Heading Back To University – Part Two

It is early February and my daughter is returning to university after eight months at home, six of which she has spent on work placement in London. It has been lovely to have her at home and it almost felt like she’d never been away. When she first came home, in June, she didn’t seem entirely happy to be back. I think she had become used to eating what and when she wanted, coming and going as she pleased and now a little of her independence was gone upon her return.

Because she is doing a Business degree, two years of which involve work placements, she was unable to share a house with the friends she had made during her first year as they were all at university full time and I do think she felt that she was missing out socially. The Business students in Year Two and Year Three share the same student houses for a year. The Year Three Students have it for the first half of the academic year and the Year Two Students for the second half. In my daughter’s case, the contract with the landlady is for twelve students, it is all very complicated. Fortunately my daughter has made good friends with some people on her course and it is these girls she is now sharing with. In fact, this week, that are all heading off to Poland for somebody’s twenty first birthday. 

One of my work colleagues manages some student housing in the city where my daughter attends university and she said they won’t enter into such a complicated arrangement and a friend said they discounted letting their son do a course with a work placement because of the difficulty with finding housing. To be honest, it really hasn’t been a big deal, this particular university offer a lot of courses with work placements and the students always find housing but their choice may be a little limited. 

When I visit my daughter I usually take the train. It takes almost exactly the same amount of time as driving and you just step off the train into the heart of the city. Parking is near-impossible in this particular place as my husband and I found out the first time we drove. There are usually queues to even enter the car parks and, when you do, they are full, and roadside parking is mostly for permit holders only. This time we have to drive because my daughter is taking all her belongings back. Bed linen, pots and pans, clothes, sports equipment etc . I do wonder what students do if they have no access to a car. You can purchase bedding and kitchen sets from the university and arrive with just a suitcase but then all the household stuff will need to be stored somewhere during the summer. Or perhaps students enlist a parent or friend to help them carry it home on public transport. I’m probably overthinking it!

We arrive at the house, which looks small from the outside but the landlady has crammed six bedrooms in. The whole house is freshly panted in white and looks reasonably clean at first glance. My daughter’s is filled with furniture that most charity shops wouldn’t accept and the drawers and wardrobe are covered in grime, inside and out. We have to wipe down everything. There is a frayed extension cord and a filthy mirror which isn’t really a mirror but foil over some hardboard. The staircase down to the kitchen in the basement is a slippery death trap and nobody over 5’9″ can stand up straight in the communal living area. Even crouching, my husband hurts his head on the smoke alarm attached to the already low ceiling. The downstairs floor is uncovered concrete with an oily stain. My daughter is paying a small fortune in rent as are the other students and I feel that the landlady has done the bare minimum make the place comfortable. I am surprised the stairs even passed building regulations. I can see my agitation is annoying my daughter, she doesn’t want her friends to hear my complaining, so I keep quiet.

My daughter has chosen some bed linen from Urban Outfitters so we remove the existing, disgusting mattress cover and replace it with a new one. The room looks better once the bed is made. The wardrobe appears to have come from a 1930s boarding school and has hardly any hanging space but lots of shelves. Somehow we manage to find a home for everything. There are no locks on any of the internal doors, even the two bathrooms which are both downstairs, and my husband is understandably not happy about this. What if one of the other students has a party and my daughter is out. What is to stop anybody rummaging about or even stealing her things. Or worse still, coming into her room uninvited when she is there? He asks her to email the landlady and request locks but my daughter and her friends seem reluctant. 

My husband orders a new extension cable and we take my daughter into town for lunch. We have to keep moving the car throughout the day as the only parking spaces we can find are for a maximum of two hours. After lunch we go to Lidl and buy my daughter some groceries. She buys mushrooms and peas neither of which she will eat at home!

When my daughter was on campus she had everything on her doorstep but now she either has to walk or take the bus. If she just has one lecture it is a lot of effort for an hour. She plays a lot of sport and has said it is a pain going back and forth . Some of the friends she shared accommodation with last year are in the next road which is nice. She will be in this house until June when she will be home for the summer. She will then return to the same house in September until around Easter next year when her second work placement will begin. I spoke to her today and she seems to have settled in happily enough and had just cooked herself some sort of pasta dish with the peas and mushrooms. They must taste different when she cooks them!

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Windows on Unsplash

Perfume Pretenders

My twenty year old daughter had some friends round and one of them walked into our house on a cloud of what of what I assumed was Chanel’s CoCo Mademoiselle. I have a love-hate relationship with this particular fragrance. I love it on anybody else but it smells slightly sour on me and is guaranteed to give me a migraine. There is a note in many Chanel fragrances that gives me a headache, I can really only wear Chance. My daughter’s friend said no way could she afford Chanel, they are all students, she was wearing Soft Iris by Marks & Spencer.

On my next visit to M & S I found the scent, priced at £10 and sprayed a tiny amount onto my wrist. An hour later it smelled prettier on me than Madomoiselle and, more importantly, no migraine! I bought a bottle. The range also includes a few other well-known perfume “dupes”. Pink Pepper is apparently a dead-ringer for Lancome’s La Vie Est Belle, a wildly popular and very sweet perfume . Fresh Mandarin supposedly smells like Caroline Herrera’s Good Girl. The girls in Ms Herrera’s fragrance campaign have to be good while the boys get to be bad, rather unimaginative gender-stereotyping in my opinion but that is beside the point, the CH perfume is lovely and it comes in a high-heeled shoe shaped bottle. There is also a Jo Malone wannabe in the range, Sea Salt and Neroli . M & S sell a pack of all the various testers for £5 which is fantastic value. I think this would make a nice little gift for a teenage girl.

Perfume is one of things that is so easy to get wrong and is is an expensive mistake if you end up with a £75 bottle of something that you no longer like after a couple of days. I have re-sold so many used-twice bottles on eBay over the years. Now I generally buy Chanel body sprays, which are around £30, because they are less strong than even the EDTs and are not headache inducing. They last for ages too as you only need to spray a tiny amount. If I am considering a new fragrance I will usually buy a sample on eBay and wear it for a couple of weeks or so before committing to a fully sized bottle but, most days, I don’t bother with perfume anymore.

While in Marks and Spencer I also bought a small make up bag for my handbag, a bargain at £6, and a delicious bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich!  

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Laura Chouette on Unsplash

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A Trip To The Theatre – The Mousetrap

My friend Helen and I like to go out somewhere nice every few months or so. In between these trips we will go for walks to the cinema or just have a coffee but we both work hard and like to treat ourselves to a theatre trip or visit a nice restaurant once in a while. Just for a change of scene as much as anything else I think. It’s also nice to have a catch up during the train journey into London.

This time we decided to go and see the long-running play The Mousetrap. Based on the famous murder mystery by Agatha Christie, it is the longest running play in the West End, showing since 1952 . I was in two minds about going to see this because, thanks to an unwelcome spoiler on a radio arts show, I already knew whodunnit but it seemed like something we would both enjoy and reasonably priced tickets were available.

We decided to go for dinner before the show and I booked a table at a small restaurant called Violas in Tavistock Street. As seems to be the case nowadays I had to provide my card details when booking online and was informed that, in the event of us not attending, I would be charged £40. This is the steepest no-show fee I have encountered but I suppose it is Covent Garden. Anyway, Violas is very prettily decked out with lots of artificial flowers everywhere (must be a nightmare to dust) and there are faux fur throws on the back of each chair. The staff were unsmiling apart from the French manager who was running up and down the stairs to the kitchen every five minutes and apologetically explaining to customers that there would be at least a twenty minute wait for their food. This obviously isn’t ideal if you have to be at the theatre at Seven O’Clock and the party on the table next to use took their food away in take-out boxes and asked for the service charge to be removed from the bill. 

I ordered the Black Truffle Pasta which was absolutely delicious . Helen wanted the Salmon but this wasn’t available so she ended up with the Prawn Pasta. Her dish was a plate of tagliatelle with a few prawns, one sliver of aubergine and not much else. Disappointing. We both had a coke to drink and the bill, including tip was about £50. I would have liked a desert but we ran out of time.

Thanks to the miracle that is Google Maps and Helen’s navigational skills we found our way in the nick of time to St. Martin’s Theatre in West Street. We had paid £40 for each of our tickets and we were sitting very high up in the Upper Circle, the stairs are very steep and quite deep. There was a long queue for the two cubicles in the ladies toilets which would have benefitted from a freshen up. We decided not to have a drink during the interval although we did go into the tiny bar which is right behind the light-up sign. The window was open and it was nice to get some fresh air as I had an immovable migraine. As is typical of these old theatres, there is very little leg-room between the seats. It would have nice to have had the option of borrowing some of those little binoculars, or Opera Glasses, to see the actor’s faces more clearly. 

Although I already knew who the villain was, I knew very little about the story itself. Set in a guest house called Monkswell Manor, it tells the story of the two young guest house owners who find themselves hosting an odd assortment of strangers during a snowy night. There has been a shocking murder nearby and investigations have led the local police sergeant to their door. I thought the actors were speaking too quickly at the beginning and it took me a while to settle into the story which, to be honest, was a bit daft but enjoyable. Another friend coincidentally went to see The Mousetrap the night before us and she described it as “a homely play” and that seems quite an apt description.

The woman sitting next to me kept whipping out her iPhone and checking her social media. She was in her fifties, old enough to know better and I found it very distracting. She also kept muttering the dialogue under her breath. She seemed a bit strange so I just tried to ignore her.

We enjoyed The Mousetrap but I was pleased we hadn’t spent a lot of money on the tickets and it definitely isn’t something I would want to see twice. We walked back to Charing Cross station where a train was already waiting on the platform. Towards the end of the journey a very drunk man walked through the carriage asking the other passengers for money. This can be very intimidating, especially if you are travelling by yourself. He didn’t cause any trouble though. We were back in our home town by ten forty five.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

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This Week I Have Been…

Reading – Romantic Comedy by Curtis Sittenfeld

I have read all of Sittenfeld’s books, my favourite being Sisterland her brilliant novel about twins. I also would also thoroughly recommend her very witty short story collection You Think It, I’ll Say It. Partly set during the pandemic, Romantic Comedy is a story about Sally, a writer for a late night comedy sketch show and Noah, a successful and handsome pop star. Noah appears on the show Sally writes for, Night Owls, as a guest host and asks Sally to help him finesse a sketch he has written himself. Like many of Sittenfeld’s female characters Sally pulls off an epic act of self sabotage putting the brakes on any burgeoning romance between her and Noah. She can’t bring herself to believe that he could be interested in her. Then the pandemic hits and they being to exchange emails. Sally’s surname is Milz and her email address is Smilz (Smiles – get it?) little details like this are so beautifully thought out

Romantic Comedy is brilliantly funny and very touching. Sally and Noah are such lovely characters that I found myself really caring about what happened to them. I also particularly liked Jerry, Sally’s step-father and his pet beagle, Sugar. This is a long story but, like any book by Sittenfeld , it is well worth the effort

Watching – Expats on Netflix

Expats, based on the novel by Janice Y.K. Lee, stars Nicole Kidman as Margaret and Ji-young Yoo as Mercy. Margaret’s husband, Clarke, played by Brian Tee, is offered a chance by the big conglomerate that he works for to relocate to Hong Kong for three years. His company put in place a generous package including private school for the children, a maid and chauffeur and they move into a spacious apartment. The chauffeurs are privy to all the comings and goings and private conversations, they are so quiet their passengers seem to forget they are even there. The family, including Margaret and Clarke’s three children, Daisy, Philip and little Gus find themselves amongst the the community of other wealthy ex-pats including neighbours Hilary and David who seem to have a complicated relationship to say the least. Life seems to be a round of glamorous but dull dinner parties and Margaret, who is a landscape gardener, has no real purpose. She looks down on the other women who are just “wives” despite being one of them herself. Then, on one such social occasion taking place on a boat, Margaret and Mercy cross paths. Three year old Gus is being a terror and Mercy steps in and helps. Margaret offers her an evenings trial as a nanny as she feels that the children are becoming too devoted to their current “help” , Essie. Mercy and Margaret take the children to visit the busy night-market and life changes forever.

I know that Kidman has won Oscars but, it seems to me, that she often plays the same person over and over. Margaret has stiff mannerisms, is uptight and is rather brittle with her speech. Kidman, aged fifty-six, is also too old to be playing the mother of a three year old. For some reason, when she is dressed to go out for an evening her hair is styled like a WWII evacuee. I have watched the first three episodes, it is a little slow but, no doubt, I’ll finish the series now.

Listening to – Hunting Warhead Podcast on Apple Music

Hunting Warhead tells the story of the Australian Police’s investigation into a huge child pornography website and the peadophile responsible for running it, Canadian, Benjamin Faulkner. The host is Daemon Fairless who sounds uncannily like Alec Baldwin. He is very sensitive in his presentation of the case and in his interviews with the people involved including the mother of one of the infant victims.

The subject matter definitely makes for difficult listening. The lengths some of the investigators go to to identify children at risk are extraordinary. The victims can be absolutely anywhere in the world and there is a huge market in supplying horrifying, exploitative content. The investigators refer to such websites as child abuse sites, not pornography. The website featured in this particular investigation, Child’s Play had over a million subscribers. It is staggering to think how many people get gratification from looking at images that most of us would find sickening. 

One of the guests on Hunting Warhead is a psychologist specialising in peodophilic behaviour and he explains that often a person will realise that they are attracted to children at around the time they are twelve or thirteen years old. If that person wants help with controlling their inappropriate feelings they are usually met with a brick wall, there is little research on curtailing this type of impulse. They grow up ashamed with nowhere to turn to for help. Most of these people realise that it would be wrong to act on the attraction they feel but some, of course, do go on to abuse children. The psychologist states that not all child abusers are peodophiles and not all peodophiles are chid abusers. Faulkner himself states that he was madly in love with a four year old. It really is horrifying to listen to his interviews, he is not remorseful at all. Had he been detained in Canada he would have received a relatively light sentence but Faulkner was arrested in Virginia and will serve thirty five years in prison.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

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Heading Back To University – Part One

Yesterday my husband and I took my daughter back to university to begin her second year of studies. She had been at home for eight months, six of which she spent on a work placement in London. She is doing a four year Business degree with two, six month placements, one at the beginning of Year Two and one at the end of Year Three. My daughter was fortunate to find a work placement fairly quickly but, nevertheless, I think the application process is very stressful for the students. They cannot remain on the course if they fail to find a placement and it has to be a role which is relevant to the degree. It puts them under a lot of pressure at a time when they also have exams to sit.

The Placement Officers at the university released the available opportunities on a spreadsheet and then it was up to the students to send off their CVs and covering letters. Of course they were all applying for the same positions and it was difficult for them to see their friends being offered a placement before themselves. There were one or two roles on the list that we didn’t feel were necessarily right for my daughter, we didn’t want her to work for a company that didn’t even have a functioning website and was located in a not particularly safe area for example. I assume the university do their due diligence when sending these opportunities to the young students. A number of the placements were overseas, quite a few in Germany, so these were ideal for students with proficient language skills. There was one placement right in our town which would have been lovely and convenient but another student secured that.

Nearly all of the employers required online applications to be submitted, most of which take at least an hour to be completed. The covering letters of course have to be tailored to each position, it is all very time consuming. The interviews were all online, most students had at least two interviews for any role they were considered for.  My daughter was fortunate to be reasonably well paid for her placement but, by the end of the application process, some students accepted unpaid positions. As we live within easy commuting distance of London my daughter moved back home but students who live further afield also had to arrange and pay for accommodation near their temporary workplace. Living in any city is enormously expensive and I imagine it was difficult to make last-minute arrangements. I know all of my daughter’s friends were hugely relieved when they had secured their placements. 

I bought my daughter a couple of trouser suits for her placement, one from Next and one from Top Shop (still available at ASOS) but she didn’t wear either of them. The dress code in the office of the huge corporation she was working for was supposed to be Business Casual but it was actually extremely casual. My daughter, not someone who is particularly interested in clothes, wore some three quarter length trousers from Zara most days paired with a little shell top or cotton blouse. She just wore loafers on her feet. When it got colder she bought some wide leg trousers from Pull & Bear and wore a slim fit jumper on top. She said lots of people wore trainers in the office. Things have certainly changed since I worked in The City in the 90s.

For the first couple of weeks my daughter had to go into the office every day which, even with a 17-25 railcard is a huge expense. After the initial training period she was able to work from home for three days a week. She said there were days when she was the only one in her department who had gone in and that some people never seemed to put in an actual appearance at the office. 

My daughter was really well looked after during her placement and learned a lot. There were three other students from her course working in the same department. She said that the staff were very welcoming and patient if anybody needed any guidance. The students were expected to work hard and my daughter often had a long list of tasks to complete. They did a little bit of socialising after work but not as much as they would at university. I think it was a very positive experience for her. The company said they were delighted with my daughter’s performance and were sorry to see her leave. Unfortunately she can’t go back to the same place for her next placement so we will have to start the application process all over again.

Thank you for reading

Samantha

Cover Photo by Windows on Unsplash

Purse Predicament

In my recent post Shopping Shy I described how much my daughter hates shopping and that I think it’s the sense of overwhelm that is the problem. There is simply too much stuff to choose from. Gone are the days of going into a shop and having two or three choices. Now we all have fingertip access to thousands of retailers offering their, often very similar, wares.

In Ruby Wax’s book Frazzled she describes how the act of buying some cushions became a huge exercise in overthinking. I remember some years ago going onto Amazon to order some new salt and pepper grinders. There were hundreds and hundreds to choose from. Goodness knows how much time I wasted comparing them all, I actually began to feel quite stressed over this inconsequential decision. I eventually bought two perfectly ordinary wooden grinders which I have never given a second thought to since. 

This week I decided to buy a new purse. I wanted something smaller than I usually use with room for a few cards, a couple of coins and a little bit of cash. How hard could that be? Having sold several bags and purses on eBay as part of my ongoing de-cluttering exercise, I was in the position to treat myself to something nice if I wanted. I Googled small zip-around purse and was immediately swamped with choice. There was a beautiful Chanel number for an eye-watering price, I discounted that immediately as I have not won the lottery. Louis Vuitton have a pretty model for £350 but it’s still very expensive and I’m not a huge fan of their Monogram canvas. Mulberry have one for £240 but it is a little plain. Oliver Bonas have some at £26 but they aren’t leather although I was very tempted by the bright orange. I choose a glossy patent leather purse from French brand Isabel Bernard for £60 but a £30 delivery charge was added at checkout so I cancelled. Eventually, after much deliberating, I ordered one from the Kate Spade sale which came in at around £50. It arrived yesterday and is perfect. Phew.

I do wonder how all of these different retailers keep going, surely there can’t be that many people looking to buy the same product? I haven’t even mentioned all the hand made options available on Etsy. I buy most of my birthday cards from Etsy but I haven’t had a great experience with other items, the quality has been lacking or they just haven’t tuned up.

If you’d like to pick out your own small purse without the over-thinking drama, then take a look at my Pinterest board below, I have done the leg-work for you.

https://pin.it/rbgjK9HJ7

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by shawnanggg on Unsplash

The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Five

Both of my parents are becoming increasingly infirm so their GP arranged for a visit from the Occupational Therapist’s department. To prevent Mum telling them that they don’t need any help, I went along to join the meeting. The administrator they sent took herself off on a tour of my parents’ small house and came back into the living room with a list of modifications that they would make at no charge to Mum and Dad. The list included a second stair rail and hand rails either side of the front door both inside and out. They also supplied sturdy walking sticks, a foot stool and commode and a stool for the kitchen. Mum uses the footstool as a coffee table and the commode and kitchen stool are just gathering dust in the corner of their dining room. I expect there are unused items like this all over the country, what a colossal waste of NHS money. As the woman left the house my mum bellowed “Bugger Off”. My parents don’t swear and never in my entire life have I heard Mum speak this way. I told her she was being rude and she just replied “I can say a lot worse than that”. In that moment she didn’t seem like the Mum I know at all. 

The woman visited my parents on a Tuesday and the workman arrived to carry out her instructions two days later. The handrail going up their stairway has really made their staircase a lot safer and Mum sort of pulls herself up.

Unfortunately the workman may as well have erected a huge sign stating Vulnerable elderly people live here, feel free to rip them off. They now seem to be targeted by every cowboy, rogue trader conman within a one hundred mile radius. I bought two stickers for their front door saying No cold callers, the police will be informed, but it has made no difference. A week or so after the rails were fitted I went to visit my parents and their, even more elderly, next door neighbours were having their driveway jet washed by a man who had pitched up at their door in a shabby white truck, no company name or branding. He was simply blasting all the dirt onto my parent’s driveway and also all over their brand new garage doors. I looked at him, horrified and he stood very still and glared at me as if daring me to say something. I decided not to. His young son, was playing on my parent’s front garden. I had a cup of tea with my parents and warned them again about people like this aggressive looking man. I told Dad not to answer the door to anyone they don’t know. Later that evening Dad rang and announced that the man had returned and washed his driveway for the bargain price of £90. I imagine the thug knocked on their door and Dad felt too intimidated to refuse. Their garage doors were completely showered in dirt and the driveway did not look any different.

Since my uncle’s death seen years ago my aunt lives alone. She was watching television recently when there was a knock at her front door and a man informed her that her roof needed repairing and he was the bloke for the job. My aunt was telling him, no she already has someone to take care of home repairs when she heard a crash. Another man was actually already on her roof and had dislodged some tiles. My aunt, very shaken, told them to get off her property and called the police, who did absolutely nothing. She then had to pay a roofer to repair the damage these low-lives had caused. 

My mother-in-law, a very vulnerable individual, lost her savings in a foreign property scam. The fraudster, David Ames, the head of a company called Harlequin, persuaded her to invest in holiday homes that weren’t built. He was sentenced to twelve years in prison and stole the savings of thousands of hard-working people, some of them could not retire because of their losses. Ames personally rang my mother-in-law to persuade her to keep “investing”. She thought he was a nice man. Anyone speaking to her is immediately aware that she is not capable of making any important financial decisions herself. No wonder he took such an interest. My mother-in-law didn’t tell anyone about her so-called “investments” until her bank account had been drained.

One of the many reasons that my mum could never live alone is because she would be so vulnerable to fraudsters. Where I live we have regular “Nottingham Knockers” calling selling dusters from the pound shop for £10 and claiming to be on a young offenders rehabilitation scheme. There is no such scheme, it is a scam. If you politely decline to buy anything you are more than likely to be called a vile name and have your car keyed. These people are the reason I now have a Ring video doorbell after I opened the door the an aggressive young man who bizarrely demanded I give him dry clothes as it was raining. He got verbally very abusive when I refused. 

So how to protect our elderly relatives (and ourselves) from scammers? Not opening the door to people they don’t know is the main thing in my opinion. My dad thinks he is being clever by engaging telephone scammers in chat but this is a mistake, these people are criminals, just put the phone down and block the number. If the elderly person lives alone and does open the door to a uninvited “tradesman” then they should pretend there is somebody else at home. I tell my dad to say that his sons do all the repairs on his house. If someone claiming to be from their bank rings then put the phone down and ring the bank, on another phone if possible. If ringing on the same phone then wait half an hour. I read about a woman who thought she was ringing her bank to check the validity of a call she’d just received but the fraudsters had stayed on the line and she was simply still speaking to them. She said the man seemed so helpful as he defrauded her out of ten thousand pounds. These people are often very charming. The old saying goes that a fool and their money are soon parted but, these days, anyone can become a victim of fraud. It is a sad world when we have to be so suspicious of everybody.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

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Bass Guitar Blues

For a joint Christmas and birthday present this year we bought my youngest son a beautiful new Fender electric bass guitar. I must admit I was slightly stunned by how much these things cost but we managed to get the model he wanted in the sales . My son had said that he’d like to sell his old guitar but first it needed to be sent off for repair. As it was still under warranty I was able to return it to the company I bought it from but they were very clear that it must be properly packaged up as they would not be liable for damage in transit. As I had disposed of the original box ages ago I had to buy a new box on eBay for £15. It was too small. So I had to buy a bigger box on eBay for £20. Ugh, annoying. My son really looks after his things so his gleaming black guitar was duly packaged up and I arranged for the courier to collect it, another £6.50. When the very surly courier arrived I asked him nicely if he could make sure that the guitar was carefully placed on the van. I had marked the box This Way Up and Fragile, Handle With Care in thick red marker on on every surface. It is a bit of a clue isn’t it? Anyway, the courier grunted, gave me a contemptuous look, completely ignored my request to hold the box a a certain way and slung the guitar on the back of the van. Ok, to be fair, I don’t actually know that he slung my son’s precious guitar but I bet he did. A couple of days later I received an email from the repair company along with some photos of my son’s guitar. It had a big chunk missing out of it and was horribly scratched. Hundreds of pounds worth of damage, more than the instrument is actually worth. I nearly cried. 

I asked the guitar company how I could go about claiming compensation from the courier but they told me that it had not been sufficiently packaged. This despite me using the worlds’ most expensive cardboard box, bubble wrap and plastic bags. So, instead of being angry with the miserable, incompetent sod of a courier I started berating myself. I have an airing cupboard full of old mattress protectors which are padded, why didn’t I think to wrap the guitar up in one of those? Why didn’t I buy more bubble wrap? I lost SO much sleep with this whirring around and around in my head. I still haven’t told my son about the damage and we haven’t had the guitar back yet. Fortunately he is thrilled with his new model. He is a good natured boy anyway and will probably just wonder what his daft mother is getting so worked up about. What’s done is done, there is no point dwelling on this. These things happen sometimes.

It must be nice to go through life not worrying about anything, just brushing problems off like water off a duck’s back .  My daughter has just come back from Cape Verde and is now wearing bracelets and a T shirt emblazoned with the island’s motto No Stress. Hotel guests were greeted with Hakuna Matata which, if you have ever seen The Lion King, you will know means No Worries or Take it Easy, It is a Swahili expression used by people who are clearly more laid-back than I am.

No Stress definitely isn’t my motto, more’s the pity, but perhaps I could try Less Stress, it would probably do me good.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Header Photo by Susan Mohr on Unsplash

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The Dementia Diaries – Chapter Four

I’m out for a walk when I pass the vicar of our village church. She hurries past, head down and lips pressed together, her body language telling me she does not want to engage in even brief pleasantries. She has been the vicar here for about twenty years, she christened two of my children but I no longer attend church having lost my faith some years ago. I had a fairly religious upbringing, Church of England school and Sunday School every week although my dad, an atheist or perhaps an agnostic, only sets foot in church for weddings and funerals. My mum, however attended the village church almost every single week of the first twenty years that she lived here. Sadly, for the past few years it has been beyond her capabilities to attend. She has probably forgotten that the church even exists.

Despite the fact that my mum was such a regular, the vicar has not once knocked on my parents’ door to see how they are. It’s been three years at least since my mum last made it to church, surely a quick home visit would be the usual protocol. The vicar must have seen them regularly stumbling along the lane to the village shops or waiting at a bus stop. We all live in a small village in Kent. My house is a stone’s throw from the church and my parents aren’t more than a few minutes walk. Was my mum such an invisible or unimportant member of the congregation that nobody noticed when she stopped attending after twenty years? What is the point of a vicar if he/she doesn’t even check up on their parishioners? You can probably tell, I am quite resentful about this.

On a more positive note, my mum and dad have been noticed by lots of people and have received some lovely offers of help. For the past couple of years they have rarely left the village but, before then, drivers would often see them waiting at a bus stop and pull over and offer them a lift. More than one complete stranger drove them into town and left a phone number in case they needed further lifts. My parents have never driven and I do think their knowledge of public transport was very beneficial to them until recently. The local bus drivers would literally drop them at their front door. Now I have to take them anywhere they need to go and my mum struggles to get in and out of my car. They do still manage to walk to the village shops once a week though and are always warmly greeted in the little cafe .

My parents live close to a school and I am sometimes irritated by the careless pavement parking outside their house but one or two of the young mums have put notes through my parents’ front door asking if they need help with shopping. During the pandemic complete strangers put cards through with telephone numbers and offers of help on them. Most people are kind.

When I took my mum and dad for their last vaccination my mum was doddering along to the clinic holding onto my dad, to be honest they seem to hold each other up, and a woman said quietly to me she’d often spotted them around and that she really admired them. ”That generation are so stoic and just get on with things don’t they?” she commented. Yes, they do. My dad literally never complains about anything or anyone. Unfortunately I do think that people who kick up a fuss get the most help, my mother-in-law being a case in point.

My parents’ next door neighbour, ninety years old, rang me after my dad’s heart attack asking if there was anything she could do. Bless her, she was then looking after her husband with Alzheimer’s and had her hands completely full. If my dad hasn’t seen her for a couple of days he rings just to make sure she is alright. Decent, kind people looking after each other. The world needs more of that

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Cover Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

A view of our village church

Vampiric Friends

I saw a wonderful post on the Facebook page of The New York Times this week describing a type of person that most of us come across at some point in our lives, The Energy Vampire. The piece, written by Jancee Dunn, resonated with me so much. Until recently I had two major Energy Vampires in my life but one of them appears to have decided that I am no longer useful to her. This was somebody who I had always been more of an acquaintance than a friend until I bumped into her during Lockdown whilst out on a walk and we decided we would walk together once a week. The walk itself was beautiful but very secluded in places and I felt safer with somebody else. It soon became apparent however that this person was just going to spend the two hours or so it took to complete the circuit talking about herself. She was clearly very unhappy and complained about everything and everyone. If I interjected at any point during the monologue a fleeting look of irritation would cross her face, she’d mutter something and carry right on speaking. I really tried my best to listen and to be supportive by simply being there however, on one of these walks she didn’t ask me a single question about my life until we were approaching her driveway. She then appeared to remember that there was actually another person present and half-heartedly asked how things were with me. It was so obvious that she wasn’t interested in my reply that I made my excuses and took myself home. I felt utterly exhausted and not from the walking.

Perhaps I am being a little uncharitable, it must be awful to go through life finding fault with everything and maybe she was suffering from low-mood. I try to be a compassionate person but friendship is a give and take relationship and I can’t be friends with somebody who barely acknowledges my existence even when I am standing right next to them. This particular person has now moved to another area without so much as a goodbye so I was spared the awkwardness of distancing myself.

The other energy-draining person in my life is a relative. I rang her recently to give her some exciting news concerning one of my children. I was one the phone for an hour and hung up without even having an opportunity to impart my news. Instead, I had to listen to a long, boring story she had told me at least three times before about people I don’t know. I tried to blurt my news out but she just raised her voice over mine and in the end I just zoned out and gave up. Despite being a close relative they barely ask about my mum and dad who are struggling at the moment and this just demonstrates how little they really care. I don’t have the option of cutting this individual out of my life but I have reduced the number of times I ring to check up on them. I always have to work myself up to call because I dread it so much.

Perhaps we all have the capacity to be Energy Vampires when we are going through a bad time. Sometimes I will pick up a certain friend for a trip to the cinema or to a restaurant and, before she has even put her seatbelt on, I will be blurting out everything that has annoyed me since I last saw her. Usually though, after a few minutes I realise I haven’t even asked how she is and I hastily stop talking and check in with my friend. Sometimes, she does the same thing. We should all be able to vent to people who care about us and we should afford them the same courtesy. If it is all talk and no listen though it is probably time to reevaluate your relationship.

Thank you for reading,

Samantha

Header Photo by Loren Cutler on Unsplash