After much ado (about something), the RSPCA finally decided to make their job offer official. I was supposed to start on Wednesday of this week, but since they phoned on Tuesday, I said I couldn't - I needed a day to take care of stuff. My new manager's away next week, so my start date will be 4th July: I have 10 days more to bum around. Wheeeee!
Things have moved a little since my last entry: this weekend, I found the wet patch in the garden had become worse. Looking closer, there was water running under the fence from next door, constantly. I dropped a note through, but there was no reply, so after two more days and a small river running in the garden, I called the water people and they came and had a look.
I was really worried that maybe I'd busted a pipe with my digging around, but the guy who came was even taller than me so he could see over the fence. They'd left a hosepipe running. He shut off the water since - apparently - no one lives there. Cool.
I also have an interview tomorrow for a job. Scary.
Yup, I'm back from Paris. The wedding was lovely, the sun was out, there was too much pollution, the hand-over of the keys for the old flat went well, the journey was long and tiring, the car didn't break down, the shopping was done, fresh air was breathed upon return and I'm knackered.
I'll post something coherent soon.
I'm going to be away for the next two or three days: back to Paris to go to a wedding and sort out the last bits of bureaucracy. Oh, joy.
Today is the day that Psycho and I go to the Job Centre to sign on. Since we're both unemployed for the moment, we'll be getting some monetary help from the government, which will be very welcome.
How things have changed since I left the UK seven years ago! Back then, claimers were required to go to the centre, fill in a standard form, wait a little while for it to be processed and then visit every couple of weeks to sign a declaration that they were still looking for work.
Now, we're required to phone a special number and give a bunch of information. The service then phones back after two weeks and asks for more information before giving an interview date. Two weeks after that, we must attend the centre and speak to an 'advisor' who verifies everything and draws up some kind of plan for job hunting. Only then can we have some cash.
Two problems with this system spring to mind. Firstly, it takes over a month to actually see any money. Quite how we're supposed to survive without money for a month is an interesting question, especially with a need to pay for rent, food and so on. Secondly, I don't see how this reduces benefit fraud: one still has only to lie blatantly to receive the cash.
Of course, there's also the stigma of being unemployed to get through. This is something I noticed when I lived in Cardiff and the Job Centre sent people for interviews at my workplace: the manager (who was, admittedly, a bit of an ass) used to sigh heavily whenever applicants came via that route. They were considered social rejects, people with no skills, the unwashed masses who were desperately seeking a job which was way beyond their capacity... as a cashier or something.
Apparently, this hasn't changed. The guy with whom I spoke over the phone was absolutely astounded when I explained that I am actually qualified for the kind of work I'm seeking. The "oh, wow!" response when I said I have a degree was, well, disheartening to say the least.
I suppose the average person Job Centre staff has to deal with must be depressing or something. Still, it surprised me that the stigma apparently remains. We shall see.
My shoulders hurt. My neck hurts. My arms and legs are killing me. Ow.
I started using a different Tae-Bo workout this week and it's somewhat tougher than the one I was doing before. It's better because it's more balanced (the previous one focussed rather heavily on legs and much less on arms), but it's wiped me out completely. Perhaps I should have tried it without the hand-weights first? D'oh.
Add to this a lovely bit of sun-burn from yesterday and you can imagine how I feel.
It's been a while since I updated, again, as I have been rather busy! Life here has settled a little now, so I should be able to write more.
After the initial rush of moving in, Psycho and I set to unpacking. It took us quite a while to get most of the stuff out of boxes, but starting with one room (ah, the advantages of marking the boxes!) made it easier and having the washing machine and dishwasher saved us a heck of a lot of work. The kitchen was finished pretty quickly, all things considered - given that it's about three times as big as the one we had in France, that's less surprising.
Next, we moved on to the living room and the office (second bedroom officially, but built for a dwarf). There's still some boxes in both places, but we have most stuff sorted out and it's comfortable. Psycho's clothes and the bedroom took significantly longer: to give you an idea of how many clothes she has, they fill a two-metre long wardrobe and cause even her to comment that she has too many. Hmmm.
Much of our time since then has been spent sorting out bureaucracy. Registering with a doctor, finding replacement medicines and other health stuff (which all has different names here), finding food for the cat (since we can't find the stuff she's used to) and signing on for unemployment benefits until we find work. To be honest, there's only been one or two days when we haven't had a ton of stuff to do.
There's also the garden. Apparently the last tenant defaulted and left, not only leaving unpaid bills but front and back gardens that he hadn't touched. That is, not even mowed the lawn. The owners cleared things up a bit, but my current project is to get them sorted out properly. This is difficult for two reasons: firstly - and most importantly - I don't know whether the owners paid lots of money to buy new plants and so on, so I'm not sure what I am allowed to throw away. Secondly, and perhaps more difficult, is the fact that I have no clue about gardening!
Anyway, I've been working hard and enjoying it immensely. It's very relaxing. I even have photos, which I'll post in another entry once I've created a 'Garden' category!
As for where we are, it's great. We've only been into town a couple of times as there's everything we need locally in the 'village'. The people are very friendly, the neighbours are all very nice (although the lady next door is a real fishwife and we can hear her shouting fairly often), the sea is close and the fish'n'chips are wonderful.
Now that was a long pause, wasn't it? Well, yes... but there's a reason!
I am now in the UK. Having waited six months for the cat passports for Biscotte and Pie, Psycho and I figured everything was ready. We'd visited the UK to have a look around Bournemouth, where we were headed, but the town really sucked. Badly. So we'd had another look around and figured that somewhere near Brighton would be good: still on the coast, plenty of work nearby and a much, much nicer place. Heck, the people even smile...
So we found a little bungalow for rent and started everything moving, timing things to be here at the start of April. Unfortunately, the rental agency wanted a reference and, when I called to ask my landlord for one, I found out he'd just died. This made getting a reference somewhat more difficult and caused us a lot of delays. In the end, faxing over six months of bank statements with rent payments on them solved the difficulty (supposedly proving that I'm trustworthy) and we were finally able to close the deal.
Then the moving fun began: we'd already been packing stuff in preparation, but since we'd been delayed by about two weeks, we'd had to start unpacking it again to be able to live normally. I contacted the movers and sorted them out, but with only three days to get everything arranged, packed and ready! Nightmare. So I then spent two days furiously packing, rushing around trying to organise important stuff before leaving and getting the cats' passports ready before the movers came and helped us by stuffing everything that wasn't ready into boxes. They really were excellent.
We rushed over to sign for the bungalow and, on Saturday 16 April, we moved in. Unfortunately, we didn't have any of our stuff: it was all due to arrive on Tuesday morning. So we spent several days surviving on Pot Noodles, sleeping on a tiny mattress and getting by on the minimum possible before delivery. Everything arrived safely, which is great news: there were only two movers, so I did a lot of the carrying while Psycho looked after Biscotte. Of course, two weeks later, our living room is still full of boxes...
So here we are. We have a bungalow, we have furniture, we have the fridge, microwave, mini-oven, washing machine and everything else. We have a second-hand car to replace the work one that I had to give back (that's another nightmare I shall have to recount). We're living in a lovely area in Lancing with everything handy - shops, pubs, train station, swimming pool and fifteen minutes' walk to the beach.
Life is good.
Life is slow. Life is quiet. Life is good.
Yesterday marked the twelve year anniversary of the day I first met Psycho, but unfortunately she had a migraine: our planned visit to our favourite restaurant fell to pieces because of this. Bummer. Still, in a way it's a good thing as my bank account is way beyond the limits of reasonable overdraft at the moment, thanks to all the money problems and a rental agency taking for-freakin'-ever to get their documentation to the bank to give me my deposit back. I spoke to my bank this morning and even they're worried... not a good thing considering they're normally very understanding.
Apart from that, everything's going OK. I just wish some money would appear and sort out that problem. Then I'd be happy.
Running Spam Total: 12,734
It seems my leaving has finally become public knowledge: I was afraid of this happening sooner, so I suppose it's a blessing that it's been quiet until now. Random people seem to have heard, in different teams, which makes me wonder how the hell they found out - not that it's important, but it intrigues me.
One young lady asked me if I wanted them to do a "pot" as they call it here (pronounced 'poh'), which is where everyone gets together for a glass of wine and some munchies at midday to say goodbye. I asked them not to, as I find that always feels forced and it would put me in a position where I'd have to explain myself to far too many people. I've made a lot of friends here and their friendship is what matters, not some façade and a desperate search for an appropriate leaving present.
I'm also considering working from home tomorrow and Friday, mostly to avoid all the goodbyes. Heck, I'll still be around on email and messengers and so on!
Running Spam Total: 11,647
In my last post, I was being vague. I was being deliberately evasive, elusive, cagey, equivocal, ambiguous, obscure and not at all clear. I admit it.¹
There's lots of news to tell. It's just not very interesting news, so I thought I should make like a Scotsman's wallet and zip my lip. Then again, there isn't a great deal of content here that is interesting, so I suppose it wouldn't be out of place to cure your collective insomnia by posting all the gory ins and outs of my movements.²
To begin with, Psycho and I are back together. Before you scream or have a heart attack, Ms Jafer, I should point out that this was my choice and not hers. I suddenly realised that all my jabbering on about not wanting to hurt her, not being interested and similar guff was actually just me being scared out of my wits at the thought of getting psychologically massacred (again). Since I have spent the last seven years hanging out almost every evening at her place, there has to be something there. Yes, she's annoying. Yes, she's adolescent sometimes. Yes, she's a right royal pain in the proverbial body part at times. But... so am I.³
So at the moment, I'm living in two apartments, spending time with Pie to make sure he's alright, but staying mostly at Psycho's (my old place). I still work from home for a couple of days each week, which gives the cat time to sleep on my knees, plenty of company to make up for the shorter visits on other days and so on. This is, however, very tiring, especially when twinned with the copious amount of horizontal jogging to which my body is not accustomed.
The plans for the move to the UK continue: my boss here at work is totally cool and is making things much easier for me than I could have hoped. She's helping out with whatever she can and not shouting at me if I'm a bit distracted or a bit late to arrive. Best boss in the world - always has been.
It looks like we'll end up in the Bournemouth area on the south coast. The town is similar to my home town, so I know it'll have decent shopping, clubbing, pubbing and so on. It's big enough to have decent hospitals for Psycho to work in and is close enough to Southampton, Poole, Portsmouth and Winchester to find work there if we have trouble at our landing point. I can find work almost anywhere these days, since it's all computer-based, so I'm not too worried. The area's also gorgeous - near the New Forest, Lulworth Cove, Durdle Door, Salisbury Plain and so on - and Bournemouth has seven miles of beach. Sounds good all-round, although I hear Southampton sucks.
My only concerns for the moment are finding a place to live and paying for the move. After that, everything should run as smooth as silk (I hope) and we'll settle in. I should also be able to spend a bit of time at home with Psycho once we're over there, unless money is extremely tight, to ensure she feels at home and practises her English.
I visit the doctor tonight, too, to see why I'm still coughing and hacking when my bronchitis should be cured. I'm really hoping it's not chronic, as that would mean I have to give up the death-sticks. That'd be a bummer.
So there you have it: lots of thrilling news. You can stop yawning now. Hello? Wakey wakey!
Running Spam Total: 9383
¹ And no, Scary Ross: I do not deserve a spanking.
² And no, Scary Ross: not those movements.
³ And no, Scary Ross: you are not allowed to agree with that last statement.
I've been away again, for a bit too long. I thought I had another (yes, another) cold coming on as I had sinus pain, sniffles, coughing and so on. This time round it hurt enough that I bothered to see a doctor and thus found out that I have bronchitis. I guess that would explain why I've been so susceptible to colds over the last months, as I've probably been dragging it around with me for ages.
The doc gave me some seriously strong antibiotics that, considering I've only ever taken those once before in my life, utterly wiped me out but have been effective. The last one gets gulped this evening and I should be fine after.
Not much other news to report, I'm afraid.
Running Spam Total: 8451
Good God, it's cold. Two degrees Celsius in the morning and most of the day, falling towards zero and below if one leaves the centre of the city or is out walking after midnight. Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, no less.
The electronic code on my building's external door is broken. I suspect a yeti conspiracy. I spent over fifteen minutes standing outside at around midnight last night before someone happened to come down and leave the building. Of course, that person told me that a good, solid kick would have opened the door, which made me feel pretty dumb - especially since I had reached the point where I could no longer feel my body's extremities.
Even worse, the single radiator in my apartment is insufficient to keep the place warm. It keeps the chill off, but no more. The humidity in the building and the ice-cold wind blowing outside are winning that battle. I wear two jumpers. I sit with a duvet across my knees. I have called for reinforcements: a second radiator which arrives on Saturday.
Eat that, Jack Frost.
Running Spam Total: 4330
Have you ever noticed how everything always comes at once? This month's like that: every bill conceivable has arrived at the same time. My bank account is squealing in pain under the strain of multiple tax bills, rent bills, food bills and goodness only knows what else.
I've also just argued with Psycho for the second time this month about money, mostly because she acts like a freaking adolescent and doesn't realise that when a bank says "you have no money", they mean it and they want you to stop spending, not to go online and order another three batches of beauty products, then come whining to me because they're harassing you. *sigh*
Thankfully, I finally tracked down the stock options I sold last month: being an American company, the brokers put the money in some kind of weird holding account over there. Presumably this is a way for them to use my money to gain a little extra while I run around in circles worrying my arse off about when my blasted funds are going to arrive. They also detached the email address to which enquiries go, so I ended up only being able to contact them by phone. Arseholes. The money should be here today or tomorrow, which will make me breathe a very heavy sigh of relief.
Today's Spam Count: 135
Running Spam Total: 3526
Finally, a good night's sleep. Since being hit by that cold last week, I hadn't had a decent snooze: sleeping four or five hours a night is fine until one has to survive on that for ten days and be productive at work. Of course, that's a personal thing - there are some folks who manage with less than seven or eight hours of kip.
I was, in fact, over at Psycho's place last night but I was so tired that I couldn't keep my eyes open. Having fallen asleep three or four times in the space of ten minutes, she suggested I go home, eat and sleep... so I did. Thrilling, huh?
Today's Spam Count: 70
Running Spam Total: 3106
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm back, alright? I had a cold that knocked me out for a few days, which I spent playing Evil Genius and being a couch potato. So shoot me.
Ave. Daily Spam Count: 146
Running Spam Total: 3009
At last, Friday. This week has been a long list of rushing around and last-minute urgent calls for help from silly users who don't know what they're doing. Yesterday was the perfect example of this, with two users from the same group asking for things: the first wanted me to undo what I'd spent a couple of days doing last week (at her request...) while the second was running around panicking about missing data. It would help if she ran the right report.
I'm still not 100% sure about the profession liberale thing for the apartment - the syndicate still hasn't phoned me back. I've called again and, failing a response before lunch, I'll call them this afternoon to say I'm assuming their answer is yes unless I hear otherwise by the end of the day.
Oh, some good news, too - apparently there's been a change in some fiscal laws or something this year and we're allowed to take back a part of the company savings thingy. That'll be a nice bonus of a few thousand Euros! Cool!
Today's Spam Count: 125
Running Spam Total: 1694
*Please note that the title of this entry has absolutely nothing to do with the content.
The last two days have been busy. That's not to say I have been running around like a headless chicken, trying to deal with events and meetings and so on: it's been a more intellectual kind of busy, with plans changing.
Psycho and I had an appointment at the bank yesterday, for starters. She's reclaiming the huge deposit I made as security for the rent on her old apartment, so we had to go and sign papers and so forth. She also wants to close the associated bank account - and put all the money into my account, since it was a loan to begin with - before we go to the UK. There's little point in keeping several bank accounts open over here, so we'll be keeping one each and closing any others.
My banker is great: she's totally cool. Unfortunately, the rental agency still haven't unblocked the deposit, so we couldn't get our grubby little hands on it yesterday. Now, I know the agency wants to stiff us for extra funds on the deposit, since they say we are responsible for the degradation of the flat, but that's just a ploy to renovate everything at our expense. Thankfully, my banker is, as already stated, great. She informed us that the deposit at the bank has absolutely nothing to do with repairs: it's purely for unpaid rent. We always paid rent, so the agency has to unblock it and we get our cash. She's even going to hassle them on our behalf. Yeah, baby!
While we were at the bank, she also informed me that they have an internal estate agent who matches customers looking for places to live with customer selling them. That sounds cool: she's going to organise that for me, too, which will hopefully move the apartment a bit quicker. Too cool for words, she be.
It's also occurred to me, just this morning, that I buggered my thinking of how to deal with the move and finances. I had been expecting to put a huge cheque in to my account for the flat sale, which I would use to reduce the mortgage and pay for the move to the UK. While driving in to work, I realised that the bank's unlikely to leave the mortgage there without an apartment as security! That's screwed my neatly laid plans, but I'm sure I'll find another way to deal with it all.
One of the agencies trying to sell my place called yesterday afternoon - the good one, not the expensive one - to ask a couple of questions, too. Apparently, the chap has someone who might well be interested but needs to know if he's allowed to perform a profession liberale from the premises: in other words, work from there. I'm checking with the building syndicate to make sure, although there's nothing forbidding it in the Book Of Rules (which dates from 1979!). Provided it's permitted, I may have a buyer! Woohoo!
Apart from that, there's a growing list of things I need to deal with: a letter to the EDF people to get Psycho's name on the bills (so she can be covered by my company medical plan), dumping the security system on my place, checking my contract to see how much notice has to be given, finding Pie's vet book so I can ensure everything is in order for his jabs and tests... the list goes on and on.
No rest for the wicked, as they say.
Today's Spam Count: 140
Running Spam Total: 1414
Just before today's entry, I thought I'd include a spam count because I'm a sad geek like that. I've decided not to bother deleting it, but instead to just let it sit there until I can figure out a way to forward the messages individually to SpamCop (note to Scary Ross: that is not a heavy-handed hint). Spam grows. See spam grow. Grow, spam, grow!
Today's Spam Count: 270
Running Spam Total: 1135
This weekend was somewhat shorter than usual, since Psycho and I visited her gran on Sunday afternoon. She lives about 80km away, so it takes an hour or more to get there by car, but we hadn't seen her for ages: the trip was worthwhile. Unfortunately, Psycho's been suffering from a bit of insomnia recently and I was up 'til the stupid hours of the night playing Rome: Total War. Bad planning - we were both half-asleep by the time we got there!
Still, her gran's a nice lady and we had a splendid time. The only thing missing was her amazing tarte tatin - basically an apple pie, but not in the heavy, sugary sense. She makes the best ones I've ever tasted. These days, she's getting on a bit and it's a lot of effort, so she'd made a simpler, Alsatian version, rather than the usual. Still yummy. I have half of it sitting in my fridge: thank the Gods that Psycho is still on her diet and doesn't want any!
Oops.
Sorry, things have been both relaxed and rushed at the same time, both of which have broken the habit of writing my journal. Bad Spike.
So, uh, what's new, pussycat?
Holy cow, what a fortnight. For those of you overseas with your own version of what used to pass for the English language, a fortnight is two weeks.
Amsterdam was pretty much as I expected it to be: dull and boring, with too much work. Still, it was a pretty good trip in the end, since I was able to get a lot of sleep, play way too much Sims 2 and generally chill out. The people I was up there to speak to are also really cool, so it was lots of fun despite being very pressured time-wise.
The Canada trip looks like it might well be cancelled now. Unfortunately, the lady who runs the Canuck service has already gone through this whole thing three times before, so she's pretty resistant to having us travel up there and invade her team's work for a couple of days. Ho hum. Works for me, since I hate travelling, but I would regret not being able to share coffee and a doughnut with Ms. Jafer. That would have been very cool.
Outside of work, things are still pretty difficult. In some ways, they're getting better: I spent the three-day weekend over at Psycho's, since she'd been looking after Pie while I was away. It's cool to see that we still get on really well and can live in the same space without killing each other - in fact, it was lots of fun. The cats are pretty stressful, though, since Biscotte is still very scared of the spud and he keeps chasing her, despite being disciplined not to. That's something we'll have to figure out before moving.
Still no one buying my apartment, either, but it's only been six weeks or so at most, so I'm not too surprised. I had a rather neat idea on that front, though, since I am apparently allowed to suspend mortgage payments for 12 months once during the loan period. As I'm selling, I figure I'll do it now and stop paying the monthly fees, which will help me put some cash aside for the move. Neato.
It looks like my ADSL is finally up and running now, although I need to check tonight. When I got back from 'dam, the Freebox was flashing 'PPP', which was unusual. I changed ISP recently and it had simply been trying to connect during the 'off' period before the new provider kicked in, so I was pleased to see something happening. Unfortunately, the new ISP requires a PPPoE connection - that is, a username and password - whereas the old one just connected. I haven't received the proper modem or the welcome letter yet, but this morning I phoned their helpdesk and told them I'd lost my details... and they gave me them... so tonight I may be back online! Woohoo!
Time to edit all the notes from Amsterdam. Only twenty pages or so...
I'm in Amsterdam. What joy. Oops, that should be "What joy?"
Still, the hotel room's nice and they do a killer chocolate sponge cake.
That's me.
Work sucks. Psycho's supportive and cool. I have to travel soon.
Still, I may well be in the vicinity of a certain Jafer, since I'm to be sent to Canada for a couple of days... and the company's head office is in Toronto...
Funky, huh?
No posting for ages, I know. Stupid busy. I hate this crap.
I trust you all remember The Count from Sesame Street? "Two - Two! - little visitors. Mwuhahahahahahaha!" *cue lightning*
The agency called yesterday to ask if they could drop by with a person interested in seeing the apartment, so of course I agreed. I was already planning to work from home today after such a long, long week, so it was no trouble.
They were both ladies. The first was more business-like, but less snobby than the second. She spent a good ten minutes walking round and looking at stuff (which for a small place is a long time), then we chatted down in the courtyard for a while afterwards. If she does make an offer, it'll be lower than I hoped for, but hopefully not lower than I'm willing to accept.
The second visitor was much like the guy who came over first: snobby and looking for perfection of some kind. Feh.
Ah, how I love those Kosh quotes.
This week's been really busy again. Adding the confusion of the preparations for the UK to an already heavily pressured job has not been easy, but I think I'm able to deal with most things reasonably quickly.
Firstly, the flat is now on the market. I've priced it a little high, so I can negotiate down a bit and still make some money overall. It's with a couple of agencies, so now I have to do the whole 'visits' thing - since the cat is around, I don't want a bunch of assholes stomping through the place and upsetting him. I take him down to the courtyard for a wander while they look around, instead. To date, there's only been one visit, from a young guy who wouldn't have bought the place in a million years. You know the sort: arrives in a suit and tie, wants the whole place to be perfect, can't imagine how he's going to invite all his snob friends over and show off since it's not the sixth floor and there's no balcony with a view of the Eiffel Tower, has no clue where he’ll put the big-screen TV and is unwilling to live somewhere without a kitchen like Mummy has...
Secondly, Psycho and I took Biscotte and Pie to the vet last night to start the whole 'animal travel' thing. The UK is one of the only countries in the world that is still rabies-free, so they have a six-month quarantine period for any animals coming in. Just a couple of years ago, they realised that this was difficult for pet owners (and the pets), so they introduced a means of doing all the verifications before going over: no quarantine. Of course, it takes six months to complete the verifications, but that's cool. The vet had to put them both out for a couple of minutes, since the blood test comes from the jugular, and while they were unconscious he cut Biscotte's claws and put Pie's microchip in.
Microchip? Yes... over here we have animal tagging. In France, there's actually a choice between tattooing them (in the ear) or the new method, but to go to the UK it has to be the latter. This involves inserting a microchip under the skin which responds to a scanner with the animal's ID number. Spooky, huh? They even give the owner little bar-code stickers to keep for reference. George Orwell, eat your heart out.
When we got them home, both cats were a bit of a mess: they'd woken up, but were of course scared as heck. Given that their back legs weren't working properly (that's where they'd been injected to put them out), it was quite distressing - for them and us. Still, they settled down quickly enough: by the time I'd dropped off Psycho and Biscotte, dropped off Pie, parked the car and walked back home, Pie's legs were doing better. He was pretty wobbly and looked more like he was drunk than anything else, but he was OK. He spent the whole evening being very quiet, but was back to his loud "Let me out for a walk" meowing this morning!!
I've registered with a few online job agencies, too, despite not really being able to leave France until the cats are sorted. This is mostly to use their email delivery of new positions to track where Psycho can find work. I can work anywhere: given what I do and seven years experience here, I don't see too much trouble waiting on that front (I hope).
Work's been rough this week: three days in a row of VERY long meetings (between four and six hours a day) have knocked me out a bit. It looks like I'm going to have a whole heap of work to do over the coming months, too, but I think the timing might work out really well. If I'm right (and the project manages to stick to deadlines), the analysis phase should be finishing just as I say I'm leaving, which means I won't have to deal with the aftermath of my own work...
Now all I need to do is sort out the flat sale (which will hopefully be quick), move back in with Psycho for a few months to get the cats used to each other properly, save some money and so on, get through the coming months until around January or February... and then resign.
The first day back at work was pretty rough: the piles of emails and work that build up while I'm away are always disconcertingly huge, since no one else ever seems to look after anything for me. On the other hand, it's always great to see everyone in the office again, since they're all so friendly and such nice people.
Despite the situation of being over-pressured and stressed - not to mention unhappy - I still have an oddly good feeling being back in the office. I suppose it's the familiarity of it, the fact that I have something to do and seeing my colleagues again, but it all seems less evil and horrid. Or rather it did, until all the work hit this morning!
I'm now determined to be out of here before the end of the year - sooner, if possible. I'm so sick of it.
Some questions arrived on that last post that made me realise how little I explain myself... so here goes:
wow. this is pretty spooky stuff you're talking about. are you saying that you and psycho would be together (as soulmates) as a couple, back in the good ol' UK?
Nope. I use the term 'soul mate' in its purest sense, not in the Hollywood romantic crap sense. Psycho and I are on the same wavelength and trust each other implicitly. We share a sense of humour and similar loves in life (but not 100% the same, which would be bad). There is no romantic side to that.
ready, after a few days of vacation, to throw it all away, and start all over again? together? is she also feeling that you two are really soulmates? who should be together?
She's been into the idea of being together for ages. I haven't and still am not. This is, indeed, a bone of contention.
Oh, and BTW, WTF is up with that "your comment could not be submitted due to questionable content: "yahoodotcom". My default email is yahoodotcom - what up with that not being allowed
I have no idea: it must be MT-Blacklist being overly protective. Your comments still appear without the need of moderation, though, so I don't really get it...
Five more days. Just five more days and I'm out of here on holiday. Five days. Must... survive...
It's one of those upsy-downsy days. Well, it's one of those upsy-downsy periods, to be honest. Today was the day Psycho and I met some woman from the rental agency to visit her old apartment and verify that everything's cool: it's nice to finally get that over and done with, even though they'll undoubtedly charge some money for the stuff that's in a rather used state.
Psycho's a user, not a utiliser. Everything she owns or is in the vicinity of ends up used - as in used up, broken, worn out. I tend to be the opposite, in that I still have things here that are ten years old or more and work perfectly. I'm not obsessively careful, I just don't believe in beating the crap out of something just because I can't be arsed to take a little extra time to look after it.
The bad news is that the 50,000 Francs I put in the bank to cover the guarantees (her parents wouldn't sign as guarantors - which would have cost them nothing - because they're odd that way, and I couldn't sign because I'm foreign) will take anything up to two months to come back. That was the money I was counting on to be able to afford a bit of a holiday next month and to set my bank account back at zero after buying my place. Shit happens, it seems.
Some other good news, however, is that the extra bit of the project I'm working on is turning out to be much easier to do than I thought it would be. This means one of three things: I'm better at this than I thought, I got lucky or something's very wrong and it's actually not working at all under closer inspection.
Any bets on which one of those is most likely?
Yes, I know I have been quiet for a while. It's this darned project, you see. Work keeps taking up all my time. Still, it should be finished by the end of the week, I hope, and the next stage of release won't be my problem as I'm moving on to other things. I just need to document what I've done for the person who takes over, to make it as simple as possible for them.
I need to buy a cage tomorrow for the rats. Psycho and I sexed them this week and there are three males. Only one female baby and her rear left leg is paralysed, poor thing. She copes well, all things considered, and still manages to play with her brothers and the adults, so that's good news.
By the end of the week, Groucho, Chico and Harpo will be moved into my place and totally freaking Pie out!
I find it odd to see how we humans mistreat the planet upon which we live. We've known for decades that we're destroying the Earth and that, unless we stop living as we do now, there will be very little left for future generations... yet we continue to destroy, abuse, waste and generally screw up everything we can.
Items like this one on Yahoo News are perfect examples of half-assed efforts to pretend to be environmentally friendly while not actually achieving anything. "There is no outright penalty for noncompliance, but states that fail to submit plans could lose federal transportation funds, Leavitt said." So these new rules aren't rules: they're guidelines with no force, no depth to them. Ignore them as you will. Half-assed.
Introduce rules and enforce them, dammit. Offer incentives. "Cut your air pollution by 35% in the next year or we'll fine you 35% of your county's budget. Cut it by 70% and we'll give you extra budget the following year." That'd work. Arrest people who pollute wantonly. Fine companies that throw away huge amounts of stuff. Force people to recycle. Chain capitalist Earth-killers to trees and leave them there to experience Nature's revenge as the worms chew on their toes and the crows peck out their eyeballs! Er, sorry... hippy streak got a bit carried away, there...
Of course, some scientists say that it is not possible to prove 'Global Warming' as the source of the weather changes that are so obvious in many parts of the world. Bollocks, I say. I don't honestly care whether science can prove precisely what's causing what: we all know we should be using fewer fossil fuels, spreading less pollution, wasting fewer resources and not throwing as much stuff away as we do. So why don't we do it?
Money, obviously. Those little bits of coloured paper that we all think are so important.
What I want to know is when will the human race grow up? When will we finally realise that chasing around all day and destroying everything in sight just to 'earn' some more coloured paper is utterly pointless? When will we learn that we cannot afford the luxury of a throwaway society?
I spent Friday evening looking after Biscotte, since Psycho was off getting her hair abused (again) somewhere in Paris, for free. Thank the gods she gets on so well with the lady who does the styling: it takes for ever, but she doesn't have to pay. Since, over the last couple of months, I have bailed her out financially at least three or four times, I don't mind cat-sitting if it means she stops spending twenty millions euros on her hair every freakin' week.
So anyway, I was over at her place, watching film after film¹. Having fed the cat and the hamster, I figured I'd feed the rats, too: she has three females in my old rat cage. It was then I noticed that Charlotte had something big and red at the end of her foot. At first, I wondered if she'd done something to her leg and her foot had swelled up. I moved out of the way of the light, so I could see properly... and discovered that it was, in fact, a baby rat.
Charlotte is the newest arrival of the three adult rats and, after a quick check of the other two for huge testicles (for which rats are renowned), I figure she must have been pregnant when Psycho bought her. The others are definitely female. She'd given birth to four squirming little transparent-skinned, red, alien-looking babies who were squeaking away as she nursed them under her: a very small litter, thankfully.
To say Psycho and I were surprised would be an understatement: we've only ever had single-sex (or 'snipped') animal pairs, with no threat of offspring. Suddenly, there's four tiny little lives in the corner of the cage. At least we now understood why their mum had always eaten so damned much!
So now I'm hurriedly reading up on baby rats all over the Internet. I also have to ask myself the question of whether I want some male rats again: presuming the litter contains at least one male, he'll have to be removed. Rats are fertile at five weeks and can have standard litters of as many as two dozen: the propagation rate is exponential.
While I have no problem with rats in and of themselves - quite the opposite, in fact - I'm not sure I have the time or energy to commit to them. Cage changing is a fairly messy and time-consuming business (especially with males), but the most difficult is the socialisation. Rats do not like being left alone. They enjoy human company and coming out to sit on a shoulder or go for a wander. There's also Pie to consider - his reactions, the dangers and so on. It's not an easy decision.
The alternative is to give them to a pet shop and hope they don't sell them as snake food...
¹ Me without PC = boooored. After Le Chinois with Jackie Chan and Last Man Standing with Bruce Willis and Christopher Walken, I finished with Grosse Pointe Blank with John (& Joan) Cusack.
I had a spam message in my inbox this morning that really caught me out¹. I saw it sitting there in Outlook and, since the program was still grinding through a bunch of spam checks, I had time to wonder what it was:
From: Forrest Dow
Subject: Ross
I don't know a Forrest Dow, of course, and the name sounds made up. Then again, with the current American trend of calling children 'Antwone' and 'Rafayel' instead of using intelligent spellings, one can never be sure.
Could this be a request for a job reference? That would be unusual, but not impossible: Scary Ross and I have worked together before², but he'd get that from our boss, so it didn't make sense. It could be a character reference, since I've known him for a dozen years and more: that would hold up a lot better, in fact, and would be possible if he were applying for a police job, as a postman or for a gun license³.
Worse, could there be a problem and he'd been kidnapped, taken off-line, conscripted, sold into slavery, dipped in hot wax and hidden in a clothes shop window disguised as a mannequin, had all his fingers chopped off or been abducted by aliens for experiments involving anal probes?
Of course, Outlook eventually finished scanning and returned control. With trembling hand, I double-clicked...
O n l i n e U n i v e r s i t y D e g r e e s
Obtain Diploma, Degree, or Masters...
Oh buggery... conned by a spammer. What an incredible coincidence for them that I happen to know someone called Ross. Bastards.
¹ One of many spams, of course, but this one didn't fall into the filter trap.
² Yes, that company is still in business. No, the fact that they are only in business because someone bought them out is not our fault, OK?
³ Perish the thought. Do GPMGs need a license?
Yes, it's finally happened. Last night, while setting the (third) alarm on my mobile phone, I received an SMS. Heading straight to the messaging options, I opened it and read something along these lines:
"You've won prize number 123456! Phone this number and find out what it is!"
Blah blah, marketing bollocks. As if it wasn't bad enough receiving three and a half kilos of spam every day in my email, they're now sending them by SMS. Well, at least they're the ones paying for their own stupidity this time.
An old English expression, "TGIF" stands for "Thank goodness it's Friday". Of course, personally, I'd go for something more along the lines of "TFIF", but that's just because this week has been so damned awful.
Starting with my presence at the pointy end of project problems (for which I am still getting major hassle and crap) on Monday, the week continued downhill into more difficulties and stress from all sides. This culminated in me being called in to the office yesterday afternoon - when I had planned to have stuff delivered and work done on the flat, all of which I had to cancel - so that I could "work closely" with the guy who's helping me out. Goddamned bloody stupid-arse move: day started at 08:15 and ended at 19:10. Lovely. Eleven hours.
When I got home last night, I thought I'd try out the security system I had fitted in the apartment. In some ways, it's a bit paranoid on my part, but the bank was doing a special offer, so I figured what the heck. I switched it on, but then remembered I should let the cat out, so switched it off.
Unfortunately, the system did not like this. The siren went off: 85 decibels for 90 seconds at 11 o'clock in the evening. Great. My neighbours love me now, I'll bet. I have a feeling that I will unsubscribe from the service and go for some window-locks and a tough door instead... I haven't even switched it on today simply for fear that it goes off while I'm out, won't switch off when I get home or something else equally stupid. We'll see if I grow accustomed to it, but I doubt that will happen. Damned thing doesn't even have a screen where I can check status or anything! Gah!
There have been some high points to the week, it must be said. Last night was quite funny, for instance: I took Pie down for his evening stroll and both the other cats turned up, with their owners. Very pleasant, both of them, although Franck's owner is somewhat garrulous. Lenin also decided to attack both Franck and Pie at different times (he's due to be, uh, 'snipped' on Monday, so until then he's a tad over-excited), but it all worked out OK.
Admittedly, it's a pretty low 'high point', but it'll have to do in the quagmire of crud that is my life right now.
OK, I figured I should give a bit of an update, since the server disappeared, then suddenly came back. Basically emp.org is a voluntarily-run service and the tech guy who looks after the server said – the last time it was compromised – that if it happened again, he wouldn’t rebuild. So when the monkey-boys attacked, he switched everything off. Thankfully, someone else stepped in and offered to host on a new server in a different location and to meet all the security requirements. Excellent!
To be honest, I lost most of my blog setup in the transfer: I exported the database entries before the move, which was a surprisingly good idea, but I forgot to grab all my templates. Very annoying. I did find a few lying around and managed to find the place from which I originally copied the footer setup, so the front page - at least - looks fairly normal.
The comments are now working, which is good news, and I've switched to the built-in MT database ("Berkeley") rather than MySQL. That was mostly a choice of frustration: the MySQL stuff hasn't been set up on emp.org yet, so I'd have to sit around and wait for the poor overworked techies to get to it. Rather than hassle them with my pathetic little blog, I figured I'd just rebuild and import. Et voila!
So... what's still wrong here? Well, most of the templates, for one thing! The comments look weird, the page-per post looks ugly, the archives are buggered and the whole trackback thing looks decidedly skewed. I suppose this would be a good time to consider a bit of a redesign, particularly if I could be bothered. I'm bizarrely tempted to go blue instead of purple. Or orange. I'm sure this will pass.
The webcam is, of course, still down and will remain that way until I can get my ADSL installed in the new place. Then I have to figure out where to point the thing. I don't want to blind any of you by wandering past half-nekkid or something equally appalling.
I also have to keep my promise to Ms Jackie and post the "before and after" pics of the new place. I have a little .MOV file from the digital camera, so I can take some screen grabs from that to show the place when it was empty. The shelves are now finished, PC and desk installed, sofa placed and so on. The bathroom still remains to be altered, of course, but I'm getting used to taking a shower instead of a bath (despite not being too happy about it), so that's less of a rush now.
In other news, Pie and I are slowly settling in to the new place. He's struggling a bit, since there's a courtyard (he's always been an indoor cat up 'til now) and two other cats in the building. Unfortunately, this means I have to put up with a lot of mewling as he complains about all the changes, the new feline neighbours and being shut inside the apartment when he would rather be out in the open. It's quite painful to hear, but I think we're slowly reaching some sort of compromise.
Psycho is still seeing her bloke, which is good news. He's unfortunately working as a salesman while he finishes some studies to become a veterinary assistant (or something), which means he's not around as much as she or I would like. I still have to put up with her crap a little too much for my liking, but things are changing for the better. She starts a new job tomorrow, too, which is excellent news: and it's right opposite her apartment, so she can't whine about having to travel!
Work's been a total bitch the last couple of weeks: I screwed up somewhat on my analysis of the reporting requirements for this project, so that's running late and everyone's worried. Such is life. I guess I'll have some crap to take over that one.
Anyways, it's great to be back!
I'm back. Well, at least I'm around for a few days, while at work. Unfortunately the bureaucracy surrounding ADSL installation here in France sucks the big one, so I won't have a decent connection for at least ten days. I'm currently on dialup at home (which is horrifically slow) and so am taking advantage of the office connection now that I'm back at work after the move.
The move itself went pretty well, all things considered. My personal move was, of course, very easy. Much as anticipated, I had about a dozen boxes, a couple of bags and half a dozen bits of furniture to shuffle to the new place: easy peasy lemon squeezy. Psycho's move, however, was even more of a nightmare than I could possibly have imagined: dozens of bags of clothes, tens of boxes, piles and piles of accumulated crap - and there's STILL stuff in her old place that needs dealing with. So much for having three weeks to prepare before the final date. *sigh*
Good news for the movers, too: they were excellent. Four guys came to deal with everything and had it all done in three and a half hours. They were pleasant, amusing, efficient and honest (one of them found money lying around at Psycho's while neither of us was there, but handed it to me when I returned). One of them even dismantled and rebuilt the mezzanine for Psycho - a service for which I had paid, of course - and did it really well. Superb.
Anyways, I'm all moved in now: the lounge/salon/living room is neat and tidy with my computer and desk set up at one end and the sofa at the other. The bedroom has my boxes stacked in a corner, since I still have no shelving to put anything on. Unfortunately, I managed to bruise a thigh muscle on Wednesday evening (by slipping on the wooden floor while attempting to avoid squashing the cat, thus falling flat on my face... and on my keys) which was so painful for the next day or two that I couldn't walk very well, let alone carry anything heavy. Most annoying, as I had planned to zip over to IKEA and get some shelving. I'll do that at the end of this week.
In the meantime, I've been getting used to the new place: it's nice and quiet, light and homey. Pie is accustomed to his new abode - it took him five or six days in all - and the only problem is an upstairs neighbour who apparently walks as graciously as Frankenstein's monster. Still, it's no big deal to have a bit of thudding over my head: the PC drowns it.
While I spent most of the week tidying, cleaning and playing games on the computer (since I had no internet connection), Pie spent the majority of the first few days hiding under the duvet. Every time there was a delivery, he hid - and still does. On the other hand, I can't leave without him following me downstairs to the courtyard, where he sniffs around. It's a real voyage of discovery for him right now - including native life in the form of someone else's cat. Hostile or friendly? Unknown for the moment. From what I can see, despite being bigger than Pie (yes, a pretty spooky thought), he wouldn't stand a chance. Hopefully it won't come to that: I'm avoiding any contact between them at present.
Still, the best thing about the new place has to be... that I finally have a washing machine!
'Tis done. I am now a home owner or, to be slightly more precise, someone who will own a home in twenty years' time once the mortgage is paid off! It's a really strange feeling, particularly since I haven't moved in yet: I keep finding these keys in my pocket and thinking "What the...? What are these? What am I doing with someone else's keys?!"
The whole signature thing was a bit of an event, so I'm going to write a fair amount today. Those who are easily bored should go to a more interesting web site now. Those who have nothing better to do than read mundane ramblings... well, read on!
Thursday was the day before the signing. I was working from home when the notaire called to tell me there was a problem: they hadn't received confirmation from the bank that the cheque would be available on Friday morning! I called the bank and spoke to a lady there who promised to call the legal people and sort it out. Excellent. Of course, a few hours later, the notaire called again: they'd sent the request that the bank had never received, but had heard nothing back. To make matters worse, the director at my branch had hung up on the notaire as she was speaking. How rude is that?!
Anyway, I called the bank back and sorted things out for the cheque: it would be there for the signing. I also had a few words about the director and have demanded an apology from him today: a mistake in paperwork I can understand, blatant rudeness I cannot. If he doesn't apologise by the end of the week, his boss will hear about it... then his boss, then his boss and so on up to the CEO of the whole damned company.
Friday was, of course, the main event. Thankfully, the notaire is near my bank, so I knew the area reasonably well. Despite this, I miscalculated travel time (on foot) and arrived early, but that's better than arriving late. The young lady who dealt with the sale was, I must say, very yummy.
The flat owner was also there - in fact, two sisters owned the place, but the other one couldn't come, so only one turned up. That was a shame, because the one who couldn't make it is a psychiatrist, which would have made for an interesting conversation: not to say that the lady there, who is an administrative secretary at the Ministry of Defense, was boring. A very nice lady, in fact.
So the papers were read and signed and, some two hours later, I had the keys! I'm a home owner! Wooohoooo!
"Baldrick, you wouldn't know a cunning plan if it stripped naked, painted itself purple and danced on top of a harpsichord singing 'Cunning plans are here again'..."
I'm being terribly organised today. Since all the dates are sorted out for the new apartment, I've been figuring out what I need to do and when. Shifting the telephone number, re-subscribing to ADSL, dealing with the electricity company and so on - it all has to be done pretty quickly. Since the movers are coming some ten days after the signing, I shall probably end up living without furniture for a while, which should be amusing.
It's going to be a busy week.
In other news, I received the devis¹ from the movers today. Yesterday afternoon, the lady who runs the company with her husband came by to make a list of what needed moving (and to where, since it's a three-way move), so that she could figure out how much space is needed in the lorry.
I appear to have been very lucky with the moving company. A friend of a colleague recommended them, as they have had both good and bad experiences while moving homes. It seems the recommendation was for excellent reasons: not only did she and I have a lot of fun chatting as we went through the list of what needed moving, but the price is in the range I expected (or rather 'hoped for'!) and they appear willing to perform the move around the date I want. This last surprised me because I have asked somewhat late in the day - with only a couple of weeks' notice.
All that remains is for me to find out how much they will add to the bill to include dismantling and rebuilding the mezzanine at Psycho's² and to agree to their price. Oh, and of course I will need to finish packing!
¹ An official estimate of cost for a job.
² Since her flat is quite small, Psycho has a tall mezzanine where she sleeps, bought from IKEA and adjusted (i.e. the legs shortened) by me. I even built the thing, but I'd rather someone else dealt with the dismantling and rebuilding because I'm a lazy bugger.
"...Goodybeee,
Wipe a tear, baby dear, from your eyeeee."
Packing has begun in earnest. Well, not really in earnest, but it's begun. All my CDs are now packed ready to go and I've listed all the old VHS cassettes I intend to dump, so they can make their way to friends or charity. It's a bit of a mess:
1. That's the big pile of old VHS stuff waiting for dispersal. There's at least a couple of hundred: years of collecting! I figure I'll hand them over to friends and the ones that are left will go to Oxfam in the UK next time I visit.
2. Those are all my old TV recordings. A lot of those are really old and useless (over ten years old), but I'll hand some over to Psycho when she moves in, so she has stuff to record on.
3. Ah, the boxes. Hundreds and hundreds of CDs and another two boxes of DVDs, all neatly stashed away. Of the movable stuff I intend to take with me (as in non-furniture), that makes the bulk: there should be a box of books and a big bag of clothes, but that's about all.
4. Backpack: I use this for work. Big enough for the laptop and not obvious enough to get mugged or stolen from the car when I'm at a traffic light. Not that either of those happen much where I am, but a little paranoia is a good thing.
5. Yet another old PC. One of the many supplies of bits and bobs that I keep around, in case I feel like doing something stupid like installing Linux on a machine...
6. Inflatable alien!
Un, dos.. un, dos, tré, quattro...¹
Provided everything continues on schedule, today marks the 'Two Weeks To Go' point in my apartment purchase. Papers should be completed and keys handed over on 30th April, unless the Notaire is too busy and the signing has to be moved a couple of days in either direction.
Consequently, I've started making lists for myself: a list of things to do, of things to pack, of furniture to transport to Psycho's old place, my current place and the new place, of repairs and changes to be made to the old and new apartments, of letters to send to change addresses and telephone numbers... and dozens more. I hate lists.
I suddenly realised this morning that I should be packing. Two weeks seems an awfully long time, but it isn't. It's not like I have huge masses of boxes to transfer to the new place, of course, but I must admit to having way too many CDs and DVDs to transport - and none of them are packed yet. We're talking hundreds and hundreds, here.
Since I grabbed my digital camera back from Psycho when I was flat-hunting, I figured I should also take a few pictures of preparations, the move and the new place in its original form - the work I'll be doing to change the bathroom will also end up digitised, I would imagine! It's been a while since I last used the camera, so I had a little practice on Pie 'Oh' Pah². A tad fuzzy, those pictures, but the camera's surprisingly difficult to maintain steady and Pie doesn't often stay still for long, especially with a camera in his face!
Coming soon: the mess that is my apartment in preparation for the move. SEE the monstrous pile of old VHS cassettes awaiting disposal! MARVEL at the furry brown and silver wallpaper! GASP at the lack of organisation! FEAR the cat!
¹ No, I don't speak the language. I just remember the song.
² A vomitous pile of putrescent mucus it may be, but Yafro is still free.
Why is it that hearing the words "American" and "Patriot" in the same sentence makes me think of raving redneck lunatics who hate Arabs, homosexuals, liberals, anyone who wants peace, anyone who won't vote for George The Monkey, feminists, Jews, blacks, fat people, Wal-Mart¹, non-Christians, the French, Europe, foreigners and at least thirty-five other categories of people?
Ah, yes. I remember now.
¹ Despite the fact that Wal-Mart is the epitomy of the American Dream: screw everyone and make tons of money by catering to the lowest common denominator.
By chance, I came across this editorial from the New York Post reprinted on Yahoo News today. To say it's laughable would be kind: it's ridiculous confrontational crap based on unproved rumour. Allow me to elaborate... the piece starts with said semi-truth upon which everything thereafter is based:
"An upcoming audit [...] is expected to confirm the names of some 200 people and companies around the world who allegedly were bribed by Saddam's regime."
This is, of course, worrying and not unexpected. If anyone present can point their finger at more than one politican and/or big business owner who isn't corrupt, please let me know. What is amusing is the vitriolic outburst against the UN that the writer embarks upon, carefully making the US government sound lovely and wonderful at the same time. My favourite part is this:
"The United Nations itself stands bereft of moral authority when it comes to Iraq, and to America's heroic effort to reclaim that tortured nation for its people."
As opposed to the US, who not only declared war on a country without any sound reason to do so but are currently working on corruption just as bad? Of course, since they haven't been discovered yet and were kind enough to get rid of Saddam (which was a good thing, although I disagreed with the war itself), they're heroes. And as for reclaiming the nation "for its people", does that include the natural resources or will they be carefully siphoned off to the US? The Iraqis can have their country back, but we'll keep the oil, thank you very much.
I wonder if, one day, journalists will once again be news reporters, rather than bullshit-mongerers.
Bizarre some reason for, been speaking have with friend like this. Amazing result of human meaning intellect understand can. Imagine whole entry blog like annoying this would be.
And no, I don't know why it started. Just one of those stupid things one does on a Friday morning when one is knackered and fed up with the continuous assault of pessimism at work and in general. I mean, come ON: the sun is shining, it's the weekend tomorrow and there are people dying horribly, screaming in agony elsewhere in the world. Is it really that bad here?
Actually, I should curb my enthusiasm a little, since I just had a depressing week. Tuesday and Wednesday were pretty bad, mostly because of the all-encompassing pessimism, mentioned above, that seems suddenly to be coming from all directions. What with Psycho causing herself problems by overspending, work worrying about penny-pinching, scrimping and saving every last possible coin by outsourcing everything and the pressure of the apartment purchase, I couldn't face coming in to the office on Wednesday. That's very unusual for me, to feel so bad that it affects me physically to a point where I fall (psychosomatically) ill.
Thankfully, the ol' family stubborn streak came into play on Wednesday night and there's nothing can stop me once that gets going! One of the big advantages of having a very religious father with a deeply ingrained work ethic is that it's very difficult to dissuade members of my family for very long. We're strong, we're resistant, we'll fight anything and everything (in a non-physical way, being pacifists and all) to make it through and we'll even try to keep smiling while we do it. Throw everything you got at us and expect to get steamrollered as we come marching through...
A bit of exercise also helped, yesterday. I didn't push it too much, since it had been a while since I'd done anything much and I only had an hour (lunchtime, while working at home) to flail my limbs around, get clawed by the cat, recover and take a bath afterwards. Still, it did me a lot of good - those endorphins raise the spirits quite nicely. No, not in the "Hello, Mr. Poltergeist" sense. Admittedly, I'm having trouble walking properly today, but such is the price of manic aerobic stuff!
There's also some news on the Amel Front (now there's an invitation for a Scary Ross comment, if ever there was one!). She phoned on Monday night to say hello. I'd called her and left a message on Sunday, since she wasn't around. Her message was a little bizarre and it's at times like this that I wish I had a better understanding of the nuances of the French language, as well as those of women in general!
As best I can figure out, she wanted to apologise for not having phoned before, because she's been terribly busy with University and work. That bit, I got. Then she seemed to go off on a tangent and, as far as I can figure, seemed concerned that I was either (a) not being honest or (b) going to stop being her friend if she didn't agree to see me soon. It's confusing because, without knowing what she was thinking, the message was a bit messed up - and my answerphone records in rather bad quality, too.
Anyway, the practical upshot of this was that scenario (b) seemed far more likely (upon a second and third listening). It also appeared that the whole reference to honesty was simply in passing and one of those normal female fears of being messed around by men¹. So I phoned her yesterday and left another message, simply saying that there was no rush. We will get together as soon as she and I have time. My friendship is not dependant upon that.
I have to admit, though, that I also made it very clear that I'm interested in her... *grin*
¹ Men (at least the nice ones) have similar fears. It should also be mentioned that, although some are very nice people, many French men feel it is their duty to 'prove' the undeserved reputation they have as the world's 'most romantic lovers' by screwing any female in range. Many do this regardless of marital status or feelings for their target.
This week could well be crunch time for me, for several reasons. First off, it'll be the first time I have to pay the exorbitantly high taxes that have been inflicted on me this year. Suddenly living on more than 30% less every month is quite a shock to the system, especially with Psycho still out of work.
Secondly, this week is the last before the clauses suspensives on the new apartment. That means it's the last week when either side can pull out (for legal reasons) at no cost: after 8 April, if either the sellers or I pull out, it'll cost us a lot of cash. It's also the week when I shall be sending off my final application info for the 1% loan, various other official things and to the solicitor...
Finally, however, it may also be crunch week because Amel has holiday time. She's around during the week and available to go and do something, finally... if I can get her to answer her phone!
Since my father was a preacher, you can imagine that my upbringing was infested (or should that be infused?) with plenty of religious knowledge. The story of Lazarus springs to mind today. This chap was a friend of Beardie (that'd be Jesus) who was really ill. The guy's family called him for help, but by the time he arrived, Lazarus was dead and buried. So they wandered up to the grave, opened it up and Jesus called old Lazarus out, ostensibly raising him from the dead. It is also, incidentally, the story in the Bible with the shortest verse: "Jesus wept."
Why does this spring to mind today? It does so because this just happened to my flat purchase plans: they were dead and buried, but after a conversation with Psycho this morning, they're alive again.
To cut a long story short, she has released me from my promise of looking after her (or rather, has minimised it to a sustainable point). She's going to look after herself now and, despite some tough times ahead, we should be able to make ends meet.
What can I say, apart from "WHOOPEEEEEEEE!"?
Before any British readers start to ridicule me about the BBC television series, I never have and never will watch it. So there. The crossroads of which I speak is a philosophical or theoretical one, a moment in life where the future can go one of several ways. In this case, it's more of a fork than anything, I suppose, since there are only two real choices.
What am I blathering about? Well, I found out this morning that the estimation of tax I will have to pay in the coming year was accurate. This means I suddenly lose an additional 25% of my net income every month (at least). As you can imagine, when you're being taxed at about 40% to begin with - that's just the 'social charges' - and then have to pay more, to the point where the overall tax rate comes out at between 50% and 60%, life gets difficult.
Of course, I should just get married and spawn three children: then the rates would be reduced massively. Single people who earn good salaries pay stupidly large amounts of money to support everyone else, it seems. Terribly unfair, especially when such insanely high percentages are involved. As an aside, I've never understood why families aren't taxed more - hell, they're the ones putting such a strain on the health service, schools, government and everything else, not me. Catholic countries. Pah.
Anyway, the choices present themselves: basically, I have become much poorer since finding out how much tax I have to pay, so I now have to either give up on the new flat or cut my costs dramatically. I suppose there's also a third option of going back to the UK where taxes are lower, but I don't really want to consider that.
Surprisingly, when I spoke to Psycho, her response was to buy the new place and stop supporting her. She'd rush to get a job and take on her own costs, become independent and stop relying on me to get her out of the messes she ends up in with scary regularity. Of course, my fear is that she will fail totally and I won't be able to be there for her - contrary to the promise I made her some years ago and that, like all my (few) promises, I intend to keep - but on the other hand she may just succeed and push herself into real life. That would indeed be wonderful.
In many ways, hers is an offer I cannot pass up, since it is what I have been pushing her to do. I just feel bad about it.
It's one of those weeks again: stress for breakfast, tension for lunch and pressure for dinner. The weekend flew by with all the problems that have been piling up and my vague, feeble attempts at sorting them out.
The amazing news is that Psycho seems to have finally twigged that I have no money. Of course, I had to resort to the "can't afford to buy the new apartment" line of scare mongering to wake her up to the harsh reality of trying to pay for her life on my salary, but at least it worked. I'll be a manipulator yet. So she's now aware of the problems and should be working really soon: no more searching for the perfect job - but equally no taking really crappy soul-destroying work just for a little extra cash.
On the more negative - or at least more immediately stressful - side of things, the flat-purchase has run into a bit of a mangler. The agency wants to cash my cheque for the solicitor's fees, but of course, I don't have that kind of money lying around in my bank account. I need to speak to the bank to get their arse in gear for documentation: this I can then send to the people for the 1% loan, who will dump the cash in my account and bingo! Fees paid. The guy at the agency can hold onto the cheque for a little while longer, but not much. Major stress.
Financial worries seem to be in fashion in my life at the moment, too: I filled in my tax forms this weekend and the government's online calculator tells me I will have to pay between three and four months' salary in income tax! Considering I already pay some 40% of my monthly income in social charges, this addition would mean that I end up paying 60% of my income to the government - without including the taxe d'habitation or any other occasionals. It would also mean I simply cannot afford to buy my own place. That's just insane. I shall speak to a finance person at work to clear up what the hell's going on there. At least if I get the new flat, I'll be four doors away from the tax office...
Saturday was a good day, apart from all the stress. Most of the day I spent being a PC-Potato, playing games and so on. In the afternoon, I dropped in on the agency to organise that stuff and keep Monsieur Chouchana up to date on things: it's best to be polite and make sure he knows what's going on, or he'll cash that damned cheque and I'm buggered. After that, it was off to the supermarket for the shopping and to say hello to Amel.
This was, strangely enough, the highlight of my weekend: as I arrived at her checkout, the guy behind me said hello. It turned out to be an Indian chap I know, who runs a jewellery shop in the same street. He's an annoying toad, to be honest, since he talks excessively and spouts pseudo-philosophical bullshit at every opportunity (since his name is Yogi, I suppose he feels he has to), but we get on fine. Presumably, this is because I see right through his act and don't take him seriously. He also knows most of the cashiers at the supermarket and has an irrepressible need for humour, much like me.
By the time we had finished, half the cashiers, the supermarket boss and both of us were laughing our heads off, which was brilliant. Yogi also has the annoying habit of matchmaking and, since we were both at Amel's checkout, that turned out to be mildly embarrassing. I missed something he said (about me) that made her laugh, though, which was annoying.
Speaking of Amel, things are stationary there. We chat on the phone and still get on fine, but that's about it. We did talk about her university and so on, and she invited me along if I would be interested to see where she studies and meet some of her friends or whatever: sounds like a plan to me. I shall see if I can sort something out for a morning while I'm off work some time. I'm sure there must be some nice quiet corners of the library that need exploring.
Sunday was an excellent day, all thing considered. Of course, the tension hanging over me for the whole bank-money-Psycho-loans-taxes thing was a downer, but I had a lovely time nonetheless. Having totally overdone my Tae Bo session to the point where I couldn't stand up and actually collapsed in the warm-down (not unconscious or anything, just had zero energy left), I spent the rest of the day being a PC-Potato again. In my defense, this was mostly because hobbling to the kitchen, bathroom or anywhere else took a very long time and most of my remaining energy.
Psycho was having a bad day, since she'd woken up early, so she went off for a siesta in the early evening. Normally, we go off to a local café at that time, so I suddenly had some free time and my energy had come back. Scarily enough, an hour later, the bathroom was clean, the entire flat vacuumed, the cat's litter changed and all the bin-bags dumped downstairs for collection. Excellent.
In fact, when I went over to see Psycho, she was still fast asleep. I tried waking her, but she didn't want to be roused. Having fed Biscotte, I sat down to watch TV, fell asleep on the futon, woke up, tried to wake her again, failed and ended up watching Stalingrad, then going home to bed. A very relaxing evening.
The positive feeling continues today, since it's turned warmer and the sun's shining. Hell, it's 15°C out there today, which is pretty high for this time in March! Wooooo!
As they say, time and tide wait for no man. Since I'm several hundred miles from the nearest visible tidal effects, it's easier to notice time not waiting: five days have passed since my last entry and I hardly noticed them. So what's new?
Well, my house-owning obsession continues unabated: I've now received the duly-signed compromis (promise of sale, basically) from the agency which means both the sellers and myself are now under contract to continue the process. This is good. I also dropped in on the bank yesterday and sorted out the actual mortgage - the interest rate went up by 0.1% in the last two weeks, which is annoying, but the young lady there offered me a good rate anyway, so that's sorted, too.
Admittedly, the loan is going to cost me a touch more than I expected. This is annoying, particularly since I have a large wedge of cash that will be freed up after the sale that I could have used to drop payments a bit. Grrrr. Ah, well: I figure I shall use it for repairs and, assuming there is some left, invest it sensibly so that it earns me enough to pay off a bit of the mortgage later on, or something.
I've also completed the paperwork for the Prêt 1%. I can't remember if I mentioned this before, but it's a special loan that comes from the company: enforced by those lovely income-munching socialist-tax-people, it's a nice chunk of money that is offered at 1% interest (actually 1.9% when it's over 15 years). So I get over 15,000 Euros from them, can pay it back at some stupidly low rate and won't have to touch the shares I have in the US. Love it. The paperwork goes off today.
The next thing to consider is any changes once the place is mine at the end of April. The lounge is nice, but I'm not sure if I like the colour of the walls. It's a bit too blue, although that might be the photo, of course. The wooden floor stays - it's easy to clean and looks nice. Strangely, most places don't have curtains in Paris: personally, I don't really care if people look in my living room. It's not as if I'm doing anything interesting. I shall probably grab some curtains anyway, but will have to decide on colour. Dark blue is possible, or white, I suppose. I'm crap with colours.
The bedroom is in serious need of a floor-change. I don't know what's under that linoleum stuff, but if it isn't a nice wooden floor, I think carpet will be in order. I might do that anyway - it's always nice to step out of bed onto a soft, relatively warm surface rather than a hard, freezing cold thing. Since I'll be tearing down a wall and usurping part of the bedroom to install a bath, that shouldn't be a big problem.
The kitchen's going to need the most planning. It's long and thin (oo-er) and I want to put a large fridge, a washing machine, microwave and a couple of other bits in there. Thankfully, I don't need to use it as an eating space, so a single small table can act as a worktop, although I might put up some kind of wide shelf or folding wall-table-thingummy instead. Cupboard space is limited, but I can always steal a corner of the lounge for that. The floor is OK.
I'm obviously going to need to put my thinking cap on, if I can find it.
In other news, I got the cashier lady's name and phone number this weekend. Unfortunately, her writing is very French (i.e. unreadable) so I'm having trouble deciphering it all, particularly the numbers. Provided I can figure it out, I'm thinking of phoning tomorrow and seeing if she's up for an evening out with a deranged foreigner. That'd be me, by the way.
I haven't slept properly for about a week. With the additional stress of house-hunting, I've been waking up every day before the alarm goes off, sleeping badly in general and having weird dreams (last night's involved sleeping in a bed in a car park, for instance). This morning, I am about as awake as a hedgehog in winter.
The situation is exacerbated by yesterday evening's trip out to a very nice restaurant. February 15th is, you see, the anniversary of the day Psycho and I first met, so we 'celebrate' it. I put that in quotes because, sometimes, I wonder if it's a celebration of our meeting or a moratorium for my life as an expression of free will.
Anyway, whatever else it is, it remains a good excuse to go and spend disproportionately large quantities of cash on remarkably well-prepared food. We always go back to our favourite posh restaurant for this anniversary - Le Bistrot de Papa, a stone's throw from the Eiffel Tower. Of course, this means that I ate far too much and got to bed late.
As I said: a hedgehog in winter.
This morning, I went out visiting estate agencies. I'm now registered with half a dozen, each of which is very different. It still amazes me how, in France, companies can be so different - nice, mean, distracted... no two are the same. Let me recount...
Firstly there was Era Immobilier¹. They're only a few moments' walk from where I live and the agency is run by two guys. Utter crap. The person I spoke to was disinterested and unhelpful. He took my details but couldn't even be bothered to give me a business card. I don't foresee much coming from them. Their loss.
Next, I dropped in on S.T.I., which was much better. The young lady took my details and walked through several variations on the theme: how the officially measured size can be a little misleading, whether I was prepared for some repair work and so on. They have my details and I have theirs. This one sounds more helpful.
Thirdly, I went over to the 'other side of the tracks': I live next to a main road which separates two areas of what one might call different classes. That is, where I am people are relatively normal. They have small businesses, they're pleasant and have a sense of community. It's rare for me to walk the length of the road without saying hello to at least three or four people. Over the other side things are more bourgeois.
I dropped in on two agencies over there: Clair and Aubigny. The first was run by a lady who was quite cold at first, but soon warmed up once we got chatting. She took a lot of details about the sort of place I'm looking for and we exchanged contact information. Another hopeful.
Finally, Aubigny agency was the one for which I held the least hope. The window display contained almost exclusively apartments worth several hundreds of thousands of Euros/dollars and the lady who runs the place with her husband came across as a serious snob. However, I was in for a very pleasant surprise once all the discussion of details was finished. She chuckled to herself when I asked specifically for flats on my side of the main road. Apparently, she was very pleased that I'm not "one of those snobby types who wants a beautiful apartment in the right area with stupid criteria"! Excellent.
Once again, I am also proving to be a good client. The mortgage is agreed at the bank, I know what I'm looking for and where, I know the process and have the money ready for legal fees, I will accept places that need work and repairs, I don't have stupid criteria and I'll look at any place once.
I also picked up my digital camera from Psycho's place last night. Jackie had the excellent idea of taking photos of the places I visit (unless the current inhabitants have a problem with that, of course!) and posting them. That'll make for an excellent visual record for later reference! Thanks, milady.
So now it's a case of waiting and visiting. Fingers crossed.
¹ Immobilier is basically 'real estate' in French.
Yesterday was a pretty big day for me, all things considered: with an appointment at the bank in the morning and some agencies to chat to in the afternoon, I was hoping real-life matters would be a lot clearer. In addition, Thursday is "my" day: I don't see Psycho, I have pizza delivered and sit watching bad films or playing silly games all evening.
The lady at the bank was excellent. Thankfully she was quite young - no offense to older financial advisors, but they tend not to have a clue where I'm coming from - and took the time to explain everything in detail. I now have a much better grip on the whole process of buying an apartment than I did two days ago! She also ran through a bunch of simulations to show how much money I can borrow: by changing lower and upper limits, varying amounts per month and so on, she gave me a very good idea of the size of place for which I can go hunting.
It looks like it'll be me that moves, too. The more I think about it, the more I'd rather move into my own place that actually belongs to me than have Psycho in there and be her landlord. She seems happy about that, too, since she'd get my old place (big) and leave behind her current apartment (small and shoddy).
Speaking of Psycho, she continues to try to throw a spanner in the works without realising it. Her questioning goes on (and on) and she persists in inquiring in areas for which I have no detail and no answer: it's quite enlightening to watch the way her brain desperately seeks worries, switching away from the places where there is reassuring information as soon as it arrives. Last night, she once again raised the question of going back to university, presumably since this would cause more concern.
Anyway, I decided I should sit down and budget for some of this upcoming change. The first thing to do was, of course, to catch up on my accounts - entering six months of statement info is no fun, but at least the program (Quicken 2004) can produce an automatic analysis and budget once the data is there. That resulted in both good and bad news...
The good news is that I could afford to continue living as I am, should I need to: that is, I could still pay Psycho's rent and the mortgage on a new place, afford to eat and not be too worried about matters. OK, so it'd cut things very close and rely on my yearly bonus to work properly, but it's possible.
The bad news is manifold. Firstly, I don't really want to continue living like that. I was, to be honest, shocked to see how much money I have given to Psycho in the last year. Without even counting the rent and food, I've effectively paid her a part-time salary. That's just scary. Secondly, I can't afford to pay for her to go back to university. That is, of course, only bad news for her: there's absolutely no reason why I should pay. Thirdly and most importantly - and as a direct result of the previous two items - I will have to tell her that I can no longer afford to support her like that and that she needs to get a job or cut down on her Pointless Frivolity™ spending. Fast.
Why is that bad news? Because I'll have to put up with her instant mutation into Princess Whiny.
Someone gave me a great idea yesterday. We were talking about finances: one thing that I'm completely and utterly rubbish at organising. The person in question knows that I pay Psycho's rent as well as my own, but that I also cannot afford to buy my apartment. Parisian prices are high and my place is pretty big.
"Why don't you buy a smaller apartment and put Psycho in it?" she says. "At least then you'd be paying two rents, but getting an apartment for one of them instead of throwing the money away."
Genius.
Here in France, there's also a law that makes buying a 'secondary residence' cheaper if one agrees to rent it out for ten years. Since Psycho would effectively be renting my secondary place (i.e. I don't live in it), I could benefit from said regulations.
Since this would involve Psycho having to move, I spent a while on the phone with her last night, discussing the details. She had a few obvious questions, but was really quite pleased with the idea: everybody wins, when it comes down to it.
She wins because she would have a place of her own pretty much guaranteed: I'm very unlikely to suddenly decide to throw her out so I can sell the place or rent it to someone else. She would gain an understanding landlord (me) and would retain her independence.
I win because I stop throwing money away for one of the apartments. I have capital for a later, bigger investment for my own place. I'd also get back the deposit on Psycho's place - twelve months of rent is a lot of cash and would pay for renovations on an apartment of my own.
So now I'm house-hunting. Well, not really: I'm starting to think about it. I need to speak to the bank to see how much I can borrow in practical terms and to look into how it all works over here in France. Psycho's the one actually out house-hunting, but then she's always enthusiastic about that.
Anyone got a 200-square-metre apartment in a really nice area that they want to sell for a couple of thousand euros?
Unemployment is a bitch. It's one of the most depressing, fatiguing and utterly soul-destroying things that can happen, especially when it lasts too long. Personally, I've been lucky: by taking sometimes-crappy jobs, working in bars or filling my time as best I could with freelance computer stuff, I've never been out of work for more than six months at a time.
Psycho, on the other hand, is not so lucky. Being a clinical psychologist, work is scarce and given her somewhat lacklustre approach to sticking with crappy jobs, she's been effectively unemployed for a couple of years. Since I'm such a nice guy (read sucker), I support her while she tries to find something good to dig her teeth into.
Just recently, however, she's started on a new tack: she wants to go back to being a student. There is good reason for this, since French bureaucracy demands a different diploma for virtually every style of psychological work. She wants to get some more qualifications, basically grabbing pieces of paper that say she can do things of a lesser intensity than the clinical stuff she is entirely capable of handling.
The downside? Guess who she wants to support her for two or three more years...
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm a loony magnet. This is, unfortunately, quite a common thing for anyone who is a Nice Guy™. Look around you at all the spoiled princesses and see who they're with - almost undoubtedly some long-suffering saint of a guy who was completely ignored for ages by Ms. Twisted ("he's a nice guy" = "wouldn't sleep with him in a million years"), finally convinced her to go out with him and will now spend the rest of his life being her manservant.
Any of you who've visited regularly know I despise the whole idea of hating men that is such a trendy thing at the moment amongst psychotic "feminists" (quotes included because they're not real feminists). Society continues to encourage everybody - and particularly women - to blame anyone else for their problems, rather than just accepting responsibility and learning from it.
So what does this have to do with me being a loony magnet? Well, just the other day I arrived at Psycho's place and found her neighbour outside in the rain, smoking a cigarette. She's a lady of (probably) about my age - a little older - with a daughter who's about to head into The Nightmare That Is Adolescence. Her bloke doesn't seem to be home much, so she raises her kid mostly on her own: I think he has some job that involves a heck of a lot of travel or something.
Seeing her there, I said hello and joked that she'd locked herself out. We get along fine, so I knew I could invite her up to Psycho's if she was locked out, until someone with a key arrived. Apparently, she'd had a barney¹ with her daughter and had absented herself to calm down. She mumbled something about it being easier for a man to maintain order and we both got into the lift together.
Arriving outside our destinations, she opened her door and invited me in for a moment. Being polite, I figured it'd be nice to actually see her flat and to properly meet her, her daughter and her two cats that keep trying to invade Biscotte's domain.² As we entered the flat, she called out to her daughter:
"Cynthia, there's a man here who'd like to speak to you."
At this point, my brain basically said "WHAT?!" - I had no idea why she was calling her daughter or what she thought I wanted to say to her. Then it suddenly dawned on me: she wanted me to do a sort of surrogate father thing and tell her daughter to calm down and 'do what mum says'. Loony magnet.
This goes to show how little the neighbour (Benedicte) actually knows about me. First off, I'm Mr. Logical: if she wants me to step into an argument, I'm going to want to hear both sides, separately and privately, and make my own decision about who's right. Secondly, I have immense respect for the rights of individuals: I am not going to tell someone else's child what to do unless it's in the street and they're being blatantly offensive in the absence of their own parents.
So basically I found myself in this completely unbelievable situation, floundering wildly and refusing to side with anybody. Both Cynthia and myself must have looked horribly uncomfortable (I know she did!) while Benedicte blathered on about calming down and so on. Eventually, the situation ended and I left, dazed and wondering what the hell just happened. The next time I bump into Cynthia, I shall excuse myself: I had no idea that her mother wanted me to be the judge, jury and executioner.
Truly bizarre. Once again, Loony Magnet Theory proves itself to be the governing force of my life.
¹ Translation for the non-Brits: barney = argument, generally a big one.
² Caramel is the worst: male and quite large, he's even come into Psycho's apartment and had to be chased off by Biscotte. It got to a point last summer where I was tempted to bring the significantly larger, tougher and brutish Pie 'Oh' Pah over to ensure Caramel stayed away. The second, Canelle, is much smaller and less interested in invasion.
Well, it's back to the orifice today... er, "office", I mean. It's strange to think I have been on holiday for over ten days, particularly when one considers that I actually had about four days of relaxation. The rest of the time was spent dragging my sorry ass through a bout of 'flu, which is not very much fun. It was real 'flu, too - not just a bad cold that is made to sound more dramatic by using the wrong word. Pounding headaches, back pain, coughing so hard that I had to bend double to try to keep my lungs inside my rib cage... the whole deal. Icky.
Now, of course, I must dive into all the backed-up crap here on my desk. Unsurprisingly, the massive flood of email that awaited me this morning must be dealt with first, then the various voice mails. Thankfully, I have only one of the latter. The email is the biggest job: imagine anywhere between 500 and 1,500 messages per day unanswered during 10 days' holiday and you have the starting point. Thank goodness I have a decent spam filter.
I also have to fill in a whole bunch of official forms now that the French bureaucracy has finally given me a Social Security number (only took them 15 months). The company gives full medical cover, so I filled in those forms. Then there was the one in case of accidents, the one in case I die and a couple of others that they needed. This country's red tape brigade is severely demented.
It's raining this morning, too, which does wonders for lifting the mood. Driving to work after a couple of weeks away from the wheel was a bit of an adventure, particularly with the added water. It's still throwing down now.
I should get back to work.
Happened across this site today, which has some excellent 'adverts' for the Mad Monkey's upcoming election campaign. Since the site is opposed to him and the judge of the 'winner' will be Michael Moore, I think you can imagine what sort of advertisements we're talking about...
And my absence? Well, I'm supposed to be having a holiday this week. Unfortunately, of course, I never get a proper holiday: I've had the 'flu since Saturday (and yes, the real thing, not just a bad cold) and Psycho has been a right royal pain in the butt all week. So much for time off.
Back to the office after a nice weekend of bumming around and relaxing. I have a meeting today that is seven hours long, so I expect to be running on a single brain cell for most of the day.
The big news of the moment, however, is that Psycho and JC are back together. He dropped in on Friday night and, as suspected, convinced her that it was worth another shot - not that she needed much convincing, to be honest. He's a nice chap (although not perfect!) and they may have something special going on.
Cool. Gets her out of my hair.
...after the beep. I'm too busy playing Silent Storm and working my skinny butt off to think of anything even vaguely interesting to say.
Normal service will probably be resumed. Some time. When I've had more coffee.
I don't know if any of you remember way back in March when I started this weblog. The reason behind it - but not the purpose of it - was "Operation Iraqi Freedom". Otherwise known as Dubya's Great Oil Company Takeover Bid, the war in Iraq was a huge surprise to many of us and woke me up a bit from the usual blinkered view of my own navel.
The big news is, of course, that Saddam Hussein has been captured. It'll be interesting to see how they decide to deal with the situation, but I have a suspicion they'll go ahead and do something stupid. Let's face it: Dubya is not one to give two hoots about right or wrong, what the rest of the world thinks or anything beyond getting re-elected. Knowing him, he'll probably execute the guy o