I Don't Believe It

Diners and Drivers

In an attempt to maintain life in the fast lane we took ourselves off to Cromer for the day. Everything was going to plan until lunchtime. We went into a small café with a sea view. Joined the queue to order lunch and waited, and waited, and waited. The queue consisted of only six people so I expected a wait of about ten minutes would be about right. After ten minutes the there were still six people in front of me, behind the queue stretched out of the door and into the street. The six people ahead of me moaned very quietly so as not to upset the solitary serving lady who seemed incapable of outpacing a three legged tortoise and carried on serenely unaware of the ravenous crowd on the otherside of her counter. Fifteen minutes had elapsed when renewed hope spread along the line of hungry, disgruntled, would – be - diners. The first two people in the queue had succeeded in placing their order for lunch and triumphantly made their way to vacant table to await their meal.

After twenty minutes there were only two people ahead of me – behind the queue stretched out of the door and out of view. It could have stretched halfway to Aylsham for all I knew. Why I remained in the queue for a further ten minutes I will never know. Perhaps it was morbid curiosity or possibly that never say die, British bulldog spirit. I waited and waited, keeping a safe distance from the lady behind me who looked hungry enough to bite my arm off. I hit the front of the queue after thirty-five minutes and ordered lunch.

I rejoined my good lady who waited forlornly at our table. The café was full of people waiting for their lunch. Spontaneous friendships were formed by the would- be-diners. A single topic dominated the conversation. Where’s my b****y dinner?

After waiting for a further twenty minutes for our lunch, the smart thing would have been to go to the counter and complain but the thought of enduring another twenty minute wait did not seem worth the effort.

Eventually our lunch found its way to our table which we devoured very quickly. Not just because we were hungry but because our two hour car park ticket had expired.

After we had fed the parking meter with more cash we made out way into town. We waited to cross the main street until the traffic drew to a halt. I signalled to a young car driver that we intended to cross and he waved us on. We had taken just two steps into the road when a failed medical experiment in a Renault appeared at high speed. The screech of brakes and blue smoke from the tyres told us he was not going to stop and he careered into the back of the young drivers car as we jumped back onto the safety of the pavement. The speed and agility of some of the aging pedestrians, myself included, was quite remarkable. Then, without warning the failed medical experiment rammed his car into reverse. Engine roaring, tyres screeching he hit the car behind him creating a shower of chromium strip and fragments of plastic. Then he was gone. The silence was deafening for a moment or two then about twenty witnesses were offering different versions of the hit and run’s number plate. The second car driver wanted to attack the first driver as he reckoned they were racing each other.

We left the chaos behind us and made our way to the shops to search out some bargains. After we covered just about four hundred yards my good lady stood on a large stone and turned her ankle. It was soon very clear that she would be unable to walk back to the car. I collected the car, picked up my wife and made our way home. After tea we spent the evening in the “Walk in Centre”.

Really nice day out!

Costs, Cars and Cats

I consider myself one of the lucky pensioners who can still run a car. However, what was once a necessity has become a luxury. A luxury which is becoming less economically viable and more marginal by the day. As the cost of petrol increases I try to reduce my mileage which in turn pushes up the cost per mile. My annual mileage is now less than six thousand and falling which makes my cost per mile twenty- two pence, that is for fuel, tax and insurance and not counting maintenance and repairs. Of that twenty-two pence about sixteen pence is tax, not a green tax but a greed tax. I don’t object to paying tax but when I see where so much of it is going I feel as if I am being mugged.

This brings me nicely to the twenty miles an hour limit which have been proposed for all of the residential parts Norwich. The cost of implementing it will be astronomical. Most modern cars were not designed to drive at such low speeds and will travel in a lower gear – that should help to pump out more pollution per mile covered. I would be first to admit that I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer but I think the slower journey times will produce traffic jams (or tailbacks if you prefer to be trendy) which will help to pump out more pollution.

I have always been an enthusiastic supporter of road safety. Everyday I shout at the lunatics who speed down our road and I have often been tempted to throw stones at them. I live in a quite suburb and am aware of the ever present danger to children, OAP’s and pets. Will similar safeguards be put in place to curb cyclist, skateboards and invalid cars who travel on the pavements often without regard for pedestrians. I guess not. If I was a cynical person I might think this was just another way of raising revenue from the motorist. Even worse if I was hyper cynical I might think this was a cunning plan to create traffic jams in Norwich to make a congestion charge seem necessary. I guess it is a good thing I am not a cynical person.

I have not mentioned Earnie the neighbours cat for a while, we still have our daily contest of who gets the aviary first but lately Earnie has turned his attention to the pond, which is full of frogs. But I think this is a diversion to put me off my guard.

Earnie was hanging around while I fed the birds last week. I was charging the seed hoppers using the top of my wheelie bin as a bench when along comes Earnie and leaps onto the bin to assist me. He did this by knocking seed over which spilled onto the floor. Then he rolled over onto his back so I could tickle his chin and in doing so he rolled off the edge of the wheelie bin. I managed to catch him before he disappeared over the side and he thanked me by hooking my hand with his claws. Then he slinked off in a real sulk and I didn’t him for two days. In case you wondered we are back on speaking terms now.

Remember When

Remember years ago when we took day excursions to the seaside – I thought it would be a good idea to re-live those good old days so I took the wife and two friends off to Lowestoft on the train. It is probably not a good idea to compare times past with today’s mode of rail travel and trying to turn the clock back is guaranteed to bring nothing but disappointment. Even so I found I was making comparisons from the moment I entered Thorpe station. First thing missing was that marvellous smell that used to pervade the whole area when the old steam engines would belch out smoke and soot. We entered the booking office where three lines of, would be, travellers were being served by two overworked clerks. A third man was trying extremely hard to persuade people to leave the queue so he could show them how to obtain tickets from the automatic machine outside, but few were prepared to lose their place in the queue to take up his offer. When we eventually got our tickets we made our way to the platform where two young women checked our tickets. I recalled the old days when passengers waited at the iron barriers (all gone now) where a uniformed ticket inspector would punch the tickets and allow the travellers onto the platform.

As we waited for the train to pull in we looked in dismay at the empty tracks covered in weeds and rubbish, polythene bags, bottle tops, unidentified waste and an old plastic bucket. We also noticed some timber wedges had fallen out of the track chairs.

When the train arrived we boarded and waited for the off. The man who used to tap the wheels with a hammer is long gone. Now the doors close automatically instead of porters slamming them shut along the length of the train. There is no guard’s whistle anymore only an airline style “this is your captain speaking” over the intercom.

Dead on time the train pulled out of Norwich Thorpe. The carriages were very clean and it was a pleasant ride through the Norfolk and Suffolk countryside. But I did miss the sound of the old steam engine labouring up the gradients, the clicketty clack of the wheels and the rolling motion of the old carriages with people standing in the corridors. Leaning out of the window and getting a spark in the eye. Nowadays its all rather like a bus ride, I guess it probably seemed more exciting than it actually was when we were kids.

Lowestoft has changed as well – I can remember when the trawlers were tied up three deep in the harbour now it’s mostly a marina for expensive sea going cruisers. We spent some time in the shops and made our back to the station, again the train left dead on time. It was a nice day out but the essence of the day excursion seems to have been lost along the road of progress.

We off to the North Norfolk railway next week – ah! the smell of soot and oil mixed with steam – I can’t wait.

Whats's Happening

Took a bus ride into Norwich for a bit of excitement this week. On the bus a spotty faced youth was sitting with his feet on the seat in front of him. He had one of those life support machines plugged into his head. It was pumping loud music through his ears into his thick skull. I toyed with the idea of telling him to get his feet off the seat and sit up straight. He was tall and wiry but did not look as if he would become violent and even if he did I felt sure I could take care of him inspire of my advancing years. As I prepared to challenge him he got up and made his way to the front of the bus. Seconds later he was on the pavement throwing his bus ticket on the pavement and slouching off drinking from a can.

As I looked out of the window of the bus I saw another youth with his life support system plugged into his ears and drinking from a can – then another – and another. They were everywhere could be an invasion from the planet Zit or what?

Got this month’s company pension. First one since the 10p tax band was abolished. That’s another £30.00 a month I am giving the government. As the chancellor of the exchequer explained it will bring thousands of people out of poverty what he forgot to tell us was a lot of people will be going in to poverty to pay for it.

Banks and Doctors

I made sure and paid my credit card account on time yesterday rather than get stung £25.00 for a late payment or 19% interest. That got me thinking, how come the banks are in such a mess and have gone cap in hand to the Bank of England for a handout. Outside of an ISA the best interest rate that any bank will pay is less than 4%. The word greedy springs to mind but I expect most of the bankers will hand back last years bonus to help out??????

Tried to get to see my doctor this week - so infuriating. Surgery rules will only allow patients to book a same day appointment. So I dialed the surgery – engaged.

Dialed again - still engaged.

Dialled continuously for thirty minutes. Eventually a kindly voice answered the phone and I requested an appointment to see my doctor.

”Sorry we are fully booked”

Arghhhhhhhhh!.

Checked my blood pressure, okay no harm done I am still breathing.

Next day I drove to the surgery and waited for them to open. I was the first patient at at the reception desk- good scheme eh!

“Is it urgent?” asks the receptionist.

Arghhhhhhhhh!. It is now, my blood pressure has just gone through the roof. I am told to come back in three hours and see my doctor. What do people do who can’t drive to the surgery and have to rely on the phone?

Here are two questions you might like to work on. If the annual inflation rate is 2.5 % how come my loaf of bread has gone up 22% in the last two months?

If they can build a housing estate in sixteen weeks why has it taken ten years to build a new prison?

I’ve made my mind up – I’m heading for the third world. Trouble is I don't need move house to do it, just sit tight and the third world will come to me.

Housing crisis

Made our weekly visit to Tesco world, surprised by how many houses are springing up around the supermarket. It will be another small town by the time the they have finished. The thing that puzzles me is where are are all these people coming from they must be living somewhere at the moment. Are we importing them by the boatload from somewhere?

And who will be able to buy these new build houses unless they introduce a hundred year mortgage that they can hand down to their grandchildren. On top of that we don’t have enough dentists – or enough doctors, no where to park. But the authorities continue to pack us in like sardines. Another case of joined up thinking – I don’t think so.

I had the dubious pleasure of watching “Escape To The Country” on TV one wet afternoon this week – that’s the exciting kind of things you do when you retire. The presenters made me realise how wonderful it would be to move into deepest rural Norfolk and live an idyllic lifestyle. The opportunities are there by virtue of the amount of building going on. What the programme failed to point out was the fact that your idyllic village will probably lose its Post Office and its local pub if it hasn’t done so already. Commuting to town will cost a small fortune with the current fuel prices. On top of that about twenty percent of Norfolk will be under water by 2010 because the government cannot afford to invest in sea defences. Best plan - buy a narrow boat and moor up at Norwich-on-sea.

Paint and Pensions

Yipee! I got my pension increase this week, it’s a fiver a week which is better than a poke in the eye with a cocktail stick. This was closely followed by my council tax that’s gone up by three pounds a week. But I am still two pounds a week better off than I was.

Filled my car up this week that’s costing me sixty-five pence per week extra but I am still one pound thirty five pence ahead. Oh! Oh! My gas is costing me another fifty five pence a week now – still eighty pence ahead though. Bread seems to have crept up a few more coppers but never mind I am still about fifty pence a week to the good. So if I look at this logically providing everything else only increases by less than 1p per week for the next twelve months I’ll be okay.

I got a reply from my MP regarding the disposal of scrap paint, I have been really impressed the way he has followed this up trying to get a straight answer from first the Norwich Council and then the Norfolk County council (see here we go again). In spite of his valiant efforts we have only received a letter containing a lot of waffle and absolutely no substance. Are we going to leave it there? You are damn right – we are. But for the the citizens of Norwich I have this message from the council. If you want to dispose of any old tins of paint you must take it to either Mayton or Kettringham. If you are travelling from the centre of the city this will be a round trip of about eighteen miles. For the average family car with the current price of petrol this will cost you over two pounds. The reason the council does not allow paint to be taken to Mile X is because it is hazardous, so be careful when next visit B and Q.

I’m not joking this a dangerous world.

Another Good Week

Spent another happy two hours in Tesco World this week. Most of our time was trying to decipher the fat content of the products. A cake was a good example of creative selling, 39grms of fat on the label. Then– in the small print - this is for one eighth of the cake. That works out at 312 grms of fat in total, that’s nearly five days worth of fat if you go by the recommended daily average. Then other products are measured by per slice, others by per 100 grams. Then there are saturated fats, unsaturated fats. In the end I was so fed up I ate the bloody cake.

I had a quick look along the Cat food aisle – why I don’t know - I haven’t got a cat unless you count Ernie. Such exotic concoctions. I can’t believe any cat would eat salmon and rabbit in the wild or pheasant and tuna. Why don’t they make mouse flavoured cat food?

Wrote to my MP about a scrap paint collection point for Norwich. What a boring old fart I have become there is so much in life to be enjoyed and I am spending my time counting calories and worrying about scrap paint. Anyway got a reply from my MP who has written to the council so maybe we will get a scrap paint facility in Norwich.

Ate a healthy fruit and grain bar and broke my tooth. Great!

I survived an earthquake and hurricane force winds and break a tooth in my kitchen.

Put in a claim against the Royal Mail. I bought some stuff on E-bay and it arrived in

pieces. Great!

Bought a new kettle to replace our old one. Got kettle home, filled kettle with water, switched kettle on, kettle didn’t work. Took kettle back. Great!

What Will They Think Of Next.

I see there is 29 pence per household going on our council tax so the police can target organised crime and terrorism – this should make people who live in places like Hoveton and North Elmham feel a lot safer at night. Personally I would prefer to pay sixty pence and let the police target all crime. Its just a stab in the dark but I would think the average citizen runs a higher risk of having their house burgled than ever being the victim of terrorism. Having made that somewhat glib remark organised crime does affect everyone to a greater or lesser degree through drug-related crime and various scams. But I still feel more worried about the yobs that are on our streets because I can see them and hear them. When it comes to crime, for me it’s zero tolerance, whether it is a driver without tax and insurance, some Herbert spraying graffiti or someone running a Semtex factory. Lock ‘em up that’s what I say.

What do you mean there are not enough prison places – provide the timber and barb wire and let the prisoners build their own prisons.

Also in the news, PCSO’s can now be sponsored by various organisations. For instance a supermarket can pay for support officers to patrol their sites – does this mean if you need a copper in future you ring Sainsbury’s. I should not be so cynical the PCSO’s patrol our neighbourhood regularly and are a nice bunch – but I wish they would come out after dark - the same time as the yobbos. I have heard horror stories of the police responding to reported (low level) crime, hours, or even days after receiving the complaint. I am not sure if this latest initiative is going to improve things.

If you are over 75 there are plans afoot to make you sit a computer based driving test to see if you are still up to it. If petrol prices keep going up the powers that be will not have to bother, because no one on a pension will be able to afford to run a car. What’s left, euthanasia?

Reality Check

Another reply from the council explaining the hazards of storing paint and the expense of obtaining licenses to do so. This stems from my helpful suggestion that any resident of Norwich wishing to dump paint should not be expected to drive a fourteen mile round trip to do so. Maybe they thought I was asking them to provide storage for nuclear waste or something, anyway the council cannot afford to set up a collection point in Norwich and that is that. (I don’t think so!) Time to push this one upward if you will pardon the expression.

This morning there was a red flash to my right as I made my way to the aviary, I don’t know where he came from but Ernie is back. It has been three days since I have seen him and I ask him where he has been – instantly I hope no one can hear me talking to a cat and I start singing loudly in case any neighbours are listening. Ernie takes up his normal position by the parakeet shed and waits for a half chance to beat me into the flight. It seems as if life has regained a comfortable equilibrium once more.

I read a few days ago that the government are thinking of penalising unemployed council tenants. The implication was that if the tenant didn’t work they would forfeit their council house. I gave this some thought as I went about my chores and wondered what would happen if the evicted tenant had a wife and two or three kids. Would they be evicted as well? Then what would happen – kids in care – wife re-housed, and the husband would be unemployed and walking the streets, but presumably still on benefit. I thought about this for a long while before I came to the conclusion that the best outcome from the taxpayer’s point of view would be leave things as they are. I guess the brains behind this idea had not really thought it through. So why am I not surprised?

I also read that the wind turbines off Great Yarmouth will take about sixty five years to break even in terms of a financial payback. It’s also a fair bet they will probably need replacing by then. We will need to recycle a hell of a lot of newspapers and jam jars to pay for that lot.

Up On The Roof

I was not aware of it happening, it was sometime after I retired. I woke up one morning and realised I had turned into Victor Meldrew. The first sign that I noticed it had happened was when I became aware and really irritated by the number of learner drivers that made three point turns in our road. I would estimate we get about two or three hundred learner cars a day. I thought I might carry out my own traffic census on learner cars from my front garden. Then I quickly forgot the idea when I realised what a sad old git I could become if I wasn’t careful.

I carried out the daily inspection of the aviary this morning. Every step I expected to hear a jingle and then Ernie, the red flash, would appear. But no sign of him. It’s three days since I have seen him and I wonder what has happened to him.

After the recent heavy rain I noticed there was a serious leak in the Parakeet shed. It’s a good forecast for the next few days so it might be a good time to refelt the roof. The thought of using lots of black sticky bitumen with Ernie on the roof trying to help me fills me with dread. Again I wonder what has happened to him, I don't know the people who own him, they moved in just round the corner a short time ago. It would hardly be right to knock on their door and ask what they have done with their cat - would it?

Where's Ernie.

I got a reply from the council this morning by e-mail (see “Here We Go Again”) explaining that paint was hazardous waste, (oh! Really), the e-mail goes on to tell me where I can dump my paint. I know where to dump my b****y paint – exactly fourteen miles from where I live, that’s why I wrote to them in the first place. The point that 130,000 other souls who live in Norwich would have to make the same journey if they wanted to dispose of scrap paint was completely missed by the council. Never mind I’ll write again tonight.

It’s cold, wet and very windy as I make my way to the aviary but something is not as it should be – no sign of Ernie. I check out the places where he normally lies in wait for me. The shed roof – no Ernie, behind the Pear tree – not there either. Very strange. As I get to the first shed I expect the red flash to appear, but he doesn’t. It takes about half an hour to feed and water the parakeets, I am finished and still no sign of Ernie. Even though he is a real nuisance I miss him, a bit like haemorrhoids.

The wife and I go to Tesco World, we don’t normally go on a Wednesday but the carpet fitter is coming tomorrow. Have you ever noticed how things in supermarkets keep getting moved? If the punters know where everything is they can whip round in no time and be away. If they have to search for things they see lots of things they don’t really need but they buy them because they think they do. Nor is there a clock visible inside supermarkets that is to encourage people to take their time and spend lots of money they can’t really afford.

Shopping trolley syndrome is rife this morning – that’s when a shopping trolley is attached to some humans it affects their senses. They drive into other shoppers; block the aisles by parking across the walkways. Worst of all they end up in family groups and have long meetings, sometimes four trolleys deep so no no-one can pass.

Have you seen the number of trolleys with babies in them – some of them have two little mites amongst the groceries – must be buy one get one free.

And another thing

Overnight the gale force winds have blown down the netting frame which protects our patio plants from the frost. Sitting amid the wreckage is Ernie looking very pleased with himself. He sees me and the daily race to the aviary is on. I hurry across the lawn, while Ernie tiptoes along the stones that line the border (he does not want to get his feet wet on the sodden grass). I get to the aviary first this morning – Ernie takes up his position against the wire - the Parakeets take to the air. My scolding has no effect on Ernie, he just pretends he is eating grass as usual.

During the morning I wash some tins and bottles that are ready for recycling. Then I drive the two miles to the nearest bottle bank and stick the bottles in their appropriate coloured bin. I think about the energy I have used used to wash and get the bottles to the collection point. Then I think about the energy it will take to move them from the collection point to the reprocessing plant. All this to recycle glass which is, I believe, cheaper to start the production process from scratch. What are we doing?

On the way home a Sky TV van follows me – he is jabbering away nineteen to the dozen on his mobile. Not a problem until he has to change gear, this causes him to veer toward the verge, gear change complete he swerves back on course. I am watching in my rear view mirror as he keeps getting very close. I approach a roundabout and a truck coming the other way drifts very wide as he exits the roundabout, the driver is on his mobile phone. If I can encounter two of these maniacs in a two mile trip then there should be hundreds of them being nicked every week, perhaps we need more policemen?

Back home I shred some documents for security. All the shredded paper is bagged up and I put it in the land fill wheely bin. Our recycling plant cannot process shredded paper. I gather up today’s junk mail and put it in the recycling wheelie and I wonder how much it costs to recycle paper, turn it into junk mail, get the postman to deliver it, get the householders to sort it and bin it, have trucks collect it, take it to a recycling plant, to be turned into paper which will probably become junk mail again. I did think of asking our postman to put the junk mail straight into the bin. Cut out the middle man!
Anyway I can go to bed tonight safe in the knowledge that I have done my bit to save the planet.

Taxing the car is just another civic duty which we all enjoy from time to time. I taxed mine a few days ago and thought I would take the modern on-line option, that was until I spotted the the extra £2.30 for using my credit card. What is that all about?

Here we go again!

Its quite early, cold and wet. I make my way down the garden to the aviary. I have only covered a few steps when there is jingling sound and a red flash to my left - its Ernie my neighbours ginger cat. He weaves in and out of my feet but I manage to avoid tripping over him. Ernie wins the race to the aviary (as he does every morning) and parks himself by the wire. The Parakeets flutter nervously which only agitates Ernie and his chin quivers uncontrolably amid frustrated meows. I scold Ernie and try to usher him away - Ernie ignores me and pretends to eat grass. The daily contest of getting into the aviary to tend the birds while keeping Ernie at bay goes in my favour.

Today I am going to the tip to recycle my rubbish. But today is different, instead of driving fourteen miles to Mayton pit I am going to do my bit for the planet and drive only seven miles to Mile X. Feeling rather pleased with myself I deposit all my rubbish in the appropriate bays except for my scrap paint . After wandering aimlessly round the plant for several minutes the digger driver leans out of his cab and shouts at me. "You'll have to take that to Kettringham - you can't dump it here!" I point to myself. The digger driver nods. "Kettringham". I note the digger drivers undue smugness as I make my way out of the plant carrying my unwanted scrap paint.

Now what do I do? Drive another fourteen mile round trip to Kettringham or Mayton. Conceal the paint in a bin bag and dump it in the household waste, which in turn will finish in landfill. But wait a minute what about the rest of the population of our fine city, how much paint gets scrapped in a week in Norwich and does everyone take a fourteen mile round trip to dispose of it. I guess the answer is probably not. Now this is just a stab in the dark but I guess fly tipping or concealment in wheelie bins could be an option for some people. I can feel another letter to the council coming on.

Back home I store my scrap paint in the garage and decide to have a bit of a tidy up. No matter how often it's done garages and sheds are always in need of tidying. There is a bang on the garage door, perhaps its the wife - I peer through the window but theres no-one there. I carry on with my chores, there is another bang on the garage door. As I swing the garage door open there is a red flash - and Ernie is in. I tickle his chin as he rolls over on his back and then he catches me with a smart right hook. Little b****r.