I’ve mentioned before that I play internet games, chiefly Lord of the Rings online. For the past week, I’ve been trying out one called Age of Conan. This post is based on events in both games, and other games as well – the game involved makes little difference to the way people act, though.
Todays post is about these games, and how they reflect on life in general.
We received a letter from our local Council today – not a very long letter, and it’s been sent to every house in the area. It reads as follows:
We are changing your recycling collection day.
We are replacing most of our recycling lorries with newer, more efficient vehicles. This means we can collect recycling from more houses on each collection round, saving costs and reducing vehicle emissions.
The back of the letter is the new schedule for collections.
All sounds good, doesn’t it?
Last year was pretty busy for us, and we’re only just getting back to ‘normal’. Consider that my apology for not posting as often as I would like.
We’ll start with celebrations: My partner and I had our 25th wedding anniversary; my parents had their 60th anniversary; both my parents had their 80th birthday; I saw my son after a long seperation; and I met my daughter-in-law and grandkids for the first time. All but one of these involved a long drive; the exception was our 25th party, which involved a lot of work. For the 60th, it involved a week away.
When you consider that the year before that, my attending a christening was a BIG event, the first time in years I’d spent so much as a whole day away from home – you can see that every one of those celebrations, while being wonderful, represented a mammoth upheaval for us.
On top of that, we’ve had some work done on our home. Some of it has already been blogged about, but not all of it.
Remember, we live in sheltered housing: a tiny bungalow rented from the local authourity. Of all the work done, the only bit we paid for was a little decorating – and I did the work on that myself.
Also bear in mind that it wasn’t much more than a year ago that our Council was telling us they had no money for repairs.
OK. Last year, the Council repainted the outside of all the homes on the street - they fitted new kitchens in all the homes, too. We had solar panels fitted to our roof, so we benefit from ‘free’ electricity when the sun is shining. And we finally got our bathroom done, after six years of waiting.
I think that was everything…
Looking back at last year, I find myself wondering how I fit it all in!
We are now in the position of very nearly been straight again. I’ve tidied up the mess left in the bathroom. (They nailed four by two wood through the existing tiles, then fixed panels to it that look like tiles. Only they left one and an eighth tiles sticking out the side. It looked awful, but there was no way to remove the tiles, so I had to fix new tiles next to it, finishing the wall off.)
Then I papered the other walls, painted the ceiling, walls, and woodwork, and fitted towel rails, toilet roll holders, etc. While I had the paint and tools out, I did the small hallway, too.
Only job left is to fit a new carpet in the hallway. I was lucky to get an offcut for a pittance, so not too much money has been spent. I started that job this morning, but stopped after only a short time: I made one cut, to make the offcut just a little longer than the space it was to fit in. Ten minutes, at most, with the scissors – and in that time I worked up and burst a blister on my finger. No way am I going to cut the carpet like that again!
I need to get a knive for the job, so it’ll be a day or two before I get round to it, now.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to go fishing this year.
I believe myself to be a good(ish) person. I don’t lie, cheat, steal, kill or covet my neighbours ass.
I was brought up ‘right.’Â My parents taught me… Hold on… My parents tried to teach me right from wrong, and now all these years later, I find myself living by a moral code.
Why?
If you watch ‘The Apprentice’, or study how business works, you’ll realise that ‘business’ = dishonesty. The bigger the business, the more dishonest.
Think about it. Big businesses are the ones who contribute to election costs – and they always get changes in the law that benefit them. The banks, for instance, got laws passed that enabled them to take stupid risks with your money. And what happened when it went wrong? The government gave them more of your money!
When things go wrong, big business will always be heard to say that they ‘operated within legal guidelines.’ True. Legal guidelines that they set up, giving them permission to lie up to a point. I’ve said this before: if they need a legal department to approve their script before they use it, they must be getting as close as possible to breaking the law as they can.
Why can’t they just use common sense? ‘Will this product make my carpet like new?’  ’No, madam, it’s a dishwasher.’ Hardly rocket science, is it? But their guidelines would enable them to ‘suggest’ that the carpet would be cleaner.
Seriously, though. All they have to do is tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Only they won’t, because they won’t make as much profit that way.
Sorry, I’m drifting away from the point.
Businesses in general are not ‘good.’ Governments are not ‘good.’ Religion, even: when a religion tells you that greed and lust are bad, then you hear that a priest who lives a life of luxury in a mansion has been found guilty of molesting children – and the church not only pays to keep it quiet, but promotes the priest concerned…. That does not fit any category to which the label ‘good’ can be attached.
So… We have our deity telling us to be good. We have our Government telling us to be good. We have schools training our children to be good. We have a vast industry producing books, films, and propoganda exorting us to be good.
The whole world is trying to make us be good. To not lie, cheat, steal, etc.
And you know why?Â
So that priests, politicians, and businessmen can walk all over us!
The reception was in full swing, and I watched as the bride pranced around the dance floor from which I had been banned.
“Sarah dear, we simply can’t have my guests laughing at you, not at my wedding. Please promise me you’ll stay away from the dance floor?”
Alison had always had a weight problem. Not that she was overweight, oh no, no. No, she was the original size zero, always had been. No, the problem she had was with my weight. Ever since we had moved in next door, Alison had been trying to ‘help’ me with my weight. Diets, exercise regimes, videos, stomach staples – Alison had tried the lot without success: My size only ever increased.
Alison worried about my health, my weight, my love life, everything.Â
God, she annoyed me!
So here I was, at her wedding. Not a bridesmaid, of course – that post was reserved for her equally paper-thin cronies – but Matron of Honour. Matron of Honour? Me?Â
I glanced across the room, to the other side of the dance floor, and saw a smiling Dawn give me a little wave. Size thirty, like me, Dawn loved a good party – though she, too, was banned from the dance floor. Scanning the room, I caught the eye of several other dance floor personae non grata. Alison, over the years, had gathered together a whole tribe of us, all of whom had had the benefit of her ‘help.’
A scream of laughter from the dance floor grabbed my attention, and I looked to see a freely perspiring and seriously out of breath Davina stagger to her table for a restorative. She’d managed two whole dances this time, bless her. Still, when you’re that thin, you have nowhere to keep a spare battery.Â
Alison’s gang were now reduced to simply swaying to the music, supporting each other as they did so.
Time. Time to do this. I stood up, and waddled to the dance floor as the first strains of ‘Macarena’ filled the room.
At the edge of the arena, I paused, just for a moment, and checked my surroundings – then I launched into the dance.
Alison never knew what hit her, as six very large, very driven ladies executed a flawlessly synchronised Macarena, followed by the twist, the chicken song, and a can-can in quick succession. For the rest of the evening, I danced rings around Alison, Davina, et al. Oh, they tried to keep up with us, but our dance troupe had been rehearsing for years, and we were at the top of our game.
I may be on the large side, but that doesn’t mean I’m unfit, or unhealthy – it just means I’m large. Oh, and happy.
I make no apologies for this (or, indeed, my last) post. Sometimes, something I see or hear causes an idea for a short story to pop up in my mind – so I give them a little space to grow.
As it happens, I had two such ‘pop-ups’ in close succession, so you got two slightly comic observation pieces. You may get another one soon, you may not see another for a long time – there’s no way of knowing.
Just enjoy (or not) when you do get them.
I sat on the bench, looking at the sardine-like crowd that occupied the station platform, and felt a deep gratitude that I had no need to get on that train myself.
I was early, and the train my parents were on was not due for another half hour.
The crowd ebbed and flowed, with just one more passenger getting on the train when everybody on board took a deep breath – a breath none of them would be able to let out until somebody left.
As I watched the crowd – for want of something better to do – I noticed an inoffensive little man trying his best to push to the front. His every effort met with resistance, and he suddenly popped out of the crowd like a cork from a bottle of fizz, landing inelegantly on the bench beside me.
“That’s it!” He shouted, and mopped blood from his nose.
I comforted him as best I could, but he was inconsolable.
“I have to get on that train.” He told me
“Relax,” I replied. “Nobody else will get on that train – you’ll just have to wait for the next one.”
“But… I’ll lose my job…”
‘Should have set off sooner, and caught the earlier train,’ I thought to myself, but was not cruel enough to say.
“I’m sure your boss will understand.” I said instead.
“He won’t.” He replied, with an angry sideways look at me.
“The next train will only be ten minutes – you won’t be that late.”
“No, I have to be on that train.” He insisted.
“The next tra…” I started to say, but he was no longer listening. Instead, he was throwing himself at the crowd again.
I waited, and sure enough, after a couple of minutes, he was sat beside me again, wiping blood from a fresh wound.
“You’ll never do it.” I said. “The crowd is too thick.” (Yes, I meant the pun – pity he didn’t get it.)
He muttered something under his breath.
“It’ll be gone any minute, anyway. There’s no chance of you getting through before it leaves.”
He laughed bitterly at that.
“Look.” I tried again. “When the next train arrives, most of this crowd will get on it, and at the very least you’ll be able to join the back of the queue.”
“You just don’t get it, do you?” He said, slowly. “I have to get on that train. No other train will do. If I wait for the next train to arrive, it will be a disaster.”
“It can’t be that bad.” I told him. “What is this job that is so important?”
“I’m a train driver,” He said, “and that is the train I’m supposed to be driving!”
This morning, my partner and I had a little chat that made me realise exactly why conversation is indeed an art.Â
My partner has a lot of study material to read, and it is a regular occurrence for me to move magazines from one stack to another for them. (Three stacks: those to read; those being read; and those read already. Only one of those stacks is easily reachable for my partner.)
I was handed a magazine to place on one of the stacks, and we had a little conversation about how much reading there was. When my partner said ‘Nice low reading this morning: 5.9′ I was totally lost. As I’m sure you are, too.
You see, my partner was referring to the blood sugar reading that had been taken an hour earlier. No relation in any way shape or form to what we talking about – apart from the word ‘reading.’
My partner is always doing this. We will be talking about what to have for dinner, I will suggest a casserole, and my partner will reply that the council phoned yesterday. Or that we need a new bottle of shampoo.  Or that the cat is on fire.
It’s not just my partner, of course – it’s just that I spend 99% of my life with them, and I’m lucky if I speak to anybody else all week.
So. A few lessons on conversation could be useful to everybody, I think.
First and foremost: when somebody is talking, you shouldn’t be. Simple as that. Yes, there are people who never stop talking, even when you are – I find that simply walking away works wonders, though.
Listen to what others are saying, and respond to that. Don’t just wait for them to shut up so you can talk about something different.
If you must change the subject, let people know – don’t just start talking about the new subject while everybody else tries to keep up.
If you manage to be the one talking, and want to change the subject, you must first complete the conversation on the previous subject, and then pause before addressing the new subject.
Most of all, you must immediately stop talking and listen to me whenever I open my mouth. In fact, don’t talk at all, just listen to me.
I realise that this will be hard for some of you to accept, so I’ve dug up a quotation to help you in this difficult time:
It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.
Some believe this to be a quote from Lincoln, some say Mark Twain, others say Johnson – whatever you believe, it is undoubtably based on Proverbs 17:28, which says:
“Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.”
Whatever. The point is, when people open their mouths, they reveal their ignorance - they show the world how little they know about anything.
So keep quiet and let me talk instead…
As many of you know, my partner is on oxygen full time. One of the main considerations with this is a very simple one: we try to minimise all fire risks. No smoking around us, no candles, etc.
Last week, I noticed that the heater element on the grill in our oven has dropped – there is a clear burn bubble on the grill pan where it has touched it. I noticed it the day our smoke alarm went off after I had finished using the grill…
So. I now consider the grill to be a fire risk, and refuse to use it. We’ve dug out the George Foreman grill to use as a temporary measure, but it makes lousy toast.Â
We’ve been wondering what to buy ourselves with our Anniversary money – and we think that putting it towards a new oven would be a good idea. So I’ve been looking around, and this is where the real reason for this post comes in.
We have Sky+ here, and find it very useful most of the time. It’s great to be able to tell it to record a series and know that it will keep track of day or time changes. Last Saturday was a good example: X Factor had a problem, and they played ‘highlights’ for twenty minutes until the show could start; they then ran the show as normal, and finished twenty minutes late. The Sky+ recorded the whole thing, so we didn’t miss half the program as we would have with a video recorder.
There is the other side of the coin, though. There’s a new series on Universal called ‘Harry’s law’ which I’m enjoying. Last night, they aired episode 6. I have it on a series link, so it was recorded for me to watch today. Funny thing – it recorded two episodes…Â
After Woolworths went bust, the local store stood empty for a while, then went through a couple of incarnations before becoming the Poundstretcher it currently is – though I expect it to close down fairly quickly.
They keep sending out advertising leaflets, which my partner looks at if I can’t get them destroyed quick enough, and the advertising worked – my partner wanted to go there for a couple of things.
So we went. We had an appointment in town for an eye-test, and went to Poundstretcher while we were there. I walked, and my partner drove the disability scooter.
We went in the entrance to Poundstretcher, looked at the narrow aisles half-blocked with boxes, turned round and left. There was no way we could navigate that store with the scooter – we would have been unable to do it with a wheelchair or buggy, either. Actually, it would have been hard for me on foot!
My partner says we should get in touch with the local paper and complain. My view is different.
Years ago, laws were put in place that were intended to make all shops, businesses, etc., equally accessible to the disabled. Ramps were supposed to be installed in place of steps, for instance; and aisles were supposed to be wide enough for two wheelchairs to pass each other.
I was working part time when the law came in, and the place I worked had a concrete platform around it, with a six inch step down onto a gravel parking area. It was impossible for a wheelchair user to get into the shop. When I mentioned the law, and that they would have to make some changes, they told me that they only had to make changes if somebody complained…
And that was the attitude of business. Walk down any high street and you will see shops with steps, and narrow aisles, and impossibly tight turns, and all manner of problems for the disabled. The new law might just as well have never been passed.
The businesses are taking the attitude that they will spend money on changes only when they are forced to – by somebody complaining. Until then, they will stay as they are.
Well, that is their right. Just as it is my right to choose to do exactly what we did. We turned around and left. We kept our money, rather than spent it – just like they did.
If we were to complain, they would be forced to change things. Then they would use that as an excuse to raise prices. Then the next disabled person would be able to go in there and spend more money. If we don’t complain, they won’t change things, and the next disabled person will turn around and leave, too.
Now, they can take the position that – if customers really want their product – the disabled can get an able-bodied person to go in the shop for them. And that is true.
I much prefer my position: if my partner cannot get in and look around easily, we’ll go somewhere else instead.
This is yet another instance of a business forgetting what they do. Poundstretcher sells cheap products in bulk. To do that, they need customers to come in and buy. Never mind the scooter, I didn’t fancy trying to get around that store – too claustrophobic! (It’s not the shop itself – I had no problems when it was a Woolworths.)
There is a Rainbow store in town, too – and my partner can whizz around there in the scooter with ease. Up and down every aisle, through the checkout, everything. Â
There’s no contest, really.
All this garbage copyrighted by bart © 2009-2012 I hate you all All Rights Reserved