The Knickers Incident.

Friday afternoon I went for a hard won appointment at my GP's in Leeds. 

God forbid if Jeremy Hunt ever does get his way about rationing appointments with a doctor; the practice receptionist will become the most hated profession in the country. But after being prodded and poked I was sort of relieved he hear that my GP concurred with me. I was ill with quite a high temperature! They attempted to take a blood sample but due to very deep veins in my arms after several attempts defeat was admitted and I was asked to attend when a professional phlebotomist was present. I had entered the surgery feeling sweaty and distinctly crap, I left feeling the same but with a sore and punctured arm too,  the hand attached to it clutching a swathe of prescriptions for antibiotics and my druggy lifeline of inhalers for my chronic asthma.

After a quick trip to Boots to collect my prescriptions - which included walking past the Lancôme counter where the assistant smiled broadly at me (whilst most likely whilst muttering Ker Ching underneath her breath). Several days ago she had expertly relieved me of £109 for cosmetics. With hindsight I am ashamed i spent more on facecream and girly stuff in 10 mins than when my children were younger we had to spend on food and necessities in a week! But looking at  the positive - it wasn't gin.

At the moment I am not a gin fuelled activist but one "assisted by antibiotics"

Wandering sweaty and unwell through the streets of Leeds  a coffee was in order. As i am trying not to go in starbucks i decided to go to Marks and Spencer's café for a brew, besides they also had water and ice there so I could multitask and take my first lot of tablets and industrial strength paracetamol to get my temperature down.  Feeling a bit better 20 minutes later I wandered out of the café and headlong into the underwear department.

Now lets get this straight the only people who ever see my knickers are the neighbours when they are  hung out to dry, and i will be honest it isn't a pretty sight. At my age a decent pair of undies are those that fit snugly under the arm pits and don't flap too much round the knees! So I started prowling the knicker racks, which in a nutshell can be a very revealing experience in itself.

The  only big decision I had to make was 3 pairs for £10 or should I splash out and go for 5 pairs for £12. I went for the ten quid option and as a consequence by the time i had migrated down to the food department to buy nice orange juice and fizzy water i was clutching three pairs of knickers (all of which were on those little hangers)  in one hand. The store by now was full of shoppers who were dropping off to buy food for the weekend on their way home from work.

I am  good at queuing, i critically assess the food in peoples baskets to help pass the time. But after a couple of minutes of waiting it wasnt the food i was checking out but the young man staffing the till. Twenty if he was a day and obviously from the sweet soft looking face wasnt particularly au fait with the morning ritual of shaving! Two people in front of me, four behind. Sarah clutching three pairs of knickers suddenly realised that this dewy faced youth along with my orange juice, bread and cake was going to have to scan my underwear. I  considered reversing out of the queue feigning an excuse "Whoops forgot to get Grandma a get well card" but lets be fair if i can challenge a chief fire officer facing off  a youth on a till should be a doddle. 

To be fair the first pair was the worst.

 Did i want the hanger?      No! 

Did i need them in a seperate bag?     No!

As he started to carefully fold them my embarassment got the better of me and i snatched them off him and stuffed them in the carrier. He did attempt to repeat the ritual on scanning the second pair but the withering look i gave him cleary indicated disdain and  he handed them unfolded to me and i stuffed them in the bag. Pair three and he had cracked it........pinged them off the hanger a quick peep from the scanner  and handed them straight to me.I have never paid a bill as quickly in my life and left without putting my change in the little plastic fire engine collecting for the Fire Fighters Charity as i usually do.

As they help the emergency services and this was an emergency i am sure they will understand.(and perhaps internet shopping is the way to go, where knickers are involved anyway!"  And it wasn't half as bad as the Lidl Condom / mints fiasco - I suffered PTSD from that and haven't bought mints in tins since!

Revolution Anybody ? We have to start somewhere, tomorrow is as good a day as any!

As tomorrow is the 

Hand Off Our Homes  
Bedroom Tax Demo 
12 noon Outside the Art Gallery, Leeds   

I decided to post this. I was really taken with a poem a friend of  mine sent me today 

For the Bishop  Hatto  - replace with Osborne, Clegg, Cameron, Cable, Wakefield even!   Whatever rocks your boat. 



THE LEGEND OF BISHOP HATTO  

The summer and autumn had been so wet,

That in winter the corn was growing yet:

'Twas a piteous sight to see, all around,

The grain lie rotting on the ground.

Every day the starving poor

Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door;

For he had a plentiful last-year's store,

And all the neighbourhood could tell

His granaries were furnished well.

At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day

To quiet the poor without delay:

He bade them to his great barn repair,

And they should have food for winter there.

Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,

The poor folk flocked from far and near;

The great barn was full as it could hold

Of women and children, and young and old.

Then, when he saw it could hold no more,

Bishop Hatto, he made fast the door;

And while for mercy on Christ they call,

He set fire to the barn and burned them all.

"I' faith, 'tis an excellent bonfire!" quoth he;

"And the country is greatly obliged to me

For ridding it in these times forlorn

Of Rats that only consume the corn."

So then to his palace returnèd he,

And he sat down to supper merrily,

And he slept that night like an innocent man;

But Bishop Hatto never slept again.

In the morning as he entered the hall,

Where his picture hung against the wall,

A sweat-like death all over him came;

For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.

As he looked, there came a man from his farm;

He had a countenance white with alarm:

"My Lord, I opened your granaries this morn,

And the Rats had eaten all your corn."

Another came running presently,

And he was pale as pale could be:

"Fly, my Lord Bishop, fly!" quoth he,

"Ten thousand Rats are coming this way;

The Lord forgive you yesterday!"

"I'll go to my town on the Rhine," replied he;

"'Tis the safest place in Germany;

The walls are high, and the shores are steep,

And the stream is strong, and the water deep."

Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,

And he crossed the Rhine without delay,

And reached his tower, and barred with care

All windows, doors, and loop-holes there.

He laid him down, and closed his eyes;

But soon a scream made him arise:

He started and saw two eyes of flame

On his pillow, from whence the screaming came.

He listened and looked; it was only the cat:

But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that;

For she sat screaming, mad with fear

At the army of Rats that was drawing near.

For they have swum over the river so deep,

And they have climbed the shore so steep;

And up the tower their way is bent,

To do the work for which they were sent.

They are not to be told by the dozen or score;

By thousands they come, and by myriads and more;

Such numbers had never been heard of before,

Such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore.

Down on his knees the Bishop fell,

And faster and faster his beads did tell,

As, louder and louder drawing near,

The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.

And in at the windows and in at the door,

And through the walls, helter-skelter they pour,

And down from the ceiling and up through the floor,

From the right and the left, from behind and before,

And all at once to the Bishop they go.

They have whetted their teeth against the stones;

And now they pick the Bishop's bones:

They gnawed the flesh from every limb;

For they were sent to do judgment on him!

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

More information about Hands off Our Homes 
can be found HERE

51 and counting

Today is my birthday, i am 51. 

Trouble is i only feel about 20 in my head, but my body is slowly starting to rebel and act its age, which i strongly object to.  I am doing nothing this evening but after the Burmantofts & Richmond Hill Farce (aka community leadership team)  tomorrow I shall, with friends slope off to my favourite watering hole The Spring Close , get comfy by the fire and sink a few gins before sloping off home slightly merry. 

The past few  days have been strange, Monday  I had lunch with David Williams of the Fire Brigades Union to talk about  WYFRS stuff and instead it ended up as a celebration of the fact Maggie Thatcher had died. We were just tucking into our nosh when it flashed up on the screen in the pub and unfortunately all talk of fire stations and blogs  went hurtling out of the window.  I retreated to facebook to see what was being said and Dave’s phone exploded with a flurry of congratulatory texts. We did do one useful thing though, the FBU has very generously donated £100 to Friends of East End Park as a kind of thank you for FCCL and COVEN helping them out. It will be used to help fund Lark In the Park 2013 our annual  young peoples shin dig which is always held the first Saturday of the Summer Holidays.   The Fire service usually send a fire engine down to the event and small children get to have a go, try on uniforms etc  (giving head lice to a fire fighter every now and again I am led to believe). Such a shame most of those kids will never fulfil their dream as by the time they grow up there will be hardly any jobs in WYFRS – but no doubt the Chief Fire Officer will be getting a mighty fine salary!

Simon Pilling gets over £160k a year  which is just ridiculous

Is he worth it – no he isn’t! 

And i can say that with some confidence, having started to investigate and research how other Fire & Rescue Services engage with the public that WYFRS are way way  behind  in regard to the use of social media.
For WYFRS = THE KGB with its network of back stabbing and retaliation for holding the wrong opinion to the ones prescribed by the top table .Information  is to be shared not hidden ( i am with Eric Pickles on this)  

For example -  they seem very keen on using hearsay evidence to beat people with rather than facts. For several months i have been waiting to be called as a witness in an investigation - i am even named in the papers, but haven't heard a word from them and then hey ho the investigation is said to be unnecessary, my arse it is. I hope the person concerned takes it much further - to the ombudsman if necessary!

I am seriously considering writing a blog titled 

FRAUD 

Fire & Rescue, About Undisclosed Documents !!!

Other brigades tweet, blog and boast - not WYFRS they seem very keen not to promote the work they do -  that is assuming they do it, i am not surprised their staff morale is rock bottom. 

Anyway - rattling through the week, on Wednesday  after taking the afternoon off, i attended an industrial tribunal hearing. Not as a witness but just out of curiosity. Not a lot happened but i have to say the room was an absolute greenhouse, if it was in EEP it would have made a brilliant cannabis farm!

Thursday was my sons birthday - Joshua was 26. As our birthdays are only 4 days apart i always remember him coming up and saying "i was your birthday present wasn't i Mummy" and me snarling back at him " Yes darling you were" whilst trying to rearrange my face into a motherly doting smile. Josh has been bought a juicer as his present and  i suspect he will shortly be more oompa lumpa  coloured when the excess of fresh carrot juice consumption kicks in. 

As i can see it,  the only advantage to adult children is that you can take them  to the pub for lunch and buy them a pint, instead of a coke, packet of crisps and a colouring book!

The weekend was quiet, probably too quiet for my darling bunny Sascha who was looking a bit grubby round his nether regions so was subjected to his first ever botty bath.  Let me make it clear, bathing a bun is a two person job, but there is only one of me. 

RECIPE  - first take one rabbit,,,,,,,,,,, and you will also need. 

1. A sink of nice warm water was run, with a small amount of pet shampoo squirted in 

2. Three towels, one for the floor, one for wrapping the bun in and one to wipe the soap off my face

3. Pet conditioner - because he is worth it

4. A brush so my darling boy could be tangle free 

5. Bedroom nice and warm so he wont catch a chill afterwards

6. Hair dryer (or should that be hare dryer plugged in and good to go

7. A reward for being a good bun (aka A BRIBE  to stand still) 

THE TECHNIQUE

a) First catch your rabbit - easy peasy 

b) Transport rabbit to sink - not so easy as by now its rumbled somethings happening and it goes into Vet aversion mode

c) Dunk buns bum into sink, actually this bit went quite well, massage fur gently to ensure shampoo is well distributed 

d) Pull out plug whilst gripping  bun firmly by scruff of neck, use towel and other hand  to wipe soap from your  face, arms, body etc. 

e) Refill sink with warm water and swoosh buns bum around to ensure he is soap free, 

f) Repeat twice............. by now you will be soaked to the skin btw.

g) Pick up bun and wrap in towel  (ok that should read pick up bun, get kicked to bits, and nipped whilst attempting to wrap said lagomorph in a towel) 

h) Transport bun to heated bedroom and attempt to rub dry with a towel

i) whilst pinning bun down gently  brush fur to ensure its tangle free

J) Sit  very annoyed rabbit on knee and blow  dry with hair dryer (he sat quite still for this bit) 

k) reward bun with bribe, whilst bun is  eating bribe wipe poo and wee off your knee as rabbit has objected in the most physical way to being dried that he knows how,  which is why he was sat still in the first place

l)  finally spend  hours persuading rabbit to come out from under bed where he has gone into the furthest corner to SULK. 

Please note my bun and i know the measure of each other and i know how i can handle him without causing him distress   - for proper bunny advice read  this by my dear friend Karen Wren of Ross Rabbits.