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.