Revenge Is A Sweet Tooth

Or ... Santa Thinks I'm A Chocolate Munching Lush:

We had Christmas at home this year, just the three of us, my grumpy old man, pussy and me. We did our usual thing of opening one present an hour, this ensured I'd have the last one to open because I don't buy as much stuff for grumpy as he does for me ... this is only fair.
He did warn me beforehand that there were no expensive surprises wrapped up, but did I believe him? Hmm, yes ... but I half hoped that there'd be something sparkly tucked away somewhere. Don't you just hate being disappointed?

These three were missing during the photo-shoot

By the sixth hour/present, I began to detect a theme going here ... yes, I'd told everyone that:

1. I didn't really need any presents [this does not include from my GOM]
2. If they must buy me anything, then - please - not bath stuff.
3. Ditto shower gels or body sprays - and we all know why.

Every single present I unwrapped - bar one - either involved alcohol [yum] or was covered in chocolate.

I have mentioned before how we do Christmas, and that grumpy doesn't actually want any Christmas presents, which up to now has always worked to my greedy advantage ... or so I thought.

You know, I've just been looking for the blog post that covers grumpy and his presents, when I came across another one that made me laugh out loud, I'd totally forgotten about it.

Then I came across this one. Hmm, having looked back ... I now realise that he's always bought me lots of chocolates and left the choice of something sparkly for me to buy [with my own loot]. So he is in fact probably a lot more cunning than I thought.

Anyway, for me, the best [non-alcoholic] present was from my pussy cat - a tin of cream crackers. This is because I don't have a sweet tooth - but I do know a man who has ...

Tia And Her Little Foibles

Tia in summer

It's well known among my friends that our cat is delicate, she is difficult to feed except when we're in the tin hut. This led us to believe that she was happy there and miserable at home. There is a tinge of truth in this, because although she stands her ground against other cats when we're away, she isn't so confident in her home territory.

We took her for her yearly overhaul at the vets in November, as the date got closer for her appointment I was filled with dread. She ate little and often brought it back up and I could see her getting thinner - this happens every late autumn/winter as she goes into near hibernation. Tuna fish to the rescue.

I could tell the vet wasn't happy when he started feeling her abdomen then decided to fetch the scales to weigh her, she had been weighed before so he knew she was generally a lightweight. I explained that she'd been sick a couple of times over the weekend and he agreed that this could be the problem. Everything else, except her weight was fine.

After this I decided to cruise t'Interweb to see if it'd be OK for her diet to be largely made up of tuna fish as she couldn't resist it ... oh heck! It isn't, apparently it's bad for them. I searched further and also discovered that ALL dried cat food, including the most expensive ones are a load of crap as they are mostly made up of vegetable protein - no good to cats at all - and not meat, therefore the missing important vitamins and stuff [taurine], they put in after.

Cats cannot ever be vegetarians, they would die. So why do we force feed them vegetable protein and carbohydrates. We only have dry cat food for our convenience and not for the health or well-being of the cat. Hmm, did you know that in the 1980's dry cat food was responsible for cats going blind and many also died from heart failure. Not to mention damage to their bladders and kidneys - even now - through lack of water/dehydration, because cats have a low thirst drive, in the wild they would naturally get their fluids from their prey/victims - yuck.

Though very interesting, this was not helping in my quest to get Tia back up to her summer weight. Hmm, raw meat ... there's places on t'Interweb I can buy it from especially for cats, but it's mostly rabbit - which when I've bought it tinned, she doesn't like, so is it worth trying? Chicken, she's not over-fussed, she does like beef ... expensive taste, my cat.

I also discovered that most tinned cat food is fairly rubbishy too as they contain meat derivatives ... translated, the sweepings off the floor, I have to look for actual meat in the ingredients, oh joy. I had a look on Asda's shelves ... interesting.

While I was doing all this research for my bulimic pussy cat, I thought I may as well go the whole hog and look at cat litter, just to see which is the best kind. Although she's not a house cat, such is her lack of territory confidence, that even on the occasions she does venture out - weather permitting - she comes back in to use her litter tray.

My preference has always been the wood pellet stuff, it always seems clean and rarely smells ... although that could be down to the frequency it gets changed, and every 'number two' is removed immediately, upon the cat's insistence. She runs around the house like a loony until the offending item is removed.

I had noticed that even after only two days of fresh cat litter, she'd be looking at her tray and cocking her nose up, even though I could smell nothing. Time for a change.

Hmm, clumping litter - although unsafe for kittens and positively deadly according to one person on the internet [all references point to the same person] - might be worth a try.

Off we went to Asda - yes it was the same visit where I spent an age reading cat food ingredients and slamming tins back on the shelf - where we rummaged among the choices of litter and came across Catsan clumping litter, but, ouch the price for the size of the bag ... until I lifted it. It was heavy for the size.

Oh heck, I've just drifted off into the blow by blow style of writing, haven't I?

We got home, disinfected the litter tray and put in half a ton of cat litter ... the moment of truth. Her pussyship inspected it, stirred it around, decided that it'd do and proceeded to use it. The look on her face when she turned around to bury the wee was priceless, it had vanished [to her].

Can you believe that watching a cat use her tray was more interesting than watching the telly? And we were fighting over who was going to scoop out the 'dumpling' of wee. There wasn't a trace of it left behind.

Then we became aware of something we hadn't expected. Tia was meowing for food, which is fairly normal, but she ate it - which isn't. She mostly sniffs it, licks off the jelly - at a push - and stalks off. But then she wanted more and she kept using the tray ... up to five times a day.

Our regime now, is that we remove all 'dumplings' and 'sausages' immediately - because we have no choice, her pussyship sees to that - then empty out the tray twice weekly and disinfect everything, because a big pussy wee tends to hit the bottom, although not enough to wet it or stick. We then put the litter back in because it's still relatively clean [madam is happy with it] and top up with fresh.

In my zest for trying to find something she may eat - and keep down - I had already spent a small fortune on micro-tins of the choicest cat food. After less than two weeks, she's back up to her summer weight, so I will now go and buy the more ordinary stuff and gradually wean her off [or certainly down] the budget busting variety of food she's become accustomed to.

No, I didn't suspect any connection between not eating/vomiting and - a cat's - litter preference. Although we have a very happy cat now, I think we've made a rod for MY own back. As not only am I annoyed out of bed to empty all offending items from the litter tray, she has now taken to rousing me from my slumbers to watch her in pooing action. I suppose it serves us right for praising her every time she used it during daylight hours.

Talk about potty training ...

Langley Mill's Christmas Lights 2011

I received yet another google alert this morning about 'Asda' and 'Langley Mill', taking me straight to the Eastwood & Kimberley Advertiser [published this morning]. Telling me that - ooer - Asda has donated £2,000 toward the cost of Aldercar and Langley Mill Parish Council's 2011 Christmas lights.

I laid there in bed with the android jobby in my hand, sort of gobsmacked - grumpy was making my coffee - I roused myself out of my near catatonic state to text a few friends this news, and then I twittered - as you do.

I have checked - since I got up - what I put in a previous post, as I, ahem, vaguely recall mentioning something about apologising to Asda if they gave Langley Mill any money for lights. Phew, it's ok, I didn't commit myself, I only said I may apologise ... so that's not about to happen any time soon, now is it?

All that remains for me to do now, is to go out tonight to gaze in awe at these wonderful lights ... bought by our council with the money generously donated by Asda ...

Update 18.35 the same day:
O-k-a-a-a-a-y ... been through Langley Mill ... hmm, the same two - or maybe three - efforts on lampposts as last year and the year before. The same strings of lights around the churches ... and, have they nicked the Cromford Road lights to put around that industrial bit near St Andrews church, or are they The Acorn Centre's missing lights? Or The Jockey's?

I will of course write an update if more lights suddenly appear in Langley Mill - even at this late date. Apologise? - Moi? - Not on your nelly ...

Charity Shop and A Chippy?

HH's glamorous fence and Asda's trolley under the bridge

Rumours first:

1. There's going to be a Dr Barnardo's in one of the Asda units.
2. There's going to be a chippy in the end unit ... Hmm?

I'm all for charity, but has anyone else in other towns or villages noticed that when a 'just out of town' retail outlet opens, the only shops left on the high street are charity shops, fast food restaurants/takeaways and bookies.

Facts:

1. Application AVA/2011/0605 - Potters Co-op conversion to 5 retail shops, 8 offices, 12 one and two bedroom apartments has been passed. The applicant was a Borough Councillor so you'd have thought planning permission would have been sought before work was started. Ooooh, I say ... Langley Mill is one of the most deprived areas in Amber Valley. And they think that by creating this retail and office space, employment will be improved in the 18-25 age group blah, blah, blah.
2. The application AVA/2005/1268 - for depression boxes a Residential development adjacent to 130 Station Road is still pending.
3. Mr Heanor Haulage was the only objector to Pottery Lane becoming a 'claimed route' and tarted up accordingly. This presumably, is because he has acquired land adjacent to it and has received planning permission for open storage ... I do believe he was ignored. And I really must search again for this permission, but I suppose it could have carried over from the previous owners - Network Rail.

Um, when I said I wasn't going to look at any planning applications until after Christmas, you do know that was obviously a huge fib ... I don't imagine anyone believed me anyway.

My grumpy old man witnessed two intellectually challenged tw**s taking an Asda trolley - empty - up the street, they struggled to take it up the bridge steps, then hoiked it up and threw it over the top and back on to the footpath. It's only a matter of time before these morons progress to throwing one onto the railway lines or trundles one down to chuck it on the bypass. I still have to ask ... who breeds them?

Grace Landscapes, who promised to put more plants in across the road from us in autumn have been nowhere to be seen - not even to blow back the bark. It is possible that their contract is now up, I'm not sure if it was for one year or two. Either way, across the road from us looks a tip, I think someone chavvy emptied a bag of rubbish on their way up the street. There are two more bags of rubbish atop HH's fence - very un-festive they look too, I think I'll go and wrap some tinsel around them and hang up some of my unused baubles.

Anyway, if things aren't tidied up soon, I may be forced to pop over to Asda and threaten to plant all my weeds across from us ... and at this moment, I have many, many deadish specimens. Mind you, I'd need to take a bin bag with me to clean up all the dog-crap first ...

Update - 17th December:
Alas, it doesn't look like Asda want my weeds. This afternoon someone came up with a big bin and cleared the mess up across from us ... but lo - the rubbish is still adorning HH's fence at slurry corner, I will go and bedeck them with tinsel as befits my grumpiness ...

Life In A Care Home

We visited my mum this morning in her care home. Yes, it's a special occasion, it's her birthday. No, no-one there knew anything about it - even though flowers ordered by dad should have arrived - but should we expect them to know when it's someone's birthday? I mean they're only paid carers ... doing a job.

Mum has always been in her own - superheated - room whenever I've visited before, but this time she was downstairs in the day-room. My sister and I spent a while chatting with mum - OK, each other, mum doesn't talk, but listens - whilst most of the prison inmates residents were trundled into the dining room to await their dinner.

A few minutes went by and we couldn't help but notice a rather distressed lady sat across from us, she was crying and saying she didn't want to be left alone. Now I assumed - wrongly, obviously - that she was upset because when all the other inmates had gone, she'd been left completely on her own sat under a window, and she didn't cry until then.

My sister went in search of a carer while I went across to see if I could help the lady.

We were told there was nothing to be done, because apparently the lady in question cries every day until she's taken back to her room, as this is where she wanted to be - maybe she did, but none of these so called carers came to investigate in all the time we were there, not even to check she was OK or to speak to her. And who says that when she's in her own room she doesn't continue crying because she definitely told me she didn't want to be left on her own.

This went on for some time, in fact ... until we could bear it no longer and came away. The carers  - and I use this term very, very loosely - may have been too busy to care for the old lady, you may think.

Yeah, I'm sure they were, there were at least five carers and one sister/nurse messing about and giggling at the other end of the room for half an hour. It may have been their break, but surely they stagger breaks, or is this too simple?

Either way, we were disgusted by the lack of care provided while we were there, and far worse, the loss of any and all rights, choice and dignity of the lady who was crying. Yes, I'm quite sure they know her needs better than we do, but would it have hurt for just one of these so called carers to come over and tell her she'd be okay and that they'd be along to see to her soon.

Considering the staggering amount of money it costs to have my mother cared for in this care home, I'd have thought the staff would be more ... well, caring.

No, I couldn't be a carer because I don't consider myself caring enough. And before this, I'd always admired anyone who could do it, but having witnessed this single episode I've had to re-evaluate my opinion of some of the people who supposedly do the job.

I'm well aware that these jobs aren't the highest paid in the land, but it is their chosen job to care. Lets face it though, these so called care homes are a business first, making oodles of money for someone.

Before we left we took mums birthday presents up to her room ... the stench of urine that my mum has to live with knocked us back at the door - this is normal [and getting worse] for her room - but I forgot to take a deep breath before entering. And I think we're meant to be grateful that they're attending to her bedsores.

What a truly sad way to live her final years. More frightening to me though, is the knowledge that she's only a year older than my grumpy old man ...

Cromford Road Model Shop

Yes, I've been nosying at AVBC. The last time until after Christmas [I promise] because I'll be work, work, working - a good time to get your applications in if you don't want them spotting by a grumpy - and noticed an application to turn the old model shop at 21 Cromford Road into:

A Fresh Food Deli and Eaterie catering for Hot and Cold Food to take away and eat in. The property owners are to open it along similar lines to their previous business 'Fresh Basil' at Belper.

Which my Grumpy Old Man says is a coincidence - or is it? - as this shop used to be owned by Basil, who sold er ... deli stuff ... spooky.

I can't see a problem with this ... it'll fit in well with all the other 'eateries' in the area ... Oh dear Asda, it's a bit close isn't it?

Rumours Update:

1. A nearby ethnic 'eaterie' has been offered even more money by a developer.
2. The council's lease on Cromford Road car park is up and so now back in private ownership.
3. I've not bought any Christmas presents yet.

That last one isn't a rumour, it's a horrible fact ...

Update:
The application for a Fresh Food Deli was approved on 10th January 2012

Plans for Residential Development on Station Road.

Having just had a cruise around AVBC, I noticed an old - AVA-2005-1268 - application, is on the planning board agenda for 12th December 2011, these also appear in the document 'Items Recommended For Approval'.

This is on the bit of wasteland next to the railway lines adjacent to 130 Station Road, Langley Mill. It's an outline plan for 92 [reduced from 113], two and three bedroom modest semi-detached and terraced homes with a density of 34.5 dwellings per hectare. Roughly translated as peasant shacks with little elbow room and a back yard barely big enough for a window-box.

I presume they're described as modest because of the proximity to the railway lines and the industrial estate it backs up to. There is also a flood risk on part of the site - this bit of land is to be turned over to wildlife ... hmm, I thought it was probably already inhabited by wildlife. There will also be some grassed areas for informal play. In all, the land is described as low quality.

Having browsed through a few pages of the documents - I've probably missed lots of pertinent facts, but reading any more would require dedicated nosiness - I noticed there were local council objections for several reasons, I'm not sure if all the objections raised in 2005 are still relevant today, with other developments having since been completed in Langley Mill.

But there is every likelihood that there may be more objections, because although these dwellings are to be accessed from Amber Drive, the main way to get there is via Station Road which is now - at times - thanks in part to some of these recent developments, chronically congested. The transport assessments were done in 2006 and 2007 ... and so, in my humble opinion, are worthless.

I've also read - in the same documents - that Langley Mill has some of the lowest incomes in Amber Valley ... really? I'd never have guessed. And shock, horror, I'm probably living in a non-decent dwelling myself, because apparently it's hard to heat and maintain. Yeah, yeah, I am interpreting what's written to suit myself, if you're actually interested in the real facts, try reading the documents yourself - yawn.

I do not await the outcome of these plans with bated breath. In all probability, they'll match the ugly, cheap peasant dwellings I can see just over t'railway lines, because these are the only boxes that a low income area attracts.

 .....

Also on the same agenda is the Potters/Co-op building - 47 Cromford Road AVA-2011-0605 application - a proposed conversion to form 5 retail shops, 8 starter offices, 12 one and two bedroom apartments, etc. Which is just as well really ... they've been working on it so long now, it must be nearly finished ...

The Saga Of The New Bed

I decided that we were in dire need of a new bed, I mean, what if I was maligning poor old Asda for keeping me awake when really it was the fault of a few springs and an aching back that were responsible for waking me up.

One was ordered from Argos just over a week ago. This was after we'd been for a look around and had a few bounces in other places. I always read customer feedback which all looked good, plus - and not to be sneezed at - our purchase had a - WOW half price - label on the Argos website. No, I do not fall for that crap, we've gone into the sales technique before, but this was the bed I fancied.

It came exactly when Argos said it would, with a text the day before and a phone call an hour before it was due to arrive, I can't fault Argos for their delivery. I can on the other hand be annoyed - at myself - because Argos more or less send offers daily by email - which I obviously delete before reading - and so paid the delivery charge ... which would have been free with the code I received about six times in one day. This won't happen again. Then to top it off the £10 voucher was introduced two days later - bugger!

Yesterday - the morning of delivery, it's action stations, hmm, four draws to remove, one containing half of my entire stock of lotions and potions, another is full of big pyjamas, only to be worn in the event of an ice-age, Oh chuff me, two carrier bags full of socks, we covered all this sockiness ages ago - note to self - do not buy any more socks.

Himself took out his draws and put them to one side, I don't need to know what lurks in their deepest depths, I've got enough on with my own rubbish.

The bedding was hurled downstairs in the usual fashion to be washed, I don't know what the urgency was, because I do have more bedding in exactly the same flavour waiting in the wings.

The mattress, hmm - now the old mattress topper had been removed [and thrown away] - there it skulked in all its glory. I told it that I'd no longer be sucking up any dead skin it was hoarding with the Dyson, and never again would it flatten me against the wall when I turned it. It just laid there looking ... saggy.

My grumpy old man returned from the bookies and the mattress was evicted, it got its own back on the way out with a jab under the chin and one more spring in the ribs.

The divan base was halved, we went downstairs with one half ... then back up ... down ... up ... down ... up ... down ... 'to you' ... 'turn it' ... 'no, back up' ... 'this way' ... 'Will you just take the bloody handrail off!!'

The big wooden handrail was taken off the wall ... where do you put a handrail? I had to back up the stairs with it, round the bend a bit and into the bathroom ... sigh.

Here goes again ... down ... waddle, waddle ... 'up a bit' ... 'twist it' ... down ... up ... 'Will you just take that bloody door off!!'  ... Of course this is the only door in the entire house that doesn't just lift off, this one needed two screwdrivers and a hammer.

Down ... YES! ... And out, ditto the other half. At last.

Oh yuck, all that dust and a mountain of biscuit crumbs on his side. I got everywhere clean and then buffed up the brass headboard ready for the new arrival while grumpy made a sarnie.

There was a slight worry that we wouldn't get the new bed upstairs, there was only one more option left if they were bigger bases, and that would mean the removal of a cupboard over the bottom of the stairs - hmm.

It arrived, one half divan was measured, phew two whole inches shallower - the mattress was deeper. We got them upstairs, unpacked and got on with removing bits of cardboard with dodgy staples, then I cut off the extra fabric that were holding the draws shut.

We got to the castors, two were proving difficult to force in, so I suggested we put the base down and ever so gently sit on the corners until they plopped in ... mine went in with a thunk and grumpy told me to go and bounce on the corner he was struggling with. This I did ... and then realised he could have done it himself but was inferring that it needed more weight than he'd got to do it ... I hit him.

The mattress was fetched up and unpacked - carefully, he wanted to save the plastic sheeting, yet more crap to store. Of course, knowing full well the last bit you'd want would be the mattress, they thought this would be the best place to put the instructions, hmm, not to worry, we'd done everything correctly apart from hitting the castors with a wooden mallet.

It is done ... headboard fitted, new mattress protector on, sheets etc. It doesn't look as wide as the old one, it was measured, it was the same so this must be an illusion caused by the old mattress going splat when you laid on it. I asked him where he was sleeping as there was only room for me and the cat. He said there'd be room.

We were both yawning and doing exaggerated stretching ... 'early night?' ... 'Yeah' ... Much splashing in the bathroom ensued. We were both squeaky clean but alas no longer tired, telly was viewed.

At last, bedtime.

Books out, reading glasses on ... 'Are you comfy?' ... 'Yes, you?' ... 'Hmm' ... sleepy time ... Oh bo***ks, it's 12.35 and Asda have got a chiller/freezer lorry going full-brum with many changes of octaves and much reversing bleeps ... tw*t! ... 12.45 - peace ... 12.55 - it starts again, going through all the different notes until it's running full bore again. So no, it wasn't the ancient bed keeping me awake.

Around 4.00ish Grumpy gets up to go to the loo, I was woken by the bump. He'd launched himself off the edge of the bed but it was higher and bouncier than the old one. He ended up on his hands and knees on the floor, he couldn't get back up for laughing, by now we were both giggling like naughty teenagers.

A little later I turned over, of course being half asleep, I forgot what I was doing and went for it full force like I usually do when I'm fighting my way out of saggy springs. I shot up the bed and banged my head on the uncompromising headboard and cricked my neck.

Extra bed attire I think - knee pads for him and a hard hat for me. Or at the very least we must get a new headboard, I need a much softer option than brass ...

The Straw That Broke This Camels Back

Fact

1. There is much activity in the unit next but one to Asda [next door to the post office].

 And rumours:

1. Netto in Langley Mill only leased their store, Asda has since bought the lease to stop competitors buying it.
2. There is going to be a bookies in the old Co-op/Potters building.

.....

Sunday 20th November:

Fairly normal day, then decided to watch a bit of rubbish on the telly - you know the sort I mean - it doesn't tax your brain but neither is anyone trying to impress me with their singing, dancing, skating, quick wit or imposing cleavage [got one]. Ergo Jackie Chan and The Medallion or some-such nonsense.

As films go it was mediocre but as I said I wasn't watching it to work out who-dunnit, because as ever in these films, it's always the English man what dunnit and they show him to us at the start, looking ever so evil and speaking with your oh so average cut-glass accent.

Anyway to make a long story even longer - well you don't have to read this - the film was ruined by the hum coming from - as I thought - an Asda chiller lorry waiting to be let in through the effin squeaky gates. It was louder than the telly - but this went on and on [a bit like this blog post really] for over two hours.

I eventually decided to go and have a wallow in the bath with my latest soggy book, as I couldn't in all seriousness sit in the living room any longer. My grumpy old man, bless him, decided that he'd go over to see what was happening.

It was not an Asda chiller lorry ... He saw a 'Kev' the night manager, he was - like all Asda staff we've spoken to - nice and polite and very, very apologetic. They must go on a 'cringing, I'm not worthy' course before being set on there ... note to self - Do not apply for a job at Asda, you're far too bolshy and argumentative.

Righto, this here thing making all the noise was a freezer container - delivered warmish - and was busy cooling down for all the frozen stuff to go in out of the main freezer. It should be much improved later when it was at the right temperature - this turned out to be utter garbage as the 'improvement' was worse. He was going to phone the manager and tell her that we'd complained and he was very, very, sorry.

Monday 04.20:
Yawn ... mutter, grumble, whinge, bleep, bleep wan**rs! ... After a greatly disturbed night with the noise and vibration, I gave up and decided to be awake and extremely grumpy. This mood went on for a considerable amount of time. I knew I'd got to be calm and as pleasant as it was possible for me to be when I went across to see Ms Asda, so I stomped around and kicked a few things to get it out of my system.

Showered, breakfasted and dressed ... 'ommmmm, ommmmmm' - getting there. The phone rang, I answered ... 'tinkly music', pause ... 'Hello' not a British accent ...
'Very nice bit of music' I replied, dripping with sarcasm and venom ...
'My name's Daniel Smith and I want -' ...
'Is it bol***s!  ... If your name is Daniel Smith, I'm Ali Mahatma Singe'.

And that was it, I was in a much better mood, I went to see Ms Asda. I passed grumpy on my way out and said 'I'm off' ... even though he saw and heard me, he didn't know where I'd gone, he searched the house before he cottoned on and followed ten minutes later.

I went in and asked for Ms Asda and gave my name. She was quite quick arriving, very pleasant and asked how I was ...
'Tired, I've been awake since 4.20 this morning and I don't need to be' ...

It seemed to come as a complete surprise that anything Asda-ish could possibly be at fault. They've never had noise complaints before [gasp, choke].
'Ah, well the problem is our main freezer looks like a grotto and so we needed the freezer container for the contents.' ...
There was more in a similar vein to what the 'Kev' told gumpy and it would be gone by Wednesday.

'Hmm I can live with that, as long as it's not going to be month after month or I will phone the council.' ...
'Oh no, there's no need for that, definitely Wednesday ... this week ... sometime.' ...
 
'And while I'm here and for at least the fifth time of asking, can you do something about the delivery yard gates?' ... Now this is where it pays to speak to the ACTUAL manager, rather than under-managers, night managers, men in finance, Scottish 'know it nots' or security men. It was seen to almost straight away, in fact a maintenance man was requested while I was still there.

I got out my list of other complaints - it was long and ranty and for my eyes only - 'Oh, and can you tell your night staff not to throw pallets about in readiness for a delivery ... midnight is usually the noisiest.' I did not admit that I'm usually still up for this delivery as I know it does wake other people up ... see, I can be thoughtful.

I also asked if it were at all possible to do something about the security light shining straight into our bedroom windows at the top end of the street ... this appeared to be unachievable, even though I have photographic evidence that the others must have been adjusted. I'm now wondering what reach a pocket sized catapult has got, maybe my grumpy will make me a folding, industrial sized one that I can attach to our front wall ... hmm, ammunition?

Anyway, all this complaining from moi has been a 'learning curve' - I do so like to be helpful - my telephone number was taken as a 'point of contact' ... yeah, I think it was chucked in the bin too, I will of course apologise on my blog if it hasn't. I will be phoned when the freezer container is going ... and, ahem, when we're likely to be disturbed again.

To be honest, the Asda manager couldn't really have been more helpful if she'd tried, but - as I write this - I'm very tired, stressed and in full grumpy whinging mode - as can also be seen from my 'tweets', where I'm once or twice, ahem, quite horrible ...

Monday was horrendous, ditto Tuesday, likewise Wednesday.

I 'twittered' all night Monday, just to myself as I have few followers. Tuesday I couldn't sit still, I was bouncing off the walls all day, but that night I eventually fell into an exhausted sleep. Wednesday I was up most of the night again 'twittering'.

Very early Thursday morning the container was moved by an Asda lorry front to the loading area to be emptied back into the main freezer. Then later another one moved it back so the driver could make his delivery. It's over ...

But it's not. I'm writing this bit the following Monday and I'm still vibrating where I touch the floor or seat - the computer is causing it now. I can't have a bath because I feel sea-sick when ours or next door's heating is on. I experienced the same thing last year just before HH was demolished, lovely. I remember it lasted quite a while. I have since done a little light research and it looks like I'm one of those prats who are affected by low frequency noise and vibration, just what I need.

And I'm still waiting for my phone call from Ms Asda, yeah you're right, she probably has got more important things to think about. So, until next time ...

My Belated Birthday

Oops, I got sidetracked and forgot to publish this post ...

I decided to stay at the tin hut for my birthday this year, rather than coming home and going back to close down for the winter. We won't be doing it again.

I have mentioned in previous ramblings that I love fireworks and fancied seeing them at a different venue. This was not to happen - apart from me venturing out on to the veranda or looking through a window, as I totally forgot how traumatized our cat would be. I hold myself entirely to blame for this oversight ... poor pussy.

At home during the few weeks of lunacy, she sits at the top of the stairs, this is in the centre of the house and she obviously feels safe there. At the caravan she didn't know what to do with herself, it was like being in a war zone with the three houses behind us all having bonfires and fireworks over the weekend. As well as the constant bangs, spent rockets were clattering on the caravan roof. She eventually cowered, trembling under a nest of tables, all we could do was turn the telly up and try to placate her with soothing words ... and tuna fish.

Anyway, why do we have to have bangers going off week after week? What's wrong with doing it all on bonfire night? Pet owners can prepare for a one night event - yeah, yeah, when they don't forget what they're doing and take their cat away - but these days it's endless torture for both pets and wildlife. We never once saw our badgers during the run up to bonfire night, nor since ... although they did eat the nuts, probably in the quieter small hours.

Ranty bit over, on to my birthday:

As I said, I decided before we went to the tin hut - mid October, after Center Parcs - that we'd stay until early/mid November and close up the caravan - I absolutely hate doing that job but have no choice ... unless I want to freeze me bits off - and so, we would be away for my birthday. It didn't matter, it wasn't an important one and I told everyone - or thought I had - that I'd celebrate a week late.

We arrived home on the Wednesday after my birthday ... eventually, as the car decided to throw a few wobblies and has subsequently had surgery with more to follow soon ... getting expensive now, I have had to give it a verbal warning about its days being numbered if it doesn't pull its fan belt up.

Thursday morning:
Blah, the house is a tip, the contents of a caravan to store away, whinge, moan, gripe. Other things to do that were left half done as we never seem to be at home ... mutter, grumble. three inches of dust to rearrange, you'd think my neighbour would have dealt with that ... and she's not been around to water my house-plants since I've been back - I forget that this is now my job.

Obviously no-one will visit in the next two days, I've told all MY family and friends that I'm having my birthday a week late, on the 13th, so the clutter can stay ... well, cluttered for a bit while I decide where it'll go.

Wrong! Two phone calls later, it transpires that the GOM's family will be arriving after school - there's only me to blame. I mean, why should I have expected the same info to have filtered to his side of the family - when I'd told him to tell them - who were keen to give me cards and pressies ASAP.

Oh well, I've got a few hours to make the house look a little less like a charity shop reject skip. Important things - like work - can wait.

Just after a late lunch - we're fairly tidy, in a temporary fashion, but woe betide anyone who attempts to open any cupboard doors in the bedroom or bathroom - I was busy working and could hear grumpy rummaging through the kitchen cupboards. Hmm, I wonder?

'I'm just nipping over to Asda, I fancy a cold drink and we've got no lemonade or J2o's ... um, shall I get some cake while I'm there?' ...
'Yes please, fruit cake.' ... Now this is me being evil, I know full well that he's only going because his family are visiting for my birthday but as I've mentioned before, I like to watch him squirm.
'Er, no ... I thought, um ... chocolate cake??' ...
'No, too sickly, I want fruit cake.'...
'I'll get both' ... Hehehe.

He arrived back a little later, I can hear things being put away in the kitchen, then in he struts, handing me a box of 'Celebrations' ... 'I've bought you these for your birthday.' He lied. He must think I'm thick ...
'Ohh, ta, I'll just hide them before your lot come because I don't want to share 'em' ... hahaha. He squirmed and blustered - victory.

Yes, I am horrible, but I can read him like a book - hard back with few pages and lots of pictures [yeah, Beano annual] - bless him. He only had to tell me what he was really doing instead of trying subterfuge, he's not mentally adept enough for that because - well, he's only a man. Although, now I think about it ... he didn't get me any fruit cake ...

KFC - A Tiny Bit Halal

To sign an e-petition to ban all religious animal slaughter in the UK - click HERE

 .....

I've read a few articles on t'Interweb over the last year or so - in fact the majority of this post was written exactly two years ago, but had been left simmering in my drafts - about certain supermarkets and KFC selling halal meat. Even some schools and hospitals serve halal and worse - gasp - your pub grub has possibly been ritually slaughtered

I personally find this disturbing, because:

1. People don't know what they're eating.
2. It's cruel.
3. It's unnecessary.
4. It's done for religious reasons.

How is this happening in a supposed Christian country? Well, we let it happen. We're so wishy washy in our own beliefs, only worshipping the £££££££££££ 's that it was easy. Even Christmas ... one of our biggest days of the year has been reduced to nothing more than a massive spendathon.

Now, I admit, I'm not religious in the traditional sense, I follow my own crackpot beliefs. But on the other hand I don't mind what other people believe in, be it a God or a sugar puff fairy. What I do object to is cruelty to animals especially when it's because of a religion that's got nowt to do with us.

Do you know what halal meat is? Well, it's where the animal isn’t properly - if at all - stunned before having its throat cut to bleed to death, a verse/prayer - presumably from the koran - is said while the animal dies. I'm not ever so thrilled with any method of killing animals for our consumption but it's been proved that the animals, particularly the younger ones suffer for up to five minutes before they die by the halal method.

I assume that KFC's excuse - just like most of the big supermarkets ... oh, didn't you know that they sold halal meat in some of their stores without telling you? - is that they're 'responding to customer demand'. Aren't we customers too? Apparently, even though their every whim seems to have been catered for, Muslims have threatened to boycott KFC because their chicken isn't halal enough ... so, let 'em.

When did we - in this supposed enlightened age - start putting religion before cruelty to animals? I'm both shocked and dismayed by the barbaric attitude towards animals that we're allowing on religious beliefs, I bet the politically correct brigade would kick-up a fuss if it were Christians causing unnecessary suffering.

Apparently at the KFC's still running the halal trial, it's clearly marked on the door that their chicken is halal, oh yeah, and there's no bacon. But if you're not a Muslim, then you probably won't know what the sign means, and anyway who looks at anything - apart from opening times - written on the door? If you do notice it and ask for non-halal chicken you will be directed to another KFC within 7 miles, thereby giving the impression that you have a choice.

All this actually means is that the choice I'll be making is that I won't be going to any KFC ...

Asda's Christmas Lights Event Donation ... For Eastwood

It's well known that I need a rocket up my a**e some mornings to get me out of bed, well this mornings rocket arrived by yet another google alert [Asda Langley Mill] on my android jobby. I actually used a bad swearword whilst emerging from under the duvet.

Asda in LANGLEY MILL have yet again donated £2,000 to Eastwood's Christmas light switch on event. Bearing in mind - as I've mentioned before - that Eastwood is not only a different town - with its own superior supermarket - but also in another county with a different council. Incidentally, I've got absolutely nothing against Eastwood, but I think the needs of Heanor and Langley Mill are greater, as their lights are - in mine and all my friends opinions - abysmal.

Is Langley Mill going to get any Christmas lights this year? We used to have them, I presume that it's up to the parish council, but Asda has such a large footprint in our small town/village that you'd think they'd at least make the offer.

If I find that they have indeed offered to buy us some lights or sponsor any sort of Christmas lights event in Langley Mill [amidst the everlasting roadworks], I will blog accordingly. I may even apologise ... but don't hold your breath, as anything good they may do now will be outweighed by how much they annoy me on a nightly basis - yeah, yeah, when I'm here and not tin hutting by the sea.

I have been made aware that Eastwood possibly asked Asda directly for a donation. So I may pop over later and tell 'em that I need some party stuff for my Christmas lights switch on.

Yes, I know that the donation/sponsorship is for the 'switch-on' event and not for the actual lights, but if Asda give me £2,000 I'll at least make a bit of Langley Mill - OK, just a small part of Bridge Street ... at the top end - look pretty.

Anyway, the upshot is - that my grumpy old man has decided that if our Christmas lights are going to be in Eastwood, then that's where we'll do our shopping.

Morrisons here we come - [and just for Bernard] 'Running Back To You' ...

Sneaking Extra People Into Center Parcs

I have been a bit bemused lately by how many people have looked at my blog searching for 'how to sneak extra people into Center Parcs'.

Here's an interesting idea ... don't do it.

You knew Center Parcs was expensive before you booked your holiday, if your friends can't afford to go, I suggest they go elsewhere. You wouldn't try to smuggle any extra 'guests' onto an aeroplane for a villa holiday abroad.

Nor would anyone in their right mind try to sneak any extras into that compound just up the road from here - Butlitz, Ingoldmells - or would they? The mind boggles at what people expect to get for free these days.

Anyway, I object to the idea that valuable seating - insufficient at times - inside the free dome at Center Parcs may be taken up by non-payers when I'm there. I've got a biggish bum which needs accommodating comfortably when it's not displacing vast quantities of water on the rapids.

I work hard to pay for my holidays, as do most other people. When my work runs short and I can't afford Center Parcs extortionate prices, I don't go.

So pay your way ...

3,002,417,101

Yes, that's my number ...

Every time I've looked at BBC's t'Interweb top ten read articles, this bit of news has been hovering around ... the 7 billionth baby was about to be born. Chuff me! The world population has more than doubled since I made an early appearance thanks to a jumping jack and a heavily pregnant woman ... er, jumping.

How did we become so many? Hmm, They'll tell us it's the developing worlds ... er, developing. But ignore them, it's mostly because they keep trying to make us live longer. They tell us what to eat, what not to drink, how much exercise to have, blah, blah, blah. And when we've complied with that, they moan that we're too numerous.

Some complete prats are now experimenting [possibly at my expense] on how to make us live longer - er, what for? So we can all be looked after in an old peoples home - not on your nelly, I'm not going into that sort of accommodation without recourse to lots of gadgets, broadband, and a means to complain about anything and everything to social services via the internet.

My, my, now I think about it logically, I'm almost looking forward to being a disgruntled old lady in a residential prison, how things will have changed by then. When I'm a crumbly [with all my marbles - hopefully]. We'll not be satisfied with being shoved in front of the telly for 12 hours a day, then eating, sleeping and pooping the rest of the time.

Not a bit of it, we'll expect to take technology and social networking with us, we'll be able to tell the world at large if anyone mistreats us, and if we're not heard from within a certain time-frame, alarm bells will ring ...

Leave My Clock Alone!!

I do not expect anyone to agree with me on this subject, but this is my diary and I'll whinge if I want to ... and I want to ...

.....

Does anyone know the real reason why we still have British Summertime? No me neither, but it means I've got to get up an hour earlier than I want to or forever be branded 'idle'. And me, being such a sensitive soul, force myself out of bed by 9.30am whether I need to be up or not ... what do you mean 9.30am is late? I'd agree if it wasn't actually 8.30am - in the summer - in the winter I have no excuse.

And they've now they've got the cheek to decide that it'd be a good idea for us to get up two hours earlier in summer and one hour earlier in winter ... well it's not happening in our house! My bathroom already lives in permanent Greenwich Meantime as I refuse to alter at least one clock - it buggers up my bath time no end but I'm not about to give in.

Apparently, according to them in the know ... tourism will increase, fuel emissions would drop, lives would be saved and our carbon footprints will be smaller - how? it's colder on dark mornings than dark evenings, thus requiring more gas and electric just to get up and go. And do they not know that we don't all live in London, I really can't see Skeggy suddenly becoming thronged with more tourists just because it'll be lighter an hour later. Will we have siesta's in the afternoons with touristy shops closing and reopening in the evenings like they do in Spain.

And lets not forget that in the months of 'double summertime' there is likely to be even more loony antisocial behaviour as teenagers will be roaming the streets for an hour longer, with nothing to do except being a pain in the bum.

And anyway we all know the real reason for this idea is to bring us in line with Europe. Well I'm English first, British second and very, very grudgingly European third and I don't give a flying f**t what time it is in Europe! I've heard it argued that Scandinavia - dark in the winter - is in line with European time, well it would be as it's on a different longitude from us so is irrelevant as an argument.

I can vaguely remember the last experiment ... It didn't work then so what makes them think it'll work now. It was so dark in the morning when I went to school that a penny was thrust into my little grasping hand each November, December and January morning so I could catch the bus - yum, sweets - well I wasn't wasting it on bus fare was I. And I didn't have the type of mother who'd stand at the bus stop to make sure I caught the bus - yeah, that's a laugh, because I didn't even have the type of mother that got up with me to make sure I got to school after the age of six.

Warning! Yet more reminiscing moments ahead:

I remember one time - at the grand old age of eight - leaving my cereals because they tasted awful. I was duly informed when I got home from school that when I'd climbed up to the top cupboard to retrieve the sugar - red lidded jar - I'd fetched down the salt - blue lidded jar ... only it wasn't, she who must be obeyed had filled them up wrong. I've never put sugar [or salt] on cereals since then.

Getting up alone had its advantages though, many a time during those dark winter mornings I had tomato soup and a glass of milk for breakfast. I'd then tiptoe into my mum's bedroom holding her purse, claiming to need money for something or other - as in the bus - to receive a grunt, whilst a hand reached out for the purse to find me a penny. Oh, this was well before the days of spending money, this was in the days of 'cunning'.

Er, what am I writing about? Let me see, dum de dum ... Oh yes the clocks, how did I manage all that drivel when I'm meant to be having a whinge?

I'm amazed at how many people actually think we're going to gain any more daylight hours, there aren't any spare, they think the government give them to us ... der! I've heard people say 'Oh I love the long summer evenings, won't it be nice to have another hour.' Wake up dimwits! You're not actually getting another hour, they've pinched it from the morning for us to have in the evening.

Actually, I've even heard one or two crumblies wishing for an extra evening hour ... er, why? What have they done with all their other hours - hmm, afternoon boredom naps - that they need more daylight later?

It's been stated that we waste daylight hours in bed in the mornings, when we could be up and about our business ... why should I be up? For those that need to start work early to be in line with Europe - bright idea coming up - why don't they go to work earlier and then leave work earlier, instead of interfering with my clock? It's not rocket science. This would have the added bonus of relieving traffic congestion and saving lives. Ah yes, as I thought, it's got bog all to do with saving lives - although quite clearly southern lives are far important than we northerners - and everything to do with bloody Europe.

Fortunately or unfortunately - I'm not sure how this clock interference will affect me in the long term - I have the type of mentality that takes each season as it comes and enjoys it and its varying weather patterns and daylight hours ... instead of wishing my life away. I rarely, if ever, moan about the weather or the lack of long summer evenings when autumn and winter arrive ... has no-one else except me heard of cosy winter nights? Am I the only one who hated trudging to work in the dark but didn't mind walking back home in the dark?

Thinking of getting home and snuggling in for the evening used to get me home from work smiling [maybe I just have a good imagination]. Alas - as you can tell with this moan - what I don't have, is the capacity to cope with getting up on dark mornings, I absolutely loathe them, what is also painfully obvious [to me], is that I'm more like my mother - re-mornings - than I'd ever hoped to be ...

Our 2011 Center Parcs Holiday

I'm not going to go through all the pros and cons of Center Parcs [Sherwood Forest] because I've already done it in a previous post. I wouldn't even have bothered writing this were it not for my grumpy old man's latest faux pas.

I will however, mention that this time we stayed [eight of us] in an executive lodge rather than one of those cheaper peasant sheds [I really must stop calling them that, it's rubbing off]. We had four en-suite bedrooms, two with big rainforest showers and two with posh baths that lit up and blew bubbles up your bum.

All of the bedrooms had LCD TV's, as did the games room and lounge area. Two of the bedrooms had balconies with tables and chairs, plus - in my case - damp towels and my camera tripod. We also had our own sauna - phew, was it hot in there!

Again we had maid service, which we didn't avail ourselves of - apart from towel changes - this is because we decided that we were far too untidy to let the maid in. It'd be no good any of my family getting rich and having staff to 'do' for them because they wouldn't know how not to tidy up first. I would, however - being a bit [ok, a lot] more domestically challenged than the rest of my family - be prepared to get used to having cleaning staff if I come in to money.

Anyway, on to the reason for me writing this short ... er, biography. You know, it always starts off as one paragraph or at the most two ... then I get carried away:

Ahem, my GOM's latest 'foot in mouth' came when we were in the swimwear shop next to the dome, I'd been in the day before - after a few splashes around the rapids - and spotted a tankini I liked but wasn't carrying any money. This time I was going to try and hopefully buy - to add it to my collection of [six] others.

The only one in my size was gone, boo hoo. I turned to grumpy and said ... 'Somewhere in there [pointing to the dome and waggling my finger], there's a fat woman walking around in my tankini!'

Reply ... 'yes there is' ...

My Lips Are Sealed

Well, very nearly sealed.

It has come to my attention that a large piece of junk - namely a long tube thing with windows, doors and big wheels, but doesn't run on the road - has been moved from a certain spot nearby to another spot ... er, nearby. Lovely

Apparently it may be there for some time as the means of shifting it are - at the moment - somewhat, ahem, none existent.

Seeing as enquiries have been made about missing bits and the uniformed enquirers have been made aware of my blog. I thought it'd be best if I said nowt ... hmm.

I do hope that no-one is in any way trying to blame me for having mentioned - in passing - this place with lots of metallic stuff hanging about. Because it's not my fault if some tight-wad won't pay for security, and is then somewhat surprised when some naughty people have popped in and helped themselves ...

How Very Dare They!

My signed copy of Sir Terry Pratchett's Snuff

I was all excited this morning waiting for the post as I'd received an email last night telling me that my signed copy of 'Snuff' was on its way.

I'd just finished munching on my cereals and was drinking my cuppa while catching up with local news on my shiny newest toy [an android jobby], when I heard a knock then a voice asking ... 'are they in next door?'

I dashed off up the entry shouting ... 'yes they're in next door!' I signed for my 'Snuff' - it's my birthday present to me - while the post woman sorted out the rest of our mail.

There it was, for all the world and her neighbour to see - well me and the post woman actually. But if I was at all sensitive instead of armour-plated by my grumpyness, I'd have been mortified.

A bill? you may think, hmm, well there was one letter asking me for money ... fat chance.

No, it was a big letter from that effin shop I keep moaning about, wanting me to take out OVER 50's life cover. Bog off Asda, it's never going to happen!

Now, if it had been a nice, pretty envelope - keep the green, it's my favourite colour - with the suggested 'special birthday offer inside'. I'd have just thought ... 'Who the hell told 'em it's nearly my birthday?'

But no, there's an ignorant statement right at the top of the envelope, suggesting that I am over 50 - in writing big enough for me to see without my glasses, even with my presbyopic eyesight - and therefore am desperate for life cover because I'm so old that no insurance company will touch me with a bargepole.

And so what if I am hovering around the 50 mark, I've been told by someone tactful - yes, they are well trained - that I don't look it, but now the whole of Royal Mail knows I'm chuffin old as well as grumpy!!

Here's news for you Asda - I don't want life insurance, I'm officially a grumpy old woman lady, who enjoys scaring the pants off her family by telling each of them - individually - that I'm going to their sole responsibility and that I like OAK! ...

Langley Mill Roadworks Autumn 2011

I've just had a google alert ... you know the sort - where 'Langley Mill' and 'Asda' are mentioned in the same sentence ... mostly with a direct link towards some mad drivel [ie written by me].

But this time it was about the final phase of the gas mains revamp that affects Station Road and Cromford Road, so thought I'd provide a link to the website with the information - I get nicer every day.

Info about using links - in case you're technologically challenged - is on the interesting, informative side bit of my blog ...

Knitting, Working And Daddy-Long-Leg Sandwiches

I have rekindled my relationship with an old hobby, namely knitting. Now this does not mean I churn out fifty odd chunky knit cardi's on a weekly basis - like some people I know - no, all it means it that I knit the same scarf at least eight [and rising] times.

Why? You may well ask, well:

1. It's enormous fun.
2. I get so far and realise it won't be long enough so cast on fewer stitches.
3. I've found a way to make the expensive stuff eke out ... because - answers on a post it please - either ... a) I'm a genius or b) I grudgingly took a friend's  advice.

I'm not completely alone in this loony knit-fest, my next door but one caravan neighbour is far worse with these scarves and she's a proper knitter!

It was while knitting my first scarf for the - probable - sixth time that I became aware that I was knitting a few daddy-long-legs into it ... this was not mentioned in the knitting pattern! So I removed them ... er, oops ... their legs.

I had never in my life seen so many daddy-long-legs - this was at Skeggy, I've seen none since we got home - it became impossible to take a deep breath for fear of sucking one in. I heard my GOM coughing and clearing his throat a few times and can only assume that he'd forgotten to breathe through his nose.

I was working one morning, peering through my magnifying light - as you do - when I briefly looked away. When I looked back at the teeny weeny thing I'd picked up, I nearly knocked the lamp over, tipped the table up and chucked the lot on the floor [all in one movement]. Not only was my spira-doo-dah there to be inspected, I was also clutching - between left thumb and forefinger - a chuffin ENORMOUS daddy-long-legs! I'm not afraid of them, nor spiders, but unexpectedly close up, lit up and magnified is not nice.

A couple of days later while all packed up ready for home and waiting for the cat, my grumpy old man decided to make a sandwich. This was to either eat there if pussykins didn't turn up at a reasonable time, or take with us for a snack on the way home. The little bugger - cat, not grumpy - has a habit of turning up at just the wrong time so we're starving by the time we get home.

Anyway, time was moving on, the cat watched us playing bowls behind the tin hut - at a safe you-can't-reach-me-from-there-ner-ner-ne-ner-ner distance - when we decided to go in and eat.

Mmmmm, ham and daddy-long-leg sandwiches ... well I found one leg in the mayonnaise - between the ham and the lettuce. And the rest of it - well it's too late now ...

McDonalds Not In Langley Mill ... Again

I have updated in a previous post that the application to build a McDonalds on CJ Cars was refused planning permission because highways said it wasn't safe  - or words to that effect. I did mention this very fact a while back and it would have saved them a lot of manpower and money if they'd only take notice of me.

I updated an old post rather than write a separate one because I found the information by reading another blog - as it wasn't mentioned at AVBC - so wasn't really my information to share.

However, I notice by search terms being used and the subsequent pages being read, that people are still arriving at my oldest post referring to McDonalds and going no further, therefore missing the latest updates - a woman can get fed-up of linking several posts - so I decided to give in and write this and provide a link to where I originally got my info from.

Now go and look there ...

Ignorance Is Bliss

We'd been back from the tin hut by the sea for a few days but had relatively little to moan about - apart from the usual Asda wa**ers  keeping me awake in the night, and yes Bernard I finally gave in and tried earplugs but I couldn't hear anything, so had to get rid of them - the main reason for the lack of grumpiness is that I've had lots of work to do in rather a hurry, and so was cocooned in my own little bubble, totally cut off from the outside ... during this glorious weather [so I heard] boo hoo, sob.

Of course I emerged from behind my magnifying lamp eventually [Saturday] and truly wished I hadn't, it was much nicer being oblivious to Langley Mill's youff-dom.

First of all we'd returned from a family visit and we were reading a notice - about footpaths 53 and Pottery Lane - that had been attached to Mr HH's fence, but some cretin decided it needed pulling off. I waited while my grumpy old man attempted to reattach it.

During this I heard one of those mini-motorbike whatstits whizzing along Pottery Lane, and then I watched in amazement as this head went backwards and forwards - at speed - down the ramp onto Bridge Street, finally revealing itself as the tw*t on the bike. Me being me and not at all being able to keep my mouth shut, I shouted ... 'this is a footpath, not a motorbike route'.

This surly teenager totally ignored my remonstration and stopped just short of running into me. I then said ... 'I suppose you expect me to move for you' ... reply 'grunt' ... 'well, I'm not'. He had actually got a voice other than the customary teenage grunt, as he said he'd go in front of me... which he did, almost running my GOM over - while he was still farting about with that bloody notice. The youff then carried on a third of the way down Bridge Street and up an entry ... I've no idea who he is.

Having now been let loose from my workspace I decided to reacquaint myself with 'bigjobs' my super computer, this meant being in the spare room for an hour or two, tut, what a mistake. If I were anywhere else I wouldn't be able to witness more twa**ing youffs trying to break things on HH land. I may start locking myself away in a cupboard somewhere.

Much later, after examining the contents - or lack of - in my fridge, freezer and cupboards, I announced to grumpy that I was off to - begrudgingly - spend some money at that biggish corner shop just over the way. He came with me to carry my debit card.

Just before we got to our peasants ramp up to Asda we passed four girls, all about twelve or thirteen years old, pleasant and giggly, but I could have knocked their heads together ... or glared at my GOM for doing it [we've all inherited this 'glare' from my mother - it's horrible].

It ... being walk on the road to go around them as they steadfastly stuck to walking four abreast ... not me, oh no, I've finally realised who the tw*ts are, and it's us for moving out of their way, time and time again, this time I was prepared to clash elbows and anything else that got in my way as I walked along the edge of the kerb [yes I know, I'm still making way for them].

This is NOT purely a Langley Mill phenomenon as it is much discussed amongst us - tin hut dwellers - at Winthorpe [Skeggy]. We have compared notes on numerous occasions about how we automatically shift out of the way.

I was brought up to ALWAYS move for anyone older than myself - which at my age is getting increasingly more difficult - this included giving up my seat on a bus as well as moving to one side while walking along a street. To be honest I've probably forgotten how old I am when I get out of the way, but not any more!

In future, if anyone younger than me expects me to move to one side for them, they're in for a shock, cos I'm not moving - hmm, this is all supposing I remember [being my age means I'm forgetful - apparently]. In fact, just to make sure I get in someone's way, I'm off out right now to stand in the middle of a pavement somewhere ...

Letter To Mr Cameron

I received this email recently and found myself nodding and agreeing to just about everything, so I thought I'd share it with those who haven't received it yet:

Dear Mr Cameron,
      Please find below our suggestion for fixing the UK's economy.

Instead of giving billions of pounds to banks that will squander the money on lavish parties and unearned bonuses, use the following plan:

You can call it the 'Patriotic Retirement Plan'.

There are about 10 million people over the age of fifty in the workforce.
Pay them £1 million each [yes please] severance for early retirement with the following stipulations:

1. They MUST retire ... 10 million job openings - unemployment fixed
2. They MUST buy a British car ... 10 million car orders - car industry fixed.
3. They MUST either buy a house or pay off their mortgage - housing crisis fixed.
4. They MUST send their kids to school/college/university - crime rate fixed.
5. They MUST buy £100 worth of alcohol/tobacco a week [hmm?] ... And there's your money back in duty/tax etc.

It can't be any easier than that! If more money is needed, have all members of parliament pay back their falsely claimed expenses and second home allowances.

Also:

Let's put the pensioners in jail and the criminals in a nursing home.
This way the pensioners would have access to showers, hobbies and walks.
They'd get  free dental treatment and eye care.
They'd receive money instead of paying it out.
They'd receive special diets on religious grounds.
They would have constant video monitoring, so they could be helped instantly, if they fell or needed assistance.
Bedding would be washed twice a week and all clothing would be washed, ironed and returned to them.

A guard would check on them every 20 minutes and bring their meals and snacks to their cell.
They would have family visits in a suite built for that purpose.
They would have access to a library, weight room, spiritual counselling, pool and education.
Simple clothing, shoes, slippers, PJ's and legal aid would be free, on request.
Private, secure rooms for all, with an exercise outdoor yard, with gardens.
Each senior could have a PC, a TV, radio and daily phone calls.

There would be a board of directors to hear complaints, and the guards would have a code of conduct that would be strictly adhered to.

The criminals would get cold food, be left all alone and unsupervised. Laid wet and sore in a stinking bed. Lights off at 8pm, and showers once a week. Live in a tiny room and pay £600.00 per week and have no hope of ever getting out.

Think about this (more points of contention):

COWS:

Is it just me, or does anyone else find it amazing that during the mad cow epidemic, our government could track a single cow, born in Appleby almost three years before, right to the stall where she slept in the county of Cumbria?

And, they even tracked her calves to their stalls. But they are unable to locate 125,000 illegal immigrants wandering around our country. Maybe we should give each of them a cow.
It is time for us grumpy old folk of Britain to speak up! ...

What's Happening At The End Of Cromford Road?

Hmm, because there seems to be a large amount of inactivity - as in empty or closed - at the bottom end of Cromford Road, we're now wondering if a recent rumour that I mentioned at the beginning of my moany 'lack of flowers' blog - businesses at the end of Cromford Road being offered large wads of cash - is in fact true.

If there is a hint of truth in the rumours then we're puzzled about who wants to buy land and businesses there, and what they want them for [Godwins next attempt at McDonalds in case their current plans are thwarted, perhaps].

I can see many days ahead - when sufficiently bored enough, I'm not that nosy ... no, really - of t'Interweb cruising to see what I can find out ... failing that we'll interrogate some likely candidates.

There's still no sign at AVBC that the plans are being passed for McDonalds on CJ Cars plot,  I'm NOT ever so convinced these plans will be passed as - in my humble opinion - that stretch of road isn't safe as it is now, even without a McDonalds there, because the roundabout is too small and drivers from both Asda and Eastwood actually treat Station Road with an 'I've got right of way' mentality and are totally oblivious to Cromford Road.

And anyway, I have already suggested [ok, rumoured] that Netto would be a much better place for McDonalds - as Asda aren't likely to keep Langley Mill's Netto, which is almost closed - but no-one takes any notice of me.

You'll have to excuse the shortness of this post, but my friends are waiting for me to go out and play [bowls] ... and I still refuse to wear the uniform ...

Asda in Hucknall?

Well, it's only taken just over two years since I first suggested that Asda probably plan to build at Hucknall.

Oh dear Asda, have I spoilt your surprise? Well, GOOD. I plan to annoy you as much as your Langley Mill store annoys me - with their effin squeaky gates and the wa**ers they employ in the night to throw pallets about. They've only been asked four times - by us - to get the bolts oiled.

And Johnston Press - go and find your own news and stop reading my blog.

Er, where was I before I got carried away? Oh yeah, Hucknall:

Now someone has started searching for info on Asda in Hucknall and tripped over my blog.

Actually I thought that everyone in Hucknall would know all this by now as I told my sister ages ago - she works in a bank there - and she doesn't do secrets.

It must have been in the pipeline for a while, because it accidentally got included on a map of nearby Asda's when Langley Mill's Asda bumf was dished out.

I've heard [from the same sister] that it's to be on Hucknall football ground - as they're getting a new stadium - but this is just a rumour.

And anyway, it's not really Asda's style. They tend to pick some really grotty brownfield site so they can tell everyone how they'll 'kick-start the regeneration' of wherever it is, blah, blah, blah, so there's very little objection to the planning application, except from the competition ...

.....

Update 17th March 2013

The latest Asda in Hucknall rumours suggest that Tesco is selling their store to Asda because they want to build a bigger one - and there's already a lot of Tesco's in the area ... We'll see

R.I.P. Broken Britain...

You went soft on discipline!...

You went soft on immigration!...

You went soft on crime...

Parents were told - 'No you can't smack the kids'...

Teachers were prevented from chastising kids in schools...

The police couldn't clip a troublemaker round the ear...

Kids had rights blah blah blah...

Well done Britain...

You shall reap what you sow...

We have lost a whole generation!!

Not my own words, but definitely my sentiments - and it saved me writing it myself - this is doing the rounds on Facebook and I copied and pasted as requested - kudos to the originator/author for saying what we all think.

The only thing is ... I actually think we've lost two generations because the parents of the yobs are no better ...

 

Langley Mill's Flowers 2011

Before I get carried away with my latest moan I'll just share the latest rumours that a fellow grumpy has passed on:

Apparently some of the businesses at the end of Cromford Road, including an Indian restaurant, a repair/workshop garage and the car park where our council recycling bins disappeared from, have been offered lots of money by a developer, I'm told that these offers were turned down and there have now been larger offers made.

Why doesn't a developer want to offer us even moderate amounts of money? It doesn't seem fair when we're so willing to negotiate.

.....

Anyway on to my latest whinge, 90% of which has been waiting to be published for about three weeks, but having been in a better mood lately [away at the tin hut] and thinking 'hey, give 'em a chance' I put it on hold. Of course, back at home and a few sleepless nights courtesy of Asda's squeaky gates and their annoying deliveries have brought me back to my grumpy senses.

Top of Bridge Street

So:

Asda, isn't it about time you got Grace Landscapes to replace the plants that succumbed to last winter's weather. I mean the plants at the top of Bridge Street. We're not bothered about the ones further down - just past our peasants entrance to Asda - as one thick woman encouraged her children to slide over the snow covered plants and killed them all, but we actually care about them up here.

Several weeks ago now [17th May to be precise], my neighbour told the bark-blower [skilled job, wouldn't mind it myself] that they needed replacing, he made a note to say we needed sixty-odd new plants and said he'd draw a diagram for them back at the office. We've also watered the trees - and the few remaining plants - across from us, because as we all know water goes downhill; so leaving our bit parched and they were at least a month's growth behind their bigger cousins half way down the street.

Update August 27th:
Hmm, Grace Landscapes have said they'll do more planting in the autumn because if they replaced the plants now it would mean they'd have to come and water them - so?

Update January 2012:
It looks a lot like Grace Landscapes were telling lies, they had no intention of replacing any plants whatsoever - another grab the cash and run merchant. Someone new has got the contract for Asda's gardens.

 .....

Spot the Difference - Langley Mill and Eastwood

And now on to my bigger moan - still alas, plant orientated - and yes, I'm still using big words while I can remember what they mean ... and I'm English so will pooh pooh any suggestion that I use 'oriented' rather than 'orientated'.

I know our councils are supposed to be saving money, blah blah, but how come some councils can take the time, effort and a moderate expense to make the places we live, work and shop in look a bit more cheerful, and others, well ... don't.

Heanor's Entire Floral Display

Some councils would rather spend an exorbitant sum on a chunk of metal suffering from some sort of heavy duty metal-worm with a hula hoop stuck through it [yeah, yeah, I know there were art grants, donations blah, blah, blah]. You can tell I don't really like modern art - I like to recognise what it is that I'm looking at, rather than needing it explaining to me.

And if that's the sort of 'art' you're into, I can show you - for an arbitrary fee - an unmade bed [daily], and for no extra charge you can have a peek in my drawer full of excess lotions and potions - I will call this 'artistic' drawer 'Hormonal Imbalance'. I've also got a workmate plus lots of spare mahogany doors and a big drill if you prefer your 'art' with ventilation. Do feel free to call me a grumpy old philistine, because I simply don't care.

Hang on, I'm losing me thread here ... Oh yeah, flowers ... councils ... money:

Expensive Wing Thing

The same council then tell the world at large that they've been working on and improving Heanor. Ahem, we went through Heanor the other day and apart from some unsightly buildings having been demolished, I couldn't see any real improvement.

Now, having only previously seen a photo of this metal 'wing' thing - and the £20,000 price tag - I fully expected it to be on the 'Angel of the North' proportions. Ahem, it wasn't - and any time now it'll probably find itself on the back of one of the many opportunistic and no doubt illegal scrap wagons that turns up at least three times a week.

Eastwood's Flowers

We frequently pass through - and stop to shop in - our neighbouring Eastwood [Broxtowe council] and practically every lamppost has flowers on it, not to mention the troughs and multi-tiered containers. It actually lifts your spirits to see them and puts you in a much better - spending - mood. Or would have, had I not just been through Langley Mill, because Langley Mill's [Amber Valley Borough Council] lampposts are completely bare and our troughs contain grass and weeds - yes, neighbour ... before you gasp for breath in a 'that's the pot calling the kettle black' kind of way, I will admit to giving root room to a few weeds myself.

Eastwood's Flowers

I suppose someone will eventually feel the urge to put me straight about it being our local councils that decide whether or not to pretty up the neighbourhood - Well that's OK, I can blame them too, I'm nothing if not generous.

You know, I'm starting to experience a bit of déjà vu - spooky - or maybe this is a lot like my 2009 Christmas lights moan ...