JUNE

Wednesday 2

My partner and I are still doing the cycle thang.  We need regular exercise because we’ve both put on weight after giving up smoking and we’d like to be healthier anyway, but we find gyms too boring (and lets not even start on the Clutch Those Buttocks to Slimness videos).  We need something to stimulate us, to encourage us to Keep It Up.  So we’ve devised a cunning plan.

Basically, the plan is to behave like children.  We go out on our bikes and play as if we’re 10 years old again.  We go down the park and cycle round the tennis courts and have a laugh and sweat a bit and race each other and cycle up the hill so we can bomb it back down again and have an absolute whale of a time whilst surreptitiously building up our muscles and stamina.  There’s no ‘effort’ involved, its just fun.  We come home from work all excited about getting the bikes out of the shed (this is SO not like me!).  Its great.

Sunday 6

The day was glorious.  My partner and I were up early.  Leapt into our shorts.  Got the bikes out of the shed and … we were off.  Down a filled-in canal at the bottom of our road to Selly Oak, then on the proper canal into Birmingham city centre.

It was bloody great!  Years I’ve spent watching the back end of my family as they sailed off into the distance, leaving pathetic mom way behind (they often got irate because I couldn’t keep up with them).  Now I have a PROPER bike with 21 gears and I can keep up with the best of them no problem.  Absolutely brilliant.  What a revelation!  What joy to sail down the towpath covering mile after mile (okay, admittedly only 4), passed Mailbox, through Brindleyplace, up onto Broad Street, through the library bit I can’t remember the name of (Paradise Place?) and finally out onto the Floozie in the Jacuzzi.

We stopped for a drink at Coffee Republic at the top of New Street.  Watched people walking by (the city was surprisingly busy for a Sunday).  Chilled and satisfied and content and quite proud of myself and my achievement, I had a brainwave.

Why don’t they have personal shoppers for people like me (who don’t know what clothes they like until they see someone else wearing it)?  I’d like to sit outside some coffee house in the sunshine watching people walk passed, and point at the clothes I like (a ‘live’ catwalk).  The personal shoppers would then scuttle off to ask the appropriate people where they’d purchased the garment, and rush off to get one in my size.  Perfect.  If only!

Cycled into town and back, 12 miles, in two hours.  Including a coffee break.

Bliss.

Monday 7

Still haven’t had a quote from the third plumber who inspected our ancient pipes, which is a shame as we both had a good feeling about him and had pretty much decided to use him regardless of quote (he inspired confidence).  So we eventually took the plunge and accepted Methusela & Son’s quote.  They were delighted!  Thanked us profusely for accepting their tender and promised to do a good job we’d be more than pleased with, so looks like we got the best people after all.  They’re starting work end of July / beginning of August, which gives us time to get things sorted (like take out the shower and smash it into tiny pieces with the aid of a very large sledgehammer). 

I’m gonna have a bath!!!

Tuesday 8

When my Partner and I went to the building society to sort out the mortgage back in February, the woman we spoke to said we could have a loan for our house improvements at any time.  “I can do it for you now if you like,” she said.  But we didn’t know how much to borrow unless we’d had quotes and stuff so we said we’d come back later.

Today, after having quotes and knowing how much we wanted to borrow, I went to the building society about the loan.  I’d made an appointment.  When I got there I had to wait in a queue for 20 minutes because, apparently, all the building society staff were out at lunch and there was no-one to take care of the customers (!).  Someone finally wandered passed and took pity on the massive queue that had formed in reception - she told me the person I was there to see was double booked so I’d be seeing her instead, and then proceeded to take care of the rest of the queue.  Fifteen minutes later (bearing in mind this is my lunchbreak), she led me to a table.

“I’ve come for an advance on my mortgage,” I said.

“Oh,” she said, “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know how to do it.”

Ah.

I was then told then I couldn’t have a further advance on my mortgage because (a) the mortgage hadn't been changed to my name yet (it's been with the solicitors for four months yawn) and (b) I’d already had an advance to buy out my share (pay off the ex-husband).  I could have a personal loan, but that wasn’t what I wanted (it cost more).  I was really, really annoyed.

“But I was told a further advance would be no problem,” I said.  “I’ve spent the last four months gathering quotes, I’ve hired contractors to do the work, and now you say you can’t give me the money, contrary to what I was told in February?”

I asked her to confirm what she’d just told me, and a colleague was dragged over.  The colleague didn’t seem to know much either, but agreed with the woman (well, what she actually said was, “Erm, no, I don’t’ think you can have a further advance, I think that’s how it works.”)

Great!

Is nothing ever simple? 

Friday 11

You will not believe what happened last night.  Even I don’t believe it happened, it was all so surreal.

I’ve lived in my house for 21 years and I’ve rarely had any problems with the neighbours except for the odd bit of loud music from the bloke next door who’s patently deaf.  It’s a quiet grove in a pretty quiet area, and I’m a quiet person who just wants to be left alone in peace.  But last night!

I went to check on the progress of the flowers in my driveway.  My neighbours pain-in-the-posterior son (20ish) was outside drinking with some mates and started heckling me.  I ignored them, but they started getting really abusive.  My partner came out to see what all the commotion was about and all three started mouthing it off big time, thinking it was all a big joke.  Then the son suddenly calls me a rather nasty name. 

My partner reacted like an explosion going off.  He leapt over the hedge like a man possessed.  They all laughed at first, but my partner was deadly serious.  The son leapt over the far hedge to escape my partner’s wrath, still laughing, still heckling, thinking he was getting away.  

“Give me a stick,” he cried to his mates.

“A stick?” my furious partner bawled, “Oh, you want to play with sticks do you?” and he raced back into the house. 

He runs back out with a baseball bat and chases after them.  Suddenly they’re not laughing any more. They pull metal bars from a skip and shake them a bit, but it doesn’t stop my partner.  He charges at them and they drop the bars and scatter like terrified mice.  Two run out of the grove - one has his arm in a sling and shouts, “I ain’t getting hurt no more” - the other one says he’s going to tell his dad (he’s 21!).  The third one remains trapped in the grove and runs down a garden path to escape - he literally leaps like a cat on top of a six foot wooden fence!

My partner’s still threatening to give them a ‘good hiding’.  The whole neighbourhood must be enthralled by this impromptu entertainment on their doorstep, but only one person actually comes out of their house to help this lone man against three full grown youths - an 18 year old (what a bloody star)!

My partner waits outside the house for a while but they remain at the top of the grove, too scared to come back.  Eventually, ‘neutral’ people are sent down the son’s driveway … they push his car to the top of the grove and they all get in and drive off.   

They haven’t been seen since.  I don't think anyone's ever stood up to them before.

My partner … my hero.

My life!

Saturday 12

None of them have been seen all day.  Neither have we seen our neighbour, which is unusual.

Went to car boot on Hoggs Lane, bought an obscene amount of plants.  Mad potting frenzy all afternoon.

Was watching tv tonight when heard someone out in the real world outside scream, “Oh no! Not now!  Why now!”  England apparently lost some football game or other.  To France, no less!

Sunday 13

We’re up at 7.30am, out on our pushbikes by 8.15am (on a Sunday!).  Fantastic ride down the canal and into the city.  Stop at Gas Street basin for a coffee and bacon sandwich.  “£8.80,” the girl said.  I glance wide-eyed and open-mouthed at my partner.  “Was that the sound of your jaw hitting the ground,” he asked. 

Partner was later out in the front driveway washing his car when the Son from Hell suddenly comes out of his house.  He freezes in mid step, staring nervously at my partner.  My partner gives him a sinister Clint Eastwood type smile.  The son walks off as casually as he could manage, my partner watching him the entire time.   

I don’t think we’ll be having any more trouble.

Monday 14

There was no sign of our neighbour with the abusive son all weekend.  Normally we see him in the garden, especially if the weather’s nice (which it was), but not a sign of him.  Today my Partner finally knocked on his door and told him the story.  The neighbour feigned ignorance, claimed he didn’t know a thing about it.
 
He did.  But it was obvious that this was a man on the edge, who didn’t know how to control his son.

But my partner does.

Tuesday 15

Spent all day yesterday shifting files at work.  My tiny department has finally been allocated a move away from the Morgue Silent Corner – about 15 feet.  I’ve had to pack up all the files (hundreds of the buggers) and move them 15 feet to their new filing cabinets. 

When the other secretaries moved they had proper packing cartons and hulky men to carry the heavy stuff, but because its just me and my bosses I had to do it myself.
 
So I’m lugging all these boxes of files from one cabinet to another, bright red and sweating, when the Big Boss (not mine) who’s secretary’s gone on holiday for two weeks comes over to me.  “Could you just do me 10 photocopies of these,” she said, handing me some papers.  I stare at the papers in amazement.  In fact, I’m so amazed I take them to the photocopier and copy them.  Minutes later she comes out of her office again, and says, “I’m just going to a meeting.  I’ve put my phone on divert but you shouldn’t get too many calls.”   

Erm, I’m sorry, but did I agree to cover for you whilst your secretary was away?  Can you see me filing my nails at my desk with nothing to do except answer the phone?  Am I anywhere near my desk?  Am I not, right at this moment, standing 15 feet away from my desk carrying a heavy box of files? 

Ignoring the phone, I carry on with my task.  Rather than empty two drawers of a filing cabinet and moving umpteen files to an empty filing cabinet, I decide to change the cabinets around.  So I’m pushing and shoving this empty cabinet right in front of male-types, gasping heaving, grunting a lot and hissing “Bugger” and not one of them offers to help.  Amazing! 

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MIDDLE SON, WHO’S 20 TODAY.  (“Not a teenager any more,” I said, for the millionth time, when he rang, “You’re getting old.” “What’s that make you then, mom?” he laughs.   “Very slightly older,” I tell him.)

Wednesday 16

After all the shifting and the pushing and the sweating, I’m glad of a booked day off work to recover.  The plan was to wash the windows (I know, joyous or what) and sort out my pile of paperwork.  I don’t do either.  Instead, I update my website.

I've updated the Solicitor Saga if anyone wants to catch up with ‘progress’ (wait while I finish laughing hysterically at the use of the word ‘progress’).  Four years and eight months, and I’m on the verge of almost getting the mortgage changed.  Well, I say the ‘verge’ … what I mean is that at some time in the indeterminate future (not necessary this year, or even this decade) the financial separation between myself and my ex-husband might be completed – emphasis on ‘might’.   

Can you sense the apathy?

Thursday 17

We went out on the pushbikes last night.  As we were leaving the house we saw that the same three people my partner had chased with a baseball bat last Thursday were again in next door’s driveway.  The air immediately fell heavy with anticipation.  We cycled off, but I could sense the tension oozing off my partner - one wrong word and the baseball bat would be out again.  They didn’t move.  They didn’t speak (not even to each other).  I think they were actually holding their breath.  You could have heard a pin drop.

Guess we won’t be having any more problems with them, then (fingers crossed). 
Oldies 1: Yobbos 0

RANDOM MUSINGS

There’s this secretary at work who’s great and fun and loves to gossip and is generally the life and soul.  The other day she rushed up to me with a newspaper, giggling hysterically, and said, “Look at this.”  I looked. “Shi’ite Muslim?” I said. “Oh,” she said, “is that how its pronounced.”

* * *

Same secretary, different day.  “Did you go riding on your bike on Sunday?” she asked me. 

I preened as only the new-to-this-exercise-lark-and-quite-enjoying-it can preen.  “Yes, as a matter of fact, we did.” 

“Ooooh,” she cried, almost bouncing up and down, “I think I saw you.”

“Really?” I hoped it wasn’t on one of the hills where I was bright red and sweating and yelling for my Partner to slow down.  “Well we rode into the city centre along the canal so you couldn’t have seen us there,” I said, “But we came out on Broad Street, did you see us on Broad Street?”

“No.”

“We rode on up to Five Ways, did you see us there?”

“No.”

“Harborne then?  We carried on up the hill into Harborne and then down from there.  Is that where you saw us, in Harborne somewhere?”

“No.”

“Then where did you see us?”

“I don’t think it could have been you after all,” she said, shaking her head.

“Why, where did you think you’d seen us?”

“Merry Hill.”  (30 miles outside Birmingham).

* * *

In March the Inland Revenue took £250 out of my salary without reason or warning.  I rang in a state of abject poverty, they told me to send in my P60 when I got it, I did.  Last week they rang me at work and a very abrupt girl began explaining things to me like I was a single celled moron.  “So let me get this straight,” I said when she finished.  “You’re telling me that every single employer I’ve worked for in the last five years – that’s five international companies – have all got my tax code wrong?”

“Yes,” she said.

“And because of their mistakes, I have to pay you back £500.”

“Yes.  We did send you a letter about this.”

“You didn’t.”

“We did.”

“I can assure you, if I’d had a letter from the tax office saying I owed £500, I’d have remembered.”

“We can write to the companies concerned for an explanation if you like.”

“Will they offer compensation?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the point?”

Like all government departments, they’re not interested … I am a number not a human bean.  But I think its really scary that five massive companies have people in their salary departments who haven’t a clue what they’re doing. 

Meantime, I’m paying for their mistakes.

Friday 18

Tried out Bar One Ten on Colmore Row at lunch with a friend as it has probably the only roof garden in Birmingham.  At the entrance an excitable woman/bouncer asked how we were, if we were with a party or on our own, was it a special occasion or just a Friday treat - all in the space of 5 seconds.  I was exhausted by her enthusiasm. 

Went inside.  Plush.  Posh.  Filled with people way above our mere secretary status.  Wandered over to table, glanced briefly at menu, tried not to laugh out loud at the prices (do you just buy the meal or the actual country it originated in?) and left again, not giving the excitable woman on the door time to ask any more questions.  (Someone else's comment here).  Ended up at Café Uno, where the all-day breakfast was not only the cheapest item on the menu (£5.45) but also the best cooked breakfast I’ve ever had.

Middle son came home for the weekend, always great to see him as he has such a dry (and sarcastic!) sense of humour … just like his mom.  He didn’t believe my Partner had made the Monster Bird Table outside the kitchen window because it looks so professional (and so incredibly large!).  The table is, incidentally, being visited by every bird of every species within a 73 mile radius …if we don’t put food out before and after work they just hang around looking dejected and poo a lot.

Friday night IS, of course, curry night.  I have no sense of smell but I only have to look at the creamy gorgeousness my partner has cooked to start salivating and swooning in anticipation.  If anyone wants this recipe (and it truly is to die for) email me with the heading FABULOUS CURRY. 

Saturday 19

Seriously lazy day laptopping and forcing ourselves to get the weekly grocery (which we hate). 

Been noting the ‘keywords’ used on search engines to find my website.  It makes amusing reading:-

Brummie Blogs 2003, 67% (get that, 67%) typed in "knicker blogs" … I mean, what's that all about?  And why did it direct them to my site?  And is there a site called Knicker Blogs and, if so, what’s it about?  So many questions, so many answers if you type it into a search engine :-) (like I’d tell you!)

Brummie Blogs 2004, 100% of visitors typed in : "the parker pen fiasco + what went wrong" (which is keeping me awake at nights!)

Ex-smoker diary: 30% searched "i can't stop feeding eating always hungry tired hunger burning" (how I empathise).  25% typed "funny smoking cessation update", which means they were specifically looking for me! (chuffed).

Funniest ones are for Tips for Teenagers … search words used there were "kicking out your teenager / personal hygiene tips for teens / how to survive the teenage years / carpets for teenagers (as opposed to carpets for adults?)"  50% typed "cushions for teenagers"  … is this a new craze I know nothing about (beat your teenager into submission with a cushion, perhaps? - will have to look into it!)

Sunday 20

Fathers day.  Took dad and his wife (stepmother?) for meal at probably the best pub in the area.  Interesting to note the differences in our eating habits at the help-yerself carvery … my lot just loaded the plates into teetering piles and lashed it with gravy (well you do when you’re hungry, don’t you), dad and his wife showed a more mature restraint and simply gave themselves a ‘normal portion’ - they didn’t feel hugely stuffed or guilty for leaving so much afterwards.

Monday 21

Summer solstice, the longest day (went to bed at 10.15pm and its still daylight! - we felt like children sent to bed early for being naughty). 

Determined to get out on the pushbikes tonight as we haven’t been on them since last Thursday (sharp intake of breath).  Partner suggested 8 mile, 12 mile or 16 mile routes, I just headed off to the park down the road.  We raced, we played chase, we played tig, we rode round and round the tennis court until we felt sick, we rode up the hill, I carried on riding off down the road (too afraid to stop in case my muscles froze).  We just kept pedalling, playing tig the whole time (we’re way passed the stage where we care what people think!)

Fabulous.  If you haven’t done it yet, go out and buy a bike.  Don’t take it serious, just go and play in the park.

Wednesday 23

The free Metro newspaper has been running a piece about unusual place names lately which caught my attention (especially Fucking in Austria, which apparently has the most often stolen street sign in Europe - a  considerable portion of Fucking's budget is spent on replacing the stolen signs!)  [As an aside, what do they call people who live in Fucking???]

I did a little research on the internet and came up with these.  My particular favourites are Hell in Norway and Intercourse in Pennsylvania.  But there’s loads more here, and here.

Amazing!

Friday 25

Pay day!  Thank god.  With the tax man messing around with my tax code all the time, it seems I get paid less and less each month while the bills keep increasing and the months just get longer and longer!

England lost the football game to Portugal last night then, eh?  My partner and I didn’t watch it (we’re not football fans) but we flicked channels every time we heard the neighbours cheer, so we caught all the goals.  Absolutely No Traffic on the roads this morning, no cars at all, only buses with passengers looking more than a little green around the gills.  This one young bloke on the top deck behind me cried out, “Oh!” and raced down the stairs.  Then he raced back up again.  Then, at the top, he turned, cried, “Oh!” again, and turned bright red with embarrassment.  Obviously didn’t know if he was coming or going.  I was waiting for him to throw up.

My sister just rang me at work.  Understand that we’re a bit of an odd family - I have no sense of smell, my sister has no concept of time and is chronically late for everything, my brother has no sense of reality and pretends he works but doesn’t, and my mom’s just … well, odd.  She lives in a two floor block of flats.  For the last few weeks she’s had a ‘squatter’ living on the upstairs landing of her block. Yep, that’s right, a bloke is living on the landing, comforted by blankets and food my mom gives him.  She says he’s been badly treated by his drunken father, who has thrown him out.  “How old is he?” I ask, thinking maybe teenager.  “31,” said mom.  !

Mom went to Birmingham City Council to tell them about this bloke so they’d give him somewhere to live.  The Council said he shouldn’t be living there and she should ask him to leave.  Which she did.  Then she went out. When she got back she heard one of her windows slam shut.  This squatter had only been in her flat!  Police were called. Apparently the squatter’s a well known burglar!  Mom’s now waiting for the burglar to come back to collect his belongings from mom’s shed, where she was kindly keeping them for him.  She will then phone the police - and hopefully me so that I can go down and smack him one.

Wednesday 30 (June 2004)

This is what happened. 

On Friday 18 June my next door neighbour bought a car but had no tax so asked if she could park it on my driveway overnight.  As I have a big driveway I said yes. 

On Friday 25, the car is still there.  At 10pm at night, the neighbour comes round to ask me if she can cut a bit of my hedge off at the end of my driveway so she can get her car onto her front garden.  My straight driveway is 30 feet long and bordered by high privet hedge.  Her front garden (because it’s a corner plot) is like a cheese wedge, wide by the house but narrowing at the end to about two foot.  I figured she meant take a foot of my hedge and a foot of her other neighbours fence to make a gap just big enough to squeeze her car through.  As it was late, we didn’t go into details – it’s not the first time she’s asked this over the years and I didn't take it too seriously.

On Saturday 26 the neighbour tells me she’s nervous about driving the car and asks if I’ll go out in it with her.  She's terrible, but we don’t crash and die, which is good.  I’m surprised when she drives the car back onto my driveway afterwards, but I don’t say anything, figuring she’s just driven me to my door.  I invite her in for coffee, my sister visits, we all sit around chatting.  The hedge isn’t mentioned at all.  When she leaves, she doesn’t take her car out of my driveway.  I start to get a bad feeling about it.

On Sunday, as the car is starting to get in the way, I ask Small Son to ask neighbour when she was moving the car.  My partner and I go out.  When we get back, the car is gone.  Sorted.  I thought.

Late afternoon on Monday, my partner rings me at work.  “They’ve taken the front hedge down!” he cries, astonished. 

“How much of the hedge?” I ask. 

“About 15 foot!” 

I leave work immediately.  When I get home my neighbour’s husband is leaning on his shovel and there’s a gaping hole in my massive privet hedge (the other neighbours fence hasn’t been touched).

 

“What are you doing?” I cried, shaking with disbelief. 
“I’m creating a driveway for the car,” the husband says calmly. 
“But you don’t have a driveway!” I tell him. 
“No,” he says, “I was just making one.” 
“You’ve destroyed MY hedge and plan to drive across MY driveway so you can park your car in your garden?” 

He nods.  He doesn’t see what the problem is.  My partner and I tell him exactly what the problem is.  The neighbour doesn’t apologise, merely admits he may have taken a bit too much of the hedge down.

“Why didn’t you check with me before you did anything?” I cry.
“You weren’t in,” he says.
“Why did you wait until we were all at work before you did it?” 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs.  And then he adds, “[My ex-husband] said I could take it down.”  I stare at him, struck dumb.  The neighbour continues, “[Ex-husband] says he was fed up of cutting the hedge and said I could take the whole lot down if I wanted.”

My ex hasn’t lived in the house for almost five years!  It is not my ex-husband’s property, its  mine!  He’s taken my hedge down because five or six years ago my ex-husband in a moment of pique said he could!

I ring the police - can someone really destroy my hedge and plan to drive their car across my driveway to get onto their garden?  The police officer tells me the neighbour has committed criminal damage, he says the neighbour will be trespassing on my property every time he tries to drive across my driveway, he says he’ll send an officer round to arrest him.  I tell him I’m not sure what to do.

My partner goes round, explains a few things about criminal damage and trespass and arrest.  Neighbour says he’ll get it fixed. 

Last night my partner went round to the neighbour’s house to put a time limit on when the hedge will be 'fixed'.  The neighbour says he’s just got back off holiday and is broke so it won’t be this weekend, it’ll probably be next weekend.  “There’s no probably about it,” my partner told him, “You’ve destroyed our property and we want it putting right.” 

And that’s how it currently stands.  A neighbour has willfully and rather naively destroyed my property and will eventually put it right. 

Sod.