Dying Macbook

 Sunday 19th December. 2.35 p.m. My MacBook Air has finally given up and died. This must have been around Tuesday or Wednesday this week. Then my internet connection began to play up. There are three yellow lights on the router and when you have a steady internet connection all three will come on, but the centre one didn’t come on I realized that something was wrong somewhere, but what it was I didn’t have the faintest idea. I thought perhaps I should ring my service provider, Sky, to see if they could sort things out. I had noticed that sometimes, when watching streamed video, there was often a point when the video would freeze or stutter. I came to the conclusion that my internet connection needed upgrading to a faster connection. I would need to ring up Sky to help sort out the problem or even find an alternative internet provider. 

Then I got a telephone call. A lady with a vaguely foreign accent who told me she was from the Sky technical department. I have to admit, it was far too much of a coincidence that I was to get this call and was somewhat suspicious. I asked if she was real and she said she was. Then she put on the line a man with an equally foreign accent who said he could sort out my technical issue and that I would need to download an app from the App Store, which I did. It was when he asked me for a number which came up within th.is app that I became very suspicious and because I had real difficulties understanding his thick accent, I hung up.All I can say is, thank goodness I did.

The next day I decided to call Sky about the concerns I’d been having with my internet connection. It took me a while to find the right telephone number on the Sky website. You really have to search for it, because it is really buried in the most unlikely place.  It is certainty  not given prominence on the home page. It wasn’t long before I managed to speak to a human. (How I hate those voice-activated ‘menus.’ They never seem to recognize what I say. You end up eventually having to speak to a real person.)

I was told that Sky never rings customers in the fashion the fake callers had done. They would never ask you to give passwords, bank details or ask you to download anything, such as an app. It was too much of a coincidence that I had the call when I did. It was just as well I hung up when I did.

As a result of all this I have now upgraded my internet connection and have a new router which is now running and there is definitely a faster connection and the buffering has stopped when I'm watching streamed video. All set up and I  now have all my devices re-set with the new wifi password.

Revolting Tories

Okay, okay, it's a bit overdone to use that for a blog post title, but I will explain later.

9.50 a.m. It was cold and windy yesterday.  As I've mentioned in earlier posts, Alfie doesn't like cold, wet, windy, rain, and so on. You can't blame him. Yesterday I took him out mid-morning. He wasn't out for more than thirty seconds, turned tail, and beetled back indoors. But part-way along the corridor he did a naughty on the floor! Not like him at all. Not even as a puppy. He was easy to house train. But as an adult? No! He has had accidents in the middle of the night, but not outside the flat. I had to pick it up and we head to dispose of it in one of the bins within the boundaries of Oldbrook Green. (why can't there be a bin for this use further back towards Dexter House?) Quite a jaunt, but nevertheless, it had to be done. 

This morning, around 9.15, we went out again and Alfie did his business on the grass. I was in the process of picking it up in one of the disposable bags I carry in a pocket in my trousers, was just turning round to walk along the path to the bin across Oldbrook Boulevard and onto the Green, when a young man shot towards me on one of those electric scooters. I barely had time to stand aside as he hurtled past, narrowly avoiding being hit midships and possibly causing real damage to my person. No attempt to slow down, apologize or take evasive action. It really shocked me, particularly as you can't hear these scooters as they rush about. Just dangerous.

Okay. Boris Johnson gave another of the by now regular press conferences regarding the pandemic from 10 Downing Street. We are going to have to endure the reintroduction of some restrictions and new regulations, such as the wearing of masks in confined spaces, such as in shops (also, within the common areas in Dexter House.) Also, he said we have to 'work at home where possible.' You have to wear a mask in shops and offices, 'but don't cancel Christmas parties.' This doesn't make a lot of sense. Why in shops, offices and indoor areas? This includes theatres, which I trust doesn't mean the performers, just the audience. But I hear that some of Boris' Backbench MPs are threatening to rebel against the new restrictions. Why is the reason for my blog post title? 'Revolting Tories.' We shall have to wait and see how this plays out. Meanwhile, we will have to put up with 'Plan B' as these new restrictions are called, as they will be in place until around the end of February, all because of the omicron variant of the covid virus. Such is life.

So, if there's supposed to be a 'plan B,' and that doesn't work, does it follow that we can expect a 'plan C,' a 'plan D' and so ad infinitum? Please tell me NOT. We can't keep panicking when a new variant comes along. As mentioned before, all viruses mutate. That's the nature of viruses. We just need to stop this aimless race against a hidden 'danger.' There are dangers all over the place. Just crossing the road is a danger, so in getting in a car, walking along the street. You can't possibly live totally risk-free. So let's just get back to some sort of normal.

Then we have 'Partygate.' It has been discovered that there was a Christmas party in 10 Downing Street over the Christmas period, 2020 when the country was put into Lockdown. A video was discovered which showed staff laughing and mocking the fact that a party was held, regardless of lockdown, and seemingly not under social distancing restrictions. Boris Johnson has attempted to deny anything happened, but after the various gaffes, he has made it's difficult to believe the man. I think his days as Prime Minister are limited and it has now been revealed that there were TWO More parties held over Christmas 2020, one being at the Ministry of Education. Heads will roll and have started to roll. Is Boris going to come clean? I fear not.

Friday. 1.05 p.m. Not quite as cold as earlier in the week. The sun is shining, but there's a slight nip in the air.

Monday. 10.15 a.m. I'm going to rest this blog until after the Christmas break, so, once this post is completed, I won't be continuing with it until well into the New Year, so goodnight and God bless. Have a lovely Christmas!

A Red Sky In The Morning . . . Boris' Trousers on Fire

 Sunday. 10.15 a.m. Another cold and blustery day. The cough is still causing problems. I continue to take the cough mixture, and it seems to help. I didn't go to church because of the cold and the effect it would have on the cough. I took a dose of cough mixture and then attempted to watch the SCF service via Facebook, but the whole thing froze up and wouldn't work properly. Furthermore, I imagine it's got something to do with the church broadband connection. Several other people who were watching posted that they were finding the images were freezing or at least juddering. It really needs dealing with, unfortunately.

Monday. 8.10 a.m. It's cold again this morning, but I could see a bright red sky from my window as I was having my breakfast. What do they say? 'Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning. Red sky at night, shepherd's delight.' Not sure how accurate, but let's wait and see whether it gets colder or even windy. Storm Arwen has done its worst and calmed down and disappeared, but next, we have to expect Storm Barra. Don't ask me where they got the name from.

Wednesday. 7.45 a.m. Alfie is definitely not one to like cold, wind, rain or generally wet in any form. This undoubtedly this morning when we went out and the little tyke was in and out as quickly as possible and back tucked up on the sofa, but, as I write, on my bed, probably under the duvet.

11.10 p.m. I was just getting off to sleep when the merry sound of the fire alarm went off. No doubt someone in another flat within Dexter House has either forgotten to check their oven was on with their oven chips or something, a fag-end was left smoldering in an ash-tray, or else they burnt their toast. Either way, it's deafening which means I moved from the bedroom into the lounge, and Alfie's looking at me as he doesn't like the noise. Who can blame him? Whatever it is that set the confounded thing off means I get to write a bit more of this and Alfie's attempting to climb on my knee which is impossible with the laptop in the way. There is a fire engine outside in Dexter Avenue as I can hear the engine running and I could see the flashing blue light when I look out of the window, not that easy as my Christmas tree is in the way. I just hope they manage to discover the reason for the alarm being set off as my ears are ringing from the sound of the alarm and giving me a headache.

Incidentally, on a different matter, has nobody realized that omicron is an anagram of moronic? Or that the two words delta and omicron spell 'media control'? Too right. The conspiracy theories regarding the pandemic and the virus just go on. Boris Johnson now attempting to wriggle out of the latest scandal regarding the Christmas party which was alleged to have taken place in Number 10 Downing Street last year after pandemic restrictions were introduced and not adhering to the aforementioned regulations and making a mockery of the whole situation when the rest of us were in lockdown and not supposed to attend any sort of party. Totally contemptible. Makes me wonder how much longer Johnson can last as Prime Minister as he is rapidly turning into a liability, to not only the Conservative party but also the country as a whole.

11.30 p.m. The alarm is still going and no sign of the wretched noise coming to an end. What exactly IS going on? I can't see smoke emanating from any window or anywhere else, so we'll just have to endure it I suppose.

11.55 p.m. By around 11.40 I'd had enough. The fire engine has gone. So, what set the alarm off? I got dressed as Alfie was beginning to get stressed. He can't cope with the noise. We went out through the front door near the SHO's office and there were two men fiddling with the fire alarm keypad, looking as if they were aimlessly pressing random keys on the pad. I don't know who they were, but by the time we'd walked around to the other entrance on Strudwick Drive the alarm had stopped, so we went back in and returned to my flat. Thank goodness it was over and silence reigned once more! I presume there is a fault with the alarm system.

Virus Variant and Proof of The Pudding

There's supposed to be another variant of the coronavirus. Well, there would be, wouldn't there? There has to be. Just to make sure, we have yet another lockdown Christmas. Can't we just get used to it and be done with it? As Mr Jones the butcher says repeatedly in 'Dad's Army,' '"Don't panic!" It's all negatives. The media seems to love negatives. In fact, they seem to thrive on it.

Saturday. 9.15 p.m. Boris has been on doing his impersonation of being Prime Minister, telling us like good sheep that the omivirus (is that it's new name?) has arrived at the UK's shores, and we must keep on being told what to do etc. I mean, omicron. Why is this variant named after the 15th letter of the Greek alphabet?

I have managed to ice the Christmas cake I made. A layer of marzipan and then soft white icing. No sooner had I completed it than I had a parcel arrive with the decorations, and they are now on the cake! I have really got no idea how it tastes, and I can't wait to try it around Christmas day.

Monday. 10.25 a.m. A layer of snow covering the grass and other surfaces when I took out Alfie at around 7.20 this morning. It's not very thick, but still, it's still snow. Whether we get further remains to be seen. Very cold and I must remember to find my gloves as my hands were beginning to go blue, which is never a good sign.

Tuesday. 10.30 p.m. It's been a good deal milder today. I think Alfie appreciates it when it's warmer.

I went to Sainsbury's. Basically, to collect a repeat prescription from Lloyd's pharmacy. I have been attempting to get a doctor's appointment for the past two days. The cough is getting annoying and I really need something to relieve it. You ring and ring and only get a stupid recorded voice. I did attempt to leave a message for the receptionist, but then they emailed me to say I should ring to make an appointment. So much for our 'wonderful' NHS! What are they doing? Having extended tea breaks? More likely they are using the pandemic as an excuse to not do their jobs properly. I bought a bottle of Robitussin which I have started dosing myself with. It seems to be working. I just have to keep on taking it and hope it does its job.

I bought a sweet little Christmas tree in Sainsbury's. A real one, potted and ready to decorate. 

Wednesday. 6.40 a.m. Goodness! The 1st December. Where has the year gone? Gobbled up by covid, unfortunately. We have to wear face masks if we enter shops (which I had to in Sainsbury's yesterday morning. I thought I would get away without one, but the thought police were on duty so fortunately I had one in my coat pocket.

I have started to decorate the Christmas tree. Not only that, but I bought two sets of LED tree lights but ended up having to untangle them. Not an easy job. I went to Hobbycraft this morning and got some crêpe paper. Goodness, even that is made in China. I can't believe we can't make it in Britain, instead of having to import it from the other side of the world. Just think of the carbon emissions produced to transport it. Crazy! I then went into Pets At Home, which is further along the parade of units, and bought a small water bowl for Alfie which we can take with us when we go to Worcester for Christmas. Oh, and some treats, which will keep his nibs happy. I then walked along the parade to have a look in Smyth's toys. I have to say, I'm not impressed. Just a load of junk basically and plastic which will eventually end up in landfill. Nothing I would deem in any way suitable for either of the grandchildren. I'll just have to have a word with Chloe as to what she suggests. Something they can share, although I don't think that Rosie is exactly of the age to be able to share.

7.00 p.m. As I write this I can hear the wind howling around outside. Sounds somewhat mysterious and I almost expect Cathy to start knocking on the window to be let in, her out of 'Wuthering Heights.'

Thursday. 8.10 a.m. We were out at around around 7.30 a.m. this morning. There must have been a slight flurry of snow overnight, because the grass was covered in a light dusting of the white stuff. Alfie was soon beetling back indoors, having done his usual sniffing around act. I can hardly blame him as I'm not over-delighted with snow.

I made some mince pies to take to the final session of The Prayer Course this evening. It was mid-afternoon when this decision was made. I had all the ingredients, so I thought it would be a good dry run for making a far larger batch to take to Worcester. I was more than pleased with the result. The pastry was rich and crumbly, and I have to admit they tasted far better than bought mince pies. As they say, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and all seven were consumed at the Prayer course. So, I'm more than happy to make a larger batch, but may keep them baking a few minutes longer than I did this test batch.

As regards this new virus variant, I think the that term 'proof of the pudding is in the eating' can just as well be used in relation to the virus as well as mince pies. We are told that we have to wait around three weeks to discover how infections it is, and it will be well into January before we can return to anything close to 'normal.'