I was very angry today (justifiably so, I must add) and took my anger out on some poor unsuspecting call-centre worker who didn't derserve it. Call centres are such a ubiquitous part of 21st century commerce that it's easy to forget that the people who work in them are not the company they work for. They're usually just lowly aparatchiks struggling on poor wages and lousy conditions.
So now I am filled with remorse.
I have phoned back and apologised - not for being angry (which, as I've said, was entirely justified) but for making this poor soul the target of my anger.
Don't feel much better though. In fact I feel like a complete miserable idiot and, what's worse, a Bad Person!
Having said that, the call-centre person at the Royal Mail the other day did a much better job of handling Angry Caller than did today's. Royal Mail Woman was not in the least defensive, was friendly and charming, offered me a hearftfelt apology for my trouble and sidetracked me into a bit of banter about the name 'Jennie' (her daughter's name too apparently). She also dealt with my complaint efficiently and to my utter satisfaction. Very different from today's experience in every way.
Which however neither justifies nor excuses my behaviour.
Sorry!
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Mists and mellow fruitfulness my arse!
I have to say, I'm not the greatest fan of autumn. It is a time of the year when lots of Bad Things seem to have happened in my world. Or perhaps, it is not that more Bad Things have happened in autumn than at any other time of the year, but simply that the wet, grey descent into winter amplifies the misery. Any road, whatever the reason, today is a day for moaning, so here goes.
On Monday I betook myself to the oncologist for my annual checkup and, as predicted, was taken off Tamoxifen and put onto this aromatase inhibitor thingy called Letrozole. No bad thing, per se, since Tam is useless for old ducks like me, whereas Let is apparently Just The Ticket.
So that's the good news. However, like a bad 70s comedy sketch, hard on the heel of the good news comes the bad: I'll probably have to take the new tabletki for another five, count 'em, five years. Now, I know I should be grateful and all, that the creaking, cash-starved NHS is willing to stump up the readies for another 5 years of prophylaxis, and I know this is so much better than getting another cancer, but I'd painted this picture in my head of what it would be like when I got to the end of the Tamoxifen years next October. I'd be able to lose a bit of weight, my hair would regain some of its former glory, my fingernails would toughen right back up so I could wear nail varnish again, I'd stop having inexplicable aches and pains all over my bod, I might even stop the migraines, etc, etc. In short, I could go back to being Me, instead of Cancer Patient. I feel like a prisoner who's not just lost the chance of parole but whose sentence has actually been extended. I now have a whole new set of potential side effects to keep an eye open for and to worry about. I tell you, hypervigilance is a tiring game - I've played it for the last 4 years and I've had enough.
Bah, humbug!
On the bright side however, it appears to have stopped raining, so I shall get dressed and take a stroll into town to pick up a CD from the record shop and a pair of trousers from the Surly But Efficient Alterations Ladies.
Oh, and I think I have a cold a-coming.
On Monday I betook myself to the oncologist for my annual checkup and, as predicted, was taken off Tamoxifen and put onto this aromatase inhibitor thingy called Letrozole. No bad thing, per se, since Tam is useless for old ducks like me, whereas Let is apparently Just The Ticket.
So that's the good news. However, like a bad 70s comedy sketch, hard on the heel of the good news comes the bad: I'll probably have to take the new tabletki for another five, count 'em, five years. Now, I know I should be grateful and all, that the creaking, cash-starved NHS is willing to stump up the readies for another 5 years of prophylaxis, and I know this is so much better than getting another cancer, but I'd painted this picture in my head of what it would be like when I got to the end of the Tamoxifen years next October. I'd be able to lose a bit of weight, my hair would regain some of its former glory, my fingernails would toughen right back up so I could wear nail varnish again, I'd stop having inexplicable aches and pains all over my bod, I might even stop the migraines, etc, etc. In short, I could go back to being Me, instead of Cancer Patient. I feel like a prisoner who's not just lost the chance of parole but whose sentence has actually been extended. I now have a whole new set of potential side effects to keep an eye open for and to worry about. I tell you, hypervigilance is a tiring game - I've played it for the last 4 years and I've had enough.
Bah, humbug!
On the bright side however, it appears to have stopped raining, so I shall get dressed and take a stroll into town to pick up a CD from the record shop and a pair of trousers from the Surly But Efficient Alterations Ladies.
Oh, and I think I have a cold a-coming.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Git on board!
Just back from Southport, having taken the car in for its 38,000-mile service. Apparently (and I say this because, having no automobilular knowledge of my own to fall back on, I am at the mercy of every lyin', cheatin', adjustable-spanner-wieldin' grease monkey in the world and have to take what they tell me on trust) it needed a Really Big Service this time round and so I return home nearly 600 quid the poorer. I comfort myself with the fact that work done today will not have to be done in Feb when it's due for its first MOT, but it's cold comfort indeed.
My ever-so-slight dischuffment was not ameliorated by the fact that today our Trusty Posty decided to leave a parcel not in the relative safety of the porch as is this normal custom but on the drive in full view of the pavement, where any passing Scally* could nick off with it without a "by your leave" or a "with your leave". I complained to the Royal Mail of course, and now have an apology, an Official Complaint Number and a sneaking feeling that Trusty Posty will somehow Wreak Awful Revenge upon us for dobbing him in to The Queen.
On the bright side though, we're off to Glasgow tomorrow to see the deeply splendid Common Rotation gigging at some low dive on Sauchiehall Street. Oh how we do love their subversive pop-folk-rock stylings!
*though if said Scally had indeed performed said act of thievery, he would have been mighty disappointed with the contents - somehow can't see a rather nice dress shirt going with the obligatory shell suit.
And, as a sartorial aside, there are apparently places in Liverpool where people habitually go to the supermarket in their nightwear and slippers. It's a mad world, my masters!
My ever-so-slight dischuffment was not ameliorated by the fact that today our Trusty Posty decided to leave a parcel not in the relative safety of the porch as is this normal custom but on the drive in full view of the pavement, where any passing Scally* could nick off with it without a "by your leave" or a "with your leave". I complained to the Royal Mail of course, and now have an apology, an Official Complaint Number and a sneaking feeling that Trusty Posty will somehow Wreak Awful Revenge upon us for dobbing him in to The Queen.
On the bright side though, we're off to Glasgow tomorrow to see the deeply splendid Common Rotation gigging at some low dive on Sauchiehall Street. Oh how we do love their subversive pop-folk-rock stylings!
*though if said Scally had indeed performed said act of thievery, he would have been mighty disappointed with the contents - somehow can't see a rather nice dress shirt going with the obligatory shell suit.
And, as a sartorial aside, there are apparently places in Liverpool where people habitually go to the supermarket in their nightwear and slippers. It's a mad world, my masters!
Thursday, October 05, 2006
One monkey don't stop the show
So here we are, back from two weeks' holidays and fighting a wee touch of the post-holiday blues, as usual.
What we did on our holidays
The peregrinations started off in Dorset at the community, where a somewhat less-than-entertaining exec committee meeting occupied most of the weekend and gave me three migraines in two days. It was a bit of a relief, therefore, to relocate to Brighthelmstone for a few days with the in-laws.
Highlights of this visit were a trip to the Weald and Downland Museum (arguably the best open air museum I've ever visited) and the obligatory shopping expedition to North Laine, this time in search of boots*. Kapla! Not one but two pairs of rather fetching knee-high boots were purchased, one red and one black. The red ones, styled 'Women's Action Boots" on the box, apparently make me look like a superhero - Theology Girl, leaping tall steeples in a single bound perhaps. Not only that, but they are Vegetarian (i.e. plastic). And the black ones are very lovely also (not vegetarian, these, but actual dead cow). Sales Assistant remarked that they had "featured in this month's Vogue" and that's good enough for me.
Creaking under the weight of newly-acquired footwear, we quit Brighton for the less heady pleasures of Essex,where we checked out the fleshpots of Colchester, a pleasant but rather damp experience - the Essex drought was a bit less droughty than usual that day. Was also furnished with an opportunity to compare Spotty Dog impersonations with m' dear friend Anonymous Lesley (though not in her son's place of work as had previously been promised - curses!)
From thence we pressed northwards to the Lincolnshire Wold where we stayed in an utterly delightful cottage for the week. As a county Lincolnshire proved to be a pleasant diversion, but hasn't set it's seal in our hearts like Dumfries and Galloway did in June. It has, however, got some bloody great farm shops selling some of the best local cheeses you could wish for. Unfortunately for Best Beloved, over-consumption of cheese caused his sinuses swell to the size of golf balls, so I was left to polish off the goodies. Plus a whole box of sloe gin truffles. And some rather delicious blackcurrants in white chocolate. Well, I was on holiday, dammit!
Then we came home.
Ho hum.
* I'm not exactly sure what has caused my Imelda Marcos gene to kick in at this stage in my life (possibly hormonal?) but kick in it well and truly has.
What we did on our holidays
The peregrinations started off in Dorset at the community, where a somewhat less-than-entertaining exec committee meeting occupied most of the weekend and gave me three migraines in two days. It was a bit of a relief, therefore, to relocate to Brighthelmstone for a few days with the in-laws.
Highlights of this visit were a trip to the Weald and Downland Museum (arguably the best open air museum I've ever visited) and the obligatory shopping expedition to North Laine, this time in search of boots*. Kapla! Not one but two pairs of rather fetching knee-high boots were purchased, one red and one black. The red ones, styled 'Women's Action Boots" on the box, apparently make me look like a superhero - Theology Girl, leaping tall steeples in a single bound perhaps. Not only that, but they are Vegetarian (i.e. plastic). And the black ones are very lovely also (not vegetarian, these, but actual dead cow). Sales Assistant remarked that they had "featured in this month's Vogue" and that's good enough for me.
Creaking under the weight of newly-acquired footwear, we quit Brighton for the less heady pleasures of Essex,where we checked out the fleshpots of Colchester, a pleasant but rather damp experience - the Essex drought was a bit less droughty than usual that day. Was also furnished with an opportunity to compare Spotty Dog impersonations with m' dear friend Anonymous Lesley (though not in her son's place of work as had previously been promised - curses!)
From thence we pressed northwards to the Lincolnshire Wold where we stayed in an utterly delightful cottage for the week. As a county Lincolnshire proved to be a pleasant diversion, but hasn't set it's seal in our hearts like Dumfries and Galloway did in June. It has, however, got some bloody great farm shops selling some of the best local cheeses you could wish for. Unfortunately for Best Beloved, over-consumption of cheese caused his sinuses swell to the size of golf balls, so I was left to polish off the goodies. Plus a whole box of sloe gin truffles. And some rather delicious blackcurrants in white chocolate. Well, I was on holiday, dammit!
Then we came home.
Ho hum.
* I'm not exactly sure what has caused my Imelda Marcos gene to kick in at this stage in my life (possibly hormonal?) but kick in it well and truly has.
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