It’s not every day that a rejection slip makes me laugh aloud.

Scribbled on the corner of the MS were these words: “On the Wirral (character) is more likely to be drinking Scotch Whisky than Irish Whisky or Bourbon.”

Really, and why is that exactly? Does the editor (who lives in Bournemouth) have some particular knowledge of this region which has escaped me during the last nine and a half years of my residency here?

The story is set in a speakeasy, and so Bourbon would be aesthetically appropriate.

Amusingly, in the MS I don’t actually identify which type of whisky is being enjoyed.

"The taxpayer is required to pay £40m a year to cover the costs of having chaplains on call in hospitals. An obvious alternative...would be for patients to be visited by their own local vicar, rabbi or imam.

"In a population of over 6o million, a little over 1.1 million regularly attend Church of England services. In hospital, even allowing for a few thousand panicky, injury-time conversions to faith, the non-believers are in a majority.

"It is bizarre, and occasionally downright sadistic, that the grievously sick, the dying and the bereaved are forced into the arms of a priest, whether or not they happen to be believers."

Source: http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/commentators/terence-blacker/terence-blacker-why-is-support-for-the-sick-a-religious-issue-1666750.html

I hadn't even realised that we tax payers were paying for hospital chaplains. Surely £40m would be better spent on training and employing more nurses, buying new equipment, or on providing better hospital food (which has also been under fire in the news lately due to its poor nutritional standards.)

A gradual increase of humidity implies the immanence of rain. Outside, birds are singing in the trees or foraging for nesting materials beneath the shrubs in my garden. The dogs are snoozing after a “hard” afternoon helping me fix the brick path, which was in need of re-laying on its sandy bed as most of the bricks had crept badly out of alignment and were clogged with weeds.

Ygraine helped by digging holes in the sand (immediately after I’d got it nice and level, ready for the bricks to go back). Emily ran off with the foam kneeling pad (brand new as of yesterday) and shredded one corner before I could re-assert my role as pack alpha.

Emily also buried a dog chew in the (nicely levelled) sand while I was engaged in refusing a “free quote” from someone who swore black was white that he wasn’t a salesman. So they’re giving products away free? No? Hmm, thought not.

Ok, I’ll admit it; salesmen annoy me. One of my pet hates are phone pests who cheerfully erupt into well-rehearsed waffle about how much money they can save me, even though they know nothing of my finances. And they will learn nothing, as I refuse to discuss finance over the telephone. There is no way of knowing who you’re talking to or who has access to the recorded information.

House-callers hoping to sell windows, driveways and similar are at least honest in their intent. The varmints who pretend to be from “your” fuel company are the ones which have to be watched, as they’re often trying to fool the unwary into sighing over to another company. When they sweetly ask if I usually pay my bills by standing order or by cheque (or some similar question) I point out that if I genuinely was their customer, they’d have all that information already. Then I say thanks but no thanks and close the door, not matter what theatrical prose they then try to launch off into.

Well, maybe they hate their jobs too. But that is not my problem.

If you walked into a cake shop and said, "Oh, I really love your confectionary, and I appreciate how long it's taken you to learn the craft, and your cakes would be perfect for my dinner party," would you expect to not pay for cakes?

Of course not.

Even if you then said, "But your cakes would reach appreciative mouths, and we'll want more free cakes every week!" you'd still be expected to pay for the cakes--especially when it's obvious that everyone else involved in staging the dinner party is picking up a nice salary.

Why, then, should a writer be expected to hand over a regular supply of "cakes" for free?

This lady's saying no.

Richard went into the kitchen to make a hot drink, only to notice that the tiny red light had gone off on his battery recharger. He'd only plugged it in two or three hours earlier, and it's a model which is supposed to be left to recharge overnight.

When he unplugged it, he found one side of the recharger was very hot. Closer inspection revealed that the device was badly scorched on one side, so much so that the plastic casing had begun to melt. Thankfully, this fault was spotted before we retired for the night, otherwise you could be reading about this in a newspaper.

This recharger was almost new; it had been used exactly three times. The batteries were the right ones to use with it. It hadn't been dropped; it didn't look damaged when he plugged it in.

The moral of the story, then, is to remember not to believe in the safety of even familiar gadgets.

Our area is being fitted with new gas pipes, both the mains pipes and those running into individual houses’ gas metres. Yesterday a man knocked on the door to ask what time it would be convenient for them to have access to our metre cupboard today. Knowing our usually-hectic Monday morning schedule, I said 12 noon and a note was duly made on the gas man’s list on his clipboard.

At 7.45am this morning, there was a racket directly outside our front door as a section of our block paving was ripped up and a hole dug. The soil from the hole was flung on top of my new plants, completely burying them. The loose bricks were hurled against the base of a shrub.

“There weren’t any plants there,” was the first response to Richard when he flew out to complain.

“Well my wife didn’t plant invisible plants, did she!” growled hubby.

“Oh, we didn’t see them,” came the next lame excuse.

When the spade-wielding man scraped back the soil, the somewhat squashed remains of my three new heucheras peeped limply from their resting place. The man squinted at them as if they were microscopic and said, “What, those little things?”

“They’re small because they’re new,” I said, biting back a sarcastic retort about young plants generally starting off small. They get bigger later on. It’s the usual way with all things young. (Sarcasm might be tempting, but it rarely helps.)

Anyway, then another man wanted to come inside to turn off our gas supply. This meant no one could get a shower. Richard had to put the kettle on so he could get a shave at least.

Then I looked out of the window to see what was happening, only to discover one of those portable barriers had been set down on top of the very same plants! So I marched out of the house—no workmen in sight otherwise many fleas would have been deposited in many ears—and put it back on the pavement outside. There was absolutely no reason for the barrier to be in the garden anyway, the hole having been filled up again by then. The paving bricks have not been put back.

Late in the afternoon, the gas supply was turned on again and our appliances tested. So there’s this bloke, the size of a modest barn, staring at our new gas fire and telling us it needs a flue. The big open chimney behind it is surely flue enough—two other Corgi gas fitters, both independent of the other, have said the fire is totally safe and it also has its safety certificate. Neither of them mentioned it needing a flue. Even Barn Man said it was safe and worked fine, but it would be “better” with a flue. Hmm, does said Barn Man happen to install flues, I wonder?!!

A similar rigmarole will occur tomorrow, too, as the gas company wants to replace the pipe which leads from our metre to the supply pipe. So why didn’t they do that today, while the metre was disconnected? According to the letter (which I saw being posted and just managed to catch as it blew away up the garden, the genius who tucked one tiny corner of it inside out mail box apparently being oblivious to the phenomena of wind) our metre might be disconnected until 8pm. Ooow, hubby is going to luuuurve that when he comes in from the studio…

Meanwhile, I’ve put bamboo cane wigwams round my poor, battered plants. Here’s hoping they survive tomorrow’s activity.

2am saw me padding around the living room, wide awake.  Hubby was snoring like a jammed lawnmower, which is not conducive to restful meditations.

So I'd come down here, lit some incense and read for a while.  The dogs declined to join me, for once, having immediately secured my vacated warm spot under the duvet.  (Actually, Ygraine's booked in with the groomer today--about time too, as she resembles a miniature sheep.)

In answer to those slightly bewildered folk who nonetheless answered my last post:-   no, I am not planning to foist a horrible present on some unsuspecting girl.  I was working on a chapter of Bethany Rose and needed ideas for useless but showy gifts.  

The wordcount currently stands at 39,600. 

I've also added some new and exclusive Hallowe'en designs to my merch site.   Discover them for yourself at http://www.zazzle.com/AdeleCB

Mum's not feeling too well.  She had food poisoning after eating out, followed by a cold, and now her balance has gone haywire again.  She's had inner ear infections before, several times that I can remember.  Evelyn stayed the first night with her and took her to the doctor's in the morning.  When I spoke to her, Mum said she was feeling better but the Stenetil tablets make her very sleepy.

Cat is now an official university student!  Yaay!!!   And she's bought a pet snake named Havok.... 

Two friends were caught up in the recent airline collapse.  Lynn and Lee had only three days left of their Greek island holiday when their hotel manager told them their room had not been paid for.  They were given the choice of paying £600 instantly--which was the cost of their room for two weeks--or sleeping on the beach with police charges hanging over them.  Lynn and Lee had already paid for the hotel when they'd booked the holiday.  On top of this, their flight home no longer existed (due to the airline collapse) so they had to pay for another flight home.  Obviously, they intend to claim against their travel insurance.  But their holiday was seriously marred.  Lee should have been walking around a sunny Greek island, when instead he was pacing round our algid patio with Emily trying to eat his shoelaces.

No creative writing today, as much of the morning was taken up with administrative work. However, I did manage to get the three young plants (which I'd bought almost two weeks ago) planted into the front garden, and I've added new designs to my Zazzle merch (see above). If you wish to view the entire collection visit:- http://www.zazzle.com/AdeleCB.

At the weekend, a friend of Richard's came to visit. Can someone please explain to me - just in case I'm missing something here - what could be at all confusing about being asked to smoke outside? And how this does not mean stand in the doorway so the toxic, stinking fumes drift indoors anyway? And then have the audacity to react as I'm being awkward? Grrrrrr!!!!!!! Odious little man....

Just back from the village, and what did I see when I walked up my garden path to my front door?

My best camelia lying crushed on the floor, its main stem snapped.

Five years to grow it; one second for some clumsy idiot to ruin it.

Yes, the scaffolders will be receiving a flea in their ear from me in the morning....

I didn't have to grant them permission to put the end poles of their scaffold on our side of the hedge. The least they could do is respect our property.

Anyway, I've just taken photographs of the roof with the scaffolding in the frame, so if they leave any broken tiles behind I have visual evidence that our roof was fine before they walked over it.

Ah-ha! I seem to have fixed it.... Sort of.

My computer went haywire yesterday. Whenever I tried to view a webpage, it would rapidly scroll up and down by itself, making the page impossible to read. So I ran anti-virus, anti-adware, anti-spyware - and finally, after nearly four hours of running these boring things (and meanwhile wandering into the kitchen to bake mince pies and roast a chicken) Search and Destroy found a spybot. Having zapped that, things seem to have returned to normal.

However, I also want to delete cookies and browser history, and Control Panel won't let me. The first screen appears (usually), where you can select which option you want to work with. But then the page for Network and Internet Connections refuses to manifest. Attempting to open this freezes my computer up, so I have to use Ctrl-Alt-Del to escape.

Actually, my Control Panel has been temperamental since the SP2 update was installed. It worked fine before that.

Heeeeeeeeeelp!!!!

What do you say to someone who narrowly escaped being mugged and who refuses to realise this because she insists on clinging to a rosy view of their world?

This elderly person (whose name I’ll withhold) got off the bus with four bags of shopping plus handbag. She headed towards a shortcut (which is regularly used) which runs between tall solid fencing and a high mesh fence overlooked by a school. The pavement is one person wide, and the middle section is out of view from either end. A user could be seen from someone looking out of a school window, but by the time they’d raised any alarm any attacker would be long gone.

Anyway, as she walked towards this alley, a young teenaged boy asked if he could help her with her shopping. She agreed, and also said she’d give him something (money) for his trouble. She walked down the alley in front of him. When she was half way along the alley, another young man walked towards her. He shouted something, and she then realised that the teen behind her couldn’t be heard. She turned round, found her shopping dumped on the floor and the teen had run off. The second man ran after him, as if giving chase.

The lady arrived home safely, having struggled to carry all her shopping by herself. Another person, as well as myself, has suggested that these two men/teens were actually a team. The one who shouted probably realised they were being watched from the school windows, and raised the “call it off” signal. He did not return to this lady after apparently giving chase to the younger one.

I told her she’s lucky not to be sitting in hospital right now. What do you think?

Eurrrk, I have a really annoying fragment of an Oasis song playing repeatedly in my head. Be QUIET!!!!! Go AWAAAAAY!!!!! I wouldn't mind if it played the whole song, but not the same pesky bit over and over and over...

Don't you just hate it when your brain decides to torment you with the same line of some annoying advert or prehistoric song (which you never liked anyway)?

Today’s blustery rain has put paid to our intention to finish burning a mountainous heap of garden debris. This would have been our third bonfire in almost as many days. Add to that the consideration that yesterday’s effort began at 10am and ran straight through until 3.30pm (or thereabouts) when Cat arrived, and you’ll get some sense of the scale of the job.

In order to have (the first part) of our new fence installed, we had to cut back tree branches, large bushes, roses, etc. These were added to an existing pile formed of more typical autumnal pruning. The bad news is that part two of the new fence will involve a similar palaver.

And the nuisance builders ruined more than a few plants, too.... Clearly the concept of stepping round plants was too complex for them.

The tranquilisers for Ygraine have worked well. The vet gave us six, to help Ygraine through Guy Fawkes Night, as fireworks send her into a blind panic – hyperventilation and a heart attack through sheer terror is a real possibility for her. The main night is tonight, of course. The tranquilisers make her very sleepy, and have worked well.

If I it was left to me, I’d ban the stupid celebration altogether. Even properly organised public events, sited in parks or on beaches, for example, cause pointless panic amongst wildlife. Here, people are asked not to walk their dogs or ride horses along the tide-line at this time of the year, as this can disturb migrating birds. Why, then, bombard the same critters with ear-splitting volleys of explosives?

Hmm, what else is new?

Oh, a big thank you goes to everyone who helped make the recent Circle of Hands scheduled chat such fun. I'll organise another, (probably at the end of January?)

I have a sore thumb. I sprained it helping to carry a HUGE mirror upstairs. All say, “Ahhhhh

Dear Richard,

I'm so happy for you, I can hardly type fast enough. I truly believe that destiny is bringing us together. And most amazing of all, both our lives are about to change in a fascinating new way.

November 26th will mark the most important day of your life. That's because on this day the planet Uranus is highly charged in Pisces. And that means, Richard, there will be an enormous amount of lucky energy surrounding you.

And to harness all this incredible energy, I want you to have the powerful "Magical Square" as a special free gift.

Your 77 wealth days are about to begin...

I'll spare you a re-print of the remaining ten and a half pages of blurb, which culminate with the revelation that, in order to access this "lucky energy" and receive his "magical square", Richard needs to pay £23.95.

I don't recall "highly charged in Pisces" as being a standard astrological term....

Richard, typically, quipped something about modifying the sender's Uranus.

It reads exactly as it did on the spam:-

Dear Adele Cosgrove-Bray,

I am Barrister S****** K***, a solicitor at law, personal attorney to Mr.P.A. Cosgrove, a national Of your country, who used to work with S**** Development Company in Republic of Togo. Here in after shall be referred to as my client. On the 21st of April 2000, my client,his wife and their only daughter were involved in auto crash along ecowas express road.

"Here in after shall be referred to as my client"? What a peculiar name.

All occupants of the vehicle unfortunately lost there lives. Since then I have made several enquiries to your embassy here to locate any of my clients extended relatives, this has also proved unsuccessful.

Deary deary me; the Cosgroves of Africa certainly have a rough time with cars....

After these several unsuccessful attempts,I decided to track his last name over the Internet, to locate any member of his family hence I contacted you.I have contacted you to assist in repartrating the fund valued at US$6.5 million left behind by my client before it gets confisicated or declared unserviceable by the C**** S*** Security Company in Lome, Togo where this huge amount was deposited in a trunk box with other treasures..

"Repartrating" and "confisicated", hmm?

The said security company has issued me a notice to provide the next of kin or have his account confisicated ... yadda yadda yadda ...I seek the consent to present you as the next of kin to the deceased since you have the same last names, so that the proceeds of this account can be paid to you.

Therefore, on receipt of your positive response, we shall then discuss the sharing ratio and modalities for transfer.I have all necessary information and legal documents needed to back you up for claim. All I require from you is your honest cooperation... and an empty head, maybe?

...to enable us see this transaction through. I guarantee that this will be executed under legitimate arrangement that will protect you from any breach of the law. Please get in touch with me through this email for more details.

Best regards.

Barrister S***** K***

N:B REPLY TO THIS E-MAIL

How sweet; he even added a cartoon set of scales to his signature!

The expression on Purple Monkey's face says it all!


Ygraine and Emily, fast asleep - almost!


Emily asleep in the little wooden wheelbarrow which my Dad made. He would have loved to have seen this photo.

It seems that the idiot who kept spamming this journal has returned, despite my having lodged a formal complaint with the car sales company whose website was being promoted. Consequently Meditations in the Cyber-Realm is now unable to accept comments from any unregistered users. This is not especially convenient to me, as amiable visitors are also prevented from saying hi, but I will not permit this journal to be used as a graffiti-board for tedious pests.

Would the anonymous pest with the IP address of 61.240.111.196 kindly desist from spamming this journal with unwanted car sales adverts. All your comments are automatically screened, which means I'm the only person who can read them anyway. Not only do I have no desire to buy a car, but I can't even drive.

And even if I did wish to buy a car, I don't do business with those who manifest such little respect.

Now be a good peasant and go away.

Here we go again, word for word...

"Dearest One,

"I know this proposal letter may come to you as a surprise considering the fact that we have not had any formal acquaintance before .but all the same I would want you for the sake of God to give this an immediate attention in view of the fact that the security of our live and possession is at stake.

"I am Rebeca D**** the only remaining daugther of late Mr.and Mrs. Edward D****. My father was a business man resident in Abidjan Cote d'Ivoire before his death in march 22 2003.My mother died when I was a baby and since then my father took me so special. Before the death of my father on 22 March 2003 i was a student in one of the secondary schools here in Abidjan Cote D'ivoire, and tracing from our family history my father came to Cote d'Ivoire when he was young and since then has lost contact with his real family in Ghana.

"My father was an international business man, he was into exportation of agricultural and produce here in Abidjan.I now ask for your assistance in transferring this funds deposited by my late father in a domicilliary account in one of the banks here in Abidjan..."

Hmm, how is it you couldn't approach one of your late father's international business associates? Ah well, on with the fun:-

"I am honourably seeking your assistance in the following ways: (1) To provide a good bank account into which this money would be transferred to .(2) To serve as a guardian of this fund since I am only 22years.(3) To make arrangement for me to come over to your country to further my education and to secure a resident permit in your country. Moreover, I am willing to offer you 15% of the total sum as compensation for your effort/ input after the successful transfer of this fund into your nominated bank account in overseas, while 5% will be used to defray any incidental charges and cost..."

Amazing how the "I-can't-get-my-money-without-your-help" routine crops up time and time again, is it not?!!

"I know that this letter may sound strange and incredible to you but the CNN and the BBC African bulletin normally have it as their major news features..."

Yeah? *evil chuckles* All I've seen on the news lately is war, bird flu and global warming.

"Also I believe that this transaction would be concluded withing fourteen (14) days you signify interest to assist me, Anticipating to hear from you soon,Please writte me back with this email addres(rebeca_d****001@yahoo.fr) for further clearification."

Hmm, I think I'll give it a miss.

More proof that they're getting along behind the LJ cut...
( Read more... )

The builders have made a start at repairing the fence which was blown down during the severe storms we've experienced recently. Several trees in the locality were ripped out of the ground by the gale force winds, or lost large branches.

Speaking of disasters, I'm none too pleased with the haircut I got yesterday. The back is ok, but the stylist has hashed up one side. Richard says it's hardly noticeable, but I can see the error. It's not as if mine is a difficult haircut, even; two inches off the length at the back, then shape the sides round a little. There is a definite chunk missing from one side, which will take ages to grow out. I left the salon holding a leaflet which promised me £5 off my next cut when I send another customer to them. I won't be sending myself back, let alone someone else. Grrrrr!

Oh, and just before I go - here's a little something from my neice:-
http://www.xcellent.de/08.bubblewrap.html

What exactly is the point of Christmas cards? Why do people who've not picked up the phone to say hi once during the last twelve months suddenly feel compelled to mail me images of bloated snowmen?

One card arrived with "write soon" scribbled in one corner. Hmm, if memory serves me well, this same person had written a similar message on the card she sent last year, and when I did write a letter no reply was forthcoming. I won’t be bothering again. Bah humbug.

Certainly we’ve had no real snowmen here this year. In fact, we’ve not even had an overnight frost. It’s so mild that I’ve got roses coming into full bloom in the garden, and around the village are cherry trees in flower. This is not normal winter weather!

Anyway, half of the seasonal nonsense is now over, and the shops are desperately trying to sell us the same junk which we didn’t want before the 25th. We had to brave the insanity of Birkenhead on the 24th, unfortunately, as my digital camera isn’t working properly. It keeps switching itself off, and that’s when I can coax the reluctant gadget to switch on in the first place. It’s got three months to go on its guarantee. “Oh, it’s the battery”, said the over-confident little (7ft tall) man in the shop. Apparently I was using the wrong brand, which seems somewhat unlikely as that particular brand has worked fine for the last nine months. The pesky camera worked perfectly in the shop, of course. When I got it home, it wouldn’t switch on at all. New batteries, another set of new batteries… No joy. So guess who’ll be heading back to the shop very soon. Grrrrrr!!

Yesterday I sent out a newsletter for Riverside Writers, and organised a one-off snail-mailshot for those who haven’t got emails yet. Don’t ask me how a person hopes to be a writer in today’s world if they’ve not learned how to use a computer. As I said to Sylvia last night, it’s akin to someone from the Middle Ages clinging onto their quill and refusing to consider the value of those new fangled printing presses. (Or is this just me being snarky?)