Gadzooks!

 Wednesday 28th January. 12.15 p.m. I went to Sainsbury's earlier. I was somewhat surprised that there was a thin layer of ice on all the windows of the car, but I soon dealt with it by spraying on antifreeze.

As I write this, it is sunny and bright out.

9.15 p.m. I had ordered a glass tea infuser and samples of different varieties of full-leaf tea from something called Teabox. It was advertised on Facebook. It was supposed to be delivered by Royal Mail this morning, between 10.45a.m. and 2.00p.m. The time came and went, and nothing arrived. Then, mid-afternoon, I got an email to say it would be delivered between 5.30 p.m and 7.30 p.m. It eventually came around 5.30.

Friday, January 30th. 9.20 a.m. Not a very distinctive sort of morning. No wind or rain.

The daffodil bulbs I planted are coming up. Hopefully, they should be in full bloom by the time of Carol's birthday on 7th March. She would have been 62.

The digital thermometer reads 20ºc.

Saturday 31st. 9.20 a.m. I have a feeling the sun is attempting to come out. I do hope it does.

10.05 p.m. The sun did come out, but only briefly. Not a particularly bright day. A bit overcast, but what do you expect on a late January day?

I ordered some over-the-ear, Bluetooth earbuds from Very yesterday and they were delivered this morning, much to my surprise. I thought they would take until at least the middle of next week to be delivered. They are Powerbeats Pro 2, and they were relatively easy to get connected to my iPhone. The idea is that I can go for a walk and have them on to listen to and they should help motivation.

One of the residents at Dexter House had a birthday today, and I was invited to a special dinner to celebrate in the communal lounge. There was plenty to eat and drink, and a good time was had by all.

Comfort and Joy?

 Friday. 8.20 a.m. It's yet another somewhat overcast and uninspiring sort of day, here in Milton Keynes.

The digital thermometer currently reads 21ºc.

3.55 p.m. I have been searching for a suitable present for my grandchildren. It has to be something they can share. I got them a game called Pirates, which was a great success. Chloe WhatsApped me this morning, saying she had found something called Chicken and Hotdog (I know, crazy!) I searched various toy websites, and eventually found it on Smyth's Toys website and ordered it via click and collect and then went to collect it earlier this afternoon. It is far easier to buy anything via click and collect, because it means you pay on the website and, as soon as it's ready to collect, you merely go to the store and collect the item.

I was staggered by the number of people in Smyth's store. For a Friday, in the middle of the day, it was a bit of a surprise. The carpark outside was packed, and it was difficult to find a space. I realise that Smyth's isn't the only retail outlet in that particular retail park, but the store I went into was heaving. Then, people went crazy, coming out laden with toys, almost as if there was some sort of shortage of toys (there wasn't.) It's only for ONE DAY, and they're likely to have paid on credit cards, which will have to be paid off over the course of 2026. Yes, they want their children to have a great Christmas, but to go to this extent is totally mad. The REAL meaning of Christmas is totally lost.

Saturday. 7.55 a.m. It's another rather dull morning. I haven't been outside yet, but I will very soon, as we have our monthly Men's Breakfast at the Oaktree Centre.

The digital thermometer currently reads 20ºc.

I have been reviewing the footage I recorded using the Osmo Pocket 3 when I was at the Central Shopping Centre the other day. I'm really pleased with it. I still need to do further tests before I use it for something more serious (or not!) The quality is amazing, considering its size. 

11.05 a.m. I went out to my car around 8.40, intending to drive off to The Oaktree Centre, but I found ice on the windows, so I had to spend around 10 minutes scraping it off. I then found that there was mist on the inside of the windscreen, when obscured my view. I can't drive if I can't see clearly, but by the time I had come out of Oldbrook, and onto Chaffron Way, it was clear enough to see clearly.

Sunday. 5.30 a.m. Far too early to be awake and writing this blog post, but does it matter? I think not.

The digital thermometer currently reads 21ºc.

I must have mentioned how I get my medication. I would prefer if I could merely go into a pharmacy and pick the repeat prescription up, but things don't work like that anymore. We used to have its own pharmacy in its Witan Gate store, which was taken over by Lloyds, and even that has now closed. Sainsbury's used to have its own pharmacy in its Witan Gate store, which was taken over by Lloyds, and even that has now closed. I now order online through Pharmacy2U. To make sure I have never run out of medication, I need to get the order made at least a week before my stock runs out. I go online, tick all the relevant areas on the page and hit 'send.' This is sent to the doctor to approve, and then the online pharmacy makes up the repeat order, and then, eventually, the order is sent to me via Royal Mail.

I have had no problem with the delivery, and the meds are well packaged and normally come through my letterbox. Except yesterday. I knew the order was about to arrive, due to being sent an email. Then I got a notification that the order had arrived. It had not, so I went onto the Royal Mail website, and it showed the package had been sent to 6 Dexter Avenue. There was a photograph showing the house, so I went over to the house to ask the resident if the package had been delivered there. There was no answer, so I presumed they were out and I would need to go back when they came home.

I thought no more about it, until the evening, when I got a buzz from the door intercom. You press one button to speak and another to release the door so it will open. I waited in expectation for the delivery person to arrive, but nothing.

A while later, the parcel arrived, when the gentleman from 6 Dexter Avenue came and knocked on the window of one of my neighbours, and she came to my door with the parcel.

The conclusion of all this: the delivery person should read the address label and make sure the parcel/letter comes to my flat and not the wrong address. Crazy. Simples.

EastEnders in Trouble

 Wednesday. 1.45 p.m. Milton Keynes MP, Ben Everett has demanded an apology from the BBC over the appalling way Milton Keynes was portrayed in the soap EastEnders in an episode which was aired on BBC 1 this week. There were scenes of grim, dilapidated housing, gangs of teenagers and drug-addicted neighbours. Apparently, the scenes which were supposed to be set in Milton Keynes weren't even filmed there, but shot in Barnet, in North London. Ben Everett has said that he would be contacting the BBC and demanded that producers come up with a storyline which portrays the positive side of the city.

I'm not exactly EastEnders biggest fan. I find it so miserable and certainly not an accurate portrayal of life in the east end of London. Gloomy, depressing and just plain nasty. But there really is no excuse to portray Milton Keynes in such a negative way. It can't be too difficult to do a bit of research. Just lazy, on the part of the storyliners and scriptwriters.

Friday. 9.40 a.m. I was expecting a parcel to be delivered yesterday. I had an email and I clicked through to the Royal Mail website and by putting a code into the software I got a message which gave me a time window of yesterday to confirm an approximate time for the parcel to be delivered. Not only that, but I was out at a Bible study at the OTC yesterday morning and when I got home at around 12 o'clock there was absolutely no sign of it being delivered. It could have been left on my doorstep, and there was no card through the door to let me know that they had attempted to deliver it and where it was.

This morning I went on the Royal Mail website and discovered a message which stated that they had attempted to deliver the parcel, but it wasn't left because I wasn't at home. So, it would appear, I will have to wait until Monday for it to be delivered. No card through door to inform me of this, or even whether I could collect it from the parcel office in Brinklow.

1.35 p.m. I have been into the main shopping centre to get my hair cut. The barbers have changed their name. It used to be 'Central Barbers', but it's not called 'ROK Barbers.' I'm not sure what ROK, but I have an idea it's a brand that produces cosmetics, hair products and so on. I had booked my appointment online, which makes it easier and quicker when you book and pay, making sure you have the appointment at a time which is convenient.

I parked where I usually do, next to 'The Point' and paid using the Ring Go app, and then walked into the shopping centre. I was in good time, so I decided to go into Boot's Optician and booked an eye test, which is later in the month. From there I walked to the barbers and sat outside until it was my time to have my hair cut. Once I finished in there, I went to T.K.Maax, because I had been given a card which had money on it and I wanted to buy a saucepan. Not difficult to find what I wanted in there and paid for the saucepan and then went to Gregg's, which is a few doors along and bought myself a ham and egg roll, some Belgian buns and I got a free drink with the order, and then it was back to the car and home to Dexter House.

Happy New Year!

Thursday. 9.00 a.m. I haven't written any posts for the past few days, as you will have realized if you read them regularly. There has been little to report, so there is no point in writing.  

I went into the central shopping centre yesterday, more to escape Dexter House than anything else. I bought a Rugby shirt in the Marks and Spencer sale. I do like their shirts, not just Rugbys, but also polos, of which I have quite a few. They are quite expensive, but they last through many washes, so in the end, they are worth every penny.

I have ordered a new iPad. I have been considering upgrading my current iPad, which is somewhat basic. I want to be able to do painting and drawing, using an app called Procreate. It is somewhat confusing when you start on the journey of buying these devices, as there are so many in the Apple range I went into the Apple Store in Midsummer Place and asked a staff member what was the minimum requirement for drawing and painting with Procreate, and using an Apple Pencil. I have now ordered an iPad Pro from Very, and it should be delivered within the next week, and I don't expect it to turn up this side of the New Year bank holiday. I can't wait to have it and to start experimenting with its various features. I can get the old iPad recycled and should get a price for it in much the same way I did for my old MacBook.

I washed Alfie's bed yesterday. It went into one of the machines in the laundry room. Fortunately, I took out the padding, which zips out. If I hadn't, all that padding would have come apart in the machine and might have caused problems. I was wondering if the bed would come out any cleaner, and, it did. It's so much cleaner. I'm really pleased with the result.

2.00 p.m. It's actually quite bright and sunny, but it's really deceptive, because, once I went out with Alfie, I found it was windy and chilly.

Friday. 7.40 a.m. It's cold, dark and somewhat dreary windy out, but I took out Alfie a bit earlier than usual, the main reason being that I need to load up the washing machine and I like to have it done around 7.50. 

Saturday. 3.10 a.m. Here I am again, wide awake and writing this blog post. I have been looking through emails and found one from Royal Mail, telling me the iPad I ordered is on its way. Lovely. The only trouble is, there have been strikes by the Communications Union and my parcel is probably stuck in a sorting office somewhere or other. Okay, these people have a right to strike, but I'm concerned that my parcel is in danger of being damaged. I'm hoping it's likely to be delivered to me today and not held up too long.

12.40 p.m. I had a further email from Royal Mail, informing me that the parcel from Very, containing the iPad, would be delivered sometime today. There was no indication of what sort of time to expect it, not even a window of, say, an hour or two, so I can't go out, as the parcel has to be signed for.

New Year's Day. Sunday. 12.15 p.m.  So, another year begins. 

There have been fireworks being let off yesterday evening, starting around two hours before midnight. It was more like bombs going off, quite loud and disruptive. I imagined it was in and around the open space of Oldbrook Green. I couldn't understand the sense because it wasn't like an organized firework display, just a couple of quite spectacular displays of rockets going up over Milton Keynes, which I could see from my kitchen windows. Then it went on for a further hour and a half after midnight. 

I went out with Alfie as usual around 7.30 a.m. and we walked around Oldbrook Green I was shocked by the debris left by those setting on fireworks, as mentioned above. No attempt to clear up after themselves and boxes of rubbish were left by a couple of the bins around the green. I would have been only decent of those responsible to clear up after the fireworks were let off. It does say, on the signboard on Oldbrook Green, that you aren't supposed to let off fireworks in and around the area, although who will prevent you, such as the police. Those responsible for the fireworks would have been better off giving the money they had spent to charity.

I have now set up the new iPad. I had a few issues getting the Apple Pencil to connect to the iPad, but with just a bit of effort, it connected and I have tried it out, quite successfully and will have to spend time experimenting with Procreate. I bought a manual for its use on Amazon, and I can use that to take me through the various functions. I will post how I get on with it on here, so look out for more on how I get on.

Quite a traumatic time at church this morning. There had been problems in the servery area of the cafe, as there had been flooding from the water boiler, which had been the case on Christmas Day, so it wasn't clear whether there would be tea or coffee to serve after the service, although it got resolved. Then, the lady who was due to lead and do preach wasn't able to get to church as her car broke down and had to wait for Green flag, the rescue service, to arrive. She had to sit in her car in a lay-by near Crownhill, and wait for Green Flag, so someone stepped in at short notice, but you wouldn't have known it.

Snow 'n' Ice and Industrial Action

Friday. 8.30 a.m. Yet another bitingly cold morning. My car is iced up, so I've been out to run it and start scraping the ice off the windows. I found a can of de-icer hidden behind the driver's seat but couldn't remove the cap. Once indoors, I managed to remove the cap and will now be able to use the spray to defrost the rest of the windows. I will help set up the playgroup for the last time this year. The scraper has now disappeared and it's annoying as it's useful to remove the ice. It makes it such an easy job.

1.15 p.m. I've been to the Oaktree Centre to help set up the Acorns playgroup. It was partially set up when I arrived and there was to be a Christmas party, well actually two sessions when usually there would be one, starting at 10.00 and the second at around 11.15. Lots of children of pre-school age, bought by parents and grandparents. I think most of them come from around the Shenley area of Milton Keynes. 

Friday. 8.05 a.m. So, here we are once again. The week has come around and it's Friday. The days seem to go past so fast. Hence, my washing is in the machine, and I'm watching  BBC Breakfast on television. It's cold, but there doesn't seem to be any further snow, thankfully. 

We are in the middle of strikes. The NHS has been crippled by industrial action by members of the Royal College of Nursing (strange that a college should have union powers. Do unions have powers? I thought there was legislation bought in when Margaret Thatcher was in government when she enacted legislation regarding striking. Probably something about secondary picketing, but I'm not sure.) I have to say I think nurses do need a pay rise, but the government, and not just this particular government, constantly throws vast amounts of cash at the NHS, so what happens? It would appear nothing. Probably paying for more bureaucrats, pen-pushers and so on, which have virtually no effect on the care of patients. Then, of course, the NHS was virtually closed down during the pandemic and many services were shut down. The entire economy was closed down during lockdowns, and vast pots of money were thrown at people to sit at home and do nothing.  This might explain why we now have rising prices and inflation, but nobody seems to realize that is partially the cause for all this. Politicians blame the war in Ukraine, which might have a part to play, but throwing money around as was done for two years has to be paid for at some point. 

I know full well how nurses work and their devotion to their jobs, having first-hand experience of being in a hospital on the two occasions I've had heart attacks. Not just then, but during the time Carol was diagnosed with cancer and especially the period she was having chemotherapy. The nurses never stopped. They didn't seem to have breaks, or, if they did, I was never aware of them. Totally professional. They are the people that keep the NHS going.

Then there are strikes on the railways. These union members are only going to destroy their own jobs because all this disruption will only put people off using the railway system and eventually their jobs will disappear with automation and other technology.

Finally, Royal Mail is being crippled by even more strikes. This will likely spoil many people's Christmases, due to parcels and cards and other items being delayed. But there are other services available, such as DHL, and Evri, which allow you to send parcels, and probably a good deal cheaper than Royal Mail. How many letters do people send nowadays? I very rarely get letters, but plenty of junk mail, which ends up in the recycling bin. I think most people use email for personal stuff. With a first-class stamp costing almost £1, you can see why people don't use it much. 

Willen, Strange Phone Calls and Stents

Not easy writing this blog post. You will have noticed, if you're an avid follower of my posts on here, that I haven't posted anything for more than a week. We now know that Carol's cancer has spread, to her lungs and bones. I'm sorry, but there's no cure, no chemotherapy will destroy the tumour. It's really difficult to put these words on here. All I can do as a good husband is to be by her side, to help her with the pain whenever possible.  She is getting good care at Willan Hospice. We don't know how much time we've got left. It's appalling for me and the family. I have support from my church, Shenley Christian Fellowship. As you will no doubt be aware I have been attending this church since last year and I can't thank everyone there for visiting Carol, either at home, in Milton Keynes Hospital and now at Willen. 

Carol's mum and dad as well as her sister Jackie visited last week (I think it was last week. Time has gone into a sort of over-drive since all this began.) They came up from Bournemouth on the Monday and then stayed with family in Leicester, coming down alternate days and then returned home on the Friday of that week.

On the Tuesday I took Alfie, our Yorkshire Terrier, in to Willan Hospice to see Carol. I had to take him in the cage in the back of the car. No sooner had he got out of the car, than be began to bark noisily. In fact he barked almost all the time he was at Willen. I took him into Carol's room and he licked Carol's hands and face. I think she was really pleased to see him, but was somewhat concerned with him barking. Understandable, really, because we didn't want to upset any of the other patients. The staff loved him and made a great fuss of him, which Alfie, as expected, loved every minute of being stroked and being the centre of attention.

I had a telephone call yesterday. I rushed to pick up the thing, which is in the hallway. I'm talking here about our landline telephone. It's one of those cordless models. which means the unit sits in a docking cradle to keep the thing charged, so you can pick it up to answer and speak and talk anywhere within the house. On putting the thing to my ear there was no immediate response, no voice at the other end. I said 'hello!,' several times, then a further few seconds of silence. A sort of hollow sound, then a really awful, obviously mechanical or at least, recorded female voice said 'Good bye!!' and that was the end to the call. So, can someone tell me, what was it all about? Who on earth would bother to make a telephone call and then . . . .  just silence, followed by the awful female voice saying 'Good bye!' Someone's idea of a joke. If so, a rather pathetic one. What a waste of time and effort.

I've since been on Google to look for 'silent telephone calls,' and according to Ofcom these calls are not illegal, but if you can find out who sends them you can complain to them to get the company involved fined if they make too many of them.

I took Alfie out for his routine morning walk at about 7.15 this morning. Alfie doesn't understand that we can't go out when it's dark. It gets lighter later and later. I'm a bit annoyed that I make a real effort to pick up Alfie's poo and put it in a bin. I always carry at least one black doggy bag in my pocket for this eventuality, but it's unfair that some people don't pick up after their dogs as I see quite a lot of excrement on my walk around Eaglestone Park with Alfie. On the way back along the patch back to the house I am shocked to see a postman delivering mail. I don't think I've seen a postman much before midday around here ever. Certainly not in the time I've lived in Milton Keynes. There was a time once, long ago, when you could virtually set your watch by the postman delivering. In Bedford you used to get a delivery at 7 a.m, more or less on the dot, and then a second one around 11 a.m. Certainly not now. They seem to deliver when they feel like it. The other day we got our post delivered at around 4.30 p.m. which was a real shock.

When I got back home there was a pile of mail on the doormat. One was a package from Amazon, with a book in it which I ordered about a week ago. I am supposed to get stuff from Amazon delivered within 24 hours as I have Amazon Prime. Not really sure what they've been doing with that package. Usually Amazon uses their own delivery drivers for their parcels, but this was the Royal Mail. Never mind. At least I got my order . . .  eventually. But it seems the Royal Mail is slipping.

In that pile of mail I had a letter from the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford telling me that I would need a second stent fitted. No doubt they know what they're doing because it came from Professor Keith Channon, Honorary Consultant Cardiologist and Professor of Cardiovascular Medicine. I would imagine he has seen the scans done when I had the perfusion test done at Oxford all those weeks ago. I did wonder when I was going to hear. I'm not sure whether I will have to stay in hospital after having the procedure done and how I'm going to get there as well as back as I  don't think I could drive in either direction. Far too stressful.

The Lonely Postie

You do see some strange things, just watching the world go by outside your window. Our kitchen sink faces a window which looks out onto the road outside. As I stand and do the washing-up, I notice many things, many of them slightly strange, or at least, mysterious, to say the least. A postman sitting on the kerb, legs crossed. He has a pile of coats or something beside him on the grass. It's a mild day, weather-wise, he has on a short-sleeved polo shirt, and looks relaxed. He sits near a large Royal Mail van which is parked nearby. He begins to roll a cigarette, taking a tin from his pocket and then removing an envelope of tobacco from this tin and begins to roll the aforementioned cigarette. I think he should have a plastic box with a few sandwiches in and had his lunch. But he didn't. In that case he was missing a trick. He should have made the most of being away from the main sorting office, or wherever he was based. Had a small primus stove and made himself a cup of tea. Or had a can of Coke or something else to drink. Not alchoholic, you understand, as he was driving. Why on earth is he there? At first it occurred to me that the van might have broken down and he was waiting for a breakdown truck or something. But then a rather amiable postie comes past, acknowledges the man sitting on the ground and walks on past. Why, since it was well past 2 o'clock on a Saturday afternoon, were these postmen about in the first place? Our post is usually delivered by 11 a.m. most days, but over the past couple of weeks they've been delivering later and later, even around 4-5 p.m. What one earth is going on? I know we used to get two deliveries in Bedford when I lived at Beauchamp Court, the first at around 7 a.m and the second at around 11 a.m. You could virtually tell the time by the postman's deliveries. But they've got somewhat slack, I know they've just cut the delivery to one a day, but is it such a good thing to have one delivery and that at any old time they feel like making the effort? I presume the lone postman was the driver and had the job of taking out postmen to deliver the mail around the various estates in Milton Keynes and then collect them when they had completed their rounds. I only assume, but I imagine that was what he was up to. He wasn't exactly working hard, sitting and rolling his fags at the side of the road. He didn't seem to be making a lot of effort even if he was the driver. I saw the postman open the back of the van and put something inside and I'm not sure the other postman didn't get inside.I finished the washing up and went off to do something else, but a few minutes later I looked again and the van and the man had gone. And why do vehicles insist on parking right opposite our house? Is it just me? I'm not becoming paranoid. Just whenever I decide to reverse out of our drive there's always a vehicle slap-bang in the way.

Thinking about it now, I don't suppose that postman was THAT lonely. Just needed a title for this blog post. Seemed perfectly happy but it did seem odd to have a postman sort of having a picnic right outside our house on a Saturday morning.

Grumpy Kleeneze Man

I had to write this on a post. I decided on Monday morning to have a bath. As one does. The house is empty. It's quiet. Nice to have a nice hot bath. We got some nice bath foam in Sainsbury's the other day. It take quite a while for the bath to fill up as the gas boiler only runs when you turn the hot tap on. A relatively ancient system. You have to run the hot tap for a minute or two before it runs hot and then hot enough for a relatively warm bath and some time before the water-level is high enough before I actually get in. 

A couple of days ago we had the latest Kleeneze catalogue shoved through the door. I didn't bother to look at it, because, to be honest, I can't see the point of ordering anything as most of what they sell you can buy elsewhere, such as Asda, Sainsbury or Tesco (or any number of similar outlets.) and they also have a website so if I was desperate for a gadget to catch spiders in, or a thing for de-fluffing the stair carpet or getting the dust out from behind  a radiator with a special brush, I might be inclined to by it on-line or go to a shop to buy such an item. Not that over-awed by their stuff at the best of times so why bother. I know if you get these confounded catalogues you have no choice but to put them outside where the agent can retrieve them when they call back. Not as if the things are actually wanted. Just another load of stuff that gets shoved through the letter box along with leaflets for pizza deliveries, estate agencies telling you they can sell your house or double-glazing companies. So, I had it ready where I could find it for when the agent came back and was likely to knock on the door and demand the thing, so it's a good idea to have it where you can find it and not be looking around to retrieve the confounded thing. 

Well, to get to the point of the story and the connection with my bath . . .  . cut to the chase and so on . . . I was waiting incidentally for a parcel to arrive from Amazon. Carol had ordered a book on teaching psychology or something and so it was actually quite an important parcel so I was keeping one ear open, as they say, for the merry knock on the door by an employee of Royal Mail. So, as I settled down to have a rather pleasant soak in the bath, there was a somewhat angry-sounding knock on the door. At first I just ignored it, but when it was heard again I had no option but to respond. It would mean getting out of the bath and drying myself and then finding my clothes and then going downstairs to answer the door. So, instead, I made the decision to get out of the bath and open the window and calling down to the, as yet, unseen person at the door.  Well, I had no clothes on (!) but my modesty was well hidden as I lent out of the open window. As I peered out I couldn't see directly below the window as there is a porch which has a roof which hid the person below. I shouted down, believing the person pounding on the door to be a postman, as I expected the Amazon parcel to be in the process of being delivered and that the postman wanted to hand it over as it was unlikely to fit through the letter-box. So I said 'can you put it in the bin-cupboard?' which is immediately next to the front door and the usual place for items which won't fit through the letter-box if we are out when they arrive. But it wasn't the postman. Instead, a face turned up to me, of a somewhat grumpy gentleman who was obviously a Kleeneze agent. He shouted 'leave the catalogue out for me by Thursday!' and walked off in something of a huff. Not exactly the sort of customer-service I would expect from someone I was likely to buy something off. More likely put me off and not bother. So I completed my bath, the still and peace of the morning somewhat ruined by a grumpy old git.

This whole episode puts me in mind of the B.B.C. Television sitcom "One Foot In The Grave" as the grumpy old Kleeneze man makes me think of the character in it played by Richard Wilson, Victor Meldew, who was just as grumpy and bad-tempered as the man I had the misfortune to come into contact on the occasion of that morning a few days ago.

I have now put the wretched Kleeneze catalogue out on the doorstep. It is in a plastic bag which is supposed to keep it dry if left out in the rain. It is there for grumpy old man to collect when he returns on Thursday. Sorry to say, if he treats all his customers in the same way as me he won't get many sales. Actually, next time one of their catalogues is thrust through the letter box I think I'm more inclined to throw it out with the recycling as it has put me off Kleeneze altogether. I shall now make a point of NOT buying anything from the aforementioned Kleeneze catalogue if and indeed, when, it is shoved through our letterbox. The stuff inside it is generally not up to much anyway, and certainly if he man who runs the thing in this area is so rude and bloody-minded he can keep his rubbishy catalogue and all it contains if all he's going to be is miserable and grumpy.

Unsuitable Jobs

I've mentioned jobs in earlier blog posts on here that I've done over the years, including my time working in stage management, most of them enjoyable, but there were times when I did some work out of necessity which wasn't so enjoyable, and, on reflection, from the perspective of some 30 years or so, were, quite frankly, totally unsuitable. I can't think how on earth I had either the temerity to apply, or why the companies or organisations offering the said employment would even consider me for employment. A bit like the Groucho Marx remark about resigning from some club or other, where he says 'I would never join a club which would have me as a member' or words to that effect, I could never see why anyone would want to employ me (in these particular roles) as I'm sure I was never actually suitable in the first place! Groucho is, by the way, one of my all-time favourite people. I could write pages and pages on here as to why, but won't at the moment. I may do in a future post.

I worked as a postman,  briefly, based at Bedford Central Sorting Office. On applying you have to fill in the usual application form, as you do. I don't think you had to give so much information as regards your identity as you would if you were applying today. Perhaps when I was applying there wasn't so much what is called 'identity fraud.' But with my background in professional stage management and puppetry, was that good experience for someone delivering mail? I can't think that it was. You had to go through a somewhat weird testing process which included some rather embarrassingly simple intelligence tests, none of which I can remember now. But, to tell the truth, honestly and simply, I didn't last long in the job. The idea of having to get up at around 4.30 a.m. in the middle of winter to go out and deliver letters to the people of Bedford in the pitch black streets on a bicycle with a very heavy bag of recently-sorted mail and attempting to read addresses on envelopes by the light of a not particularly efficient torch was not my idea of a great career move. Trudging the aforementioned streets of Bedford attempting to find a particular house number when the numbering system of a particular street was incomprehensible was not exactly inspiring. Probably to my bank manager, but certainly not to me. Why were the numbers of some streets so erratic, to say the least? It was and still is a mystery. Some property developer who was responsible for building some of the housing estates on the outer fringes of the town has a lot to answer for in regards to my sanity! But, saying all this, I think I can appreciate more fully from this experience the work and dedication of the staff of Her Majesty's Royal Mail. I have nothing but admiration for them, although I expect it's far more mechanised and the work simplified since I worked for the Royal Mail.

Another job was working for the education department of the Bedford Library Service and based at County Hall in Cauldwell Street in Bedford. I was taken on as a driver for the library van which went round local schools and the idea was that we restocked this vehicle regularly then visited schools, mostly primary, where we drew up in the playground and the children and staff could come on board and they could choose their books. We also delivered books to the schools own libraries as well as collecting books to return to the base in what used to be the County Library (now closed, but later merged into what is now the Central Library in Harpur Street. The old County Library building was or is used for storing books and the educational department was or is in the floor beneath the old library at County Hall.) Part of my job was going to include reading to the children, which I never got  chance to do because I left before having a chance to do this, sadly, as I enjoy reading aloud, I suppose being vaguely associated with acting and theatre.

The biggest problem with this job was the actual driving of the library vehicle. Thinking about it now it seems strange to think they even gave me the job. I had driven since getting my driving licence in 1969 and had only driven cars, so why on earth did they think I would be suitable to drive what was in actual fact a Heavy Goods Vehicle of about the size of a single-decker bus? Someone with either a P.S.V. (Public Service Vehicle) or H.G.V. (Heavy Goods Vehicle) would have been far more suitable. When I went for the initial interview for the job I had to drive this vehicle around the car park at the library and if my memory serves, around the one-way system in Bedford. I think I must have crashed the gears several times but it wasn't exactly a good driving test and wasn't going to show me as what you might call a proficient driver, and certainly not of a vehicle of such a size. A very cumbersome and awkward vehicle, to say the least. 

I began the job and we went out on several drives to some of the village Primary Schools, turning up in the playground or the road outside and we delivered boxes of books to the libraries within the schools. But the big problem was getting the library van back into the garage at County Hall at the end of the day. It was supposed to be reversed into this fairly tight space. If you visit this building I'm sure you'll see the garage which was where the library van lived and you'd see what a problem it was reversing into this garage. Some clever architect who designed County Hall couldn't have made it more difficult to reverse such a large vehicle into that space as well as providing a loading bay which stuck out so that you had to reverse around it making it doubly or even trebly difficult to make this manoeuvre without hitting it. Unfortunately, on one occasion, when I was reversing into this confounded garage, at the end of a day driving around the schools of Bedford, I managed to scrape the side of the library van. You'd think I done it deliberately, according to the head librarian. It was this which lead to me being sacked, which, on reflection, was somewhat unfair. Nothing was done to make the job any easier. For a start, as I pointed out, the garage was actually designed with two doors, one at each end, so, had it not been blocked up with piles of boxes and other rubbish, you could, in actual fact, drive in forward through one door and out the other end to get out. But nobody had the intelligence to see this, so you were expected to reverse in, one of the most difficult bits of driving imaginable and even more so  when driving such a large vehicle. The library staff were totally uncooperative when we went out to the schools. On several occasions when we visited a school and I had to reverse the confounded van they refused to help, just getting out of the thing and helping me reverse would have been useful.  But no, they seemed to think it beneath them to do such a thing.They would arrogantly sit in their seats and refuse to budge. No help at all. I am actually grateful to them in some respects because they have afforded me plenty of scope for my writing as I have filed all this at the back of my memory and they are the basis for material for my writing. As have quite a few of the people I have worked with over the years. Nothing is wasted and any or all of the jobs that I did over the years which weren't exactly great career moves have afforded material for my writing. So I thank them heartily. Where are they now, I wonder, and do they actually realise the stress they caused and the lack of cooperation they offered? I don't think they know. Perhaps and again perhaps not.