solid, it was like sleeping on a slab of concrete. As someone who sells mattresses for a living, I know what I’m talking about, and this mattress was firmer than any we sell in our shop. I tossed and turned, but no matter which position I lay in my back was in serious pain. I tried lying on my side, but because there was absolutely no give in the mattress, I trapped nerves in my shoulders and hips and all my limbs were a painful mess of pins and needles.

It was a long and terrible night. There was a church clock tower next to the pub and every quarter-hour it would ding a little tune. On the actual hour, it would dong out the time with all the solemnity of Big Ben. I heard every single one of those dongs and would lay there counting them praying for it to be further through the night than I thought, and that maybe, just maybe, I’d slept through one. But no, midnight, one, two, three, four, and five … I heard them all.

Miss F was also very restless, tossing and turning, I don’t think her mattress was much better than mine but with the resilience of youth, she at least was managing to sleep. I didn’t want to sit up and read in case I disturbed her, so there I lay, blinking in the gloom and so tired – so very, very tired – but unable to sleep and wondering if the night would ever end.

Of course, eventually, it did. At 6am, Miss F got up and disappeared into the shower. Her hair must dry naturally otherwise it frizzes so she took the first turn, and I went in after her. We had to take Covid tests so got them out of the way early. I don’t like doing them, but they’re not as bad as I thought they were going to be and ten minutes after submitting our results on the NHS website we had our texts proving that we were bug-free, and I was able to have a cup of tea.

Our breakfast wasn’t booked until 9:30am so we had plenty of time to leisurely get ready and pack before wandering back to the quirky restaurant.

Breakfast was HOOGE!! There was a selection of cereals if you wanted them, toast with choices of jams, marmalades, and honey, and, of course, a full English breakfast. We didn’t know when we were going to eat again so both chose the full English, and it was very full. A giant sausage, two rashers of bacon, black pudding, baked beans, fried potatoes, mushrooms, grilled tomato, and a fried egg. Yum. It certainly stuck to the ribs and everywhere else it touched. Plus, fresh orange juice and all the tea and coffee you could drink.

Afterwards, we staggered back to our room to clean our teeth and finish loading up the car, Miss F’s tour of the university was at midday, and it was still only a little after ten, so we went and sat in the garden again enjoying the morning sunshine – it was blazing hot by this time despite all the weather warnings that Thursday was going to be chilly with torrential downpours – and the bees were once again busy.

It was only a ten-minute drive to the university, but Miss F was understandably keen not to be late so, at eleven, we got in the car and drove to it. By the time we’d found it, found the car park, parked, and made our way to the reception, we were in time to sit in the sun for a bit and have a drink before being collected by our tour guide and taken around the campus.

It’s wonderful there. We went all around the mini zoo they have and saw lots of animals. We were even able to view the accommodation and see the exact type of house Miss F will be living in. It’s very modern and clean and spacious. The mattress is a bit thin and I’m not sure how she’s going to like it after the very deep, luxurious, and expensive mattress she’s used to sleeping on – there are some perks to your mum working in a bed shop and getting excellent staff discount. I have bought her a thick quilted mattress topper but I’m now not sure it will be thick enough. Oh well, if she’s not comfortable I’ll have to see about buying her a proper thick memory foam topper.

After that we had a tour of the library and lecture rooms and then it was time to come home.

Because we’d had such a good run-up, I was hoping we’d be so lucky on the way back. I was aware of how very tired I was after my sleepless night, and when Miss F said she wanted to play her music I agreed, hoping it would keep me awake. We had no plans to stop on the way back – we had bottles of water in the car, we’d both used the ladies before leaving the university, and if it was only going to be three hours again, I said I’d much rather push for home and have a nice evening meal than another indifferent junk food pit stop. After all, that breakfast was still sticking and neither of us was hungry.

Luckily, the weather held for the most part and the roads were reasonably clear. We made excellent timing and three hours later we made a brief stop at my parents’ house to pick up Miss F’s new TV which she’d bought for her university room but had delivered to my parents as we were away.

Then we drove to Waitrose and basically bought whatever we fancied for dinner and then home!

Again, the trip back took three hours.

I put together a sharing platter for dinner as neither of us wanted a big, stodgy meal and we ate that at about seven. I had a couple of glasses of wine and Miss F had a bottle of sweet cider. And although it was very nice to go away, and we’d had a great time – it was oh so nice to be home – and it was wonderful to be back in my bed. Happiness is definitely a comfortable bed.

Dinner was the best kind of picnic

Today, Friday, is my day off and I must confess other than laundry and chat with you, I haven’t done a lot. Tomorrow it’s work, but only 10:30-4:30 so a reasonably short day, and then I have eleven whole days off. They are going to be days crammed with seeing friends and family to celebrate my birthday, reading, and hopefully lots of writing.

But of course, I will tell you all about it next week.

Julia Blake

The Wheel Turns

Yep, it’s July, already, and I can’t be the only one astonished at how quickly the year is galloping by. I am looking forward to the month – not only because it’s my birthday on the seventeenth and I have lots of things planned – but because I have booked the whole week off work and my very kind boss has thoughtfully made sure my days off fall at the beginning and the end of the holiday, so I have eleven days off in total. Nice.

It’s been quite a good week so far.

As I told you last time, Miss F and I went to live theatre for the first time in years last Saturday evening. It was nice if a little strange being with other people again other than in a work capacity. But the venue had put a lot of thought into arrangements, and it was table seating which you had to book in advance. All the tables were full, and staff were moving amongst them taking drinks orders. Miss F asked for a diet coke, and I treated myself to a glass of Merlot. Our drinks were placed before us just as the lights went down, a backing track started and then we were into the play.

As we watched, I sipped my drink – a glass of wine had cost as much as a whole bottle, so I wanted to savour it – but it was a little thick and seemed to have a gritty texture. Gamely, I persevered but as the first half of the play finished, I took another sip and ended up with what tasted like a mouthful of sour wood shavings. I discreetly spat them back into my glass as the lights came up for the interval and I got a good look at what I’d been drinking. I’d ordered a large glass and had drunk about three-quarters of it, but the rest of the wine left in the glass was a thick sludge of sediment.

I showed it to Miss F, and she rolled her eyes – please don’t make a fuss – she pleaded. What is it about teenagers and their horror of making a fuss, or worse, being with you when you politely complain about something?

The server came back to our table and asked if we wanted anything else. Well, I would quite like another glass of wine, I said, but you might want to check the bottle. I showed her the contents of my wine glass and she pulled a horrified face, took the glass, and scuttled off to have a word with her manager.

A minute later she was back, still apologising profusely, and saying that the Merlot had been taken off the menu (that helps me, how?) and would I like something else? I looked on the menu, the wine choices were limited so I chose a glass of white zinfandel and she hurried off to fetch it.

Bearing in mind I had paid a lot of money for the first glass of wine and had only been able to drink three-quarters of it, plus had had the unpleasant experience of a mouthful of sludge, I expected the second glass to be on the house. But no, she came back with the second glass of wine and the card machine.

I opened my mouth to say something but caught Miss F’s eye and thought better of it. We were having a nice time and I didn’t want to spoil it, so I swallowed down my words and again paid the equivalent of a whole bottle for a glass of wine that I don’t particularly enjoy.

Then we watched the second half of the play. The play was great, and it was nice watching live theatre again, but I had forgotten how annoying other people in the audience can be and how some think it’s okay to talk all through the performance and have no concept of an “indoor voice”. There was a table of three older people in front of us and one gentleman on that table just would not shut up! Every couple of minutes he was commenting to the other two in a very loud voice.

If I’d been alone, I would have sshhdd them, but I wasn’t, so I didn’t. Walking home though, I did say how annoying they had been, and Miss F agreed how rude it is to go to something like that and be unable to keep your comments for the interval and after the performance.

But she would have killed me if I’d said anything to them!

I have heard nothing from my old energy company other than an email informing me that the direct debit has been cancelled – yes, I know it has because I bloody well cancelled it – so I’m wondering if that means they’ve given up and gone away. Maybe they’ve decided it’s not worth taking me on for the sake of £62.

I’ve also had three very good days at work. I managed to scrape by my monthly target by the skin of my teeth and at the eleventh hour on Sunday, which was satisfying. Then Monday and Tuesday were good days, nice customers, and juicy sales – if only it could always be like that.

When I got home Tuesday, there was a brown envelope lying on the table from H.M. Revenue & Customs. Oh, bugger, I thought, what now? Any correspondence from them tends to be unwanted and unpleasant so I opened it with caution. But it wasn’t unpleasant or unwanted at all, no, it turns out I’ve paid too much tax and am owed a refund of £206. Very nice. If I did nothing, the letter informed me, I would get a cheque in about six weeks. However, if I applied online for it then I would receive it directly into my bank account within five days. Hmm, whichever one shall I choose.

Wednesday was a day of clearing the decks, of sorting out all the niggly bits and pieces that had to be done because I was hopeful of finally beginning book thirteen on Thursday. I also applied for my tax refund online. Jeez, they don’t like to make that too easy, but after going around in circles a couple of times, I finally figured it out so hopefully, I should have the money in my bank account by early next week.

Then Thursday I had to take my car to the mechanic to get two new tyres and for them to investigate where the scary rattle was coming from. I had thought it was coming from the engine, but I now felt it was coming from underneath me instead. Anyway, I left the car at the mechanics and walked home via the pharmacy to pick up my hayfever meds; a friend’s house to drop off a DVD I was lending her, and the shops.

By the time I got home, it was lunchtime and then it was gone two and I was thinking, we-e-e-ll, it’s too late to start writing now, perhaps I should leave it until tomorrow, but then something inside me slapped my lazy arse and ordered me into my chair. Start! The voice insisted. It doesn’t matter if you only write a few hundred words, just start!

So, I started, and it was like opening the floodgates. By the time the garage phoned at four to tell me my car was ready to be collected, I was very surprised to realise I had written 4900 words! That’s not bad going, even by my standards, and I was pleased with the words.

This is going to be book three in The Perennials Trilogy. Primarily Rose’s story, it will also feature Lili, Jake, and the rest of the gang and there are quite a few loose ends to tie up as it’s the final book. It’s also going to be a big book – I estimate anywhere between 150,000 to 175,000 words – and it’s booked in with Platform House Publishing to be formatted, have the cover made, all the promo images, plus the video, in early November, so, no pressure then. To non-writers that may sound like plenty of time to write a book, but it’s not, it’s really not. Especially not a book this size. But I keep reminding myself that I didn’t start writing Black Ice until mid-August last year, it was published on the 30th of November, and it was a 150,000-word novel with over forty pages of illustrations to source and insert – so, I’m hopeful. It can be done, so long as I knuckle down and write my fingers to the bone.

Not expecting her to agree, I asked Miss F if she wanted to walk down to the garage with me, and to my surprise, she said yes. Mind you, I did offer to buy her a Belgian bun from Greggs to eat in the Abbey Gardens on route by way of an incentive, or bribe – whichever worked.

It was a glorious afternoon and there were a lot of people milling about. It does still feel strange being in large crowds, even a little scary. Not much social distancing was going on and masks were only being worn in shops, not outside, as they once were. Everyone seems very relaxed about the whole pandemic now. Maybe it’s because the vaccination programme has been so successful, or maybe it’s because people can only be afraid for so long before normality takes over.

Anyway, I bought Miss F a bun and I bought myself an ice cream cone and tried to eat it as we walked towards the gardens. I’m not very good at eating when I’m walking – especially over uneven paving with a rather large ice cream rapidly melting and running down my sleeve!

We reached the park and sat on a bench, and I attempted to be ladylike with the ice cream. I think I must have failed though because when I got undressed that evening, I noticed big splotches of ice cream all around the hem of my jeans. I must say, it was probably one of the best ice cream cones I’d ever had. Gorgeous, proper, creamy vanilla ice cream, a chocolate flake, cream-filled wafer tube, plus a generous portion of lemon curd sauce, yum.

We sat for a while, people watching, and being watched in turn by a curious squirrel. I think he might have been hopeful of having some ice cream but no such luck, I ate it all, sorry Mr Squirrel.

As we walked up to the garage, Miss F asked how much it was going to cost. I thought about it for a moment, potentially two new tyres, labour, plus whatever the rattle was, and then VAT on top – I figured I’d be lucky to get away with £150 possibly more. She pulled a face, well, that’s your tax refund gone, she said.

Only one person was allowed in the garage at a time, so Miss F waited outside while I went in. The receptionist handed me an envelope containing the invoice and went to fetch the car key. Holding my breath, I slipped the invoice out and squinted at it. I didn’t have my glasses on, but I thought it said £62! No, it couldn’t be. Surely, it cost more than that.

Nope, it was £62. The spare tyre in the boot had never been used and was still in good condition, so they put that on. The best of the two old tyres coming off went into the boot as a spare and they put a new tyre on. And as for the rattle? The heat shield had come loose, and that was it! Yay, thank you universe for being kind to me for once.

I could feel the difference. As we drove home the ride felt smoother, less jouncy, which I guess was because of the new tyres.

We had more good news this week. Miss F finally heard from the university – she’s got the accommodation she wanted, so she was over the moon about that, and we’re now all set for our road trip oop north next week to tour the campus. We must take Covid tests before we’re allowed on the tour, which I’m not looking forward to. I’ve never had to do one before, but they look horrible. We then must submit our results to the government website. We’re going to do a test run first today. I do not want to get up there only to find the tests don’t work or we can’t submit the results for some reason.

Things seem to at last be going my way! All I need now is for the local council to pay me the discount for sole occupancy which I have retrospectively claimed for the last six months – I emailed them about it on the 28th of May, no reply, so I have emailed them again. If I haven’t heard anything by next Friday, I will see if I can telephone and speak to a real human being. I’m harder to ignore on the phone!

It would also be great to hear from my insurance company that the claim is finally sorted, and my policy excess is going to be refunded to me. I can’t believe a tiny claim for £255 for an incident that happened in January is taking so long to be settled. It’s not my company, it’s the insurance company of the Yodel delivery driver dragging their heels and trying to deny responsibility. Just man up and fess up. You had an accident and hit my car, it happens, that’s what we all pay insurance for and it’s not like it’s for thousands, so I can’t understand why it’s all taking so long.

Anyway, that is all my news for this week. As I said, not a bad week, in fact, quite a good one. Maybe the wheel of fortune has at last rolled and it’s my turn to be on top for a while. I’m at work Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, and then we’re off on our road trip, so my evenings are going to be busy preparing and packing ready for the off mid-morning Wednesday. We’re only staying one night and should be back late Thursday afternoon, but it’s going to be so great to get out of town for even a day or so.

When we get back, I have Friday off – but that will be taken up with laundry, housework and writing my blog because I’m at work Saturday and then I’m off for my holiday. Eleven glorious days of no work – just writing, reading, and seeing friends and family for multiple birthday shenanigans.

I Cannot Wait!

Have a great week everyone and wherever you are, stay safe and stay healthy.

Julia Blake

And So It Continues!

I’m stressed today, so-o-o stressed. I wasn’t stressed, well, no more than normal life levels of stress. I got up reasonably chipper, I’d slept okay for me, the sun was shining, and I had a fairly light day chore wise. Then an email dropped into my inbox from Green, my old energy supplier.

Regular readers will know all the problems I have been having with them. The ridiculously high bills, the lies, the falsification of information on my account, the ludicrous claims to be taking readings from mythical smart meters… Anyway, I thought it was all sorted. I had changed to Octopus Energy who seemed more honest and transparent in their dealings. I had given my final meter readings to both Green and Octopus and they had both agreed to use them. I had even had an email from Green stating that once the final bill had been collected of £88 my direct debit would be cancelled.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle when I ended up paying both for the same four-week period. Now, I expected Green to take the £88 direct debit and even though I didn’t think I had used that amount of energy during four weeks of hot weather when neither my heating nor my tumble drier went on, so would probably be in credit to them, I didn’t hold out much hope of getting a refund from them. You all know what they’ve been like – very good at taking money that doesn’t belong to them, not so good at paying it back – but I was prepared to just let it go because, to be honest, it wasn’t worth the stress and the angst trying to recover it.

I was surprised that Octopus had taken £91.50 on the same date, because that was the day I changed to them, so they hadn’t supplied me with any energy at all and I was confused as to what this was payment for? Anyway, I dashed off a quick email to Octopus asking what was going on and checked my account on Green. Octopus eventually answered ten days later – so much for their promises to answer emails within one day – and told me that the money taken was to put some credit in my account, but that if I wanted, I didn’t have to pay in July but could use that credit instead.

My account on Green showed what I expected – that I was in credit by £62. But, as I said, I didn’t expect to get that refunded anytime soon. I mean, I would ask for it, but given their history, I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

Energy-wise, things seemed to have at last got back onto an even keel. Until this morning. This morning I received an email from Green stating that I owed them another £60!

Here we go again, I thought, even though I’ve left them they are still trying it on. So, according to Green, during the period from the 18th of May to the 14th of June – which were mostly hot and sunny days so no heating and washing being dried outside – they are claiming that I chewed my way through the £62 credit on my account, the £88 they took from my account, plus this extra £60 they are demanding! £210 in energy consumed in a tiny, terraced house occupied by two people in the summer. I don’t think so!

I can’t understand how they keep coming up with these ridiculous claims, and when I looked on my account on their website guess what … all my meter readings have been removed again and the fabricated readings from this mythical smart meter have been added. All together now … I DO NOT HAVE A SMART METER!

I was fuming. Is this never going to end? Did I make a habit of kicking puppies in my previous life that I deserve all this crap in this one? Off went a scorching email to Green telling them they are not getting another penny from me and demanding to know how 125 units of gas and 1231 units of electricity used can equate to £210 worth of energy! It can’t. There is no way they can justify this. Looking back at my meter readings and previous bills, this usage is one-third of that used in December but is three times the price I was charged for that month.

How are they allowed to operate like this? I’m so fed up with it and I told them so, threatening that unless they go away and leave me alone, I will be contacting Offgem on my next day off – Wednesday – and will be contacting Martin Lewis. Hopefully, this will make them back down but if not, I am fully prepared to go through with my promise.

I also emailed Octopus and gave them the meter readings and usage for the period and asked them how much this amount of energy consumed should cost?

I don’t expect to hear anything until next week because, of course, it’s Saturday, and none of these companies operates on a Saturday – which is another bugbear. I’m expected to work weekends, so are millions of other people in the UK, so why can’t they? After all, it’s the weekends when all those people who work Monday to Friday will be trying to get hold of them.

I then had a sudden thought and contacted my bank. The direct debit to Green that they claimed was now cancelled, was it? No, my bank told me, it was still very much alive so that meant they could take a payment for ANY AMOUNT THEY CHOSE from my bank account at any time! I told the bank the situation and they immediately cancelled the direct debit and put a block on Green being able to take any more money from my account without my express permission – which I am never going to give. But this shows that yet again they lied to me. They sent me an email claiming the direct debit was now inactive when it was very much alive.

So, that’s my stomach all churny and upset with stress and yet more of my precious time off eaten into because people simply can’t do their jobs properly.

What else has happened this week? Well, work, of course, Monday and Tuesday, but again they were very quiet days and I know my pay packet at the end of July is going to be slim. Wednesday was a busy day with lots of running around. It’s my dad’s birthday today, Happy Birthday Dad, so I rushed uptown to get his birthday presents. I had been reliably informed by my mother that he needed more jeans – so, of course, Marks & Spencer was the only place to go to get them.

And that’s another thing that always mildly annoys me, the fact that men can buy trousers specifically tailored to their waist and leg measurements. If you are male and have a 29” leg, then you can buy waist measurements in that leg length ranging from 28” all the way up to 42” and sometimes beyond. Same if you have a 32” leg or a 36” and so on. This is blatantly unfair to us girls because we only get clothes in small, medium, or large, or generic “fit all” sizes such as 10, 12, 14, 16 etc. So, if you need a size 16 to fit around your womanly hips – you only have one choice of leg length – and usually, manufacturers make them to fit women of 5’6” and taller. It’s only the smaller sizes like tens that are tailored for short girls, so if you’re a tall size ten around the hips you’ll find that most jeans are way too short for you.

This is so stupid. Why don’t trouser and jean manufacturers make them in differing hip and leg sizes? And don’t tell us you can’t because you already do it for men! As I would say women proportionately buy more clothes than men it seems bizarre that we are so restricted on the sizes we can buy. I wonder how men would feel if they were faced with the choice of buying trousers that were several inches too short for them or had to buy them and then try to turn them up themselves at home! We’re not all ace at dressmaking, you know, despite being women, and sometimes depending on the cut of the trousers it can ruin the look if you must hack five inches off the bottom and turn them up. And besides, why should we have to? If I’ve paid a lot of money for a pair of trousers then I’ll be buggered if I’m going to whip out my needle and thread and start altering them. I shouldn’t have to.

Of course, one or two places do try. Marks & Spencer at least offer short, regular, and long lengths in their trousers and jeans, but there’s never enough of the short and long on the racks and even when there is, I have found that I often fall between those categories – the short is slightly too short and the medium is slightly too long. Next offer the same but it’s rare you find them in store but instead have to go through the whole rigmarole of ordering them and then going back to the store to collect them, and now you can’t even try them on in-store to see if they fit, instead, you have to buy them, take them home, try them on, look in the mirror, cry, take them off and trudge despondently back to the shop to get a refund and start the whole process again. So much wasted time simply to find a pair of trousers that fit!

Town was crowded and it still makes me very uneasy having that amount of people around me. I wonder if I’ll ever get back into the mindset of being happy in crowds. I needed to buy a few essentials at Waitrose and Wilks, then carried on decoupaging until Miss F telephoned me to go and collect her and her friend from lunch.

A couple of weeks ago her best friend, Miss T, treated Miss F to lunch at the pub where Miss T works part-time and Miss F wanted to return the favour, so had booked them a table for lunch on Wednesday at the restaurant where Miss F works. They caught the bus out, but I’d offered to go and collect them, so pulled on my shoes when the call came at 1:45 and drove the twenty minutes to the restaurant. The route is along country lanes and passes through several small villages and usually, other than the odd car, I don’t see any sign of life. I was taken aback, therefore, when I turned a corner to find people all over the road with cars pulled up onto the verges. Slowing, I watched as several people crossed the road to a nearby fenced-in field where there were many others all with cameras set up on tripods and binoculars hanging about their necks.

Twitchers, I thought! A rare bird of some kind must have been spotted in that field. Driving carefully, because seriously, these gormless idiots were all over the road and I didn’t want to hit one, I still only just avoided a large, red-faced man, who was panting and sweating his way along the roadside.

I reached the restaurant where the girls were waiting, they got in and we drove back. I told them to look out for the twitchers and then to my great amusement, I saw the same red-faced individual hurrying back the way he’d come because a police car had pulled up behind his car which was abandoned at a crazy angle in a driveway, and the officer was busy issuing him a ticket. I felt sorry for the poor bird, I mean, here he was, trying to live his life and raise a family, and suddenly all these idiots are taking pictures of him. I’d have flown away if I were the bird!

Back home, the girls switched to sleepover mode and PJs, snacks, drinks, and Netflix was the main criteria for the rest of their day, so I went back down into the basement and continued decoupaging until I ran out of glue. By that time, it was almost 6pm, I realised I was famished and that I’m too old for kneeling for long periods of time anymore, so I called it a day and cooked myself some dinner.

Thursday was taken up with buying more glue, finishing the decoupaging, wrapping my dad’s presents, ironing, and general pootling about.

Friday I was supposed to be visiting a friend for lunch, but sadly she had a very bad reaction from her second Corona jab so had to raincheck. So, instead, I began the varnishing on the decoupaged items. And I know you’re all dying to see how I’m doing so below are some photos. Bear in mind, they’re not finished yet, I still have many coats of varnish to apply, but it gives you a general idea of how it’s going. I’m quite pleased with how they’ve turned out so far.

Take one desk
One table
And one tray and lightly sand them down
start layering them with scraps of wallpaper
legs are fiddly
The tray is the hardest thing to do
When it’s covered start varnishing

I will post pictures of the finished items next week – if I get all the layers of varnish on.

As I wasn’t going to my friend’s, we were able to go to my parents in the morning, instead of when I got back, which was the original plan. Dad liked his presents from me. As well as the jeans I had also bought him a new, dark blue baseball cap to play golf in, and a bottle of artisan mild beer. Miss F had bought him a hamper with his bodyweight of dark chocolate in. I kid you not, this box was full of dark, delicious goodies all designed to give any dark chocolate lover chronic diabetes.

Whilst we were there, dad looked at the levels in my car. The oil was fine, the water needed a bit of a top-up, as did the screen wash, then he looked at my tyres and sucked in his breath. The front two are very worn, he told me. We looked at the spare tyre in the boot. It was brand new so could replace one of the front tyres and the best of them could become the spare, but that still left a new tyre to be purchased and put on before the 7th of July when we have a 300-mile round trip to visit Miss F’s university.

Bugger, I thought, but it is what it is. We came home and Miss F had some lunch before rushing off to catch the bus to work as she was on the 5pm to 10pm shift. I got another coat of varnish on, did some tidying up, and then cooked and ate my dinner. I decided to call around the next day to get quotes from the various tyre places in town and see what the best deal was. It shouldn’t be too bad, I thought, maybe £40. BUT later that evening when I went to collect Miss F from work, I noticed a mysterious loud rattling coming from the general direction of the engine. I turned the radio down and listened. Yep, a scary rattle. It wasn’t all the time but seemed to be when I cornered.

When I got to the restaurant and Miss F came out, I asked her to listen as I turned around in the car park. It’s a loud rattle, she said, clambering into the car, what do you think it is? Answer, I have no bloody idea, but knowing my luck and how this year has been going so far, it’s bound to be something expensive.

So now rather than simply take the car into a tyre replacement shop, I need to contact my mechanic and ask them to look at the car and they might as well do the tyres as well, but OF COURSE, they’re not open at the weekends so it will have to wait until Monday morning now.

Why is it all the major crises in my life happen on a Saturday when no bugger is open?!

Anyway, nowt I can do about it over the weekend but put it out of my head and pray it’s not too serious and not too expensive to fix.

This evening, Miss F and I are going to see a live performance put on by a fellow local author, actress and playwright. It’s table seating so we have a table for two booked and it starts at 7:30. I’ve read the book, which was adapted from the play, so I’ll be interested to see how the play compares. It’s called The Seventh Train and is based in train stations around East Anglia. I have very mixed feelings about being around strangers after so long in isolation, but it sounds like it’s been very well organised so it should be fine.

So, I need to go and apply another coat of varnish and make something for us to have for dinner before we go. Take care of yourselves, wherever you are, and I look forward to chatting with you again next week.

Julia Blake

No Blake Today!

Apologies to the dozen or so people who regularly read my blog, but I’m afraid there’s no A Little Bit of Blake today. There was going to be. I had every intention of sitting down and chatting with you right up until Saturday mid-afternoon, but then cold, hard reality hit, and I realised that I simply wasn’t going to have time.

It was an annoying day yesterday, but then the whole week has been annoying. Unusually, I had Monday off and spent the whole day cleaning the house from top to bottom including removing several huge cobwebs. Honestly, I know spiders are god’s creatures and all, but please, do they have to build palatial mansions in my house? I also tidied the garden, vacuumed, and washed my car, finished an arc book I’d been struggling to read for two weeks, caught up on all the laundry and ironing. And then I had to shower because doing all of that on the hottest day of the year so far was probably not the best of ideas.

Tuesday and Wednesday I was at work, and they were terrible days. The shop was like a ghost town – hardly anyone came in and as for sales, well, let’s just say divine intervention will be needed to get me through my target this week.

Thursday was a day of running about. I had to go to the bank to unblock my PIN so I could use it to buy Father’s Day presents and other shopping. I had correspondence to try and catch up with, an online shop to finish, and various other bits and pieces that filled my day. The weather was on the turn as well. The gloriously hot sunny skies were fading to gunship grey and a few spatters of rain could be felt.

If Thursday was busy, Friday was worse. We awoke to the sound of torrential rain slamming onto the roof and it didn’t stop all day! I had to collect our shopping at ten and that was no fun in the rain, but at least I managed to park under the click and collect shelter so was partially protected from the monsoon. Back home, shopping unpacked and sorted, Miss F and I then hammered down the road to visit one set of grandparents. We hadn’t been able to see them since Christmas 2019, so it was good to be able to chat with them, although we did keep our masks on. They are both elderly and vulnerable and although I’ve had both my jabs, I am aware I can still be a carrier, and of course, Miss F hasn’t had any jabs yet. So, masks and keeping our distance seemed sensible.

Back home, there was time for a quick lunch and then I had my usual virtual meet up with my local author group, which was fun. There was a lot of us this week and the time flew by until it was gone 3:30 and Miss F was poking her head around the door and pulling faces at me. It was time to put on my raincoat and get going.

Out into the rain, we went again. It was really belting it down now and the roads were treacherous as we drove to the village where my parents live. There is a bottle bank there, so I took the chance to offload some bottles and jars and then we had a thirty-minute visit with my parents and gave my dad his Father’s Day gifts.

Back in the car again, the skies were now black, and the rain was actually painful on my head. I’d given up on my hair – any hint of moisture and it frizzes into an uncontrollable knotty mess, and I end up looking like a Muppet. I had to get Miss F to work for five and it was now twenty to – no problem normally, but in these driving conditions?

The roads between my parents’ house and the restaurant where Miss F works are not great. All county lanes running between farmland, heavy rainfall tends to wash mud from the fields all over the road. Plus, the roads are not very well maintained and have ginormous potholes along the edges, which, when full of water become invisible and will merrily rip the shit out of your suspension. Stupidly, I decided to take a shortcut, completely forgetting how truly bad those roads were. At one point, the flood water was so deep I wasn’t sure the car would make it through. But he’s a sturdy chariot and apart from a few grumbles and splutters from the engine, Basil made it through every time. Glancing at the dash clock though, I realised we were pushing it and told Miss F to phone her work and advise them she might be five or so minutes late because of the flooded roads.

As it was, it was seven minutes past five when I dropped her off and then I had to drive home. By now, the rain was even worse. It was like driving underwater and I was reminded so much of the news footage you see of India in the monsoon season to the extent I half expected to see the bloated carcass of a cow go floating by.

Back home, I fed a screaming cat who’d obviously been out in the rain to perform her daily ablutions and was not happy about it at all, and with a huge sigh of relief sat down with a big plateful of Somerset Pork and roast potatoes and veg that I’d taken out of the freezer the night before. I’ve started watching The Witcher on Netflix, and although I’m enjoying it, I can’t help but think it’s a rehash of almost every fantasy series and book out there. There are elements of Game of Thrones and some case of outright plagiarism – I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard them referring to the Elves of Cintra – this is a novel by Terry Brooks which was published about ten years ago. Surely, they’re not allowed to breach copyright rules like that. But still, it’s enjoyable and I watched a couple of episodes whilst eating my dinner and then ironing Miss F’s work shirts for her next couple of shifts. And then it was 9:30 and time to get back in the car and risk the roads again to go and collect her from work. This is one thing I won’t miss when she’s gone to university, the constant running around for her and the amount of petrol I’m chewing through each week!

Saturday, I foolishly believed it would be a bit of a lighter day for me. Sure, there were beds to strip and remake, laundry to do, and I wanted to decoupage the desk, table, and tray that have been hanging around for ages. But that wouldn’t take me long and there would be all afternoon to sit and write my blog.

I’d forgotten, you see, I’d forgotten just what an arse achingly, fiddly, messy, and time-consuming task decoupaging is! I started at about ten, by three in the afternoon I’d only just finished the tray and realised I had to realign my priorities. I had stripped my bed off that morning, so obviously had to remake it, but Miss F’s hadn’t yet been done so I decided to leave it until Sunday. I briefly took a break and made my bed, and then started on the desk. Even though it’s much bigger than the tray it’s a lot easier because there is less fiddle. The desk has big surfaces which you can get up to speed on and it’s a square shape, but the tray is smaller and has handles with holes cut into them which you have to try and paste the scraps of wallpaper around.

Luckily, there was no one else in the house because the expletives floating up from the basement were inventive, to say the least. By the time I heard Miss F letting herself in the front door at 5:20 I’d managed to do over half the desk and was sick to the back teeth of it all. Deciding it was time to stop, I’d run out of PVA glue anyway, I cleared away and washed all the paste off my hands and got on with dinner.

I suppose, in theory, I could have written my blog last night, but my evenings are a bit sacred, and I like to spend them with Miss F. She’ll be off to university in September and although I’m sure she will be back for visits it won’t be the same, so I’m trying to make the most of our time together. And anyway, by the end of the day I’m done, all I want is a plateful of dinner and something meaningless on Netflix. I admire those authors who can write in the evenings because I can’t, my brain is like porridge and anything that came out of it wouldn’t be worth having.

And now it’s almost 9am on Sunday morning and I’m off to work in an hour so again I have run out of time and only managed to bash out this quick explanation as to why there is no blog this week. Sorry, again, but at least next week I will have before, during, and after pictures of my decoupage projects – hopefully – of course, I may have given up and built a bonfire with them.

Wherever you are in the world, Happy Father’s Day.

See you next week.

Julia Blake

Forget Me Not

I have been trying to remember if my memory has always been this bad, or, if – like a lot of other things – it’s been deteriorating for years but because it’s been so gradual, I’m only now noticing it. Because there’s no doubt about it, my memory is officially rubbish.

Of course, even in my younger days there were moments when I’d go to remember something and my brain would hold up its hands in despair and shrug – sorry, mate, no can do. But, overall, I used to have a pretty good memory.

Not anymore.

Now I struggle to remember even the most basic of things. I have to think about what month it is, let alone what day. I rely on the neighbours putting out their bins to know to put mine out and what colour bin it is this week. But isn’t that the same for everyone? Isn’t there always one person in the street who knows what day bin day is, and which colour bin should go out, and we all watch for their bin before dragging out our own. Heaven forbid they should ever forget – or worse, go away on holiday and rely on neighbours to put their bin out – we’d seriously all be lost.

I forget to text people back or think I already have. Emails sit in my inbox unanswered because I’ve forgotten all about them. I do try to keep up with birthdays by constantly checking my calendar because otherwise, I’d have no clue. And as for work … since my shifts have become flexible and irregular, I don’t have any idea what I’m doing. I even got into trouble last week because I rocked up to work for a 10:30am shift, only to find I was actually on a 9:30am shift and should have opened up the shop and a delivery van had been sitting on the doorstep for half an hour. Oopsie. Got into a spot of hot water about that one.

I have money off vouchers I forget to use and there’s always something missed off the shopping list. A zoom meeting is supposed to start at 1pm – it always starts at 1pm – but in my head, it’s 1:30pm so I miss the first thirty minutes, and so on and so on.

But last week I managed a monumental failure in the memory department and have concluded that it must be an age thing – or maybe an indication of how full my head is of other stuff – that there’s no room to remember anything else.

As I told you last week it’s my mum’s birthday this weekend – Happy Birthday, Mum. Hope you’re having a great time and enjoying your holiday – so I went into Next to buy her some clothes as she’d said that’s what she wanted. Unusually, I found a pair of linen trousers and a couple of tops that I liked and thought Mum would like too. I queued and the nice lady on the till rang them through.

That’ll be £60, she said, cash or card?

Card, I replied and slid my card into the machine. As it was over £45, I couldn’t use contactless payment.

Please enter your PIN, she said.

I stared at the card machine.

The card machine stared back.

It flashed the words – enter PIN now at me – rather aggressively I thought.

I stared a bit more in the vain hope that the numbers would magically float into my brain.

They did not.

Now relying on muscle memory, I punched in some numbers and hoped.

Incorrect PIN flashed the card machine.

I gulped.

Try again, urged the lady behind the till.

I tried again.

The card machine paused, then – you’re not Julia, are you? It sneered. You’ve stolen this card, haven’t you?

Now truly scared I looked at the nice lady.

I can’t remember my PIN, I admitted sheepishly. It’s been so long since I’ve used it, I just can’t remember it.

That’s okay, she reassured me. Take your card out and I can split this sale in two so you can pay using contactless.

I took the card out, she split the sales down and I tapped the card machine twice – vastly relieved when both transactions went through smoothly.

I then left the shop desperately trying to remember my PIN and by the time I reached my next port of call, Wilks, I thought I had it.

Now I’m a regular shopper in Wilks and the staff know me so I explained to the lady on the till what had happened, but that I was 99% sure I had remembered my PIN now.

Well, try once, she said, and if you haven’t then you can pay by contactless.

I tried.

I failed.

I paid by contactless and slunk home.

I couldn’t believe that I’d forgotten my PIN. I’ve had those four digits emblazoned in my skull for almost twenty years now. It was the one thing I honestly thought I would never forget. I always imagined that after my death, if they autopsied me, they would find those numbers etched into my brain, I was that sure of them.

But apparently, I wasn’t.

I went onto my banking website and found out how to order a PIN reminder. It will take three-four working days, it informed me. It was now Friday afternoon so I assumed the earliest I would get it was Wednesday, Thursday at the latest.

I had a rare weekend off and was busy all Saturday, but on Sunday decided I had to buy myself some new clothes. What with being unable to buy any during the various lockdowns plus the change in the weather, I needed some cooler clothing. So, mid-morning on Sunday I skipped across to Next again because when I’d bought Mum’s clothes, I had seen quite a few things I liked for myself.

I spent a happy twenty minutes browsing the racks before picking out two pairs of lightweight trousers, a shirt, and a couple of t-shirts.

I queued for ages. There was something wrong with the tills – the mainframe had crashed, the harried staff explained – someone was trying to fix it but there might be a bit of a wait. The queue grumbled good-naturedly, and a few comments were made about technology only being any good when it worked.

I never did get that statement. I mean, surely everything is only any good if it works.

Anyway, a few minutes later an assistant popped up and asked me to come to the children’s department as there was a till free that was working, so I followed her there and she rang up my items.

£78 she said and then saw the card in my hand. If you’d just like to pop your card in the machine and enter your PIN, she continued.

I stared at the card machine as my world slowly collapsed about me.

I’d completely forgotten that I’d forgotten my PIN.

Silently cursing my defected, stupid brain for putting me in such an awkward and embarrassing situation, I desperately scrambled about my memory cells praying for a last-minute intervention. Nope. If the PIN was in there somewhere it was flatly refusing to come out. There was nothing for it, I was going to have to fess up.

I’m so sorry, I said, I completely forgot that I’ve forgotten my PIN. I have ordered a reminder, but I haven’t got it yet.

That’s okay, she said. I can split the order down so you can pay contactless.

She split the order down.

I tapped the card to settle the first amount of £40.

Card not authorised; the machine smugly told me.

What?

I tried again.

Card not authorised, it told me again – and this time there was definitely an air of malice in the way it flashed the message.

What?!

It’s refusing my card, I admitted.

The girl gave me a look – you know, THAT look – the look that quite clearly says – now what kind of a game are you playing here? Is the card stolen, fraudulent, or do you just not have the money in your account to make the payment?

Do you think it might be because I’ve ordered a PIN reminder? I asked.

Maybe, she agreed. Do you have any other method of payment?

Not on me, I said.

Oh, she said. What would you like to do then?

What I would have liked to have done was hide my face in shame and crawl out of the shop, but I wanted the clothes. So, I phoned Miss F.

It wasn’t even yet midday on a Sunday, so she wasn’t best pleased with being woken up by her pathetic mother. She was even less pleased when I asked her if she could possibly get up, get dressed, and pop across to Next to pay for my clothes for me. Oh, and if she could do it as quick as possible that would be wonderful.

She called me an idiot – which I felt was fair enough, and to be honest, if our positions had been reversed, I would have called her far worse – but bless her, she agreed to come.

She’s coming, I told the sales assistant. She looked relieved and placed the clothes behind the till and served the next person in the queue.

So, there I was, midday in a hot and crowded clothes store, lurking in the children’s department and trying unsuccessfully to look as if I had a reason for doing so. It felt like ages but was only ten minutes before Miss F marched in and glared at me over her mask. We shuffled back to the till, she paid, and we then came home.

Thank you, I mumbled.

Idiot, she said again. You knew you’d forgotten your PIN so what were you doing trying to buy a shit ton of clothes?

I forgot.

You forgot you’d forgotten your PIN?

Yes.

She huffed in utter exasperation at having such a braindead ninny for a mother.

I’ll transfer the money over to your account the minute we get home, I promised.

Too damn right you will, came the reply.

I phoned the bank and explained to them what had happened.

Did you reject my card because I’ve requested a PIN reminder?

No, it came back not authorised because you’re only allowed to spend £130 via contactless payment before it will ask for chip and PIN on a transaction just to touch base that it is you – and not someone running amuck with your stolen debit card.

Oh, I said. So, it was just a coincidence that it happened then?

Yes, it was just a coincidence.

So, it could have happened to anyone?

There was a silence at the other end of the line, indicating that no, it only could have happened to complete idiots like me who forgot then PIN, then forgot they’d forgotten their PIN and merrily went shopping.

And that was me with no way of paying for anything until my PIN reminder turned up. But that’s okay, I thought. I pay for my grocery shopping online, I have a full tank of petrol, and there’s nothing else that can’t wait until I have use of my card again.

BUT. I had forgotten something.

I had forgotten that last week I picked out some new bedding for Miss F to take to university with her – a lovely thick mattress topper, a washable duvet, a pair of washable pillows, and two packs of pillow protectors. We get a very generous staff discount but must apply for a code for each purchase we make. I had put the bedding away in the warehouse with my name on it and applied for the code, then promptly forgot about it.

Until Monday.

On Monday, my boss told me the code had been received and as the shop had a stocktake on Thursday, he’d be grateful if I could buy the bedding before then.

Oh, bugger.

I was only at work Monday and Tuesday and then not again until Sunday.

When I collected Miss F from work that evening, I explained the predicament to her.

She sighed.

How much do you need?

Well, it’s £64 for all the bedding, but I was thinking I need to get all our plants for our front pots and hanging baskets.

Last year because I’d somehow managed to not only make spectacular pots and a hanging basket for our front garden but also kept them fed and watered, we were rewarded with the most gorgeous display of purple and cream petunias that had people stopping in the street to exclaim about them – and had netted me a Bury in Bloom certificate. Such acclaim had gone to my head, and I really, really wanted to win another certificate this year.

It wanted but a few weeks until the judges would be coming around, so I needed to get my plants in and established by then.

Both Miss F and I were working until 5pm on Tuesday, and she gets the bus home rather than hang about waiting for me. The plan was hatched that we would both get changed as soon as we got home, then we’d drive back to my work and collect the bedding, then we’d pop into Homebase opposite and see what plants they had. If we felt that we needed more, we could call into B&Q on the way home and see what they had.

I wanted to try and find the petunias we had last year because they were huge and gorgeous. We had plain cream ones, plain purple ones, and then purple ones that looked like someone had splattered them with cream.

Rather than Miss F spend her money and then me pay her back, I estimated roughly what I would be spending and transferred the money into her account Tuesday morning.

It all went smoothly, but sadly although we found plenty of petunias, and even cream and purple ones, there was no sight of the lovely, splattered effect ones. Still, we decided to stick to the purple and cream vibe and did buy some beautiful flowers.

I was glad we had made the effort to do everything Tuesday evening. Yes, it meant we ate a little later than normal but then we didn’t have to go anywhere Wednesday morning. We both had the day off and Miss F wanted to stay in bed, whilst I wanted to get up and pootle about the garden and pot up my plants.

I will share some pictures when they are more established and there’s something to see.

For Easter, my parents had given us some Tesco vouchers. For those of you who don’t know what they are, Tesco is one of the biggest supermarkets in the UK and every time you shop there you accumulate Clubcard points – you can also get them from buying petrol from them and by using their credit card. These points can then either be straight exchanged in-store or can be doubled in value and spent in restaurants and on days out and at tourist attractions. They can also be used in some hotels.

Anyway, my parents gave us quite a few vouchers – enough to do some serious damage with – but Miss F and I were uncertain what to spend them on. Then her university announced that they would be doing an open day after all for a small number of next year’s potential students. It would be on a first-come, first-served basis by a strict booking and timed slot system. Now, the university Miss F is going to is quite a distance from here. Google maps say it should only take three hours, but we’ve been to that part of the country on holiday, and it took us over nine hours because of roadworks and traffic. The last thing I wanted was the stress of being stuck in a tailback as we watched her timed tour slot come and go.

We checked out hotels local to the university and found a nice looking one only ten minutes from it. Did it have a twin-bedded room? It did. Was there availability for the night of the 7th? The tour is taking place on the 8th. There was. Most importantly, did it take Tesco vouchers? It did.

Nerves on edge, we waited until the booking slots for the tour opened and Miss F jumped onto the website and managed to book our tour for midday on the eighth. I had already spoken to my boss, and he had marked those two days as being part of my weekly days off. We then drove to my parents and Miss F and my mum went onto the Tesco website and managed to book us the room.

It’s perfect. Check-in isn’t until 2pm on the 7th, so we have time to take a leisurely drive up and stop for a light lunch on the way. We will check-in and then have the rest of the afternoon to wander around the local town and see where everything is and find a nice restaurant to have dinner in. The next morning, it’s a mere ten-minute drive from the hotel to the university so there won’t be the stress and panic of racing down a motorway trying to get there. As soon as the tour is over, we will head for home and either stop for something to eat on the way back or, if Google maps is right for once and it looks like only taking us three hours, press on for home and get something to eat when we get back.

I’m looking forward to it. This will be the first time either of us has been out of Bury for years, what with always working, having no money, and then, of course, the whole pandemic and lockdown situation, holidays and weekends away have been impossible.

Oh, and my PIN reminder turned up this morning. I looked at it. I know it’s my number and I recognise some of the numbers, but it doesn’t immediately make me cry out – why yes, that is my number, how can I possibly have forgotten it? I shall never forget it again – because I know the chances are I will probably forget it again. I shall have to write it down somewhere and yes, I know we’re not supposed to do that, but I shall disguise it well so only I know what it is.

That’s if I remember what I’ve disguised it as.

Anyway, that’s it for this week. Wherever you are in the world, I hope you are well and please stay safe, stay healthy.

Julia Blake

It’s Not Me, It’s You!

Good morning everyone. It’s shaping up to be a very sunny day here in Suffolk which will end a week of gorgeous hot sunny days – well, all except Friday afternoon and evening, when the sky turned black, the temperature plummeted, and we had torrential rain. Hopefully, the weekend will stay fine as I have the whole two days off and lots of laundry to dry outside – don’t want to use any energy drying it, do I.

Thank you to everyone who contacted me about my energy supplier and the whole stressful scenario. During the week, I received two emails. One from Look After My Bills saying how sorry they were I’d had such a bad experience and that they promised to remove Green Suppliers from the list of energy providers they would switch me to. Umm, no. I emailed them back – as per my very extensive email, I said – not only did I want nothing more to do with Green Suppliers, but I wished to cancel my account with LAMB as well. To be honest, I wrote, I have been very disappointed with the service they had provided. I was promised big savings which simply didn’t happen, they put me with Green so are partially responsible, plus their customer services were a joke. Following advice from Martin Lewis, I was switching to Octopus and a fixed rate deal to avoid suffering from the severe anxiety and stress that this situation had caused me. Plus, I would be filing a complaint against Green with Ofgem.

Twenty minutes later, back came a hasty email. Your account with us has been cancelled, it said. Goodbye and good luck. Yeah, thought the mention of Ofgem and Martin Lewis might make them ditch me super quick!

The other email was from Green Suppliers, and it made me snort with disbelief. We’re so sorry you’re leaving us, it said, is it something we’ve done?

Something you’ve done?!

How long do you have?

I was furious. It felt like they were royally taking the pee out of me, but reading the email again, I realised from the generalised and robotic tone that it was merely a standard response generated because they’ve been contacted by Octopus and informed that I wish to leave them. It was clear no one had bothered to look at my account and what was going on. I would be wasting my breath going back all guns blazing yet. Save my strength for when I need it.

We will investigate your account, the email continued, to see if we can allow you to go.

Allow me to go?!

Try stopping me.

Look, I want to break up and FYI, it’s not me, it’s you.

So, now we wait. I have a note of my last meter reading given on the 17th of May, and of course, I will be giving them a final meter reading. It will be interesting to see what final bill they come up with. I have a direct debit due to go to them on that day of £88. As the heating is now off and most washing is being line dried, I am expecting my energy consumption to be very low, so assume that £88 will be ample to cover the final few weeks of use plus clear up the so-called “debt” of £19 I allegedly still owe them.

I hope they will see sense and not try to hit me with another trumped-up, falsified bill because then I will have no choice but to file a complaint about them with Ofgem, plus send an email to Martin Lewis and any other consumer rights body I can find. The way they have treated me is appalling. I mean, what about if I were elderly and less able to fight back? I wonder how many vulnerable people they are stealing money from. It’s not right. There should be more control over these companies.

I have also received an email from Octopus today stating that the switchover is all going ahead as planned, so fingers crossed, and I will keep you all posted.

The beginning of the week was busy. I worked Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday and although the shop was busy, once again it was timewasters.

Thursday, I had my second jab first thing in the morning. The actual jabbing bit hurt more than it did the first time, and I bled, which surprised me. I was prepared for anything, but other than a funny taste in my mouth for a couple of days – like I’d been licking old pennies – I had no side effects at all. I spent the day clearing the decks and ticking yet more things off my to-do list. We chased up the Etsy seller about my watch again – did I tell you about that? Miss F bought me a lovely steampunk watch last Christmas to celebrate the launch of my fantasy steampunk retelling of Snow White, “Black Ice”. As we went straight into lockdown on Boxing Day, I didn’t get a chance to wear the watch and it wasn’t until I returned to work that I realised it didn’t work. I would set the time and it would tick for about ten minutes before stopping. Assuming the battery was possibly out of juice, I changed it for the spare battery it had come with. Nope, the same problem. So, we messaged the Etsy seller last Thursday and heard absolutely nothing. That’s about par for the course though, isn’t it?

So, this Thursday morning we messaged them again and this time they responded. So sorry, they said, a new batch of those watches are arriving in two weeks, and they would immediately despatch one to me as soon as they arrived, and they hoped that was okay. Yes, that’s fine, so long as one is sent. It’s annoying we had to chase them, but hopefully, that is sorted.

Talking of getting things sorted, we at last set up our new Sky router box and what a palaver that was! I had to take everything off the storage box in the corner and heave it out so we could get to the sockets and phone socket in the corner, and then it was a struggle getting it to work – because nothing is EVER straightforward and easy – but we managed it at last. Haven’t noticed any difference to Sky TV or the internet in general though.

Miss F has been given an old guitar as a present. It belonged to my dad, and I remember him being given the guitar as a birthday gift from my mother when I was ten or eleven, so about forty years ago – and it was second-hand then. Did he ever learn to play the guitar? Nope. So, the poor thing has been sitting in their loft ever since. Anyway, a couple of months ago I happened to mention to my parents that Miss F would love to learn to play the guitar, so when my parents came for lunch last week, they brought the guitar with them. Miss F was delighted with it.

One of my colleagues at work plays guitar in a group, so I took it to work and showed it to him. The strings are rusty, he advised, and need replacing, but other than that it’s in good condition. Nice guitar, certainly suitable for her to learn on. Heartened by this, we took it to our local music shop on Thursday. To replace the strings and the bridge, plus tune it will cost £25 they told us, so we left it with them. Miss F has also bought a case and a strap for it, a stand plus some picks. I hope she has more luck learning how to play it than my dad ever did.

Friday, I had to do a bit of judicious pruning of my silver birch tree as the branches were drooping so low, they were bashing me on the head plus blocking out a lot of light from the garden. It was a gorgeous morning, and it was nice being outside for a change. After that, we walked uptown as Miss F needed to get a passport photo taken. She needs two forms of photo ID before going to university and her old passport has expired so she decided to be proactive and get it renewed sooner rather than later. After all, as the world opens up a bit more for holidays, I guess there might be a delay in getting it through. Once her passport has been received, she can use the information on it to apply for her provisional driving licence and she’ll be sorted.

She made sure her hair was nice, and she was happy with her appearance, then we went to Sneezums – a shop in town that takes professional photos for passports and ID. But why is it, that no matter how great you look in real life, on any photo like this you end up looking like stunned livestock?

Miss F looked like a little ghost in the picture. A pale waif who hadn’t had a hot dinner in months.

But it’s done, and when we got back, she filed for her passport online.

Whilst we were uptown, we got a birthday present for my mum. She’s going to be away on holiday for her birthday, so we plan to see her next Wednesday and give it to her then. I also called into Next to enquire if I could bring back a top I’d bought the week before. When I first tried it on, I thought it fitted just fine, so I ripped the labels off, but then when I put it on to wear it, I realised that the buttons started halfway down my chest, so I was rather exposed. Yes, I was assured, so long as you have the tags and the receipt, we can exchange or refund.

Back home, I just had time to make a quick coffee before my fortnightly virtual chat with my local author group. And that, together with catching up with housework, was Friday done.

And now it’s Saturday again and I’m sitting here writing this to you. Miss F popped up to the music shop this morning and collected her newly strung guitar which certainly sounds a lot better than it did, and I finally transferred all my phone numbers off my old SIM onto my new one and completed a survey from my local council about residential parking.

I almost missed the survey, but the Chairman of the Residents Association sent around an email reminding everyone to fill it in because we all must have our say. Survey, I thought, what survey? Then I remembered a whole wedge of junk mail that had been pushed through the door Friday morning and went to look in the bin. Sure enough, stuck to fliers for skip hire, a local estate agent who apparently wants to buy my house, and a menu from a Chinese takeaway, there was the leaflet with a link to complete the survey online.

Parking is a bit of a joke in my hometown. We’re an old town – there’s been a settlement of some kind here since Anglo Saxon times – so it wasn’t designed with car parking in mind. There are a lot of historic homes crammed into a small area and there aren’t enough places for residents to park. The situation isn’t helped by the fact they keep building new blocks of flats and don’t provide enough parking spaces for the people who live in them – if they provide any – so we have people illegally parking in the spaces reserved for residents who have paid a lot of money for a permit to park there. And it can be very frustrating when someone has illegally parked in your paid-for bay, so you must park on double yellow lines and then you get a ticket but the person who stole your space doesn’t. Something must be done about it, but I’m not sure what.

I do have a general feeling of things coming to completion this week. It’s quite satisfying as all the outstanding jobs are ticked off one by one and I’m beginning to think I may be able to start writing again next week. Because I do need to begin book thirteen soon. It’s going to be a big book I know that already. Being the third book in The Perennials Trilogy I have a rough idea of how much story there is still left to tell – and all those loose ends must be tied up as it’s the last book. It’s not only going to take a lot longer to write than say, one of the Blackwood books, but it will take longer to edit, beta read, and format. I have already booked my slot with Platform House Publishing in November to get the cover and video made, plus the final formatting. I know November sounds like a long way away, but, considering we’re into June already and other than the title I have nothing down, it’s really not.

Oh well, I wrote and published Black Ice which is 150,000 words in three and a half months and that was a lot more complex with over forty pages of illustrations, so let’s hope this one is as cooperative.

Another thing I need to do is try and get another lodger, and I have one last job to do before I can put the room back up for let. That is to make the little desk more in keeping with the decor. I’ve decided to decoupage it as I already have everything I need to do that – and painting furniture white can be very hit and miss. At the same time, I promised Miss F I would decoupage her a wooden tray to take away to university with her, plus I have a small, outdoor table to make weatherproof.

I bought this table off Amazon as it was advertised as an outdoor table, but when it came it was more like those little fold-up tables people use to eat their dinner off in front of the TV. I stood it outside and, sure enough, we had a week of monsoonal rain at the end of which the whole veneer top had peeled away. So, I bought it back in and have dried it out thoroughly. Then I went to a local DIY store and tore off lots of wallpaper samples in the colours of my garden ready to decoupage it. Dozens of coats of clear yacht varnish will make it waterproof and at least it will be something unique.

So, I have three items to decoupage and figure I might as well do them all at the same time whilst I have the room in the empty basement to work on them without them being in the way. Of course, I will take pictures to share with you.

It’s now three o’clock and if I want to at least get them sanded down today, I had better go and do it now as I only have an hour and a half before I must fetch Miss F from work. On the way back, we’ll swing around and collect our shopping and then this evening, after dinner, we’ll sit down in front of Netflix and cut up all the images we need from the wallpaper samples I have collected ready for me to paste them on tomorrow. We’re also going to visit Miss F’s other grandparent’s tomorrow afternoon as well. We haven’t seen them since February 2020 so it will be wonderful to finally be able to visit with them.

And that will be my week over and done with. It’s been less stressful – a lot less stressful – than normal, for which I’m thankful. Who knows, maybe life is done being horrible to me for a while. I can only hope so.

Take care of yourselves and wherever you are in the world stay safe and stay happy.

Julie Blake

Turn Out That Light!

And another week has rolled by and here we are at the weekend again. The beginning of the week was taken up solely by work – my new shifts that don’t end until 6pm at the earliest fill the whole day, especially if I’m collecting shopping after work as I did on Monday. By the time I got home, unpacked, and put it all away, fed a bitterly complaining and starving cat (you could see the ribs, honestly), got changed, cooked eaten and cleared away my dinner, unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher, put on laundry, and checked all my social media notifications, it was 9:30pm and time to collect Miss F from work.

Tuesday wasn’t much better, in that a customer came in at five minutes before the end of my shift and then proceeded to waste 45 minutes of my time just faffing and farting about with no indication that they had any intention of buying something, and then they left. That’s 45 minutes of my time that I will not be paid for nor receive back at some future date. My company consider that if there is a customer, then you must stay no matter that you are technically off the clock or that you have shopping or a child to collect.

And that is something I want to ask all non-retail people. Why? Why do you do it? Why do you wander around shops at anti-social hours when the staff have been on their feet since early that morning and just want to go home? If you have a genuine need to buy something, fine, we’ll quite happily be late going home and so long as you ignore the rumbling of our stomachs because we’re staving hungry, we will help you if we get a sale out of it. But to amble about a shop with no purpose or goal but just because… that is selfish and unfair.

Okay, maybe you have nothing else to do and you hate your home and family so much you don’t want to go back there, and maybe you are so fed up with being trapped in the house due to various lockdowns that you are now desperate to be in a shop – any shop – and wander and touch and look and ask the staff stupid questions, but that doesn’t mean the sales consultant feels the same way.

If it’s a normal shop with normal opening times, at least the staff can ask you to leave because the shop is about to close, but many stores – mine included – can’t close until the last customer has left, so that’s you. Maybe think about that next time you have thirty minutes to kill so you wander into a shop at five minutes to seven. Maybe look for store opening times or ask a member of staff what time they close, rather than thinking you are so important that all the staff must work unpaid overtime to please you.

After all, would you like it? If you’ve been on your feet for ten solid hours, you had a quick sandwich at midday and it’s now almost seven, so you’re faint with hunger, but you still must turn around and cook a meal for yourself and maybe your family when you eventually get home. Maybe a child is standing in a dark and wet school car park waiting to be collected from an after-school club. There could be any number of reasons on top of simply wanting to go home on time why the sales staff want to close the shop and go home, and then you wander in – just looking. You waste everyone’s time, including your own, before ambling off without buying anything and the staff are left to mutter curses behind their masks and hurry to lock the door before any other braindead idiot can come in.

Sorry for the rant, but it does annoy me and everyone else who works in retail that people are so inconsiderate and rude and plain don’t think about the sales staff. I truly believe many don’t think we are human, that we have no needs or rights.

Anyhoo, my day was like that on Tuesday. Lots of idiots all “just looking” but not actually buying anything. They crowded into the shop, no social distancing, and most not wearing their masks correctly – OVER the nose, you plank, otherwise don’t bother! And then, five minutes before I was due to go home, I get a time-waster, so I don’t get home until almost seven. I must cook dinner, get changed, so we don’t sit down until almost eight to eat dinner.

Wednesday my parents came for lunch, so that was a very busy day that went by in a flash. It was lovely to see them, and we had a nice time, but I’d forgotten what it’s like preparing and cooking a meal that isn’t just a simple, everyday meal for two.

Thursday, I went to visit my favourite cousin for the first time since December 2019. It was amazing to see her, but it felt like no time at all had gone by since we last met. I spent a very pleasant morning with her – it’s her daughter’s birthday on Monday so I took over her present and we had a real catch up on all our news.

In the afternoon, I telephoned my local council. Now, I’ve never been able to claim a sole occupancy discount on my council tax because we’ve always had a lodger, but it suddenly occurred to me that we have been alone since the end of December so that’s five months discount I could have claimed. Could I claim retrospectively, I wondered. Turns out, yes, I can. The very nice lady gave me an email address to send my request to, so I did that. I’m not sure how much I should get back, but it will be somewhere in the region of £150 to £200 so definitely worth applying for. After all, if you don’t ask, you don’t get.

I have my second jab coming up on the 3rd of June and the NHS had emailed me a pre-jab form to complete. By the time I had run about the house finding all the various reference and NHS numbers they wanted, that took up a good thirty minutes. A few days earlier, I had received a text from the NHS inviting me to have my jab earlier than the 3rd, but to be honest, it’s only next week and I have already arranged my days off work around it – just in case, it makes me as ill as the first one did – so it hardly seems worth bothering. Also, I’ve heard the horror stories of people who have tried to bring their jab forward, only to find instead of having a local appointment they suddenly have a hundred-mile round trip for a jab that’s only a week earlier than their original appointment. Best leave be, I thought.

This and a few other chores filled my Thursday afternoon, including going through everything that Miss F already has for university and making a very comprehensive list of items still to buy, and that was the second day of my four days off done with.

Friday morning, I forced a reluctant Miss F to contact Amazon again. Regular followers will know the headache we’ve been having with them. My new tablet that was a Christmas present from Miss F suddenly stopped working at the beginning of May. We contacted customer services, no problem, they told us, we’ll send you a return label and as soon as the faulty product comes back to us, we’ll arrange a replacement. So, the tablet was photographed to prove the uncracked nature of the screen and was sent back using the Royal Mail track and trace service – thank heavens we did. Mind you, it did take about three increasingly irate chats with their customer services before they eventually sent us the pre-paid label, but finally, it was emailed to us and we posted the tablet back to them on the 7th of May.

Two weeks went by, no sign of a replacement tablet. We checked the parcel’s status on the Royal Mail website and could see that it had been received and signed for by someone at Amazon on the 9th of May. Back onto customer services we went. Yes, yes, they said, we are so sorry you are experiencing this problem. We will sort it out immediately for you. A week went by. Nothing. Back we went again, this time the tone of our “live chat” was definitely on the tetchy side. So sorry, they said, give us 48 hours and we will sort it out for you.

That was last Saturday. By Friday morning we had still heard nothing. I told Miss F we had to chase them again. I don’t want to, she said, I’m going to work this afternoon and I don’t want the stress and hassle that chasing them always is. You must, I told her because you’re going to work even earlier tomorrow, then I’m at work Sunday through to Wednesday so can’t do it until Thursday and that will be another week gone by.

So, reluctantly, she contacted them again. This time there was no mistaking the stroppiness in her messages. I am sick of this, she wrote, this has dragged on for almost a month. Where is the replacement tablet? You’ve had plenty of time to sort this out, and no, I won’t give you 48 hours to investigate it because last time I did that, no one contacted me for a week and we’re having to chase you up, yet again! I want it sorted and I want it sorted now!

Back and forth, the chat went. Her email address was given and checked. She took a picture of our track and trace receipt which clearly showed the parcel going to them on the 7th. Oh, so we are going to repair it for you, came back the reply. No, demanded Miss F, the time for repairing it is long gone. You promised us a replacement – I have screenshots of the conversation where she said this – so I want a replacement now!

Give us 1-2 hours, they begged, we just need that time to check our systems and sort it out. Okay, Miss F reluctantly conceded. So long as it is only 1-2 hours and that you don’t disappear for another week because I’m fed up with chasing you. We won’t disappear, they promised, 1-2 hours maximum and we’ll leave this chat thread open.

An hour went by, two hours, another forty-five minutes. Chase them, I told Miss F, so back onto the chat she went. Well? She asked. You asked for 1-2 hours and it’s now been two hours and forty-five minutes, what’s happening? Yes, yes, they said, so sorry, it took a little longer than we anticipated, but we can now assure you that the replacement is on its way and will be with you tomorrow.

So now, we wait. We’ve had a delivery notification that it will be coming today – I only hope it’s not during the twenty minutes it will take me to go and collect the shopping and get petrol, or the forty minutes this evening when I collect Miss F from work – so fingers crossed, a brand-new working tablet will be delivered and this whole frustrating and stressful issue will be resolved.

And that leads me to the other major headache in my life – my energy supplier. As you know, I thought it had been sorted. I had telephoned them and spoken to the oh so obliging Nicole, who agreed that I couldn’t possibly owe the amount they were claiming I did, that she could see my meter readings on there and not the made-up smart meter readings, and that she would change my direct debit back to what it was, get my statement reassessed and refund any credit to me.

Well… I received an email from them, my new statement was available to view, so off I trot to view it. To my stunned disbelief my meter readings had once again been deleted and a long list of fictional readings from this mythical smart meter I’m supposed to have had been reinstated. They are claiming I used £283 of energy in May, plus I’m still in debt to them by £19!!

This is unbelievable. As you can see by the attached screengrab according to them, I used twice as much energy in May as I did in December or January! Not possible. Yes, it’s been a chillier Spring than normal, but it’s not been as cold as December or January, plus with lockdown over both Miss F and I are back to work so are no longer in the house all day and every day. Fewer appliances and devices are being used. Besides, £283 on energy in one month for a two-up, two-down terraced house in the south of England with just two people living in it is a ridiculous amount. I have friends with four people in their family who live in massive five-bedroom houses who don’t spend that much!

Look at May! No way did we use twice as much energy as in the Winter!

Clearly, this company are standing by their decision to raid my bank account. This is the hill they are prepared to die on.

It’s unbelievably frustrating and frightening just how much power companies like this have. They have our bank details so can simply take what they want, and we usually can’t fight back. They can falsify information on our accounts and then lie about it. They can refuse to return our emails and suspend live chat whenever they feel like it. They act like gods.

Obviously, I have been looking into energy companies and the whole energy bill situation in detail over the past month, and all the experts seem to agree that things are set to get worse here in the UK. I don’t know if it’s because of Brexit, or Corona, or is a combination of the two, but it looks like energy prices across the board are due to take a massive hike.

I knew I needed to sort this out immediately. I sent an email to Look After My Bills – the energy switch company that put me with Green Suppliers Limited. I held nothing back. I told them everything that had happened and attached screengrabs of the ever-changing status of my account and the stupid amount of energy they are claiming I used in May. I told them that I do hold them partially responsible, after all, they are the ones who switched me to this company of liars and scam artists, I had no say in the matter. Also, when the whole ugly issue first arose, I did telephone them and ask them for help. Only to be fobbed off and told there was nothing they could do, and I had to talk to the supplier direct.

This email went off yesterday morning. I have yet to receive a reply. I wonder if I ever will.

Then I telephoned another energy company called Octopus. Now, during all my extensive research I kept coming back to this company. They were voted the number one energy supplier in two consecutive years by Which magazine – although that means nothing. Most people are not aware that the companies with the deepest pockets can buy this status on Which because it is not an impartial or unbiased organisation and is wholly up for sale to the highest bidder. But, a lot of other independent assessors have rated them, including a few people I know and trust.

Unlike Green Suppliers Limited, Octopus have a very user-friendly website and a helpline number that was answered within fifteen minutes, so we were off to a good start. I spoke to a lovely girl and told her my tale of woe. Horrified, she was quick to assure me that Octopus were not like that at all – that they would never treat a customer so badly – and that transparency and openness were how they preferred to operate.

Ah, but what about a fixed-rate deal? It seems likely that energy prices will be taking a massive leap upwards in the next couple of months and I wanted to protect myself, and my bank account. Absolutely, she replied, she could give me a quote based on what I had told her and my average energy consumption over the past year (not including May, obviously). I braced myself. I was prepared to pay more than my usual £88 per month just for peace of mind but didn’t want to go too high. The quote came back at £90 per month fixed for two years and renegotiable at any time by me. If I wanted to use purely renewable energy from sustainable sources, then it would be £91.12 per month. Aww, heck, for the sake of £1.12 per month let’s save the planet.

So, it’s arranged, I am leaving the dark side – Green Suppliers Limited and their shady practices – and joining the light side – the transparent and allegedly honest Octopus. Now the race is on, can they move me before Green get a chance to plunder my bank account again or make up yet more fabled smart meter readings? It takes approximately fourteen days, and my next meter reading won’t be due until the 17th of June. Of course, there will be a final bill to pay to Green, but I have taken a photo of the last meter reading I gave them on the 17th of May and will photograph the final reading I take for them. I’ve also told Miss F that we need to be very mindful of our energy consumption over the next few weeks as I don’t want to give a penny more to Green Suppliers than I absolutely must. It really will be a case of – Turn That Light Out!

I honestly don’t know how it’s going to go, but until I am out of their clutches and have cancelled the direct debit, there is nothing I can do but wait and hope that they won’t turn around and try to claim I have used another £283 worth of energy. Especially, as the warmer weather looks like it’s finally here and the heating is off permanently.

I will keep you posted.

And now it’s 11:30am on Saturday. It’s a beautiful day out there, the sun is shining, and little birds are chirping outside my window. Miss F has just left to catch the bus to work and informed me on the way out that my tablet is being delivered between 2:30pm and 5pm. Oh great, I must go and get petrol and collect the shopping between 3pm and 4pm – what’s the betting they try and deliver in the twenty minutes I’m gone! Miss F is working late tonight and won’t need picking up until 8pm. She’ll be famished after being on her feet since midday – I know I will be – so there will be a nice big dinner already cooked and in the hot trolly ready for when we get home.

The rest of my Saturday is busy – I must write the copytext for the video that’s being made for my novel The Forest ~ a tale of old magic ~ and email it to the wonderful James and Becky Wright over at Platform House Publishing. They really are incredible, and I already know the video will be amazing. For all your formatting, cover design, promotional images, interior illustrations, and videos check out their website and don’t forget there is a discount code for them on my website – link on the contacts page on here.

I have two beds to strip and remake, laundry to do, and Miss F’s work shirts to iron. Now she’s no longer at college she has picked up more shifts at the restaurant, which is great but does mean I struggle to keep her supplied with clean white shirts.

Speaking of Miss F, thank you to everyone who contacted me asking how she got on with her exam and expressing your disgust at the shabby and underhand way she and her fellow students were treated. The exam took place on Monday morning and she thinks she did okay – managed to scrape a pass – although I am confident, she probably did better than she thinks. It was unfair but at least now it is over and her time as a college student is finished.

Ahead of her lies a summer of fun and work as she picks up as many shifts as she can to get money for university, driving lessons, and ultimately a car. It’s a very exciting time for her.

Gosh, I have rambled on a lot more than I thought I would, and this blog is now simply enormous! Sorry about that, but doesn’t that always happen when we sit down to chat?

Anyway, take care of yourselves and wherever you are in the world and whatever you’re doing, stay safe and stay healthy.

Julia Blake

So that was my Holiday. Not.

I had a much-needed week off work this week, and many people commented how it would be nice for me to have a break. To rest after all the stresses of returning to a busy work environment and the trauma that life has been throwing my way lately. All I can say to that is – chance would be a fine thing.

I worked a double shift last weekend as the other part-timer was on holiday and the store is too busy now to be manned by only three people at the weekend. So, I worked a very long day Saturday and then all-day Sunday as well. Consequently, Monday I was already exhausted. But I had a to-do list that was bigger than my future, so I took a deep breath and psyched myself up to work my way through the whole list until it was done.

The first item was to contact my utility company and try to sort them out. There is no telephone number listed on their website so live chat it had to be and I duly typed my account number and name and told them what the issue was. Namely, that they had doubled my monthly payments and as a result, I was now in credit to them by £240. I would like my payments returned to a sensible level and a refund of the credit, please.

Four hours ticked by before I received a reply. They were very sorry I was experiencing difficulties, but they had looked at my account and could see that I was now in debt to them to the tune of £25. What?! I went back into my account and couldn’t believe what was there. Instead of the credit of £240 that had been showing on 18th April, it was now showing that as of 17th May I was in debt by £25. So, what they were trying to make me believe was that in one month I had chewed through the £240 credit, plus the £155 they took from my account, and another £25 on energy! Umm, I don’t bloody think so. I live in a tiny, terraced house in the UK and it’s Spring – not the Winter Palace in Russia in the depths of Winter. Looking at the bar graph, I could see they were claiming I had used more energy in one month than I had in the whole of the Winter!

Absolutely livid I went back to the live chat. Not possible, I furiously typed. I have never used over £400 of energy in one month. It was not possible, not even if I had the heating on full-blast 24/7 and switched on every single device we owned. Their calculations were wrong. In fact, from where I was sitting it looked very much like they were lying. Where had the £240 credit gone?

Another four hours ticked by before the reply came. Oh, it’s because we were using the readings from your smart meter instead of the meter readings you were giving us each month, and clearly, you are now saying they were wrong, so we’ve had to readjust your bill. What?! What bloody smart meter? I don’t have a smart meter! I used to have one about ten years ago, but it developed dementia and started claiming we were using 1.2 million pounds worth of energy in one day, then it started flashing error messages and then it died, so it was unplugged and slung in a drawer about eight years ago where it is still lying – so good luck getting any readings from that. And as for my actual gas and electricity meters, well, they are both a good twenty years old so certainly aren’t smart and don’t have Wi-Fi capabilities so again, have fun trying to get readings from them.

By this point, I was beyond angry. Luckily, I had taken screen grabs of my account showing the credit plus my meter reading history which clearly showed my meter readings duly given every single month – readings which exactly matched the readings jotted down in my notebook from where I had read them off the meters and written them down. Furiously – my typing at this point all over the place – I told them all this. You are lying! I stated. You have taken money from my bank account without my permission, you have falsified information on my account to justify stealing my money and clawing back my credit, and now you have invented some mythical smart meter to cover your arses. I want to speak to somebody higher up the food chain, please. Give me the organ grinder, because clearly, the monkey doesn’t know anything!

This exchange took all day because they were taking four to six hours to respond to my messages. I’m sorry, that’s not a “live chat” – that’s a séance.

Eventually, it got to 4pm and it was plain they were ignoring me. One of those headaches that feel as if a skewer is being shoved through your eye was brewing and I knew if I didn’t do something to lower my blood pressure it was going to develop into a full-blown migraine. The sun had come out, so I walked away from the situation and spent a couple of hours sweeping and tidying my garden and let the fresh air and the mindless monotony of the task blow away the cobwebs – as my gran used to say – before coming in to cook dinner. And that was Monday.

Tuesday. I did not have the mental energy to attempt to deal with the utility company again, and besides, sorting out the insurance claim was a top priority. Again, it wasn’t raining so I was able to go out onto my road and take lots of pictures to back up my claim. I took pictures of the shallow gateway that the stupid Yodel delivery guy attempted a three-point turn in with his enormous van. I took pictures of the locked gates at the top of the road to prove that no other vehicle could have entered the road from that end. I even hung out of my bedroom window and took pictures from above because it perfectly showed the narrowness of the road and the sheer stupidity of the man to even attempt to turn around there. It also demonstrated how his van would have blocked all access to the road so no other van could have hit my car because he was in the way.

Whilst I was hanging out of my window, a large white van bombed up the road at speed. Yep, it was him, making a delivery to the top of the road. I took lots of pictures showing how his van filled the road, and how there was barely enough space to insert a sheet of toilet paper between the sides of his van and the residents’ cars parked down both sides of the road. I got his number plate again and for good measure a picture of him for identification purposes.

I then sat down and typed a four-page witness statement of the incident giving all the facts, dates, and times, and of his return visits when I managed to get his number plate and a good look at him so could give a physical description.

This took all of Tuesday morning, then after lunch, I tackled Sky. Luckily, they had a customer helpline number which I called. It took 56 minutes for the call to be answered, so I filled in the time catching up with my reading. A lot more success with Sky. A very nice young girl dealt with me and things were arranged to our mutual satisfaction in that I’m now paying a lot less and receiving a lot more. Sky is very much like a needy boyfriend – you threaten to leave them, and they promise you the earth and swear they’ll change, only please don’t leave me!

I had a few other housework and correspondence chores to complete and that was Tuesday over and done with.

Now, we had planned to have my parents over for lunch on Wednesday. Due to lockdown and the pandemic, they haven’t been to ours for well over a year and we were all looking forward to it. However, life had other ideas and once again put a turd in my teakettle, or rather in Miss F’s.

After handing in her final large assignment two weeks ago and receiving a grade for it, she was officially signed off college and was legally no longer a student there. She has her conditional offer from her university and has applied for student accommodation and finance. All she needs now is to pass her exams, but, as they were cancelled back in February and instead several complex and involved assignments were set which her tutors were going to grade the students on, and Miss F has passed them all with merits and distinctions on most, she was confident of a high mark on those.

Anyway, as she is no longer going to college or spending all her days on assignments, Miss F has increased her weekly hours at her part-time job to twenty and on Monday caught the bus out to the restaurant to do a 5pm to 10pm shift. At 7ish she rang me to ask me to pick her up at 9:30pm as it was quieter than expected. Twenty minutes later she rang me again and asked me to pick her up immediately.

I knew straight away from the tone of her voice that something was very wrong, so I jumped in my car and made the twenty-minute journey to the restaurant. With a face like a wet weekend in Bognor, Miss F climbed into the car and poured out her tale of woe. When she had gone to the staff room to call me to ask me to collect her early, she had noticed several unread messages from her friend. Had she seen the message on the college Facebook page, her friend wanted to know. The theory exam that had been cancelled back in February was going ahead, after all, next Monday! All the assignments they had worked so hard on had all been for nothing because they weren’t going to be considered at all! They had one week to cram a year’s worth of revision into.

Miss F was so devastated by this news that she had a literal meltdown at work and her manager told her to go home.

Once we reached home, she checked the Facebook message for herself. Yep, it was true. City & Guilds in their infinite wisdom had decided that the students hadn’t had a shitty enough year and that they should sit the exam after all. This is appallingly unfair. The students simply haven’t had the quality of tuition to take this exam and Miss F was certain they would all fail. After all, they had spent the past two months working hard on the assignments that City & Guilds had insisted they do so hadn’t had time to revise, and anyway, had not known they needed to. Lessons have been sporadic and patchy this past year. What with the tutors not having the technical know-how or even the aptitude to successfully handle online teaching, the students barely attending college in real life and the fear and stress of being in a lockdown in a global pandemic caused to our young people, it is criminally unjust to put this extra pressure on them.

I am also questioning the legality of the whole proceedings. The students have done everything that City & Guilds demanded of them, and more. They have worked extremely hard to complete several very complex and difficult assignments and I can personally witness how many hours Miss F spent on them and the quality of work she produced. These assignments were all handed in and marked two weeks ago, the students were signed out, and legally are no longer a part of that college. To now come back and force them to take the exam after all – an exam they are not prepared for when they have left the mindset of revising and learning behind them – is beyond belief. To further kick them in the teeth by informing them that all their hard work over the past two months has been a monumental waste of time … it defies belief!

I was angry for her but wasn’t sure what I could do. On the advice of a friend, I did send an email to our local MP, Jo Churchill, advising her of the situation. I got an email back from her aide advising me that Jo was going to email City & Guilds to gain more insight on the situation, but I have heard nothing since so assume she has not done anything about it. I guess it was naïve of me to expect a politician to give a damn about the people in their constituency.

Because they are no longer students at the college, they can’t even take the exam there, instead, they have to take it at home with their laptop camera turned on – which adds even more to the stress.

Six days is barely enough time to cram all that revision in, but luckily Miss F’s work was very understanding and told her not to come back until she was comfortable, she could. Sadly, we also had to postpone my parents visit for a week just to give Miss F an extra day to revise.

Wednesday, I got up bright and early and determined to sort out the buggery bollicking situation with the utility company. I was sick of everyone’s shit and was in no mood to be messed about by them anymore. I wrote down all my facts and figures, looked up the details of the utility ombudsman and managed to get an actual proper telephone number for my energy company by emailing Martin Lewis. For non-UK people, Martin Lewis is a journalist and TV presenter who runs a website called Money Supermarket. He is a staunch advocate in defence of people being ripped off by companies and his name carries a lot of clout. If a company is outed on his website or his TV programme, then it means a lot of bad press for the company. So, I sent a little email and twenty minutes later back came a reply giving me the telephone number of my energy company and wishing me luck.

I settled down with a drink, my Kindle, and a notepad and pen. Thirty minutes later, the phone was answered, and I was talking to a real live person. I kept calm. I knew the person I was speaking to is not the person who runs the company, they are not the one making the rules, they know nothing about me or what has been done. Coolly and calmly, I told her I was extremely angry with how I’d been treated and that this was her company’s last chance to sort the matter out. That I had the ombudsman’s details in front of me and had already contacted Martin Lewis and would not hesitate to pass the matter over to them if I didn’t get satisfaction. But I assured her, I would not get angry with her because I knew it wasn’t her fault.

Fair enough said Nicole, how can I help you. I told her what had happened. When I told her that according to her company, I had used over £400 of energy in the past month, she laughed and enquired if I lived in Buckingham Palace. When I had finished explaining everything, she agreed that my monthly payments were too high so she would immediately put them back to the level they were, if that was all right with me. Also, she could see that I had given a meter reading online every single month – she couldn’t see any smart meter readings on my record – and she could see that the meters I had were old, general meters and certainly weren’t sending information directly to the company. She couldn’t understand why I’d been told that smart meter readings had been used and would get my bill reassessed and any monies outstanding to me would be recredited to my account.

This is why I always prefer to speak to a human being rather than try and communicate via email or live chat. If you are talking to someone it’s harder for them to fob you off and lie to you and much more gets done. Sure enough, less than an hour after hanging up from Nicole I received an email informing me that my direct debit had been changed back to £88 per month.

And that was Wednesday.

Thursday, I did do something for myself. I went out to lunch with a friend I hadn’t seen in months. It felt odd walking into a restaurant like normal, although the prices came as something of a shock. We shared a starter platter between us with a pot of fries and had a bottle of the house white. Then we had a dessert each. That was it and it came to £60. Lovely though it was, I don’t think I’ll be eating out too much in the future. When a small meal for two costs as much as a week’s grocery bill for two, it might be time to think carefully about what I spend my money on.

Friday morning, I had a lot of niggly chores to do, including having to chase after Amazon again about my tablet. They had promised that the moment it was scanned at the post office they would send me a replacement. It has been two weeks since I posted the faulty tablet back to them and no sign of the replacement so we tracked the parcel on the Royal Mail website and could see that it had been signed for on the 9th of May. So, back onto yet another customer live chat helpline we went. The operator we got seemed very confused by the whole situation so passed us onto someone else who also appeared bewildered. Replacement? What replacement is that? Anyway, they told us they would need at least 48 hours to investigate it and would get back to us.

Why does everything take such a long time? Life would run more smoothly and be a lot more pleasant if people just did their bloody job and got on with things. Why is it always up to us the customer to chase and chase and constantly enquire? Our time is precious, and most people don’t have enough of it to be always wasting it chasing after company’s and begging them to simply DO THEIR JOB! Come on Amazon, you promised me a replacement. The damn thing is faulty. It’s your product so there are no issues dealing with a third party. Simply do what you said you were going to do two weeks ago and send me another tablet.

Friday afternoon I did spend a very pleasant few hours chatting with my local author group via zoom. Miss F’s shift had been cancelled – whether that was due to low bookings or them simply not wanting her back until after her exam, I don’t know – but that meant I didn’t have to drive out late in the evening to collect her, so I cooked a lovely roast chicken dinner and opened the wine.

And now it’s the weekend and I have barely two days left of my holiday. Well, I say holiday, but as you can see, it’s not been much of a break for me. It’s coming up to 11am on Saturday and I’m sitting here chatting with you and beginning to think longingly about coffee. The rest of the weekend is already fully booked with things to be done. I have a book I need to start beta reading, there are beds to be stripped and laundry to be done. I want to have a go at making a lactose free cherry cake as Miss F has been seriously craving some. I also have some niggly author chores that I’d like to get done before returning to work.

Next week I am back to work for two long shifts on Monday and Tuesday. There will be shopping to collect after work on Monday and my parents will be coming to lunch on Wednesday. On Thursday I am visiting my favourite cousin whom I haven’t seen since December 2019, which I am hugely looking forward to, and then, oh yes, then, I have two days off on Friday and Saturday before returning to work on Sunday.

But there will be my blog to write. Plus, I need to sort the desk out in the basement ready to advertise the room again in June, and I’m sure there will be the usual round of housework, cooking, and laundry to be done.

Maybe one day I will have a day with nothing at all to do. Umm, maybe not.

Take care everyone and I look forward to chatting again next week.

Julia Blake

More Ranting!

Well, moments after I posted my blog last week there was a colossal bang from the kitchen! I ran through to find disgusting mouldy water flooding out from under the washing machine. The machine was officially dead. Luckily, it had managed to wash all the bedding and underwear for the week, so I wasn’t left trying to sort that out, but I still had to pay a quick visit to Mum and drop a couple of loads off for her to do – thanks Mum.

I hadn’t realised how many times the washing machine went on during the week until it died and over the four days before my new one was due to be delivered, the laundry baskets grew scarily full. Anyway, Thursday dawned, and Argos texted me again to let me know it would be delivered between 3:45pm and 7pm. Great, bang on dinner time. Book twelve was also being launched on Thursday so it was shaping up to be a busy day.

About 5pm a huge lorry pulled into our road. Thankfully, it made no attempt to try and get any further in, otherwise it may have had problems getting out. A masked guy rang the bell. Luckily, he looked nice and burly and like he’d had his Weetabix that morning, but he was alone – which was concerning.

I showed him where the machine was located. He pulled a face behind his mask but shrugged good naturedly and went to get his mate who thankfully was still in the lorry. His mate came in, also a fine strapping lad. He looked around the kitchen and frowned.

HIM: Did you buy your last machine from Argos?

ME:  Yes.

HIM: I thought so, I was the one who delivered it. I remember lifting out the tumble drier last time!

Anyway, bless them, they heaved the drier out, unplugged the washing machine, slid the drier back, and started to pull the washing machine out. There was a thunk and a crunch, and as they lifted it out a big concrete block was left behind. It was broken into several big chunks with smaller bits lying all around it.

My washing machine was indeed very, very broken they informed me with knowledgeable shakes of their head. Just as well I didn’t waste my money calling in the repair man. Whilst they took the old machine out and brought the new one in, I took the opportunity to quickly sweep up and wash the disgusting floor. I also found one of those cap things that you put laundry liquid in that had gone down the back of the machine. Now, these caps have recently become rarer than rocking horse poop. Once, you got one with every bottle of laundry liquid but over the last couple of years they have started rationing us in that only one in every four bottles will have one – I guess the reasoning being to force you to horde your precious cap and constantly reuse it.

I remember last year I went to buy more laundry liquid and I needed a cap because mine had cracked through overuse. Not a single bottle of the liquid I wanted had a cap on it. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t want to use a different liquid, neither did I want to pour the liquid directly into the drawer because that makes the drawer disgustingly manky. I looked along the shelves, and noticed that a different brand of laundry liquid had a cap on one of its bottles, hmm… I bet you’re wondering if I did, well, I’m ashamed to admit, yes, I did. That cap disappeared up my sleeve in a sleight of hand the Magicians Circle would have been proud of and I innocently took a bottle of my normal liquid, sans cap, to the till to pay for it. So, discovering one was a find akin to buried treasure and I fell on it with a cry of joy. It has been washed and put safely away as a back up when my current cap finally dies.

I’m also happy to report that the new washing machine works just fine, it’s quiet and doesn’t move, which is great. But I have a new problem in that the outside drain that the kitchen sink, the dishwasher, and the washing machine empty into is completely blocked. It’s flooding the path every time the appliances are used with soapy dirty water which is defacing the slate tiles. I’ve tried plunging it with a long, study stick but it seriously feels like cement has been poured down there and left to harden. I even bought a very expensive bottle of drain un-blocker – guaranteed to unclog even the most stubborn drain – well, I’m sorry, Mr Muscle, but I want my money back as it did absolutely nothing to help. I’ve called upon expert help – aka Dad.

Anyway, when Miss F read last week’s blog, she came through pulling a face and said – “You didn’t tell them about your tablet, Mum.” And she was right, in the long list of woes that I ranted about last week, I completely forgot to include the sorry tale about my tablet.

As regular readers and followers of me on Instagram will know, my wonderful daughter bought me a very expensive Kindle Fire Tablet for Christmas. It’s beautiful, has a large memory, and a fantastic battery capacity. It has some annoying little glitches including a very aggressive autocorrect that is convinced it’s right all the time, and it’s a little slow downloading my emails, but apart from that it’s great, or rather, it was great.

A couple of weeks ago, it suddenly and rather rudely, switched itself off mid-post. Annoyed, I tried to switch it back on. No go. Had the battery drained, I wondered, and plugged it in. I left it a few minutes and tried again, nope, black screen with the Amazon logo continuously flashing. I waited until the IT Department got out of bed and showed it to her. Let it drain completely of power, she advised, then charge it up. Sometimes tablets do this, but that should sort it. I left it alone for days, then tried charging it up. Nope. Black screen. Flashing Amazon logo. We tried connecting it to my laptop. What tablet? Asked my laptop. I can’t see anything there.

A bit upset, after all it was her Christmas present to me and was not cheap, Miss F contacted Amazon customer services. After a bit of toing and froing they informed us, they would repair it and would email me a return label within a few hours. This was Wednesday evening, by Friday morning we still hadn’t heard anything so back onto customer services we had to go. How may I help you? We explained the issue, they went to find the previous messages then came back and tried to convince us that we had said the screen was badly cracked. Umm, no, the tablet is in perfect condition, it just won’t switch on. Oh, they said. Are we sure the screen isn’t cracked? Yes, absolutely sure, the screen is black apart from the Amazon logo that continuously flashes.

At this information, customer services went very quiet for a few moments, then informed us that they would replace it, not even attempt to repair it. Ah ha, I thought, this is a common glitch then that you know isn’t fixable. We will email you a return label, they promised. Will you? We asked. Will you really? Because you said that last time and yet, three days later, here we are again. Yes, yes, they promised, it will be with you soon. True to their word, an hour later, yes it was. So, I printed it out, found the original box and wrapped the tablet in lots of bubble wrap, but I made sure we took several photos first showing the perfect and uncracked state of the screen – just in case. I then took it to the post office and sent it tracked and traced.

Now, they had assured us that the moment the post office scanned the label, a replacement would be sent to us. But here we are, a week later, and still no sign of it. I only hope we don’t have to chase up customer services again because it all takes time, precious time that I don’t have an endless source of. Plus, I really need my tablet. I’m managing with my old one but it’s slow and glitchy, and has the memory capacity of a gnat to the extent that I now leave it on charge 24/7 yet it will still abruptly close down with no warning.

This week has been a busy one as well because I launched my twelfth book – Kiss & Tell, book four of the Blackwood Family Saga. For once, Amazon behaved themselves, the book was published exactly when it was supposed to, and the paperback linked like a dream to the eBook version. The first book, Lost & Found, ran its free promotion exactly when scheduled, and book two Fixtures & Fittings was on for 99p at the same time.

It is a total experiment offering one of my books for free and one for 99p. It’s too soon yet to tell if it’s one that will bear fruit, people certainly downloaded the book, but it remains to be seen if it will result in an increase in reviews and purchases of the other books in the series. It did mean that Lost & Found shot up the Amazon rankings, as I’m writing this it’s sitting at no 16 in family drama and no 80 in romantic suspense. Considering how huge a category that is it’s a bit of a result. Being in the top 100 of its category also means that Amazon will start promoting the book as well, so, there’s that.

I’m working all weekend to cover the other part-timer who is on holiday this week. I’m expecting to be busy, but as I’m already through my target I can relax and count every extra sale as a cherry on top. This is why I’m sitting here writing my blog on a Friday afternoon instead of on a Saturday, and I must make sure I schedule it for Sunday morning and not Saturday morning by mistake. Once the weekend has been survived, then I have a whole week off. I had planned to start writing book thirteen, but the week has already quickly filled up with other things, so I have a suspicion that not much writing will happen.

If the weather is fine, there is a lot to do in the garden. The weather so far has been appalling. When I remember what it was like this time last year, long hot days spent pottering around the garden painting and tidying it up and then compare it to now when I’m still having to light a fire in the evening because it’s so cold. We have my parents coming for lunch on Wednesday and it will be the first time they’ve properly been in our house for over a year, so there’s shopping and prepping for that to do. Thursday I’m out for lunch with a friend whom I haven’t seen since last November. It will be nice to go into a restaurant again – I’ll need to try and remember how to eat in polite society. Friday afternoon is my zoom meeting with my local author group, and there will be the usual housework and laundry etc. So, as you can see, time to write is rapidly diminishing.

We have been without a lodger since the beginning of January and as we are now allowed into other people’s houses, I am beginning to think about advertising for a new one. The room is basically ready, I just need to dust and hoover. Also, I moved the little desk that I wasn’t using from the corner of my bedroom down to the basement. One thing everyone who comes to view the room seems to ask is – can I put a desk down here – and I suppose that’s only to be expected in these days of people homeworking and all having laptops. I think what with having a nice desk and a proper office chair, plus the TV we put in the room, it will increase the rooms desirability. But the desk is currently a very pretty shade of green which is completely wrong for the room, so it needs to be sanded down and repainted to match. So, there’s that to do as well.

I also need to repaint the bench that I bought last year for the garden. It’s a lovely big bench and very comfortable, but the paint job on it was awful and less than a year lately the white paint has almost completely rubbed away. I’m going to have a go at shabby chic and have the same pale blue I painted the fences with to use. It needs a cushion, but when I looked them up online, I was shocked at how expensive a simple bench cushion was with even the cheapest being over £70. For a piece of foam with a cover on it? I think not, there must be a cheaper way of doing it. I had a look on Amazon, I could get a piece of upholstery foam the exact size for £10, then found a pale blue gingham waterproof garden tablecloth which was twice the size of the foam. Surely, I can make that into a cover and because it’s waterproof and mould proof it can be left out all the time. At a total cost of under £30 I’m hoping it will work, but that’s something else on the list for next week.

As you can see, the days are rapidly filling up.

And now, I must go. There are posts to make, a book review to post, and a large late lunch to make because Miss F must catch the 4:30pm bus to work and will need to eat before she goes. Life is so busy.

Anyway, take care of yourselves and I look forward to chatting next week and telling you all how my week went.

Julia Blake

These Things Are Sent to Annoy You!

Firstly, apologies for not blogging last week. Let’s just say intentions were good, but time and motivation were severely lacking. Now my shifts have changed and some weeks I’m working Thursday, Friday, Saturday, it means I don’t have time to write my blog on a Saturday as I used to, and Wednesday feels too early in the week to even think about writing it, and how can I chat about the happenings in my week when the week has barely started?

Anyway, I’m here now, and after the couple of weeks I’ve had, boy do I feel a nice big rant a-brewing, so grab your Sunday beverage of choice and fasten your seatbelt.

Okay, so as you know I returned to work on the 15th of April, and oh my goodness, went straight back into madness. No gradual easing in, no dipping of the toe in the water. Nope. Waterbomb straight into the deep end. It was manic. Like Boxing Day and New Year’s Day sales, all rolled into one. I seriously don’t know where the people came from, but came they did, all with money they were desperate to spend. Which is good, I guess, both for the company and my pay packet, but a little spacing between the hoards would have been nice.

I’ve found it quite hard going back and I’m stressed and struggling to deal with the sheer people-ness of it. Going from living quiet days at home with only Miss F for company, to suddenly being plunged into having to put my people face on for eight hours at a time has been quite a culture shock. Also, there’s the whole charging around aspect again, as I dash from work and out to collect Miss F from her work, then home and trying to sort and cook dinner whilst unloading the dishwasher, fetching in washing, feeding a whinging cat, and trying to lay and light a fire, before collapsing on the sofa at seven with a plate of dinner and no intention of moving, or even thinking about moving, until I drag my weary carcass up to bed – now do you understand why I didn’t blog last week?

I know millions of people are in the same boat, and I bet I’m not the only one thinking wistfully of the gently paced days of lockdown. Still, it is what it is, so one must adapt and adjust. I’m working today and Monday, then I have four days off, then I’m working all weekend because the other part-timer is on holiday and then I’m on holiday. Yippee. A whole seven days off. So much planned, but I already know that the week will whizz by like a gazelle on speed.

Now, what’s been happening? Well, firstly, the insurance issue has raised its ugly head again. Yep, I thought that was all done and dusted as well, but nope. I received a letter from the underwriters, an identical letter, and a claim form to complete as the one I submitted at the beginning of February, stating that I needed to complete it to process my claim.

Huh? I thought, what are they drivelling on about? This is all done, finished, car fixed and paid for. So, I wrote that on the letter, stuck it in the pre-paid envelope and posted it back. Then thought no more of it until I got home from work on Thursday evening and Miss F said someone from the insurance company had left a message saying that they’d been trying to get in touch with me and that if I didn’t give them the information they needed, then my claim would be voided. Huh?! What?! Checking my phone, I saw that a text had come from them between my lunch break and me getting home. There was a link they wanted me to click on. Well, I don’t have a smartphone so good luck with that. I decided to call them in the morning. I generally find in situations like this it’s better to speak to an actual human being.

Friday was busy, but I managed to give them a call back on the number left on the answerphone and got through to Rory, who, judging by the noises off stage, was still working from home. Yes, I had already completed the form, he patiently explained, but I had completed it for the brokers, and they hadn’t passed it onto them, the underwriters. Well, why not? I demanded. Surely when they passed my case over to them, the brokers had included all information pertaining to it? He sighed, you’d think, wouldn’t you, was his comment, but no, it had to be done again so they could go after the Yodel delivery driver’s insurance company with as much information as possible. Apparently, the other company are being arses about it. My neighbour, who was a witness, didn’t actually SEE the collision. He answered the door and took the delivery, closed the door, thirty seconds later heard the big bang, and ran to the window to see the van reversing down the road at speed with me in hot pursuit, and the wing of my car hanging off. But the company are claiming that in the split seconds in-between another very large white van could have come from nowhere and smashed into the side of my car and then, just as mysteriously, disappeared.

Absolute horse crap!

So, Rory is going to send me another form which I must complete with as much detailed information as possible. Oh, I’ll give them details all right. I asked if I could use a separate page and was told I could use as many pages as I deemed necessary and draw as many pictures and take as many photos as possible to illustrate why I believe the accident was in no way my fault, and why I believe this toerag of a man should cough up the £250 it cost to mend my car. Talk about being cheap. You were careless mate; you damaged someone else’s property. Be a man about it, fess up to what you did, agree to let your insurance pay out and then we can all move on! Jeez, why do some people have to be like this? Isn’t there enough stress and angst in the world without this?

I asked Rory what the worst-case scenario was if the driver refuses to admit fault and his insurance company won’t pay. Well, it seems I won’t get the £100 policy excess back, which won’t be the end of the world, and I will lose my no claims bonus status, which is appalling. I was in my house, my car was parked, in what fair or sane world can blame be pinned on me?! Life is all buggery bollocks sometimes.

Next thing on the crapola list – I’ve had to buy a new washing machine. Yes, my old one was about seven or eight years old, and I know they don’t make things to last anymore, but it’s yet one more niggling annoyance. Over the past month, my washing machine has been getting noisier and noisier. During the lockdown, I couldn’t do much about it, and it was still functioning, just … being a bit vocal about it. But now it sounds like a pneumatic drill is being used in the kitchen and when it hits the spin cycle the Challenger space shuttle taking off is quiet in comparison. My previous machine did the same thing, so I called in my appliance fixer guy. He looked at it, sucked in the air over his teeth, and told me it was the restraining bolts that hold the drum in place. Over the years and constant use, they become compromised until finally they snap, and nothing is restraining the drum, hence the noise. Once they go, he said, there is nothing to be done but replace the whole machine. He then packed up his box of toys, charged me a call-out fee and left.

So, when this machine began to do the same thing, I knew what it was. I also knew there was no point wasting my money on a call-out fee so I’ve been on the Argos website and ordered a new washing machine and it will be here next Thursday. Until then, we’ll need to wear noise-cancelling headphones every time I put a load on. The last time I bought a washing machine from Argos, they were offering a disposal and installation package for £50 which I thought wasn’t bad, so I took advantage of it. I do remember my dear old dad’s penny-pinching soul being outraged that I was paying £50 for someone to take my washing machine away. But when I asked if he was going to come and do it, there was silence down the phone. Guessing that’s a no then, dad.

I was hopeful they were offering the same service and was even prepared for it to cost more, after all, it had been eight years. But no, still £50, so I clicked on the button and added it to my order. Now, my washing machine is in an awkward position, so I am hoping that the delivery team who come this time are as obliging as the last ones. The machine is located in a cupboard in a narrow passageway so getting it out is difficult. I mean, washing machines aren’t exactly light and having to walk one out of a very confining space and manhandle it out of the passageway is hard enough. Then there is the whole issue of unplugging it, unhooking it from the pipes behind it and installing the new one. Above the washing machine is a sturdy shelf on which sits the tumble drier. Both machines are plugged in behind the drier, so it must be eased forward enough to get an arm in, and the washing machine plug pulled out and dropped down through the hole in the shelf. And then, of course, when installing the new one, the drier has to be eased forward again, and the washing machine plug fed up through the hole – all whilst holding a drier on your chest. Are you beginning to understand why I think it’s worth £50 of anyone’s money? They will also test the machine and take away all the packaging. Why would you not say yes to this service?

All in all, the whole situation was a niggle, but not a particularly annoying one, unlike the ongoing one I have with my utility supplier. A couple of months ago, they emailed me informing me that they were putting my monthly direct debit up from £88 to £155! A huge jump and an unnecessary one. Yes, I was in debt to them by about £150, but we were coming out of winter and I’m always in debt at that time of year. The debt is then cleared in the spring, and credit builds up in the account over the summer to help carry me through the winter which is the most expensive time for gas and electricity. Every utility company I’ve ever been with has understood this but not Green Supplier. Instead, I get a somewhat hysterical email acting as if I were thousands of pounds in debt with no way of ever clearing it.

I immediately contacted them through the chat option on their website – couldn’t find a customer helpline number, my preferred mode of communication – and explained the situation to them. Not only are we coming into warmer weather, I typed, when the heating is going on less frequently, but with drier weather, I wouldn’t be using the tumble drier as much. Nights were drawing out, so lights were going on later. Plus, as the lockdown was over and we had returned to work, we were no longer home all day using devices. I received a somewhat confusing email back stating that all direct debits were calculated to ensure their customers never ended up in debt, but they would take on board my comments and investigate it. I heard nothing further, but when my next direct debit came out, I checked my account and, sure enough, I was now over £100 in credit with them.

I assumed that the company would see this, acknowledge that I had been correct, and keep my direct debit at its normal rate. That was very stupid of me. Upon checking my bank statement earlier in the week, I found to my horror that they had whipped £155 out, so now I’m almost £300 in credit with them. I’m annoyed about this, why didn’t they listen to me? I can’t afford to be paying so much each month unnecessarily, and it means they will owe me hundreds of pounds, and yes, I know I will probably get that back, but that could take weeks, and now I have to go through the whole rigmarole of contacting them again, explaining the whole situation again, and hoping this time I will connect with someone whose brains aren’t located in their anal region and will LISTEN to me and see the logic in what I’m saying. My contract with this company expires in August, I have no plans to stay with them because of this, so I want this sorted now. The last thing I want is to be chasing a company I’m no longer with for money they owe me – I have a feeling that’s a chase I might not win.

And now we come to Sky. We have a Sky account but only have the most basic TV package you can have with them. What with having Netflix, Amazon Prime, Now TV, and Disney Plus, we don’t need Sky TV – and besides, they are seriously behind in the quality of programmes they offer. So, I pay £35 a month for the basic package, unlimited broadband, plus use of landline but I do get charged for any calls I make on there so I tend not to call anyone if I can possibly help it. I also pay an extra £10 a month for Miss F’s mobile phone to be with them. So, £45 in all. This has been the situation for years. But, when I checked my bank account, I saw that for no reason whatsoever, Sky had doubled my monthly payment to £75! No warning, no discussion, no negotiation, no reason given. Nope, they just plundered my bank account and took what they wanted, probably hoping I wouldn’t notice.

Not on Sky, not bloody on. But it means I now must try and contact them, and I know it’s an absolute ball-ache trying to get hold of anyone in customer services in Sky, I know it’s going to take time I don’t have, and patience I no longer possess. And I know that I’m going to have to throw all my toys out of my pram, pout, stamp my feet, threaten to leave and really mean it, before they will probably play ball and put the monthly rate back down to something sensible.

If they don’t play ball, I will leave, but that will be a pain in the arse as well. Having to find another broadband provider, having to change my email address everywhere!! Having to shift Miss F’s mobile account to another company, and the whole cockamamie hoops we’ll have to jump through to move her number. Yes, it’s doable, and yes, I will do it, if I must, rather than bow to Sky bully boy tactics and stay with them if they don’t reduce the payment, but oh, I don’t want to. It’s yet more time, more stress, more phone calls, more headache-inducing angst. Why is life never simple? You get straight, you think – right, that’s everything sorted – then two seconds later, bam, the shit hits the fan again and you grind your teeth in sheer bloody frustration at how buggery bollocking annoying everything is.

Then, we’ve had the whole thorny issue of student finance. As you know, Miss F has been accepted at her dream university. It’s what she desperately wants, it’s all she’s been dreaming of for years and I really want it for her. But it’s expensive and without the very generous student loan she is entitled to, it would be an impossible dream. So, as soon as applications for the upcoming year were allowed, we carefully went through the form online, completed it all, sent them whatever bits of paper they needed, and considered it done. Because I earn diddly squat, she is entitled to her tuition fees paid in their entirety and almost £10,000 a year in living expenses. Which, as I told her, if she can’t live on that then she seriously has a problem, as I’m paying a mortgage, running a whole house, and feeding two of us plus a cat on not much more.

We thought it was all done and going through the system. Then Miss F was invited to take part in an online discussion and information forum on her new university, and one of the subjects they talked about was student finance. Our ears pricked up at the news that there is a small bursary that she would be entitled to of £1000 per year. It’s for students from low-income households and will automatically be awarded so long as she has ticked the box on the form giving the Student Finance people permission for her details to be shared with her university.

Miss F pulled a panicked face. She had seen no such box on her form, and she had gone through it minutely so was confident if it had been there, she would have seen it and ticked it. She typed the question about it. The tutor said it should have been on the form, but she was to phone student finance and speak to them about it.

So, yesterday, Miss F settled down with the phone number, her application number, and what she needed to ask and called Student Finance. We timed how long she was on hold. 56 minutes! Almost an hour of nonstop elevator, do your head in, shopping made easy muzak, and reassurances that her call was important to them, but had she looked on their website for any answers to any queries she might have? She hung on and hung on until finally, the call was answered. Miss F explained the situation. At first, the guy seemed unable to grasp the problem but then said there was a sliding button on the form that she needed to switch to grant sharing permission. Miss F said she hadn’t seen it, was he sure it was on there? Oh yes, he assured her, it was there, she had obviously missed it. But, whilst she was on, he was looking at her application and could see it was on the verge of being rejected because there was a discrepancy between the amount of income I had stated, and the amount of income H.M. Revenue & Customs had confirmed.

WTF?! I grabbed the phone from her, told the guy I was her mother, and what exactly did he mean? After much discussion and toing and froing, we think we’ve figured out what happened. I had to insert my income figure from the P60 issued on 6 April 2020, which I did, but my total income figure wasn’t a round number, there was a rogue 25p. We tried to enter the whole amount, but it wouldn’t accept the pence so all we could do was put the pounds. But of course, this doesn’t tally exactly with what H.M. Revenue & Customs have on their form, so the figures are out by 25p.

Now, wouldn’t you think someone would have the sense to realise that the form doesn’t accept pence, look at the two figures and go, okay, it’s only 25p. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t make an iota of difference. The household income must be below £25,000 per year to qualify for this level of finance and my income is well below that, so it’s not as if that 25p would push me over some sort of band. No, as usual, it is red tape, algorithms, and people being unbelievably petty and creating yet more angst, stress, worry, and work for everyone involved. So, following the guy’s advice we have now uploaded my P60 for the period required to them, and, as per his further advice, uploaded my P60 for the 6 April 2021 as well, just in case.

I hope this has sorted the issue. If they reject her Student Finance, I will kick up such a stink they’ll be able to see it from space. Miss F qualifies on every level so there is no reason for such a thing to happen. Don’t worry, the guy reassured us, this happens all the time. Well, if it happens all the time, fix the buggery bollocking issue! Either change the income box on the form to include any pence or put a little line explaining that if there are any pence it is crucial to round the sum up to the nearest pound, not down (as we did).

Hopefully, by manually submitted the actual P60s we have sorted the issue. I’ll keep you posted.

So, then Miss F went back onto the Student Finance website, pulled up her application form and together we scrutinised it inch by smegging inch, and you know what, she was correct, there is no box, button, or slider that we must click to allow sharing permission. It’s simply not there. We spent an hour going over and over the form. By this time, Miss F was stressed out of her head and sporting the beginnings of an anxiety migraine so bad she had to call off work. The only option we have is to call Student Finances again and get them to stay on the line whilst they tell us whereabouts on this bloody form this mythical, non-existent button is! But by now it was late Friday afternoon, and neither of us fancied another hour sitting on the phone feeling our brains leak from our ears as we listened to that never-ending, soul-destroying muzak.

Why is life so hard? Miss F howled at one point. And what could I say? Welcome to the world of adulting, honey, it’s shite and it only gets shittier the older you get. It’s an endless round of petty inconveniences that in themselves don’t amount to much but piled on top of all the other shitty things you must deal with daily, add up to a constant barrage of annoying buggery bollocks that will slowly drive you demented and drain the will to live from your soul.

Right, I think that’s it for my whining and ranting … let’s see … work, insurance, washing machine, utilities, Sky, Student Finance … yep, I think that’s it. Thank you for putting up with my rant.

Okay, so let’s try to end on a positive note. Kiss & Tell, book four of the Blackwood Family Saga is scheduled to be published on Wednesday and everything is looking set for a smooth, hitch free launch – but, this is life, and, as we all know, life can be a bit shite, so I’m braced for problems. To celebrate the launch of my twelfth book I’ve decided to do something I’ve never done before and offer one of my books as a free download.

That’s right, this is an exclusive heads-up for the nine of you who read my blog. On the 12th, 13th, and 14th of May, book one of the Blackwood Family Saga, Lost & Found, will be free to download. That’s right, completely, and utterly free! Not only that, but book two in the saga, Fixtures & Fittings, will be only 99p (or local currency equivalent). What with Kiss & Tell currently only being £2.99 (or local currency equivalent) to pre-order that means if you wish to snag the first four books of the Saga, instead of it costing you £15.96, it will cost you only £7.97. What an absolute bargain! So why not click on the Kiss & Tell link on my books page and book your pre-order at the sale price, then look out on the 12th and grab the other three books in the series. At these prices, you’d be crazy not to.

But hurry, on the stroke of midnight on the morning of the 15th all prices will go back up to their normal levels and this amazing deal will be over.

As most of you know, I have never run a free offer on any of my books before and I have never run a sale at 99p and, depending on how many downloads it generates, I may never do it again, so this may be your only chance to grab four Julia Blake books at a remarkable cut-throat price.

Now I need to go, there is laundry to do, beds to make, a fire to lay, shopping to do, and a dinner to prep. At least, you got a nice girthy blog to make up for missing last week, which I hope you enjoyed even though is was mainly a good grumble and a rant.

Take care and try not to let life grind you down.

Julia Blake