26/52 2017

Week 26
26 June - 02 July



Jamie is still quite the bookworm and the highlight of any shopping trip is the run around Waterstones. Sometimes he spots a beloved favourite from his own collection, and we have to explain that his copy is still at home. The negotiations required to get him to hand over his chosen New Book for scanning at the counter are delicate to say the least. And the idea of waiting until we own a book before thrusting it at daddy demanding "read!" is just silly - what are parents for?

Wedding dress!

Short version for the easily bored: I bought my wedding dress. No, there aren't any pictures.

Long waffly version:
I wasn't expecting to have bought my dress already. Truth be known, I thought it was a process that would take months. But, I felt I should start that process sooner rather than later, so my Future Mother-In-Law (FMIL) and I decided that we would begin dress-hunting once she returned from her summer holiday. While we weren't averse to the idea of second-hand or internet-ordering, we felt it would be a sensible start to try on a few different styles and see what worked on me.

The first issue I had to sort out was the extremely limited access to bridal shops. I phoned all of the ones I could find listed locally. None of the ones in my home town were wheelchair-accessible and only one, maybe two, in the next town over were able to tell me that they had access. Not to be put off, I made August appointments with both of those. One of them cancelled, so eventually we just went to the one remaining shop, which was Eternal Bride in Warwick.

They were lovely. I don't think they were experienced with disability issues and it would have been tricky to get through the store if I was using a more typical bulky type of powered wheelchair, but they were friendly, polite, non-intrusive, and made every effort to accommodate me. I was impressed.

They even managed the Holy Grail of assistance - they asked me what I needed and then they paid attention to my answers.

We tried on loads of different shapes and styles of dresses from the racks and got a really good idea of what works well, and what I should avoid. Then I had a bit of a rest while FMIL and Debbie (the member of staff helping us) went upstairs to look through the sale dresses (three-figure price tags rather than four). They came back with about six dresses, all of which I probably would have chosen myself at that point. And once they'd been tried on, one of them was considerably nicer than the others...

Unfortunately it was a discontinued style so I couldn't simply plan to order it nearer the time, and, due to the fact a huge train skirt won't work with the wheelchair, it would have required some £150 of alterations on top of the not-inconsiderable price of the dress itself. I was tempted, but felt that I should not spend that kind of money without thinking about it, consulting Steve, and going to more than one shop. Debbie very kindly agreed to hold it for us for a few days and FMIL and I started frantically trying to find somewhere else to try dresses.

Since the biggest issue with the dresses in Eternal Bride had been the huge floofy skirts and trains, we decided that our best bet would be to try a department store. We figured this would carry outfits that were more "cream-coloured formalwear" than actual bridal gowns, and perhaps have a more modest price tag. Monsoon, for instance, used to carry a small range of dresses that would be equally suitable on a low-key bride, a grownup taking First Communion, or someone attending a prom. I'd already had a look around local department stores with this in mind, but hadn't found anything, so it was back to the phones. It seems that many department stores now only carry a bridal range at their flagship stores, but I was able to make an appointment at House of Fraser in Birmingham.

Advice: don't bother. It was all £1,000-plus floofy dresses with huge trains, and an added rather baffling feature was that many of the dresses had SHARP beading and sequins under the arms - I didn't even wheel anywhere but after half an hour of trying-on I had loads of angry red marks and scratches on my inside upper arms. Dejected, FMIL and I met up with Steve for lunch in the Bullring, where we spotted Sonique.

Sonique mainly do prom dresses, or to put it another way, they have a huge range of formalwear, in colours including white shades, many of which do not have trains and do not floof out by a metre or more. They're also that bit more affordable. And the staff know their stuff - rather than having us rummage through all of the hundreds of dresses in the store, the lady we spoke to listened to our list of features we liked and disliked and then picked two dresses off the racks and invited us to come and try them on.

Sonique are not champions of accessibility. Like every other store in the Bullring, they have level access built in from the word go, and they have kept their aisles uncluttered. However the changing cubicles are one-person size with no seat and solid swing doors, which meant that since I needed physical help getting into the dresses, I was basically expected to take my top off and then stand propped in the corner of a cubicle with the door open while the assistant got the dress over my head and did it up. I still had my jeans on underneath and I wasn't feeling very impressed...

... then I turned around, saw my reflection in the big mirror, and had the fabled "this is my dress" moment. While I stood there gobsmacked, stick in one hand and doorframe in the other, the assistant looped a matching wrap around my arms and it was perfect.

Trying not to get overexcited, but no longer so bothered about the lack of privacy, I got rid of my boots and jeans and carefully sat down in my wheelchair. It was still perfect. I could still move my arms. I could still breathe and lean and twist as much as I usually can and it wasn't at risk of tangling in the wheels. I stood up again. It was even the right length, and it didn't interfere with where I need my stick to be.

I tried on the other dress, just to be certain that it wasn't simply a case of me being relieved that I was trying on a dress that was comfortable. Nope. The second dress was nice enough as dresses go, but not WOW nice. I put the first dress back on. Miles better.

After a bit of consideration, FMIL and I decided that we'd tried on a truckload of dresses, this was the best one by far, we weren't likely to top it unless we got into the realm of full-on bespoke dresses and even then it wasn't guaranteed... so I bought it.

I'm not at liberty to disclose any major details about it (if Steve finds out what it looks like, FMIL will kill us both) although if anyone's interested, compared against a Dulux colour chart the nearest matching shade is "chalk burst".

I was a little bit anxious about phoning Eternal Bride to tell them I wasn't buying my dress from them after all, but they continued to impress me with her polite, friendly, professional approach and I really can't praise them enough. Even though it was Sonique who happened to stock the actual dress I chose, it was Eternal Bride, and particularly Debbie, who made wedding dress shopping a fun and accessible experience for me, and I'd recommend them to anyone.

Done/arranged/have a PLN:
Registrars
Venue
Food and drink
Photography
Bouncy castle
Balloon swords
Hair (sort of, I have a stylist but not a style) and makeup
Gloves (in progress)
Dress!

Still not even properly thought about:
Ceremony options
Rings
Invitations
All the flowers
Decorative balloons
Shoes, lingerie and jewellery
Nice walking stick
Table decorations
Venue floor plan

I am that good

Feeling rather pleased with myself at the moment.

I've more or less stopped flustering and panicking about self-employment (remember that five weeks ago the concept hadn't crossed my mind) and I'm making good, steady progress towards being set up and ready to go. I've completed about half of the online business course, and about two-thirds of my business plan. I've taken care of a number of practical issues (things like the VOA assessment for whether I'd have to pay business rates) and I have some sensible questions to ask the advisor I'm meeting with this week. I've picked a name, set up an email address, installed a suite of office software, done some market research, got some quotes for logo-type artwork... the list goes on*.

On top of this, I'm also ready for Christmas. Steve's having a bit of a trying time at work right now and tends to come home with his brain dribbling out of his ears, so I took charge. Step one, I made a list of people we should buy presents for and a list of people we should send cards to. Once he'd approved these, step two, I wrote out all the cards for him to add his signature. Step three, we determined who we were likely to see during December and dug up addresses for the others, and I sorted out the envelopes all nice and ready for the postbox. Step four was a list of suggested gifts from online retailers for almost everyone on the present list, approved and purchased.

Step five was an actual shopping-centre trip to dig up gifts for those we hadn't found anything for online. Step six, I've been wrapping and labelling the gifts as they have come into the house. We are now at a point where the completed boxes of wrapped presents have been dispatched to the people we're not going to be seeing this year, and there are a couple of plastic boxes of wrapped presents and a stack of cards ready for the people we are planning to see.

We are, in fact, all set for Christmas, which is pretty good considering that we're still in the first week of December. Steve isn't sure whether to be amazed or disturbed, but is presenting it as concrete proof of my abilities to anyone who asks him what it is I'm planning to do and whether I'm any good at it.

*by the way, one of the items remaining on the To Do list is finding someone to hold my hand through the website process. Any takers?

Why it's a really good idea to have a geographical number

After spending a couple of hours last night looking at different sorts of laptops (including Alienware - hardware: wow, prices: eep!), Steve and I had narrowed the choices down to five reasonable options that more-or-less met my criteria and budget. So this morning, after the First Cup Of Tea but before the actual Getting Up process, we fired up his eeePC to have a fresh look at these options and see if I could choose which one I wanted.

Eventually we settled on an Acer Aspire 5738, one of the younger cousins of my current (unwell) Acer Aspire 5500. Despite the reduced price offer on laptopsdirect, it was a bit over my ideal budget, but had all my need/want features and looked like it would have the longest to run before it became obsolete.

However, there appeared to have been a data entry error on the technical specs. In one place, it said it had 3GB of RAM. In another place, it said it had 2GB of RAM comprising 1x1GB and 1x2GB, and while I know my maths won't win any prizes, even I can spot the problem there. And then, it encouraged us to phone them and ask about the "double memory offer" which would bring it up to 4GB...

Still, data entry errors happen, so I figured the best thing to do would be to phone and ask for the correct information - and then, depending on whether or not I liked the answers, buy it or start looking at the second-favourite.

Problem. The number to phone about the memory offer was an 0844, and the main site number was 0871, and at the moment Steve and I only have mobile phones available, and these non-geographical numbers are expensive for us to call and don't get included in our "free" minutes. The Contact Us page gave a company address and named the business not as laptopsdirect, but as BuyitDirect. So we googled them, hoping to turn up a geographical number for the business address (yes, I know, Say No To 0870, but their site confuses me, not least because the google ads look like site links).

Instead, we found a series of accounts of failure and f*ckwittery that made us certain of exactly one thing - we weren't going to be giving them any money any time soon.

I'll cheerfully admit to my own laziness/incompetence/impatience when I'm buying new kit while still in bed on a Saturday morning - if there had been a geographical phone number on the site, I wouldn't have bothered digging for information about the company, and thus wouldn't have found all the negative reviews. I'd have rung them up, cleared up the RAM issue, ordered a laptop, and given them the details to charge my card for rather more than five hundred of the finest British pounds sterling. Their loss.

There is a happy twist, though.

On a whim, rather than going to the second-choice laptop (which was with a different retailer), we put the complete catalogue number of my preferred laptop into google. And lo, we found the same laptop on SimplyAcer, and not only that, but it was significantly cheaper and brought the whole thing neatly back under budget. The company provided a postal address and a geographical phone number as their main contact details without any messing about, and a link to their parent company gives not only geographical phone number and postal address but also a little map and photographs of their shop premises, handily situated just up the road in Birmingham, so if there are any problems we'll be able to physically go there to sort it all out.

Eagerly awaiting a despatch email now, although not really *expecting* one until at least the beginning of the working week... have I mentioned lately that I love my G1?

Retirement

This may be the last post I write on this, my trusty laptop that I have had since before I started this blog. As such, I wish to pay it proper tribute.

It wants to be a trusty laptop. I know it does. And it has been a trusty laptop, almost every single day for most of the three-and-a-bit years since I first took it out of the box and cuddled it. It has enabled me to shop, bank, and access services from my own home. It's provided entertainment and information and social contact, and has saved me from feeling completely cut off from the world.

But, time has worn on and three years of heavy use has taken its toll. Files are becoming corrupted, bits are sticking, and the fan is whirring away on overtime even when running nothing heftier than the original OS (Windows XP) and a single firefox window. The last couple of games I looked at buying, I did not meet the system requirements (although one of them I bought anyway, because of a limited-edition offer, and we seemed to more-or-less cope).

For the last few months, it's been 50/50 on whether my poor, overworked laptop will manage to complete the boot process, and over the last few days it has been getting worse still. Disturbing mechanical noises are coming from deep within the machine (although nothing is in there that shouldn't be) and we've reached a point where, in order to persuade it to boot, the operator must use the Etch-A-Sketch method - giving it a good shake and a couple of bangs to try and dislodge/reseat whatever is causing the problem. It pains me to treat my precious laptop so harshly, but we really have reached the point where anything I do to it is unlikely to make it worse. The time when it no longer works At All is unfortunately now within the forseeable future.

So, I'm shopping for a new laptop. I've set a fairly arbitrary budget of £500, as that's what this one cost. My "musts" are a decent size screen, a standard size keyboard, WiFi, and a CD reader. My "wants" are for the CD reader to also write CDs, and read (preferably write) DVDs; the capacity to play Sims 3 if I ever buy it; and the handy little memory-card-slot that enables me to just plug the memory cards from my camera straight in to copy my photos over; plenty of USB ports. I also want it to run Windows, partly because that's what I'm confident using, and partly because I want to be able to play my PC games. Recommendations welcome.

Acquiring new toys is always fun and exciting, but I do feel quite sad at the thought of parting company with this one. I will miss it. I'm not going to bury it in the back garden but the thought did cross my mind. It has been a good companion. Perhaps one day we'll resurrect it as a guest computer or something.

Developing Specialist Skills

Speak to someone who acquired a disability and has had it for a few years, and there's a good chance they'll be keen to make sure you know it's not all bad. In fact, those of us who are a bit more... excitable... about the whole disability/equality issues "thing" (I include myself in this group) have perhaps a bit too much propensity to shove a firework of Positive Empowered Attitude up the backside of anyone suspected of misplaced sympathy or tragic admiration.

Part of this is sometimes to assert that you have learned things or gone places or met people that you wouldn't have done had it not been for your cripdom. But all too often these are either speculative (who's to say you wouldn't have met your wonderful partner if you'd remained walkie-talkie? who's to say you wouldn't have met someone else just as wonderful?), hard to quantify (how do you measure insight?), or irrelevant to a nondisabled audience (wheelchair breakdancing is impressive, but doesn't really connect for someone who's never used a wheelchair themselves).

But finally, today, I realised I had a definite, quantifiable skill, born of my disability and yet noticed and envied by a nondisabled person - my PA, who gazed at me with a baffled yet admiring look and asked "how do you DO that?"

I can shop. I can shop fast and yet I rarely have anything that I regret buying once I've got it home. I can spot a "possible" item from across the store, and once I'm closer I can very quickly assess whether it meets my requirements and whether I think it is worth the price on the tag. If yes, then I'll buy it (except in the case of clothes, which I still insist on trying on first - but only for fit, I'm always confident about whether or not it will suit me). If no, I'll put it down and forget about it.

It's probably a combination of all sorts of things, for example not wanting to waste my precious three hours by faffing about, not wanting to spend more spoons than I have to on any given activity, and having had the same tastes and 'style' for years. If wandering around the shops and trying on clothes was still a pain-free activity, I'd probably be doing a lot more of it. Disability has stopped me dithering.

Admittedly it is not a skill that will save the world - most things don't. But it's a knack I'm pleased to have developed.

eBay Ettiquette

For some reason I decided I was going to look at clothes on eBay last weekend. I don't especially need any new clothes, but I felt it wouldn't hurt to put on a few bids well within my "affordable" range. I searched specifically for brands where I already know what size will fit me, but that I can't normally afford to buy new.

On Monday, I won Top#1, a strappy party top which set me back £10 (plus £2 for p&P). I received the standard automated emails from eBay, paid with PayPal, and today, Friday, it dropped through my letterbox, safe and sound in a durable envelope.

So far so good. Except...

On Tuesday night, I won Top#2, which is an asymmetric 'everyday' kind of top and cost me £1.49 (plus £2.16 for p&p including recorded delivery). In addition to the standard automated emails, the seller sent a message to let me know she had posted the item and telling me the Tracking Number. Yesterday, Thursday, the package arrived. I opened the sensible waterproof envelope and pulled out the contents - but instead of cotton in my hands, there was paper. Neatly folded soft grey tissue paper, secured in three places with three tiny little shiny stickers. I actually wondered if maybe it wasn't an eBay purchase but a present! I undid the stickers and unwrapped it to find my new top, carefully pressed and folded and with a faint but pleasant smell.

Obviously I got straight on the computer to give the seller of Top#2 maximum positive feedback and also to send a thank you email.

But now I feel uneasy about feedback for Top#1. I mean, there was nothing wrong with that transaction, I don't have any complaints about it at all, I'd happily shop with them again. But then there's the Detailed Seller Ratings (DSRs).

As well as going 'above and beyond' in terms of presentation, the seller of Top#2 was clearly better than the seller of Top#1 in three of the DSR categories - communication (they told me when they had posted the top), dispatch time (the top arrived less than 48 hours after the auction closed), and postage and packaging charges (charged almost exactly the same, but for a superior signed-for postal service, and nicer packaging).

So, having joyfully given the really-made-one-hell-of-an-effort seller of Top#2 a perfect DSR of 5-5-5-5 on Thursday, can I really, on Friday, give the entirely-acceptable-but-nothing-special seller of Top#1 an identical perfect score?

But if I don't, am I being unfair to the seller of Top#1? According to eBay's Help pages, sellers who subscribe to Shops:
"... will be required to maintain the following minimum 12-month average DSR scores in each of the four areas:

• For a Featured Shop, maintain a DSR score of 4.4 or above


• For an Anchor Shop, maintain a DSR score of 4.6 or above

Note: Failure to maintain these requirements will affect your Shops subscription, and you could be downgraded to a lower Shop tier with a different fee structure."

It's not like the seller of Top#1 has "failed" to provide an acceptable standard of service, and they shouldn't get downgraded just because I want to differentiate between 'good' and 'great' service.

Any eBay sellers want to give me their input?

Good Start

Today was the first day with my new PA and I don't think it could have gone better.

She came round this morning, bang on time, which is always a good start. We spent a while going through the formal paperwork (and hooray for P at the Rowan for making sure I knew exactly what needed doing to each piece), and I also gave her the instructions for what to do in case of those little emergencies, so frequent in my life, that aren't 999 emergencies but involve me being too incapacitated to explain what's going on as the situation unfolds. I'd used an online translation tool to print up those instructions in both English and in her own first language, and she seemed a bit surprised by that, but in a good way. I was a bit concerned about whether it was the right approach - on the one hand, I wanted to be 100% sure she would know what to do in such a situation rather than have to translate as well as cope, on the other hand, I didn't want to seem patronising as her English is pretty good - but it seems to have gone okay.

After that, it was just a question of showing her how to take apart and reassemble the wheelchair and we were off and away into town. Nice and relaxed, we went into a few shops in the generally quite accessible central part of the town. She listened well to advice about how to best tackle certain obstacles (such as the trick of going backwards to get through a door with a lip), and in shops she was really good about browsing nearby without hovering over my shoulder or making me feel rushed.

The weather was gorgeous so we sat outside at the Olive Garden Café and I had some juice and a snack and enjoyed watching the world go by for a bit. Then we went to the park for a wander-around. Turns out this is something we have in common - we both love the sunshine.

I guess it sounds like a strange thing to get excited about. "It was my day off. The weather was nice. I went into town, looked in some shops, bought a couple of things, had something to eat, and then went to the park."

But the really exciting parts, you see, are things like:

• I'm having a bit of trouble with my condition at the moment and usually that would prevent me from attempting to go out unless absolutely necessary, but today it didn't have to.


• Usually at the park I'm feeling grateful and indebted to whoever is pushing me and feel bashful about giving directions (especially when I want to go uphill), but today I didn't have to, I could go wherever I wanted and that was very empowering. Of course I've done that on the scooter, but,


• When I started to feel very unwell and crumpled up, I didn't have to try and find my way back to anywhere, or fend off any concerned passersby, or use up reserve spoons I don't have trying to cope, as someone was there to keep me safe and help me medicate and generally take charge of the situation.


• Once I'd got home and rested, I woke up feeling my version of "normal", rather than having arms and legs screaming from the effort and wondering why I did this to myself just for an amble about. I should still feel alright tomorrow - I haven't overexerted myself for the sake of a watch battery and a cheese and ham panini.

Next week I think I might see about going swimming. I fear that part of me is going to run into trouble thinking of Things To Do, now that I have someone available to help me do them. Suggestions would be very, very welcome.

Tree!

If you were here at this time last year, you'll know that I love Christmas. Last year Steve and I went back to Lowestoft to see everyone for Christmas, which was nice, but this year we're staying at home instead. I'm really looking forward to it.

Of course it did mean that I needed something I haven't had for several years: a Christmas tree. Last year, well, there was going to be a tree at mum's house, and given that I had quite enough on my plate with getting suitcases packed, and gifts bought and wrapped, not to mention still settling in to living here and having just started a new job, getting a tree didn't seem like any kind of priority. In the years before that, I lived in my tiny little flat, so all there was room for was a tree-shaped ornament. But now... this is my home, I will be here all Christmas, I have room for a tree, and by the gods, a tree I shall have.

My quest for a tree didn't go according to plan (go ahead, look surprised). I'd figured on getting one from those esteemed purveyors of seasonal tat, Woolworths. No sooner had I vocalised this plan than Woolworths went under and the Final Clearance Sale started. By the time I'd got round to my day off, and gone into the local branch in search of a tree, the "Christmas" section consisted of a few folorn packs of baubles scattered on the otherwise barren shelves.

Time to formulate Plan B. I started by considering my specification. I definitely wanted an artificial tree rather than a real one. I wanted it to be bigger than a shelf-ornament (so I could hang decorations on it), but preferably no taller than me (so I could hang decorations on it). I wanted it green, without fake snow or glitter. I did not want a fibreoptic tree and, although I hadn't realised it was an option, I prefer my tree to be the conventional way up.

This is a taller order than you might first think...

I trundled along the rest of the high street but couldn't find any trees that fit my spec. We tried local supermarkets without success. On Saturday we went to Solihull and looked in John Lewis. They had a lovely Christmas section, but all the trees were far too big. There was one pre-lit tree which was just so pretty I could have forgiven it for being too big, but it was something like £175 and my budget was more in the £30 region.

But then, the skies parted and I was advised to look in Homebase or Focus (I'm unsure to what extent they are one and the same thing). So on Monday morning, Steve dropped me off at the retail park on his way to work, and I went into Focus, and I found their last 4ft artificial green right-way-up unlit unsnowy unglittery tree! And I was happy! So happy! The tree plus a dozen or so decorations remained well under my £30 budget, and I went home exuding joy from every pore.

Things have been a little hectic since then - work on Monday afternoon, work Christmas do on Monday evening, recovering on Tuesday morning, work on Tuesday afternoon, last knitting group of the year on Tuesday evening... however Wednesday is my day off, so I assembled and decorated my tree late on Tuesday night, after knitting. Here it is in all its glory:


I am so happy. There's presents underneath it now and everything.

Oh, and while we're at it with the Christmassy goodness, remember, just like last year, the final UK posting date for Christmas cards is Saturday 20th December. It'll take you ten minutes. Make someone happy.

IKEA

This weekend, Steve and I have mostly been nest-building.

It started with someone giving us their old TV, and the unit it sat on. It was nothing spectacular but it was an improvement on what we had. This caused us to cast a critical eye over the rest of the lounge with a view to upgrading. The most important thing was sorting out the sofa - which is in fact a cheap sofa-bed that has been, um, well-used for almost a decade and was getting to be less than comfortable, to the extent where certain friends had taken to turning up at our house for an evening carrying their own cushions. Steve ordered a new futon mattress for it which we went to collect on Saturday.

The new mattress is a vast improvement. It's about six inches thick and is an actual multi-layered mattress rather than the previous cheap 'slab of foam' option. It looks a lot nicer too, being covered with clean black cotton rather than an slightly battered old duvet cover. But that was where we ran into a slight hiccup, namely that all of a sudden the seventeenth-hand pale floral-print cushions we'd inherited from who-knows-where, which were quite innocuous on the old duvet cover, suddenly looked very silly indeed.

And so we decided, three years into our relationship and one year into our cohabitation, that it was finally time to take that step and Go To Ikea.

It was never going to be easy. We started off badly, with Steve exuding his "I Do Not Want To Do This" vibes before we'd even left the house. In an effort to be considerate to him, I decided that rather than asking him to put my wheelchair into the car (his car isn't quite big enough for the chair unless we either fold down the back seats, or remove the parcel shelf and have the chair sticking up slightly obscuring the rear window), I would use one of the store's customer wheelchairs. This was not the master plan I had hoped it would be.

We arrived at the "Ikea Plaza" and instead of going into the dedicated Ikea multi-storey car park, Steve chose to park in the Plaza car park. I asked him to check whether the car park we were in had free parking for Blue Badge holders or whether we needed a ticket. Next thing I knew he was coming back to the car holding a one-hour ticket on the basis that he didn't have enough change for more than that. I do not know why he didn't ask me for change. I do not know why he thought that one hour would be enough to get around such an enormous shop. I do not know why he did not want to go into the multi-storey car park that offered free parking for people shopping in Ikea. However by this point the I Do Not Want To Do This vibe had become an almost visible aura so I kept my mouth shut.

There were no staff on the ground floor and precious few directions other than an instruction to start shopping on Level Six. Steve's stress and anger levels were by this point heating the air to a four-foot radius around him and small children were running away in fear. Nevertheless we found the wheelchairs, snared a staff member to check that it was okay for us to just grab one, and started shopping.

Or we tried to, anyway. Twenty metres in it was apparent what an incredibly bad idea this whole thing had been. The wheelchair was practically falling apart, with footplates which wanted to scrape on the floor and a tyre which was gradually shaving itself away against the arm-rest. I wanted to get out, turn around and go back to the car, but the little entry gates had closed behind us, and some display rooms containing many likely-looking cushions were enticingly ahead. We pressed on.

Quick guide to IKEA shopping: Do not bother with the catalogue while in the store, it'll only confuse matters. Treat the first level of the shop as a sort of three-dimensional catalogue. You see something you like, you pick it up, look at the tag, and make a note of its name, size, colour and whereabouts in the store the versions of it that aren't the display model can actually be found. Except that there are some things that you have to go find, and some things that you just pick up. Accept that you will have to travel several miles around the store in order to escape again.

We didn't know any of that. I was gazing at the information on the labels wondering what was important and what wasn't, and whether we really had to (a) write down the details for every cushion that I sort-of liked or (b) go round the store twice, once to look and once to get details written down. Trying to combine getting my head round the system plus a Steve increasingly close to explosion, plus an uncomfortable wheelchair which the NHS would have rejected, multiplied by having no option to abandon the whole escapade, drop everything and leave the shop, meant I was tense and stressed and aargh...

Nevertheless, there's some nice-looking stuff in Ikea, and it was definitely the right place to go, as before long we had found suitable cushions (three of a sort that you physically picked up then and there and two that you went to collect on a different floor) and also our If We Happen To See A Nice One Bonus Item of lap trays. But this was where the clash of shopping styles really took its toll.

The way Ikea want you to shop, is to meander around the store with a trolley or a bag, picking up interesting looking things as you hunt for the thing you are actually seeking. The store layout is such that in order to get to the exit a customer has to walk right around at least two levels of the store in a sort of repeating "S" pattern, with actual walls blocking the direct routes. In this way you are forced to walk past 17,000 products you don't want in the hope that you will impulse-buy at least one or two.

This clashes with the way Steve wants to shop, which is to locate the section for the specific item(s) he is there to buy, choose one, and make for the checkouts. Although that said, he is usually willing to take his time and allow me to browse through anything that catches my interest.

It also clashes with the way I want to shop. I'm all for meandering amongst interesting things and for this I am lucky in that I can walk or self-propel over very short distances. However, despite the provision of wheelchairs, there's no wheelchair-trolleys (or at least not that we could find). There are big yellow bags, for shoppers who are determined that they won't need a trolley, but no way of hanging these on the back of the chair. So when we found the three cushions that we were meant to pick up then and there, they ended up in a yellow bag on my lap with me peeking over the top. That in turn meant that I could not meander by self propelling, because my arms were occupied with the bag, and also that I could not periodically get out of the (uncomfortable) chair to meander with my stick, because my legs were pinned.

I was stuck in the chair, the chair was wherever Steve pushed it, and because of the aforementioned dodginess of the chair including self-shaving tyres, the chair was extremely difficult for Steve to push.

Add in the factor of the rapidly-running-out parking ticket, and now there's Steve all stressed because he's getting sore and tired and he's having to hike around this entire store so slowly when all he wants to do is pay and leave, I'm all stressed because I'm also sore and tired and I'm going so fast past this entire storeful of shiny and intriguing things that I want to investigate, and anyone who impeded us probably got stressed as they keeled over from the sheer force of Steve's Laser Death Stare With Muttered Cursing.

It was a relief to get out.




However. We did get out, so that's a win. We still love each other and although we were both a little snappy and stressed we didn't have the Ikea Row which I understand to be traditional. We went a little over our one-hour of parking, but we didn't get clamped or ticketed. And, more importantly, we accomplished cushions. Three black cottony ones which match the futon mattress, two massive flame-coloured red-orange soft felty ones which provide a lovely warm contrast, and two cushioned lap-trays suitable for laptops, books, writing or dinner.

(Oh, I also stole a pencil, but Steve says it doesn't count because I didn't mean to - I'd jammed it into my ponytail, which is my standard way of holding on to pens and pencils because they fall out from behind my ear, and then I'd forgotten about it.)

I am extremely comfortable now. But if there's a next time it will involve my own wheelchair, at least one more person, and at least two more hours. Oh, and I'll be frisking Steve for sharp implements and matches.

It's that time of year

A little song about Santa.

First of all, a big thank you to all the people who left such supportive comments on my last, rather depressing, post. Judicious application of cups of tea, hugs from Steve, a Chinese takeaway, a DVD (Quick review: Colour of Magic, I liked it, David Jason does a cracking job as Rincewind but I can't help wondering what will happen if/when they do Mort, which requires Rincewind and Albert to simultaneously be in the same room), and a good night's sleep have seen me back onto an even keel.

Now for some good news: my laptop, my gorgeous shiny laptop, is resurrected.

Last weekend some sort of particularly nasty... thing... triggered and wriggled its pernicious little way all through my system. One of the specifically nasty features was that it blocked access to the sites for my anti-virus and my anti-adware/spyware updates. It did something to the way my computer accessed google as well, so that clicking any results links from a google search would take me instead to sites for more nasties. The computer would freeze and/or turn off completely and every reboot pushed the nastiness deeper into the system.

Steve did his best with it but it was bedded right in there. Eventually we took the decision to scrub the computer completely and start right over from a fresh install of Windows. After all, we had all the original disks and codes and whatnot, plus a backup of most of my files on an external drive. The backup wasn't perhaps as recent as it should have been, but I know all the important files from this year were on there - all I'd be missing would be a few pictures, half-finished blog posts, savegames and stuff.

And lo, for on the third day it rose again, and here I am, trying to get back into typing on a full-size keyboard (Quick review of eeePC: Handy. Functional. Light. Portable. Small. Very small. But bigger than a phone. On the whole I liked it. But, how can I say this... it's an ideal secondary computer) and desperately trying to remember my passwords for the sites on which I was logged in permanently. I've got most of them now, although I haven't done any shopping yet.

One slight hitch - you know how I was all relaxed because, hey, backups of most of my files on an external drive, nothing to worry about! Well it could help if I could find the aforementioned external drive. It's about the size of a cigarette packet and is somewhere in this house. I'm fairly certain it's not in the kitchen, toilet or bathroom. Unfortunately that's not helpful as this is a three-bedroomed house containing two geeks and therefore any amount of likely-looking wires, defunct remote controls, old mobile phones and various other oojamaflips which get your hopes up but turn out to be Not What You Were Looking For.

Other than that I really need to get on with my Christmas shopping. I think we've already passed the last guaranteed date for getting stuff shipped from the US to the UK before Christmas. I'm also now horribly aware that although within the UK, the last date for which the Post Office guarantees delivery of packages before Christmas is something like 20th December, that doesn't mean by extension that it's okay to order stuff on the 19th and expect it to arrive on time, as it has to be processed first. For our place, depending on factors like how many people we have working, how efficiently our deliveries arrive, and so on, we can process about 150 normal-sized orders in a day. If, on the 19th, we suddenly have 400 orders to process... well, we'll do our best, work overtime, draft in as many extra hands as we can fit in the room, but the room is of finite size and the day is of finite length, so it's likely some people will end up disappointed. Now is the time for online Christmas shopping if you want to be sure of getting the things you need without a panic.

Despite having no idea what to get anyone, I was all super-efficient and made sure people can have an idea of what to get me and a fuss-free way of getting it by making an Amazon wish list. But now I'm worrying that it was a little bit... off... when Mum said "so what sort of things are you after?" to respond by emailing an Amazon link - it feels like making demands. I did follow it up with a more personal email explaining that it's just some ideas and I don't care whether I get all/none/some of the stuff on the list. But even so I can't help thinking that a handwritten letter to Santa, referencing my intention of compliance with the "being good" clause for another year, with pictures cut out of assorted catalogues and stuck on with pritt stick to indicate the Things I Would Like Please, would have been more acceptable.

Actually that's another thing I'd like - a book of etiquette and household tips for such things as Making Christmas Lists As A Grown-up, Avoiding Being Healed At Dinner Parties, and Extracting Loved Ones From The Duvet On Cold Winter Mornings When They Have To Go To Work. I have Nanny Ogg's Cookbook which has much valuable insight, and VideoJug which offers a lot of practical help, but I still often feel like I'm floundering with things like this.

Did you ever have a couple of days when things just went... right?

It started on Tuesday, worryingly enough with the laundry. Anyone without a tumble drier will understand where I'm coming from - I have enough space to hang up to dry all the clothes that I wash, but the things like towels and sheets cause a bit more of a problem unless you (1) don't care about your heating bill, (2) have the space and strength to wrangle with acres of heavy, damp cloth and (3) don't mind a climate inside your house that is similar in heat and humidity to a tropical rainforest.

So I decided that a graceful admission of defeat was called for, and looked into laundry services. I knew of service washes and I figured that although taxis to and from a laundrette would be expensive, it would get it done, one-off expense, and that would be that. So I made some phone calls.

Ten minutes later and an arrangement had been made for someone to come to the house after I'd got home from work, collect two black bin-liners full of laundry, and bring the contents back, clean and dry, at the same time the following day. Simplicity itself.

Off to work, where I had a busy and productive but thankfully not too awfully hectic afternoon. More and more Christmas-themed things are being ordered. At the end of the afternoon, I finished everything that wanted doing, made my way down the stairs, and reached the bottom just as my cab arrived to take me home.

At home I relaxed for half an hour, then a polite young man collected my laundry, then about ten minutes after that Steve got home, bearing fish and chips. Delicious. That consumed, it was time to go to knitting group for the rest of the evening, where I had a great time chatting with my friends and making steady progress with my current project (Christmas present, sorry). A couple of hours later Steve came to take me home and then I snuggled into bed with a heat pack and a good book. Hot chocolate was offered, but I didn't think I'd stay awake long enough to drink it.

You'd think it couldn't really get much better, and so I may have approached Wednesday with some trepidation. Wednesday, being my day off work, has a horrible tendency to become a Busy Day as I cram in all the stuff I haven't been able to do during the week (I'm home in the mornings, but I can't go out and get stuff done as I have to save my spoons to be able to go to work). This week was looking particularly harsh as it was going to entail a trip into town which is sometimes a real adventure. I braced myself and called Shopmobility to check availability of scooters (I didn't have the spoons to drive my own all the way into town and back) - no problem, a scooter will be ready and waiting. Called a taxi to take me into town, taxi was outside my front door within five minutes.

It was like falling through a door that you expect to be heavy and then someone on the other side opens it before you realise.

First task was to go to the post office to post a thank-you present to the charity which supported me with my DLA appeal. There was no queue, just straight to the desk and sorted.

Second task was to go to the building society to transfer the big lump of DLA back-pay (the money they should have paid me over the nine months leading up to the appeal) into my ISA. No problems whatsoever.

Third task was to go to Boots and fill my prescription. A fifteen minute wait was about normal, I sat and relaxed for some of it and got a bit more knitting done with the rest. The pharmacist was thoughtful enough to bring the bag over to where I was sitting rather than shouting to me, which was nice.

Finally, I had to go to a bank to set up a new account in order to use Direct Payments to hire a Personal Assistant for a few hours a week as per my Social Services assessment. It must be a new and separate bank account so that the payments are transparent.

To briefly explain: DLA is money I get in recognition of the fact that I have various additional expenses due to my disability. I get £46.75 a week for Mobility. But no one cares whether I use it all for taxis, or whether I use some of it to repay friends directly or indirectly for giving me lifts, or whether I count shopping delivery charges, or whether I blow it all on cat food. It's up to me how I spend it - or indeed if I save it. Direct Payments, however, is more like reimbursement of a Personal Assistant's wages. So I will hire my Personal Assistant and I will pay them, and Social Services will give me the money to pay them. However, all of this money must be directly accounted for. If I've been granted 10 hours of care, but I only use a PA for 5 hours, then I will only get the payments to cover 5 hours of care. So there has to be a dedicated bank account for these payments to make sure everyone involved can easily keep track of what money should be and is going in and out at any given time.

The whole thing is a bit chicken and egg, really - to get Direct Payments, I have to go into town and set up a bank account, but that's a major excursion for me, so really, I need Direct Payments to pay a PA to go into town with me to set up a bank account so I can get Direct Payments to pay a PA...

Anyway, it's a task I've been sitting on for a couple of months now, waiting for a day when I had enough spoons AND enough time AND during bank opening times, to be able to try and tackle it by myself. I admit, I was also a little anxious about whether a bank would let me open an account when I don't have a driver's licence or a passport, and I can't say how much money will be going in and out of the account, or when.

But today, ah, today I was charmed... I picked a bank on the basis of "first one I saw", mosied in, explained I wanted to open an account and was told someone would be with me shortly. Shortly enough, someone was with me, ushering me into a private room and offering me a hot drink. Opening an account? No problem! Your wages won't go into it? No problem! Chequebook, no fees, no problem! No passport or driver's licence? Well, I'm sure something in this sheaf of documentation you've brought along will suffice... WIN.

It got better. Steve came to meet me for ten minutes in his lunch break, which meant that not only did I get extra bonus hugs, but I also got to offload the enormous bag of medication which was starting to get in my way. I found a quiet restaurant with a decent lunch offer (a main course and a drink for £8.50) so I decided to treat myself. Then I started to make my way back to Shopmobility via a couple of shops and found (1) a nice top and (2) a book from a series I'm collecting which was reduced from £6.99 to 50p because the cover had got slightly torn. Dropped off the scooter and made my way to a nearby bakery where I had a cup of tea and a chocolate fudge brownie while waiting for a taxi to pick me up and take me home.

But we're not through yet! There was post waiting for me at home - I've been invited to another interview, which is nice, although I know better than to hold my breath. They want my permission to contact my current employer for a reference, which is fine, but I really should give my current boss a heads-up first.

And finally, to round it all off, the guy from the laundry brought back two big bags of nice, clean, dry, folded towels and bedclothes, and that was when I discovered that the price he'd quoted me wasn't per-bag but for the whole lot, so it only cost me half of what I was expecting! The amount of pain and hassle it saved me is phenomenal, so I expect I will be using that service a lot more in the future.

More days like this, please.

St Ebeneezer

As the esteemed blogger Scaryduck (I am not worthy, etc) recently observed, St Ebeneezer's Day - "the first day that Christmas displays appear in shops and public houses" - has well and truly occurred.

Speaking from the trenches of mail-order dispatch of classical music, I can confirm that the rush has started. The volume of orders is increasing, and the orders being placed have more than a sprinkling of titles like "Concertos and Cantatas for Christmas", not to mention Bach's Christmas Oratorio (available on CD, SACD and DVD from just about any record label you care to name).

I'm guessing that quite a few of the people who read this blog are likely to do at least part of their shopping online, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to make a few generic requests and give a few pointers, on behalf of all those dispatchers for small businesses out there who remember last Christmas and are fearing this one.

... actually, thinking about it, this may work better as a series. Other readers on the frontline should feel free to make additions in the comments.

So onwards, with Part One - Placing Your Order.

Fill out the form properly.

It's not really a difficult form. Put your postcode in the postcode box and your address in the address boxes. If you don't know your address and postcode, go and ask a responsible adult.

For each new line, use a new line of the address box - don't just type in twenty spaces, or half a dozen full stops. You can click in each box, or you can use the TAB key to scroll through them. While you're at it, why not let the shift key enter your life? It's not just there to make the keyboard look nice.

"As Above" is not an address. Nor is "as previous order," as I can't actually see your previous orders unless I stop everything and start rootling around in the database. And please, for pity's sake, don't think you're being clever by asterisking out the first few letters of each line of your name and address "for security". We need your proper address in order to send you the things you have ordered. The postman will not take packages to "** ***ley Road", okay?

You should also know that it's not "the computer" that fixes these things so that you get your goods. It's me, putting my Stalker hat on with the help of Google in a way that would probably have you feeling quite uncomfortable if you knew about it. You may also like to remember that all the time I spend correcting your address, I'm not shipping orders - you're holding up the queue!

Contact details

We're not asking for the fun of it, nor are we likely to sell your data. If we've said that we won't pass your details on, then we really won't. It's one of those big business/small business things. A big business is only ever about the money. A small business, on the other hand, is personal, and all of its employees are going to be trying to provide the sort of service we would like to recieve from others. So we won't pass your phone number to other companies owned by the same multinational conglomerate, or "relevant third parties", and we won't flood your inbox with spam. We're asking for fast contact details because if there's a problem with your order, we'd prefer to be able to let you know as soon as possible, and give you a chance to change your order, rather than waiting for you to contact us several weeks later because your goods have not arrived.

Your credit card 'security code' is NOT your PIN.

Your security code is the last three digits of the little number on the back of your card, where you put your signature. It's not a difficult thing to find. You never type your PIN online. If you type in your PIN where you should have put your security code, all that happens is that your credit card gets flagged - security code not matched - and you may have to wait longer while we check to find out whether you're (a) incapable of reading simple instructions or (b) a fraudster trying to use a dodgy credit card, and let's be honest, neither of those are good really, are they?

Reasonable Requests

Most small businesses will do their best to meet any requests you make, it's part of what makes us different to Amazon and Tesco. Perhaps something is a gift and you want to be sure it's sent to the recipient without the price on it - no problem. Maybe you are on holiday and want to delay posting to make sure your package won't arrive while you're away - easy. Maybe you want your order shipped in as many lots as it takes to make sure that each parcel is no bigger than the pannier on your bike - we can do that. But please, please, let us know early on. Preferably before you place your order. If we know your requests before the order comes in, then we can do our best to meet them. We won't be able to get the package back off the Post Office if you only put in your request after the order is dispatched.

Still to come: Costs and charges, Royal Mail, and Other Issues.

And now, by request of a friend of mine, a short commercial break for a friendly online mail order business. Adults only, I cannot stress this strongly enough, adults only may wish to look at Temptations for all their adult toy needs. Temptations is run by a couple of entrepreneurs with a long-standing interest in adult toys, aiming to provide the sort of service levels they would prefer to recieve when shopping online for such items. Please don't click that link if you're under 16 or easily offended.

Under-16s, and those who are not in the market for the kind of wares Temptations stock, may prefer to visit the 100% family-friendly appropriate-for-everyone Web Of Wool to spend their money.

Edit 20:17 07/09/08 broken link fixed.

Tis The Season

I love Christmas.

Some people get quite upset about that. There's the religious people, who think that as I don't believe the son of God was born on December 25th, two-thousand-odd years ago, I should just butt out of their meaningful celebration. Then there's the anti-religious people, who think that if I am rejecting Christianity then I should reject the entirety of Christmas because blah perpetuating false ideas wibble consumerism et cetera.

I respect both viewpoints (although I realise the tone of the preceding paragraph my put that into some doubt), and as such, I don't mind whether any of the people I know - or any of the people I don't know - spend their December in church praising their Lord and feeling marvellously spiritual, or in their determinedly undecorated houses ignoring the whole caboodle as best they can and burning any Christmas cards that darken their doormat.

But for me, Christmas is largely about the things in the coca-cola advert. Colour and light at the dark time of year. A little bit of magic, even if you know how it was done. Family and friends. Uplifting mood. And, dare I say it, a bit of excess - plenty to eat, plenty to drink, and giving and recieving (with thoughtfulness and good intentions and time and effort and consideration) gifts, including things that perhaps the recipient wouldn't have bought for themselves on their own (ok that's not in the advert, but Father Christmas is, and that's what he represents. To me).

Occasionally I wonder if that kind of thing - the Coca-Cola Christmas - isn't just the next natural progression of the mid-winter celebration/event/ceremony/whatever that humans do have a tendency to do for the last couple of thousand years. Personally, I'm not a Christian or a Muslim or a Druid or a Wiccan or a Pagan or anything else, I think the closest you'd get to classifying me is Apathetic Agnostic. I'm not even a huge consumerismist. But I love the Christmas celebrations.

Warning: There may be more Christmas-based posts to follow.

One hassle after another

The world and his dog is conspiring against me and my hopes for a smooth transition from benefit sponge to Usefully Employed Member Of Society.

You've already heard about the woe of the Interview Trousers, and how by the time they are the right length for me, I will already have been working for two days.

Steve isn't feeling well, so I'm worrying about him on top of everything else.

I'm less than optimistic about my ability to do effective grocery shopping in my first week of work, and have similar reservations about my ability to cook. So, I wanted to get a decent amount of shopping dealt with and out of the way, including a load of easy meals in that if necessary Steve can cook (if it was up to Steve he would live off chilli, pot noodle and biscuits, which on the one hand he enjoys, but on the other hand is not a balanced diet or one that I want to live on). Couldn't go shopping on Friday because Steve wasn't feeling well. Which meant dealing with a Saturday Supermarket Shop.

It would not be outrageous of me to suggest that most people find supermarkets on a Saturday at least a little bit stressful. Imagine, then, that you walk into the supermarket clutching your trolley and realise that the shelves are looking a bit... sparse. In some cases, one might even go so far as to say, "empty".

It seems that the local Sainsburys depot has unexpectedly closed, and that therefore the usual stock replenishment has not been able to take place. So there was precious little food to be had, particularly the fresh stuff. What there was, was hovering on the sell-by date, and not even priced down because it was that or nothing.

It wasn't quite a case of fighting scrums of desperate shoppers for the last pack of bacon, but there was a definite air of frazzlement as people tried to re-plan their week's meals, hunted for alternatives, put the goods they had gathered back on the shelves so that they could go try tescos instead... I confess to feeling a little burst of joy as I picked up the last steak pie, in contrast with the realisation that ALL the pre-prepared potato products were gone and that I would have to do my potatoes the old-fashioned, time and energy-consuming way, starting with peeling the damn things.

Still, got a £5 voucher by way of "sorry we didn't have everything you wanted".

And finally... the Muppet Show that is Jobcentre Plus. Ever since I found out I have a job on Friday, I have been trying to sort things out with them.

First, I contacted the Disability Employment Adviser (DEA) to tell her that I had a job. Her response was:
1) To give me the phone number for Access to Work - along with a warning that AtW's phone lines were down and that I would get a "this number doesn't exist" type message but that it definitely was the right number.
2) To give me an 0845 number for the Incapacity Benefit section so that I could call them and let them know about my job. When I told her that I only have a mobile phone and that as such, 0845 numbers are very expensive for me to call (they're only local rate from regular landlines), her response was "well, that's their number, you'll just have to phone them."
3) To make unsolicited excuses about Remploy and how busy they are and how that is why I got a job before they got back to me, then telling me that I should get in touch with them, and to give me their phone number as well. My experience in the field tells me that this is less for MY benefit and more for THEIR Key Performance Indicators. I suspect reporting a positive number of disabled people getting jobs is central to certain bits of funding for them.

By this point I was wondering if I'd called a DEA or if I'd got confused and dialled some sort of spontaneously number-spewing Directory Enquiries. I have no interest in spending my time and money on phone-chases in order to make other people who I've never met look good on their KPIs.

Which is probably why I came out with something along the lines of "I'm quite impressed that I managed to get myself a suitable job so quickly. It's reassuring to know that I've still got the skills to negotiate disability issues with an employer properly."

To which she responded with something along the lines of "You're nowhere near as disabled as my other clients. It was hardly difficult for you to get a job."

If it had been "you have a better set of skills and experience", or "you're a very motivated person" or even "you have a lot more confidence" I wouldn't have minded so much, but this woman knows absolute jack about 'how disabled' I may or may not be, apart from that I have a diagnosis of ME/CFS and an IB award until 2010 - which you don't exactly get for no reason. That's leaving aside the whole discussion about how disability isn't on a sliding scale anyway. Gaa.

The woman on the other end of the IB helpline told me that I would have to write a letter with the details of my job and send it to them. Well, eventually she said that. First, she said that my details were still being held by the Bury office and that she would have to pull them across to Cannock. I wouldn't mind if I hadn't already asked for that to happen no less than four times in the last two months and each time been told "yep, no problem".

Access to Work's phone lines are indeed down and were still down on Saturday. It's a good thing I told my new boss I needed Monday to deal with the benefits people. It's also a good thing that Steve isn't at work again yet and can give me lifts to and from work. Hopefully I will be able to get hold of them on Monday, and then make a doctor's appointment if necessary and prepare for whatever other hoops they tell me to jump through.

The actual job is rather secondary in all this faff and stress.

Boo, Erk, Yay

A mixed day yesterday. Still recovering from having overdone it during the week, but then, I'm at home with the wonderful Evilstevie, Maker Of Cups Of Tea Extraordinaire, so it could be very much worse.

Feeling like this, and knowing that feeling like this is a regular thing, and being in a fairly large house (certainly lots larger than the flat), and knowing that Steve will not always be on study-break, I have finally decided, for definite, that I am buying a Roomba. I found a proper online store in the UK that sells them (as opposed to someone bringing one back from the US), compared various prices and specifications, and chose which one to buy.

Put it in the basket, signed up to the site, chose my options for delivery and gift-wrapping and carbon-offsetting and god knows what else, finally got to the 'now give us your credit card details' bit... and noticed that something had changed. The previous pages had been secure. Yellow address bar, https, little padlock sign, all tickety-boo. The credit card page, however. It still said https, but it wasn't yellow any more, the padlock had a line across it and further investigation offered the warning "some of the information on this page may be readable by others", and I just know that the day I take that chance is the day some bugger steals my credit card details and runs up thousands of pounds' worth of debt that I, having taken the chance, am fully liable for. Paranoid? Perhaps.

Tried to ring them but their customer service line is closed at weekends, so I emailed them instead. Boo.

On, then, to "erk". A friend of ours who lives nearby wants to have a fireworks party on Monday. So yesterday, I had a cuppa with his girlfriend while he and Steve went out to buy some fireworks.

Remember kids, you can't say "firework" without "erk!"

They came back with over £100 worth of fireworks. I asked them, did they bring any sparklers? I like sparklers. The answer was no... they went to an industrial-fireworks place for the stuff and the only sparklers available were in packs of over a thousand. Which would, I admit, be overkill for a party of maybe a dozen people, but makes me even more anxious about the nature of the fireworks they have purchased.

Some of you know Steve. Look upon the following sentence and tremble: In terms of this firework party, Steve is being the voice of moderation. He's even made sure they have purchased a remote detonation system. This is not like Steve. Steve is usually the one shouting for more flammable materials.

And finally, the yay - I got my Ravelry invite! YAY! I've already hooked up to several people I know and I'm sure more will follow. If you want to find me on there, I'm on as batsgirl. Still working on bringing it up to date - so far I've only listed two 'projects', the first scarf I did and that knitting on screwdrivers thing. It does seem a very sensible way of organising things, although I'm still finding my way around it.

Oh, and I've written my letter to WDC, I just need to remember to print it. Thanks to everyone who made suggestions :)

Incredibly active week

Maybe it's the weather, maybe it's Steve, I don't know, but I'm feeling better the last week or so than I have in months if not years. So I'm taking full advantage and have been (by my standards) exceptionally busy. I've done something most days, and even when I've woken up going *pop* *crunch* *yelp* "oh god, that was stupid, when will I learn when to stop" I haven't actually regretted overdoing things. The ever-lovely Steve has helped by making sure I haven't had to use up my energy on anything like washing-up or cooking or grocery-shopping or cleaning the bathroom, it's just been a holiday from all of that, a week of energy expenditure almost purely on enjoyable things.

Following the pizza and the cookie crumble from my last blog on Friday, plus the joy of the postman turning up with a package of Sock Kit, we packed my suitcase and zoomed vaguely westwards to Chateau Evilstevie.

On Saturday afternoon, we went to the B3ta Birmingham Bash. We managed to stay for about two hours which was good. Gorgeous weather meant that smokers and non-smokers were all happy sitting outside by the canal watching the world go by.

On Sunday afternoon, with me insisting that tired or otherwise the weather was too good to waste, we decided to go to the park for ice cream, relaxation, knittings and photography. On the way to the park, we stopped at the house of a couple of friends, where we were invited in to join them for a barbecued beefburger. Yum.

On Monday, we went into Leamington to have tea and scones at the Victoria Coffee Shop.

On Tuesday, all that was planned was me going to the knitting group in the evening. Unfortunately Steve made the mistake of mentioning that there's a big Hotel Chocolat in Dudley's Merry Hill shopping centre. Off to Dudley we did vrooooom. After dribbling in Hotel Chocolat, we got some lunch and then I decided I wanted a haircut. Well... I've needed a haircut for some time, but I never get round to it - it's not the sort of thing I plan in advance, you know? So the last haircut I had was for my mum's wedding last September. Oops. The first EMPTY hairdressers we went into told us they couldn't possibly manage to do my hair as a walk-in, so we wandered along to the next one, where they took me in and then Steve went to amuse himself elsewhere for an hour.

Tuesday evening was the knitting group, same as always, very enjoyable. I shouldn't have gone out during the day though, cos I was SPACED. I just couldn't follow a conversation. But, I was given a couple of very useful hints and tips on the Sock, and I've got a new project as well. I'm doing a jumper for Littlun. It seems kind of tricky to find patterns for kids that age/size, probably because they grow so much that it seems a little futile to put many pounds and many hours into creating a beautiful garment that they will get to wear (read: spill ice cream and/or ribena all over) about four or five times before they've grown out of it again. But, it will make Pip happy. The pattern book I got was Miss Bea's Seaside. I'll be doing the "Breeze Sweater" (5th pic down on that page), nice and simple, although the ribbing for the cuffs is a bit different. Instead of the usual knit-two-purl-two, it's RS K5: P1, K5, P1, K5 etc and WS P4: K1, P1, K1, P3, K1, P1, K1, P3 etc, looks like this.

Wednesday, we went back to the Victoria for another cup of tea and scones. I went into Monsoon (70% sale!) and bought BARGAINS. Steve was extremely patient, following me around the store and holding the things I wanted to try on as I revelled in being able to have one hand on my stick to prop me up and the other hand to rummage through the racks - one of the most difficult parts of shopping for me is running out of hands.

In the evening we met up with a friend for dinner and Steve got TOYS. (note from Steve here: Toys=PC and diskless terminal which were going to be skipped as the company's being dissolved. Obtained with other bits by a mate who used to work there for "a nominal fee" - £2 apparently. Pizza exchanged for the toys :)

(Mary regains control of laptop) Thank you darling.

Thursday, was packing of suitcase and heading off home. The A14 was/is a nightmare, as half of it is closed. It took us almost twice as long as usual to get back. We had to stop for an extra break at Billingford Windmill which looked lovely in the sunset. Only Steve took photos though. I was too busy hanging out of the open passenger door with my head between my knees (the usual attitude of prayer to the gods of Pharma, accompanied by an under-the-breath chant of "please let these painkillers work soon") scaring the locals. No, really. A nice lady actually came out of her house to come over and ask if I was okay, did I want a glass of water, if you go for a little walk about a hundred yards that-way, there's a little bridge where you can just relax and it doesn't smell so much of cow dung... which was nice of her. I don't like it when people fuss, but it is nice when people (1) show concern for fellow human being in obvious distress or difficulties and (2) are friendly.

Friday we went to meet some assorted friends in Norwich at the Cider Shed. It's a nice place, really relaxed. My stepdad plays there sometimes. We were sat outside as there was an under-14 in our group and they aren't allowed in the main bar, so it was a bit chilly. Chilliness was easily combatted by my ordering a nice cup of tea (and it was a nice cup of tea), so just to add to that "Friday night out" feeling, I got the Sock out as well. Socks are a very portable form of knitting.

This picture contains many elements of today's blog so far.

Saturday, I started writing this, but there was a bit too much for me to finish! We went and had lunch with Pip and the Littlun. This was a bad idea, as they're getting over ILL and so Littlun's temper and appetite are not as they should be. He ate about one small slice of kids' pizza, half a carrot stick, and a few grapes, in between grizzles and grumps. So we went to the beach, the boys dug a big hole, and we put the boy in it. Many jokes about "they sent me down t'pit when I wa but two year old..." and so on. It was fun.

Steve goes back home by himself this morning - definitely this morning, as this afternoon is Lowestoft Carnival so the roads are either closed for the afternoon, or jammed up. I am going to miss him very much. The only reason I'm typing this rather than having a cuddle is because he's asleep and it's important to be well-rested before tackling the A14, but I may have to go wake him soon.

Cooking

I got myself a new cookery book the other day. It's called Just like mother used to make and it's by a guy called Tom Norrington-Davies. On the back are a couple of quotes from reviews, and the one from The Times says that "the recipes are simple to follow and comfortingly delicious to eat." Marvellous, thunked Mary. This is the book I need.

Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear.

I should have looked at the name, really. This book is written by a man, who has access to many varied London shops, and above all, can afford a dishwasher. This is speculation, of course, but if he washes all his own dishes I will be very surprised.

I'm on page 82 now and I am stunned with the amount of faffery this guy suggests. It's the sort of cooking that's probably fun a couple of times a week if you're the sort of person who enjoys cooking and gets a kick out of accomplishing a meal (and you have a dishwasher).

A particular area where Tom and I have fallen out is over the issue of soup. He describes several "comfort soups" which according to him are "low maintenance" and "great food for those times when we are under the weather." Under the weather, that's me, let's take a look. Tomato soup, great.

First, he wants me to peel and chop onions, garlic (actually this should be "bruised" whatever the hell that means), a leek, and some carrots. Washing-up count so far, at least one sharp knife and chopping board, and a bowl to put the chopped veg in, plus it's taken me four hours due to keeping needing to sit down, the odds are I've cut my fingers, and we've not even got to the recipe instructions yet. You're then meant to stand at the cooker for ten minutes "keeping an eye on" the veg while they sweat in a little oil in a covered saucepan (washing-up count: saucepan, lid, wooden spoon). Next, we add some sugar and some tinned tomatoes (tinned? Tom, I'm shocked, you mean I don't have to grow them myself?), whack the heat up, and stand at the cooker for at least five minutes, "stirring constantly". Add some water (he prefers stock but he can stick that up his jumper) and allow to simmer, uncovered, for about an hour, because I always wanted to turn my flat into a tomato-scented sauna. Finally, we chuck it through the blender (washing up count: one blender which he doesn't tell you must be washed before the soup sets on the blades - handwashing blenders is Not Good) and add milk, salt and faff to taste. Serve (washing up count: bowl, spoon, and he also wants nice fresh bread but we're just not going to go there).

Total washing-up: two bowls, one spoon, one wooden spoon, blender, saucepan and lid, sharp knife(s), chopping board(s), and I bet the work surfaces and cooker hob got splattered too.

Tom. Mate. If you ever feel really under the weather, here's what you do.

Get the bowl you intend to eat from, the spoon you intend to eat with, a tin-opener (I know you have one because of those tinned tomatoes) and a can of Heinz Cream of Tomato soup. Open the can and empty it into the bowl. Put the bowl into the microwave and nuke it for one minute. During this minute, assuming you recycle, peel the label off the can and rinse the can under the tap before chucking it in the appropriate bin. Rinse the tin-opener too and leave it on the draining board to air-dry. Get the soup from the microwave, stir it with the spoon, and then put it back in for another minute. Have a little sit-down. The microwave will beep but don't get excited, just in your own time get up and get the soup. The bowl will be hot, be careful. Give it another stir and eat. If it makes you feel better you can put a sprig of freshly plucked basil on top, or an artistic little swirl of cream.

Total washing-up: one bowl, one spoon.

I'm not even going to talk about what he expects me to do about mashed potatoes. Still, I have another 106 pages to read and hopefully there will be some genuinely simple and easy thing that I can serve up with microwave mash and instant gravy.

I don't want to be a domestic goddess, I just want simple easy food!

... and they're off!

Ladies and gentlemen, the screwups have commenced!

The DLA unit have sent me a set of irrelevant forms - the ones for if you are reporting a change in your condition that may affect your DLA entitlement.

They maintain that these forms would not have been sent if they hadn't been very specifically asked for. They did not have an answer to "why would we have asked for the "my condition has changed" forms, when the whole point of calling you was to outline that my condition has not changed at all?" other than to insist the incompetence (or as I tactfully phrased it "a misunderstanding, a bit of crossed wires") cannot possibly have been at their end.

If there is some poor sod out there who, on Monday, requested forms DLA454 to report a change in circumstances, and has instead received something along the lines of "so you'd like us to reconsider our decision..." then I'm really sorry. I don't have it in me to concurrently run an dispute about their decision regarding my DLA award, AND a complaint.

They told me on the phone that I have four weeks in which to put together as much additional information as possible for the reconsideration. However, the Evidence they are sending (all the evidence used to make their decision and the reasons for this decision) will not be with me for another 10-14 days. So if the third of these four weeks is a Bad Week for me, I'm screwed. There is no possibility of an extension.

I've been let down by DIAL as well. Possibly they're very busy, possibly they remember me as being all capable and independent from the work days, maybe they just don't like me - but the manager phoned me back and pretty much brushed me off with "you can deal with that yourself, because it's not a full-on appeal, just a reconsideration". Oh. Sorry to have bothered them. Obviously I phoned them for the fun of it, rather than because I'm at a stage of "please, please, somebody help me, I really cannot deal with this on my own, I have no resources, I don't know what's happening, and I don't know what to do..."

With this in mind I have sent money to the folk at Benefits and Work (with thanks to an anonymous commenter on an earlier post for flagging them) so that I can look at some of their handy online resources including titles like "Appealing against a Disability Living Allowance decision".

I wish there was some way that I could just, I don't know, sell a kidney or something and have someone take over all this Aaargh-ness.

On the happier side:

I've completed the inner panel of the knitting needle case and have started on the pockets.

One of the pockets requires beads, and I've just won the perfect ones from eBay.

I also won a new top from eBay (little bit of shopping therapy a couple of days ago). The top, plus my beads, plus the postage for each, totals about £5. Bargain.

Being back home has meant popping in to see Pip and the Littlun for a cuppa. Littlun gave me kisses and cuddles. Spontaneous ones as well, not the "go give (visitor) cuddles!" kind (which always make me feel uncomfortable - kids don't HAVE to cuddle me, you know?). I also got offered a slice of apple, which was yummy, and about a third of a chocolate biscuit, but it was a bit... slimy, so I turned it down in the politest manner possible. Still, he's learning about sharing.

Knitting seems to work

My Knitting
Originally uploaded by girl_of_bats.

An eventful and highly enjoyable day yesterday. I had arranged to go over to Norwich and meet a friend to go shopping and generally spend a bit of time together.

At about 9am, the Scarf In A Bag kit mentioned in my previous post arrived. It wasn't precisely what I was expecting - I had an idea in my head of there being a cheap but durable bag, with handles, maybe with a zip, which I could use to carry my knitting around. It turned out to be more "Scarf In A Plastic Packet". Still, the plastic packet did contain everything it was supposed to, so I decided that I would take it with me and learn how to knit while on the train.

So I did, as you can see. There were a couple of false starts while I was trying to cast on, and when I finally got my fingers and wool and needle in the right places and made the first stitch, then I couldn't remember what I'd done, and needed several more attempts at the next stitch. But after that it was really easy, just repeated the same actions until I had the right number of stitches to be getting on with.

The "pattern" for the scarf is not exciting. You just keep going and going and going with the same basic stitch until you run out of wool. Sounds good to me, it makes sense that before I try anything else I should be able to do the basic stitches in my sleep.

Mind you, it's still made a good attempt to confuse.

As a non-knitter it took a while to decipher this:

"Work in garter stitch (every row knit), noting first row is a WS row, until you have sufficient yarn remaining of the 2nd ball to enable you to cast off, ending with RS facing for next row. Cast off knitways."

Knitways? WS? RS facing? Did I neglect to buy the Collins English/Knitterish Dictionary?

There's also absolutely no indication, anywhere, of the correct manner in which to change from the end of the first ball of wool, to the beginning of the second. The obvious solution seems to be to tie the two together, but I don't want to make a big ugly knot in the middle of the scarf, and given that I was never a Girl Scout it is likely that such a knot, tied by me, would lead to an extremely weak point in the scarf, which would eventually undo itself and unravel the entire thing.

That's odd, because the instructions and diagrams for Casting On, Knit Stitch, and Casting Off are really, really clear and simple and easy to understand.


Anyway, I had quite a few respectable rows done (and still the same number of stitches as I started with) by the time the train pulled into Norwich.

Once again, I'd like to praise the wonderful service that is Norwich Shopmobility at Chapefield. Friendly, helpful, efficient, and two minutes and £1.50 later I was impressing my friend with my amazing driving skills. It was nice to be going shopping with a girly friend - Pip is wonderful, but a man in his late 20s fielding an energetic two year old is not an ideal partner for a disabled woman who wants to get clothes.

I wasn't feeling well enough to be able to try on any skirts or trousers, but I tried on and bought a couple of tops which I really liked. After a while I couldn't get on and off the scooter any more to go into shops, so I sat in Castle Mall enjoying a smoothie (banana and strawberry, mmmm!) and looking after the bags while my friend went in and out of shops. Then we went to the train station to have a cuppa and fill time until the next train home. It was marvellous to have a giggle and a chat, and while my exhaustedness meant I was glad to get on the train to head home, I did feel sorry that I couldn't stick around longer, get dinner and stuff.


Getting from my flat to Lowestoft train station is easy. You go straight downhill towards the river, along with the flow of the one-way northbound traffic, cross the bridge, and you're pretty much there. Taxi fare about £4. Getting back, from the train station to my flat, is another matter, particularly since the corresponding one-way road for southbound traffic is currently closed, along with many others. Last time I had to get a taxi home from the north side of the bridge (just over a week ago), what should have been about a £5 fare was more like £9, and it wasn't because the taxi driver was messing about - all the roads we wanted were closed.

But, it's not like I have a lot of choice in the matter. So when the train arrived at Lowestoft, I got in a cab, told the driver where I wanted to go, and when he pulled a face, explained that I knew the roads were snarled up and it would cost over the odds and that it wasn't important, I trusted whatever route he felt was best. At that point he amazed me by saying "Call it a fiver? That's about what it would normally cost, after all." and he turned the meter off. I felt kind of bad about it, but apparently a lot of the cab drivers are getting rather upset about having to effectively overcharge people. So I thanked him, and was happy.

Needless to say, today I am in a total state. Leaving my bed only to go to the loo or get a drink, and that crawling, crying in the half-hour before the Next Dose of painkillers, the lot. It's taken several hours to compose this blog entry. But it was really really worth it, because I had a great day.

Edited a couple of minutes after posting to correct a bit of grammar and add tags.