Bouncing Mail and other inconsequential Matters

Wednesday. 12.15 p.m. I keep getting the wrong post delivered to my flat. I have a feeling that the Post Office, or at least the so-called organization who are responsible for the delivery of our post, is not up to much. At one time we used to get a post at least twice a day, the first delivery at around 7 a.m and a second delivery at around 11 a.m.  They were so precise with their deliveries you could almost set your watch by them. Now it seems to arrive whenever the postman feels like delivering, sometimes before midday, sometimes around 2-3 o'clock. What is going on? And then I get misdirected mail. I have a letter here for the gentleman who possibly lives along Dexter Avenue or who MIGHT possibly have been a former tenant of this flat (I won't give the address for security reasons.) I gave it to the postman who happened to be passing along the corridor, but it has come back rather like some sort of boomerang. I should have written 'not known at this address.' If I had it in at the S.H.O's office within Dexter House, do you suppose it will then bounce back like something on a piece of elastic?

The workmen are back, building the scooter sheds. I suppose they are going to be called scooter sheds, but I can't think of a better way to describe them. We've had a couple of days without any work going on in the community garden, but it seems all is activity. There are several vehicles parked either on the road or the grassed area along the side of Strudwick Drive, one being a very large concrete mixer. I presume this is for the foundations of the aforementioned sheds. As I walked past they seemed to be releasing water from this enormous vehicle and using one to the two tipper trucks to ferry the concrete into the garden and then transferred to what will, I assume, be the floor for both sheds. 

Thursday. 6.30 a.m. I woke up, then went back to sleep. But did it really matter? Alfie got his usual outing and it was slightly chilly, but the sun is out as I write this. Alfie booked in at The Groom Room at 1 p.m. for a haircut. 

Later. I took Alfie to The Groom Room, getting there well before the appointment time of 1 p.m. Alfie was yapping when I released him from the cage in the back of the car and excited to be out and going in to be pampered by the young lady who took him from me to begin his haircut. I had just over an hour to fill before going back to collect him, so I went into T.K. Maax, which is along the parade of units from Pets At Home. A good place to pick up a bargain. I got a really nice Moleskine notebook, which I had wanted for some time. Ideal hardback notebook and just the right size to slip in a pocket when I'm out and about and I want to make a note of things. 

Alfie was really pleased to see me when I went back to collect him from The Groom Room! He's now looking trimmed and tidy. He even had his teeth cleaned! His breath was getting somewhat smelly and I would never be able to do this as he would bite me. I know he's little, but he has exceptionally sharp teeth and I wouldn't want to upset him or hurt him. He went back into the cage in the back of the car and I heard not a single peep from him on the way home. How does he know when we get home because as soon as I turn off the car's engine he starts up barking.

Friday. 6.15 a.m. A bit of a shock for both of us when we went out at around 5.45. A thin and weak rain, but nevertheless, still got a slight wetting. Alfie was not impressed, and soon made straight for the door after having a wee on the grass.

I've been told that the woman who comes in to clean the communal areas in Dexter House has been told by her supervision that she hasn't been doing her job properly. She had an audit and didn't come off very well. She is leaving some areas uncleaned. I can clearly see the dust on the banisters and rails of the stairs leading up to my flat and underneath has never been dusted, nor any of the top of the bricked areas around the place. Will it now improve? Will she need to do a better job? Who knows. I could use my new Vax steam mop to clean around the area of my flat but may wait until I know whether there will be an improvement. Let's wait and see.

As I write this, at 4.05 p.m., it is quite sunny, although a little windy.

More of . . . What??

 (Thursday) More of? Let's think for a moment. Drinking tea? Watching television? Yes, but at least I'm selective in what I watch. No soaps. Gave them up long ago, just after my first heart attack. Listen to music? Yes. As I have an Amazon Music subscription and an Alexa Echo, I can have as much music as I like, just by asking. Brilliant! And as I gave most, if not all, my CDs away, saves on space. The same with Amazon Video, or whatever it's called, as well as Netflix. No need to buy DVDs as you can watch instantly and, yet again, save on space. Reading? Yes, I have certainly read a good deal more since lockdown began in March (or at least the first version of it.) Sleeping? I think it has improved. I'm not waking at all hours and not getting back to sleep. Eating chocolate and sweets? Probably have eaten more than my fair share. The same with biscuits, but I have cut down recently. Honest. I have put on weight I'm not going to say how much.) I know, I know. My blog posts are somewhat mundane. Probably, but life is somewhat mundane. What do they say about drama, it's life with the boring bits removed. Well, if that's true. something like 'EastEnders, for example, is life with the boring bits put back. Say no more!

Late yesterday evening, just as I was settling down to eat my meal and watch 'Pointless,' there was a buzz on my door phone. I'm never sure which button to press, but I eventually heard a voice say 'mail for you,' or something, but it wasn't clear. I din't expect a delivery, so I went down to the front door and opened it, to discover a postman standing there, bundle of letters in his hand. 'Oh, the excitement!', I thought to myself, 'what could it be?' He handed me a single letter, a white envelope with one of those windows for the address. As I read the address, I found it wasn't actually for me! So I handed it back. It was for someone, a lady, who must have been a tenant of my flat years ago, but would have left to live elsewhere. I wasn't too happy that I'd had to walk the way to the front door to discover the post wasn't for me. I returned to the flat and a couple of minutes later the letter was pushed through my letter box. Our post is being delivered later and later. I don't think we've ever had post so late in the day.

I took Alfie out at around 7.45a.m. and I didn't realise it was raining. Thankfully, as the days pass, it gets lighter earlier. He didn't exactly relish the rain, and as soon as I said 'home' he turned round and we went back to the flat. Funny little dog! We went out again at around 10.30. It was still raining, although somewhat thin and weedy. Alfie did what he had to and then we returned home. There is the puddle part way along the path to Oldbrook Green. Just like a river. Some of the water cascades down the road further on. Alfie really didn't like getting his feet wet, and I can hardly blame him. I put his Regatta rain coat on and I had my bright orange Regatta raincoat on with the hood up. 

I've been looking for a reading light, possibly on a stand. I was hoping to find one somewhere which has a white light and with a bulb that would angle over the chair where I sit and read. I've been looking all over the place for such a light. I had a browse on Amazon and I found a perfect light with a swan neck and it stands on the floor. What I like about it is that you can change the intensity of the light with a remote control and also the light colour, from white to what I'd call a yellowy colour, a bit like candle light. I have ordered it and it should turn up in a couple of days, so I will have to see if it comes up to my expectations. One can only hope.

Things That Have Disappeared

Now, it's one of those mysteries. What, you may ask? Well, I was driving through the countryside the other morning and was aware of the passing scenery, as you do. I was fully aware of the other traffic, making sure I kept the car on the road, not too close to the vehicle in front, keeping to the speed limit and making sure I was going in the right direction to my destination. As I glanced around, it suddenly occurred to me, what ever happened to . . . . telegraph poles? What is odd, in this day and age, do we have such things as telegraphs? Do they refer to telegrams? What on earth, it has suddenly struck me, do, or did, (is that grammatical I wonder?) a telegraph pole actually DO? Are they (or were they?) support the cables that transmit telephone calls? So, why do I not see any as I drive about the countryside? If not, how do telephone calls get from A too B? Are the cables that once, long ago, were strung along these poles, now hidden underground, perhaps? Or are the signals that are transmitted sent by radio waves, digitally sent via some sort of dish-arrangement, rather like a Sky satellite dish? Can someone answer me this question then, what has happened to telegraph or telephone poles and how are telephone messages (and, no doubt, the internet) sent if there are no visible cables?

If there's no telegraph/telephone poles, what else do we not longer have which we once had, particularly when I was considerably younger? How about such things as level crossings? I mean, the old fashioned sort, with proper gates which are manually operated by a man who operates them from a little signal box. They used to have lights on them, so they could be seen at night. I don't mean those half-hearted excuses for 'barriers' that replaced them years ago, that only cover part of the width of the road. Sort of, vaguely, dare I say it,'continental-style'? When we used to go on holiday to Frinton-On-Sea, on the Essex coast when I was a child, you used to enter Frinton from the 'outside world,' through such level-crossing gates. Into an almost enchanteted world. I haven't visited Frinton in decades, so I don't know whether those level-crossing gates have been replaced by the 'modern' style barriers. It wouldn't be the same if they had. I'm not even sure whether there is a railway station at Frinton, necessitating the need for a level crossing.

Telephone boxes. You never see them these days. The traditional red variety. Is it because everyone has a mobile phone and has no need for the use of such a thing as a telephone box. The sort with the 'press button 'B.'' I can't remember when I last saw one.

Policemen on 'The Beat.' I mean a Police Constable actually seen walking the local pavements. Someone you can trust if there's a problem. A sort of deterrent if there's something likely to become a criminal act or is against the law. I used to live in a village where there was a local Bobby and if you were caught riding your bicycle on a footpath you would be stopped by the PC and told to get off and push your bicycle or at least ride it on the road.  There was a sense of community, people knew right from wrong (well, I suppose they did.) and a police officer being on hand gave you s sense of safety. But not anymore. You never see a policeman, except if they're driving past in a car.

One thing that definitely disappeared and that's manners. Why do some people insist on driving close behind me when I'm driving. Just because I'm not going at top speed and why do some people cut you up on roundabouts? I refuse to drive outside my safe zone. Then there's mobile phones. I have mentioned this before, but why on earth do people insist on having them permanently fixed to their hands? There's nothing more bad mannered than being in a situation where you meet someone, say, in a Costas or Starbucks, and the other person is constantly looking at their mobile, or they're texting. Really rude. It makes you wonder what people used to do before mobile phones and what would happen if these things disappeared. These things are as they are because, with, for example, the internet, you can make a rather nasty comment about someone and you aren't ever likely to meet them face to face. The same with driving. A motorist can cut you up on a runabout or tailgate you or whatever, but they're never likely to meet you in a face-to-face situation. It's rather a cowardly way to behave. People seem to think they're separated from the rest of society, sitting in their room on their laptop or mobile phone, Tweeting, posting things on Facebook or whatever, in a sort of bubble. It seems that's the way a lot of people spend their lives, isolated, separated. Rather a sad sort of world we've created.

Postmen. I know they're out there somewhere, but if so, I don't see many. On bicycles? I doubt it. Most come in little red vans. Some I see walking along with wheeled barrow things with the mail in. I presume they can take far more mail if they have these wheeled things. One thing I do know, they seem to deliver at almost any time imaginable, We've even had a delivery at 4.30 in the afternoon. I can't imagine it would be safe carrying a heavy load of mail on a bicycle because you'd have to strap the bag on somewhere on the bicycle. I can't imagine having to go out in the early morning, when it's dark and probably cold and wet and in snow and ice. I feel sorry for those people who do these sorts of jobs, the jobs we take for granted. We all expect our mail delivered on time and to be correct, although that isn't always the case as we often get the odd letter or even parcel which is delivered through our door but isn't actually addressed to us. The postman isn't looking at the address properly. I suppose if they have temporary staff on, particularly during the run-up to Christmas, those staff can't know all the little unknown places that a regular postman would know, or even get the mail posted through the correct door. 

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.