Ringing the changes

Today, we went shopping in Salisbury and it was a pleasant interlude. Try the warm home-made quiche in Poppy's Tea Shop with lashings of home-made coleslaw – mmm! Anyway, the main point of this blog (the second in two days – are you impressed?) is to tell you about my doorbell episode. Hence the title.

For about two weeks now, our front doorbell has not worked. I bought a new battery for the bell-push, having got the digital meter out and established the presence of insufficient voltage in the current one - see what I did there? It still didn't work.

During our perambulations, we happened upon Robert Dyas (I can never go past the damn shop) and I spotted a wireless doorbell on offer for 15 GBP instead of 30. You can even record and play your own messages or download music to the chime unit. I did toy with the idea of recording a shouted message along the lines of "open the fucking door, someone!" but thought that might upset the Salvation Army if they ever called, so I opted for the default Big Ben chime (in my opinion rather grandly referred to in the manual as the Westminster). This was the least offensive of the 8 pre-loaded tones available included among which is the Lambada and the Mexican Hat Dance. You would probably find people dancing on your front doorstep. Hmmm.

Well, the bell-push already had a nice CR2032 button battery installed but I had to nip over to the Tesco Express opposite to get a couple of LR14s (aka UM2 or C) for the chime unit. Before I did that, however, I was in the kitchen fiddling with the new bell-push. When I pressed it, the old doorbell rang.

Bugger.

We hadn't long eaten meat…

…when the dessert arrived.

Hahahahahaha, see what I did there?

Anyway, it was the n^th SimonG meet on Saturday (there appears to be some confusion over how many there have been) and Jenny very kindly offered me a sofa (no, it wasn't from her Mum's flat) for the weekend, so I could attend the Eaton Farm pub in Long Eaton properly refreshed; leaving the pub properly refreshed was naturally down to me! As it happened, Gottle ended up on the sofa and at the constant mercy of nocturnal feline interference. Luckily, the bedroom I occupied had a door that fastened! Hurrah!

Several hours earlier, I had taken the Cross Country train from Bournemouth and, having booked the ticket online before Christmas, benefited from: (1) an amazingly reasonable price (£26 return) and (2) a reserved seat – I commend this system to you all. There was even an electric socket for PDAs and laptops – what more could you ask for? Not a signal failure between Birmingham International and Birmingham New Street, that's for sure.

Being one of the most considerate people of our generation, I relinquished my seat 10 minutes before the scheduled arrival at New Street (14.43) with the intention of enabling someone who had hitherto been standing to sit, and waiting in the passage until we arrived. Within 3 minutes of arriving in the stifingly hot passage with a mass of humanity exuding body odours of varying richness, the announcement of the signal failure up ahead was, er, announced, which meant that we were being diverted and it would take at least another 25 minutes, advancing the arrival time to 15.12; my connection departed at 15.13.

When we arrived at New Street, it would be disingenuous of me to report that I ran to the main concourse; a person in my advanced degenerative condition could at best be described as hurrying (and that would be kind). As I limped towards approached the information board, the announcer told me that there had been a platform change and the 15.13 to Nottingham was now leaving from Platform 11a. I raced (oh, come on!) down the stairs and caught it with a minute to spare. In fact, had it left on time and not 3 minutes late, I would have missed it.

It was great to see members of the fabulous blogring again and to actually meet someone I hadn't met, i.e. Me (I've done all the jokes before so I'll leave it at that), who lives in Welshland and who had arrived at the pub an hour before Paul, Jenny and me!

Many thanks again to Jenny for organising the event, lifts to and from the station, and putting me and Gottle up for two nights at an extraordinarily competitive B&B rate. The mess Mediterranean (or Italian) Beef Casserole on Friday night was superb!

Ooh! I've just done a blog!

Letter to me

I'm not sure but I think Hutters put me up to this. This is a letter from me now to me at 13 years of age:

Dear Nigel, You will be called Lois in about 40 years time but that's not important right now. Right now, you must stop hanging around at school with the likes of Jock and Ken and the other wankers. It's easy for me to say now but you really have to learn to stand on your own two feet a lot sooner than you actually will. Just because Mum ran around after all of us and we never lifted a finger to help doesn't mean she liked doing it. Neither, I imagine, did she like the beatings from Dad after closing time while we cowered on the stairs. I don't suppose for a minute that this will stop you from only getting three O-levels and realising too late that you want to carry on in the sixth form but, because you will continue to act like a prick, the headmaster will say "no chance" and you will walk out of school smoking. Don't be too hasty in affairs of the heart and don’t think you must be in love with someone just because she lets you be intimate with her. Down that road could lie endless unhappiness. That will be narrowly averted, by the way. You will agree to accompany cousin Ruth to the Youth Employment Office whence you will be sent to an interview after which you will enjoy – with varying degrees of intensity – a moderately successful 37-year professional career, during the last eighteen months of which you will cope badly with the pressure of work. This unfortunate period will come to an end although various parts of you will start (and continue) to hurt a bit. The good news is that you will have a fantastic family of your own and make a lot of wonderful friends. Finally, the beginning of the year 2009 will herald the award to you of a free bus pass – use it wisely! Yours (mine) very sincerely, Lois