Cats shouldn’t eat….

Leave a reply

I am an animal lover.  I admit it unashamedly.  Anyone and everyone who knows me, even slightly, will know that.  My first, as yet, unpublished, book is about my cats.  So, it will come as no surprise to you to learn that I am signed up to a number of blogs, etc, about animals.

I received an e-mail today that told me about a number of common foodstuffs that cause cats a problem if they eat it.  That got me thinking.

Four cats, all with different tastes in food.  All with different eating habits.

Rhea, for example, loves a spider plant.  She’ll have a little chew whenever she can.  I tell you, I can put a Sergeant Major to shame now, for my shouting abilities. I’m sure that isn’t good for her,

“You ‘orrible little cat, get off that plant!”

Artemis:  Pretty much anything that is edible goes where she is concerned.

Oceana: she is convinced that she’s human, except of course, when she is bringing mice home.  And is very keen to take food off of my plate (or anyone else’s, come to that).  Even the bones of sprats, which was one occurrence.

Telesto: I think she comfort eats.  For a cat that doesn’t much like humans, she certainly finds enough humans to feed her.  Anyone who puts food out for stray cats or the foxes, Telesto finds her way to their homes and then comes back her for seconds.  I seriously thought she was suffering from bulimia when she vomited over my freshly changed bed linen on Monday morning.

And Dreamies.  They will do almost anything for Dreamies.  Or the supermarket home brand equivalent.    Rattle a bag of Dreamies and I can do anything.  Actually, I’m a bit surprised that they still fall for that one, but they do.  Polythene bags.  What is the fascination for polythene bags?  Rhea loves a little chew of them; Artemis tries to sit in them.  (I know, I know…)

Cats are curious.  Whatever it is, they want to know all about it.  This morning, Artemis was standing like a meerkat, sniffing the bottom of my coat.  (That will be the dogs I stroke on the way to work.)  They even go through the waste bins, just in case I have inadvertently thrown away some food that might be essential for their survival.  I can’t have a glass of wine without them checking that it’s not something they might like.

Telesto knows that she doesn’t like peanut butter, but it doesn’t stop her from holding a full inspection of my breakfast every morning.  Just in case something might have changed.

So I’m not surprised that cats often eat things that they shouldn’t.  I’m only surprised that they stop where they do.

©Susan Shirley 2014

The Italian Bookshop

Leave a reply

I posted a few months ago that I had started to learn to speak Italian.  I purchased my textbooks online, but through the Italian Bookshop in Soho.  Of course, now I’m on the mailing list, and recently received an invitation to a function that was taking place there yesterday.  I didn’t understand most of the e-mail – way too advanced for me, but my Italian friend gave me the gist of it, and agreed to come along with me.

The basis of it was that there were two female journalists, one of whom has written a book called Do You Know Who I Am.  More correctly, that’s how it translates into English.  The author, who writes for Marie Claire, Vogue and others, was talking about her experiences interviewing various Hollywood stars, and other aspects of her working life.  My friend told me that I’d really have enjoyed it had I been able to understand it.

The event ended with wine and nibbles.  The manageress of the bookshop started to talk to me in Italian and my friend explained that I am a studentessa.

The manageress said, “Maybe it was too advanced for you, but brava!”

She was right, it was too advanced for me, I understood a few words, but that was it.  Good job I had V to translate.

What I did realise though, was, that although I didn’t understand most of it, I did hear the words.  Most of them, anyway.  I’ve always thought that Italians and Spanish speak so quickly that I’d never be able to understand, but I realise now, that’s not the case.

The journalists – and I am ashamed to say that I didn’t get their names – were lovely ladies and it was a very pleasant evening.

Thank you Italian Bookshop.  Until the next time.

 

©Susan Shirley 2014

Bully boy tactics used by councils

Leave a reply

There was a news article on BBC Breakfast this morning, about councils’ use of bailiffs, and the bullying tactics employed by them.

 

Well, let me tell you about my friend’s experience….

 

My friend, T, and I’ll give no more detail than that, for the sake of her privacy, is a straight down the line person.  As is her brother, C.  In fact, I’d go so far as to say, he’s more “straight down the line” than she is.  He has never had any of the problems with debt that some of us have encountered along the way.  (Not because he’s a millionaire, he’s just a straight up kind of kind of guy.)

 

Their Mum died a few years ago, so her house was left empty.  They paid council tax until one of the other brothers moved in for a while and it became his responsibility.  He moved out, so it became C’s responsibility again.  The house has been empty – and on the market – for a year.  C, being the straight up guy that he is, has been on the ‘phone to the council to let them know the state of play.  He’s been doing what he thinks is right.  I think he’s right to let the council know the situation too.

 

Guess what happened next?  The council gave the debt to bailiffs…  Without as much as a kiss my butt or a by your leave.  Or, even a letter to tell C that was what they are going to do.

 

C, being the sensitive soul that he is, was mortified.  Quite prepared to take money from his savings to pay the whole bill and wait until the house is sold to get his money back.

 

“No way,” says sister T.

 

“I’ve had enough now,” says C.

 

“Leave this to me,” says T.

 

Several telephone calls later, as she would say, she has fixed their business.  She eventually got to speak to someone sensible at the council who has agreed to call the dogs off for a while.

 

Don’t get me wrong, T and C both know they have to pay the bill, and are not trying to dodge it, but they are not rich and both already paying council tax on their own homes.  They have kept the council informed every step of the way (the council even has the date the survey was done, so that proves something!).  So why refer it to bailiffs without even telling the family?

 

The council has, in my opinion, been, at best, inefficient.  They were unhelpful until T told them the facts of life and the bailiffs were rude to C.  This was Manchester City Council, but they are not the only ones.  It’s outrageous.  We (the council tax payers) are paying for this.  I absolutely agree, go after the wasters and non-payers, but leave the decent people alone.  They hit us because they can and it’s just not fair.  Let’s all stand up against this injustice.  I, for one, will be writing to many people (MP, etc) about this because it’s bang out of order.

©Susan Shirley 2014

Carol Service at La Saint Union

Leave a reply

I have been lax in my posting again – for which I am truly sorry.  I don’t really know where the time has gone. Work has been a bit haywire.  Anyway, back to normal, except I won’t be posting on Thursdays, it will be at the weekends.

Now back to the theme of this week’s blog…  The Carol Service at St Joseph’s.

St Joseph’s is a beautiful Catholic church, about halfway up Highgate Hill.  La Sainte Union is a Catholic School in Highgate Road, and St Joseph’s allows the school to use the church for its annual carol service.

It was an amazing service.  A first for me, the service wasn’t led by a priest, but by the pupils of the school, who, along with one of the parent governors, took it in turns to do the readings, play the music and sing.  It gave the whole thing a very different feel.

LSU has an incredibly talented group of young ladies.  I’ve known for some time that, somehow, this school either attracts or nurtures or both musical talent, and I’ve seen its fantastic gospel choir in action on more than one occasion, but this was my first time of seeing the musicians.  Even Ms Williams, the Head Teacher, commented that the current Year 7 (it was the younger girls who dominated this service) has a higher than average talent pool.

The service started with the Brass Group and ended with the congregation and the choir singing Hark the Herald Angels Sing.  In between there were pieces by the Strings and the choirs, as well as a couple of carols sung by the congregation.  The beautiful “Hymn to the Virgin” was sung by the choir which was separated into two sections so the descant could be clearly heard.  Ms Harris conducted a fantastic arrangement of The Carol of Bells and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.  I won’t list all the carols and music but it was a really good evening.

I take my hat off to the teachers as well, Mr Dobney and Ms Harris in particular, who conducted the choir and bands, played and sang, but they are all hard-working and dedicated.  Praise too, to Ms Williams, for keeping the ship on an even keel.  If I had a criticism of the evening, it’s that there was no CD produced.

 

 

©Susan Shirley 2014

 

 

In Praise of Saxlingham Hall Nursing Home

Leave a reply

Some of you have mentioned that I haven’t published my blog for a few weeks…  There are a variety of reasons for that – computer problems (my patience levels are very low!), busy generally, and I have been away for a week.  Anyway, I apologise, and hopefully, normal service will be resumed now.

I went to Norfolk last week, to stay with my friends, Kate and Geoff.  Kate’s mum now lives in a nursing home, as she can no longer walk.  (I don’t want to say too much about the reason for that at the moment, as there is a court case pending and I don’t want to do anything to prejudice it.  Maybe later.)

What I do want to say, though, is in praise of Saxlingham Hall, where she is now living.  There are actually several homes in the same group, but I’m talking about the one at Saxlingham Green.

It looks like a converted manor house, set in rural Norfolk, up near the north Norfolk coast; it certainly is in a lovely setting.

Mum spends most of her days in a chair, where she can look out of the window, looking at the garden and, further on, fields, or she can watch TV.  (She can read too, but books are getting a bit too heavy for her, which is awful, because she has always been a great reader.)  Not a great life for someone who is, mentally, as sharp as a tack, but she makes the most of it.  The nursing home does arrange events for its residents from time to time, but it’s still difficult for people who are not fully mobile.

I was impressed, first of all, by the cleanliness of the place.  Yes, I know it should be clean, but sadly, sometimes nursing and residential homes aren’t.  I was also impressed by the friendliness of everyone who worked there.  All the nursing staff and care assistants (they were changing shift about the time that Kate and I arrived) popped into see Mum, to say hello, how are you, and to give her a big hug.  That must make all the difference for the residents at the home, just to have that bit of human contact on a regular basis, especially when you can’t move around on your own.

I was also impressed that they, very openly (although with Mum’s permission) let me read her charts.  (I am an avid reader of hospital charts, and although I may not understand everything, I check it when I get home, so I do!)  And were prepared to answer my questions (Mum, Kate and I discuss it all anyway, so Mum is ok with me asking questions).

I know that the people that work in these places don’t earn big bucks, but the ones I met all seemed very caring and dedicated, and that means a lot to me and to Kate and Mum.  Mum’s recently had to sell her house, to pay for the ongoing costs of living in the home, and although the egalitarian in me says that we should all pay our way, I know how much it hurt Mum and Kate to have to sell the family home.  (And there are other issues that I don’t want to go into here.)

Mum’s husband passed away in their home, and although she hasn’t been able to go back for almost two years anyway, it is still awful for her to have been unable to say goodbye, and unable to have had a choice.  I know she’s not alone in being in this position, but that doesn’t make it any more palatable.

And that’s another reason for thanking the nurses and care staff who work at Saxlingham.  They are the ones who see Mum in “the dark night of her soul.”  So a huge THANK YOU to all of you at Saxlingham, and to all of you who work in (decent) care and nursing homes everywhere.  Thank you for helping people who can no longer fend for themselves, thank you for caring and taking care of people like Mum, and thank you for doing all this without earning a fortune.  You really are special.

©Susan Shirley 2014

Swans in St James’ Park

Leave a reply

I was walking through St James’ Park the other day.  For those of you that don’t know the park, there is a lake in the middle, with pelicans, swans, geese, various ducks, and, of course, my heron; the subject of a previous post.

There is a little bridge that crosses the lake; it’s a real hotspot for tourists.   For me, it’s a short-cut through on my walk up to Oxford Street, but that doesn’t stop me enjoying the beauty of what is going on around me.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have my camera accessible when I walked over there this week but I saw the most fantastic sight.  A young swan, a sub adult (I believe that is the correct term, this bird was almost the same size as its parent, but still had the brown-grey feathers of an immature bird) came into land on the lake.  It was closely followed by one of the parents.

It was fascinating to see.  The still flap their wings, a bit like the flaps on an aircraft, the way they tilt when the ‘plane comes into land, but it was the feet that got me.  The swans tilted their feet to act like brakes and touched down just like an aircraft coming into land.  I wish there had been more of them to watch.

One of the [many] joys of living in London, there is so much to see, but it’s not all about the man-made stuff.  This is why I love it so much.

©Susan Shirley 2014

Computers, computers

Leave a reply

This week’s blog is about a subject that everyone reading this will have some experience….  computers and their faults.  Talk about, “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”  When they mess up, they really do, don’t they?  I’m half thinking of going back to pen and paper.

A few years ago, my main laptop needed a new hard drive.  I can’t function without access to the interne, so, I had to buy a new one.  I opted for an EePC netbook (which, I now know, is made by Asus).  I love my little EePC, even though it’s XP (which is no longer being supported by Microsoft).  In its heyday, the battery lasted 12 hours on the spin, and I took it almost everywhere, so that I could work when I was out and about.

Anyway, this year, my little netbook started playing up, it fell in love with the letter “W” and put it in all sorts of odd places, so I took it in for repair and looked around for another one to cover in its absence.  I’ll be honest, I couldn’t afford what I really wanted, a Mac, and these Ultrabooks don’t permit the download of Word, etc, which is not a great deal of use to me.  Word processing and spreadsheets are the two main uses of my computer.  So, I bought another Asus netbook.  Which went wrong last week.  Eight months later.   So, I took it in for repair, to the well-known retailer from where I purchased it.  It is, after all, still under warranty.

I got it back a couple of days ago, and this is where my blood pressure rises.  Everything, and I mean everything, is gone.  Somehow (and I don’t know how) the computer has remembered some things, a couple of days later.  I back up all my word and excel files on a couple of cloud based solution, so I didn’t think they’d be a problem, but Microsoft Office Suite has gone to that great computer dumping ground in the sky, and, yes, you’ve guessed it, I can’t get it back.  I’ve e-mailed the company, so I am keeping my fingers crossed, but I am not a happy bunny.  And, one of my cloud based solutions won’t reload so I’ve had to e-mail the company about that.

When I went to collect my netbook, the very clever young man in the shop told me that I had signed to say I understood, and that it had been pointed out to me that I might lose everything.  I had to point out to him that I hadn’t read everything, although I will NEVER sign anything again without reading the small print.  He also then pointed out to me how netbooks are not intended for use in the way that I use them.  Really?  Funny how other people have told me that I use them in EXACTLY the right way and what he told me is the exact opposite.

I don’t know why they can’t explain these things to you in simple terms; it’s time-consuming and frustrating to have to go through all this.  I suppose it will all come out in the wash, but just at the moment…

©Susan Shirley 2013

Wine Tasting

Leave a reply

I went out to one of my lunch clubs on Friday.  This is the one where there is (potentially) a large group of us, all of whom have worked together at some time or other, go out.  We take it in turns to choose the restaurant.

Friday’s choice was in the City, and there were six of us.  I won’t tell you the name; I don’t want to cause any embarrassment to anyone.  The food was very good, although there were a few errors, but also, something that none of us understood, so I thought I’d make it the topic of this week’s blog.

I prefer white wine, although I will drink red, and rose, if it’s one I like.  As I was the only white wine drinker on Friday, I opted for red too.  The wine waitress (I won’t call her a sommelier, because, truthfully, I don’t think she was a proper sommelier) was at the wine station and poured a good old slug of our bottle into a glass and tried it.  No asking first, mind you.  It’s not the first time I’ve seen this (and, of course, we made all the usual jokes about changing jobs) but why?  Our discussion in the restaurant was that it is pretentious nonsense.  Is it?

I checked my wine books at home, and they didn’t help at all, so I turned to my friend, the internet to find the answer.

Apparently, once upon a time, the sommelier’s job was to test to see if there was poison in the wine (well, I suppose, that makes sense.  The poor people like me wouldn’t be important enough to be poisoned, but the rich, well; they were at it all the time weren’t they?  Murdering kings and princes, I mean.  I’m sure there was a bit of a BOGOF offer going on, it was so rife.)

Nowadays, however, the role of the sommelier is to ensure that the wine is served in the right condition.  And – and this is the bit that I find priceless – most of us plebs, sorry, consumers, do not have sophisticated enough taste buds to know if the wine is in perfect condition!!!!!!!

I have two comments to make about that – firstly, if they (sommeliers) don’t communicate with me and tell me what I am supposed to be looking for, how will I ever learn?  Secondly, I’ve been drinking wine for a good many years, and, whilst I am by no means an expert, I’ve picked up a few things along the way.  Such as, I know what I like.  When I am paying £30 odd a pop for a bottle of wine, I think it’s my choice who tastes it, and I am more than capable of asking for help if I think I need it.

I am absolutely sure, all those high class waiters blanched when they saw us drinking red with scallops (not my preference, but I imagine they’d have been equally horrified if I’d ordered a bottle of white all to myself, and I flatly refuse to order wines by the glass in these places, even if that’s possible).  But that doesn’t mean that we are heathens who have no knowledge about anything.

So come on you so-called high class restaurants, stop the wine waiters having a slug of someone else’s wine without their permission.

 

©Susan Shirley 2013

The Changing Face of London

Leave a reply

I did another of my London walks a couple of weeks ago, and, having been taken to places that have now changed completely since the time our guide was telling us about, it made me think about how London is changing now.

I’m thinking particularly of the Victoria/Westminster area, which is where I spend most of my time.  When I first started working here, back in the 1970’s, there was a bank on either corner of the bottom end of Victoria Street, (if memory serves me correctly, it was Midland on one and Williams and Glyns on the other).  The one that was Williams and Glyns is now a wine bar.  The Midland, which, of course, went on to become HSBC, has been completely demolished as part of the Victoria Station upgrades works.  (Apparently, Victoria Station gets 82 million passengers a year at the moment, and it is anticipated that this will increase to 100 million by 2020, so they are extending the ticket halls and approaches.  If you’ve tried travelling in that area in the rush hour, you’d wonder why they didn’t start this work ten years ago.)

Victoria Street itself has changed too.  We used to have a little Sainsbury’s, a Nationwide building society and some other shops, but over the years, buildings have been pulled down and new ones erected.  We can now boast a lovely little Waitrose, but there is still so much building work going on, I’m not sure what it will be like when complete. And then, of course, there is Cardinal Walk and the associated shops.  I can’t even remember what was there before.

What hasn’t changed, though, is the Albert Public House, which was built in 1862, on a site of a pub called the Bluecoat Boy.  (There is still a pub called the Greencoat boy a short distance away too.  Bluecoat and Greencoat relate to schools that used to be in the area, but I digress.)  The Albert was named after Queen Victoria’s husband and consort.  The area had been redeveloped in the 1850’s to replace the slum housing that had previously existed, and it’s amazing it’s survived, since this whole area was subject to extensive bombing throughout the Second World War.  So, what survived the Luftwaffe couldn’t survive the developers, and there are now lots of mainly glass buildings.  House of Fraser (once called the Army and Navy Stores) is still there, although the link to the back block is no longer.

And of course, Westminster Abbey is still there, at the other end of Victoria Street, still stands proud and majestic, pretty much as it has done since Henry 111 built it in 1245.  There is so much history surrounding the Abbey, I can’t do it justice here – for example, there are over 20 people buried or commemorated there, and that’s just the ones whose surname begins with A!

 

So, I wonder what changes the next few years will bring?

©Susan Shirley 2013

More on Customer Service

Leave a reply

Having had a right royal moan last week, about customer service, and how it is lacking, I do need to put the other side of the case this week.

I had a new boiler fitted this week.   It necessitated having scaffolding (so that the builder could get over my conservatory), a builder to fill in the outside space where the flue went, and plaster inside, and an electrician for the other bits.  British Gas organised it all, and it was they with whom I had my contract.  I had been told to expect a day and a half.

The only hiccup was when they left the boiler in the hallway overnight on Monday (leaving me with the grand total of 15¾ inches space to walk past it).  However, move on.

The fitter, Martin, rang me on Tuesday to confirm everything was ok for Wednesday.  The scaffolders arrived at 07:30 Wednesday morning.  They sat in the lorry, so I went to them – “We were going to leave it until 8 o’clock as planned.”  No need for that, crack on.  Two more charming chaps you could not wished to have met.  Particularly as some of it had to go through the bathroom window and they couldn’t fit the scaffolding in the way they had planned, there wasn’t enough space.

The builder did the best piece of plastering I’ve seen in a long time, and actually managed to repair the mess left by the previous incumbents.  And Tom, the sparks, was really helpful and did a very good job.  Then Martin, the fitter, had a great sense of humour and worked tirelessly, and fitted the boiler within the day.  All in all, a very good day.

Thank you all, gentlemen.

©Susan Shirley 2013