George and Abbey

Today, I want to tell you all about my dear blog friend, George.

George is a diabetic but he unfortunately has another very serious condition called Hypoglycemia unawareness, which only affects a very small percentage of people. It is a complication of diabetes in which the patient is totally unaware of a deep drop in their blood sugar. The usual signs and symptoms of low blood sugar - such as palpitations, sweating, anxiety, blurry vision and trembling – are never triggered in George and because of the lack of symptoms, he has never been warned of a forthcoming life-threatening episode. This, unfortunately, has resulted in a lot of strange and foolish behaviour over the years but much more seriously, he has been in comas and has had a couple of near fatal car accidents – one which occurred and which he blogged about just last year. Seizures, loss of consciousness, brain damage and death are very real fears which George has to live with on a daily basis. He is currently experiencing low blood sugar episodes about six times per week.

Often, the partner or children of someone who is suffering with Hypoglycemia unawareness will notice their strange behaviour and alert them to it, enabling them to take the necessary action. But George lives alone, so I’m sure the fear he lives with must be absolutely terrible for him. George actually lost a friend of his recently – a man who went to bed feeling absolutely fine, slipped into a coma in his sleep and sadly, passed away just two days later. Perhaps the saddest part of all is that his death could have been prevented.

Just as there are dogs for the deaf and for the blind, there are also diabetes alert/response dogs who are trained to notice a drop in blood sugar even before the diabetic is aware of it. How amazing is that! With one of these dogs and a telephone lifeline, George would not only be well protected at home but also while driving, walking, exercising or just sitting at work. You can imagine the massive difference this would make to his life. You can imagine the difference it would have made to his friend.

The amount of money required in order to obtain one of these highly specialized dogs is $7,500. George has been accepted into the Beth Eden program in Texas and is due to receive his dog Abbey – a beautiful Australian Shepherd - in December. He has been working so hard in raising the necessary funds to secure Abbey, but he still has a way to go.

If you or anyone you know would like to help George, you can do so in a couple of ways. Firstly, you can make a donation to Abbey’s trainer, via paypal. Her account is:

ann4352@suddenlink.net

George is also registered at www.igive.com. If you sign up and register there, you can shop at hundreds of online shops and a percentage of your purchases are donated to George’s account, which are then transferred to his trainer. This is the address of George’s page:

http://www.iGive.com/BethEdenFredAbbey

I’m sure many of us have a Christmas wish list, but what could be more special or invaluable than a life saving companion? With your help, Abbey and George can be together for Christmas and George can be looking forward to a New Year in which his life could quite literally, be saved.

Thank you for taking the time to read, and a huge thank you - in anticipation - of those who are able to help. xxx

Night-time Contortion

Do you ever wake up with a stiff neck?

“You must have slept funny,” someone usually says.

They’re probably right.

The strange thing is, the last time I counted, we only had two cats.




(Told you I had big feet.)

Happy Shopping

A delivery man knocked on my door yesterday and asked me if I would take in some parcels for my scary neighbour who wasn’t at home. "Of course!" I said, which I shortly followed with "blimey, she must have had a windfall!" as I watched him piling them up on my doorstep.

After he left (and whilst having a good old squidge of the parcels, like you do) I realised that although the labels were printed with my neighbour's address, they weren’t in her name but in the name of the previous tenant who moved out about 2 years ago. They’d been ordered from a home catalogue.

Hmmm.

Later in the afternoon she called to collect her parcels. It was very obvious to her that she’d need to do a bit of explaining and she wasn’t at all backward in coming forward.

“It’s so easy,” she told me. “How often do you get junk mail through the post addressed to the people who lived here before?”

“Quite a lot,” I said, which is true. I get a magazine every month for Canadian holidays, various credit card applications and all sorts of other stuff. If it looks important I’ll write a not known at this address and send it back, otherwise I just throw it away.

“Well,” she told me, “I’m always getting catalogue junk addressed to her, and some of the letters make it bloody obvious that she’s been a previous customer but has just stopped shopping with them. So all I do is tick the box to get another catalogue and send it back. The catalogue arrives, I spend up to the credit limit and that’s that.”

“Surely they catch you out eventually when you don’t pay?”

“Nope. They send the bill and I ignore it. They send another and I ignore that. I wait a few months and when the final demands start appearing I send it back with “not known at this address.”

“Surely they send someone around to check when you moved in?”

“Never…and I’ve been doing it for years! Even if they did I'd deny all knowledge of it. There's bugger all they can do."

(My conclusion is that it probably costs the company far more to investigate the case and hire someone to pay her a visit, than the cost of the goods themselves. They probably just write it off at the end of the year in their losses column and put the prices up the following year for everyone else.)

"But most parcels have to be signed for," I piped up.

"Yeah... a fake signature on one of those crappy hand held computer things which you can't write properly on anyway. A 4 year old could have signed for it judging by the writing...there's no proof it was me."

"Or me, in this case," I said.

She laughed. "That makes it even easier. You say you gave me the parcels, I say you didn't. What can they do? Fuck all."

Bloody hell. And here we are worrying ourselves stupid about credit card fraud, internet fraud, password protection and all that.

I think the only way to protect yourself is to contact all home catalogues which you’ve stopped using and actually cancel your account rather than leaving them dormant. That way they’ll always request proof of id to start them up again. But it’s not just home catalogues....

I can’t count the number of times I’ve moved house and haven’t bothered to contact companies I’ve had previous dealings with. Just think of all those ‘one off’ buys. I ordered a few things online last week from a shop I didn’t even bother to save in my bookmarks! If I moved house it wouldn’t even cross my mind to tell them. I can just imagine the flyer landing on the mat next year:

Elaine, we haven't seen you for a while. Why not come back today and save 20% on a new spring wardrobe!

Scary, innit?

(I'm sure someone is going to ask me if I'm going to do anything about it. As much as I'd like to be a law abiding citizen, I'm also rather fond of my knee-caps (chubby as they might be), and bearing in mind that her entire family looks like they've just walked off the Prisoner Cell Block H set and are in court for GBH more often than I shave my legs, I think I'll leave things just as they are, thankyouverymuch.)

Work, Innovation and Art

My frustration with work has been rapidly snowballing over the past few days and now I could open a fucking ski resort the situation is nothing short of incorrigible. On top of everything, yesterday afternoon I discovered that my colleague – who works the opposite shift to me – is being paid almost 30% more than me. We have the same skills, work the same job and started at the same time. To say that I’m not a ‘happy bunny’ is putting it mildly. I did question whether I’d be any happier at work if they actually offered me a pay rise, but I knew what the answer was before I even had to think it out.

No.

That doesn’t mean to say I’m not gonna fight for what I’m worth because I’m set on getting every last penny out of them, but there isn’t any amount of cash which could possibly make up for being employed by a bunch of patronising, pompous, incompetent tossers.

I did question whether there was a chance - an extremely unlikely one mind you - that there could be something wrong with me. Maybe my expectations are always too high? Perhaps I’m just a natural born whinger? But I’ll be covering two of my colleague’s shifts next week while she’ll be sloping off for a couple of secret interviews. She’s had enough of the place as well, which makes me feel slightly better about the amount of moaning I’ve been doing of late. And believe me…I could moan from now right into next week about it all.

Bearing in mind that my colleague will probably be successful in one of her interviews and is planning on leaving without giving any notice, where are our contracts, assholes? I know they’ll be calling on me for cover until they replace her. And that’s why I’ve been frantically job hunting for most of the morning. I actually should have been working today, but for reasons I won’t even bother to bore you with, my boss suddenly decided to change my shifts - just as I was slipping into my work clothes and getting ready to leave.

So…what tasty, nuggety jobs did my online search of ‘situations vacant’ pull up?

Not much at all to be honest....but there was this one:

Females with big feet, UK size 8 and upwards wanted for foot modelling. We focus on feet only (pictures/clips) and will pay £50 an hour plus expenses. If you are interested, please reply with feet measurements length/width and some photos of your feet.

Bloody hell. £50 an hour!

For a moment I got all excited: huge cash rewards for huge feet! But then, after I read it again, I realised that for the first time in my entire life my feet are actually too bloody small.

I could have wallowed in self pity. I could have read up about discrimination legislation in the UK and logged my complaint. But because I’m an innovative kind of girl, I didn’t do any of those things.

Instead, dear readers, I’m offering you the once in a lifetime opportunity to purchase some lovely pictures.

I never did understand why someone would pay three and a half squillion quid for a picture painted by an elephant, or what possessed someone to buy a Vincent Van Gogh portrait ‘sans beard’ for seventy one and a half million (in which he looks truly horrid). But understanding that ‘the mysterious is the source of all art’, today, I offer you – in the name of art – original photographs of my feet.

Clever, huh?

I haven’t set a price because I truly believe that beauty (and solvency) is in the eye (or the pocket ) of the beholder. But as a guideline, I would expect my bare feet pictures to sell for far more than those which are covered in fruit salad or cling film – due to the fact that bearing my sole soul warrants more money.

Click it. You know you want to.....

I'm sorry, this is a very long post full of nothing but ranting so feel free to just click right back off....

Thursday

Having already watched the health and safety video and had it drummed into me several times how to correctly lift a box (and more importantly when to not even attempt it) I found myself in the store room all alone with 25 boxes, most of which were almost as big as me. My mission: to unpack all of the clothing, security tag it, hang it and steam it, ready for the shop floor. My brand new concession would be opening at 9am on Saturday. Okaaaay.

“Where would you like me to hang it?” I said.
“Anywhere you can find some space. There’s some here, and here, and a bit down there…” said Mr Second Floor Manager.

Somewhere amongst those 25 boxes were some boxes of coat hangers, which I obviously had to locate first. And as the boxes were stacked three or four high, it was inevitable that the ones I needed would be at the bottom. As I set about my task I was aware that I was in full view of the security camera and so expected someone to come waltzing in and tell me off – or at least offer to help. Alas, Mr Health and Safety must have been eating his sandwiches or picking his nose because he never came.

Pushing the top boxes off onto the floor to get to the lower ones was easy enough, but once I’d located some of the hangers there was no way I could stack the boxes back up again…which made for a very messy store room.

“Look at the state of this place!” said Miss Top Brand Label.
“I’m sorry about that. I can’t stack the boxes back up. Could you possibly…”
“And why are you using my rail?” (grabbing all my hung clothes and dumping them on the floor.) “We need this space…you’ll have to put it somewhere else.”

…a little later…

“Sorry…I need this rail space…I have a delivery,” said Mr Menswear.
“But Mr Second Floor Manager said that I could put…”
“I don’t care what he said” (dumping the clothes on the floor).

Friday

I started steaming the clothes when suddenly someone waltzed in and unplugged the steamer, telling me it was against company procedure because I hadn’t been trained how to use it.
“But Mr Second Floor Manager told me these clothes have to be on the shop floor by tomorrow morning, ready to sell.”
“I’m sorry. My department is Health and Safety. You can’t use it.”

So I called the Second Floor Manager who said he’d try and sort something out.

…a little later…

“There’s a call for you, Elaine” said Ms Office Person, handing me a phone. It was my Concession Manager, in London.
“How’s it going?”
“It’s a bloody nightmare. Blah blah blah. No steamer. Blah Blah.”
“Forget about steaming it. Just get it tagged.”
“Okay. There is another problem. I’ve noticed that none of the clothes are priced.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“Shit.”
“Shit indeed.”
“I’ll bring down the price tags tomorrow lunch time and we’ll just have to open a day later.”
“Will that be ok?”
“Of course. It’s my concession.”

…a little later…

“All ready to open tomorrow?” said Mr Store Manger.
“We’re opening a day later because the clothes aren’t priced. They’re arriving at lunch time tomorrow.”
“You need to get those clothes down there now ready for the morning.”
“But how can I sell with no prices?”
“Don’t worry about that. Just get them out there.”
“But I was told the Visual Merchandiser is doing the display tomorrow.”
“This is my store and I want you OPEN tomorrow at 9. You’ll have to display it this afternoon.”
“I really don’t think it’ll all be ready. The shop fitters are still down there and they won’t be finished until late tonight.”
“Then you’ll have to come in at 7.30 in the morning.”

Saturday

“Why have you got your handbag in the store room,” said First Floor Manager.
“Because I haven’t got a locker. They haven’t got any spare ones.”
“Then you have to leave it in the office.”
“I know, but the office was closed when I came in at 7.30.”
“You’re not allowed in here at 7.30. Only Managers can come in at that time.”

“Get those rails on the shop floor!” said Mr Store Manager.
“You can’t move that rail on your own” said Mr Health and Safety.
“Look at the state of these clothes,” said Mr Store Manager. Why aren’t they steamed?
“How much is this?” said Customer One.
“You need to tidy the store room.” said second Floor Manager.”
“Why didn’t you wait for the Visual Mechandiser?” said Concession Manager.
“Why haven’t we got our own till?” said me.
“You have to use the till in Young Fashions said Deputy Manager.”
“You can’t put your carrier bags here,” said Young Fashion Manager, “there’s no room. You’ll have to find another till.”
“I want to buy this,” said Customer Two. How much is it.”
“It’s £129.00” said Concession Manager (looking through a price sheet).
“Great, I’ll have it.”

…at another till…

“Can you put this sale through for me please?” said me.
“Why can’t you do it?” said Snotty, snooty, Miss Country Living.
“I haven’t been given a till card yet”

…tutting…

“There’s no barcode,” she said.
“I know. You have to do it manually.”
“What’s your department number?”
“No idea.”

...after much fuss and tutting…

“The security tag won’t come off. This is different to ours. You’ll have to find another till.”

Customer walks off.

At the end of the day…and after many more hassles....

“Elaine, can you tidy the store room please,” said Mr Second Floor Manager.
“Sure.”
“Where are you going Elaine?” said Mr Store Manager.
“To tidy the store room.”
“A customer is FAR more important than a messy store room. Now let me give you a few customer service tips.”

I THINK YOU NEED SOME FUCKING TIPS ON HOW TO MANAGE A FUCKING DEPARTMENT STORE AND ITS STAFF, YOU ASSHOLE.

Tell me they’re just teething problems….pleeeeeease.

Ramblin'

EDIT: SCROLL DOWN FOR A LITTLE BIT EXTRA

I’ve just finished reading a book – Goodnight Beautiful by Dorothy Koomson. I’ve read many a book with touching or moving moments in them which have caused my eyes to get a bit watery, but I’ve never read anything which has made great big fat tears roll down my cheeks. Until now.

If I want big fat tears to roll down my cheeks I just have to watch the Pride of Britain Awards which was on the telly last night. And that’s exactly why I didn’t watch it.

Winter is here. The trees were bending over double last night in the wind and the rain. It was horrid.

It’s my first day of work today. The shop fitters have finished and I’m going in to fill it all up with stock. Gorgeous, beautiful, very expensive, silky, beaded, jewelled, shimmery stock. Of which I get 70% discount. Woohoo!

I was thinking I could open an Ebay shop!

My son, Dan, sent me a text at one in the morning telling me that he and Tallis were lying on the bed thinking of me and wanted to tell me that they miss me. How lovely is that? It was well worth being woken up for.

Bugger, it’s raining.

I’ve been reading all of your entries but haven’t been commenting lately. Real life seemed to take over for a while, but I’ll be back on track soon, I promise. Please forgive me! And thanks for all of your comments, too. I read and appreciate them all. x

I have an appointment with the hairdresser on Friday. I have to look perfectly styled in my new job and it takes me about an hour (if not more) to get my current hair from frizz to curl (and even then it looks like shit). That’s far too long. So I’m having it cut and I’m seriously prepared to take it within an inch of it’s life. Any ideas?

Off for a shower and to face the downpour. Hope it’s warmer in your neck of the woods!

For those who commented that they had never seen me with short hair, this extremely cheesy photo was taken about 8 years ago. And don't laugh!