Bactrian Conspires

Wednesday, often referred to as hump day, and I have the right ‘ump with this particular Wednesday, it’s not so much a Dromedary and much more a Bactrian of humps.

I mused this morning that today I would upgrade the OS on the iMac to the new Catalina. The timing was right, I’d time-machine backed up after the photo job was done, as well as external drive saved the valuable folders. I clicked the magic button and set it going, just one hour to download, followed by one and half hours to install and a further thirty minutes to set-up. Now that doesn’t sound so bad does it?

Just before Noon a four note trill sounded from the bedroom. Hmm, odd, that’s the sound the phone makes when you place it in the charger. Trill, weird was there a brief power cut, but everything else is working. TrillTrillTrill. Okay that’s more than a power out, it’s going crazy. TrillTrillTrillTrillTrillTrillTrillTrillTrillTrillTrillTrill non-stop and my next care visit would not be until 2:50, three hours of this four note TrillTrillTrillTrill that cannot be drowned out by music because the iMac is updating……… it’s like when the smoke alarm battery fades and you have to wait for a bod with step ladder.

After the install and set-up my computer ever so kindly informed me that some of the apps may not be supported by the upgrade. Hmm, well that all depends which ones. I perused the list and most seemed to be to do with the printer survey and compare list, all good. But oh hang on …. bummage ….. those two apps I use a lot, the one I use to write the HTML for the website and the one I use to organise and upload the photo albums to the web site. Whilst finding another HTML editor is not exactly difficult the photo albums one is, because it is essentially discarding all the work done over the past sixteen years and starting from scratch, again. Put that on the “projects” list. *sigh*

Carer came to the rescue taking the phone out of the cradle, whoohoo, bliss. We scuttle through to the kitchen to fire up the slow cooker, she went to open a draw and it wouldn’t budge ‘something’ was stopping it, I could barely get my fingers between the draw front and the work top. I teased out a plastic bag but there was something solidly jamming it, most likely the foil or cling film boxes. Grrr, between the two of us and the handle of the wooden spoon we managed to get it open, another to-do job, reorder that draw (there’s not a lot in it).

Not sure if today is the wisest day to try a new slow cooker recipe.

Is it bed time yet?

 

It’s one of those Monday’s, that’s why

Technology is bad enough when it complies with our instructions, but it turns into a belligerent stroppy over tired toddler when it decides to be awkward.

Today I wanted to print off some notices for Big Sis’s ‘reflections’ service, she was adamant she didn’t want any fuss or funeral. I had spent Saturday working on the layout and wording, finding one of the very elusive photos of her and refining it for my purpose. Sent it off to BFF because I always miss something when proofing etc. Left it alone to give one final check over before printing it off, showed bro-in-law and hit the print button.

Printer chugged and clunked, whirred and span eventually printing out the test go, but the picture came out oddly coloured. Damn, colour cartridge must be super low. Discovered how to pull printer apart, remove cartridges and dispatch Bro-in-law to remortgage my hovel for a replacement. He was delayed getting back to mine as the police closed my cul de sac as an elderly gent had collapsed mid street and there were police cars and ambulances galore.

We attacked the razor sharp finger slicing packaging and extricated the cartridge and reinserted into its little housing compartment. Click, clunk, all done. Hit print and ……. flashing lights. *sigh*. We fiddled and bodged, I googled and “ah-ha’d”. According to the manufacturers website the domeflotchy (I am fully conversant with the tech terms) that senses whether it’s the correct cartridge and ink levels doesn’t work after the first lot of cartridges are removed but there is a work around, just hold this button for 15 seconds and presto the flashing lights will cease. So I did and they didn’t. *sigh*.

I disconnected everything, unplugged everything, uninstalled printer from my computer. Drank my (second) coffee. Plugged everything back in, turned on the printer and ……. light still flashing. *sigh*. So I hit print anyway, and it printed it out.

Of course I knew it was going to be one of those sorts of Mondays when I woke up, every hour or so from 1:15am, as I floated around the bed in a sweaty menopausal hot flush, as I turned over and neck made an awful crunch sound, when I poked my eye as I was sponging my face, when I clumped my funny bone on the desk draw.

I want to curl up on the sofa with buttered toasted crumpets, but with my luck today I’d set off my new ear piercing smoke alarm (installed by two very tall svelte firefighters).

Still, I almost managed to order Big Sis’s coffin topper spray of flowers coherently, only cracking up into a few tears as I read out the wording for the two cards. Not a phone call I ever wanted to make but the lovely lady was most patient and concerned to get everything ‘just right’.

 

The Other PostCode Lottery

With having different people visit my hovel recently I’ve found myself having very similar conversations. Firstly it’s “I didn’t know these flats were here, how long have you lived here?” (27 years) and after a brief surprised silence I add “it’s okay the Royal Mail don’t know These flats are here either”.

You see a frequent occurrence happened again and this time (again) I began an official complaint about it with Royal Mail. I had ordered some clothing from a High Street store via their online site, carefully added my postcode and ding up popped the correct address in full. On Friday last week the PostPerson ‘tried’ to deliver it, my usual Postie knows to try the door when there’s a packet and leave it on my desk, but Friday must be his day off. What made it increasingly annoying was the red card shoved through the door was discovered as my primary care person was leaving, she looked at the time and remarked “I was here at 10:40 I never heard a knock” nor had I and to add salt she added “I was in here (the lounge, window beside front door) I would have seen him”.

Hmph …. blessed redelivery needed.

I went to the redelivery web page and tapped in my postcode and hit the ‘find address’ button, annddd my address does not appear, my street does not appear, my town does not appear! According to the proper official Royal Mail my street name is really my building name, the street is the street my road joins, and my town doesn’t warrant a mention. I took screen grabs of the errors and then manually added my address. Thankfully when Postie delivered on Monday it was my usual Postie and he brought the parcel in.

Twenty Seven years and ‘still’ the Royal Mail cannot get it right with the postcode they issued to my street.

 

Thinking Mode

Things may be getting just a tinsy-wincy tad brighter, the clouded noggin is potentially clearing, the odd element of sarcasm returning, one is ‘almost‘ thinking of things to do and complete and blog about … 😱. I know! I’ve actually done some crochet and tapped away at the keys of the computer, I’ve ordered some new trousers and thunked a job or two. I even thought about starting to read a new book.

Still a ways to go, the disjointed bureaucracy to deal with and stuff.

Watch this space ….. more to come ….. ‘soon‘ …. maybe after Wimbledon

🤣

 

She’s Wrong/He’s Right

Ain’t social media fun!  Recently Kirstie Allsopp was lambasted in the media, which the Twitterarty then jumped on the bandwagon and went fully armed negative, because she has replied to a question. But as ever the media and rwitterees only cherry picked the tiny bit that they objected to and bashed away madly.  In a nut shell Kirstie said she flew “Premium Economy” (that’s not first class nor business class) but her tweenie and teenage children went economy because they needed to understand that a privilege should be earned.  Okay, what wasn’t taken onboard, well, often the distance between the rows may have been about 4/6 roes, the kiddos were accompanied with adult step children, when boarding Kirstie introduces herself to the cabin crew and adults seated near children and let them know where she is, during the flight she regulars walks down to check on them.  Her children are not annoyed by the seating arrangements, infact they prefer it as Mum isn’t constantly overseeing everything they do. She’s never been called back because of unruly behaviour.

As for people’s comments, you’d have thought she’d let them play on the motorway, swigging vodka, juggling razor blades! They were truly rude, condemning and highly critical of her parenting ability, I’m sure threats to call Social Services were made.

Her tv presenter partner Pip on the other hand remarked “We leave the kids at home to look after the dogs!” … Has he been called the demon of dads? Has he been bombarded with comments of how disgusting he is? Nope.

To me, it’s yet another example of gender hypocrisy.  Mum’s are wrong, Dad’s are applauded.

It’s the ‘men sow ya oats, women be pure and virtuous’, double standard.

There never will be equality across the sexes.

 

Autumn Earquinox

Let me see

• Leaky nose ….. check
• Crunchy sounds when chewing/yawning … check
• Dulled hearing in left ear … check
• Feeling chilled … check

Great!

My sinuses are adjusting to the autumnal temperature by clogging up.  I’m out of ear unclogging gunk and cannot reach the olive oil.  I have tiny tubes apparently so they get clogged easily, I’ve often thought that the stickiness of my secretions could out do the most effective of commercial glues. Maybe when I wash my hair in the morning the warm soapy water will swill things out.

 

UnMindFull

I’m not sure I can trust that last bit either…….

Tuesday is a case in point ….. I woke up thinking it was Thursday.  When chit chatting to BFF she remarked about something ‘a week tomorrow’ (meaning Wednesday) I remarked “Oh has it been moved to Thursday?” which would mean I thought that today was Wednesday, but my Sister is here for on a Wednesday never a Tuesday and she had not been here.  As the conversation continued and turned to the evenings culinary delights brain went ‘oh goodie fish fingers tonight’ which I have on Fridays and I knew I was having chicken curry because it was defrosting in the kitchen.  I give up!

A week tomorrow (Friday’s still follow Thursday’s, right? And today is still Thursday? Okay just checking) my BFF arrives for a couple of weeks. I haven’t finished the cot blanket nor untwizzelled the troll hat yarn.  I haven’t sorted additional groceries nor accumulated any good films (might have to do trawl through the charity shop). In truth I haven’t done much of anything. Although I have booked the carpet cleaner lady.  I’m fed up of feeling not myself, exhausted, energy less, heavy, weary and generally fatigued. It’s taken me all week to put this blog together.

*sniff-sniff* I know I’ve turned off the beef stew that’s been percolating on the hob, but now I am questioning whether I actually did!  I craved boiled eggs for lunch, so I must be ill. You see whenever as a child I was ill (be that with a cold, ear ache, stomach bug, chicken pox) my dear old Mum would stand beside my bed looking concerned saying “I don’t know what to make you for lunch, how about an egg (I groan), a boiled egg, (I groan), poached egg, (I shake my head), how about scrambled (I shake my head more) but fried won’t be nice for your tummy, I don’t know what to make” (how about toast, chicken soup in a mug) … I cannot face eggs when ill but usually ended up with a couple of boiled ones.  I had boiled eggs for lunch.

Now to get motivated into a book review, is “It was alright” descriptive enough, entice you to either read or avoid the title, thought not.

Brain is saying I need a pee, maybe that but is still working.