London Bridge didn't fall down, so there's still hope.

New house is starting to reveal its hidden flaws. As the plaster comes off, so the cracks in the brickwork start to become evident. Under the carpet, underlay so old, it's mostly dust particles and under that? Cracked and uneven concrete.
The monies put aside for new windows and a new kitchen are being funnelled into the builder fund. Friends of friends of friends are being marshalled into the fold of professional air suckers and head shakers and we are spending our days off showing different bits to different chaps with clipboards.

To answer your immediate question (and I can say this with some authority as both the people I spoke to today have asked it): no it wasn't on the survey. And the follow up question? No they are not responsible.

My sister asked "What made you think this was a good idea?" And I have to admit, the same thought has strolled across my mind once or twice. But I still feel happy whenever I'm there. Even with the wallpaper and plaster everywhere. It is a happy house. And I love the location. One day it will be perfect. And I will look back on this blog and laugh. One day...

It's only a bloody miracle!

My nephew is blind. He's been blind since birth. Every doctor, every specialist, every bit of paper says so. For nearly 30 years, he has been deemed sightless. It's important that you know this, so you can appreciate the miracle I am about to unfold.
He recently went to have an employment support allowance assessment. On arrival they said "But what are you doing here: you're blind!" Assessment was done and nephew taken home (he has local guides and a friendly taxi driver).
Some point during that assessment, a miracle occurred. ATOS have found nephew to be partially sighted! Not blind at all! How could we all have been so blind! He's partially sighted! And as such not eligible for ESA. But of course they stopped the payment before he received notification of the miracle. He, foolish boy, hasn't even noticed his sight had been partially restored. It must be quite a shock to see FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER.
Alas tis no miracle but what we in the trade call a Cock Up. He has 28 days to appeal and the RNIB are providing legal advice. But no one can help my niece who is beside herself with financial worry now.
This is your tax pennies at work here. Paying for a private company to make erroneous judgements. Causing extra work at additional cost. To you.
So I ask you, dear reader, to share this tale with anyone you see fit, call your MP. Ask them where your money is going. And what is being done to put right these sorts of mistakes? We can only get things changed if we speak up. Together.

Sold! eBay netiquette

Now I love eBay*. I love browsing to see what bizarre things people have to sell. I love buying clothes, furniture and stuff at great prices. I love selling my unwanted clothes, furniture and stuff and trying to get a little cash rather than throwing it away. I also think its a pretty green way of disposing of unwanted kit. But I am noticing more and more eBayers not playing by the rules. Not just ebay's own regulations but the rules of being, well, PLU.

Firstly don't bid if you don't intend to buy. May sound obvious but nothing is more annoying than a message from your winning bidder stating that they "didn't really want it" or "can't afford it". Now you have to go through the whole selling rigmarole again and you might not even get the same bids. Never bid more than you can afford and, a little tip for some of my chums, never EVER bid drunk. Especially not on Ugg boots. You Know Who You Are.

Conversely, don't list if you don't intend to sell. I was delighted to have won a Poirot box set (this was before they were on every 2 hours on ITV2) for the princely sum of 99p plus P&P. I paid in full and waited. And waited. And waited. Several unanswered emails later my money was refunded but I never got to have the joy of multiple Poirots sans advertisements. If you have no intention of selling your item for less than £50, then either start your listing at that price, or put a reserve on it. Yes, it might cost you a few extra pennies in listing fees, but at least you will know that your minimum price will be reached before you sell. Which bring me on to...

No shill bidding. For those of you not in the know this is when a seller asks a chum to bid on an item in order to make the price go up. Sometimes the seller creates dummy accounts to do the same. Not only is this against eBay regulations, it's also a pretty stinky thing to do. You'd be cheesed off if you thought someone had done it to you. So don't.

Leave feedback. Both buyers and sellers can be guilty of this. eBay runs on customer feedback so it's only fair that if you have had a good, or bad, experience, you rate them. As a seller, feedback is the only way I can be certain you received the item and as a buyer, it is just good manners to rate me! It takes 30 seconds of your day and can make a world of difference to the recipient.

In short, don't do anything to others that you wouldn't like to be done to you. Which is a pretty good tenet for any occasion, don't you think?

*Other online auction sites are available, but lets face it, we all use eBay, don't we?

Can't you just pull yourself together?

I've had a mini episode this week, blessedly short but quite acute which, I suppose, is better than long and chronic. Now I'm coming out of the low, I find myself plagued with guilt and shame. How could I have allowed this to happen? Surely I could have got my shit together enough to go to work? To get through. Couldn't I, in fact, as my father used to say, pull myself together a bit?

It is extraordinarily difficult for a non sufferer to understand what a depressive episode can mean. For me, just getting out of bed is a trial, I'm always so tired. Getting dressed is nigh on impossible. The desire to wash, cook, clean, talk all gone. As is my attention span. I find I cannot concentrate on anything for more than 10 minutes, if that. Coupled with feelings of worthlessness and despair and topped off with the unfortunate tendancy to cry all the time, it is not easy to do anything, let alone buck up enough to simulate normality.

I have spent days in my pyjamas, shaking with fear at the sound of the windw cleaner, dreading a knock at the door, a telephone call. Even texts and are frightening. Who is it? What do they want and what must they think of me? I have promised the Bear that I will never turn my phone off as he wants to check on me. But I do go to Do Not Disturb mode and hide notifications so tht I can psych myself up to check.

And now I'm crawling back to normality, although I still shake when sending a text to anyone but my nearest and dearest. I still feel like I've let everyone down. Could this have been prevented? Possibly. It was most likely a combination of a delayed response to something that happened at work, added into other work issues and us taking on a hugely stressful house/mortgage combo. I probably could have dealt with one, maybe even two but all three did for me. But do I avoid potentially stressful situations on the offchance my psyche might kick me in the head? If that is the suggested option I say pffftt to it. I will continue to live, to love, to be passionate about what I do and the things or people I love, to be utterly bonkers in every way. Yes I run the risk of horrible weeks like the one just gone (and it was horrible) but I have an excellent doctor and a wonderful man who take good care of me. I think I'll just try and keep the mega stresses to one or two in future.

Googling myself all day long

Recently a chum googled herself. Reading her hit results, she became distraught at what she perceived to be public information, all about her. Bits taken from Facebook, LinkedIn, 192 etc all brought together by the computerised profilers. She promptly spent several days removing herself from the Internet. She deleted profiles, removed posts and generally scrubbed her virtual self. But as we know, like elves and gay men, Internet profiles never truly die, they merely diminish and head off into the West. They are still there, in the backwaters, on download servers whose job it is to take a picture of every web page ever. Somewhere, someone has a copy of that photo you thought you had deleted forever. To quote Robin of Sherwood AND Dr Who (and what a pair), "Nothing is ever forgotten".

So many times I have had to remind people that posting on a forum is public. It isn't a chat between you and a couple of mates. It's a message to the whole bloody world (give or take). If you are not prepared for the response of WBW, then don't post. Rule of thumb: Never ever ever post anything ever that you wouldn't want your mum, boss, ex or cat to see in all its glory. Think before you drink before you post!

I use the same nickname, avatar and 'self description/quote' everywhere on the web. If you're looking for me, I'm pretty easy to find. In fact I just googled myself. 5 pages in and it's all about me me me! I'm everywhere! Which does bring up the question "Why aren't more people reading this blog?" Loads of links to Twitter and Twitter associated sites. Apparently I don't have a lot of Klout. I do have lots of piccies of my avatar, though,and an inordinate number of doggy pics.

As for my chum, she has been lured back to the world of Facebook (score one to Mr Zuckerberg) by promises of amusing statuses and hilarious cat photos. However she is using a pseudonym. Just in case.

Kitchens and bathrooms and bedrooms (oh my!)

I find myself in the market for a new kitchen. The purchase of New House is getting ever closer to completion, allowing me to fantasise about island units and ginormous fridges with ice makers. My first port of call is the magazine rack at Sainsbugs. I always have to conduct plenty of research at home before venturing out into the big world and face to face with 'experts'. This is why my bookshelf carries such tomes as 'Running a Bed and Breakfast in France', 'Starting a shop', 'Grow Your Own Fruit' and 'Goat Breeding for Beginners'.
I scanned the many home stylee magazines and picked up one promising to delight me with 'kitchens, bathrooms and bedrooms'. I have all three of those, thinks I, and duly trot to the checkout. Of course the mag is sealed inside its own little plastic cover, so flicking through wasn't an option. I feel the need to say this as I would never purchased the item, had I but known the truth.
So, once home, the wrapper is torn off and all the little inserts shaken out. I gaze lovingly at the glossy pages and decide to reward myself with a Lush bath and the new untouched magazine. Perfumed bubbles gently steaming, I get myself comfortable in the bath and reverently open the magazine. First few pages are ads and contents. Fine. Move on. Then a 5 page spread on how Jocasta and Tarquin couldn't stand their brand new kitchen, so ripped it out and started again. Their new (yes alright stunning) kitchen dining extravaganza has doors out onto the terrace and a huge central island perfect for their cookery delights. My kitchen is 3m square. I don't think this will fit....
A few more pages in and I come to the (again) huge entertaining kitchen of Jocasta and Tarquin, who party hard in their delightful 62 bedroom mansion. Now this kitchen includes not one but two ambient wine storers and a champagne ice bucket in the (obviously standard) gigninormous central island. Coloured LEDs light the kitchen to create "dazzling" effects. Bear and I don't entertain much to be honest. And we don't drink much either. I think perhaps this kitchen is not suitable inspiration.
I flick through, feeling a little let down now. I find a rather lovely photograph of a pink kitchen. The blurb tells me that it comes "primed and ready to paint" and kitchens "start at £17,000". Seventeen grand? And it's NOT FINISHED! I think either my concept of what a kitchen should cost is vastly underestimated, or this magazine is definitely not for PLU.
I have to add that the bedrooms were no better: beds costing £20,000 and more and as for the bathrooms, well!
I have left the magazine, sad and lonely, in the smallest room, where it shall remain until it learns how to behave like a proper magazine. I, meanwhile, have returned to the relative safety of the web. To kuchen huus and beyond!

Crushing the crush embargo

I always seem to have a crush on someone. Sometime it will be a friend, a work colleague or someone I've just seen on the street. Suddenly they are aglow. My heart pounds a little faster in their presence, my brain turns to jelly and I become a giggling schoolgirl incapable of intelligent discourse. This can be rather embarrassing, especially if its someone with whom I have previously had a good relationship.
My ever loving bear is supportive of my little crushes. He knows he's the only one for me. And crushes go as suddenly as they arrive, leaving me wondering what on earth I was thinking! Because a really good crush isn't the famous and handsome actor from the blockbuster. Oh no. My crushes are strange and unusual people, often with a searing intellect and corresponding lack of social skills!
My first ever crush was my father's business partner. To this day the smell of pipe smoke makes me weak of the knee and giddy of the soul. Then in my early teens, the boy downstairs captured my heart. Albeit briefly for I was a fickle young thing. My papa used to announce "It's Lillekat and her men"!
Aged 18 and living in a hall of residence, our flat all were crushing on the upstairs flat, although I was the only one besotted with a third year student, A, who was a brilliant mathematician. This culminated in me getting very very drunk and calling up to A, shouting "I do love you!" I will always remember his patient "Yes, yes, I love you too." So kind, so dismissive! He broke my heart and he never even knew!
Later crushes were variations on the theme of brilliant intellectual. I was crushing on one lecturer so much, I couldn't concentrate when he was behind me and being the only girl in my class did not help! My classmates tormented me terribly about this and I spent much of my undergrad life pink with girlish embarrassment!
These days it's work colleagues who worm their way into my affections. And then get kicked out by their successor, never to return to my crushing bosom.
I read a fantastic word on Facebook, sapiosexual; defined as being sexually attracted to intellect. That's me. It really is brains not brawn that turn me on. And looking at the popularity of Prof Brian Cox, I'm not alone! PhDs are very sexy ;-) I refer you to Dr Sheldon Cooper
So don't be afraid of having a crush. There's nothing wrong with you, and you don't love your partner any the less. But it can make the day a little more fun and just a little exciting. After all you never know who you might meet...