Not 2B underestimated

Click to enlarge, if you so desire



There may or may not be a substantial gap between posts again soon, as we may or may not have to move again.  It turns out to be rather bad form to request compensation, or a rent refund, if you have to live in a house that has flooded, has no electric, and requires months of building work.  Although the landlord claims he is evicting us as it's the end of our 6 month contract, and we wanted to go on a rolling month-by-month contract, instead of signing up for another 6 months, I suspect it's more to do with trying to evade paying us anything.

Makes me really mad since he's contractually obliged to refund some of our rent - you wouldn't order fish and chips and be expected to pay for chips even if you didn't receive any.  Paying rent on a property that wasn't in the condition we signed the contract is tantamount to the same thing.  What a complete tool.
We are finding out if he will let us stay on if we agree to sign on for another 6 months, at least that would give us more time to find somewhere else to live.

Grr and aarg and all that jazz.

Bookworms

Click image to enlarge

Phone anxiety (and also a pika)

I doubt I’m alone in this, but I really struggle to converse with people face-to-face.  I get anxious, and then start talking at an incredible speed which ultimately results in me stumbling on my words and having to start again.  Unfortunately, I end up actually saying ‘start again’ out loud in an effort to reel in my panic when orating, which does nothing for my already fragile street-cred.  I just cannot seem to cope with conversation, which I find frustrating since I love the English language, and trying to maintain communication with people solely using post-it notes just isn’t working out.

Most people are nice enough not to comment as I flounder in a sea of my own incoherence, but I then assume they are being supercilious, and then imagine what they may be thinking:

“ Oh dear,  poor lass, getting all tongue-tongued. Ah, ok yep, getting the gist... oh no, gone again. Be patient, she’ll get there eventually.  Kinda amusing really.  Ho-hum, I really have things to get on with.  Good grief, she talks that quick and the sentence still isn’t finished? Maybe I’ll just discreetly edge my way to the exit there...”

The sympathetic expressions are the worst.  On top of feeling like a moron for not being able to form a complete sentence, I then have to deal with pity.  It’s like they’re saying “it’s ok, we don’t really expect anything more from you.”

So, me and phones, we really don’t get on.  Happily, phones don’t play a huge part in my role at work so I’m saved from a constant onslaught of anxiety attacks.

The hoody, it turns out, is not an effective tool to handle

phone related anxiety.

However, external calls are most often from foreigners, when English is not their first (or even second) language.  These calls progress like a wedding dance.  Everyone knows what’s expected of them, but because nobody knows the other party’s relatives that well, no one gets up and jives wholeheartedly.  Instead, everyone furtively skulks around the outskirts of the dance floor, occasionally thrusting in an apathetic foot when the Hokey Cokey plays.

After I've attempted to respond to the caller’s query, the conversation goes along the following lines, although perhaps with less xenophobic overtones:

Caller: “I sorry, you very much talk fast. Repeat?”

Me: “ver’sorrytheformsyouneedcanbefoundonyourhomepageyoucanthenemailitwhencomplete”

Caller: “I not comprehend; please slower?”

Me: “Sorryformsonhomepagepleaseemailsorry”

Caller: “.........”

Me: “Could you email your query, and I’ll answer it directly”

Caller: “Yes. I think that would be best.”

After setting the phone back in its cradle, and, florid with the heat of humiliation, I scuttle away like a startled pika (which are incredibly cool, but endangered mammals) to calm myself with a cup of tea, which is the only valid British reaction to mild social discomfort.

            

 The pika.  Looks a lot like a chinchilla, but belongs in the

lagomorph (rabbit) family. Kinda like a 2nd cousin who

looks a bit like the milkman.  Not to be mistaken for

Pikachu of Pokemon fame. Although I reckon the pika

must have been an influencing factor in his creation.

Are there any everyday tasks or situations that you dread?  What’s the worst, or best, phone call you’ve had?  Have you received (or dialled) a crank call?

Dear fellow pedestrians...

...just pick a line and stick to it.

 

I swear, if I have to perform a pedestrian equivalent of an emergency stop one more time, I will hit the gas instead of the brakes and stomp your indecisive feet into the pavement.

Ta.

Career advice

Today I received what is quite possibly the most depressing piece of career advice ever.  I was advised to stop looking for a job I'd like to do, and focus on something I could cope with.


I could probably cope with being blind, but that doesn't mean I'd chose that over having vision.

Instead of making an effort and eating a varied diet, I could probably cope with eating nothing but corn flakes for the rest of my life.

Instead of changing the track, I could probably live with listening to one song over and over...


I can cope with a lot of things, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.  My argument is that you spend at least 40 years of your life at work, you may as well make those years as interesting as you can.

My intital reaction to this pessimistic view was a superluminal descent into my very own well of depression; lamenting the fun-filled, enjoyable job that never was, envying those who were paid for doing what they were passionate about and generally being a miserable grump troll.

Grump troll

Apologies for the crapness of this drawing. It's

been a while since I used my tablet, and I've

completely forgotten how to layer properly,

or indeed draw.  That is my excuse, and I'm

sticking to it. No excuses for my previous

cartoons.  They're just shite.

Eventually, after a period of introspection and loudly playing Mindless Self Indulgence over and over (see, told you I could cope) I decided to snap out of it and be a little more mature about it all.  So what if I am pursuing an idyll?  I'd rather try and attain happiness at work than spend the rest of my working life moaning about my job.

What's the worst advice you've been offered, or given?

Flood

So, you remember my last post where I lamented the woes of letting. Yes?  Well, two weeks later our house flooded.  I suspect there is some demi-god of habitation who took offence at my post, and took it upon themselves to smite me.  So, justly smoted (smited? Smitten?) I am now gradually getting back into the swing of things.

We had been at our current house for just under two months, and I had returned from work one evening to an empty house (except for Willow and Tangent, of course. And the fish - they don't go out much) as Husband had recently started a job that means he works away overnight.  After taking a bath, I returned downstairs and noticed that the back door was open which slightly concerned me since I was sure I locked it.  Deciding I was probably mistaken, I carried on with my evening of home-alone frivolity (which basically entailed watching TV and eating Twix bars).  I then heard what sounded like creaking floorboards upstairs.  Of course, I immediately surmised that someone had got in the house and was meandering about upstairs (it couldn't possibly be due being in a new house and not knowing all it's peculiar sounds yet).
I went upstairs into our bedroom, grabbed a couple of martial arts weapons which are always lying about as trip hazards (thanks Husband!) and slowly made my way from room to room, checking behind doors as I went.  Satisfied that there was no one else in the house (and proving I tend towards paranoia) I headed to bed.

I woke up at 6am to the sound of torrential rain thundering outside, but after a few minutes I realised that I couldn't hear any rain hitting the windows.  I sat up and looked outside at the empty, dry sky.  Hmm. I listened closely to the rain, and thought it sounded like a flushing toilet.  I got up and flipped the light switch, but there was no light.  I concluded that there was indeed someone in the house and they were messing with my head (it's the sort of psychological warfare I'd employ if I were sociopathic. Ha! If).

Opening the bedroom door, I stepped out into an inch of water. Thinking many glorious, colourful (and unsavoury) curses, I finally realised there was a flood. I waded to the bathroom, and peered through the darkness at the water literally cascading from the ceiling.  It was too dark to see where it was coming from.

I then rushed downstairs to check on the dogs.  Tangent was sat meekly at the bottom of the stairs having a bit of a breakdown, and I couldn't find Willow.  Going back upstairs, I found her cowering in the spare bedroom - smart dog; get above the water!  I brought her downstairs, then checked the kitchen, where it was happily raining like the Amazon rainforest.  Next, I phoned Husband and in my most calm and collected manner, blurted the situation to him (he had to ask me several times to repeat myself).  Fortunately, he was able to arrange emergency cover and was on his way, once he deciphered my incoherent stuttering.

I then attempted to find the tenancy paperwork, and cursing my somewhat neglected filing system, found the emergency plumber number.  Impressively, he was out within 20 minutes.  He checked the attic, thinking it may have been a burst tank, but there was no tank, so that wasn’t the source.  Eventually, it transpired that it was the cold water inlet pipe to the toilet that had a tiny crack.  The plumber turned off the mains water supply, and replaced the pipe, and that was it.  All that drama over something so innocuous and simple to fix!

 The offending pipe

Husband arrived just as the plumber was leaving, and there was a momentary calm as the immediate situation was over.  We obviously didn't have any electric since the circuit broke after being doused in water. But as the day broke, and more light filtered into the house we saw the extent of the damage, and suddenly everything felt very heavy.

The kitchen ceiling was on the floor; the bathroom tiles had come down; the upstairs carpets were under completely sodden; the electric mains box was dripping water... it was difficult to know where to start.  We grabbed all the towels we had and starting numbly mopping up the water whilst we waited for the letting agency to send out a contractor to assess the damage.

 The damage to the kitchen. Pretty sure the ceiling

shouldn't be on the floor...

 More water damage

Bathroom tile damage. Clean-up: Where to start?

 We spent the next three weeks with no electric bar one room, with the loud, grating hum of an industrial dehumidifier gradually steering us to insanity.

Well, that was a riveting (and long) couple of months, but things are getting resolved now.  The house has dried, and the redecorating has started.  I’m gradually getting on top of things now (the house is still a state, but that more lack of housework than flood damage), and my sense of humour is creeping back. So hopefully blogging will return to a normal frequency soon (and cartoons will be making a comeback)!

What’s the worse indoor natural disaster you’ve experienced?  Have you ever lived somewhere that ended up biting you in the ass?