Bloody Monday

As I was making my breakfast this morning Jayne came into the kitchen and said we had no hot water or heat. Brilliant. I had a look at the boiler and did what they’d done last time it did this but nothing happened, so I said I’d ring the landlord when I got to work. No shower for me this morning. I’m ok. I’ll pass.

Just called the landlord and, miracles, he answered the phone. I told him the problem and he said ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m not your landlord any more.’ WHAT? Oh no, they completed sale of the property on 20th December. Nice to be informed of that, huh? Phillips Estates are our contact now, and they should have been in touch. I kind of also think it would have been nice if he had told us himself, but I am not overly surprised, they didn’t tell us they were selling the place to begin with.

Called Phillips, told them about boiler, someone will see to it. And also about this. ‘Oh. You should have had a letter.’ ‘We haven’t had a letter.’ ‘Oh’ Come on people! You run a f-ing business! Make sure you have been in touch with who you need to be! At this moment, my rent is still scheduled to come out and go to my old landlord. Obviously I need to stop that and find out who should be getting my money. Also, they have our deposits now. This is something that should be discussed. What about contracts? Who is our landlord? Are we going to be able to stay? It’s called communication!

Jesus. You’d think I’d be used to this by now, but my mind is still boggled.

Things I know today, that yesterday I didn’t

Last night was my bookclub, where we had read A Christmas Carol. I was quite pleasantly surprised actually, having feared all things Dickens for some years and avoided him like the plague. This was very short (yay), and easy to read. Not remotely surprising, in that, once you’ve seen A Muppet Christmas Carol (which I really really want to watch again now) and Scrooged you know it all, but it was still enjoyable anyway.

However, I won’t go on about that, when I could instead tell you what I discovered, and that is, there is a Charles Dickens Theme Park! In Kent! Whose brilliant idea was this? Now, the person who told me about this has been, and said it is incredibly naff and there’s not much there, and having looked on their website and taken the ‘tour’, I can see what he means. There seem to be many more restrooms than there are actual rides. And there’s a Courtyard. How exciting. And Fagin’s Den for the little ones, and a Greengrocer’s. The main rides seem to be the Haunted House, where you can view ghosts from Dickens stories (ooooh), and the Great Expectations boat ride, which must be one hell of a speedboat, seeing as you can’t go on if you’re pregnant or have a bad back. Or maybe that’s something to do with Magwitch. I haven’t read Great Expectations, who is Magwitch and what has he got against pregnant ladies?

Also, the gift shop is called The Old Curiosity Shop. See what they did there?

I kind of want to go. Although not badly enough to spend £12.50 for the pleasure.

Sickened

My dislike of Eamonn Holmes grows.

Firstly his comment about the McCann’s this morning that “people want to be reassured that they are suffering”. People Eamonn, or you? Actually that’s probably unfair, as I know a lot of people in this country do feel that way.  Clarence Mitchell, the spokesman for the McCanns, was much more poised in his reaction than I would have been. Are people not going to be satisfied until they are on television 24/7 wailing and screaming about their child? Nevermind the fact that they have two other children to look after and a missing child to find? I find this whole mentality quite sick. It seems to be a form of sport or entertainment now to watch them, to judge them. What concern is it of ours whether they are suffering or not, or how much they are suffering? This is not Big Brother. It is not a game show. When it ends, if we decide we like them enough, if we decide they have suffered sufficiently for our liking, they don’t win their daughter back. They don’t win anything.

As for Eamonn in general, I really wish Sky News would get rid of him. He is not a news reader to me. I can’t take him seriously. His words have no weight behind them. Half the time I am not convinced he has any idea what he is talking about. There’s too much of his own opinion wrapped up in what he says. If I want opinion I’ll watch GMTV (which I don’t, seeing as Fiona Phillips is even more annoying and idiotic).

And in my usual unrelated news, I have Tonsillitis, which is a great big barrel of laughs.

Oh and I’m rather annoyed about this too:

I’m just a little ball of rage today it seems.

The winner of the Man Booker Prize, Anne Enright, has written a 2000 word essay for The London Review of Books entitled Disliking the McCanns. In it she writes:

“Disliking the McCanns is an international sport,” and “I disliked the McCanns earlier than most people (although I am not proud).” Um, are you sure about that?

“I thought I was angry with them for leaving their children alone. In fact, I was angry at their failure to accept that their daughter was probably dead.”

Look, I don’t claim to be an expert on anything to do with this case. I’ve followed it quite closely, mainly because at one point you couldn’t shift for it, but I don’t know all the details and we can’t know all the details. A lot of what we read about it is completely made up, just speculation and gossip, feeding into that hideous culture of ours where digging up dirt on people is a fun sport. But what the hell has it got to do with this woman anyway? Who is she to decide who should and should not be liked? Why is it necessary to write an essay about it? It couldn’t possibly be to gather more publicity for herself now, could it?

She also says that it is Gerry McCann that she most dislikes, because, “The sad fact is that this man cannot speak properly about what is happening to himself and his wife… the language he uses is more appropriate to a corporate executive than to a desperate father. This may just be the way he is made. This may be all he has of himself to give the world just now.”

Is it not also possible that, because he is a suspect in the case and not allowed to talk about certain facts, he’s being very careful of what he says so he doesn’t end up in prison? And just what should a desperate father sound like? Should grieving parents be given a step by step guide on how to act in situations where their innocence may be called into doubt? Should they both be complete wrecks every time they are seen on camera? Just because they do not weep in public does not mean they don’t do it behind closed doors. Keeping up a show of grief 24/7 would be exhausting, if grieving for your lost child in your own way is not exhausting enough anyway.

It’s probably clear where I stand on this, that I will be beyond shocked if it turns out they had something to do with her disappearance (though I am willing to keep an open mind of course). But I am sick of people jumping on the bandwagon and slamming people when really they have no idea about the situation. Just because they too may be in the public eye does not give them any more right to criticise them. Don’t they get enough of that every day anyway?

I was rather astounded that this woman has children of her own to be honest. Angry at their failure to accept she is dead? Can’t they hold on to what little hope there is left?

It has made me not want to read that damn book anyway.

I apologise for my capital letter abuse

It’s Friday. I should have that Friday feeling. But I don’t. Instead I am incredibly hot and bothered because people are F***ING STUPID!!! I am doing mailings at work. I ordered labels through the company we usually buy addresses from. They sent me an invoice THAT IS WRONG. I have explained why it is wrong, with full details. She comes back and says it is correct (with the wrong info in the email). I explain again why it is wrong and also send her my final counts to show her, with evidence, why it is wrong. She says if it is wrong (IF, IF!!!) they will send me a credit. I don’t want a credit. I want a proper invoice with the right amount on it. This hasn’t been paid yet and it really screws up my mailings budget if I have to account for this money. The error is on their end. She made the mistake. Suck it up and send me another frigging invoice!

Good God. I hate stupid people. I am shit at maths and yet I still worked out what I should be owed very easily. It aint rocket science.

China’s Stolen Childen

I watched this documentary on Channel 4 last night. Yet another reminder of how ignorant I am about what is going on in the world. For some reason I thought the one child rule in China had sort of sorted itself out and wasn’t as strict as it used to be. I suppose it’s not, if you have the money.

Apparently in China 70,000 children go missing every year, stolen from their parents by traffickers and sold for whatever they can get. Of course, boys still cost more and ‘ugly baby girls’ cannot be given away. The main couple in the programme were looking for their five year old son, Chen Jie, missing for over seven months. I cannot imagine what that is like, not knowing where your child is, or if they are safe and being looked after. I watched the whole thing thinking ‘Please find their baby’. But there was no happy ending for them. He’s just simply gone. The Chinese government doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it, so they turn to an investigator who has found missing children in the past. You can see the strain on this man’s face as he talks about the children and the traffickers. He’s fighting a losing battle and wishes to change jobs.

So, why is this happening? The film tells us it’s down to the one child rule. If you follow the rules you have one child. You are given a birth permit and once it is born are issued a birth certificate. If you become pregnant with another your option is abortion or a huge fine, more money than you can make in years. Poor families cannot pay, so often have the baby in hiding and later sell it. To me this seems like an excellent way for the government to make money off of poor people.

Another couple featured is having to sell their baby girl because they are too young to get married. Unmarried people cannot be issued a birth permit, no permit no birth certificate. These children do not officially exist. They cannot go to school. Their lives will be much worse (which doesn’t seem possible). Selling them at least gives them a chance. Watching them discussing her price with a trafficker I wanted to stop them, tell them I would send them the money for the fine, how much can it be? Turns out baby girls are sold for as little as £200.

Boys are still desired. Women are still aborting when they discover they are having girls. So there’s a shortage of girls which leads to older girls being trafficked so the boys can have wives. It is custom for girls to move in with their husband’s family and take care of his family in their old age. If you only have a girl and cannot afford the fine which comes with having another child, there will be no one to look after you.

The trafficker they speak to (who had sold his own youngest son when his wife died) said:

“There must be something wrong with treating children like goods, but I just can’t figure out why that is.”

Am I really living in the 21st Century?

If you missed it and are interested it’s repeated on More 4 on Wednesday. Or you can find out more
here and also
here where you can also make a donation to help find Chen Jie and others like him.

I guess that’s my soap box for the day.

Ewwwwwwwww

Last week at work Rebekah came in to find a bread roll she’d left on the top of the fridge had a rather suspicious hole in it. We believe it had been chewed on by a mouse. So we have mouse-proofed all the kitchen, and I hadn’t thought anything more about it really, because it’s not like I’m going to come in and find one sitting on my desk staring at me…

But I hadn’t counted on Rebekah’s cry this morning of ‘There’s mouse poo on my desk!’ I thought it might be something else mistaken for it, but no, a closer (not too close) inspection proved otherwise. And there was loads on my desk behind my computer too! Ugh.

Have spent the last half an hour cleaning my desk and thinking I’ll never eat my lunch here again.

But, ok, it’s Friday so that’s nice. And we have a big new tv in the living room waiting to be tuned in (we have terrible reception though so need freeview box plugging in), and a ladder coming tomorrow so I can stop the hideous smoke alarm beep and change more light bulbs. Oh yes, and sleep lots.

Flat rant

Last (old) update of the day. I might actually bring myself to write some new stuff here at some point. But at least now it looks like I write here.

Got home Tuesday night after having a lovely afternoon out at Brown’s Hotel with work. We had tea which consists of tea (obviously, but many many different kinds are on offer) and tiny sandwiches with no crusts with fillings like cucumber and cream cheese, egg and cress, salmon, and cheese and tomato, and also wee little scones with jam and clotted cream and then other pastries and cakes AND Victoria sponge cake. Groan. I brought home a goody box but unfortunately after a tube ride from hell which saw Euston and King’s Cross closed due to overcrowding and being shoved up against the door for the duration I found everything in the box smushed together and covered in blueberry. Including the sandwiches. Sigh.

I then checked my messages to find one about our flat. It was an estate agent telling me the previous offer on the place has been withdrawn, so it is going back on the market. Brilliant. So the odds of us knowing whether we are staying or going anytime soon just went down. Not only that, she said ‘We’d like to arrange a viewing to value the property and would like to come round tomorrow. Please give me a call. If I don’t hear from you I will assume it is ok.’ Um NO. It is not ok. You cannot just waltz into our home without our say so! What if I haven’t received the message? Also, our contract says we are supposed to be given written notice and 24 hours before anyone can come in, and if it is not convenient another time can be arranged. I called back and had to leave a message, but who’s to say they won’t just stroll in anyway and then say ‘Oh, I thought it was ok?’

I am so tired of flat crap. Are we moving? Are we staying? I’m beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t be better for my mental health just to prepare to move anyway.

And also! I don’t think the landlord should be giving out our phone numbers to estate agents without at first calling us to let us know what’s going on. We should be the first to find out these things and it is just common courtesy to ask.

Also, one of smoke alarms has started to beep, meaning its battery is running out. I would happily change it if I could reach the damn thing. Our flat has seriously high ceilings and also spotlights, many of which have gone and need replacing, but I can’t reach. So now I need to buy a ladder, which I think the landlord should provide but by the time he gets back to me about it we’ll have moved out anyway. For some reason Tesco Direct doesn’t deliver ladders in their premium service (ie, you pick a time and date), they only do next day, which I can’t be home for. Guess what I’ll be doing this weekend? Ladder shopping. Fun.

Side bar: When the hell did I get to the age that I have to worry about ladders?

Foxes:

We live across from a small piece of land, labeled a ‘common’ that I have only ever used once, back in May when it was so hot even I couldn’t stay inside and had to go sit out on a bench. It’s used mainly by annoying lads who play football at 3 am and shout ‘goal’ really loud. It’s also the home/play area of a family of foxes. Last night I was woken up (again at 3 am, must be magic hour around here) by their hideous screeching. Have you heard the noise foxes make? It’s somewhere between a baby screaming, nails on a chalkboard and the early stages of the X-Factor. I’m not even sure if it means they are in pain, or worried, or having fun or they just generally make that noise but it’s not the most pleasant thing to be woken up to. There were at least four of them last night, one coming into our garden but luckily the rubbish men had been that day. They were cute when they were small but now I’d quite like them to piss off thank you very much.

News Rant

Reasons I should not watch the news:

1. It makes me cry, as seen this morning (well, a couple of days ago when I actually wrote this) when I was watching the father of murdered Lindsay Hawker speaking about his daughter and their continued hunt for her killer.

2. It makes me angry. Apparently our soldiers are going to get a rebate for their council tax. £140 for every six months tour out of the country. Whoop di freaking do! Can someone explain to me why they’re paying council tax in the first place? a) They’re not in the country so are not using any of the services and b) THEY’RE GETTING SHOT AT QUITE OFTEN!!! Are they not risking their lives, for whatever reason? I’m not the greatest supporter of war, but still, I do feel they should at least not have to worry about paying stupid bills. They also showed some of their accommodation which was horrid and damp, and they also do not get the best pay to start with and have crappy equipment to deal with. I’m sure they’re just beyond thrilled to have this pathetic sum given back to them.

3. I still hate Eamonn Holmes and wish they’d take him off Sky News. He is not a news reader. I do not believe in his sincerity at all. Basically he just bugs me. I was also very surprised when he interrupted a man talking about Bush and Saddam and the war in Iraq with some ‘Breaking News’…David Beckham’s father has been taken ill and David is returning to be by his side. AND? Why the hell is that breaking news? It has nothing to do with anybody. It may be one thing if Beckham was injured or on his deathbed (though even then I wouldn’t be that interested), but his dad? That’s a private family thing, and not something worthy of being deemed ‘Breaking News’.

Sometimes I don’t know what country I’m living in. But yeah, if anyone can explain the reasoning, have at it.