I've got a comment! And it's not abusive! Whoo hoo! Thank you.
My God, what a time!
The job interview went badly after I told them I couldn't get out of bed for less that £15,500. Before that they were very enthusiastic even after I showed up a half hour late.
I got the 510 not the 501 and ended up near Perton not Tettenhall Wood, and on my way there I must have asked the only Glaswegian in a twenty mile radius if she knew where the place was, and, and, and......
I've got another job interview for a bunch in Birmingham on January 9th. That would be my first ever office job if I got that. Ooooh the excitement.
I've also received a letter from AXA. A couple of years ago, I got suckered into a Save from Pay scheme for £50 a month. The payments have been deducted even from my December pay.
I received a letter today stating that they have received nothing since August. I owe them £200 and please fill in the Direct Debit form to ensure I don't miss any more payments. I'm going to have to talk to the Finance Section about that one. And AXA about not paying any more.
Christmas was abysmal.
I went down to London to find strange brown creatures running around in the carpets upstairs. These must be the "maggots" that the home help told Dad about one day.
Stinky Old Bat is stinkier, older and battier that ever. Dad is worse than ever and still trying to get a loft conversion done. He's staggering around even when he's sober.
The residual sight in his blinded eye is interfering with the already poor sight in his "good" eye. So he got an eyepatch from one of his drinking cronies and wears that when he's out and about. The sight of him tripping over his own feet as he makes his way down the pavement is just pitiful. He doesn't look after himself at all and looks like he's one step away from a park bench.
He arranged with the drinking buddy of an old dead drinking buddy to meet in The Kerryman pub in Digbeth on Wednesday when we travelled up. So instead of getting to Wolverhampton we got off at Birmingham. And then waited over an hour for the mate of a dead mate to show up.
He'd mistaken Dad for someone else and didn't make an effort to come over from Bordesley Green thinking that he knew and didn't like the guy he was going to meet. He went home after ripping his trousers, changed and headed our way after I left messages for him.
He is a retired 73 year old. He has a house that's paid for, a respectable public service pension and spends much of his time battling gout, diabetes and hangovers. Soon after he arrived they switched from pints of bitter to double measures of spirits (Jameson's for him and the wife, dark rum and black for Dad).
6 pints, 3 double rum and blacks and 2 single measures later, Dad couldn't walk at all. The girl behind the bar used a two way radio to call a taxi and we ended up at New Street Station.
At the beginning of the evening, the plan was get to New Street, get a train and get a taxi from Wolverhampton station - one bright idea was to get me to go ahead with the cases and Dad would follow me home later!
Dad couldn't walk and had to be led out of the taxi by his new best friend. He and his wife stayed in the taxi and went home to Bordesley Green.
I was stuck at a station about 20 miles from where I wanted to be with two heavy cases (Dad brought his tools) and a falling down drunk who refused to accept that he was drunk and blamed his legs and his balance for the fact that he was hanging on to a vending machine to stay upright. Brilliant.
One call to Yellow Pages and a taxi firm later, we were getting into a people carrier. Dad (who by now stopped making sense) insisted that the southbound M5 was the way to get to Wolverhampton (which is north of Birmingham) and accused the driver (the fuckin' Italian) of cheating us. The guy was Asian right down to his little Afghani style pie crust hat.
When we got to the front door Dad was still arguing with the driver and refusing to pay the £30 I'd agreed with the cab receptionist when I 'phoned.
It's been awful since. We've spent a day putting up two and a half sheets of plasterboard on the middle bedroom ceiling. We're going to spend the rest of today doing the rest of it. Then he's going to go home
tomorrow and kid himself that he's done a good job and start on the loft conversion again after he's gone
shopping on Tuesday.
I keep telling him to go see a doctor and to get his eyes checked out again but it's like talking to a bloody wall.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Bah! Humbug!