Why do we put ourselves through it?

Anyone reading these ramblings over time will no doubt realise that among my household, indeed at the centre of it, is a cat. Not any old moggy but Number One Cat. She is Portia, a marmalade tabby with very distinct stripes across her chest and down her tail. She had a sister, Jazz, who was honey-coloured but whose stripes exactly matched Portia's. Unfortunately Jazz died suddenly at about 8 years old.

These two cats were some 4 to 6 years old when we acquired them, and much uncertainty remains about their exact ages and indeed about the relationship between them. We took them as sisters but there are those who think mother and daughter would better fit. In temperament they were as different as chalk from cheese; Jazz lived up to her name being zany, loud, manic, greedy, adventurous and exceptionally curious. Portia on the other hand is gentle, restrained, silent and elegant. So different were they that Portia used to follow Jazz around, and we were never sure if that was to experience adventure or to keep a watchful eye on her sister. Suffice it to say that since Jazz died Portia has never again visited next door's roof to peer down their chimney!

Portia also has a very gentle, thoughtful nature. She dislikes being picked up and is not above showing displeasure by biting as a warning, but there remains something in her nature that is utterly endearing. She carries herself as a lady and is just a sweetie. She has always been free to leave the house during the day (she is kept in at night), but with rare exceptions remains within range of perhaps three or four of the houses around, or perhaps I should say their gardens. As she has got older her journeys have become fewer and closer to home, and anyone reading my last post will know the frantic activity and worry there was a week or so ago when she had not been seen for some 8 hours.

Portia is no longer a well cat. She has an over-active thyroid for which she is on daily medication. She also has an undetermined obstruction within her nasal passages which causes her breathing to be noisy and occasions a discharge, sometimes bloody. Sneezing has become a regular feature. Vets are undecided about the nature of the obstruction since determination would require surgery, and at something like 16 years old anaesthetic is an impossible contemplation. The obstruction is either benign (polyp or cyst) or malignant, but since there is no facial distortion the likelihood is the former. She receives daily steroids to reduce the inflammation.

Yesterday dawned as usual and we were pleased to see that Portia had eaten well overnight and she took her morning tablet well, went out and continued to eat. By 1030 she was listless and refusing to eat and deteriorated throughout the rest of the day, sleeping, walking in circles and being very vocal. We took her to the vet around 6 pm expecting to come home without her, so very ill had she become. Injections of steroid and a bronchial dilator were given as was oxygen, and we brought her home. Our emotions ran high and family members rallied round, hoping against hope that Portia would not leave us. As my daughter-in-law said, Portia is precious.

Around 9 pm we were able to persuade Portia to sample some freshly-cooked chicken. After three of four attempts she was beginning to eat, and soon the available chicken was gone along with the special food supplied by the vet. We went to bed a little encouraged. This morning we found that the overnight food had gone, Portia was clamouring to go out, her walking had improved and she generally was behaving and looking as well as she had at the beginning of the week. She has continued to eat well all day and has been sleeping around - in the garage, in the garden rubbish bag, on her favourite garden bench cushion, and in the house. We have no illusions. The skill and knowledge of the vets together with the efficacy of modern drugs is what keeps Portia going, and we are very grateful indeed, but cats! don't you just love 'em?

An Exciting if Tumultuous Week

It began at the end of July, really , when the balloon went up. Literally this was a blue balloon tied to a pole and planted in the front garden. This simple device was so that the lorry driver delivering our new kitchen could more easily find the house. As may be imagined, The Wife and I were excited and that excitement continued throughout the two-week fitting period which started two days later. Everything went according to plan with the necessary plasterers, electricians, plumbers et al arriving on site on cue. Great. A week after the fitter had departed the flooring arrived and was also fitted on schedule. We now have a great looking kitchen and apart from having to live in a makeshift field kitchen in a corner of the conservatory with little more than the microwave and a kettle for the duration of the fit, there was little stress attached. So that was August, or so we thought.

For the past few months our beloved cat, Portia, who is anywhere between 14 and 16 years old, has had a few medical problems. She is on steroids to control inflammation within her nasal passages, and another drug to control an over-active thyroid. She is a good girl and although she doesn't enjoy the pill-taking process, she does enjoy the slices of chicken or ham which follow; indeed she looks forward to them. She is not obviously ill and enjoys food, play, food, curiosity, food, and is fairly active during the day. Oh, and did I mention food?

So when she went out at about 3 pm yesterday we thought little of it. By 5 pm Portia hadn't returned for her customary snack but it was a warm afternoon and experience has shown that she doesn't "do" heat, so apart from remarking on her absence we took little notice. When she had failed to put in an appearance by 6.30 we knew something was wrong and began a local search. Neighbours were approached and searches were made of gardens, garages and houses. We learned that on at least one occasion Portia had entered a neighbour's house during our kitchen installation and had spent the afternoon on their small daughter's bed! What an education it would be if cats could recount their daily adventures to us mere mortals!

At this point there are two things to bear in mind. First, Portia wears a collar with a bell. The collar also has an attachment to operate the cat-flap. The bell is sensitive and sounds distinctively whenever she moves. Second, we live in the middle of a wood and in some parts the undergrowth is very dense at this time of year. Knowing that Portia has never ventured far from home we began a methodical search of the wood calling all the while in hopes of either seeing her or inducing movement to activate the bell. Nothing. Our Number Two Son and his wife arrived to assist, but despite widening the search the failing light eventually defeated us and we returned home somewhat dejected.

Earlier in the search The Wife had rung the local branch of the Cats Protection League to enquire if they had perhaps received a cat fitting Portia's description, and left a message on the answerphone. We decided to do a final sweep before retiring to bed, so armed with torches we plunged again into the wood. As diligent a search as possible in the circumstances was made, hoping to find any trace, but again nothing. Most of the neighbourhood had retired by this time and we would not have been surprised if the police had received reports of strange ghostly goings-on in the woods by torchlight! Our gloom had increased by the time we again returned home determining to resume on the morrow armed with sticks with which to search the undergrowth. It was now 11.30 pm. The Wife and I sat dejectedly trying to map out a strategy for the next day, when suddenly the cat-flap operated and in bounded Portia, tail fat, yelling for food and water, and a look of recrimination in her eye that clearly blamed us for her absence!

Our joy was and is unlimited. We think Portia was probably shut in somewhere and a night-owl neighbour discovered her when returning home. We'll never know for sure, but Portia has been reluctant to go out today and has only once left the garden. Within a few days we expect her to return to normal, but it doesn't seem to have affected her eating!

Only Good Things Come in Threes?

This is a tale of woe. It is not without its humour, from a certain point of view, but mainly it struggles to be even ironic. Bear with me.

It all began, I suppose, a year or two back when The Wife broke the kitchen. The fitted units are laminated and over the years the cooker hood cover has begun to peel away from its carcass. As it became worse, it also became apparent that the kitchen would have to be replaced sooner or later, but because of the expense I wanted to delay the event for as long as possible. The Wife then had a mishap with a cupboard door, resulting in a large(ish) bubble of the laminate which burst, revealing the wood beneath and really sealing the kitchen's fate, but still I prevaricated. Then the dishwasher packed up and I found that it was cheaper to replace it than to fix it. The Wife pounced like a Cheshire cat, all smiles and ingratiating, mysterious ways, dragging me off to local kitchen designers. At this point I discovered that she had been seriously planning a new kitchen with sketches, researched appliances and everything! I capitulated and the new kitchen is to be installed during August.

In order to pay for the new kitchen I need to liquidate some investments, so made an appointment with my financial adviser for a particular Friday morning. Friday is the day when we do our weekly shop. Since the event is a bit of a chore, we try to soften the boredom by having breakfast at the supermarket beforehand, and did so on the appointment day, planning to arrive home a good 40 minutes before Mr Adviser. Within half a mile of the house there is a right-turn. Positioned in the middle of the road awaiting oncoming traffic to clear, the car's master cylinder burst its seals so that I cold no longer select gear and the car was immovable. Fortunately a very kind man in a sports car stopped and he, together with a couple of passing postmen pushed the car onto the grass verge. While I waited for the local garage to turn out, The Wife had to hotfoot it to the house to keep the appointment, arriving simultaneously with The Adviser. The situation was explained and he valiantly offered to collect me (and the weekly shopping) from the garage before getting down to the purpose of the appointment. That was 5 weeks ago.

A symptom of the master cylinder failure was the virtual disappearance of the clutch pedal (in fact it was flat to the floor but higher than I could see from the driver's seat.) So when the symptom reappeared, this time at home, I called the garage expecting to pay for the tow and to have the master cylinder replaced under warranty. I needn't have worried, the situation was a lot worse than that! Diagnosis revealed that the car manufacturer had installed in this model a rubberized flywheel assembly. Mine had begun to break up, and although it was possible to reset the mechanism by pulling the clutch pedal upwards, nothing was going to last long. Reluctantly, and after much thought I gave the OK for the work to be done. They've now had the car for three days!

On day two another disaster struck.Our aged, trusted, taken-for-granted washing machine ground to a halt. Not only that but in the process it has managed to coat everything within in tiny white flecks (as though from a tissue left inadvertently in a pocket) of some material which is clearly not paper. We now have underwear and T-shirts prettily polka-dotted. The rotating drum which is the soul of such machines now doesn't rotate, and is not even suspended within its housing. Repair is unlikely, and anyway the machine owes us nothing. So this morning, and using The Wife's ancient car, we trundled forth to buy a new washing machine. Surely to God nothing else can go wrong, Can it?

A Worthwhile Outing

For many years I have eschewed guided tours. Whether on holiday, at a stately home, or other places of interest I have always chosen to find my own way, albeit with the help of a guidebook; after all, anything of interest is in the guidebook, right? History, family, acquisitions, artifacts et al. Right?

Recently The Wife and I visited Basildon House in Berkshire. Since we were slightly early for the official opening time and a guided tour was imminent, we decided to avail ourselves of the opportunity. Our guide was (I would guess) a retired military gentleman whose knowledge of the house, its history, and of the various artifacts within was encyclopedic.

Built in the 1780's for a wealthy man of the East India Company it has had something of a chequered history, and passed down through the family which lent its name to the villain of Oliver Twist. Latterly it was used as a hospital for officers (of course) of the Guards regiments in the first world war, and was again requisitioned as a headquarters for the 101st Airborne (the band of brothers) in WW2. By the time the war ended the building was in a sorry state. The contents had been sold, pilfered, or otherwise disposed of, there was graffiti, and even the door cases and plaster-work was missing. The grounds were overgrown and the house looked ready for demolition.                    

Taxes on large properties at the end of the war were prohibitive. The Labour government needed money to house those who had been rendered homeless by the war as well as those returning from the continent, and large house owners were made to pay their share. Thus the house was sold for development. The wife of a neighbouring property owner came over to see Basildon House at this time and flippantly said that the house should be restored. She was playfully challenged by her companion to do so. Since the plans for demolition and redevelopment of the site had stalled, Lady Iliffe became the (not so proud) owner.

Over many years, and with very deep pockets and not a little luck the house was lovingly restored to the homely grandeur that we see today. It would be easy to live in it, unlike some stately homes which despite everyone's efforts remain remote and aloof. I applaud the efforts of Lady Iliffe and those of the National Trust in presenting this house as a national treasure. I am also a convert to the idea of guided tours, I learned so much!

Library

Octagon Room

The Way Through the Woods

That knocked the Shine off

Recently I have celebrated a significant birthday; significant in the sense that it is the last of a decade, but numerically it looks like the first of the next, a bit like the millennium beginning not in 2000 but in 2001.

I was overwhelmed by one special gift in particular, a tablet computer from The Wife. I have for sometime been thinking of buying an iPad or similar and have done some research on the various alternatives available. I am no follower of fashion and just because Apple has the market leader in this field is not in itself, to me, a reason to buy their product however good. There are many similar products "out there" with different operating systems much praised by the IT industry. Anyway, this gift took my breath away. Bright, shiny and waiting to be caressed it sat in its box patiently while I investigated other gifts, all of them special and gratefully received. Eventually I turned on the machine to be greeted with the Android logo and The Wife's declaration that it was a robot! From then on this machine became my Robot e-Pad.

 

Then the fun began. At first the machine performed well and I was able to read e-mails, record appointments, obtain weather forecasts, read Twitter and Facebook, and choose e-books from Amazon. Once or twice during the first couple of days I received notifications that some background app or other had stopped, but I paid little attention since I was getting used to my new toy and its idiosyncracies.

 

On day three, I think it was, my Robot e-Pad failed to boot up. No amount of holding down the on/ off switch would induce life into the thing, and I was forced to use a pin in the reset hole, after which it booted fine and worked well, for a while. Now the fun really started. The operating system would stop, then a background app, then that bit which allows the transfer of info from the device to the web, my link to Amazon (pre-installed) refused to put me in the e-book store, depositing me in the registration screen instead. Since I was already registered it refused to recognise a re-registration and so I was stuck. I sent an e-mail to the manufacturer's support website address and received a one line answer that was of no help. Two other e-mails have remained unanswered. Warnings appeared on the screen and I was unable to clear them, a factory re-set restored the status quo ante for a while, then it all went pear-shaped again.

 

Now don't get me wrong, in between times things worked fine, but over a few days matters became increasingly worse so that with a very heavy heart I had to ask The Wife to send it back. I was devastated. My Robot e-Pad had been in my possession for just over 2 weeks. Much thought had gone into the purchase of this present, which is something that I really (if I'm honest) coveted, and here I was rejecting it. I felt awful for The Wife, even though it wasn't my fault.

 

Sometime ago I posted a piece on Customer Service. To anyone who has read that it will come as no surprise that the monster raised its head above the parapet again this time.

 

                 

 

Argument ensued between The Wife and the call centre who seemed to think that the machine not working as it should was

                                                   a) my fault

                                                   b) not their problem

 

Eventually they promised to collect the item (which they just have) and to refund the money. In the meantime The Wife is out of pocket, I have no tablet, and the company has no chance of a repeat customer. I hasten to add that this episode does not in any way reflect upon Android or their products, simply upon the particular company which supplied this machine. I am now actively continuing my research into the various tablets on the market, Apple, Android, Windows et al, but purchase will have to wait for the refund. Hopefully my next post on this subject will have a happier ending.

Norway, and other shocks

Well we've been back about two weeks now. The journey both to and from was uneventful and much easier from Gatwick than from Heathrow. For starters I can drive there, whereas the approaches to Heathrow are, for me, a nightmare. Second, the car parking is cheaper, even with a collection service, and third the journey is largely rural, not the urban sprawl of London. Norwegian Airlines was not noticeably different from SAS, and the prices are much the same, so it looks like Gatwick and Norwegian from now on.

                                      
                                    

On arrival on Thursday evening we were met by the whole family! We felt like celebrities, and it was lovely. Arrangements were well in-hand for the Saturday confirmation of Marie, and I was pleased to see that there was plenty of cake. We met Abigail Elisabeth for the first time and she made a huge impression on both of us. The Wife even got to hold her, for a while!
                                     

                                                                

 On Friday we were left more or less to our own devices after breakfast, after all there was work to be done! Kjell accompanied us to the local shops since he had to visit the bank, and we managed to lose him in the classic scenario of the shop with two entrances on different streets! Just like Laurel & Hardy. We had to have coffee and cake to recover.

Saturday dawned fine and bright. The ladies of the house were all in their National Costume and at the appointed time we set off for the church, a few kilometers away. The church is timber-built and quite old. There has been a church on the site for about 900 years. Inside, as in all Norwegian churches I'm told, a model of a galleon hangs from the ceiling. This I assume to be symbolic of the Christian ministry in some way. In this church the pews extended into the South transept where there was a large TV screen so that occupants could see what was going on. Many ladies were in traditional costume, and the atmosphere was friendly, noisy, and somehow convivial.

When the confirmation celebrants appeared from the rear of the church they were in procession behind the minister, and white floor-length surplices covered their clothes. It was actually quite a moving sight. After a hymn or two, for which the congregation remained seated, the choir sang from the gallery. They were impressive with their descant and their harmonies, and had obviously been well schooled. Speeches (homilies?) were made by the minister and his assistant and then the business of calling forward one by one the individuals to be confirmed. Each stepped up to the altar in response to their name, was blessed, and received their insignia. As each returned to their seat a candle was lit for them. The ceremony concluded with more singing. A very different (and shorter!) ceremony from the Humanist rituals we have witnessed before. Marie looked radiant.

 

 

On the following Tuesday The Wife and I were invited by one of Kjell & Greta's friends to go fishing. This meant borrowing warm clothing, driving some 30 Km out of Bodø to the friend's boat, being rowed from the shore to the fishing boat and transferring from one to the other on a choppy sea before even the fishing trip could begin. All went well except that yours truly was ill and largely missed the main event! Nevertheless a number of coley were caught and later eaten, having been steamed at their (Tora & Fritz Arne's) nearby house. I'm told they were delicious!! Mind you, the fishing boat nearly got away. Wind and current combined in that part of the fiord to drift the boat way over to the other side. Poor old Fritz Arne had to row like the very devil after it. If ever a man earned his fish supper, it was him that night.
All in it was an enjoyable visit, and we have been invited back, so we must be doing something right!

 

Birthdays come but once a year, and for those of us older people that maybe a blessing! Perhaps there is an age when it is better to shrug off the annual reminder of the slow march to inevitability, and of course for children it is all about presents and cake, but there remains that huge time period between faded excitement and dread of another year's milestone. Some people still seem to get excited about birthdays, usually someone else's, and some use it as an excuse for excess. Some use the excuse for a "knees-up" or family party, and some for reflection. Laudable though some, at least, of these ideals are I'm sure that the vast majority of people have birthdays that simply happen because time passes.

In this family we have a mixture of attitudes from the mildly excited through resignation to indifference, except for notable anniversaries. Just a week-end or two ago we had a family gathering to celebrate a birthday which as birthdays go is nondescript, but was honoured because the celebrant is The Daughter. It has become something of a habit in this family to offer the birthday guy or gal the choice of a meal in celebration and this month's specialty was fish & chips, straight out of the paper! Being clement weather the repast was taken in the garden. There was, of course, cake and strawberries and raspberries and cream and beer!! Wait. I'm not supposed to be the one excited!!!

                             

Of course a happy time was had, I think by everyone. Even the International Space Station put in an appearance around 2130 to join in. We were also accompanied by two stray fire balloons and loud bangs from a neighbour's garden. Wow! Some birthday.

Before all that there was a moment of excitement earlier that morning. The Wife, putting up the window blind in the conservatory, spied what she thought was a grey squirrel on the bird feeder.  However, through the sleep-induced haze she could see a naked tail; it was a brown rat. A magnificent specimen too with fur that looked from that distance, like velvet. The bird feeder is on top of a slender metal spike stuck in the ground, and there is nothing near from which to jump, so he must have climbed. Agile little devils, ain't they?

We've been having some trouble with receiving BBC channels on television. It would be ok for a while, perhaps half an hour or so, and then go off showing "no signal" on the screen. Through Twitter I was able to enlist the help of a BT engineer. After eliminating obvious things like the aerial being unplugged they recommended a system re-boot for BT Vision, and that worked. Jolly handy having BT on Twitter for when you need them. Have you ever tried to get them on the phone?

                                         It's a nightmare!

We are going on holiday on Thursday, so being in need of foreign cash I thought I'd try the internet services. First it was a surprise that there was so much fluctuation in the exchange rates, and second that those rate were so much better than the high street. Anyway, I have ordered the cash and am awaiting its delivery on Wednesday. The anxiety is that I've cut it a bit fine and if Royal Mail let me down with their next-day delivery service I'm screwed! Here's hoping...

Every month a group of The Wife's friends meet for lunch, and the venue changes according to whim. Husbands are included in the invitation and for some time now there have been seven of us, all pensioners, terrifying local hostelries twelve or thirteen times a year. The gathering is convivial and we have a laugh, a drink and lunch. For the last twice one of our "members" has been unwell and unable to attend. Her husband, naturally, has felt unable to leave his sick wife and so we have been reduced to five in number. We wish our friend Pat a speedy return to health and to the monthly gathering.

I'm off to pack now. Excitement grows as the prospect of seeing a new granddaughter for the first time looms, but more of that another time TTFN