tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86535965397525297102024-03-27T16:54:49.545-07:00Miss BookaySarah Bradburyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12422601656543058966noreply@blogger.comBlogger80125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-84808387809489650272024-03-13T03:36:00.000-07:002024-03-13T03:36:10.293-07:00Funeral Directors<p style="text-align: justify;">In my job I've worked alongside, and dealt with, many funeral directors. Some of them I would highly recommend, others I have been known to tell people to avoid. I've visited a few where the bodies have been stacked high on top of each other because their building doesn't have enough space, and others - this one I wasn't happy about as one of my wonderful customers had passed and was there - have been stuck out in garages; the day I visited I was dressing a wicker casket for a customer and the director told me there wasn't enough room for me to do it inside and asked if I was ok in the garage. I had no problem with that, assuming they would wheel the casket out for me to do what needed to be done, only for it to already be there with many others dotted about the place - I had to move several myself to be able to get to the one I wanted. I would never tell because space is at a premium and have never let on my reasons for not recommending them because I know how I would have felt if I'd thought my Dad had been shut out in a garage, or stacked atop/underneath others, and whilst I am aware they are already dead I still like to think they would be treated with respect. The people I moved that particular day I chatted with and apologised for wheeling them about a freezing cold garage. I chat to those who coffins/caskets I am dressing. I'm one of those people who will apologise if I have to walk across someone else's grave to visit another. They're not there, they don't know but I find it disrespectful not to - don't even get me started on people picnicking in cemeteries with their kids/dogs running around all over the place. Visit your loved one by all means but it's not a bloody playground.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Having said all of that what I read this morning about a <a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/police-hull-humberside-police-people-humberside-b2511463.html" target="_blank">funeral directors</a> in Hull has had me reading words and staring at them in disbelief. Yes, some of the ones I've visited may not look after them how you think they are being looked after, but to keep the bodies in freezers LONG AFTER their family have buried/cremated them (or so they thought) is just beyond me. To make it even worse for them of the 35 bodies they have found, their family now has to go and identify them. I can't even begin to imagine how that would screw up your mind. If someone had told me a year after my Dad's cremation that his body was actually still in the funeral home, in a freezer, and that my Mum or a family member would then be required to identify him I think I would have lost it. What kind of people have you got to be to do such a thing? </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I do feel slightly different about them finding cremated remains as my Mum has always said she doesn't believe we get back our loved one as such - she still believes they cremate everyone together, or that they can't be that clean you always get back just your loved one - but even so; if we'd had my Dad's ashes to then be told they weren't his, I'd want the home office to refund what we paid to have them dug back up when the crematorium asked us for even more money to keep them there! </p><p style="text-align: justify;">It would be different if it was a recent funeral and they suddenly realised they'd buries/cremated the wrong person but to have kept them for over a year it just doesn't make any sense. Why send some off to their funeral service but keep others? My poor little brain cell just can't work that out. Unless they were hoping to be able to sell them off at a later date to make money from them there seems no rhyme or reason as to why anyone would do such a thing. I understand serial killing a lot better than this. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I hear there are calls for funeral directors to be regulated now, and that's a good idea in one way but it wouldn't have stopped this from happening, won't stop it from happening again, so isn't really worth the costs that would be involved. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I often think there isn't much else in the world that can shock me any more, and then 'Boom' something like this comes along and proves me wrong! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2317" data-original-width="2615" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg0guya8VrdM4elEYyW3XgarufpyuOKqlyThtux74ivRUmfe7vCjEd2THTOQ3mjkMd7QqilJf9ehdH5lSM87GUAf4jmOd48HVnlhQb1yeqohhmu-TiAI9FfnpxKvijEZqfTKB7HquwH-D6Zvh_WsEwRKYMh03BhyiwqzreO9YioX2_n-DAB_ls4Yeytws/w400-h355/IMG_6382.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-51240015365556417132024-03-06T01:19:00.000-08:002024-03-06T01:19:14.195-08:00Somewhere over the... <p><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;">I know a lot of people don't like them - even I'm not sure I do - however, I have to admire them purely for the way they are able to create them and they sure do brighten up a room! </span></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3162" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB7dYGhe92Otmvy8_93L0-pjYMWdVfjhpib9dxd5NsAgpZzpert_xkCzZB1xkQpfMawnAO6Z6NtXtL9MLy8n5zjVxVtvQIUjDkhOo1tnY-vjk2vAYEM5f9qgxYF8fP1EInQ2UPWr4HtL8dNf5ozlEhMpLXk4_7u7bmUFdjF4QJKiXEvnv8XQxkatQrLdE/w383-h400/IMG_6287.JPG" width="383" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2KXXZyTyCfZQ3_SUHRVE3Et0ieGsUc0o2X2GHy-HFbr4WNfnBsw4OrOgZjtca1Cz8g4UxMdiLGiH1Jr1hsBky_UfzM-GXlmCTymQlsk6YMC7TJ8hoERBNwdfrIpCigS3wtljA1vEwtEHcaakRfYRcImvfT9I46Qfl_idJCdHv_HtNh5NlanRbFZrTn00/s2540/IMG_6288.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2459" data-original-width="2540" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2KXXZyTyCfZQ3_SUHRVE3Et0ieGsUc0o2X2GHy-HFbr4WNfnBsw4OrOgZjtca1Cz8g4UxMdiLGiH1Jr1hsBky_UfzM-GXlmCTymQlsk6YMC7TJ8hoERBNwdfrIpCigS3wtljA1vEwtEHcaakRfYRcImvfT9I46Qfl_idJCdHv_HtNh5NlanRbFZrTn00/w400-h388/IMG_6288.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-21296146038832953652024-02-09T06:34:00.000-08:002024-02-09T06:34:34.560-08:00On this day<p style="text-align: justify;">in 1988 I passed my driving test - of course I did it FIRST time!! Back then you didn't get to do your lessons/test all in one go. I applied for my test in April 1987, with the date coming through for Feb 9th 1988, TEN whole months later. Because of this I had one lesson each month; oh yes, I passed having had just the ten lessons - go me. I didn't drive any time other than on those lessons either because my instructor said I could pick up bad habits. Ooh, that's a bit of a lie. I did drive - I am using the word loosely here - around the field at my grandparents, when I say I drove what I mean is I got in (along with my Dad, brother and for some reason my Aunt) and had to reverse from the spot my Dad had parked in order to be able to do any kind of driving. The look on my Aunts face (she was in the back so I could see her in the rear-view mirror) is something I will never forget. I literally saw the colour drain from her... I put that green Chrysler Alpine (known in the family as Terrance) into reverse, hit the accelerator and 'whooosh.....' away we went. Of course what my Dad had failed to tell me at the time was how to brake!!! I suddenly have two adults and a nine year old brother all yelling at me to brake... to this day I can still hear them, their voices etched into my mind, and I can hear myself shouting "Which one is the brake?" Thankfully I managed to find it before my Dad had to yank on the handbrake, and just in time to stop us ramming into the centuries old Oak Tree that stood in the middle of the raised bank separating the field we were in from the one next to it!</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The day of my test it was cold and dismal - a bit like this morning. I was booked in for 12.30pm and had my driving instructor picking me up at 11.30 to get in some practice beforehand. If it could go wrong on that lesson it did. I stalled, clipped a curb and had flashbacks of the field when reversing (I still, to this day blame that moment on my inability to be able to drive backwards well). Then came the moment the examiner got in the car. As we went to pull out of the test centre so the driver next to me did at the same time. I remembered how we should always 'give way to the right' so stopped to let them go. He started writing on his pad and didn't stop until we got back to the centre just ten minutes later! In my head I was convinced I had failed at that point, and guaranteed I had when I messed up my reversing-around-a-corner; I knew I'd got it wrong, asked if I could do it again and got no reply but I did it again anyway because I wasn't happy and had already convinced myself I'd failed. How wrong I was, and how very happy I am to have been wrong. He did tell me he would have failed me if I'd not done it again but because I'd taken the initiative he was passing me. He also said I was in the right when I first pulled away from the test centre as I was (according to him) already moving before the other car decided to pull out but by my stopping I'd shown I was aware of my surroundings. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Anyway, in typical Sarah style I have used many, many words when really I was only here because twitter wouldn't let me add an extra twenty five letters to my tweet, and I didn't want to share it over two tweets. My reason for Tweeting was to do with Donald (the duck) and Frank (the tortoise). It struck me as I pulled up at work that Donald was in my very first car with me, joining me (if my memory serves me correctly) somewhere around the summer of 1988. Frank came along a couple of years later and they have both been with me ever since. I got hit by a 40tonne lorry on the motorway; there was nothing left of my car - the guy who witnessed it thought there would be nothing left of me - and I had no idea where the lorry was, whether he (or someone else) was going to hit me again but there was no way I was going to leave them behind! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1911" data-original-width="3622" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimScwY9TcJe0ZMBQHyQaiFX7IlwPxCUJDgRYtDerdydMgC6Cxws4f92oIAjTOo8QBPG0K1LHZPA0bX_yUsjaKbdL0ylvm9BXOMqJEnHXQSwe0bkmxGuXpy8vyUgr7Eno1ACRzdUBUEV5Br7ALygxQUGQtX6F8qaiQEyl46B7DDT4iA5Xb9fXPe1aLlKsk/w400-h211/IMG_5699.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-31249702986341597342024-02-04T04:49:00.000-08:002024-02-04T04:49:00.155-08:00Nobody Cares Anymore<p style="text-align: justify;">Last weekend (Sunday 28th Jan) I sent this email to the infant and junior schools at the back of my house. I also CC'd a local councillor in as she's had her photo in the paper recently, and is taking the credit and enjoying the fame from getting notices put up around the same schools telling people not to park on the junctions - common sense should tell them this message but we all know that is lacking in most these days. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Below is the email I sent - personal details blacked out for obvious reasons!).</p><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Good afternoon,</i></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I am not sure if the driver of a white VW car, Registration Number </span><span style="background-color: black;">GL15 OZT</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> is a teacher/assistant, or parent at your school, or over at the infants - I am contacting them as well - but if to do with you, your staff, or one of the parents you have given permission to park inside the school, could you please inform them that driving out of the school gates at speed, bumping up the curb and across the grass before driving at speed down </span><span style="background-color: black;">Kennedy Avenue</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> as the children are coming out of school is not only dangerous but totally unacceptable. Thankfully at the time of the incident - Friday 26th January - there were no children in the immediate vicinity, however, had my 78 mother (who had already taken her life in hands crossing</span><span style="background-color: black;"> High Mead</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> where parents speed whilst paying no attention to anyone other than themselves as they battle for a parking space) not been as adept, agile and quick as she is, the driver of said vehicle would either be visiting her in hospital, or possibly at the morgue!! She knows the risk to her life crossing the road; on the pavement or grass she should be able to be safe. To then continue driving off without so much as a look back to make sure she was ok suggests to me that they (she didn't know if male or female because of the shock of the incident) either didn't care, or were paying no attention; personally I'm not sure which is worse. </span></i></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">On a side note, and I am aware there's not much you can do about it as it's outside of school, but could you possibly remind parents - especially those who park in the residential garage area behind </span><span style="background-color: black;">High Mead</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> - that sitting with an engine running for 20/30 minutes is not just illegal it is also adding all manner of pollutants and toxins into the air; could you also remind these parents that blocking the access road to this garage area, and parking in such a manner that they block residents from getting to their garages/homes (often they double-park and wander off meaning anyone living from </span><span style="background-color: black;">2-6 High Mead,1-6 Green Walk, and 2-10 Kennedy Avenue</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">, are unable to access their properties from the back) that they are also blocking emergency vehicles from getting through. God forbid a fire breaks out in one of these properties!! </span></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">These are my replies!</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: justify;">Monday at 13:16 from the Junior School</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Aptos, Aptos_EmbeddedFont, Aptos_MSFontService, Calibri, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Good afternoon, </span></i></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Aptos, Aptos_EmbeddedFont, Aptos_MSFontService, Calibri, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Aptos, Aptos_EmbeddedFont, Aptos_MSFontService, Calibri, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Thank you for your email, i have forwarded to Senior leadership team. </span></i></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Aptos, Aptos_EmbeddedFont, Aptos_MSFontService, Calibri, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Aptos, Aptos_EmbeddedFont, Aptos_MSFontService, Calibri, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Kind regards,</span></i></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Aptos, Aptos_EmbeddedFont, Aptos_MSFontService, Calibri, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span></i></div><div id="m_-3568672835427291649Signature" style="background-color: white;"><div style="font-family: Calibri, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Admin Team</span></i></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Calibri, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Calibri, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Tuesday 30th at 14:50</div></div></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Good afternoon Sarah<u></u><u></u></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><u></u> <u></u></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b00fe;">I am sorry to read of the problems you and your neighbours have been experiencing with children being picked up from </span><span style="background-color: black;">Orchardlea School</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b00fe;">. It is a problem in many areas where schools are within a residential area, although I am extremely concerned regarding the engines left running for such long periods.<u></u><u></u></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b00fe;">I hadn’t replied sooner and I was hoping to hear that the school was taking some responsibility. However, I have forwarded your email to your local Councillor,</span><span style="background-color: black;"> Fred Birket<span style="color: #2b00fe;">t</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2b00fe;"> as I am not your Borough Councillor, and suggested he request the Neighbourhood Police to visit the area at the appropriate time, when hopefully those drivers responsible would be reprimanded. This action has certainly worked in other area.<u></u><u></u></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><u></u> <u></u></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I hope this is helpful.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; margin: 0px;"><i><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: justify;">Please note the one from the councillor who is</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: justify;"> "</span><i style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b>extremely concerned regarding the engines left running for such long periods."</b></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: justify;">As yet (Sunday 4th Feb) there has been <b>NOTHING</b> from the Infant School, or the other councillor (the one I should have emailed) and <b>NEITHER</b> of the two replies I did receive even had the courtesy to ask if my Mum was ok. What a foul, fucked up, selfish, thoughtless and ignorant world we are living in! </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: justify;">I wonder if they would be so complacent if my Mum had been injured, or a child run over and killed! </span></p><div style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><i style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></i></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-55218211806674098132024-01-29T04:45:00.000-08:002024-01-29T04:45:20.560-08:00Angry<div style="text-align: justify;">Jeez am I angry, to the point where I have just ordered myself some herbal calming pills - because, well, in this world trying to get in to see a doctor for help is totally non-existent - and I feel I need to do something or I am going to blow. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can honestly say I am exceptionally grateful we have such tight gun laws in this country; had I been living stateside (it's only their gun laws, property taxes and medical system that have stopped me making the move) I would quite possibly be sitting in a cell right now wondering how I could end my life because I would never survive prison.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am angry at the shithole this country has become; how we're being dragged down holes each-and-every day with nobody doing anything to stop it. I am angry at the wrong people always getting away with things. I am angry that my Dad worked himself into an early grave, that my Mum has worked her ass off her whole life, that I have worked as hard as the two of them and on the very rare occasions they, or I have needed help it wasn't there, yet I look at my business neighbour and his wife driving round in brand new 4x4's, living in a council property that they get the rent paid on because his business isn't making enough (cough, cough - on paper at least) for them to be earning. He put on a bit of a hobble for a few months and got a disabled badge enabling him to park wherever he fancies (and he uses it to his advantage). Like his, my business doesn't make enough for him, mine doesn't make enough for me to life the 'high life'. I earn just £700 per month, each month, yet I get not a pennies' help from anyone. Never have done. I have been homeless (at the time I had been on our councils waiting list for 7 years) and got told there was nothing to be done unless I had kids, or a drink/drug issue. Discriminated against for being barren when it comes to child producing and because I never let my drinking become an issue (only a social thing) and I was too afraid to take drugs. Thirty five years now I've been on the waiting list (I renew every year out of principle) and have been overlooked every-single-time. Then I had to watch new flats being built opposite my shop; watch a girl move in whose parents are multi-millionaires. She had her own annex on their house but didn't like that they were able to see how many men she has coming-and-going, so she got herself pregnant (the parents still have the little one every day) and put her name on the housing list. Within weeks she was given one of the brand new flats! She wants for nothing, drives a brand new merc, all paid for by Mummy and Daddy, yet got housed straight away. And people wonder why I get angry!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I now live with my Mum again for a few reasons. Originally because I couldn't (still can't) afford to live elsewhere and now because she is getting on in years, and suffers from drastic sight loss (caused by a mistake made at<a href="https://www.missbookay.co.uk/2022/09/queen-alexandra-hospital.html" target="_blank"> our local hospital</a> who couldn't give a shit about patient care) so she can't really be living on her own any more. I love her dearly, she is an incredible woman but because of her now failing eyesight she is struggling to do every-day-things. This means I have taken on more responsibility; not an issue, if I lived alone I would have to do it, but to her it's a big issue and she gets angry she isn't able to do things any more. She gets angry she has to rely on me so often (as nobody else is around that anger is directed at me) and because she is not able to get out-and-about like she once was, because she can no longer tell a weed from a flower (for a woman who would spend hours pottering in her garden to not be able to is a big thing) she is no longer able to keep her mind as stimulated as it once was (a huge car accident when she was a child has probably not helped either) she is also getting quite forgetful, and this causes her to be very repetitive and when I have to listen to the same story for the 10th time that day - if I tell her she's already told me she still keeps telling me, or will then get in a strop - it can get very frustrating and mentally draining for me. I know it's not her fault and hate myself when I sometimes snap at her for it but you try living with an elderly relative who tells you the same things multiple times each day. For those of you who are going to message and tell me how lucky I am to still have my Mum 'Yes, I am fully aware of that and I dread the day she may not be there any longer' but also "Fuck you". I've lost my Dad, I know what it's like to lose a parent. That doesn't make them some kind of demi-god though. She is still a human, but so am I and sometimes it's hard, really hard, and harder because I remember the woman she used to be. I've had people DM me on Twitter because I might have had a rant about her (don't like what I say, click the 'Unfollow Button') and others tell me that she looked after me as a kid, listening to me repeat myself constantly, telling her the same story, showing me multiple times how to do, or use, something. You are correct, she did, however they (and you if you have been thinking that way) are missing two huge fundamental differences. Firstly, I never asked to be born; her and my Dad chose to have me, therefore they chose to do whatever it took to raise me. I never got a say in any of it. Secondly, and this is quite a big one, I may have been shown how to do things once-or-twice but then I learned and carried on without needing to constantly shown. My Mum's memory is going so I could show her a hundred times each day how to do it, and the next day, and the next day and so it goes on, because her memory is only going to get worse. If you think me bad for having a bit of a moan about her because of that then maybe you're the arse, and not me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As frustrated I may get with my Mum I get far angrier for her, on her behalf. Of course there is a risk every time you have an operation, you have to sign a form to say you respect that, however, hers WAS avoidable, and I am angry she put her trust in those people (Mr Kirwan especially) and their/his ineptitude has seen her lose the sight, has caused her so much angst, anger and stress. They have taken away from her the life she had. She can no longer go anywhere on her own unless she knows the place. She can no longer do the hobbies she used to do. We as a mother/daughter can no longer go out for days as we used to, rambling through woods, hiking along towpaths, dodging branches; she can no longer see birds to be the avid birdwatcher she was. All of that was taken from her through no fault of her own and I am so angry at the people who have put her in this position, who refuse to take responsibility for it and who are still not doing the job they are paid to do. They've pretty much washed their hands of her as if she is an inconvenience to them. That doesn't just anger me, it enrages me, and I can fully understand how sometimes, some people will go and do horrible things to people that have wronged them or a loved one. They are only still walking/breathing because (as I've said above) I would not cope being in prison. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've spent practically my whole life doing things for myself. I never had anyone to do anything for me, and parents who would guide me but never actually do things for me because they wanted me to learn how to do it for myself (for that I am truly grateful) but there are times when help is needed, and would be appreciated. I never asked for it though because of how I was raised, but then things got tough, I was struggling to keep up with some things and had for years had people keep saying to me "You don't have to do it alone" or "Stop being a martyr and ask for help". All these people offering their services should I ever choose to need them and so a few months back I found myself finally doing something completely alien to me and I asked for help. Those I asked all came back with "absolutely, no worries and I am here for you" and yet still I wait. Still I do it all, whilst they come up with multiple reasons they are not able to help or do what they said they would do. Sciatica, drama with their family, they tasked someone else to do it for them and thought it had been done, colds, being called away on an emergency job, feeling a bit off so delaying for another week... then another... then another until it gets to the point where it cannot be delayed any more and I end up having to put it onto my ever-increasing list of things that need to be done. I'm angry about that; not with them, but with myself for finally being weak enough to ask for help and then for expecting those who have been offering to actually get around to helping. What pisses me off most about that though is when they ask for my help they expect it immediately and I go out of my way to make sure it is done for them! I have a mountain of rubbish to get rid of at the shop that my business partner said he would remove between Xmas and New Year. So far I've removed half of it because he's been nowhere to be seen, instead he's having to decorate his daughters room, or walk a neighbours dog and so it will transpire that the other jobs he's meant to be doing in the shop as well, will end up on my list. THEN, I get his Dad coming in giving me shit because I've not made an appointment to go and see someone who could bring a lot more business to my shop. When I pointed out that between working 60 hours each week, sorting the shop bits his son should be doing, organising most of the parts of his job, as well as running the home and looking out for my Mum, time is not always on my side to get out and visit people, he came back to me with "yea, yea, just more excuses". How he doesn't have broken legs right now is beyond me; again, I remind myself I would never survive prison. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As I sit writing about the shop I've just had a customer in who's not visited since we extended the shop. His first words were "ooh, someone's doing alright for themselves and raking in some money". WHY do people automatically assume that? We're not raking it in, we're not making any money, in fact right now I don't even know if there is enough to pay the bills at the end of the month. The reason we extended was to try to see if we could attract more people into the shop and aside from a lot of sweat (and a few tears) all it has cost is the price for some flooring - that we got on special offer - and three pieces of wood that we made shelves from. The rest is what we already had, just repurposed. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm angry at the lack of customer service you get these days. I pride myself on my customer service, even when it comes to customers I could happily brain. I need a new dentist. In the past 2 weeks I have phoned over a dozen, all of whom have answerphone messages because they "are experiencing a lot more calls then usual and currently extremely busy but do please leave a message, or drop us an email and we'll get back to you shortly". Of the 12 so far not a single one has got back to and I have followed all of them up with more calls, answerphone messages left and emails. A complete lack of service. As I said I need to get some quotes for replacing our kitchen floor - although I think we may just have to shut the door to the room, move the fridge into the hall and pop an air fryer in the lounge until we can purchase the winning lottery ticket and be able to use it again. Until then I'm still waiting for people to get back to me with prices. Don't even get me started on the company I bought a camera from who sold me a second-hand one at the same price as a brand new one, affording me no warranty and to send it back would have been at my personal cost to the USA - I believed I was buying from a UK company. That pissed me off because I worked hard, saved even harder to be able to afford to buy it. I could have bought a second-hand one off ebay for half the price. Good, decent, honest, hard working people always seem to get shit on. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm angry that my Mum and I have spent the past 5 years trying to get the house back to a great condition; years of no money and her having to struggle after my Dad died meant that basic bits were often overlooked. We've had all the kitchen replaced, a new roof on the house and garage, new central heating system and rads. We've the bathroom refitted, all the windows and doors replaced, only to now find we've had a leak under our kitchen sink for what could be years, that has caused puddling under the house, and has caused most of the joists to rot. The insurance won't pay up because it's classed as general wear-and-tear and because we're currently working out way through the house with other bits - we're waiting to have the walls replastered and the old fireplace bricked up - inside it looks as though we haven't bothered to do anything to it. Wear and tear. The roof leaked, we replaced it, understanding that can came under wear-and-tear. The windows rattled and had gaps in; we replaced them (although the company who fitted them were shit and we'd have been better off with our old ones) because that was general upkeep of a property. How many people rip up their flooring each year to check their joists aren't rotting? We had no indication of what was going on under there; we just had one floorboard by our sink that was a bit bouncy and we assumed that was down to it not having as much underlay as the rest of the flooring, thereby making it feel bouncy. To put the new joists in - which we are going to have to do unless we seal up the room and never use it again - they are going to have to rip out our whole kitchen. I have no idea how we are going to pay for it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm angry at the way some family members, and (so called) friends have/are treating my Mum. Do not get me wrong she can be the biggest pain in the ass going, but she's still a human with feelings and a kind human she is too. She'll put herself out to visit family/friends on their birthdays and at Christmas, only for them to shove a card through the door days before her actual birthday, or not even bother with her at all. Don't get me wrong; she's not looking for gifts and never expects people to visit as we know a lot of them don't live the way we live; their houses are clinical and everything has a place. Ours is lived in, we hold our hands up to not always being the tidiest, and because she can no longer see, there are times she thinks she has cleaned well and it may not be to a surgical standard - I don't always have time to run around after her checking when I get in from work. We're fine with that; if people don't like how we live they don't have to come in but would it really hurt them to knock on the door and hand a card over? They could easily say they "can't stop" but just wanted to wish her a Happy Birthday in person. It's basic fucking manners. It's treating someone who has treated you well and respected you with a little bit of respect in return. That shouldn't be too much to ask for. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm angry at those who always expect yet give nothing in return. I'm going away for a weekend with some family members. I asked them to have a look at some properties to see what they fancied and said we need to get booked. They've left it all to me to sort it which means I'll end up paying and have to do everything I can to get my money back, then they'll most likely not like where I've booked and it will cause an issue. If I don't book it that will be wrong though as they will have made the effort to book the time off because we agreed on a date. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have a daily battle with a group of Albanians who want my business premise. They harass and try to intimate; they will block my car in, refusing to move when I ask, and if I am unable to park my car where I can see it all day when I finish work I'll find my tyres have been let down. The local council are definitely on their payroll, and it wouldn't surprise me to find the local constabulary are too for they couldn't give a shit, have said unless I have proof it's them doing my tyres, or they physically harm me there is nothing they can do. I have video evidence of two of our finest from the local constabulary who made it look like they were doing everything they should when one of the Albanian properties was raided by immigration but who hightailed it the split second they saw I had a security camera, a camera which picked up all the illegals running away twenty minutes BEFORE the raid took place! To this day I have never been asked for that footage. I'm also angry that conditions imposed on them regarding a block of flats they are building, that we were assured would be adhered to have been flouted each-and-every day and nothing is done about it. This directly affects my business, but what do I, a lone woman in an area full of ruthless men matter? I don't have funds to pay off my local council and police force because I pay all my taxes, unlike them, and if I can find how they are fleecing HMRC then I'm damn sure someone with the correct knowledge would be able to as well, but do they? My previous neighbour who they hounded out - they want all our premises - made a miniscule error (less than £5) on her tax return. She then had all her business and personal financial for the 7 years prior combed through by the powers-that-be, yet the lot hounding us all haven't paid a penny in tax since they took over 6/7 years ago. I guess their being "Cash Only" businesses means they have enough spare to grease the palms of the people who could, to all intents and purposes, crush them, </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then when I get home I have a neighbour with huge mental health issues; she really (for her own safety) should be in a home getting help but the government closed down all the units and facilities so she is left to her own devices (until she's really bad when they admit her to the general hospital for a few days!). She has taken to parking her car so it is blocking access to my garage. Because of her issues asking her to park outside her own garage (which would block nobody) could easily see me on the ground with multiple stab wounds. If I catch her on a good day it's not an issue but on a bad day it's safer to not say a word. Again, there are people who should be able to help me with this but they don't give a flying fuck. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I know all the things I have whined about fall under the "First World Problems" heading and I fully appreciate how pathetic and whiny I must sound when there are people in my town sleeping in wet clothes under bridges right now; there are people desperately doing all they can to keep a roof over their heads. Older people are having to live in one room because they can't afford to heat their house. My problems are nothing compared to theirs, but then that makes me angry too, angry for them, angry because nobody is doing anything to help them. We're meant to be a first world country yet we have people living in third world conditions. The divide between the rich and poor has always been big but these days it is so huge I'm not sure it can ever be pulled back. The only ones without money who don't seem to struggle are the ones who are able to 'play the system'. I was always told "Crime doesn't pay". What utter bullshit that is. All I have ever seen, witnessed and experienced is the decent honest people being shit on and the dishonest pretty much laughing in their faces. The cheats, the liars, they get away with it all and the ones who are in positions where they are meant to be helping people, only ever help their own. I am sick of it and I am angry. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-32470572264307742882023-11-13T05:07:00.000-08:002023-11-13T05:09:57.937-08:00Turned on it's head<p style="text-align: justify;"> If you've read my post on Ghosts (<a href="https://www.missbookay.co.uk/2019/07/ghosts-dna.html" target="_blank">click here</a> to read if you haven't) you will know that a decade ago (maybe a little less, maybe a little more) I went from being a believer of all things paranormal - ghosts, magic, reincarnation etc - to being a complete sceptic to it all, finding logic and reason to everything that is meant to be 'Other Worldy'. Life, cynicism, and opening myself up to other possibilities brought about this change, and since that time (other than a medium I saw who knew things I still cannot fathom how she knew them) I have believed in nothing. Oddly, during this non-believing time I also never encountered anything that could be classed as 'not of this world', aside from a pair of legs walking by my office door one day in the winter; logic put this down to reflection and light on glass so I was able to easily explain that. Did I see, hear, or experience nothing because I'd closed myself off to it? Did I see, hear or experience nothing because I'd finally been able to prove - to myself at least - that it was all a load of codswallop (I love that word!).</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Then on Friday 13th October something happened - love that it was on such a date synonymous with millions around the world as being a day of 'Bad Luck'. I guess it had really started the day before in a way. I was on holiday, visiting the New England area of the USA with my family, when we had the good fortune to be invited to a Sound Bath being provided by a lady called Laura, of <a href="https://www.onelighthh.com/" target="_blank">One Light Holistic Healing.</a> She operates in a small town called Kingston in New Hampshire; she's not far from the border of Massachusetts and only an hours drive from Boston; that same hour from the Maine or Vermont borders will also get you to her, so if you're lucky enough to be in the area, or fancy a little trip out, I'd highly recommend trying to fit in a visit to her, and her incredible yurt.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I had heard of sound baths before during a conversation with my regular postie at work, but hadn't got a clue what they were all about, other than knowing bowls, drums and gongs were involved. Laura didn't use a drum, and I'm not sure how many sound bath healers do. As I said my knowledge is very limited. Laura greeted us upon arrival (there were four of us) and walked us down to her yurt. It's large enough 25/30 people could fit in quite easily and not be squished, however, the four of us were happy we were the only ones taking part. With a variety of comfy chairs, beanbags (and one hanging chair that my Mum happily commandeered). A wood burner (that I think may have been gas led; I'm not entirely sure) created a wonderfully warm atmosphere and we settled into our respective chairs/bags ready to begin. Laura talked us through what she was going to do - she has this wonderful soothing, calming and relaxing voice - before calling upon higher spirits and angels (something I was sceptical of) and we were off. Three of us managed to stay awake (although I have no idea how) whilst my Mum was asleep and perfectly relaxed within 15 minutes (she did come too every now-and-then before nodding back off again). </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I'm not a good enough orator to put into words how incredibly relaxing it was, how the different sounds affected me - the gong made me really, really angry (Laura explained to me why that happened and although it stuck with me for 24 hours, once the anger dissipated I felt wonderful) - and the singing bowl she used at the end, when she stood next to each of us individually, was a sound like no other and resonated throughout my whole body - all of us said the same with regards to it. Now whether it was because of the sounds Laura was creating, whether it was because I was so relaxed I almost fell asleep, or whether it was because I was in a spiritual setting, I don't know, but during the bath I heard rain falling heavily on the roof of the yurt (it was completely dry outside the whole time) and at one point I had the most vivid vision of a giant white yak which stood next to me, before leaning over me, almost as though it was studying me. Of all the things I could have thought of - bear, moose (I still don't believe they are real, and I know I have more chance of seeing a real unicorn than a moose) or even a racoon (because of where we were and the local wildlife) I had a vision of a yak! I think I've only ever seen one yak in my whole 37 years (yes, I am 37 and you can't tell me otherwise) on this planet and that was in a TV show years ago. I may have come across some in books at different times, but I have never witnessed seeing a white one, yet there it was, huge, white and with a smell to it that reminded me of being around wet farm animals. It didn't strike me as a well-kept or very clean yak, and it had very long fur around it's face and hanging from it's body. I got the impression it was quite old and it had a most impressive set of horns. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">We were flying home the following day (Friday 13th) and had time-to-kill before heading to the airport so when Laura mentioned chakra mediation as something we could do to fill some time, we all jumped at the chance. Anything to calm the pre-flying nerves of a couple of us. Plus, being in Laura's company is naturally soothing - she is the complete opposite of those <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychic_vampire" target="_blank">Psychic Vampires</a> we often come into contact with. We arrived and again she walked us down to the yurt. Having struggled to get off the beanbag the previous day (being a fat weeble with dodgy knees getting on it in the first place was not my wisest idea) I chose one of her reclining chairs; they really are so very comfortable. This time she asked us to visualise different things as she worked her way through the chakras. Visualising (odd after what I've just said about the yak) is something I am absolutely shit at. It's part of the reason proper meditation has never worked for me. My brain can only see things when I sleep; trying to get me to visualise anything is like trying to get the Tasmanian Devil to work in slow-mo. It doesn't happen. However, I relaxed in my chair, listened to what she was saying and tried my hardest to see the colours she was saying we should see, hovering over the areas of our body where our chakra's are located. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Laura started with the root chakra. I listened, tried to see and felt nothing; then this weird thing happened; as she got to the Sacral Chakra I felt my stomach lump begin to shift, to the point it felt as though it was getting angry (thankfully the lump is benign and has been named Fatima; I'm not happy she's taken residence inside my body but for the most part she keeps to herself). As Laura moved from the Sacral (which is just below where Fatima resides) and before she got to the Solar Plexus (slightly above Fatima's home) I felt Fatima twist, turn, and feel as though she was struggling to get out; a bit like the alien when it escapes from the body in the movie. She was not happy, yet by the time Laura got to the Heart Chakra she had calmed right down, and apart from a particularly hard sneeze a couple of weeks back that saw her scream out at me, she hasn't really played me up at all and until that point she'd been quite active since April. It was also when Laura got to the heart chakra that I began to hear chanting, which sounded as though it was coming from the other side of the room, or just outside. At that point (and because I am such a rebel) I opened my eyes to see if she had a gadget playing music and that's why I could hear chanting; I saw nothing, except a young boy staring the window opposite me. When I say young he was anywhere between 10 - 13 (it's very difficult to age kids). He didn't about, was just staring in taking in what these crazy people were up to in the room. Because of where Laura is based he wasn't a kid who'd just randomly walked by so I assumed he must belong to one of her neighbours. The chanting had also got louder; I still couldn't figure out where it was coming from. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Closing my eyes again (because I shouldn't have had them opened, and because I didn't want to have a stare-out contest with the boy) Laura got to the Crown Chakra, and in that moment all the anger I had been feeling since the previous day - in fact I think all the anger I have ever felt throughout my life - seemed to float up out of body and disappear out there into the ether. By this point the chanting was crystal clear and again I opened my eyes wanting to see if any of the others in the room with me were wondering where the chanting was coming from. They all had their eyes closed, I could still so no reason for it, and the young boy was still standing outside the window looking in! I then caught Laura looking over to me so closed my eyes quickly (I wasn't sure if she might have told me off for not concentrating or doing my visualising) and when I opened them again the boy had gone. The chanting also just stopped abruptly (I assumed she had switched off whichever source she was using to play it) before she talked us all calmly out of our meditative state. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The other three in the room all seemed to have similar experiences to each other yet all completely different to mine - I guess they can visualise colours! Chatting after I asked what music she had been playing as I'd found the chanting to be quite calming. She swore blind to me that she'd not played anything as it would have interfered with our ability to meditate properly; the others also told me they heard nothing except their own breathing and Laura's voice, going so far as to tell me I must have been having an hallucination. Now, they could have been winding me up for a laugh, however, they're not like that and wouldn't have taken something so serious and made fun of it, so for some reason I was the only one to hear the chanting. I was also the only one to see the boy and when I asked Laura who he was she looked at me shocked, and told me there are no older kids (other than her own who I know) living where she lives. As she was telling me this I heard the name "Nathaniel" shouted out, so I told her who he was. She still had no clue; I have no clue either, but there was definitely a boy staring through the window.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">My logical brain told me that I'd obviously fallen asleep or was having some kind of daydream, yet a bigger part of my brain is telling me I need to research who this Nathaniel could have been, or at least where a boy of that age could have come from to have found her yurt and be standing outside. I checked the ground around the window and it hadn't been disturbed; I found this to be quite strange! I still wasn't convinced though!</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Fast forward a couple of weeks and my niece had a birthday. I've promised to take her to the USA with me next time so she can visit Salem, MA (I love how I say "<a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" target="_blank">Next Time</a>". It took my Grandad dying for me to be able to afford to go this time. The chances of me being able to <a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" target="_blank">raise/save enough money</a> for there ever to be a next time minimal; in facts the odds are so high the bookies would make a killing) a place she has always wanted to see; partly due to the movie Hocus Pocus (she's a huge fan) but also because the history of the <a href="https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/a-brief-history-of-the-salem-witch-trials-175162489/" target="_blank">Witch Trials</a> fascinate her. Unlike her Mum who loved the paranormal and would get her tarot cards out whenever she could, my niece has never shown any interest in any of it, however, I figured if she wants to visit the place she needs to not only research and understand the history, she also needs to know about witches; their beliefs and how they live their lives, so I bought her three different presents (didn't really think about it being three until after I had handed them over to her!) Now, before I gave her the gifts we'd had quite a long chat about her, her life, and how she is struggling. She's been on antidepressants for years - totally justified and fully understandable with all she has had to deal with in her life - but I mentioned (as I have done many times before) I really think she needs to go for some kind of grief counselling. She lost her Nan (who she was exceptionally close to) and her Mum within 14 months of each other) then died herself several times just six months after her Mum due to a mistake her surgeon made when she had to have surgery for her <a href="https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/crohns-disease/" target="_blank">Crohn's disease</a>. The problems she's had since then have seen her have to deal with two more exceptionally long life saving surgeries. Just a week after her Mum died her stepfather had her removed from her family home so she's had to deal with homelessness as well. All of this before she'd turned 21. It would be a lot for someone in their 40's to deal with but at that age I can't even begin to imagine what has gone through her head (aside from what she has talked to me about). For years I have been trying to get her to go for grief counselling and she has cut me off and told me she doesn't need it. I can't force her into it, but something has happened in her life in the past couple of weeks which made me bring it up again, and last night we had a really in-depth chat about it, at which point she humoured me by telling me she would look into it - although, at that point I figured out she had no intention of doing so. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">With her kids in bed I handed over the gifts and she unwrapped them one-by-one. Now, I won't lie to you; when I bought them I had no clue what they consisted of. One was a book titled <a href="https://www.holisticshop.co.uk/products/witch-lisa-lister" target="_blank">"Witch"</a> - made sense, the other was a <a href="https://www.holisticshop.co.uk/products/seasons-of-the-witch-journal?gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQiAgK2qBhCHARIsAGACuzmIVOSekHXCzVmnNn_qE6XQQSRx7iR8mu9kvnAPiFPMVk1dhvJoywQaAm0WEALw_wcB" target="_blank">journal</a> which I thought she could use to take notes for things she'd read in the book. It was the journal she opened first and with each page there was a task for the owner of the journal to partake in. As she read each one (and there are a lot) she kept looking at me in a way that said "wow, you really did your research when you picked this out for me as it works perfectly with my life and how things have been". If only I had been that clever. I was faced with a multitude of options and that one jumped out at me first. Was that because I liked the cover, the images I could see, or some kind of 'Divine Intervention"? One of the pages said to draw a card from an oracle deck, focus on it, then write how it makes you feel, and what it's interpretation is. I've never used oracle cards, I have no clue even now what you do with them or what they're for, but the 3rd gift I bought her (and I have no idea why because she has never showed any interest in any of it) was a pack of <a href="https://www.holisticshop.co.uk/products/witching-hour-oracle?gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQiAgK2qBhCHARIsAGACuzk5qqnFN_As-rfISTxefkUPhxkovWUu-ldumq9Ogh1UQ_CJ2bVTpJgaAgg4EALw_wcB" target="_blank">oracle cards</a>. She opened those last, had a look at the instruction booklet, opened the packet holding them and was about to shuffle when card flew out of the pack - literally! That card? Mourning! </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Now, the me who has been around the past decade would say it's pure 'coincidence', that there was a 1/44 chance of pulling that specific card, however, after all I've experienced in the past month I am really beginning to question my non-belief status and wondering if maybe, just maybe, there actually is something more to this world than we know...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.rockpoolpublishing.com/witching-hour-oracle" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="784" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNQAPGgzYa8RsBk24XsioFKaPqc8Yqs-Civw_12v2wiDtSrwKNg8_lPcg0alcOonKqYK650eRjzQNfLDYnXkikOfCZmmyw3cX1S4FFctLpKGdqoH-0tvqjgPnd71x9Y5ZMjqo841zQTZjWuzHuy3oaS6gWlgXrktkaEeWjM-m1sEr1Rn5TEF815YdKrg/w299-h400/26a8664a-b6aa-4716-baaf-b2dab8b0b207.jpg" width="299" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com02 Brookhaven Rd, Kingston, NH 03848, USA42.9544546 -71.073199417.259369335331176 -106.2294494 68.649539864668824 -35.916949399999993tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-33841706739223429662023-11-07T00:29:00.000-08:002023-11-07T00:29:07.014-08:00Oh nuts!<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #211922; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Fira Sans", "Droid Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol", "ヒラギノ角ゴ Pro W3", "Hiragino Kaku Gothic Pro", メイリオ, Meiryo, "MS Pゴシック", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Just a squirrel, collecting his nuts! </span> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3344" data-original-width="5017" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnFkcLhIOKsVXx_ETfqeVI-QA7LlwTCF-IfpBq26z-2VNHWh8Yv5V4210G6pzLR15EsMRIbDeLC1UVz2C5BcBP8Jfy8b6vG0k-h4aP9by-nVOh3HeKITaAbLS9Pmy1we5xEXDmWU4dTY2sUpZT0sjHWCngDWkMD7cLymg0E0E3SI8LFF6xvrB7xqVS4Ao/w400-h266/DSC09347(1).jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Kingston, NH, USA42.9364768 -71.053391814.626242963821156 -106.2096418 71.246710636178847 -35.8971418tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-9298495278809767482023-11-03T04:20:00.001-07:002023-11-03T04:20:50.555-07:00Bluebird<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #211922; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Fira Sans", "Droid Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol", "ヒラギノ角ゴ Pro W3", "Hiragino Kaku Gothic Pro", メイリオ, Meiryo, "MS Pゴシック", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Just a bluebird, sitting on a hammock...</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2684" data-original-width="3958" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf1L_3vdcjK-amDyzqm4v-BDoKNljOuBbqzZHXsEd16Plx36ihLVR9BrWvW6p-swaLHyRZrYYg-VKMU5hMwBTUzMK7buKK8GZ1r381ZjzxvjTwfoaT8qc436NArpfj6FJpVaPLyJ3H0ozTv7yJeDXgbzPpz3N4eCnR1dPR9AjEvXhXOiR8kaWAx1k5ee0/w400-h271/DSC09172.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="ij6i" data-offset-key="b6gpi-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #211922; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Fira Sans", "Droid Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol", "ヒラギノ角ゴ Pro W3", "Hiragino Kaku Gothic Pro", メイリオ, Meiryo, "MS Pゴシック", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="b6gpi-0-0" style="position: relative;"><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Kingston, NH, USA42.9364768 -71.053391814.626242963821156 -106.2096418 71.246710636178847 -35.8971418tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-73422363384977393732023-10-28T06:44:00.003-07:002023-10-28T06:44:37.907-07:00Aerotel - T3 Heathrow<p style="text-align: justify;">I've seen a lot of reviews for this hotel - primarily on booking pages relating to the hotel - where people are comparing the room to a 'cardboard box' with one visitor saying it felt like they were 'sleeping in a coffin'! I cannot comment on the rooms they were in, but can tell you that the two rooms I booked here were perfect in many ways. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I chose to book a family room (I booked two in fact) because I was having to share the room with my Mum, and they came with two double beds (always a bonus as I'm not a little person and do struggle with a single bed). I knew when I booked that the hotel doesn't have windows; this wasn't an issue for me and I found it slightly odd that some people who have complained and/or left bad reviews mentioned no windows being one of the reasons. The website details when booking clearly state this fact. It wasn't cheap at £221 per room, however, for convenience, ease and knowing there was no rushing, or stress associated with an early start and traffic jams on the way to the airport, it was a small price to pay. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Access to the hotel is simply a case of entering the 'Arrivals' area and following the signs which are clearly marked both inside, and outside, of the terminal. Check in was easy with the staff being very friendly. At the check-in area there is a small chiller with some sandwiches, sweets, crisps and drinks. Inside the terminal is a 24 hour Cafe Nero and a couple of other food places to grab a bite to eat - these do stop serving food around 9.30pm though. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.myaerotel.com/en-uk/find/americas-europe/united-kingdom/london/aerotel-london?utm_source=google&utm_medium=organic&utm_campaign=mybusiness" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqRCHB550fG_5ks62ckWCsVPEhaWeQNNwUWx4s9mKOwdxfH9ORwE53WHp3ZlXyICqXbKuCdMERSsrJb3PHE3d1KeTe1XJJm4ORBst_MIp3ufg66V00Pi-sJJANc4IKCSFyVxn2TQ8OvNAV5MMBYwtepYD8y2d3qOmyqrm64Zruceh_HyLZ7ghqjrPQZY/w400-h300/IMG_2134.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;">The only downside when we arrived is that one of the two lifts wasn't working; they're also not that big so you may have to go in relays to get up to your room. Our rooms were on the second floor - where there is also a nice 'common room' with some tables and seating, alongside a selection of books - at the very end of the corridor (I don't think we could have gone any further even if we had wanted to). This may have helped us in regards to some of the noise complaints I read about for it was deadly quiet in our room. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Yes, there are multiple green emergency lights on the ceilings that may disturb those of you who like a dark room; a simple solution to counteract those is an eye mask! </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The bathroom was a lovely size with a huge walk-in shower; hand and body wash is included, along with the usual shower cap. There were plenty of towels should you need them. The only thing I did notice they didn't have, that would have been useful, was bags for sanitary products, so if you need to dispose of any ensure you have your own bags. The showers were hot with good water pressure. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.myaerotel.com/en-uk/find/americas-europe/united-kingdom/london/aerotel-london?utm_source=google&utm_medium=organic&utm_campaign=mybusiness" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTVkZm07S1nx1ykFTyGC3XxyFOyhy91QCPwBnqggX2cO7VvAMlM8UtwMHs77y_FwEYEaSubRHD549dQRBlCAiWHNY6BIS-MqxEaR5QT-BfzyL4b-bC8wUdzKsJ_06a_kMvCJNX2lhu08vwjSDJtbqKhKFj7XD0tYRyHsCdJe0PVQsTRO3X-JencgkHtDU/w300-h400/IMG_2133.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Both rooms had two case stands, and a few hooks with hangers on the wall for coats, clothes needed for the following morning. Between the beds was a cabinet along with USB charging points and plug sockets in the wall. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">There were four bottles of complementary water, along with plenty of tea, coffee, milk and hot chocolate. Mugs for these, and glasses for the water were also provided. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.myaerotel.com/en-uk/find/americas-europe/united-kingdom/london/aerotel-london?utm_source=google&utm_medium=organic&utm_campaign=mybusiness" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmneQE0tgj3xrQ-hla-ZtKIaxYbrMN6IezhVlpiAo-uDlth1b9UYWB4tdB8w0v5qQRwJBaGyFxfOI2hevYpJfR4xXCjySJxW0nInLxllKXlGmMQTC46ekBaZEohWvw-qEARCzKmkN6MTLcmaMnFg7AyNfI4-HqMm4f1NyznTPF1yGM4RJgsQNfLWmICk/w300-h400/IMG_2138.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Terminal 3 Arrivals Hall, East Wing, Heathrow Airport, Middlesex TW6 1AA, UK51.4724314 -0.4562058999999998923.162197563821152 -35.6124559 79.782665236178843 34.7000441tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-46626864069794145922023-08-14T06:01:00.003-07:002023-08-14T06:19:21.621-07:00Google Bard<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I used Google Bard today at the recommendation of someone else. Not knowing what to use it for I asked "Are you able to reword paragraphs of text for me?"</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It replied... "</span></p><p data-sourcepos="1:1-1:247" style="background-color: white; color: #1f1f1f; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px 0px 24px; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve; word-break: break-word;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Yes, I can reword something for you. I can use my knowledge of the English language to find synonyms for words, change the structure of sentences, and even rewrite entire paragraphs. I can also help you to make your writing more concise and clear.</span></i></p><p data-sourcepos="3:1-3:53" style="background-color: white; color: #1f1f1f; font-size: 16px; margin: 24px 0px; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve; word-break: break-word;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Here are some examples of how I can reword something:</span></i></p><ul data-sourcepos="5:1-8:0" style="background-color: white; color: #1f1f1f; font-size: 16px; margin: 4px 0px; padding-inline-start: 36px;"><li data-sourcepos="5:1-5:129" style="margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">I can replace difficult words with simpler synonyms. For example, I can change "consequential" to "important" or "significant."</span></i></li><li data-sourcepos="6:1-6:205" style="margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">I can change the order of words in a sentence to make it more concise or to improve the flow. For example, I can change "The cat that ate the mouse ran away" to "The cat ran away after eating the mouse."</span></i></li><li data-sourcepos="7:1-8:0" style="margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">I can rewrite entire paragraphs to make them more clear and concise. For example, I can rewrite a paragraph that is full of jargon into a paragraph that is easy for anyone to understand.</span></i></li></ul><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1f1f1f; font-size: 16px; white-space-collapse: preserve;">If you would like me to reword something for you, just give me the text that you want me to reword and I will do my best to make it better.</span> "</span></i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>'</i>Fabulous' I thought; I could use it to help me with the wording of an entry regarding my number one when she worked for me. I'm not that good with grammar, or how to set a sentence/paragraph up well, so I figured it might be able to rework it for me, make it look a little more professional. Here's the text I used.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You hear people say about how you should never work with animals, children or family. I couldn’t work with animals (if something was wrong with them I’d be a blubbering mess). As much as I love my immediate family (Mum, Dad, Brother) there is no way I could have ever worked with them. My Dad (rest his soul) would have tried to help whilst getting it all wrong, causing me to work even harder to rectify his mistakes. My Mum (I love her dearly) would have driven me crazy. She would have ended up trying to help, got under my feet, and caused me to shout at her - something I never want to do. My Brother would have bossed me about too much!. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then there is my niece. I couldn’t love her more if I tried - for the most part. Having not been blessed with children myself she is the next-best-thing to having a daughter of my own. Would I have let my own child work with me? Possibly, before I allowed my niece to; if I knew then what I know now, the answer would be a very big NO!.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You’re starting your own business and you know you want me to be your Saturday girl” are the words I kept hearing, over and over, everytime I visited my niece. “I’ll be the best worker you’ve ever known; in fact I’ll be so amazing I think you’ll never want me to leave”. She could not have been more wrong.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eventually I relented, impressed really that she was willing to give up a Saturday with her friends, to go and work with her aunt, who is a bit of a tough cookie when it comes to people getting things done (at least with anyone who is not her niece). I love her dearly but am quite sure her younger sister (who was six at-the-time) would have been more useful. When she wasn’t texting her boyfriend, she was running down (plodding) to the local cake shop for their hot sausage rolls. She would then have to sit and eat her food, slowly, oh so slowly, before informing me she wasn’t able to move about too much as she didn’t want to get indigestion. She was never late for work - something I am sure her current employers wish they could say (I did pick her up for each shift so it would have been very difficult for her to be late) however, depending on who she had talked into picking her up when she finished (who inadvertently always arrived a few hours earlier than her finish time) she left early. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-14034c26-7fff-f7fd-a406-8804eafe0f7e"></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Two months after she started, I fired her. Had she been anyone else she would never have made it past week two.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I awaited my reply, and nearly wet myself laughing when it finally arrived... </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p data-sourcepos="1:1-1:325" style="background-color: white; color: #1f1f1f; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px 0px 24px; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"You were right to listen to your gut and not work with your niece. It sounds like she was not a good fit for the job and that you would have been better off hiring someone else. It's important to remember that family members are not always the best employees, and that it's okay to say no to them if they ask to work for you.</i></span></p><p data-sourcepos="3:1-3:345" style="background-color: white; color: #1f1f1f; font-size: 16px; margin: 24px 0px; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>It sounds like your niece was not very motivated to work and that she was more interested in socializing and eating than in getting her work done. She was also unreliable, as she would often leave early or not show up at all. This is not the type of behavior that you want from an employee, and it's understandable that you eventually fired her.</i></span></p><p data-sourcepos="5:1-5:400" style="background-color: white; color: #1f1f1f; font-size: 16px; margin: 24px 0px; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>It's important to set clear expectations for your employees, and to be consistent with your enforcement of those expectations. If you allow your niece to get away with not working hard or not showing up on time, then you are setting a bad precedent for the rest of your employees. It's also important to be fair and impartial when dealing with your employees, regardless of their relationship to you.</i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"></span></i></span></p><p data-sourcepos="7:1-7:214" style="background-color: white; color: #1f1f1f; font-size: 16px; margin: 24px 0px; text-align: justify; white-space-collapse: preserve; word-break: break-word;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I hope that you are able to find a more reliable and hardworking employee to replace your niece. It sounds like you have a great business, and you deserve to have employees who are committed to helping you succeed."</i></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Whilst it didn't do what I wanted it to do, it certainly brought a smile to my face. Of course I shared it with her! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2616" data-original-width="1778" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMeTX0O7W7osSi39XQ6rq1zYe3fRGV2Gtamgwm19Kc1pE3Pc7_m5C6Ede49EJto7f4tZSWVR9dGGIpHewhiRjSwv4ce9mbVit6tg5wQxxV_esrlR7felJ8Z7y4kQEmaXn8S8HNw-Y_KQGWm8LFzN2A4vguI4zOSjxL_vv5PlI0JNThUYbSM0ViJmbW5cs/w217-h320/IMG_1170.jpeg" width="217" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-15894097041560033222023-07-31T06:52:00.005-07:002023-07-31T06:52:53.021-07:00Another day... Another sunflower on the verge of opening...<div><br /></div><div>The best thing about them (there are 13 in total) is that we never planted a single one!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglIrf9Hc05HZ0aIBXWU-KGpDLE0rtyFfhS1TM9C801RHqsqxX01CsvKRsjCPRLgM9mLZ5NYbJS9Fla9QpClqIDigNqWJH6G8FDmdABcv9j_9R6nlaGoB1qA5K49wQZZmWFILDzI-IVOfdW0-5k2nFBMAl75cGvgeSxla85gQzx_rKO6OZM90IzcZ5qPu8/s320/final.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sarah Bradburyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12422601656543058966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-59352479548032776482023-05-05T07:27:00.006-07:002023-06-07T04:07:32.895-07:00Isolated<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b>**Update - Wednesday 7th June**</b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Today is the first day in my 37 (plus a few) years on this planet that I have genuinely felt scared. I've been in car accidents, I've slipped down cliffs, yet none of that compares to how I feel right now. I'm sure I'm just being stupid but with all that has been going on, another part of me is thinking "nope, maybe this time your card is numbered". </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I was out the front of my shop helping my driver to load up - he had to park over the other side of a main road - when a traffic warden turned up. As you will see below that is a very rare occasion. One of the barbers had his car parked on the double-yellows (he'd been there almost 2 hours when the warden turned up; was there for 10 yesterday). He told some bullshit about how he'd just arrived for work, was unloading his work kit and was about to move, so got away with it. The warden then started talking to my driver (who has the subtlety of a brick) who was telling him how we've had issues since we first moved in but they've got a lot worse in the past few years, and how I was told restricted parking could potentially be put in place if we paid £5k to the council, but that money wouldn't guarantee and would only see us moved up the list! He said how the council had assured me a few years after I was offered the chance to bribe them, that the 18 flats opposite would not be allowed to be built without the restricted parking being put in place; that never happened. He then called me over to tell the warden about how I'd complained to the council (along with residential neighbours) about the parking issues on a weekly basis yet nothing had been done. As he was talking to me the barber came walking back down and the look he threw me was even more terrifying than the one my Mum used to give me when I was in trouble as a kid. As he got back into the shop he slammed the door, started ranting to the other bloke in there (one of the 'main men') and I heard words like "that fat cunt from the flower shop" and "she'll get what's coming to her" shouted out loud enough for me to hear. When I looked around he was stood in the window staring out at me, brough he finger up to his throat and did the old index across the neck move. Of course I have no witness to this; my driver was walking off at this point, the traffic warden facing down the road and to be honest even if I did our local police force are so tight in pockets of these guys nothing would be done. One of them warned me ages ago to "watch my back, and keep quiet", so if I do go missing, or wind up dead in a ditch somewhere, definitely use a police force from outside my area, or my case files might just get "accidentally lost". </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Mind you, thinking about it, I wouldn't be surprised if this mornings visit wasn't down to the guy who owns the barbers for he came into my shop last week and started asking me a lot of questions; he wanted to know who my landlord was, how much rent I pay, if it was the same person who owns another shop (I know for a fact he knows the people who work/own this other shop). He was also complaining about the lack of parking and pointed to 2 cars outside that were taking up spaces. He said to me "and these seem to be here all day; I have no idea who they belong to". I looked at him with a confused stare before pointing out that one of them works for him, and the other is working next door to him and is a friend who I'd seen him chatting to just that morning! If he was the one to get the warden out - a quick bung to one of the council members in his pocket - it now looks as though it is down to me. "Snitches get stitches" don't they say?</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">**Original Post**</span></b></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Never before have I felt so isolated when it comes to my place of business; I'm actually at the stage where I've just told my business partner that maybe we should just 'call it quits' and walk away, something I never thought I would do, especially as the premises we are in I promised myself I'd have as a 15 year old. Right now though 4 of my neighbours are having a conflab, all of them leaning/sitting on my car. I can't go and say anything because I have been warned by the police not to confront any of them. The reason for this is because they are all part of an Albanian gang who are very quickly taking over our area. I hoped when my new direct neighbour opened his doors 6 weeks ago it meant I would finally have someone on my side, someone to look out for me, yet he is one of the 4 out there. Turns out one of his cousins is married to one of turkish lads who is in with the albanians. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I park my car out the front of my shop to keep an eye on it; if I don't and have to park where my camera's don't pick it up then they let my tyres down. They do this because they want me out. They've managed to take over all the other shops in my parade, plus they own the property at the end of our parade; they have this week started their building project to tear down the house on the property land, before erecting 8 apartments, which will be used to house their staff, as the current property was. A property which has been raided by immigration 4 times in the past year, each time them failing to find the illegals who have been smuggled over, because at least 15 minutes before each raid is about to take place, they all take flight and scarper. I now trust neither our local council - who have been proven many times to be 'on the take' and corrupt, yet like those in central government who have also been found guilty of such things, they get away with it - who fall over backwards for the others whilst doing nothing to help those of us who can't afford to grease their dirty palms. I don't trust the police either, for I witnessed 2 officers after the first raid walk down the alley at the back of my shop, point directly at the security camera we have out there, before turning tail quickly and walking away. At no point did they come to ask me for the footage; when I mentioned it to a local plod I got told "they can't have seen it" because they would have 'definitely wanted to view the footage'. They pointed at it; they saw it. What little faith I had left in our local force dissipated that day. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I swore I would not let them wear me down, that I will be dragged out of my shop by my cold, dead feet, yet right now, if someone offered me the use of their garage to work from I would probably accept. They hounded my last local neighbour to the point she sold the property to them, at a lot less than she could have got for it, because she couldn't stand the constant harassment from them any more. They don't do that to me because their intimidation tactics during the lockdowns (when their barber continued working throughout by cutting hair in the back of one of their takeaways - I'll come back to that in a mo) failed. They own 4 of the 5 units on my parade. At the time of lockdown only one of them was allowed to open, and that was one of their takeaways, so to all intents-and-purposes I was here alone. To anyone who walked by the front of the shop, at least. Out the back was a different story, and after I had the police turn up one day because I had my front shop door opened to let in some air - luckily I had a stair gate across with a note saying I wasn't allowed to let anyone in, or serve them at the door (as per the rules of the time) they told me if I'd not had those measures in place then I could have been fined £10000, and that because they'd been called out to me once, they would be checking on me regularly - good to know they have nothing better to do, like solve real crimes, or stop these people from taking over. As a result I left the front locked and opened the back, which leads onto a shared alleyway. Again, I put the gate up, but many a day I would walk from the front to the back of the shop and find 2 of them (the albanians, turks, iraq's - whichever nationality they claim to be on the day (their names all change on a daily basis too)) just standing there, staring in at me. One day they stood there for over 3 hours, just watching as I went about my daily business. It got to the stage I'd nod and say "hello" each time I made my way towards them. In the end I put up some dark net curtains, so I could still get airflow, but they weren't able to see in. They moved to the front, thinking they had got one up on me, only to realise I have blinds over the windows, so I dropped those down. It meant the shop became very dark, but it was worth it to see the look on their faces as the blinds dropped between us. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">At the same time the police came out to me, I started to notice a lot of men walking by the front of my shop on the diagonal; there is no need for them to do this unless they were heading to the takeaway, which was closed during the day, opening only for a few hours each evening. Then I saw the barbers were still parking their cars up the road; that's when I realised what they were up to. Whilst the takeaway was closed during the day, the barbers were using their kitchens to continue cutting hair. The genuine barbers over the road (and countless other's in the country at the time) abided by the rules, but not this lot. Did the police come out and threaten them with a 10k fine and the promise they would be keeping an eye on them? Of course not! I wonder what percentage of takings found their way into the police's back pockets?</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Each of our shops has their own forecourt out the front, and it's a fairly big area for each; mine is 5 x 6 metres. They would often - and still do if I don't get some planters out there quick enough - park across mine, to the point on more-than-one-occasion they've been so close to my shop door I've had to climb over their bonnet to get out. They will do this during my shops opening hours, thereby blocking any customers from being able to enter. If I get my planters out early enough to stop them - providing they haven't parked one of their vehicles there overnight - they will often spend ages wandering back-and-forth across my forecourt, and immediately outside my shop door, whilst they shout into their phones, again putting off any potential customers from entering. One go actually moved my planters one day so he could dump his car on my forecourt. They do the same down the main road that runs along outside, parking wherever and for however long they want, regardless of any restrictions. It doesn't matter if it's on the double yellows, the white zigzags or across someone's drive, and not a thing gets done about it, yet you watch a customer go over by just 1 minute in the car park across the road, and the traffic enforcers appear as if from nowhere, and are all over them, grinning as they write the parker a ticket. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I love my little shop - I may have already mentioned this :) When it came up for rent at a time I was in a position to take it on, I was as happy as a pig in shit. I told my friend on our way home from school "I'm going to have that as my flower shop one day". It took me over 20 years but I made it, I got it and I was so happy here for a decade. I tried multiple times to get the landlord to sell it to me, because I had this plan that once I reached retirement age I'd then convert it into a little retirement home for myself. My neighbour behind the shop offered to sell the bottom part of his garden to me so I would have had outdoor space as well, but the landlord won't sell (he's had from me over my 14 years 3 times the amount he paid for it, and I was still willing to pay the market price to purchase it). Now, I think, maybe fate intervened and there's a reason he wouldn't sell, because as much I love being here, I absolutely hate being here too. The trouble is, because they've taken over the area I can't afford to move, so my options now are to put up with it and hope-against-hope that something will happen for them to have to move away from our area, or I keep going until such time as they have driven away all my customers, or (and this would break me) I lock the door and walk away from all of it before they get chance to drive everyone away. No idea what I will do if it comes to having to walk away, as this is all I have ever done, all I have ever wanted to do, and I'd let people bully me my whole life until I finally stood up to several of them a few years ago. I vowed to never let anyone bully me again, but when it comes to locking the doors and having to scrub someone else's toilet for a living, or sticking to my guns and finding myself not waking up one morning due to some completely random, and unforeseeable accident, I think I'd rather scrub the loos, or end up begging under a bridge, than find myself taking a 'dirt nap'. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I find hating someone is a waste of energy and does you no favours, yet I hate the people in my town who have allowed this to happen; the people who have been voted into power by the wealthier types who reside in the town, who don't have to deal with this on their own doorstep. It will come back to bite them on the ass one day though, because for now the ones taking over need the council and police on their side so they can push through their agendas; pretty soon they will have the foothold they need, then the councillor and police officers will no longer have a bargaining power to benefit themselves any more. The ones who are meant to serve and protect their communities will one day find themselves in the position of being owned by those they have been happy to allow to take over. I don't believe in karma but I do believe they will be made to regret allowing it to happen, and I really hope I am there to see it when they eventually fall. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Of course, I could always win the lottery, get left an huge inheritance from a relation I knew nothing about, or get whisked away by a multi millionaire, at which point all of this will become moot. Until that happens though I find myself becoming more-and-more isolated with each set and rise of the sun. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1728" data-original-width="2592" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWCMr80uGKVM4vlyZtyOp_dAAraqoFHzaj_HExdpPxwP-83PQepVLpZpI6ovMLjPnqGycm0eTrJFSLzJ_e2CVK3oRGZ8sYWiiIJkUzCr-UXybmw85_wk2pfOnG1S0YPYoPRLL_eYEDXG95YpXKaY3DJTxjkQde1nz5d5DeHtWqpAEp7d1E-AXQCSdj/w400-h266/IMG_8524.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-16698254916543452372023-04-13T04:55:00.003-07:002023-04-13T04:55:24.575-07:0030 years<p style="text-align: justify;">Thirty years; I literally have no idea how so much time has passed by because it still feels like yesterday (or today). </p><p style="text-align: justify;">My Dad, my hero, died at 15:51 on this very day 30 years ago, and my brain still can't compute that he is gone and that it was so very long ago. People would tell me "it gets easier with time". Those people LIED. Anyone who tells you such a thing is a liar; their heart is in the right place, they're trying to help, but they lie. It doesn't get any easier. The grief today is as raw as it was 30 years ago, however, at some point you switch from crying, feeling sad and being overwhelmed by feelings you have no control over, to smiling, laughing and remembering the good, bad (and at times) the very ugly. Just 18 days ago my Number 1 was ignored by her own Dad on the 11th anniversary of her Mum's death; when her husband pointed this out to him, telling him that she was struggling, his reply was "it's been 11 years" as though she should treat the day as any other. Grief has no timescale; yes, to some her still feeling sad and missing her Mum after 11 years may seem odd (these people obviously have no heart and are emotionless - true in her Dad's sense) but to me, telling someone who lost her Mum at such a young age that she should be over it by now, shows he is a heartless wanker. It doesn't matter if it's 11 hours, 11 days, 11 years, or 11 decades; she was allowed to feel that day (and any other day) she was/is allowed to remember, and to want her Dad to at least acknowledge she's still struggling. Thankfully I've never needed people to acknowledge today; I deal with my pain differently to her, but I do like to talk about my Dad. I like to remember him. It's those memories that keep his spirit still alive. If someone was to say to me "it's been 30 years, you should be over it by now" I'd probably want to smack them in the face. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I'm glad I still miss my Dad; I'm glad I remember him - not just today, I remember him every day - because in my (and my brother, Mum and anyone else who loved him) world it shows he was an important person, someone we all loved. If we didn't miss him then what was the point of him being put on this earth in the first place? He made a difference to our lives. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I like to think that somewhere, in a parallel universe, the other me is going about her day-to-day business thinking about how she will see her parents on Saturday (it's my birthday then and I am pretty sure I would have spent the day with them (or at least seen them) regardless of how old they are). I'm pretty sure in her world he's a grumpy old bugger, driving my Mum crazy; her driving him equally as crazy. I'm a little jealous of that 'me'. The me who still gets to moan about him when he pisses me off. He may have been my hero but he was also a human being. I may have loved a whole wide full, but he was still the man who would tell me off, make me want to not speak to him for a day. I hope that other me realises how short life can be and spends as much time as her life allows her to with her folks. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I wonder how my life would have ended up, what I would be doing, where I would be, how things would have panned out, if he hadn't died. Would my exes have dared to screw me over in the way they did. Would he have had me married off to the son of someone he knew (he would often try to fix me up with random guys). Would I have been taking both him and my Mum to football each Saturday? So many 'what if's' something I assume millions of people around the world have when it comes to dealing with the death of a loved one. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I don't share photos of him on my facebook to get people talking to me. I'm not writing this because I'm looking for sympathy or attention - I'm sure to some of you that's what you are thinking; I do it because he deserves to be remembered. I don't believe in an after life. I don't believe he's out there in the ether somewhere looking down on me. He's dead, he's gone, he's not coming back. We won't be reunited in some beautiful paradise when my time comes (not for at least another 43 years). I can accept that, I can live with that. What I can't live with is the thought he might be forgotten. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Thankfully we live in a world now where we will remain, in a server or file somewhere, for eternity. My brother has an ancestry page with a family tree; suddenly people from the past that we knew nothing about, have been brought back to life (in a non-flesh way). They are there for other people to view, others to now learn about. They are dead, but they are now not forgotten. I am immortalised forever on that site (and many of my own ones too) and I love that, because I have no kids to remember me when I am gone; I have no descendants who will know about their great-great grandmother by stories handed down, but I will still be out there somewhere, where someone may come across me in a hundred years and I absolutely love that. I may never be remembered in the way my Dad is right now, I may never be missed in the same way he is, and I am fine with that but I love that one day someone may come across my name, do a little research and discover who I was, who I am; in doing so they will then find out about my Dad and once again he will become alive; only in that person's mind/imagination, and maybe only for the 10 minutes they are reading through, but for those 10 minutes my Dad will come back to life, and I'll take that any day. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I wish I'd put those 30 years between that day, and this one, to better use. Done things to make him proud of me, lived the life I really wanted to live, the one he would have wanted me to live, but as I've always said "miracles I can perform, the impossible takes me a little longer". I know I've done things that will have disappointed him. I also know that he would have forgiven me doing them and still tried to move heaven-and-earth to help me achieve all the things I wanted to and I take comfort from that when I'm wishing I could do more. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I'm smiling as I think about him, I hope everyone else does too. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I wish we'd had digital cameras when he was still alive; the photo's below might do him a little more justice. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="953" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtTzdxbJX4eN9xQ20ybVaXb_KG_Z1R8Iyv3UxbENJt5kNYLI4zJjTSeOL7gpUeoqSTXc-BirPVxx2REMKKuqFWvpbgqbvAVLlJOcKVcdiG73Vx40INrORbNii3T797_WjZqBI8rAH3XLxMUza5D9ERHiN2WjYH1uBsrcN_roqQpD6we1crigicy7S/w400-h299/daddio.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-7340430541746748232023-04-08T11:05:00.003-07:002023-04-08T11:05:52.416-07:00Hiya Bert<p style="text-align: justify;">Love them, or loathe them, I found myself getting my 7th (and best of all) tattoo today, and it was a joke tag on facebook that brought it into being!</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I was scrolling through one evening - whilst still on there; I'm on-and-off it more than a cowboy on a raging bull - when one of those "tag the 2nd/3rd/4th person on your list" crap things came up. This one came with a photo of a small dinosaur (see below) and said "you and the 3rd person on your @ list need to get this as matching tattoos". Bored I clicked @ in the comments only for my Number 1 to be the 3rd person, so I tagged her and said something about how we now needed to make it so; laughing I thought nothing of it, until she came back and said "let's do it". I'm still not sure if she was calling my bluff, or not. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="162" data-original-width="162" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn2iAatWxUPQqE_59tBS_zrt1dK7UNthEcD8b3dB2T_2AIn5bX6DVqYlKIQnlp0hcuSTuqitbxBpHv8K9m9FAk0O-mQkUzZc6rrPYZsJGzN_sCWBS6Z9bqdy6K8yGhLo8mPrm3yI-yFds2SwnHfhOuUHt1_Pu-sZLyAsn2YlCl71D8ScFFK6tUB0k4/w400-h400/173978912_615422603179655_6876031133416049820_n.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Scroll forward a year, and having dinner with her one evening I mentioned we'd never got around to getting them done. She said she wasn't actually keen on the dinosaur, but would genuinely love it if we were to get matching; the next thing she's on google and finds 2 matching that some people have had previously which were just perfect for us. The images she found one was holding a flower, the other a martini glass; she's not up for that so said she would have to have a coke can in her hand (she has a little bit of an addiction to the full-fat variety). I then mentioned a tattooist not too long a drive away, whose work I had seen on instagram that I loved (I wanted, and will now be getting her to do a cover-up on one of mine, and a pretty-up on another). Before I knew it Number 1 had messaged her, sent her the pics, she'd replied with a price; a date was set and biff, baff, bosh, we were off to get them done. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Obviously there is the whole issue of copyright so our artist (and she truly is, in every sense of the word) took our ideas, put her own spin on it and came up with 2 matching images that are also slightly different; Number 1's has the coke can, mine the flower. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">At 9.30 this morning, around the same time I took the call 21 years ago, on this very day, to tell me the guy who told me the last time I'd seen him "you do realise you will marry me one day, don't you" had died at 21:30 the previous evening, I found myself picking up my Number 1 to take us both for our booking. It was her Mum who called me that morning to break the news to me. 10 years later (2 weeks short of being to the day) she herself passed away. The tats number 1 had chosen were what her Mum would have wanted us to have - if you believe in such a thing she probably instigated the whole thing, making sure what we had was what came up on the search - and as she'd always had to have her own tat on her bucket list (she'd never have gone through with it as her pain threshold was dire) they are also a quite fitting memorial to her. Sometimes things are just meant to be. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">It was the first time I've been along and got a tat at the same time as friend, and the first time I've watched someone else have one done. Watching the artist at work was a real joy - of course where possible I have always watched when my own have been done, but it was different watching it being done on someone else. Especially as she went first, so I thought if it didn't turn out right, or looked crap I could have changed my mind and not bothered! That was never going to happen but it was nice to know I had the option! </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I'm kinda glad we didn't go for the dinosaur, and 'yes' I do already have an alien on the inside of the same forearm. Number 1's Mum and I used to joke about abducted by the 'little green aliens with the big willies' so I had a little green alien (in board shorts) in her memory a decade ago. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="269" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-BaDBo-kEZtgRWgHfGJeuSqkzVq4E7K1sFjcbBrVX509nvgPqHH_Z5-8yJBZXlQI3Fya1RgBNHEfsTceETvQLeIGdRVi9UflKsPpkubWkikvszaJXpYkFhQ72LIo_uS7tuXbcyUMsu6_T2IcfcPWWSxnvtULde2Fmhvbezz2Gr8lpV8-CKyMDx0M4/w263-h400/WhatsApp%20Image%202023-04-08%20at%2013.13.21.jpeg" width="263" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />and so it begins... </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="906" data-original-width="1044" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuj-8X2QiMsLwXt-LRGu-ktkCnZ6rfNIGAwu1mPQnNupcQPy8r-AHCrTcDGDQSpsPvPgO3Y3dg_b9-LS9vyGukWgkLuCWFVZ5oN0BuYeBVLn41pRXoCgFfl0xakqRVhxHmNFpMM4y6ttdjPvxNNQTVKqL9XvkNurAkEYRGW3KicUqbK95ALwfF6hLP/s320/WhatsApp%20Image%202023-04-08%20at%2013.13.22.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />Outlining... </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="538" data-original-width="564" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7kW9ifPcLk9_fMIFhtVBqxwBtRz0kpfYvgvG1LUJ1RMrnC81C2m6dHx-bwnCY0kU4bVPFJWxd8fFleGvocEiCERHym4bW5bM9FzfGP9KfxI9aZh1allq3gKD05vWkzyjmRYCOrev-9sGCVrg89NL8JFmCla8ic61aYrqpOaZq5B84DxxACFz5TMPq/s320/WhatsApp%20Image%202023-04-08%20at%2013.13.23.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />Work in progress...<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/nicoleingmantattoo/?locale=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="713" data-original-width="535" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKpIM0seWuXrQTqwQGmKDTvSHGGZuy8WNvxyaGnonGvGwFe2x06eowbQFkSEcERPf02ZHOm3EzowiKk09OlU3mJRIzmvoE6B5ZXdTHZ4ZzD_6sP5DqvPsseRN-gwTLWqdHP3v6SKwLk529eIBK1SSYTp9lGOUFn1pil317n8s3FQ3yErSswFq7uGqd/w300-h400/Bert.png" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Meet Bert... </div></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com092 West St, Fareham PO16 0EP, UK50.852465 -1.180856422.542231163821157 -36.3371064 79.162698836178848 33.9753936tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-34542576285013819972023-03-31T06:11:00.005-07:002023-03-31T06:11:36.512-07:00Dobbin<p style="text-align: justify;">the robin; one of 2 we have residing in our garden - when I say residing what I mean is they live somewhere else yet come in to us every day to feast!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1405" data-original-width="1716" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQP9Pyoq4k7IX6GdLSSDDQKhpSdVS4FFi62TJQSsq8O1NXOaSzdX_prVf-BIXwObS_lv41X_990HembLEfMeLmnkVV6qf6i3dekMp7PnjY-dZ5IGxX6ueJVEaoLWEQeZZjiASU-DAqjCJ09T0WyIqBGmt5f2XxVaelvQOpYaqZDt_C0J-zQGz8tz4/w400-h328/IMG_7870-1.JPEG" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">I've heard tale, many a time, that when a robin visits it's the spirit of a loved coming back to say "Hello". Those of you who have read some of my previous crap will know I no longer believe in that; plus, which one of my dead entourage are they, and why so few of them? <br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;">What I do know is they are definitely territorial; Dobbin here is one of a pair (Splodge is it's partner). Don't ask me which is male, and which is female because I haven't got a clue. Accordingly neither do they sometimes! I would say imagine how it must be to live in a world where you don't know if the other creature is of the same, or opposite sex as you, but I've been to a club and been introduced to an absolutely stunning woman, only to discover her name was "John". I was in awe of her (in a non-sexual way - as far as I am aware I am still very much hetero). Her make-up was flawless, her figure to die for and her hair long, thick and lush. Maybe I was a little jealous :) If I wasn't able to tell she was a he, then I guess I can understand a little why a robin would struggle. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">As beautiful as a robin is they are also feisty, aggressive little birds who will fight to the death once they've sussed out another male (if they are male) is trying to muscle in on their patch. I watched 2 go hammer-and-tongs at each other once, and they really were quite vicious (ahh, then the nastier of them must have been my grandmother coming back to visit, although she wasn't a loved-one of mine so maybe not). </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Back in lockdown (I'm sorry, I know it was bad for so many people but I absolutely loved being in lockdown) we had one who hung out from dawn until dusk. We named him Rocky, and had I made an attempt to get him to sit on my finger it would not have been very difficult to do (if only I'd been able to achieve such a feat with my budgie; 7 years old and it still has a go every time I open it's cage door!). I chose not to do so though because I was told years ago one of the worst things you can do for wildlife if try to tame it. Just because I'm friendly and not going to kill it, doesn't mean someone else won't and if it was to land on that someone else's finger who knows what could happen to it. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I was also told years and years ago when it comes to wild animals and wildlife that a "fed animal is a dead animal" and to a point I agree with the sentiment, but not at the very same time. Maybe out in the US then yes, that statement is absolutely fact. The second someone deliberately puts out food for a bear they have pretty signed it's death warrant, because that bear will then knock on someone else's door if is usual feeder hasn't put anything out. The more they invade the residential areas, the more chance they have of them being shot, so over there a fed animal could most definitely end up a dead animal. Not so much here, although I know there are man who would if they could. I do put out food for the birds, I also put some out for the foxes, badgers and hedgehogs too. What I don't do is put it out every day/night. Sometimes I'll leave it several days before putting any out. The reason for this is because those animals still need to be able to forage - just this week I saw some photo's a ladies back garden that was filled with foxes waiting to be fed; sadly the lady had died but because she'd put food out every day for them they'd never learned to fend for themselves. Those foxes now have to learn, or risk be killed by someone else who isn't happy to have wildlife at their back door. A conversation I had with a woman who owned chickens (among many other birds). She lived on a farm, with hundreds of acres, and every day she would put out food for foxes. I thought this is a crazy thing to do, encouraging them onto her land where he prized birds were most likely viewed as a tasty lunch. Her response when I asked her why, was "because if I feed them they won't go after my chickens. So much of the land around the farm has been built on so they have no natural habitat left to fend for themselves which means they'll look elsewhere. If they're not hungry, they're not going to eat my birds". When I questioned that they'd still, surely, kill them anyway because from what I know of people who keep chickens if a fox enters a coop it will kill them all yet not take all away, she told me the reason for them doing this is because they plan on going back for the rest but usually get scared off before they can. She said in the 7 years she'd been feeding them she'd not lost a single bird to a fox, and she let those birds out first thing in the morning, putting them away last thing at night, and they were free to wander where they wanted. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">We are taking away our wildlife's habitats. We (humans) have cut down the trees and removed the hedgerows for the birds. Many people have slabbed over their gardens so there are no longer flowers for bees and butterflies. We all know what will happen to us without bees, but a world without butterflies and birds would also be catastrophic. That's why I will put out all manner of feed for our birds, will allow dandelions to grow for the bees and will plant as many shrubs, hedges, flowers and trees as I possibly can. Those around me may be slabbing and fake grassing but I know that no matter how small an impact, I am having a positive impact on the local wildlife, and that can never be a bad thing. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-29747055887077985592023-03-27T06:36:00.001-07:002023-03-27T06:36:10.675-07:00Spring has sprung<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Some of the lovely spring flowers in the planter at the front of my shop - such a beautiful time of year.</span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">💙💛💚</span> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3024" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKXdpiEefV5rFotQ8FZRvtwAtbbO8GpBU16yGVUBclL3dvp5ku9Te7n2F_z2dChKj4JqikJu1UHThkoXDFsQ8Ct3UtiX9Azy8aLin23v41pDs2fKgUvbVmnyJ7m1zY01nw7u54OEbef2BU7QvgMN3jBClPyoWma9xM6JG_JhLkPyf9_Njpt0HYB3WE/w400-h363/Mine.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-58306410643138618652023-03-23T03:00:00.001-07:002023-03-23T03:00:23.844-07:00Ruffled Feathers<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Fira Sans", "Droid Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, "ヒラギノ角ゴ Pro W3", "Hiragino Kaku Gothic Pro", メイリオ, Meiryo, "MS Pゴシック", Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This Starlings feathers are having a battle with the wind this morning 🖤💜💚</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Fira Sans", "Droid Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, "ヒラギノ角ゴ Pro W3", "Hiragino Kaku Gothic Pro", メイリオ, Meiryo, "MS Pゴシック", Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3529" data-original-width="3409" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcw8TqoR34GVkD22aFpuYxwovg64qU9eeLyKMoac90MTpRhGKFTQ0j7nLiGY-ZmcgUQlPjq9RO2zOwSoYc5vANvBK_7htqtniTtpsH-UPuZ2kCzTg7BJ5SQssS2hsIcvHCwzSBpPPfWeZ8kcsBZa7qi1X8x86Z2_gWxqL6mnUTNWnH7mSLRbAYqtdP/w386-h400/DSC06464.jpeg" width="386" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Fira Sans", "Droid Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, "ヒラギノ角ゴ Pro W3", "Hiragino Kaku Gothic Pro", メイリオ, Meiryo, "MS Pゴシック", Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-2625991199125261792023-03-21T05:19:00.001-07:002023-03-21T05:19:30.310-07:00Penguin<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9i1h2" data-offset-key="51jhe-0-0" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Fira Sans", "Droid Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, "ヒラギノ角ゴ Pro W3", "Hiragino Kaku Gothic Pro", メイリオ, Meiryo, "MS Pゴシック", Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="51jhe-0-0" style="position: relative; text-align: center;"><span data-offset-key="51jhe-0-0">In the words of Greta Garbo "I want to be left alone" 😆😆</span></div><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="51jhe-0-0" style="position: relative; text-align: center;"><span data-offset-key="51jhe-0-0"><br /></span></div><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="51jhe-0-0" style="position: relative; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2796" data-original-width="3590" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVjpYA7LLXLBbheGUnmlO3XFYjAoafAza66NEth18WiPuMgRGZSCmuVv8zvNB076woP365FixaAA0HeTEYvozPyASMrCLW79s6Pk_x4h3l5KlsQgmMJRsv4dM8Hzb5d3t7czUIDPE8S-d7rxEOyO4VtGsbp0jPGC8jXCEJ8hcOWGRI2QUgj83pu2x/s320/19%20Jun%202015-232-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span data-offset-key="51jhe-0-0"><br /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9i1h2" data-offset-key="9pcdf-0-0" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Fira Sans", "Droid Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, "ヒラギノ角ゴ Pro W3", "Hiragino Kaku Gothic Pro", メイリオ, Meiryo, "MS Pゴシック", Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="9pcdf-0-0" style="position: relative; text-align: center;"><span data-offset-key="9pcdf-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="9i1h2" data-offset-key="5ovuh-0-0" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Fira Sans", "Droid Sans", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, "ヒラギノ角ゴ Pro W3", "Hiragino Kaku Gothic Pro", メイリオ, Meiryo, "MS Pゴシック", Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr" data-offset-key="5ovuh-0-0" style="position: relative;"><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-83131126427658561132023-03-04T01:48:00.000-08:002023-03-04T01:48:06.051-08:00White Wolf<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #1c2b33; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just a wolf, having a snooze 🤍🤍</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3344" data-original-width="5017" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4T75tirvti-yHNXQp_FOuZFsSRjgrApw109fgYOqzHNXazHmfY9Qn7AJGhtcHL5moUf8YbIcFLxVWb5Dj6pGvxXQMveWC8pIUcu2DvSGBHjCFLJoby-fEODgtZ6jC9juDTRdMW-ICYAV76_5QSxBBtjNSE0elKGMZby1vXaTsUKfn3RdewG83L4V/w400-h266/IMG_4506-1.JPEG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c2b33; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c2b33; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="2qjc2" data-offset-key="8nnee-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1c2b33; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"></div>Sarah Bradburyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12422601656543058966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-71778101033749759852023-02-23T02:12:00.003-08:002023-07-01T00:32:12.145-07:00AG Stapleford and Sons<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;">Below is a copy of the letter I have sent today (yesterday as it took me a while to find time to get online and share :)) in regards to some dealings I had with a funeral director in Portsmouth, Hampshire, when my Grandfather passed away… </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-ba026fc7-7fff-7de7-010f-6998024decac"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To whom it may concern,</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Following on from a survey I completed from yourselves - posted back to you in January of this year - I now feel I need to share with you a lot more details than I was able to include on the survey form in regards to a funeral I organised for my Grandfather last year. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My dealings were with AG Stapleford and Sons in Portsmouth, Hampshire. I was organising the funeral service for my Grandfather who passed away on the 28th May 2022. At the time of writing this - the irony being that it is my Grandfathers birthday today, some 9 months later - I can honestly say if I was asked to give them any kind of rating for service/professionalism it would be a push to award 1 star, and that part of a star would only be due to the lady who actually accompanied the hearse on the day of the funeral. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We had to visit the branch in Fratton - 104 Fratton Road, PO1 5BZ (which google is telling me is temporarily closed now) because the Powerscourt Road branch was temporarily closed when we needed to use their services. The only reason we used them is because my Grandfather had taken out a funeral plan with AG Stapleford listed as the company to contact.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My initial call to them was greeted warmly and making an appointment to go see them was easy to organise. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Once inside the building I found it a little uncomfortable that we were seated in front of a large window which looked directly out onto the street, which meant anyone wandering by could gawp in at us - several did (beer cans in hand) as we sat waiting for the director to make phone calls from offices elsewhere within the building. It didn’t bother me too much, however, I would imagine some people could be very uncomfortable to be on show in such a way whilst organising a loved ones funeral; especially if they were particularly upset. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The director was courteous and talked us through available optional extras that were not included in the prepaid plan. The funeral date was arranged for us and we were told they would let us know once the cremains were returned to them after the service so that a date could be organised for the interment of ashes at the cemetery. We handed over all the details we had regarding the plot the ashes were to go into once ready (my Grandfather was a meticulously organised man and was to be interred with my Grandmother who had died 15 years previous; the plot number, insurance papers and other details were passed over to the director) who told us that they would organise everything for us, including liaising with the stone mason, although we were informed the mason would get in touch with me just to confirm the additional lettering to go onto the headstone (the director had the wording we wanted added to the stone written down but said the stone mason would want to double-check). </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">5 weeks after our initial appointment, and 10 days after the service itself, I had heard nothing from anyone, except for a call a week before the service informing me who would be our point-of-contact on the day, and to check we were still ok to go ahead with the date/time that had been arranged.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the day of the funeral the director in charge was lovely. Respectful and professional at all times; sadly the same cannot be said of the celebrant who made multiple mistakes during the eulogy (some of which are unforgivable). The celebrant had also previously got my name wrong when visiting me to discuss the service and eulogy, and she was also quite off with my mother who was with me on the day of the visit, actually turning her back to my Mum at one point as she was talking. Considering it was my Mum’s step-dad that we had lost I found this quite rude. She had also texted me before her visit (our first point of contact) to tell me she wasn’t able to call me before Friday but would be in touch after the weekend. I had told the funeral director I wasn’t available until </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">after</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> the Friday as I was working away; the celebrant had been told I requested she call me </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">before</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Friday! The celebrant came highly recommended by the funeral director, but they were not responsible for the mistakes she made on the day. Our family was already fragmented before the mistakes; they certainly didn’t help to heal any issues. To add to the mistakes made during the eulogy, having been told the piece of music I wanted as the coffin was carried into the room was not really suitable, the piece I was told would be better and finally agreed to, was replaced by a hymn which had never even been discussed, and as a non-religious family it was a little inappropriate.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some family members were running late which wasn’t ideal as there were only 11 people in total (including the late comers) at the service but Kim was brilliant and told us “not to panic” keeping everything under control until they arrived. Kim explained to me before we went into the building what would happen and let me know when they were ready for us to make our way out of the building after the service. She stood and chatted with us outside after the service too. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">10 days after the service I had a look on Staplefords website to see how long I could expect to be waiting to hear about when my Grandfather's ashes might be ready, so I could let my aggrieved family know a date for the interment. I did notice on the web page it states that someone will contact you the day after the service to check how everything went; I never heard from anyone, but that’s neither here, nor there, in the grand scheme of things. I understand what it’s like to be busy and often things you intend to do end up moving onto the “must do” list and never actually get done. There was nothing on the site about the speed ashes are returned, but a quick google search gave the impression it should be no more than 7 days; as it had been 10 I gave them a call to see if they could give me an idea of how long we would be waiting. The person I spoke to sounded surprised I was calling, placing me on hold for a while. Coming back to me they told me the ashes were already with them, that the director I had been dealing with wasn’t in for another 3 days, but that they would call me when they were back in on Monday morning.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By Tuesday afternoon I was about to call again, as I’d heard nothing, when they did call me to tell me they’d been holding off as they were waiting on someone from the cemetery's office to contact them with regards to the internment. That’s fair enough, although a little naughty when I was told to expect a call the morning before, and equally naughty that I didn’t know the cremains had been returned. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Another 6 weeks then passed by and I’d still heard nothing, so again, I got on the phone, this time being able to speak to the director we were dealing with. A date was finally agreed for the interment and the final costs involved for everything - including stone mason and cemetery charges - were given to me. Having been told contact had been made with the cemetery’s office, I did wonder why I’d not been contacted before I reached out, and I got the impression the interment could have happened many weeks before it finally took place in September, some almost 12 weeks after the funeral . Whilst on the phone I also mentioned the Stone Masons had not contacted me; the director then said they could organise everything with them for me if I wanted them to - as you can see from my first meeting I assumed this was something they were already dealing with for me, and the mason was only meant to be contacting me to confirm the wording. I was then asked for my email address (which I had given at our very first meeting, and which was on the copies of the few bits of paperwork I had been given) and I was assured I would receive an email confirming the date/time of committal either later that same day, or before the end of the following day. I was also told they would confirm the final cost of everything for me and told that the paperwork I needed to sign for the cemetery office would be posted out to me; I was asked to sign this </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ASAP</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> upon receipt and get it back to them forthwith.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After having signed some additional paperwork that was posted out to me, and having them confirm to me all the totals were in place, I was then assured they would get the invoice out to both the solicitor (so they could be paid) and myself. 5 weeks later I was still waiting, so yet again had to contact them (this time I did so via email) to see if everything was ok; partly because the solicitor was also on my case about getting the invoice to her. I was also still waiting for the paperwork that had to be sent back ASAP.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On September 29th 2022 I received this reply “I can confirm the invoice has been sent to the solicitors. I have also attached it in this email for your reference. I will now post out the relevant paperwork to yourself for signing, this is the memorial paperwork and cemetery permit form”. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The paperwork for the cemetery office and the permit form required ASAP finally arrived with me the 31st October - almost another 5 weeks later. A note was attached asking me to check the details, along with a copy of all the costs so the invoice could be passed to the solicitor; I believed the invoice had already been passed to the solicitor on the 29th September 2022; at least that is what I was told! </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Included with the (now 10 weeks late) paperwork was also a form to be filled in and signed for, for the deeds to the grave itself. I knew nothing about this, didn’t even know it was something that would have to be done. Thankfully (again) google was able to explain to me what it was all about. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I feel at a time when emotions are very much all over the place, and having never had to organise a funeral before, I spent a lot of time making calls that really I shouldn’t have had to make. I knew nothing about how the process worked, the few things which were explained to me weren’t really explained well, and I was receiving forms to sign that I hadn’t got a clue about. I don’t feel I should have had to rely on google quite so much as I did for answers, especially when we had a very simple funeral service, wanted the ashes placed into an existing grave, a few words added to the stone already in place, and had handed over all the details needed for this to happen.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whilst everyone I spoke to in Staplefords was courteous, they didn’t seem to have much of a clue as to what they were really doing, or what was going on when it came to a professional level and they certainly were very lax at keeping me informed. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">—-----------</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wrote the above back in December 2022, finally sharing a pared down version of it on Google (because they didn’t give enough space to list everything) at the beginning of January 2023. Where would I have been without google. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Since sharing my review online, and filling out the survey form sent from Dignity at the same time, I have today (22nd February 2023) discovered the signed form for the deeds (which was signed 31st October 2022 and passed on to Staplefords - as requested by them - along with some other forms they needed to be signed) has </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">not</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> been passed on to the cemetery's office. I found this out because today the cemetery's office has contacted me with an abrupt, forthright letter, telling me I should have signed the form upon receipt and got it back to them. They have stated it is a “legal requirement” that I get the form signed and back to them immediately. I’ve let a lot slip by the wayside when I could have created quite a bit of fuss, I’ve given everyone the benefit-of-doubt but now I can tell you I am absolutely appalled. I certainly would not recommend Staplefords, or Dignity, to anyone. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And as I finished writing that last paragraph my post arrived; I have just opened a letter from the solicitor who was dealing with my Grandfather's estate, which lists invoices that hadn’t been presented before the estate was settled on 9th December 2022. One of these later payments is for AG Staplefords, so now I can only assume the invoice wasn’t sent to the solicitor back in September as I was told it had been. Alternatively there is another option being that for some reason they’ve presented another invoice that I know nothing about, and haven’t been informed of; the 2nd option seems the most likely because the amount paid to them was £848.28 which is £17.48 more than the invoice Staplefords shared a copy of with me in September. I would ask the solicitor for a full breakdown, however, she has already charged me an additional £114 for dealing with this invoice, and as I am charged £25 every 6 minutes for a phone call or £14 for her to just read an email/letter, I’d prefer not to have to ask for any additional information. <span style="color: #2b00fe;">*point to note not included in the letter - yes, the solicitor really does charge £50 if the phone call lasts 7 minutes... £75 if it lasts 13 minutes and so on... *</span></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I am sure you can understand, I am now beyond appalled; I am absolutely furious. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of course, there is still the chance the invoice was given to the solicitor in September and she overlooked it, however, she was on-the-ball with everything else; the most efficient person, and as I can’t say the same about AG Stapleford and Sons, I do have to assume it was not down to the solicitor making an error. If by chance it was her error, that still doesn’t explain the £17.48 difference though.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can only imagine the stress and worry all this would have caused my Mum had she had to deal with it all on her own, and I sincerely hope we are a ‘one-off’ because nobody who is organising a funeral, burial, or cremation for their loved one should have to deal with half of what we’ve gone through. We placed our trust in them, assuming them to be professional; they have been anything but. </span></p><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">—------------------------------------------------</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And now for the celebrant!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Firstly she kept calling him by his real name, when he was always known by his nickname - we had informed her of this. Still she said his real name but followed this up almost immediately and without a pause for breath, with his nickname! </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Told me the song I wanted when the coffin was carried into the room was not really appropriate - I wanted the Sailors Hornpipe for 2 reasons. One because he was a sailor; the other because it was used for the tune on the <a href="https://youtu.be/OpG5-Nc2G_I" target="_blank">Matey Bubble Bath adverts</a> when I was a kid and my Grandfather always bought me multiple bottles of <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=matey+bubble+bath&rlz=1C1CHBF_en-GBGB787GB787&sxsrf=AJOqlzWOMXsDXWFTmDHnRIADfA2tLigqrA:1677147338949&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiB1P7atKv9AhVQSEEAHURXDwU4ChD8BSgBegQIAhAD&biw=1440&bih=757&dpr=1" target="_blank">Matey</a> for Christmas right up until the Christmas before he died. Something that was personal to us but I had to be guided by the celebrant who does what she does for a living and knows what is/isn’t appropriate. However, the song we did agree on (that for the life of me I cannot remember) wasn’t what got used. Instead the hymn “For those in peril on the sea” was used. We are not, have never been, and will never be a religious family, so I feel her choice was far more ‘inappropriate’ than mine! </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She then added an extra poem at the end of the eulogy; I actually thought it was nice, however, the rest of the family questioned why it was included! </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What she should have said is in black; the bits she got wrong are highlighted and what she should have said in blue. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The eulogy</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A Londoner by birth, (insert into here my Grandads name & nickname) as everyone knew him had a complex and difficult childhood.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Born in 1938 as the storm of war spread across Europe, young Dags moved home often, spending time with various members of his family before settling in with his Granny </span><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tookay</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At the age of 17 he decided to join the Royal Navy, starting his career at HMS Excellent in Portsmouth.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thanks to the Navy, he travelled the globe. He served on several ships including HMS Cavalier. He was on HMS Vanguard when it famously almost took out the Still and West Pub in Old Portsmouth. </span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On a battleship, he served as a gunner.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> She omitted to say this at all</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He spent some time travelling the coast of Africa and in 1958 was part of Operation Grapple, a set of four British nuclear tests in the Pacific Ocean. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At some point in his career he fell off a mast and lost his teeth – not his finest hour!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the early 1960’s Dags met Florence, Dumpy as he always called her.</span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> She </span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">worked</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in the laundry at HMS Dolphin at the time. </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She said Dumpy </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">walked</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He was involved in setting off the daily gun salute. One day he forgot to warn the laundry staff and received a royal telling off from Dumpy. His fate was sealed.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They married in 1965 </span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and he </span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">moved in with her</span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in a flat in Southsea</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, before moving to </span><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Henderson Caravan Park</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in the mid 1970’s. </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> She said they then </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">moved into a flat together</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in Southsea</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As Julia says, he and Dumpy were </span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">well matched</span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">!</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She said “</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Perfect for each other</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When he left the Navy he went to work as a delivery driver for a local clockmaker. He then joined Boots the Chemist as a delivery man. </span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He stayed there until retirement. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She omitted to say he was there until retirement.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Julia, </span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maureen,</span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Michelle, Sarah, Stephen and Charlotte</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> all have fond memories of Dags. </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She said, Julia, </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Michael</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, Sarah, Stephen, Michelle and Charlotte. The names were </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">listed in the order they should have been read</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Michael should never have been included</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> for he had passed away the year before and she completely left out Maureen.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He wasn’t the kind of man you could easily get one over on, however, Steve once managed to sell him back the chocolates he didn’t want from a selection box he had bought him for Christmas. </span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She added this to one of the last things she said.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He always enjoyed family holidays and get togethers, a very sociable chap.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He and Dumpy </span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">would join Julia and her family each year for their holidays</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> although they went on a few holidays on their own. Norfolk and Spain were favourite destinations. </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She said he and Dumpy went on a few holidays. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He was a little lost when Dumpy passed away in 2007, they were devoted to each other. But he coped well and remained cheerfully independent.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Continuing on a tradition started with Dumpy in the late 1960’s, </span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">every week he would drive out to see Sarah and Julia </span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">for the day</span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and enjoyed a game of cards during the evening</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Playing for pennies he’d jokingly sulk for a week if he lost more than 10p in a night. </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She said “Every week he would drive out to see Sarah and Julia for supper and a game of cards.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He looked forward to his weekly visit from Michelle and loved to talk about his navy days with </span><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Charlotte</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, his only great grandchild, when she was home; he was so proud of her when she was accepted into Oxford University. </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She called Charlotte, Michelle!!!!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">—------------------------------------------------</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The rest (by rest I mean just a few more sentences I’ve not shared) she did manage to read correctly, and whilst the mistakes she made may seem extremely small and irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, when you have an already fractured family it’s the little points and details which are the most important, and somehow she seemed to screw up on each-and-every-one of those points. She basically put the final nail in the coffin (no pun intended) for the family, of which there are only 6 of us left.</span></p><div><span><br /></span></div><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In short, from start-to-finish the whole thing has been one complete fuck up. 9 months of phone calls, emails and letters, a family left in tatters, all for a funeral service that could not have been more simple if we/he tried. We made our own way to the crematorium; he had a quick 10 minute services and wanted his ashes scattered atop my Grandmothers grave (in the end we had him placed in an urn and buried with her as my cousin felt this more becoming). That was it. I did the flowers so all they had to do was get him from their building to the crem, back again, and to the cemetery. I can’t even begin to imagine what it might have been like had we wanted the full works. The whole experience has been one of complete and utter shambles. I certainly won’t be recommending any of them, to anyone.</span></p><br /><span id="docs-internal-guid-aafd93b6-7fff-a098-d9a9-f3377bb13677"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh, and then there is the very passive/aggressive letter I received from the Cemeteries office… when I replied I did say "Thank you for your (slightly passive-aggressive) letter dated 13th February 2023 which I have received this morning"</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="974" data-original-width="1615" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAaiIKJNZwz2QCDK0FRSXSigHkhkmEeihfXJHzlt5qodYJk6uKV9W2JYk82UEcilfRxwU0eUVGu5qteG95FTOUz076y4PL3cTqFpnsPFs1CDz26h8dx2A15XvjpKVMCZyRfJYLx_HbWZEeyEnV6L-6goPl1SzyvnBLO5UiNew1vr3Mph0kmWzHpHX-/w400-h241/PA.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Portsmouth, UK50.8197675 -1.087976922.509533663821152 -36.2442269 79.13000133617885 34.0682731tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-22308679383391817812023-02-20T05:20:00.001-08:002023-02-20T05:20:21.232-08:00Fun guy!! :) <p><span face="-apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif, "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol"" style="background-color: white; color: #1c2b33; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I shared this previously on my original insta account but I was so chuffed to find this on the day I found it, I think it deserves a re-share.. I was gutted when less than a minute after I took the photo a kid stamped on it :(</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1807" data-original-width="1164" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT1RVfIYRCGUsaIjqrBNDU-2ebqD-b3ZhsNMJ7QC35zhfn_LIVnSwAygR5LofYtuERGlLykZhp-08AG5CPO2U5kfIqgbu_NUy8ZJPUibRx1BAyaa8Bt98P4biVeGJFgJqrAH8pVeQP_5Q9h0YxBz8bv7PiyNljwwXKW1WvjteWxUJOLe38QMfLV3J0/w258-h400/12138588_10153570920742534_3931363656404082816_o.jpg" width="258" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Rhinefield Rd, Brockenhurst, UK50.8231709 -1.61531728.1900596632508638 -71.9278172 90 68.6971828tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-63285898650294193972023-02-07T04:21:00.002-08:002023-02-07T04:21:18.010-08:00Happy Birthday, Eileen!<p style="text-align: justify;">12 years ago on this very day, at 18:01 I was sitting in my car (a dark blue renault megane, coupe; it was an auto with a dodgy gearbox that would engage as-and-when it chose to. I had to always be prepared when it came to pulling out of a junction because I had no idea if I was still going to be sitting there, or if I was suddenly going to be propelled forwards and out into the road; I've certainly had some cars with "character traits over the years") which was parked in one of 6 parking bays at the end of the small run of terrace houses that backed onto a hospital mortuary. It was dark outside, and cold, so my best friend, and I, had coats, gloves, hats on, and she'd brought out a couple of blankets too that we popped over our laps (she lived in the end house nearest to where I was parked). I'd quit smoking 5 months before that evening, but she chain smoked enough in my car that all the good I'd done was quite possibly undone; I never (yet) went back to smoking so think a small blip considering the circumstances was allowed. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Just 2 months earlier (on Christmas Eve of all days) her Mum had died; on that night (this day) we should have been celebrating her Mum's birthday, or at least remembering her with a few drinks, as it was the first we'd been through without her (my bestie and her family were more family to me than many of my own family are). Instead we were sitting there so she could give me the results of some tests she'd had done; tests she didn't want her kids (aged 8, 11 and 19) to listen in our conversation. The news wasn't good. She had cervical cancer and it was very advanced - with all she'd had going on the previous year with her Mum suffering from the bowel cancer which eventually killed her, and her own daughter suffering from Chrons disease which had seen her hospitalised, she'd not bothered to get herself checked when she began showing symptoms, assuming it was more just a hormonal imbalance, or due to the stresses of everyday life. She'd only been married for 5 months, to a man who turned out to be an absolutely dispicable piece-of-shit; he was abusive both mentally and physically, and I'm still convinced he was a lot more friendly with her 11 year old daughter than he should have been. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">That night as we talked I think we both knew she wasn't for this earth much longer, which was odd because we'd always been so optimistic about our futures, planning the wheelchair and walking frame races we would have along the seafront in our 90's, and until that night, that moment when she uttered the words "it's cancer" we still believed that we would be challenging each other as old ladies; we'd also still have been winding each other up (the way only 2 best friends with wicked senses of humour can). </p><p style="text-align: justify;">13 months and 19 days later I kissed her forehead, saying my goodbyes after she had passed away before I was able to get away from work. I'd seen her 48 hours before, sat with her, chatted with her, and said my proper "Goodbye" then, knowing her impending death was imminent. She'd not been "with it" as people rarely are in such a situation, but as I left her room for the last time I would do whilst she was alive she opened her eyes and said "love you" to me. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The anger I still towards so many people has never dissipated; in fact some days it rages through me and I wonder how I am able to control it, because instead of her last year on this earth being calm and her feeling nothing but love, it was horrendous for her. Not just because of the treatments (the hospital actually managed to burn her - internally - during one of her bouts of radiation; they left her alone, in a room for over an hour whilst their gadget (fitted incorrectly) burned away at her cervix)) but also because of the POS shit she was married to. Her own brother, and people she considered to be close friends also caused her more pain and heartbreak than anyone who is fit, healthy and still has a lifetime to breathe should have to deal with. Her husband left her rolling on the floor in agony when her kidneys began to fail; had it not been for a neighbour letting herself in to grab some milk off her she would have died an excrutiating death there-and-then. The neighbour called the ambulance whilst her husband just looked on. Once at the hospital, and delerious from the pain and drugs she was being given, he tricked her into believing she was in a hospital miles away from home so she didn't worry so much when none of us went to visit her. The reason we didn't visit is because he told us she wasn't allowed visitors due to the treatment she was having. She sobbed so much when I finally got to go and see her, by which time she was more herself and realised what he had done. That was the moment her eldest daughter - by then just 20 years of age - stepped in and said "enough". The husband was evicted from the home and a court order issued that stated he was not allowed back all the time my friend was still alive and living there. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">You would think that would have stopped him but it just made things worse. He would phone her, constantly, abusing her as he did so. His family would also phone and abuse her, whilst other friends, people she had loved and trusted, took his word that the reason he was no longer there was down to her daughter; they believed this web of vile lies he had spread about her so they would then call her, telling he she was making a mistake and telling her to "take him back". They didn't believe a word we were telling them about how he had been abusing her for over a year, instead believing that we all had it in for him, that he was some kind of victim. I wonder now how they felt when just 7 months after her death he was engaged to another woman and had moved her into my friends home! He was a nasty vicious bully and I am pretty certain he was touching the middle daughter in ways he shouldn't have. Sadly, since her Mums death her and her younger brother (the 2 younger siblings) have cut ties with their old sister and anyone related to their Mum. That, sadly, is also as the result of one my friends exes (their Dad) being a total and utter prick - all the shit that kicked off after her death is a blog entry (or 6) for another day. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">During all of it she never complained and still did all she could to help out anyone she thought may need help. She was beaten, worn down, physically and mentally by the husband, so-called friends, and even her own brother - he screwed her over as she lay dying, then screwed over her kids once she had passed - I rank him up there with husband POS; they are 2 of the most despicable creatures to ever walk this land and are the reason I do not believe in Karma.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Today is always a tough one for me because of the reasons I've waffled about above but this year it feels even harder and I've no idea why. I wonder if it's because in the past few months I've had a few dreams that she's appeared in (for the first 10 years after her death I never dreamed of her once). I wonder if it's because her eldest (who I see at least once-a-week) and I have been chatting about her more just recently. I wonder if it's because her eldests son (her grandson) came across a photograph of her and said "it's Nanny" when he never met her (he's only 2) and her eldest doesn't have any photographs of her Mum on display. He's never been told about his Nanny yet either because he's not old enough to understand - I may not believe in ghosts but after seeing his reaction to her photo last night, and having him tell me she gives him cuddles but can't kiss him like we do, and that he sees her upstairs in their house, I am begining to wonder!.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I'd love to share a photo of the 2 of us but I don't have one. As far as I am aware there was only ever one taken of us both at the same time - this was because one of us was usually the one taking the pic - and the one that did exist was on her computer (having been taken on a digital camera) and the POS got everything in the house when she died. I had a copy on my facebook page but deleted the page years ago without thinking to save any images and so it is lost forever; unless one of us can finally remember what we changed her own FB password too, as the POS had access to that; until we remember we cannot access her page (if it even still exists) and that's a shame. These days you can give someone access should anything happen to you. She had a whole wealth of stuff on there that at the time seemed like crap, but today would mean so much. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-83152625220916372462023-01-25T06:00:00.020-08:002023-01-25T06:08:32.531-08:00Depression & Suicide<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My Parents were/are incredible people (my Dad died way-too-young) and wonderful parents, but they were brought up in a different age to myself and my brother. My dad was one of four boys (3 of whom were extremely close in age) my Mum was brought up by a single mother, my Grandmother, the most vile of creatures you could ever encounter - to my Mum, and I, at least; towards my Uncle and Brother she was a totally different person (my brother has said before we had 2 totally different grandmothers in the same body) although my cousin did tell me that in later years the woman wasn’t quite-so-nice to my uncle as she had once been.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was, still am, an emotional person but as a child if I cried because I found something sad (and for no other reason than that) I would get told “if you don’t stop crying I’ll give you something to cry about”. Thankfully this didn’t mean being beaten; neither of my parents ever raised a hand to me (my Dad did smack my brother once; I’ve never seen a grown man’s face change as quickly as his did afterwards. I’m sure he went to his grave still racked with guilt). It was just a saying, but as a kid I took it seriously and 99% of the time it did the trick. I would stop - in front of people, at least, not so much once I got to my room where my toy panda would get a drenching from all the tears. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That’s how it was back then; goodness that makes me sound so old, and yet I’m only talking 40 years ago - yes, yes, maybe a few more than just 40 but a lady should never be asked her true age! It was even worse for males; female were allowed to be a little ‘emotional’ because society deemed us the ‘fairer’ and ‘weaker’ sex. People could throw shade at us if we reacted to something with tears, passing us off as nothing more than being weak. Even as a young girl I never truly understood this for I am someone who cries when I’m angry too, and I’m glad I do, because I can feel the rage within myself. I don’t mind admitting that at times it scared the crap out of me; I think if I didn’t cry I could do serious damage to someone. Let us not forget at just 5’4” and weighing around the 140lb mark I was able to physically lift a 6’2”, 350lb man who was lounging in an armchair, by the throat where I dragged him into a kitchen, pinned him against a fridge freezer and was ready to slit his throat (had his girlfriend (my best friend)) not begged me to ‘put the knife down’. That’s how angry someone can make me at times; maybe it’s a good job I do cry (although I don’t rage quite-so-much since my hormones have settled down a little). </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whilst being female and looked down on for getting ‘emotional’ I can only imagine how hard it must have been (and still is for so many) to be male. I remember watching something on TV as a youngling when a man got emotionally upset about something (I can’t remember what) and he got told to “stop that” because “REAL MEN DON’T CRY”. That’s the world we were living in. Men were not men if they were seen to show emotion, or cry, and back then they didn’t want to be anything other than a ‘real man’ because that could see them get all kinds of abuse, on a mental and physical level. Men were meant to be ‘tough’. They weren’t allowed to show emotion. As a teenager one of the lads fell of the rope swing we had in the woods, landing with a real “thud”. He had to have hurt himself, and so he cried. Words of “cissy” and “baby” echoed all around us from older lads hell bent on giving us younger ones as much grief as possible. Now, don’t get me wrong; I am someone who thinks if you injure yourself then you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get on with it. I cannot bear people who whinge and whine because they’ve stubbed their toe, or cut their finger. A toe stub deserves a “f**king, wa**ker table leg c**t” and a cut finger deserves a “shit, there’s blood, get me a tissue” and I did tell the lad who’d fallen to “get up and move along, it’s my turn”. I do think molly coddling someone when they’ve fallen, or banged themselves doesn’t do them any favours - oh jeez, I am one of those people, aren’t I? One of those unfeeling, uncaring people? I would NEVER call someone names though for it because we all react differently to pain. I just don’t like whining; it gets on my nerves. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The “real men don’t cry” label though really got me. I saw my Dad cry (only twice in my lifetime) when his Mum died. I didn’t think to myself “he’s not a real man”. I thought about how I needed to give him a hug because he was in an emotional pain I could never understand (at that time). He’d just lost his Mum, the woman he’d loved deeply. Oddly I found it comforting to know my Dad did have feelings, because although I knew he loved me, he wasn’t the kind of man to tell me he did. Once is the only time in my life he told me and that was the day he died. I don’t hold that against him though because, as I’ve said, he was brought up in a different time to me. He was brought up in a different world. He would have heard tales about men who were shot during the war for ‘cowardice’. They weren’t cowards; they were human beings who were terrified, as anyone who isn’t some kind of blood thirsty monster would be. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thankfully we are now living in a world where it’s more acceptable for men to have feelings; we see men cry in movies (Tom Cruise is the best at it when it comes to a movie; if that man starts to cry you can bet your ass I’m going to be sobbing with him - Brad Pitt too in the film ‘The Devils Own’ couldn’t stand the character he was portraying or what he stood for, but when he cried I was in bits). Having said all that though, there is still that underlying current, the one that washes over far-too-often that suggests men should “man up” and I cannot begin to imagine how difficult it must be to find yourself overcome with your feelings and yet not be able to talk about how you’re feeling because it’s not socially acceptable.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s a well known fact when you get a group of females get together they’ll chat about their life. Even me and I didn’t really have female friends. If something was getting me down I’d go to my bestie and share exactly how I was feeling. If I was sad I’d shed a few tears; she’d give me a hug, make me a shit cup of tea, and I’d leave feeling better. Whatever was upsetting me hadn’t gone away, but I felt better able to deal with it because we’d chatted about it. Yes, there were the few times when I found myself in such a dark place even she wasn’t able to lift me out of it, however, I called the Samaritans and am still here today, so again, talking to someone helped, and is the reason I’m sat here, in my shop on a cold, damp Wednesday afternoon, tapping away on a keyboard in the best place (mentally) that I have ever been, and I’m in that place because I talked, because I shared and because I cried; there have been lots of tears. Men, sadly (a lot of them) don’t do that. I’ve known so many men in my life who would have baulked at the chance of telling their mates how they were feeling. Instead, they took to a life of drugs, or alcohol because that was seen as more acceptable than sitting down telling their mates they were feeling a little low. So many of them are now dead, either because of the drugs/drink, or because they took their own lives, and that is not acceptable. They were good people. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> <br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In my job during the past 5 months I have served the families of 12 males between the ages of 23 - 54 who took their own lives. <b>TWELVE</b>; that’s an average of 1 every 12.5 days. Just in my little shop, in my small local area. Roughly 14 men each day - that’s <b>FOURTEEN</b> men <b>EVERY DAY</b>, take their own life. The highest percentage (by age) are those in the 50-54 year age bracket. Men around my age. Men brought up in the era that I have been. Men who were probably told “Real men don’t cry”. There’s no guarantee these men wouldn’t have still taken their lives had they been brought up in a society where it was ok for them to talk about their feelings; where it is ok for them to actually have feelings, but even if just one of those lives could have been saved because the man felt comfortable enough to open up to someone, or one of his friends had taken the time to ask “hey bud, is everything ok, you seem a little distracted” the world would be a better place. Of course, some of them may not want to talk about what they are going through, or how they are feeling - I know when I planned to end my life I told nobody and I’m sure if I’d gone through with it people would have said after “We had no idea she was feeling that way” because some of us get good at hiding how we feel. There are things about me, and my life, that even now I have never shared with people, but talking about the other stuff that kept me awake at night, that haunted my dreams, and made me feel that life wasn’t worth living, have helped me to deal with the things I won’t talk about in my own head. I could never have done that if I’d not made room and dumped all the other stuff that was bouncing around inside of me. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve experienced loss in my life, some of which I still struggle to understand but just because I lost my Dad doesn’t mean I know how someone else who has lost their Dad is feeling. Just because I lost the man I considered to be my soul mate (yep, that’s not something I ever thought I would say in public) doesn’t mean I know how someone who has lost their wife, husband, or lover is feeling. Just because I got dumped by my fiance on Christmas Eve because he was shagging a girl from work, doesn’t mean I know how my niece felt when she found out her fiance was cheating on her. Yet, what those experiences have done is make me more empathetic towards others; they’ve made me realise how important it is to let people know it’s ok to talk about it. It’s a two-way street. Sharing my darkest feelings with them has made them realise I am a human (I did bottle an awful lot up for many years) and they can see I’ve been to depths they may never reach (I truly hope they don’t) but I am still here and right now in the best place I have ever been. I understand there are people who have been way deeper than I could ever even imagine, because of my own darkness, and that has helped me to become a better listener. That’s why I signed up to become a volunteer with a mental health charity; that’s why I was accepted and trained by them. I could never have got that far had I not opened up and talked about how I was feeling. Had I not relearned that it’s ok to cry; I now think of crying as my “pressure release” valve. When the tears come (unless I’m on a bus, or in the middle of a shop) I don’t stop them. I accept they are part of being human, they are a part of my brain trying to make sense of something, and I literally go-with-the-flow. Seeing my Mum cry when we watched a movie a few years back also had something to do with that, because as I’ve said she was brought up by a tyrant. She would have taken a beating if she’d ever shown a sign of emotion. She was a great Mum when I was growing up in so many ways, yet we were never close and that was because I believed her to be some of kind of emotionless robot. Discovering she isn’t, that she does care, that she does have feelings has brought us so much closer together. She is a pain in my ass, drives me crazy, yet I could not (and do not want to) imagine my life without her, and as a teenager/young adult I honestly couldn’t have said that. I would have missed her, obviously, she wasn’t a bad Mum, but I never thought I could love her as much as I do.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know it can be tough to reach out to someone, to admit you’re struggling, to show emotions and there will still be some people who will call you out on it - remove these people from your life; you do not need that negativity, but please, PLEASE, if you are struggling with how you’re feeling or having thoughts of suicide reach out to someone; anyone. It doesn’t have to be your mates, your family or associates. Call up the Samaritans, text into Shout or do what I saw some guy do the other day - which took huge courage and made me feel immensely proud of him (someone I’ve never met, will never meet and knew nothing about, yet there I was, my stoney heart swelled with pride and respect for him) because he popped onto Twitter “I’m struggling today with my mental health and have nobody I can talk to”. Over 2000 people (when I saw it) random strangers he had never met commented, offering him their personal email, whats app and facebook pages. Yes, social media can be an evil, vile place, and I am sure there were many who spewed viles things to him (usually the more vile the troll, the more emotional baggage they are carrying themselves too) but it can also be a wonderful place, connecting random people to each other, who may, just may, be the light you are looking for at the end of your tunnel. I know how it feels to be in a room full of people and still feel completely alone and isolated but maybe if I’d reached out in those rooms, I might have made contact with one person (and one person is all it takes) to find they were also standing there, feeling the same way and suddenly neither of us would have been alone any more. They say “it takes a whole tribe to raise a child” and I understand that now. The world is a more open place, the internet (for all it’s bad) offers us all the chance to now find our own tribe. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You may feel as though you don’t belong in this world; you may feel as though everything is stacked against you, that there is nothing worth fighting for anymore, that your life has no meaning. Please believe me when I say it does. It so does. Christmas Eve 1996, I found myself single, homeless and totally penniless. My heart had been shattered into a million pieces. My Dad was dead, my Mum and I (back then) weren’t close and my brother was off making his own way in the world. I was dealing with losses that I felt were too substantial to bear (I’ve dealt with a lot more losses since then) but that one phone call I made kept me here, kept me alive. Those losses still affect me - I don’t think you over get over the loss of a parent, and just a few small years later I lost the man I would have ended up married to, followed by my best friend, the one person on this planet I believed would always be there. I know how grief feels, I know how very hard it is to get up in the morning, knowing those you loved with all that you have, are no longer there. Those feelings never leave, you never stop loving them, or missing them, but I have learned to honour them. By keeping going, by not giving up and walking away from life I feel I am respecting their memory, their legacy, their lives. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’d rather not have dealt with any of them; in my perfect world I’d be married to John (he’s still alive and so far the only true love of my life in a romantic sense - he just didn’t want me). My Dad would be driving me as equally crazy as my Mum does, and I’d be laughing at the 2 of them driving each other crazy. Louis would still be here (he’ll always be my soul mate and the love we had for each other was unlike any I’ve had for anyone else) living his life in his own little way, and Non (my best friend) and I would most likely still be bitching about the world on a Saturday night, and planning out the different places we were going to have our walking frame, and wheelchair, races when we are 90. Life isn’t perfect though and I owe it to each-and-every-one of them to live the best life I can. I will forever mourn them. I will never stop missing them. As I’ve said, I’m in the best place I’ve ever been on an emotional/mental level (the physical side of me needs a LOT of work and I’m working on it) and I know that is all because I reached out to someone. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you’ve just read all of this - well done for sticking through to the end of it all - and you’re in a dark place, feeling like there is no other options, please reach out to someone. If you don’t want to use one of the ‘professional’ teams out there waiting to help, and can’t feel as though you can talk to your friends/family/associates, then hit the “Contact me” button on my blog. Better still <a href="mailto:theoriginalbookay@gmail.com" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">CLICK HERE</span></b></a> and drop me a line, or 2. I won’t always reply immediately (work and life do keep me from sitting on the interweb all day) but I WILL REPLY if you want me to. If you don’t want me to but just want to get it all off your chest, then drop me a message and get it all out; you might find yourself surprised as how much better it can feel once you’ve shared. I’ve never shared anyone secrets before, and since becoming a volunteer have taken a vow (signed documents) to guarantee I will never discuss what someone has told me - obviously I’m not a lawyer or priest; if you tell me you’ve murdered someone I may have to pass that on to the authorities (I can do that in my voluntary life too). For everything else it stays with me. I don’t even had to read through if you don’t want me to. Ask me not to read it and I guarantee you I won’t. Just as some people write a letter about how they feel that they seal and burn so nobody else reads it, I’ll treat your email like that letter. You write it, hit send, pop in the subject “Do not read” and I’ll virtually burn it for you, leaving it completely unread. Oh, and I won’t offer advice; I may point you to people who might be able to help, but I’ll never tell you what to do. That’s something you have the capacity for to work out yourself. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As the old BT adverts used to say “It’s good to talk”.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">To reiterate my point; as I finished this and was getting ready to post I took a call from a gent ordering some flowers. I don't know what the occasion is for right now (I'm assuming he's lost someone) because he broke down in tears on me. As he did so all he kept saying to me was "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry and forgive me, I'm so sorry". He had NO reason whatsoever to apologise. My heart aches for him that he's obviously going through a really tough time yet still feels he has to say sorry for showing emotion. He doesn't. You don't either.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://ko-fi.com/missybookay" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1077" data-original-width="1376" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwkI3wVFrHpAYYdLmrJpe_KnuDK8IQVhHbz5TTEPmIOgnT4R18KExnEhrw-bVJKKhWakv7oFpOlB06N_ngtsRzSQtqHcqG0eEmRHiHCygK-XHqi1sLAZSGppZI9C-iil4EHywXWSzZDYOmM-q2QAF4Nz1QR7vOk7h8UP_3vhz-MkYipFYbpMfkKBY/w400-h313/final.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-65fcff48-7fff-f8c6-3422-cb3833325038"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span>Sarah Bradburyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12422601656543058966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-28429156749983927152023-01-16T11:27:00.002-08:002023-01-16T11:27:50.680-08:00Covid vaccine<p style="text-align: justify;">I'm not an anti-vaxxer; if it can stop me feeling worse than I do then I'll take it... flu jab, measles, shingles and covid; I'll take them all, although I still need to sort out my shingles one (having had chickenpox at 47 and knowing how rough it made me I don't want to go through how it made me feel again which I'm told shingles would do). Maybe I'm wrong to do so, who knows, but I know that I've had flu and it's not nice; I like to think my flu jab helped me deal with it a little easier. Usually I am quite good; I have a good immune system but anything I can do to give it a boost I will do.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I kept checking, after I'd sorted my Mums out for her (being an oldie she gets to have hers earlier) to see when I was able to have my booster, back in October last year. Finally I got a message to say I could book so I got online looking for an appointment. Jeez, I've had more luck getting Take That tickets than I did finding one I could make. The nearest place to me was 6.2 miles away but they were only offering week day appointments, but not Tuesday afternoons which is the one day of the week I would be able to get some itme off. Eventually I found one for the end of October at a town 9 miles away; it's near a garden centre we like to visit so I thought we'd fit a coffee and some plant buying in at the same time. The day before the appointment I recieved an email telling me the appointment was cancelled. There was no reason giving (as you can see by the photograph below). Since then I have made 5 more bookings - 2 at the original place, 1 at another and 2 at another (which is closer to me, has great parking and is easy to get to). All of the others meant I would have to take time off work but so be it; I wanted to get vaccinated and that was the only way too. Bookings 2, 3 and 4 all gave me a days notice with the cancellation. Booking number 5 was for today at 4.55pm. I received email and text confirmation for it. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The very next day after booking I recieved my 5th cancellation email; all have been identical. I looked online at the venue and saw they were still offering them for today (I assume they didn't want to work later) and was able to book one for an hour earlier at 3.55pm. Because of traffic at that time of day, and getting to the place I had to close my shop at 3pm. Oddly (and unheard of) a journey which usually takes 35-45 minutes, took me 20 and I found myself with 35 minutes to spare, so there I sat, in my car, in amost freezing temperatures (I couldn't feel my toes after 5 mins) until just 6 minutes before my appointment time (I wasn't far from the entrance). I got out of the car, walked across and before entering the building I thought I'd get the booking reference up on my phone so I was ready and good-to-go when I got in there. As I opened my email app a new email came through, timed at 15:49 telling me...? Yep, you've guessed it... I had received the standard "your appointment has been cancelled email". I was at the entrance to the building; I'd closed my shop, taken time off, sat in the freezing cold for them to cancel on me just SIX minutes before I was due to be jabbed. I'd gone so beyond being angry; livid, fuming, raging, none of those come close to just how angry I was feeling. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I think our NHS is one of the best things about this country - at least it used to be until they split everything into different trusts with board members; it's gone downhill steadily ever since, but today, I wasn't singing their praises. I know they are understaffed and underfunded but they have staff sitting there sending out constant reminders to book a jab (even when I've had them booked) and they equally have staff to send me the cancellation) but this government are systematically destroying what was once the best health service in the world. I could not bother having the jab but then what if I am unlucky enough to catch Covid? What if I am quite poorly with it? My cousin was in hospital for 4 weeks with it, I know others who've been in equally as long - if not longer; how much will it cost the NHS for me to be in for that long if it came to it? Surely it's cheaper to get me jabbed, than run the risk I may add even more pressure to an already overstretched NHS on it's knees at break point. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I've booked my 7th attempt at another venue (one which isn't easy to get to for me but when needs must). I can't get one until the 31st of this month and will have to close the shop again. We'll see if they actually jab that needle into my arm next time! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/missbookay?locale.x=en_GB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="886" data-original-width="1238" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEdKKc2T1L70zuMtW7hTZh8opkWBrmydkwjXE4i-vfu2pIksOIVzd5K7JMpiIzXgwWj-viWqd7Jvbw4QirA1jlYPxuyfbYvehox0i5EYPNie-QLm-0v1dSUIuJn7dBP6yxcUGjtY8UehmfHiqESyG2COLXqoGMDKk7nlrx-qJk2q9AtbPC6H14hmy/w400-h286/Screenshot%202023-01-16%20at%2019.03.03.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Sarah Bradburyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12422601656543058966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8653596539752529710.post-1841170510515615992023-01-07T04:44:00.006-08:002023-03-06T02:26:46.667-08:00What would you do differently? <p> <span style="text-align: justify;">Unless you have lost a parent at a young age then you can never know how it feels to do so. Hell, you don't need to be young to struggle with the loss of a parent. I was 22 when my Dad died and it affected me and my life for years, still does at times. I found it hard to process what was happening, how I was feeling, how I should/shouldn't be behaving. It was a horrendous experience and not one I would wish on someone else. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;">This week, we've all been subjected to Prince Harry - for multiple reasons - and all I keep seeing are people ripping into him, berating him, being really quite nasty about him; these are people who have never met him, spent time with him, or know anything about him. Now, don't get me wrong, I think he is behaving like a complete dick and has done himself no favours whatsoever, yet, the thing all those knocking him seem to missing is that he has a major mental health issue and even now, at his age, is struggling to deal with the death of his mother (which would have been hard enough had she been sick and passed away, but to die the way she did must have been inconceivable to have to deal with). He was just 12 years old when it happened. If I struggled at 22 knowing my Dad was going to die because he'd been ill, imagine how it must feel to be so young and have your Mum die in such a tragic way. Add to that not being able to grieve in private and it's no wonder the poor guy is struggling. I did some really stupid things after my Dad died - admittedly I did them in the few years after his death, and not 30 years later, but we all deal with death and grief differently. There is no right, or wrong, way of dealing with it and our feelings. Just this week I was chatting with a customer in his 60's who was going to visit his Dad's grave for the first time; the reason he was going is because his counsellor suggested it might be a good idea for him to. He was just 12 when his Dad died. For over 50 years he has struggled with his mental health as a result of his Dad dying when he was so young. My own niece, the most wonderful youngling you could have wished to meet. She was an incredible little girl. Kind, warm, loving, someone you loved to be around and wanted to spend time with. A young girl who we all believed would grow to be an equally beautiful loving soul when she was older; someone we would spend days out with, go away for weekends with, love to watch her children grow up with. Her Mum died when she was aged 12. By the age of 14 she was vile, by the age of 20 she had changed into the most despicable creature I've come across (and I've known some absolute wankspangles of nasty people). Would she always have ended up that way, or was it as a result of her being just 12 when her Mum died? An age when she had no idea how to process whatever she was feeling. For years, those of us who loved her made allowances for her behaviour and attitude towards us all. We could see she was struggling. We offered help in every way we possibly could; we recommended counselling and were there for her any time she picked up the phone, or sent a text message, answering/replying instantaneously (if in a position to do so). We couldn't take away her pain but we did everything we could to help her deal with it, allowed her to use us as punching bags (in a verbal rather than physical sense). We did all this (her older sister, myself and her Mum's family/friends) whilst dealing with our own grief and loss. Her and her siblings were the only things we focussed on for years, being there for them 24/7. Sadly, a big part of her change was down to the manipulation of the people around her on her paternal side, preying on her anguished mind and once someone has a hold of a person in the mentally unstable state my niece was in, it's very hard for the person being manipulated to see the real truth. She too is now very woe-is-me, everyone is mean to me (when everyone went out of their way to make sure she was loved and cared for) and for those who were there for her from the beginning, who bathed her, burped her and wiped her bum, who spent time with her brushing dollies hair, playing in paddling pools, going for walks in the woods and over parks it's hard, really hard. People who let her climb into their beds and held her tight, keeping her safe if she had a nightmare, who would dry her tears if she hurt herself, or was sad; those people have been pushed away, had awful accusations thrown at them and are now no longer a part of her life because one individual got inside her mind and twisted everything she knew. I can't help but compare how she has turned out (although she is still only in her early 20's) to the behaviour of Prince Harry right now. I can't help but imagine if how we all felt after she behaved in such an atrotious way to us all, is how Prince William, his wife, and the dukes other family and friends are feeling right now. We didn't have to deal with the things she was spouting being out there for the world to see and it was still really tough to understand. For their part (and we'll never know because we are only getting Prince Harry's side of the story) they may be sat there now the same as myself and her other maternal friends/family are, wondering "How the fuck did this happen?". I was in the middle of trying to organise a weekend away with her and her younger brother when she kicked off, spewed absolute venom at me, twisted a reply I made to her and she's never spoken to me since, her foul excuse of a father then banned me from having contact with her and her brother - this is the same man who tried to get myself and some of her Mums friends to take the kids on because his girlfriend didn't like them! I'd like to think the RF, like myself, would forgive, forget and move on if they were asked to. I know I'd happily welcome my niece back with open arms; I miss her terribly. I'm sure they must feel the same way but right now he has betrayed them, and betrayed them badly and is deep into his "it's not my fault, it's everyone else" phase. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">When he first got with his wife and we were hearing from them all about how they met, fell in love, and how they appeared with each other - she came across as being nurturing, caring and kind to him - I thought how lovely that he had found someone he could share his life with who would be good for him, and in a way I do still feel that about her. If nothing else she's helped him bring forth his feelings, to share and talk about how his struggles (that can never be a bad thing and will help a lot of people who struggle also) however, the more time has gone on, the more I have heard, the more I believe she also has an agenda of her own and the way she speaks about things, behaves and acts at times is very reminscent of how 3 different people I have had in my life, all of whom have narcissistic tendencies, and I'm really not so sure how I feel about her - not that my feelings for her matter one jot. I don't believe the crap they print in newspapers; we all know at the end of the day each has their own agenda and it doesn't matter if they print the truth, or lies, however I watched the Oprah Interview, I watched the Netflix doc and listened when they spoke at their engagement photo shoot and all 3 different interviews they have given 3 different variations of how they met, and how the engagement went down. That's from their own mouths, not from the twisted minds of the media. When someone has been proven to be a liar it's very hard to then take anything else you hear as truth!. I watched the Netflix Doc in the hope it may have changed my feelings about her back to what once they were; sadly they made me distrust her, and her motives even more, and now I'm not so sure she is good for him. In fact I think she may be positively toxic to him. I'm not saying his wife hasn't been treated unfairly by the media. My goodness she really has, all started by that vile piece-of-shit Piers Morgan; how he is ever allowed airtime is beyond me. The man is a disgrace to his profession and the human race in general, along with quite a few others - I'm annoyed at myself for even mentioning his name. Some of the things printed about her before she left the UK were just awful - our press have a lot to answer for. One thing I never saw until after they'd left was any mention of her colour being used against her; I know I am going to offend a lot of people right now but I didn't even realise she was a woman of colour until I her Mum for the first time. I just assumed she was a fake-tan fan. To make out the UK is massively racist though when she comes from possibly the most racist country in existence is slightly ironic. I'm not saying a lot of people over here aren't, sadly they exist everywhere but to tar us all with the same brush is a little out of order. In her defence (I'm not that much of an arse that I can't see there are 2 sides) she was being hounded by the Daily Fail and other such racist promoting propaganda papers so I can see why they came to conclusion we are all like it, although if they'd have looked back to their wedding day and seen how many people were celebrating and happy for them they should know we're not all like PM, Farage, that awful creature Hopkins and Brewer-Hartley or whatever it's name is. I'm all for free speech but those 4 should most definitely be gagged. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The irony of the duke (I typed duck originally! Freudian slip, or not?) and duchess spouting about how they have been treated and were silenced, knowing full well that protocol means the RF will never speak out against the accusations, is not lost on me. They have done the very same thing they are whining about knowing they can never be questioned about it. That doesn't shine them in a good light. Don't get me wrong, yes, speak up if you have been bullied; I've been bullied, I know how it feels, but don't air your dirty laundry in public. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The irony of them saying they wanted to leave britain and have a quiet life of privacy is also not lost on me, because all they have done since they left is to seek out publicity. If they really wanted to step away and life a quiet life they could have easily done so. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">If the duchess did really struggle and considered suicide (my heart breaks for anyone who finds themselves so low they think it's the only way out) then I feel for her, but blaming the palace for not letting her seek help has been proven to be bullshit by the dukes own admission; he has stated that he went to his therapist for help after the dog bowl incident. If he could go to his therapist for help, then why the hell did he not send his wife to his therapist? Blaming his family for her not getting help when he was easily able to get it sounds a little too much like a lie to me. Especially when the four of them (with his brother and sister-in-law) had set up a mental health foundation. If things were really that bad for her then they would have been able to reach out themselves to anyone for her to get help. I'm assuming she's getting the help she needs now though, because depression and suicidal thoughts don't just disappear overnight so at least that's something. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I'm not sure who is advising him now but I hope they are hanging their head in shame, for they have caused this man with mental health issues to humiliate himself and to anger a lot of people around him; they have (he has) potentially now put a target on his back too (the way he seems proud of himself to have killed people, claiming he thought nothing of it) greater than any before which he may have had. They have encouraged him throw his brother (and really only true supporter of him) under a bus from which he may never choose to crawl out from under in support of him again; siblings fight all the time but don't go running to publicly shame their brother as a violent person; sadly, all he did by sharing that story is make himself look a fool. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">One thing I won't knock him for is wanting to drive through the tunnel where his mother died, and at the same speed. I think we would all feel a little that way had it happened to our Mum. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">It's a shame because these 2 (H and M) really could have done some good in this world had they just taken a step back, looked around and thought about things. However, there is no coming back from this now. Even people I knew who were 100% on their side (no idea when it became about sides) have now said they've gone a step too far. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The monarchy will survive but those who love Harry, genuinely care about him and his wellbeing, must now be terrified, because if he ever truly realises what he has unleashed his already fragile mental state is likely to implode and I'm sure even those who have mocked him would not want to see that. </p>Sarah Bradburyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12422601656543058966noreply@blogger.com0