Sunday, 17 July 2011

Plans Submitted For Co-op/Potters in Langley Mill

I always wonder when a certain person looks at my blog 'WHAT IT IS THEY THINK I SHOULD KNOW?'. A little visit to Amber Valley Borough Council's planning applications soon put me in the picture.

I mentioned a while back [April, rumour 1.] that Potters on Cromford Road was being made over with no planning permission. It now seems that the plans were submitted - dated 13th July 2011. Yes I know I'm slow - I have to work you know.

I would call it a 'retrospective planning application' but I'm only a nosy peasant so don't really know the rules on planning - although the application form is ticked 'NO' after the question 'Has the building, work or change of use already started'?

Anyway, here's the application number, off you interested parties go and have look for yourselves.

AVA/2011/0605 - MIDLANDS CO-OP SOCY LTD 47 Cromford road Langley Mill Derbyshire NG16 4EF

Proposed conversion of existing building to form 5 retail shops, 8 starter offices, 12 one and two bedroom apartments and miscellaneous storage areas. Roller shutters to provide security to each shop and solar panels.

I wonder why it's still called the Co-Op? I thought it was Potters, Hmm, further reading will be done after I've lunched ...

Thursday, 14 July 2011

Out With The Old ...

If you've read my previous post, you'll know that I've been tittering to myself since last Friday. I'll start from the beginning to paint the picture, so to speak.

Monday Evening:
We returned home from our tin hut by the sea with two new sets of bedside draws - a bargain from Skegness Focus as they were closing down.

I armed myself with the required tools and set about building the cabinet/draws. My grumpy old man was hovering ... I wish he wouldn't as I like to do things alone unless there's a tricky screw I'm not tough enough to turn - and he knows this.

But no, he considerately told me what went where and reminded me not to forget the glue when putting the dowels in the drawer fronts. I reminded him who built every single kitchen cabinet and drawer. All he had to do was simply carry each one into the kitchen and dart (or something rhyming) about with his spirit level, declaring each time, 'Ooooh, that's level'.

It was hot so he thoughtfully got the big fan down from the attic ... yes the same fan I trod on during Friday night - because it never got put away - bending back my poor toe.

The draws were put in place, the old bedside cupboards were taken to the tip. Now I must ask all my friends who read this ... If I'm out shopping with you, please don't let me buy any body sprays or lotions. I could stock Boots! I'm a bugger for buying stuff, placing it where I'll use it. A few weeks go by - after I've used probably a centimetre of body lotion and a few of squirts of spray - then I decide everywhere is untidy.

Don't ask me why I decide this as I'm normally oblivious to my surroundings (my neighbour can confirm this) ... but I strongly suspect it's hormonal. Everything gets shoved in a cupboard or drawer in a willy nilly fashion and a week later I'm buying replacements. This also happens in the bathroom ... I DO NOT NEED ANY MORE BUBBLE-BATH OR SHOWER GEL! It's only a pity I'm not a domestic Goddess for three weeks out of every four and a slob for the one week, instead of the other way around.

Note to self: all my lotions and potions are now in a draw under the bed - the bottom of which is sagging alarmingly!

Hmmm, until that ancient, overwhelmingly large wardrobe goes and everything is rearranged, the bedroom door is in the way. It's forever launching itself at me as I try to walk past, either catching my elbow, dragging me back with a sleeve or pocket, stubbing my big toe, bending back my little toe or just generally trying to flatten my boobs. I requested that my GOM take it off and store it in the attic as it's never shut anyway. We have three doors in the attic now, mostly for the reasons outlined above.

Now I think about it, my GOM spends a fair bit of time moving things (not the fan) so I don't walk into them - anyone would think I was clumsy.

You know, for the life of me, I can't remember what I did on Wednesday - it's a blank.

That wardrobe really has got to go, it's getting on my nerves ... but where do I put my clothes? Well, I've been asking grumpy for years to put a rail up in my two middle cupboards - there's six altogether, nine feet high and built into the alcove left of the chimney breast, his six are on the right. I wanted them poshed up and extended out but was prepared to compromise with just a rail (for now) to take my hanging clothes - which I never wear but may become fashionable - or even fit me again - sometime in the next twenty years.

This was eventually accomplished with much sawing, screwing and shelf rearranging. Oh heck, more lotions and potions in the bottom cupboards. The bed was by now full of clothes, draws (as my chest of draws was now in the way and needed shifting) and one cat who steadfastly refused to move.

Charity bags to the rescue!! I filled two with my best clothes that I'd bought on a whim and will never wear (okay, most don't fit). Then filled a bin bag with my worst clothes (boo hoo). They were all eventually prised from my fingers to be whisked away by my butler/chauffeur before I had time to change my mind - again. I cheered myself up with the knowledge that I could fill at least four more bags before I noticed anything was missing ... and now my side of the wardrobe was empty!

The day we finally got rid of an ancient piece of furniture - yes that wardrobe was nearly as old as me. There was some crap in there I can tell you (his side). Not to mention the black and white telly in one of MY cupboards.

Now, where I was to be found poncing around in three bras (at the same time - very uplifting), a black and purple garter and a pair of red Budweiser braces during my cupboard and drawer rearranging (yes, I was fully dressed, I'm just daft), today my GOM was to be found wearing a Nottingham Forest scarf, fifteen ties, eight belts and a Jerry Lee Lewis T-shirt during the emptying of his stuff from the deepest recesses of the monolith.

Once it was empty and he was sure that we were doing this - sigh - to his wardrobe, we got on with taking it apart. There was lots of unscrewing and conversations that went ... 'over to you' ... 'have you got it?' ... 'pull it harder than that!' ... 'now just ease it this way' ... 'No, No, No!' ... 'ah, do it yerself!' ... 'no, no, come back here and hold this' ... 'I've broke a nail and I'm not playing anymore!' Eventually the wardrobe was door-less and in two halves.

Hmmm, now we've got to get these halves downstairs and onto the yard to be cut up and taken to the tip. This was achieved easily with one - me at the bottom to be squashed if he let go - the second required a return trip back upstairs to turn it around as we couldn't negotiate the corner at the bottom of the stairs. Grumpy was nearly in tears when he put the bits in the car, muttering that 'it's a shame, it's good wood that is'.

The wardrobe doors (got a nice theme going here) were going in the attic because 'you never know when they'll come in handy'.

Oh dear, oh dear, the doors didn't make it to the attic until Saturday, which is a shame really - I really must take this grin off my face. During the Friday night - when I woke grumpy to tell him why I was awake - first he got cramp in his leg and made so much noise that I couldn't hear the Asda delivery properly. Then he went to the loo ... on his way back he walked into the wardrobe doors leaning on the landing wall ... 'Owww, owww owww. I've broke me toe!' ... sympathetic reply 'Hurts, doesn't it?' ... and 'I bet you've woke the neighbours up.'

YES!! ...

Saturday, 9 July 2011

Just Another Friday Night In Langley Mill

I say Langley Mill, it's most likely happening across the entire country in varying degrees but I can only moan from my point of view.

It's no secret what I think about Langley Mill .... I have described it as a sh*t hole in a previous post - I'm not about to alter my opinion on the place or a fair few of it's scummy inhabitants - and if the cap fits ...

Last night was yet another reason to intensely dislike the place a tidgy bit more.

A group of youngish teenagers went grunting past with their usual caveman finesse, I couldn't hear what was being said and I wasn't trying to listen, they may even been comparing kn*b sizes as there was much jollity. Where do their parents think they are? The old trick of saying they're staying over at so and so's, I suppose. Don't parents check or indeed care?

I was woken abruptly by what I took to be next door's cat screaming in pain ... this is guaranteed to get me out of bed in a flash. It turned out to be four drunken witches returning home after a night out via Chavsda [yes Asda, you've earned the name]. There were two of these mad bints straight across from us - one using her phone, both clutching their Chavsda bags - screeching at the other two to 'HURRY UP!! ...YOU'RE TAKING THE P*SS!!'

I noticed whilst looking upon this veritable tragic display of young womanhood, the completely invisible Chavsda delivery lorry waiting at the gates to be let in - remember they don't have deliveries in the night [according to one of their security men].

The ladylike reply to the - so far - one sided conversation came a few minutes later when I went to check through the back bedroom window on their somewhat staggering progress ... 'WAIT FOR US, YOU SCREECH, SCREECH $%*%%' - lovely. My annoyance was then made complete when I trod on the foot of the fan that some complete di**khead had left in my way - bending back a previously broken toe ... ouch!

I limped dramatically back to bed and woke grumpy up - I was awake ... this entitles me to make sure anyone in my immediate vicinity is equally awake. Then I explained in great detail why I was awake ... yes, feeling better already - a grievance shared and all that.

SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEAAAAAK, clatter ... SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEAAAAAK! And yes, Asda's delivery gates still haven't been oiled - wa****s!

SQUAWK, SQUAWK, SQUAWK, SQUAWK - lorry reversing, presumably because the driver had driven up to the bell on the gate to announce is arrival - rather than get off his ar*e and walk to it. BRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM ... SQUAWK, SQUAWK, SQUAWK, SQUAWK - lorry reversing again. SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEAAAAAK, clatter ... SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEAAAAAK! - gates closed. Bang, boom, crash, bang, rattle  - the lorry was emptied.


Peace at last - yeah right.

A relationship ended - hopefully ... It didn't end quietly - no such luck, there was much bellowing along the lines of ... from him - 'YOU AND ME ... WE'RE FINISHED!'... from her - 'Wah, wah'. This went on in the same vein for a good fifteen minutes, mostly him telling her why they were finished, interspersed with a bit of sobbing and a lot of effin.

Gobby teenagers passed by again ... see the bit above.


Asda delivery ... you know the routine by now - but this was somewhat overshadowed by someone down the street going on holiday and loudly announcing every item placed in the car. By this time I didn't really care and probably wouldn't even be awake if I wasn't already thoroughly disgruntled and determined to wake up at the drop of a hat - although I don't recall hearing a single train.

Yawn ...

My GOM - who told them at Chavsda this afternoon about their bloody gates for the fourth time - had a worse night, but that's for another post ... I'll just say that I wasn't grumpy the entire night and I still keep tittering to myself ...

Friday, 1 July 2011

Jigsaw Puzzling ... The Crumbly Way

Just lately, with the weather being a bit showery, blowy and somewhat cooler than I need for sitting outside my tin hut, we've been filling some of our leisure time with that age old pastime of jigsaw puzzles. I can sit outside [shivering] when it's moderately draughty with the aid of wind breaks - in some sort of maze configuration; courtesy of my grumpy old man - but even I have to give in when I'm being bombarded with bits of tree.

This puzzling was ok for a short time, I like doing the edges then I rapidly lose interest and just do a bit when I feel like it ... not my grumpy old man, he plods doggedly on and on and on.

Well, that's not such a bad thing, you may say, at least it's keeping him quiet ... You think?!?

There's a constant commentary of what piece should go where ... And what's that bit doing up there? mutter, mutter ... I need another bit shaped like that, now where is it? rattle, clatter as the pieces are shuffled in the box ... aha, ha ha ha, there it is, fancy that being there ... now I'm looking for a piece with a bit of blue on it, mumble mumble ... oh, that's not it, hmm, what if I turn it round, no not that way .. aha! Tap, tap tap - as he made it quite clear to the puzzle, the cat and myself that - yes, that piece did indeed fit there!

Occasionally I'll waft past, pick up a piece [one of his bits] and put it in while he's not looking - not always in the right place ... I am horrible remember. This is mostly because all he lets me do is the sky whilst hogging all the interesting and colourful bits for himself. Even then he had to interfere, because whenever he found a piece of mine that fitted, he strategically placed it right where I'd see it [practically touching where it needed to be].

Once I'd discovered he was doing this - it took at least four pieces of puzzle before I cottoned on - I threw the offending bit of puzzle back in the box, shook it up and threatened that if he touched my sky once more I'd chuck the lot on the floor. I'm like that - I've done the odd crossword where someone has looked over my shoulder to give me an answer [a very, very, very bad idea]. The crossword ends up thrown to one side, my arms are folded, the bottom lip sticks out and a major sulk ensues - yes I am childish, but if I want help [highly unlikely - stamp, stamp] I'll ask for it.

This puzzling has of course taken over my dining table, meaning that we've had to use trays for dinner, something I'm not happy with. Yesterday I decided that we WERE sitting at the table and plonked the place mats on top of his puzzle. I could see him wincing and his hands were hovering protectively above it. I say puzzle, it's mostly pieces as we've finished the one with my sky [foxglove cottage], and only recently started another one.

'Oh, are we having dinner on here? ... I really ought to put some sort of cover on' ... 'Leave it!' I ordered as I flirted bits out of the way to place coasters and condiments - I've told you, I'm proper evil I am.

On this latest puzzle, he's started sorting out different areas on a tray [yet again leaving me the sky]. All was relatively peaceful - apart from the obligatory running commentary - when THUD, clatter, as he dropped the tray. I didn't even turn around to look at the scattered puzzle. I sat firmly glued to my spot, I know he'll be struggling to pick them up with his chewed finger nails, but he shouldn't make us jump [both me and the cat]. Hmmm, he's very quiet, that makes a nice change.

About an hour later ... THUD, clatter! Oh bugger it, I'd better help him this time ... 'There's no need', he announces while holding is hand up in a 'stay right there' kind of way. Oh yes, I can see why. There he is merrily scooping the puzzle pieces up with MY spatula. He's a right tinker with my stuff - you really don't want to know what he does with a carving knife and, ooooh, my poor tea-towels ...