How To Lose Custom Without Trying

I haven't posted here for a very long time, but I thought I'd start again with the saga of the coffee table, featuring Oak Furniture Land.  For those of you not in the UK, this is a well known chain of furniture suppliers which advertises extensively on television.

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. We bought a coffee table from Oak Furniture Land. Nice thing, just what we wanted. Came later than they said it would arrive, we had almost written them off, in a whacking great box. The delivery men couldn't wait to get away, unsurprising, as it was getting late.  Unpacked it... whacking great crack in the top, not to mention the two in the sides. So... we had to send photos to prove it (why would they take our word for it?), and they said, oh, that IS a big crack, we'll replace it. It arrived yesterday morning. What they didn't say was, we'll bring another in a whacking great big box, but we won't show you what's inside the big box, you have to unpack it yourself... yes, that's me, on my own, the disabled woman with no energy. I didn't think it was unreasonable to ask them to show me what they'd brought, given that they'd sent us a broken one before, but apparently I was meant to take *their* word for it, and without a photograph, either. I won't accept it if I can't see it, I said, so there's no point in taking it off the lorry. I'll speak to my manager, said the driver, and disappeared off to his lorry...presumably whatever he was saying to his manager was either top secret, or involved a lot of rude words about difficult customers. Ten minutes later, they drove off without warning, leaving me with a broken table and no explanation whatsoever. So my lovely husband rang customer services. No, we don't unpack, they said, you'll just have to take it as it is. No thanks, said Robin. Then we'll send the driver back to collect the broken table, and you'll then have to phone us back and ask for a refund. Which seemed totally unreasonable to us, but that is what happened. I asked the driver why they had driven off without a word; I was told to, he  said... REALLY? Well, err, no, we just did (liar, liar, pants on fire). So I enquire if they treat every customer like this, or just the disabled ones...they inform me that they treat every customer with profound respect. Sure they do...just not me. They give me paperwork to sign. I refuse; they say, we won't take the table away unless you sign it, just as, when they arrived, the driver said, show me the cracks in the table, or I can't take it away (apparently the photographs weren't enough evidence, the driver had to check to see I hadn't been lying).  Turns out, it's the wrong paperwork. Someone else's paperwork. Then they give me my paperwork,which still has me receiving a table. So I write all over it, initial it and sign it. They leave with the table.

Meanwhile, we wait for a promised call from a manager. And wait. And wait. More than 24 hours later, we still haven't spoken to a manager...we have, however spoken to another customer service minion, who says, well, our drivers aren't trained for taking tables out of boxes. Hell, neither am I... but the advantage the drivers have over me is that they're manual handling trained and large, strapping able bodied men. So we go through the whole thing with her. Besides which, she says, it would make them late for their next appointment.  Well, yes, but they managed that the first time with us, and it didn't bother them one little bit.  She can't see that they've done anything wrong, despite saying that it's logical that we would want to inspect the table before we accept it, and says she'll write up her notes and give them to a manager. We say we don't see why we should believe that, as they seem happy to lie at the drop of a hat. Oh, but I will, she says.  We're not holding our breath for a conversation with a manager on that basis, however.

The saga continues.  I wrote this up on Facebook, and shared it with Oak Furniture Land, who have a page on there.  Oh, they said, here's an email address, please send this post and your order number and we'll Look Into It.  Guess what... the email bounced.  These people really don't want to talk to us, or indeed, have anything to do with us. I asked for the name of the Chief Executive and their Head Office; the person I was talking to said, here's a link to our website and our Escalation Policy.  I wrote back and said, I understand that if a consumer asks for this information, you are required by law to give it.  So far, there's been total silence, yet again.  Clearly they only have one manager, and he must be a Very Busy Person.  And he really, really doesn't want to talk to us.

 We've never bought anything from Oak Furniture Land before. We will certainly never buy anything from them again. And it's a shame, because really, they had every opportunity to make things right, yet they insisted on doing them wrong.  So, we've bought another coffee table, from one of their direct competitors.  They say upfront, pay us a bit of money and we'll unwrap it and take the packaging away with us.  We've paid the money; it's worth it to us.  Hopefully, we won't have the same problems this time. 

In closing, a comment for Oak Furniture Land.  Just because it's your policy, it doesn't make it right.  If you screw up the first time, you should be bending over backwards to make things right, not further alienating an already angry customer by refusing to show them the furniture you're bringing to replace the faulty stuff you supplied in the first place.  And in case you're wondering, I haven't recommended you to my eight hundred Facebook friends, and will be leaving feedback similar to this, elsewhere.  Enjoy, like we enjoyed this process.

Things I Have Learned About Chronic Depression.

1.        Understanding the theory doesn’t make it feel any better.  It ought to, but it doesn’t.  It just makes conversing with therapists a bit more interesting (I suspect most of that is on their side, rather than mine).  It’s also a great means of avoiding the subject (which is probably as annoying to therapists as it is to me…but showing off my hard won knowledge is irresistible).

2.       It’s okay to believe that the whole thing is a chemical imbalance in the brain, and accordingly, take medication.  But it’s also a damn good thing to work out whether there’s a root cause, and deal with it.  The chemical imbalance might or might not go away, but the root cause won’t unless you address it.

3.       The root cause may well look as if it’s more than one thing…but in the end, they are all related.  It’s a bit like working on a net; move one bit, and the rest of it shifts accordingly.

4.       It’s a long road, without a map.  As a result, you may find yourself endlessly looping round the same cul de sac, but with subtle differences in syntax and vocabulary.

5.       None of the ‘experts’ seem to want to write about chronic depression.  I suspect this is because short episodes are much easier to treat, they have happy endings, usually, and they don’t make ‘experts’ feel challenged (or helpless).

6.       Your GP’s surgery will not have a clinic to monitor your progress annually, though they have them for other chronic illnesses (like diabetes or asthma).  

7.       It takes time to process stuff.  It has taken me thirty years and four ‘breakdowns’ at least to get to where I am now, and even although I’m on an even keel, it doesn’t take much for me to disappear down a black hole.

8.       You don’t tend to notice you’re depressed until you’re coming out the other side (though those around you will probably have spotted it the day before it starts).

9.       If you’re not at risk of harming self and/or others, the NHS isn’t interested in chronic mental health issues, and provides no assistance other than scraping the suicidal off the floor and putting them together again well enough to function.  Better, if you can, to find a really good private therapist and stick with him/her.  Of course, that is probably not an option for most people, if only for cost reasons.  

       A few people just don’t understand, at all.  Most people don’t want to understand.  So cherish the people who do; they will be your greatest allies. The same, incidentally, can be said of doctors, up to and including psychiatrists.  Just because they’re trained for it, doesn’t mean they either like or enjoy the job, which inevitably impacts on the service they provide. 

      Try not to get overly paranoid.  Everything that comes out of your mouth may well be considered as just another symptom, but that doesn't make talking less important; if anything, it makes it more so.

      Doctors and psychiatrists don't always get it right.  Sometimes a second opinion is essential, albeit difficult to achieve.  

      Above all, keep believing.  It will get better.  It does get better.  Honest.

I Hate HousePainting...

it's official.  Well, for a start, it's boring.  And fiddly.  All those straight edges.  And then, I'm not very good at it.  And then, Robin tells me I'm not very good at it, going round after me, criticising this bit here and that bit there.  It's really a no win situation.  Except that I get it done.  In this case, I'm undercoating so that he can do the top coat.  Mwahaha.  Because there will be The Conversation.  You said you were never going to do house painting again.  True.  And you're bad at it.  True.  So why did you do it?  Well... I wanted it done.  I've started, so I hope he'll finish.  Now... where else needs doing...?

Weeding Out...

A local resident..who doesn't like the cats...

the 'naughty plants' (les mauvaises herbes)... a much nicer term than 'weeds' for a plant growing in the wrong place.  I'm so not a gardener.  But having had someone come and do some gardening, including clearing one of the (very few) borders, I thought that it was a good idea not to let things get out of hand again.  I'm going to have to clear the rest of it myself, though... no money for frivolities like help with the gardening.

Oddly enough, when I actually get out there and start doing it, I feel fine about it.  I think it's the same process as happens when I'm working.  There is a real need for concentration (I know a weed from a plant, but it's sometimes touch and go...), and so the task becomes a contemplation, and the contemplation becomes a meditation, albeit in a very uncomfortable position (must ask for a kneeler mat for my birthday...). 

And then there's the cats.  They think it's Very Strange that I'm in the garden for any length of time; I'm usually just passing through on the way to the studio, or out to the car... so they study what I'm doing with a certain measure of incredulity.  After a while, the oldest comes and pats me on the arm, and that's the sign that enough gardening has been done for the day, at least in his view... and its time to Play.  That involves him chasing a stick around the garden, or a bit of dead plant... and the other three looking on, waiting for the opportunity to jump in. 

And then there's the frogs.  There are about five of them, and they have all been getting busy in the pond.  The evidence for that is in the piles of frogspawn and the splish splashing every time I go out the back door.  They're keen, but shy.  And, of course, they don't like the cats. 

I seem to be somewhat converted to the idea of gardening... might even  plant some flowers this year... if we get enough rain to make a hosepipe ban avoidable... seems pointless, otherwise.

when you don't have any chocolate in the house?  I asked on Facebook, and got some interesting answers. Drink, they said, sex, pancakes...right down to, go and get some.  Good move.  But I'm trying not to go out in the car unnecessarily, and the need for a chocolate fix isn't really a major problem, particularly when I'm planning to go out tomorrow.  So I'm going to do what everyone does in this case... make a chocolate cake. 

My son earned my disapprobation when he said that Byfords of Holt make better chocolate cake than I do...but he might be right.  Sigh.  But I remembered an old Delia recipe for Chocolate Beer Cake, so whipped out her first big recipe book...and it wasn't there.  It was in one of the earlier books, the Evening Standard one, I think... which I gave away long ago, thinking I didn't use it.  Well, I didn't...except for that cake.  Thanks to the joy of the internet, however, I am reprieved... it is here. 

Phew.  I don't like TV chefs as a rule, and have only ever bought that original Delia cookbook and one by the ubiquitous Nigella Lawson, but I rarely consult them.  I don't like their style, but for different reasons.  They both irritate me hugely, though I accept that they do what they do well, and are worshipped (I use the word advisedly...) by millions.  I guess I just don't like being told what to do.  I've been cooking for over thirty years, and have gone from reading a recipe and following it verbatim, through consulting a recipe, and following it vaguely, to creating my own recipes, vigourously.  And unwritten.  And containing words like 'slug', 'smidgen' and 'bit'.  Maybe I should write a cookery book...but first, I'm going to make That Cake...

 Meanwhile, I'm looking forward to Spring, to see how my clematis will do after being hacked to the ground by the gardener last autumn.  He swears it will run rampant...I hope he's right; it's one of my favourite flowers.  The cats are keen for Spring Proper, too, and have followed me about all day, asking me to switch the rain off.  Of course, we shouldn't want that, as drought is a real problem for Norfolk, but secretly, I think everyone but the farmers would like a nice day once in a while.  It has cleared up here, after three days of persistent rain, so the cats have shot out of the catflap to do catty things.  Let's hope they come back again...

When In Doubt...

...eat cake.  Chocolate is good, undeniably, but cake is marginally better.  I've taken to making a dozen cupcakes, which last us nicely through the week.  The carrot cake was...err...an aberration, but a tasty one.  To make my cupcakes, I use a Victoria Sponge recipe, using 3 eggs.  I find that's enough to fill twelve muffin cases.  To the basic recipe, I add the grated rind of an orange, and then make orange flavoured icing using some of the juice.  Yum yum; my neighbour, who isn't really very sweet toothed, called them 'refreshing'.  They certainly smell delightfully of orange. 

The carrot cake is an online recipe I found some time ago; search the BBC cookery website and search for 'Yummy Scrummy Carrot Cake'.  I have to say, the cake tastes better than the title sounds...   The last time I made it, I substituted allspice for the cinnamon and nutmeg, put in a handful of raisins and some sour cherries.  That was delicious.  This time, I've added a handful of raisins and some dried cranberries, so I'm looking forward to seeing how that comes out.  This lot should keep us going until the middle of next week...unless we're deluged by visitors, of course.  That doesn't happen much, but I did promise to take a couple to a friend for coffee...twice... that's four down, eight to go...

MBH

I think the world divides rather nicely into two camps...those who do housework, and those who don't.  Though, more correctly, perhaps, it's a continuum, along which we all slide.  At each extreme, the slob and the house  proud.  It slides along from slob to lazy to disinterested to vaguely interested to meaning well to keeping things clean to keeping things tidy to house proud.  People vary in their ability to see what needs to be done.  I see lots of things that need doing, but I don't always actually do them.  Others just won't see what needs to be done.  Or will brandish their inabilities, proudly, like bright flags, as in 'You know, I've never been able to work out how to use the washing machine (which we've had for five years)'. 

Today is turning into a domestic day.  The washing machine is on, the dishwasher too, and I'm contemplating the ironing (though may not get any further than that...).  I've got the kitchen to clean, the floor to do.  It's a never ending list.  As soon as that floor is done, the cats will parade over it with muddy paws, or someone, usually me, will spill something, and it's away again.  The clothes get worn, the dishes reused.  It never ends.

Victorian ladies who sat on chaise longues and sewed had servants, of course.  No wonder they could do intricate needlework.  They were fed, watered, looked after and generally pampered.  If I want to be pampered, I have to do it myself, and the best I can do right this minute is to head out for the studio.  It's not tidy either, but at least I'll have fun in there...

There's The Good News...

which is that Robin started a temporary job today, which will bring in some much needed cash.  We're far from living on the poverty line... we did that when we were first married, and believe  me, I know the difference.  If it hadn't been for Robin's parents, we would have struggled enormously.  Just in case you were thinking that I don't know what I'm talking about.  But, of course, the more income you have, the more commitments, too... like mortgages.  Children aren't cheap, either, not even grown up ones.  

The bad news... well, you would think I would be delighted, wouldn't you.  Instead, the demon depression is snarling at my heels.  We are, of course, not out of the woods yet by any means.  But it is typical of me to go through difficult times, ignoring how I feel, and then have it all slap me in the face when things get a bit easier.  Still, there are lots of benefits to the position we're in at present, many of them revolving around food... no surprises there, huh?  My banana bread has improved in leaps and bounds.  I've created a number of interesting soups.  And I discovered a carrot cake recipe to die for... so there are bonuses. 

Nothing is ever as black as it feels.  And these things pass...particularly feelings.  To help the bad ones along, I'm going to go play in the studio this afternoon.  The fact that I don't feel like it, is proof that I should be doing it.

Togetherness...

...is wonderful in theory.  This is the longest time Robin has ever been out of work, and it's proving to be...interesting.  It's nice to have him at home.  It's just that I like a lot of quiet time on my own, and it feels weird to have someone else in the house, hogging the PC (thank goodness I didn't listen to him, and bought a laptop last year, or I wouldn't be able to blog!) and interrupting the work at odd moments, usually the moments where you really wanted to be concentrating on whatever it was.  It does, however, make me wonder how he will cope when he retires.  I have a lot of things to do, arguably too many.  Robin, though, like many men (I won't say most, though I wonder if that is true...) focusses strongly on his work, and other than going to the fooball, has very little in the way of hobbies.  Once you've trawled the internet for hours, applied for jobs and talked to agencies on the phone, for even more hours, what do you do? 

The first time Robin lost his job, we bought some paint, and he started to paint the living room.  He immediately started getting a lot of phone calls, and he ended up in a job, with the living room only half finished.  This time, he has repainted the (very tiny) downstairs loo, but clearly that wasn't enough to interest the employment gods.  Interestingly, though, when he took to his bed with a migraine, he got three calls on the trot about possible temporary jobs.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, perhaps, he doesn't get migraines very often.  Not sure how to feel about that...

This does, however, give me a profound respect for couples who live and work together.  I don't think I'd work well with Robin, and vice versa, yet friends of ours manage that level of togetherness with ease.  One couple is completely devoted...the other two seem to thrive on scrapping with each other.  Each way works for them.  I think we're somewhere in the middle.  I also think Ill be working in the studio at the bottom of the garden next week.  I daren't ask Robin how he feels about it all, but I suspect he might enjoy the break!
 

The Way To A Man's Heart...

...has traditionally been through his stomach.  So, as I can't go out and buy a present, I thought that I would bake a cake.  I've had the heart shaped tin for ages, but have rarely ever used it, except at Christmas.  But today was the day, whilst he was at the acupuncturist.  Today was also the day for orange cupcakes; orange rind in the batter, freshly squeezed orange juice in the icing.  Yum.  And the soup is made for the week, and pizza is in the oven (home made, of course).  I'm not obsessed with food, honest...I just like to eat a lot!  And home made is always best.

So...what have you got your sweetie for Valentine's?

The Problem With Depression...

...or one of them anyway, is that you have a tendency to not do stuff.  That'll wait til later... I can't be bothered... I'll fail, anyway... It's procrastination gone mad.  And I use the word advisedly.  I suffer from procrastination; I think we all do.  When I'm depressed, though, everything becomes pointless, so nothing gets done. 

The upside of Robin being out of work, though, is that it provides an imperative.  I'm not buying convenience foods or anything that's expensive, for that matter, so if I don't cook, we don't eat.  And whilst I do have a repertoire of 'instant' meals, you get sick of the same thing over and over.  So I got a grip, cleaned the kitchen and made cake.  What else would you expect me to do?  Oh, I also made soup, and slow cooked a chicken until it melts in the mouth...but it's really the cake that does it.  In particular, I made a lovely carrot cake (the banana bread was okay, you understand, but not a patch on the carrot cake).  It's nearly all gone, of course...visitors and the two of us have put paid to all of it barring two slices, which are earmarked for tonight's tea.

Somehow, getting one thing moving in one part of your life, helps you to get other bits moving, particularly if you give it a bit of a gentle shove.  Yesterday was not a good day, but I made myself start clearing out the conservatory, which has been suffering from 'do it in another lifetime' syndrome.  Since I want to move Big Bertha out of the studio and into said conservatory, I need to make space for her.  More about that on the other blog; Bertha, if you didn't know, is my large scale Epson printer.  It felt like rearranging deckchairs on the Titanic, but I managed a little bit of it.  Today, I've got stuck in and have got half the room rearranged, with a perfect space for Bertha created.  I've moved my fabric around (the conservatory houses my fabric for dyeing), folding it up and making more space.  Things are slowly looking up.

And, of course, as I'm doing this, I'm seeing interesting things and thinking interesting thoughts.  As the depression fog lifts, my mind turns to what I need to do to get active and make some money.  I've been talking about getting stuff onto etsy for months...maybe now it's time to do it.    All of these things combined, make me feel better still.  As they say, a thousand mile journey begins with the first step.  No matter how wrong it might feel, the more I do, the better I feel.  I prophesy a return to regular blogging...  

Here We Go Again.

I'm in a bit of a state.  A year ago, my lovely husband took what seemed to be the perfect job.  And it was, on paper.  A year later, he could no longer bear to work there, for reasons I won't go into here, and handed in his notice.  He finished on 31 December, and has not been able to find more work.  Anyone looking for a good Finance Director anywhere in the UK, please feel free to shout out!

So... we have roughly £60 a week coming in until he gets another job, or six months passes, whichever comes first.  This has happened before, so we know how to handle it, but I thought I would record my attempts to save money, make do and mend and all those lovely things that we promise ourselves we will do when it's not strictly necessary, and immediately start to do when it is.

I've started by cooking up a storm; this has halved our food bill.  I think this is probably the most straightforward contribution I can make to our joint finances.  No convenience food of any kind, less meat, more veg, and home made cake and biscuits (this week, it's banana bread).   Strictly speaking, the cake etc is not necessary, but everybody has to have a little sweetness in their lives...  And the challenge is to use everything up... no throwing out.  At the moment, there's not all that much in my fridge, but I made fish pie yesterday, and made enough for two meals.  The tomato sauce I made to mix the fish into, I made a double amount of, and that is waiting in a container for me to make pizza.  There's some pork mince, some of which will be cooked with doughballs, and some as a chilli. 

Not throwing anything out means using the disasters, too.  I made some flapjacks with maple syrup,which didn't work too well, and crumbled as I took them out of the pan (note to self, leave overnight before removing from pan...the ones I had abandoned came out beautifully this morning, sigh.)  So, I made too much custard yesterday (that was to go with the remains of a chocolate and maple syrup sponge which I'd made from stuff in the storecupboard).  I've mixed that with a little creme fraiche and the remains of the  lemon curd I made at Christmas (no more of that, it's an indulgence...) Then I stirred the flapjack crumbs into the mix.  It tastes very nice...very rich, certainly, so small portions are on the cards, which means it will go further...hurrah.

I've applied for a couple of jobs, though given that I've been out of the job market for some time, it seems unlikely I'll get anything.  So, just in case things get out of hand, and we have to sell the house, I'll be doing the other half of my domestic diva impression, and finishing off all the jobs that I should probably have done years ago...and hopefully get rid of my son's possessions...which would give me a lot more room to play with!  So watch this space for more wittering about downsizing, repairing and generally tarting up...

Lucky Me.

I thought that today, on my 50th birthday, I'd do a bit of stocktaking. This has to be the best part of my life...I am surrounded by friends and family, our son is about to marry a lovely girl, and I am living my dreams with a wonderful, supportive, loving husband in a beautiful house in the Norfolk countryside. It sounds idyllic, doesn't it? I agree, and it is.

It wasn't an auspicious start... I was the 'wrong' sex; my mother wanted a boy, hoping that her married partner would divorce his wife and marry her, rather than just living with her, if she gave him the much wanted son... It didn't work, of course. My birth wasn't registered; it's not the kind of welcome you hope for. And those of you who know me know that I have spent a significant amount of time unravelling the emotional damage of a difficult relationship with my mother, an alcoholic. Finally, though, over the past couple of years, that has all been put behind me, as much as it can be, and I live a joyful, creative life. I am indeed, very lucky.

I wanted to say thank you to everyone who has sent me birthday wishes on facebook or elsewhere, and hug all my lovely friends who add joy and laughter to my life. I hope everyone has a happy, happy day! And remember... above all, change is possible. Or, as someone smarter than me once said, 'It's not what is done to you that is important, it's what you do with what was done to you'. I have changed my life for the better...and if I can, what's stopping you?

Froggy Went A-Courtin'...

and, judging by the amount of frog spawn in the pond, he did so with considerable effect. Well, they, really...four that we've seen, and probably more lurking in the depths of the pond. It's amazing the difference a week has made, turning the pond from frozen stillness to a hive of activity (possibly an unfortunate mixed metaphor, there, but...). A couple of ladybirds were paddling on the surface of the pond today, and we noticed several water beetles as well as the frogs. Doubtless there'll be newts there, too, but we haven't seen them yet. The daffodils are coming out, snowdrops and crocuses still flourish, and all's well with the spring garden. Hurrah!

I hadn't realized how fast the time was passing, haven't written here for over a year. Must Try Harder... but it's unlikely to be in the next couple of weeks, as I'm off to the North for a week shortly, to visit friends and relations and have A Good Time!

Breaking Negative Cycles

I spent a lovely day yesterday visiting my niece. Those of you who know my story, will know that my family situation was seriously dysfunctional. Social workers talk about 'the cycle of abuse', I read somewhere. They say it takes three generations for an abusive pattern to disappear. My niece has been estranged from her mother until recently, just as I was estranged from my sister, her mother. So I thought I would tell her some family stories.

When I think about it, there have been patterns that have indeed repeated themselves in our story, though they in themselves were not abusive. My mother married in her teens, as did my sister and myself, whilst my niece had her first baby in her teens. As we talked, we agreed that we had all done so to escape a difficult family situation. Of all of us, I am the only one to remain married to the same person; all the other relationships have broken up. My mother was estranged from her mother for a time, just as I was estranged from mine for over twenty years, my niece from hers. All for different reasons, but it's interesting to see those patterns emerge.

But it is equally interesting to see the patterns break. My own son, beloved, decided not to get married last year, as he felt it wasn't right for him. Another niece is pursuing a university degree, with no signs of marriage imminent. My sister's second marriage is over twenty years old (as it were). Whilst the niece I visited is bringing up two joyful, happy, secure children on her own. I'm sure it's not easy, but she is making a wonderful job of it!

Why am I telling you this? I think, because it is so hopeful. There has been so much pain in our family over the years, but there are clear signs that that pain is, if not over, at least muted. That our behaviours are no longer causing such pain in our children, and hopefully, that they will not adopt such behaviours with theirs, if and when they choose to have them. Tolstoi said that all happy families are the same, but that all unhappy families are unique in their circumstances (a misquote, but it's close). What he didn't add, was that change is possible, and that when it happens, the pleasure of creating strong familial ties is even stronger than it otherwise might be. If you are in the situation I was, take heart. Change is possible. And know that you are not alone, either. Lots of us struggle with such issues, and not only survive, but grow, change and learn. I wish you luck on the journey.

Starry, Starry Night...

I went for a wee wander around some blogs and found this quiz on Janine's blog.
She turned out as a Hermit...I, on the other hand, came out as a star. I love the stars; we have no street lights in the village, so we can see them clearly most nights... and the tarot card is intriguing. Does it match me? I would like to think so.

You are The Star

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised

The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict any immediate or powerful change, but it does predict hope and healing. This card suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, that unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They might say you're a dreamer, but you're not the only one.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Happy Soup!

As I've said on this much neglected blog before now, when it gets cold, I start making soup. My friend Dean told me that sweet potato, eaten pretty much however you like, has tryptophan in it, an amino acid which encourages the production of serotonin in the brain. If, like me, you suffer from depression, that's a good thing to do; I take medication to help with serotonin uptake, but some natural help is not to be sneezed at. So now, soup with sweet potato in it is lovingly known as happy soup in our household. Hot, thick, rich and sweet tasting, it's delightful. I make mine with onions, carrots and turnip, with a few spices added just for interest (thai curry spices, if you're interested), but any veg that happen to be around can be added in. Find out more about this; just google sweet potato and depression. Not the most likely of combinations, but it works!

But if we're talking real comfort food, then there's nothing to beat Heinz Tomato Soup and some bread and butter...yum. I make my own tomato soups, but always have a tin of Heinz in the cupboard for emergencies. And it's good without bread, too (we ran out today, so I'm having some HTS without...). And there's some fruit loaf to follow. Not that I'm obsessed with food... but it is that kind of a day!

Life Is Simple...

when you're a parrot. Cupboard door shut? Och, just open it. Throw a few bits and pieces on the floor. Invite a friend to come and have a look around. Then get fed up and shut the cupboard door, only to change your mind and open it again... an entertaining cycle that could go on all day. Of course, it does nothing for the cupboard door....

I stopped to visit my friend Terry on the way back from York. She has a fair number of animals (though not as many as Alison, which is another story entirely); three cats, a dog, two horses, all of whom I met and stroked. Even Monty the Parrot! And didn't get bitten for my pains, for once. This is unusual; every time I've met Monty, he has given me a bit of a nip, which Terry assures me is 'affectionate'. A Likely Story. But isn't he gorgeous? I have some of his discarded feathers, which I keep promising myself to make into something or other... eventually... soon...

A Funny Thing Happened...

in the supermarket the other day. I had begun to pack my shopping, and Robin disappeared off to do something, buy a lottery ticket, I suspect, and just at that moment... the battery in my hearing aid failed. It beeps furiously when that happens. You would think that a couple of bleeps would suffice, just enough for you to screech and switch the *!?* thing off, but no, it seem to continue ad infinitum. That wasn't the funny thing, though. We had Rather A Lot Of Shopping, but the girl at the checkout, after the cursory, do you need help with your packing, was doing her best to ignore the fact that I was swamped and my assistant had disappeared. Until something fell off the conveyor belt. I didn't catch what she said, the first time, so she had to repeat it. Something fell off the conveyor belt. Oh, sorry, says I, I'm slightly deaf and my hearing aid just failed, so I'm not hearing as well as I could be. Oh, right, she says. And as I go to pick up whatever it was on the floor, she starts helping me to pack my shopping... and continues solicitously even after Robin reappeared and took over.

I can't begin to discuss the issues I see here. Does she think deaf people can't pack shopping? That I am less of a person for having some difficulty hearing? In which case, I wonder what would happen if I started wearing a 'Chronic Depressive' t-shirt? Would I get better service, or worse? Or was it all just a coincidence? I don't know. And probably never will. I thought it was funny, so I thought I'd share it with you. But my, it could get wearing... or incredibly useful...depending on how you look at it!

ps the image proves just who is in charge in this household. If there isn't food in the bowl in the studio, one of us cries until I go back to the house to supervise our eating. Not to add food, you understand, I top up the bowls before I go, just to be companionable while (usually) Mollie chomps her way through a few mouthfuls of dry cat food. Sigh.

It Seemed Like A Good Idea...

at the time, said Millie. Tidy garage, cat able to climb, roofspace looks inviting... I'm sure you can put two and two together with the image, and understand that Millie wasn't quite so happy about it once she'd done it... but she did manage to get herself down. Eventually. With a lot of mewing and crying and looking indignant. As if we'd forced her to go up into the garage roof.

My bloomer of the day is actually going to affect the week. Robin is away in Manchester until Friday; he rang last night to say that my handbag, complete with purse, was lying in his car. Oops. No credit cards, no cash... at least I have my keys here. Double ooops, as I'm going out with the girls on Thursday. Here's hoping the bank will cooperate and cash a cheque... it's not easy going to your branch when it is in Scotland, you are in England and you don't have any money or cards... Oh well. Good excuse to spend time with the art...if excuse were needed...