Car Park Wars Part Deux

Dear Reader,

When I left you yesterday, I left a cliffhanger. For those who can't be arsed to read yesterday  a bulletpoint summary below. This is a little like the bit at the start of a TV series episode which if you are watching in sequence you don't need to see. I fast-forward to get a minute of my life back, on this occasion if you are dialled-in as it where, skip the bullets and go straight to the plot. Otherwise, you will need read the bullets. So,   

• Dear Lady Wife (from this point forward DLW) has parked in a car park on a Monday, purchasing a weekly ticket. She has a fractious history with the car parking attendant
• DLW departing car park on Monday on a hot day with windows open encounters a mischievous gust of wind, ticket flies out of window. All should be good, as the receipt has not suffered the same fate
• On Tuesday DLW displays the receipt, assuming that this would be sufficient proof of ticket purchase.
• Receives a parking contravention ticket.
• On Wednesday DLW displays the receipt again, assuming that this would be sufficient proof of ticket purchase.
• Receives a parking contravention ticket.

Things are a tad fraut when I return on Wednesday, crockery has been broken, there is a cat dangling from the lamp shade, which can only mean one thing, DLW is NOT HAPPY. A letter has been written, a blog must be written and a solution planned. The solution involves A4 paper and blu-tack. Now the fool that evaluates DLW's car everyday cannot fail to miss the proof of purchase. See below...

Come on, do your worst!

I was very excited when this very evening my DLW walked to the car. I was actually, live to her, via satellite to ascertain what the status of the car was. The previous sentence sounds like I had a news team waiting by the car, helicopters overhead and other stuff to catch the latest, which isn't true. I phoned, DLW approached the car and the truth was revealed.

So, what was this truth? 

...

...

...

...

Keep going

...

...

...

...

NO TICKET!

So, a battle has been won but the war is not over. We still have two days parking to reclaim. We have a letter to file. This matter is not over until a lady of significant physical presence sings.

More soon Dear Reader. 

xx

Car Park Wars

Dear Reader, 

After a long silence which may or not be explained at a later date, I am compelled once again to discuss an irritant in my life, or more specifically in the Dear Lady Wife's (from this point forward DLW's) life. 

So, every day we are currently commuting from our local train station as work requires, leaving our cars in the station car park to be collected for the journey home. This does not always happen. Alcohol has been known to disrupt these best-laid plans, meaning cars holiday overnight in the station car park. This in itself does not pose a problem. A problem arises when next morning, in the mad rush to make the appropriate* train, there simply isn't enough time to renew the ticket on the car. 

*Appropriate - in these circumstances has to tick the following boxes...

• Leaves at such a time to allow a longer lay-in than we intended
• But not so much later that many eyebrows are raised at our respective places of work

It's a fine balance, anyhoo...

That evening, if we are unlucky, the dreaded yellow and black sticky envelope will be attached to the windscreen. A ticket, a fine and much grumbling about the unfairness of the world. No amount of grumbling makes up for the fact that the ticket, no matter how irritating, is fair.

OK, fair cop this time.

There are times when it does not seem fair. There have been times when we have both committed the same offence, in the same car park at the same time, but the DLW has got a ticket on her car, whilst I have not got one on mine. DLW calls this victimisation, I call it Karma, it's all about the viewpoint I suppose.

Then there are the times when it really isn't fair, such as now. On Monday, the DLW purchased a weekly parking ticket, which results in a ticket and a dated receipt dispensed on two small pieces of paper. On Monday evening, the DLW collects the car, it is warm and the air conditioning is about as effective as three asthmatic hamsters with hay-fever wheezing at you from the dashboard. Windows are opened and the journey home begins. A breeze picks up the parking ticket and blows it out of the window in transit, not a problem, the DLW still has the receipt. 

Tuesday comes, the DLW returns to the station car park, displaying the receipt for the weekly ticket (containing full details of date and time purchased and amount paid - DLW is dictating this bit to me), in the windscreen. 

Tuesday night comes. Ticket! 

Wednesday night comes. Ticket!

What is highly annoying about this is that in an effort to dispel any attempt at unjustified dispute, the warden of the car park company takes three photos of the dashboard, left, right and centre to make it clear that a ticket has not been displayed. So, for the last two days they have photographed DLW's proof of purchase and still issued tickets.

Tomorrow shall be different. This is a vendetta against DLW. She is waging a WAR OF JUSTICE (by leaving notes and underlining words rather than actual killing), but even so, it is a noble war and a people's war. Let them issue a ticket, let them take their photos. What they will be photographing is this...

Damn them

This is a social experiment. Will the evil attendant blindly ignore this clear evidence of purchase and plaster another ticket on the car? Note that in doing so the attendant will have to photograph this evidence and store it on the car park operators website. Will common sense prevail?

We have written a complaint to the car park operator, who, for the moment, shall remain *APCOA*  nameless. Damn this stupid computer. I thought I had sorted the "don't insert what I think, just what I type" issue last week. The letter is yet to be posted as we are waiting to see what happens tomorrow. There may be more miscarriages of justice to pursue. 

I will be back with an update soon Dear Reader.

xx 

StreetMogs

Dear Reader, 

Regular readers of my blog will have realised by now that I have a certain affection for the feline kind. What I would like to share today is the significant efforts of a postman who clearly shares my love of all things feline. 

Whilst trudging through the leafy suburbs of South Wimbledon, weighed down with 100 kilos of mail, (most of which is spam, I would imagine) he would come across a members of cat-kind. He decided to cat - alog (geddit?) these encounters with a camera and a blog has emerged which is absolutely lovely. Streetmogs details his every encounter with a cat which has occurred in words and pictures. To date over 80 have been caught on camera alongside their behaviours and assumed names.

This wonderful blog has captured much attention in the media, including pieces in the The Evening Standard, The Guardian and The Metro to name but some. Following on the coat-tails of such lofty publications I have added Streetmogs to the Stuff I Really Like section of this blog for posterity.

More soon, Dear Reader x

Of Mice and Men

Dear Reader,

In 1786, the Scottish poet Robert Burns inadvertently disturbed a mouse nest whilst ploughing a field. The poem To a Mouse, followed as an apology to the uprooted mice. A necessary excerpt follows (with translations):

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane [you aren't alone] 

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men

Gang aft a-gley, [often go awry] 

Perhaps not the most promising start to a post I know, bear with me.

In 2012, I was summoned in no uncertain terms by the Dear Lady Wife from my upstairs position on the computer. When I say "in no uncertain terms" it was quite clear from the volume and repetition of the high pitched screech emanating from downstairs that I must come immediately.

I arrive in the kitchen, where the youngest of our cat brood, Randall, is sitting, smug, cheeks stuffed, like a hamster. There is a thin grey thing sticking out of his mouth. He then spat out the contents of his mouth, which transpired to be a field mouse covered in cat saliva. This post is an apology to that saliva covered field mouse.

The determination is real, the mouse tail isn't.
If I could do puffed cheeks I would.

Episodes involving field mice happen. One does what one can. Attempt to quarantine the cats, then capture the mouse and finally return the mouse to the wild. This is not always straightforward.

This occasion was particularly convoluted, some bullet points will be introduced:

• Discover Randall in kitchen, mouse in mouth
• Pick up determined Randall (see above) who is rigid, like a plank and then fights like a banshee
• Eventually, Randall exhales mouse from mouth
• Saliva covered mouse does not run away, instead sits between Randall and another resident cat, Pippy, blinking
• I attempt mouse rescue
• Randall, sensing what is coming, stores the mouse in his mouth again
• I pick up Randall, who is stiff as a board, screaming instructions at Dear Lady Wife which amount to "bring me a glass"

At this point I have to drop out of the bullet points to make an observation. Cats are stronger than you think. Randall is not one for being picked up, or cuddled. He will tolerate about four seconds and then will start to squirm until you put him down. He squirms this time, but it is with the strength of ten Randalls, I place him on the floor, for fear of hurting him and the mouse is ejected again. Back to the bullets...

• Quarantine cats
• Find the mouse, which proves to be fruitless. I didn't see which direction it headed as I was too busy dealing with the banshee Randall cat. At this point there are choices, either give up and let the mouse meets it fate (the outcome of this can be very smelly) as our furred friends may or may not finish the job, or, release the hounds (cats) in the hope that they will find him/her before I do (highly likely)
• Release cats
• Wait
• Wait some more

Whilst the waiting is going on a picture needs to be painted, regarding the behavior of our three cats in this situation. They begin alert, sniffing and searching, through many objects. Having exhausted the obvious possibilities (slippers, boxes) they revert to a state of mild disinterest, feigning sleep, whilst always pointed in the direction of where they think the prey might be. Are they trying to fool the mouse?

Guys, stay focused, it must be behind the radiator.

Two of my cats were on guard duty when this photo was taken so we had to use stunt doubles. Guard duty is not an exaggeration... if the prey does not emerge immediately (within ten minutes) they take turns observing the perimeter, whilst the others go and eat, stare at fish, sleep, lick bottoms etc.

Guard duty was being held around the base of the TV cabinet, designed (it seemed) for field mice in a bind. Too small a space for a cat paw but just the right height for a field mouse. As it got later in the evening I realised I would have to come up with another plan, as the cats would wait all night if necessary. I know this to be true as a mouse once hid in the vacuum cleaner, which I subsequently released. The cats chose to ignore the fact that I had released the mouse and stared at the vacuum cleaner for three days. They are determined little kitties.

More bullets...

• Quarantine cats
• Find object that will fit under TV cabinet that is long enough to poke out the other side. This proved to be a squashed roll of wrapping paper
• Insert object under TV cabinet and fish around until the mouse emerges
• Mouse emerges
• Attempt to capture mouse in glass
• Mouse goes back under TV cabinet
• Insert object under TV cabinet and fish around until the mouse emerges etc
• Repeat until bored
• Eventually, out of sympathy, the mouse wanders into my clumsy trap

Once ensconced in the glass, the mouse is transported to the garden and released, out of sight of the cats, who, released from quarantine are staring at the TV cabinet again.

Three days later, the cats are released from their hypnosis, (might have been the Jeremy Kyle re-runs) and return to their normal lives.

On the fourth day, this happens...

Yeah, I did it again. You are getting real good with Photoshop.

And the whole mad saga begins again.

To complete my apology to mouse-kind I leave you with my favorite mouse-related quote from the legendary Les Dawson...

I can always tell when the mother in law's coming to stay; the mice throw themselves on the traps. 

More soon Dear Reader,

xx

Dentistry

Dear Reader,

Whilst munching through a pack of crisps the other day, something odd and unexpected happened. I bit down and encountered something rather more solid than crisp, which I was expecting to basically melt in the mouth. This object did not melt in the mouth, nor did it disintegrate after vigorous chewing. This object was solid. I was excited, had the crisp manufacturer left in the packet something that I could later sue them for?

The object, a little smaller than a fingernail, pointed at one end and thickening towards what I called the base, slightly off-white in colour and quite shiny might have been an artefact from another planet...

It looked like this.

...except it wasn't. At this point, to my horror, I realised that a crown on one of my teeth had vacated my mouth via the most obvious exit and was embedded in my crisps. Upon inspection, there was a gaping hole at the front of my mouth, which had a metal peg sticking out. Not the most attractive look. This could only mean one thing, I would have to go to the dentist.

I work with computers, if I was old enough I might have worked with this a long time ago:

Loving the valves and capacitors, where is the keyboard?

Things have changed:

Loving the blue, still can't find the keyboard though.

This has all happened in a short space of time, approximately seventy years. Let us do this again with dentists tools, some 19th century examples:

Old school.

And spin forward to today:

New school.

There is a problem here. I am pleased that the hammer-like object is no longer a part of the dentist arsenal, but aside from that, things maybe shinier, but they are basically the same. I am told that the "science" of dentistry began in 7000BC, at which point I am sure all that was available was hammers and chisels. Science, indeed.

There is a ton of nuclear-powered equipment driving around Mars at the moment looking for signs of live on the Red Planet, that is science. Accelerating sub-atomic particles to close to the speed of light to simulate conditions that occurred within seconds of the Big Bang, that is science. Reaching for a drill and some pliers to provide dental treatment is a bad mix of medieval torture and DIY. It needs to stop.

There is another issue as well. Nasal hair.

OK, not the prettiest but I have seen much worse.

Given the dentist is quite often looming over the patient / victim one gets a fairly extensive view of his or her nasal hair. Is it too much to be asked that it is trimmed from time to time?

One last thing. I am about halfway through some remedial work to fix the gaping hole left by my vacating crown. This involves taking moulds, much drilling, needles, pliers and all sorts of other nastiness. It also involves colour matching.

Why on earth does it take so long to match the colour of my teeth to one of the stock colours available? How many stock colours can there be? This always leads to a protracted debate between the dentist and dental nurse, with probably a second dentist popping in as well. This conversation happens directly above my prone self whilst I quietly choke to death on my own blood, spittle and the irritating hoover thing that is constantly sucking away at my cheek.

This is all too much. I am going to start hanging around dentists's conventions with a nasal hair trimmer and one of those colour charts you get at a DIY shop when you are buying paint. We know how many shades of grey there are, I wonder how many shades of tooth? As many as fifty?

More soon Dear Reader

xx