Good bye, thanks and Star Trek

I started this weekly blog on 1st April 2015, my first day of redundancy, and this is my 53rd post. There are a few unusual things about this:

1. I've never managed to keep anything else going for a year, in fact most of my New Years resolutions end on the 2nd of January.
2. I always thought that there were 52 weeks in a year but this year seems to have 53. I know that it's a leap year but sure!y that means there's an extra day not an extra week.
3. Although the blog is still called Worklesswendy I have been in work for many months now, in fact I am in my third job. It's been a year full of change but sometimes change brings with it new opportunities.

I've enjoyed learning about blogging and writing this blog but I think that it has run its course now and come to its end. I thank you all for reading it and for letting me share my experiences and thoughts with you. I hope to write more in the future but am unsure what form that writing will take as yet.

So thanks again for reading, take care and in the words of that great philosopher Mr Spock,

"Live long and prosper".

Did I mention that I was a trekkie? No? Well that's a tale for another day. Good bye for now.

Simnel Cake, Cockles and Daphne du Maurier

My Simnel cake is in the oven so I am writing this post surrounded by the delicious scent of baking: a heady mixture of sugar, spice and almond. I love any baking with almonds in and will happily eat Cherry and Almond Cake, Bakewell Tart and Battenburg Cake until the cows come home. I've never made a Battenburg but I do bake a Simnel Cake each Easter.

I like the traditions that we have at various holidays, Easter and Good Friday especially. On Good Friday, we are up early and have Saffron buns for breakfast. In our family it's always been Saffron buns instead of the Hot Cross Buns and although I like the mixed spice flavour of a Hot Cross Bun I still prefer the Cornish saffron bun.

In Cornwall it is traditional to go trigging on Good Friday. Trigging is where everyone heads to the coast to collect shellfish, so after breakfast we don our oldest and dirties clothes and head off to the Helford, picking up pasties for our lunch on the way.

The Helford is a seawater estuary whose muddy shore is perfect for collecting cockles. At low tide everyone heads there armed with buckets, welly boots and garden forks. Sometimes you can see the edge of the cockles lying exposed, but generally they are hiding just below the surface of the silty mud. To find them the trick is to drag the garden fork gently across the surface of the mud and look out for the tell-tale squirt that shows where Mr Cockle is hiding. For some reason the cockle thinks that if his gloopy home is about to be invaded he should send a little jet of water up to try and put predators off, unfortunately for him it actually lets the hunter know where he is. It is then just a case of digging down just below the surface, only about a centimetre, and uncovering him and popping him into the bucket.

Sounds simple enough doesn't it? Well it's not. Remember I said that the Helford was muddy? Well its really muddy: squelchy, sticky, up to the top of your boots muddy. Slippy, smelly and able to pull you down beneath the surface muddy, or at least that's what it feels like. You have to wade out into this mire risking losing your wellies which are so clogged up with mud that they weigh at least a ton each, only to then get squirted in the eye with dirty seawater by the cunning cockle.

The other problem that I have with trigging is that once you've found the pesky little bivalve you have to get him into the bucket. Ok cockles don't bite or run away but they are really dirty and I hate getting my hands mucky at the best of times. So these days I tend to find one token cockle just to say that I've done it and then sit on the sandy area above the tide line with Billy dog as there is no way I am letting him onto that mud.

We lunch on our pasties which have been kept warm by being wrapped in tea towels and try not to eat too much mud which is still clinging to our hands (well every one else's, not mine). Then after lunch we walk around Frenchman's Creek, the setting for one of Daphne du Mauriers novels and one of my favourite books and walk. The cockles meanwhile are left in the shadow of the car so that they don't get too warm and to try and keep them out of sight of the possible cockle rustlers that might be on the prowl.

After our walk it's home to get changed into mud free clothes, have a cup of tea, a game of Boggle and then fish for dinner.

As I said at the start of this post, I love traditions, so think of me on Friday, muddier than Glastonbury, risking life and limb to hunt the elusive cockle, literally combing the mud for dinner and trying to race ahead of the incoming tide. Wait a minute I've just remembered I won't actually be doing that, I'll be the one reading my book in the sun watching everyone else up to their eyes in mud. I do think that it's important to change with the times and to create new family traditions, don't you? So whether you're covered in mud, with family or off to pastures new, eating saffron or hot cross buns, pasties and Simnel cake or something more exotic I hope you all have a very Happy Easter.

Crufts, string mops and air fresheners.

A beautiful little West Highland White has won Best of Show at Crufts this year. I guess that as a Westie owner I should be happy about this however I'm not sure that I am as pleased as I probably should be. You see for those of us with pet dogs who are not of show quality it can be a bit upsetting to compare our own mutts with the paragons that we see parading around the show ring.


The little Westie who won the show, "Devon-Geordie Girl" is pure, pure white. She is as white as the driven snow, as white as gloss paint and as white as cotton wool. In comparison Billy dog is a dirty grey shade, in fact he is as white as bathroom mould, as white as my nephews grubby sport socks and as white as cotton wool that has been used repeatedly to remove makeup.


Westies tend to get some rusty staining on their beards from getting their chins wet in their water bowls, Billy's beard is in fact pretty near ginger, however "Devon-no treats for me thanks, I've already eaten" must have been taught to drink through a straw as even her beard is white.


"Devon-Geordie Girl, look at me I'm perfect" has a beautifully groomed long skirt that practically sweeps the floor as she trots along. In comparison Billy dogs skirt is scruffy, starting to form dreadlocks and looks like it has been used to sweep the floor; the floor of a very,very dirty room.


"Devon- I've never rolled in Fox Poo" moves gracefully, head and tail held erect, barely glancing from left to right as she mirrors her handlers every move. Billy dog has his nose to the ground looking for dropped bits of food, then he jerks his head back against the lead to make sure I stop at every tree and lamppost so he can leave his mark.


"Devon-please lift me over that puddle, I don't want to get my feet dirty" stands perfectly still whilst the judge and the world admire her finer points. Billy dog scratches his ears, licks his balls and then sits and drags his bottom across the ground as he tries to dislodge a recalcitrant piece of poo that's got stuck in the hairs just below his tail.


"Devon-wow look at that cat, isn't it cute" has the perfectly rounded coiffure that's supposed to make the Westies head resemble a Chrysanthemum. Alternatively Billy dogs head has a disproportionately large nose, a strange under bite on his lower jaw that makes it look like his mouth is always open and his hair cut is more string mop than flower like.


No doubt "Geordie Girl-I don't think it's polite to bark at seagulls" smells sweetly of baby shampoo, talcum powder and freshly laundered, then line dried linen. Eau de Billy dog is a more complex blend of fragrance of seaweed, mixed with essence of swamp and attar of cow dung.


There seems to be a huge hoo haa each year following Crufts about the health of certain pedigree breeds, this year the judging of the German Shepherds has certainly come under fire. But don't let this divert you from what I consider to be the real issue with Crufts this year, which has got to be that the winner of the Best in Show, a supposed Westie, is in fact a remote controlled fluffy toy. "Devon-I never jump up on the furniture" is not in fact a dog, but a robot impersonating a Westie. What shocks me is that the  judges never realized, they have obviously never owned a real West Highland White. So if you sat at home watching Crufts and were impressed with "Devon-I love being bathed and brushed" and are now considering getting a dog like her, think again. You might end up with a real Westie, more like Billy. A dirty, smelly, greedy, noisy and headstrong little critter who hates baths, cats, and seagulls. A dirty, smelly, greedy and noisy critter who I happen to love to bits and who bizarrely I wouldn't swap for any best in breed, class or even best in show. Now where'd I put that air freshener, off the settee Billy and stop barking!

Jigsaws, Angel Delight and Nowegian Fjords.

There is something very enjoyable, therapeutic and rewarding about completing a jigsaw puzzle, a fact that I have been reminded of this weekend.


I took my Mum away for a few days over Mothers Day weekend and we stayed in a little holiday bungalow. We had a good time but the weather was very changeable; one minute we were sitting in the sun and the next sheltering from a hail storm. We were really pleased therefor to discover, when we returned to our accommodation on the Saturday afternoon, that someone had left a jigsaw puzzle in one of the wardrobes. We changed out of our wet gear, cranked the heating up to its tropical setting, made a pot of tea, opened a packet of shortbread biscuits and set about making up the jigsaw.


The jigsaw was a very traditional one, it created a picture of a floral still life with some randomly added walnuts, grapes, plums and butterflies. The colours were deep and rather different from the picture on the front of the box, which had faded somewhat, and this added to its difficulty. First we sorted the sides and corner pieces and were pleased to find that they were all there, then set about filling in the middle. I don't know why it was so enjoyable but over the next couple of days we spent many hours making up the picture and rendering the coffee table out of bounds for hot drinks.


Making a jigsaw always reminds me of being a child as then it was a treat to get a puzzle out. I remember a caravan holiday when it poured with rain so we sat in one afternoon and made a jigsaw on the dining table. If I remember rightly it was a, then ground-breaking, circular jigsaw with a picture of a bowl of red and pink roses. My Mum, Dad, sister and I leant over that little table, piecing together bits of cardboard in various shades of crimson, maroon and magenta, chatting occasionally but other wise concentrating on the emerging picture. It was a really happy day and brings back warm memories and was made even better when we had luminous yellow Batchelors Savoury Rice for our dinner, followed by rather viscous butterscotch flavoured Angel Delight, foods we never had at home.


I guess the enjoyment of jigsawing (is that a word?) comes in seeing a  picture take form in front of your eyes; from a random set of shapes you eventually create a photo of a Norwegian Fjord, a thatched cottage or a basket of kittens playing with a ball of wool. Although it's not really a competitive sport and I can't see it featuring in the Olympics any time soon, there is still a slight element of competition in seeing who can find the last corner piece, or complete the sky first, to add that bit of excitement. Whilst making up a puzzle you become focused and single minded, and although it can be frustrating when you realise that you have made a mistake on the edge pieces and you can't find where it's wrong, I'm sure it must still be good for stress relief.


Jigsaws can also be educational, I think that I learned all of my knowledge of geography from completing Jig-maps. Jig-maps, for those of you who don't remember them, were a collection of jigsaws with pictures of the continents on them, my favourite was Africa because it had pictures of animals on it. At one stage I could have accurately labeled on a map the major cities in Africa circa 1977. I'm not sure if you can still get Jig-maps but there are new additions to the types of jigsaws available including 3D puzzles, double sided ones and Wasgijs, where you don't know what picture you are trying to create. Surely all of this puzzling has got to be good for the brain although I do worry about the undocumented addictive quality of jigsaws.


So if you're suffering from stress, need to be reminded what it feels like to be a child, are unsure what to do as it's raining outside or you need to entertain a group of people with mixed ages, I can recommend putting the kettle on, changing into your comfiest clothes and getting out a jigsaw puzzle. Angel Delight is of course optional.

If only, leap-frog and George Clooney.

I think two of the saddest words in the world that you can use are "If only", the five saddest being "Sorry, the bottle is empty". "If only" suggests missed opportunities and chances not taken. How awful to look back on your life with regret and the feeling things could have gone better.

This week unfortunately I have had my own " If only" moment as I have missed out on doing something I have always wanted to do and which you don't get to do too often. An action that's on my bucket list along with visiting the Giant's Causeway and learning to play the violin.

You see as this is a leap year (am I the only one who wants to call it leap-frog year?) we have had that rare date of 29th February this week, a date that we don't get every year. A date where according to tradition it is socially acceptable for a woman to propose marriage to a man, something that I have always wanted to do. A date that has passed again this year without me proposing. There are a few reasons why this didn't happen.

The first reason, and if I'm honest probably the most important, for not proposing, is that I'm not in a relationship and so didn't have anyone in mind to propose to, but I still regret not having done it. Actually it's not quite true that I had no one in mind, I had thought that of everyone I know I would propose to the old man who lives a couple of houses along from me. Every morning I see him walking down to the local shop to pick up a newspaper, when I take Billy dog out for a walk. We say good morning, comment on the weather and then he pats Billy. He also lets me steal herbs from his herb garden.

Not much to build a marriage on you might think but the reason that I was considering asking him to marry me is because I am pretty sure he'd say no. You see I don't want to be married, I'd just like to propose. I imagine it would feel really liberating to be the one to do the asking rather than waiting passively to be asked. However I didn't propose to him as I'd then have to change the time of my morning walk because it would have been too embarrassing to keep bumping into him each day after he'd rejected me. Also, supposedly, if a man refuses then he has to buy the woman a silk robe and I don't think that my elderly neighbour could afford one.

I could of course have asked a celebrity to marry me as I'm sure that they would have said no, but I don't know any and now George Clooney is married what would be the point?

As well as not being in a relationship and not knowing any celebrities is the fact that I'm just not brave enough to ask. I'm not really a natural chance taker. The most risky activity I take part in is eating cheese that's past it's sell by date and even then I worry for at least forty eight hours that I'm going to be ill. I just don't have the nerve to ask someone to marry me.

Another leap-frog day has therefore gone by and once again I have missed the opportunity to do something I've always wanted to do. Still only another four years to wait and I get the chance again. I wonder if I'll have the nerve to do it next time. If only I was braver; if only I was sure the man I asked would say no; if only my neighbour knew what a narrow escape he has had; if only George Clooney was unmarried. If only.

Birthday Cards, puppies and matching socks

This week it feels that I have spent most of my time in stationers and card shops searching for that elusive item; the perfect greeting card. There can be no finer feeling than finding the ideal card for the person whose birthday/anniversary etc is coming up. The card with the exact picture and words I need, the card with the appropriate humour and message. I can happily spend hours browsing through racks of cards admiring floral fronts often accompanied by equally flowery sentiments inside, cute pictures of puppies and kittens, glittery handmade offerings and funny cards galore.

I'm often amazed by the variety of cards on offer, it seems that there is a card for every occasion. As well as the usual birthday, anniversary, get well, retirement, exam and birth congratulation you can also get thanks for watering the plants whilst I was on holiday, sorry your hamster has tonsillitis and we'll done for wearing matching socks for a week.

Why then, if there is so much variety, have I had such trouble finding the right card?

I started looking for cards for some up coming events a few weeks ago, however when I then visited the card shop it seemed that 78% of the shop space was being used for Valentines cards. I decided therefore to wait a few weeks to choose my cards, to get Valentines out the way, so that I had a better choice.

This week I headed back to the shop anticipating racks full of wonderful birthday cards to select from only to find that the Valentines cards have been replaced by Mother's Day cards. I know that if I wait till after Mother's Day I'll find that the shops are full of Easter cards.

Following hours of fruitless searching I have a few suggestions for card shops and card manufacturers.

• Please be mindful that people have birthdays and anniversaries all through the year. There is a need for Good luck in your new job and Happy Retirement cards even in the run up to Christmas, so have a seasonal display but please leave us some choice of year round cards.
• Don't print and display so many over the top, slushy cards. When you read the words in many of the cards on display you'd think that the world was made up of angels and paragons of virtue. I often want a card that says Happy Birthday, I hope you have a great day but end up leaving the shop with a card that states that with each birthday the recipient becomes a bit more perfect and that my life would be empty without them.
• Conversely please don't make all the humorous cards X-rated.
• Yes have a few novelty cards such as Thank you for making me a cheesecake or Sorry you broke a nail but most of us are looking for regular birthday and anniversary cards, so could we please have more of these on display.
• Not a suggestion but a question this time. Why are cards so expensive? How come I can get a box of Christmas cards for the same price as one Good luck in your driving test card? I'm not buying them a car you know.

Well that's my rant over. I feel like I should be sending out Sorry this blog is a moanfest card, I'm sure that someone has printed one. I'd also like to apologise to my friends who have birthdays coming up, I know that it may seem strange to get a Best Mummy in the world card (especially the men amongst you) but they were the only cards I could get.

Fences, graffiti and Hermann Hesse

This week I have discovered a new hobby and I'm very excited to tell you about it. As some of you know I have been a big fan of walls for a while now. Those of you who read this regularly will probably be fed up with hearing about Hadrians Wall, which incidentally is one of my favourite places and definitely my third favourite wall ever. There's something special about the arrangement of stones, the play of light glinting off mica and the warm fuzziness of the lichen that grows on walls. However this week my new hobby has become fence spotting. Yes you read it right, fence spotting.

It came about quite by accident as these things often do. You see storm Imogen took away several of my Mums fence panels as she blew through, so Mum has been getting some quotes to have her whole garden fence replaced by something a bit more sturdy. I happened to be at her house the other day when one builder arrived to take a look at the job. After he had left, Mum and I realised that there was a lot about fencing that we didn't know. He had described different types of fence posts, both wood and concrete, different panels, from "Hit and miss", to picket and full panels and had also discussed the optimum height of the fence. We decided therefor to go for a walk to see if we could spot some of the fences he had been talking about.

What followed was a very enjoyable hours walk where we were amazed by the number, variety and dare I say it the beauty of fences. There were those built on the ground, those that topped walls, some had vertical boards and others horizontal, many were topped by trellis, some had scallop shaped tops and the rest were plain. They also came in a variety of colours, some were left as natural wood others were stained various browns and greens and we even saw a couple of controversial blue fences. The heights also varied enormously, from knee, to waist, to shoulder to standing on tippy toes and still not being able to see over. We found out that on the new fences the builders had put a little plaque on them to say who had built it, a bit like a graffiti tag, and by the end of the walk we were able to identify the work of two builders before we got close enough to read the plaque. Mum and I both got home and agreed that it had been an unexpectedly enjoyable walk and even Billy was happy as he had been able to christen a few of the fences.

Since then, where ever I go, I find that I am spotting fences and not just walls. I'm not sure that it is going to take off into a widespread hobby but I do recommend it if you have a spare half hour. It's free to do, gets you out and about and is educational.

Hermann Hesse wrote an essay entitled "On little joys" where he explained that he thought that happiness and contentment come about in the little and often overlooked aspects of life. He felt that we would be happier if we paid more attention to nature: the beauty of a blade of grass growing through a pavement, the song of a bird and the feel of the sun on our faces, and focussed less on the "bigger  pleasures" such as promotions, material goods and social standing. Hesse was definitely focussed on nature and the little joys that this would bring but I think that there can also be a lot a pleasure in other "little" details in life too, such as peeling an orange and keeping the skin in one piece, the sound of the first drink being poured from a new bottle of wine, writing a sentence that you are happy with and the appreciation a well made wall or fence. Here's to the little joys in life.

Audrey Hepburn, Storm Imogen and log fires.

Eventually my broadband was sorted and after a few very frustrating weeks I am now back on-line. Unfortunately pretty much as soon as my broadband was fixed my tablet died, it had been sick for a while but it seems now to have given up the ghost and I've yet to replace it. I really hate technology, it's great when it works but there always seems to be something going wrong with it. A bit like cars, they're just big money magnets, yes they are useful to get around in but are often a pain.


Whilst I'm on the subject of pet hates, I've discovered a new one these last few days. My new hate is the automatic, hole in the wall, hand washing machines that you get at service stations. Let me explain why.


I've been away for a long weekend and travelled back to Cornwall in the height of a storm. There were times on the journey when I feared the car was going to turn into Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and take flight, so strong was the wind. After driving for about 45 minutes the road was closed, and we had to take a diversion which added about an hour to our journey. Eventually we were diverted back to our normal road and were back on track, only to realize, all too soon, that myself and my travelling companion both needed a toilet break. Luckily we quickly came to a parking area complete with toilets, and a greasy spoon café.


Having used the toilets I went to wash my hands in one of the metal upright sinks where you have to put your hands into the aperture of the machine and hope for the best. For a nano-second I always feel a bit like Aubrey Hepburn. Not the most obvious time to feel like a glamorous film star maybe, standing in a drafty, smelly, public toilet. Nevertheless as I tentatively place my hands into the gaping hole I'm reminded of the scene in Roman Holiday when Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck visit the Bocca della Verita, or mouth of truth, a stone gargoyle that is supposed to act as a lie detector and will bite the hand off anyone who tells an untruth whilst their hand is inside. Anyway I braved the possibility of having my fingers bitten off in the hope of washing my hands.


I stood with my hands just inside the machine for a few seconds, nothing happened. Gathering my courage I plunged my hands further into the gaping abyss. Immediately a jet of soap squirted up my sleeve and ran down my hands and fingers. I rubbed my hands together but despite them being coated by about half a pint of soap there was no lather. Then off to the far right of the machine the water started to dribble out in a half hearted manner. I moved my hands into the luke warm trickle only for the water to drip to a halt and the air blower to start up. My still soapy hands were then blasted by an icy gale that put Storm Imogen to shame, then just in time to blast chill my hands without drying them at all it turned off. If I put my hands in again I would only end up soapier and colder so there was no point in repeating the process. I returned to my car with wet, soapy and freezing cold sleeves and hands. I don't honestly recommend smoked mackerel and soap sandwiches for lunch.


In the interests of balance and as Valentines Day is approaching I feel that although I hate technology, cars and hand washing machines (not to mention Morris Dancing, the feel of cotton wool and ironing) I should point out that there are many things that I do love. I really enjoy spending time with my family, I love winning at games, the unexpected warmth of the winter sun when sitting on a rock on the beach, Victoria sandwich cakes with raspberry jam and cream, a crackling log fire and crisp roast potatoes. So although technology is a pain, cars expensive and hand washing machines are inefficient the positives in life still out weigh the negatives. Or to quote the Monty Python team:

"Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...
And always look on the bright side
of life

Always look on the bright side of life."

B*** BT!!, beeping call centres and fudgin Broadband!

I spoke too soon last week when I sang BTs praise for their excellent customer service, much too soon.  This weeks experience has been very different!


Last week when I called BT, by some miracle I got through immediately to a very nice woman who told me that she could see what the problem was and an engineer would be out to fix it on Thursday. I explained that I would be out on Thursday but she told me that the engineer wouldn't need to get into my property to fix the problem. I got home on Thursday expecting to find that everything was sorted and that I'd be able to catch up on reading some of the blogs that I normally follow, only to find that my broadband still wasn't working. I then noticed that my answer machine was flashing and when I listened I found it was a message from BT saying that they hadn't been able to fix the fault as I had been out when the engineer called, could I call again to arrange another visit!


What followed then were some of the most frustrating phone calls I have ever made, I can feel my blood pressure rising just at the thought of them. In a nutshell:

• Firstly, when I called to rearrange the engineers visit, I was on the phone for 20 minutes in a queue before I even spoke to anyone. Eventually my call was answered and I explained that my broadband wasn't working. The person I spoke to ran a check on my line and informed me that my phone line also wasn't working. I then informed him that I was calling on my landline which was working absolutely fine. He still insisted that the problem was my phone line and he would have to transfer me to the phone helpline and before I could protest I was back in a queue.
• Fifteen minutes I was in the second queue before BT phone helpline answered my call and enquired what the problem was. I again explained that my broadband wasn't working, the person I was speaking to then told me he would have to transfer me to the Broadband helpline. Luckily I was able to interrupt him before I was back again in a queue and explained that I had just been transferred from there. This second operator ran another check on my line and informed me that my phone line was out of action. Grr! Again I told him that I was calling from my home number and that it was working fine. Nevertheless he informed me that the problem was with my phone line and he would arrange an engineer to visit on Saturday morning to fix it. He asked for my mobile number so that the engineer could inform me when he/she was on the way. I explained that there was no mobile reception where I lived but they could call on  my landline, only to be informed again that they wouldn't be able to do this as my landline wasn't working. By this time steam was coming out of my ears.
• Saturday morning the BT engineer arrived at about 9.00 o'clock. I explained that the problem was with my broadband and my phone was working fine. He still insisted that the problem was with my phone line and sorting this would fix my broadband. He spent the next 2 and a half hours replacing the line which, where we live, runs underground. Eventually he came back inside and proudly announced that with the new lines my broadband should be even faster. He turned everything back on and, yes you guessed it, the broadband still wasn't working. It was only then that he looked at my broadband gizmos and identified that I had an intermittent power fault on my router. He told me that I would have to call BT again and ask to be sent a new router. I begged on bended knee, whilst sobbing into his toolbox, that he make the call for me as I wasn't sure if I could face it again but he heartlessly refused.
• This next call took 37 minutes to be answered. 37 minutes when I repeatedly listened to messages telling me how important my call was to them and telling me that I could get help on BT.com (assuming my broadband worked). 37 minutes when I contemplated whether I really needed the internet or in fact a phone. 37 interminable minutes where I paced the room, felt my blood boil and was able to perfect my teeth gnashing technique. 37 minutes when I wrote the weeks shopping list and attempted to clean the grouting between my bathroom tiles one handed. 37 of the longest minutes of my life. Eventually my call was answered and I told the operator what the engineer had said. She again insisted on running a line check and quizzed me about what exactly the engineer had said. At one stage it was touch and go whether she was going to take his advice as he was a phone engineer not a broadband engineer, apparently I should have originally requested to see a broadband engineer! Eventually she agreed to order me the part. It should arrive Wednesday or Thursday of this week.

I'm really hoping that the new router sorts the problem as I'm not sure that I can face calling BT again. How can a phone company, a phone company mind, take so long to answer a phone call? I'd also like to suggest that there be an international agreement that no head of state, who has responsibility for pressing the red button that releases nuclear warheads, ever be allowed to phone a call centre, the risk of them destroying the planet in their frustration is just too great. 

Hot Chocolate, Greensleeves and BT.

I have had two quite different experiences of customer service this week that I would like to tell you about as both have left me with very different impressions about the customer service that I received.


The first came from a café that I visited. Billy dog and I had gone for a walk on Porthtowan beach on a cold and blustery afternoon and were about to have a soaking as we could see a band of rain approaching us from over the sea. It was then that I noticed that the beach café was open and had a sign up outside saying that dogs on leads were welcome. I felt around in my pocket and found that, amongst the dog treats, I had £3.78 which would surely be enough to buy a hot drink and shelter from the imminent shower. We went in just as the first drops of the heavy down pour started. At the counter I found that not only did I have enough money for a hot chocolate but I could afford it to be topped with squirty cream and marshmallows. Result! The young woman who took my order said that she would bring the drink over to me.


Billy and I took our seats and awaited my order whilst feeling smug that we were sitting inside in the dry and warm as the torrential rain poured outside. The café wasn't very busy, there were maybe 10 - 12 other customers there and I could see that there were 4 staff on duty, the girl that took my order, a pot wash and 2 preparing food. After a few minutes the girl I spoke to went through to the pot wash area and was chatting to the bloke on kitchen porter duties, she started eating a sandwich. There was one person preparing a food order and the other staff member was on the phone. I waited and no hot chocolate arrived. I couldn't see into the kitchen area very well from where I was sat but assumed that my drink was being made in there. A few minutes later the girl I had ordered my drink from came out into the seating area and wiped down a few tables, she then returned to eat some more of her sandwich, still no hot chocolate.


By this time Billy was starting to get a bit bored so I gave him a dog treat. A customer arrived and ordered a tea which was made for him there and then and he took it to drink at a table just along from me. Still no hot chocolate and by now Billy had finished all of his treats and I'm starting to get a bit fed up that my drink hadn't arrived. Eventually I went back to the counter and asked the girl if my drink was coming, she looked surprised and looked around into the kitchen where it was pretty obvious that no one was making my drink. She apologised and set about  making my drink in a very slow and lack luster manner. By the time I left the café, I might have been dry but I felt very annoyed.


My other experience of customer service came from BT. My broadband failed the other evening and despite following the diagnostics suggested by the help desk tool I couldn't get it back up and running. The help desk suggested that I therefore phone BT.


I was dreading the call as I imagined that I would be stuck in an automated loop where I had to press 1 for bill enquiry, 2 for wifi, 3 to report a phone fault,  4 for broadband, 5 if I wanted to listen to the options again and 6 if my next door neighbours' dog is called Marigold, however much to my relief I immediately got through to a human being. The woman I spoke to apologised when I told her that my broadband wasn't working and she ran some tests. She then told me that she needed to run a test that would interrupt my phone line so would need to call me back in approximately 3-4 minutes. Sure enough a couple of minutes later she called back to say that there was a fault, she had reported it but that it might take 3 days before an engineer could get out to fix it. She apologised for the delay in getting it sorted as she said that due to the weather the engineers were very busy but said that it might be done sooner, but 3 days would be the very latest. I put the phone down feeling that although the problem wasn't yet sorted that I had received good customer service.


So two different experiences of customer service, one where I was kept waiting for a hot chocolate (with all the trimmings) and felt that I had received poor service and one where I was to be kept waiting for my broadband to  be fixed but felt that I had had good customer service. I think that the different ways that I perceived the service I received was partly due to my expectations. In the quiet café, where I could see that the staff weren't very busy and where I was really looking forward to a warming hot drink, I was disappointed that no one appeared to care about my order. Whereas when I called BT I expected to be put in a queue and have to listen to hours of automated messages, not to mention tinny a recording of Greeensleaves, played repeatedly, before I spoke to anyone, so was really pleased when I got through quickly and easily. To my non-technical mind making hot chocolate was easy whereas fixing broadband sounds really, really hard.


And the moral of the story? I'm tempted to say that we should lower our expectations but I don't think that we should do this. Lets keep our expectations high in the hope that even these high expectations will be out shone. And if occasionally we are disappointed then we can always write a blog about it. Hot Chocolate anyone?

Scams, George Clooney and lottery wins.

Now that I am working part time I am around the house a lot more in the day time which has resulted in me picking up a lot more phone calls than I would have done when working full time. It's amazing the number of times the phone rings each day and it's lucky that I am in to catch the calls or I would never have got the call from Microsoft about the terrible virus that my computer had contracted. I would be unaware of the hundreds and possibly thousands of PPI repayments that were due to me and would have missed out completely on the amazing offer for a conservatory, despite living in a first floor flat.


Just the other day I had a call from a call center and the caller kindly informed me that the product replacement cover on my washing machine was due to expire soon. I was expecting the call to be my fourth PPI message of the day so was surprised into responding that I didn't think that this was likely. The helpful person at the other end of the line asked me why I thought that, so I explained that I had got the washing machine second hand 16 years ago and it had never been covered. The caller ended the call abruptly. It got me wondering if maybe some of these calls are scams.


This also got me thinking about what all of these calls say about society and human nature and I have come up with the following thoughts:

• A huge amount of time and effort is put into trying to scam us out of our money. There must be thousands of people across the world employed to try and trick us into giving our account details out. What if, instead of trying to steal money, those people instead did something useful. Surely they could be doing something better with their time, whether that be making, fixing or teaching something. If only the time, effort and expense that these criminal activities entail was instead put into medical research, growing crops or painting a picture what a better, healthier and brighter place the world we would be and I'm sure that it would be more lucrative for the scammers too.
• There must be a lot of really trusting, naïve people out there or the scammers would have given up yonks ago. I don't want to be cheated out of my money but wouldn't it be great to be a person who believed what others were telling them. Those of us who don't fall for the scams may be better off financially but don't we also loose out on something by being so cynical?
• It's really hard to ignore a ringing phone. I keep thinking that I should just let the phone ring and not pick up each call, and although I have left the phone to ring for a few seconds, I always chicken out and grab the handset before the call disconnects. What if I ignore a call and it happen to be George Clooney, who unknown to anyone else, is filming in the area and wants me to be an extra in his movie? To be honest this is just as likely as my quasi-antique washing machine being covered by a guarantee still.
• What is the best way to respond to these calls? Should I keep the callers talking so at least they won't be cheating anyone else, should I confront and challenge them about their criminal behavior or should I just end the call?

I don't have a solution to this problem but I am sure that there really must be better ways to earn a living. The scammers are probably intelligent people but they are really wasting their talents. I feel that they should be pitied and encouraged to find a more moral occupation.


I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts on this subject and what can be done. But for now I must go; the phone is ringing and I'm pretty sure that it's George needing my acting talents, either that or I've won the Spanish Lottery.

Greatness, mice and family

Visitors to Cornwall will be wondering what the strange noise is that they can hear, as everywhere you go there is a constant clicking sound. Puzzled they will be wondering if it is the noise of pebbles tapping together as they are stirred by the waves, or if it's the result of bladder wrack seaweed popping in the wind. I suspect that the RAC and the AA will have had lots more calls outs than normal from worried motorists who think that the unexplained tapping sound is coming from their cars. To those not in the know it sounds like a pair of little mice waltzing across a parquet floor whilst wearing high heel shoes. A quiet but puzzling rhythm.

Well let me reassure you that the clippety clip tap ting  is nothing to worry about and is, in fact caused by an innocent pastime. You see Cornwall is full of the sound of knitting needles and crochet hooks working overtime. The west of Cornwall and I'm sure various other specific locations across the country have gone knitting crazy, myself included. The other thing that you should probably know is that we are all knitting with white or pastel shades in the softest of wools.

What is going on?

Lets explore the evidence: myself and friends and family have suddenly taken up knitting white and pastel articles, in cloud soft wool. Some of the garments look small enough for the previously mentioned waltzing mice to wear. It can only mean one thing, there must be a baby on the way!

I am pleased to announce that I am due to become a Great Aunt! My niece and her husband informed us all at Christmas that they are pregnant and that the baby is due on my birthday. What a gift to get for my birthday,  a new baby in the family, lets hope it's born on time. Hence family and friends are busy making baby items, pretty blankets, little coats and miniature mittens and booties. There's something so lovely about making baby things, not only are they really cute but somehow it makes you feel like you are paving the way for the next generation, that you, in a way, have a stake in the future of the child. Billy dog however is less than impressed as when I'm knitting he's not allowed on my lap and so has taken up residence on the bean bag, from where he glares at me accusingly.

Those of you who have read the "About Me" paragraph of this blog will know that I have always wanted to excel at something, to be brilliant at just one thing. Well when my niece and nephew-in-law have their child I will automatically become a Great Aunt. I get to be Great at something and haven't even had to work at it or train for it. I'm so excited! I've loved being an Aunt to my niece and nephew and couldn't have wished for better young relatives to watch grow up, however I've only ever really been an average sort of Aunt. But this summer I get to be Great. Look out world I'm coming to get you, armed with greatness, knitting needles and a ball of kitten soft wool.

Happy New Year, lasagne and Amish quilts.

This time of year I feel that I should be writing about my New Years resolutions and my plans for the year to come, but instead I feel drawn to tell you about a brilliant idea for an invention that I've come up with.

 

As some of you will know, I have just come back from a holiday in Devon and Dorset. I stayed with my sister in Dorset then a holiday cottage in Devon, where my sister and family joined us for a few days. We had a good time despite it being the wettest Christmas and New Year ever, even the ducks have been complaining about the weather.

 

I enjoy self catering holidays, somehow it never seems a chore cooking in someone elses kitchen, even if you don't always get quite as well equipped a kitchen as you would at home. Whilst in Devon we decided to make a lasagne, a popular dish in our family. We bought dried pasta sheets, cooked up the meat and cheese sauces and then went to assemble the dish. The only dish in the holiday cottage the  right size was an oval shape and as everyone knows lasagne sheets are not oval. We therefor had to break up the lasagne to try and fit them in, those of you that have tried this will know that this is not as easy a it sounds. First you lay whole pieces of pasta in the centre of the dish and then try to fill in the gaps. You eye up the size and shape of the sauce you are trying to cover then work out where exactly you need to break the pasta. Holding the lasagne sheets at a 48 degree angle to the work surface you apply enough pressure to snap the pasta into the right size and shape, et voila you neatly fill the dish.

At least this is what should happen. In reality, despite your careful preparation, when you break the pasta it's as if you have applied the same pressure as a nuclear bomb and shards of lasagne go ricocheting around the kitchen. Bearing in mind the 10 second rule, you quickly collect up the pieces of pasta, invariably banging your head on unfamiliar cupboard doors as you go. A collection of slightly fluffy pasta pieces in hand you go back to your dish only to find that you still don't have the right shape piece to fit. More pasta explosions follow, along with more foraging forays to pick up the scattered pieces, more banged heads until eventually you complete the layers. The lasagne dish which has taken more patchwork skill to make than an Amish quilt, more pieces than a crazy paved path and results in you having a mild concussion.

And my invention? Easy snap pasta sheets. It's so obvious I wonder why it hasn't been thought of before. I think the world wold be a better place if there were lasagne sheets with little perforations on, a bit like the old sheets of postage stamps, so that they could be snapped cleanly and easily.

Right I've got to go, I need to write my acceptance speech for when I get nominated for a Nobel prize for either services to humanity or maybe science, I don't mind which. Happy New Year everyone.    

Baths, prunes and World Records.

After a lovely Christmas with family and extended family we are now having a weeks break in Sidmouth. We normally book to stay in rural holiday cottages but this time we are in a lovely Victorian townhouse. Billy dog loves the view from the large bay window seat where he can watch the passers by, and we are enjoying being in a town for a change.

One thing that I do always insist on in holiday accommodation is a bath tub. At home, as my flat is the size of a postage stamp, I only have room for a shower so it's always a treat to have a soak in a bath when on holiday. We have a lovely big bathroom in this holiday house at the top of the first flight of stairs, so after a walk yesterday I was looking forward to coming back for a bath. A cup of tea later I ran the hot water, added some bubbles, stripped off and climbed in.

The one problem with the bathroom here is that there is no lock on the door, this should not have been an issue as we agreed that if the door is shut then the room is in use. I lay back in the scented water, letting the bubbles engulf me and anticipated lieing there until I resembled a wrinkled prune. Bliss.

This was when I understood why there was a door wedge on the floor behind the bathroom door, not to hold the door open as I had mistakenly assumed but to keep it closed. It seemed that the hot steamy air had a lubricating affect on the door catch because as I lay back in the water the bathroom door slowly  but inexorably opened.

My next realisation was that the bathtub was in line with the glass paned front door. I had a direct view from the bath down the stairs and out the front door. With a vague sense of amusement I realised that if it had been light outside I could have lain in the bath and watched people walk by outside. A bath with a view. Unfortunately as it was dark I couldn't see out.

My third epiphany, which struck me almost at the same time as the cold draft from the front door, was the realisation that although it was too dark outside for me to see people going by, it was in fact very bright in the bathroom. Thanks to some very efficient lighting the people going by would have no problem seeing me! I sunk down below the water, not only to avoid prying eyes but to try and keep out of the Arctic breeze that was racing up the stairs towards me.

Needless to say my bath wasn't very relaxing after this as I spent most of the time trying to keep out of sight, stay warm and planning how I was going to get from the tub to the radiator, where my towel was warming, in the shortest and least exposed period of time. If there was an Olympic sport for getting out of a bathtub I feel sure that yesterday I set, not only a personal best, but a new world record.

Happy new year everyone, please bathe safely.

Christmas, yoga and anticipation.

I drafted this post yesterday whilst having my hair done. My last post therefore before Christmas comes to you live (well nearly live) from the salon.

I am writing this post whilst sitting in the hairdressers, you can probably smell the dye, coffee and hair products as you read. I am having my Christmas haircut. I was considering having my hair braided and teased into the shape of reindeer antlers, however have decided instead to have it dyed green and cut into a Christmas tree shape so that I can festoon it with tinsel and baubels. Only kidding, I'm actually having my grey roots touched up and then my split ends are being trimmed.
The dye is on, I'm having a coffee and biscuit, there are Christmas songs on the radio and there's a gentle buz of conversation from stylists and their clients. I really love having my hair done, I like feeling spoilt and pampered, I enjoy chatting to the stylist who does my hair and who always amazes me by remembering what we talked about at the last appointment (I wonder if she makes notes of conversations as a reminder?) and I love the anticipation of knowing that for one day out of six weeks I'll have good hair.
I know people who don't enjoy it though, who worry that they won't like the cut, who when they get home immediately wash their hair as they aren't happy with how its blow dried and I know one person who doesn't like going to a hair salon as she hates sitting in front of the mirror and is embarrassed to stare at herself. I don't have this problem though as I take my glasses off whilst there so all I can see in the mirror are blurred colours and movements. The down side of this is that I have to hold books and magazines right up to my nose in order to be able to read.
I started enjoying having my hair done a lot more when I began to take a book with me to appointments. Before then I read the magazines that the salon provided and there's only so many perfume adverts, photo shoots of clothes I can't afford and wedding details of celebrities that I've never heard of that I can put up with.
The one thing that I don't enjoy about getting my hair done is the torture of leaning back over the sink to get my hair washed. The basins in salons have got to be one of the world's most useless design products. The curved groove which is supposed to craddle your neck has in fact been ergonomically designed to dig into your vertebrae and cut off the circulation to the rest of your body. To get into position where your head is anywhere near the water you need the flexibility of a yogi as your neck is required to twist itself into the lotus position. So you lie back, getting a crick in your neck, your head at such an angle that the rest of the salon can see right up your nose and still the scalding water can only actually rinse your forehead and ears and leaves your hair, especially at the back, full of suds. The price of beauty eh. I wonder what it says about me that I still enjoy getting my hair done.
This is my last post before Christmas and so my new hair and I just wanted to wish you all a very happy Christmas. I hope that the magical fairy of happiness sprinkles you all liberally with a sparkly, cinnamon fragrant dusting of joy and that at least one of your wishes comes true. I need to go now as the sink of torture is beckoning. I hope Santa brings me a neck brace to help me get over the inevitable whiplash.
Happy Christmas everyone.

Sellotape, space and Goldfish bowls.

So Tim Peake has headed off into space and I can't help but think that it should have been me.

I always fancied the idea of being an astronaut, to be able to view Earth as a globe must be amazing. If I had made a couple of different life choices it could be me up there now. Just minor changes in the decisions I made such as; studying Engineering instead of Psychology, learning to fly a plane instead of buying a house and joining the services instead of working in civilian street. So as you can see it could so easily have been me heading off into space. Of course I'd have also needed different eyes as astronauts are required to have excellent eyesight, I'd need to be a lot fitter and be about twenty years younger. Infact Tim and my almost parallel lives can be summed up perfectly in the words of John Bradford,

" There but for the grace of God go I".

So instead of heading off into space, this week I have mostly been wrapping presents. I have bought this brilliant new sellotape dispenser that fits onto the back of my hand. This means that you can cut the sticky tape one handed, essential when one hand is busy trying to hold the wrapping paper together. Earlier in the week, before I had the dispenser,  I instead cut lots of strips of sellotape and stuck them onto the edge of the coffee table. Then it was just a matter of trying to unstick the tape from the table edge, pulling it off Billy dogs ears, which just happen to be the same height as the table and trying to pull the tape apart when it curls back on itself. Now that I have my amazing new dispenser wrapping presents is a sinch, especially as the wrapping paper I've bought has lines on the back so I don't even struggle to cut straight lines. The only difficulty I have now is that Billy insists on "helping" by sitting in the middle of each piece of paper that I cut.

So OK I haven't gone into space this week and don't get to look out of my rocket window to see the Earth as a sphere. And I won't be a national hero, with the media tracking my progress, but I'm not bitter.  At least I don't have to go to work with a goldfish bowl on my head; my name doesn't sound like a 90's TV show (Tim Peake/Twin Peaks) and I won't be eating my Christmas dinner in tablet form. No I'm not jealous at all.

Reindeers, mince pies and the tooth fairy

Dear Wendy,

Thank you for your letter dated 2nd December. It is a long time since you last contacted me, about 40 years in fact! Your handwritting hasn't improved! I hope that the years have been kind to you.

I can confirm that you have in fact evaded the naughty list again this year, but I should point out that it was by the skin of your teeth. Each year you seem to get a bit naughtier and you really are skating on thin ice now. You have been warned!

I wanted to reply to you in person as there may be a slight problem with a couple of the items on your Christmas list and I don't want you to be disappointed on Christmas morning. As you say in your letter, the festive period does get more and more commercialised each year, but I'd like to point out that it's easier for me to get actual material things compared to your requests. Let me go through your list point by point.

• World peace, end of famine and cure for cancer. There's good news and bad news on these items. Let me start with the good news; I'm very pleased to say that we already have the ability, science and natural resources to achieve all of these lofty aims. The bad news unfortunately is that mankind has chosen at this time to use its resources to instead fund warfare, so peace, food for all and medical break throughs are all currently on the back burner. 
• A self cleaning dog. I do feel for you on this one as it's not just little white dogs who are hard to keep clean. The reindeers winter coats are a nightmare to keep muck free and I swear that the hollow fibres of their coats are dirt magnets. Mrs Santa and I are busy from Boxing Day till about April trying to get the chimney soot out of their undercoats. I can however recommend a good whitening shampoo (I know its good as I use it on my beard occasionally. Ho ho ho.)
• To win at games. A tricky wish to grant this one as if I were to grant it, you would be cheating and as a cheat you would have to go on the naughty list and not get any presents. Therefore I think you're just going to have to do your best to win by skill and luck like everyone else, you'll have more fun that way too.
• Good weather. Slightly outside my remit this one but I've had a word with a higher authority ie. the Met Office and we're on the case, you might want to keep your wellies and a waterproof handy though, just in case.
• A year of sleeping soundly. A good nights sleep is certainly a gift and I'd like to therefore give you an early present by telling you how to improve your sleep. Mrs Santa and I have a rule that we don't take phones, tablets, IPads etc to bed with us. Since we've started this we sleep much better. The wife also insists that we don't have any caffeine after 7:00pm, we have a milky drink at 9:00 and have sprigs of lavender under our pillow. What the lavender is there for, except to get tangled in my beard, I've no idea, but hey ho it helps to keep the elves busy in the summer harvesting the lavender.
• Enjoyment of tinned oily fish. I'm working on this one for you, hopefully by this time next year you'll be eating much more oily fish. I'm afraid that I don't have any fish recipes for you as we pretty much eat roast turkey all year round here, except on Christmas Eve when I have to eat approximately  six metric tonnes of mince pies.
• A red and blue box kite. I feel almost sure that I've delivered one of these to you before, however at this time of year I'm just too busy to look back through the archives and I've only had the current database for the last 8 years. Perhaps you could double check if you already have such a kite.

As you see I'm having a bit of difficulty with your list, so if you'd like to rethink your requests please let me know. Although you thought that you were being good by not being materialistic, you have made my job just a bit more difficult. Just a thought but have you ever considered asking for a set of ghd hair straighteners, my wife Mary swears by them and, no offence, but you look like you might benefit from them?

You also asked about how I got the job as Santa in the first place. Well I left school and got an apprenticeship with the Royal Mail. Whilst doing my training I spent some time as a postman, I also worked in the sorting office and central operations. Eventually I got a promotion into international projects, the experience I gained there was what I needed on my CV to apply for the job with Santas Deliveries PLC. Of course the fact that my Aunt is the Tooth Fairy and my second cousin on my mothers side is a Leprechaun probably helped too, we all know its not what you know, it's who you know that's important. I guess for young people interested in a job these days as Father/Mother Christmas then the more obvious route would be to take a degree in Logistics, like the one that Aston University offer and where I occasionally guest lecture.

So anyway must go, busy, busy.

Be good!

Love, Santa

Santa, oily fish and kites

Dear Santa,

There are already two windows open on my advent calendar and only 23 sleeps left till Christmas so I thought that I better send you my Christmas list as I don't want another mishap, like the year I forgot to send my list and you gave me a very unwelcome shoe cleaning set! 

I'm sure that you, of all people, will agree that Christmas is getting more and more commercialised and I expect that this has seen an increase in your workload, so I'll make this years list less materialistic than previous years.

First I'd like to point out that I have in fact been very good this year, so do deserve a present. I may have had a couple of minor misdemeanors such as the time I shaved Billy dog, borrowed veg from Mums garden, flashed a fisherman and stole five pence of petrol, but no one was harmed and I've done loads more good things, none of which exactly spring to mind.

So this Christmas I would like:

• I know it's a cliché but the first item on my list is of course world peace, the end of famine and a cure for cancer.
• A self cleaning spray for Billy dog. White dogs might look cute but they're the devil to keep clean.
• To win at least one game over the festive season. My family and I love to play games but are all super competitive, so I'd love to win at least one game, ideally more.
• Some good weather over the holidays. I'm not expecting balmy sunshine but some cold, bright and frosty days would be lovely. A light dusting of snow on Christmas morning would of course be perfect.
• A year of good sleep. I don't always sleep very well so I'd love to get a guaranteed seven hours a night to recharge my batteries.
• I'd like to be able to enjoy tinned oily fish more. I know they are very good for me but just don't like them. I eat tinned tuna but unfortunately it doesn't have the same health benefits as sardines, pilchards or mackerel.
• If you're struggling with any of the above then could I please have a red and blue box kite instead.

I was also wondering if you've got time, if you could answer a couple of questions for me. As someone who works as a Careers Adviser, I was wondering how you got into your line of work? Wish Fulfillment must be a hugely competitive job area to get into and it's always interesting to hear about peoples career journeys so that I can pass accurate information onto the young people that I work with.

So good luck with this busy time of year Santa and please pass on my best wishes to the reindeer and elves.

Thanks in anticipation,

Love Wendy.

P's There's still no mobile signal and dodgy Sat Nav in Porthtowan so you may need to bring your street atlas.

Stir up Sunday, soya sauce and shopping

Well Christmas is definitely on its way; stir up Sunday has been and gone, I've baked my Christmas cake and the shops are bedecked with festive goods. I'm well on the way with my Christmas shopping  but for those of you who are still searching for that elusive present for a hard to please friend or relative I may well have the perfect solution.

You see I have invented a new game which I hope that I'll have time to get patented and onto the shelves of all good toy shops in time for Christmas. This blog is by way of market research, so I'd love to hear what you think of it.

The game is called "Where on earth have I parked the car?". Like all good games its quite a simple premise but should afford hours of entertainment. All you really need to play is a car and a supermarket, complete with carpark. The rules are simple, it can be played by one to five players (perhaps more if your car seats more people). You park your car in the large, crowded carpark and head into the store congratulating yourself that you've remembered to bring your shopping bags.

At the entrance of the store you have a tousle with the coin operated trolley and then head in to start your shopping. It's best if you have written a detailed shopping list, which you then leave at home so that you have to wander up and down each aisle in the hope that the things you need will catch your eye or in a perfect world leap off the shelf into your trolley. Ideally you have gone shopping at a time when the store is busy with other shoppers who don't give a fig for shopping etiquette ie they leave their trolley in the most inconvenient place possible, let their children push the trolley right into your unsuspecting calves and stand chatting to friends and blocking the aisle, completely unaware that anyone else in the world needs tea bags or soya sauce.

Trolley laden, you make it to the tills and select the one with the shortest queue, only to find you're being served by shop assistant of the month, who won this accolade by being especially chatty. Don't get me wrong, its good to be served by a friendly face but I don't feel the need to discuss every purchase I've made, yes the wine does look nice and yes we all do deserve a treat, now hand it over!

Eventually goods paid for, the game starts properly because as you head for the exit, hobbling slightly from your bruised shins, you will find that you have no recollection of where you parked your car. The ordeal of trying to remember what you need, playing dodgems with fellow shoppers and being rammed painfully by a large trolley inexpertly driven by a small child, not to mention discussing the cold weather with Miss Conviviality at the till, has induced a state of shopping amnesia and you now have no idea where your car is. You wander off hopefully in one direction only to find that although it's the right colour car, it's the wrong make. You do a u turn and search in another row of cars to no avail. You walk up and down the carpark and are just starting to wonder if your car has been stolen when you realise the car you are standing next to is indeed yours.

The winner of the game is the person who takes the longest to find their car. There are of course bonus points if it's raining, if you're in a hurry and late for something, if you have a white car and if you get home and realise that you've forgotten the one item you went out for. The beautifully presented game will contain, a stop watch with which to time your search, details of the complicated scoring system and score sheets so that you can compare times for previous shops. There could even be online groups where you could see how your time compares to other people.

So what do you think, surely it's destined to be this Christmases must have gift? I wonder if I should be pitching it to The Dragons Den? Let me know if you'd like to reserve one of these highly sought after games but I should point out that due to the high demand I may have to limit purchases to one per household, terms and conditions apply.

France, chicken soup and the common cold

This week I felt that I should write something deep and meaningful about terrorism, but where to start. I don't want to live in a world where human life is used to make a political or a religious point, where a tiny minorities actions can cause distrust and intolerance amongst cultures who previously had lived together harmoniously and where a small group of people can seemingly start a war. So although I am not ignoring the events in Paris I don't feel that I can write about it, I just don't have the words.

So let me tell you instead about my attempt to make chicken noodle soup.

I've had a cold and a cough this week and spent some time looking online for home cures. I didn't fancy a salt water gargle or chewing on a raw garlic clove and I really couldn't imagine how a mustard footbath was going to help, but a reoccurring remedy I kept reading about was chicken soup so I decided to give it a go. It took me the best part of the day on Monday to make and filled my house with savoury aromas.

First I brought a couple of pounds of chicken, a carrot, an onion, a leek and some water up to the boil. I then simmered it for two hour, skimmining the scum off the top every fifteen minutes or so. Next I took the chicken out, took the meat off the bones, put the bones back in the stock together with a paring of lemon, a slice of ginger and a handful of parsley stalks. This was boiled for an hour, strained and left to go cold.

When chilled I removed the fat from the stock and then reheated it. I seasoned it, added finely chopped carrot and leek and cooked it for a couple of minutes. Next I added the noodles and brought back to the boil, then finally added the chicken meat back in to reheat and some chopped parsley.

A lot of love, effort, time, care and attention went into making that soup. I don't really like touching raw meat but had laboriously skinned the chicken portions, ignoring how squeamish it made me feel. I had cut the veg into perfect tiny dice, I'd even pealed the carrot for goodness sake. Despite my cold and blocked nose even I could smell the wonderfully comforting aromour and Billy dog was salivating so much I was practically paddling in puddles of his drool. So after spending seven hours labouring over a hot stove, making my kitchen into a chicken scented steam room and driving Billy dog into a feeding frenzy, what did I eventually end up with and did it cure my cold?

The results of my cooking was a steaming bowlful of golden broth, floating with jewels of veg, parsley and noodles. It looked perfect, better than the recipe picture in fact, and it tasted like a steaming bowlful of hot water. Yes you read correctly, hot water with no flavour at all. I think that all the chicken taste had evaporated into steam and was now clinging to my soft furnishings, I would probably have got more flavour out of my rug and curtains than from the actual soup. Talk about an anticlimax, I had put in all that effort to effectively boil a kettle. I adjusted the seasoning and now had a steaming bowlful of salty water. And my cold? Would someone mind going to the chemists and picking me up some Lemsips please? Aitchoo!

I really wanted to end up with a steaming bowl of deliciousness instead of my watery imposter. A bowl created from a disparate group of ingredients, all coming together in a yummy combination, each ingredient complimenting the other. So this week I have learnt that things it don't always work out the way that you want; my soup was tasteless and France and the world are in mourning. Was it the recipes fault, the ingredients fault or had I done something wrong? Please let's not look for blame, judge by appearance or give up on soup, I'm convinced there's a bowl of perfection out there somewhere, we've just got to keep practising making it. Also we need to remember that there is more good soup out there than bad. Now does anyone know how to remove the smell of chicken from curtains?