The ‘Scrambled egg’, of Royal Navy chiefs, (those that sport gold braid for those of you not in the know) is currently made up of admirals, vice-admirals and rear-admirals, in total, forty-one top banded naval chiefs.
cuts ‘efficiency savings’ the number of naval fighting ships stands at …..FORTY. You would, and rightly so, consider there is one admiral spare .
Well, I’ve got news for you. In the last week, I have received several letters which clearly show my elevated status, I am now addressed as Admiral M. So, here I am chummy, we can join forces!
The domestic fuel provider hunt is on here in M’s household. I hate it! There is no reward for loyalty. You have try to keep ahead of the game. In commerce loyalty is seen as valuable commercial inertia.
The research into domestic fuel suppliers does demand focus. The offers in the competitive market place require analysing, understanding and then an applied arithmetical brain work out.
The various and numerous consumer comparison sites quite often do not agree with each other as to what’s truly best for you or me. They too, are running a business. One consumer web site is very transparent about its commissions from recommendations. They also ensure their site shows other market provider options, from which they do not gain pecuniary advantage .
The best offers with all the suppliers are usually available on the web. There are domestic fuel supplier names I have never heard of, young businesses that are building up their customer base, trying to grow quickly with very competitive offers but without appropriate customer infrastructure in place. Caveat emptor.
My experience last year with a new kid on the block that metamorphosed into a total unknown during the transfer process, got to tear your hair out proportions: My current contract with them is ending, just as I have got them trained.
I Watched the sheep on the farm the other day when the weather was having a tantrum. The sheep decided it was time to give up outdoor life, being in the field exposed to the elements. The flock determinedly exited from the field. They all trotted off down the farm track towards the barns, but at the end of the track found their way barred by a closed farm gate.
After a very, very long wait, standing, heads motionless and everyone of them turned in the same direction, (there was only one way they were going however long it took) someone came along and opened the gate. Sheep generally don’t stampede in what we know as such a thing. But, that batch made the fastest beeline for the gaping barn doors that I have seen. Who needs sheepdogs…..
Now you see it. Better still it brings back to sight the words of ‘wisdom’ much needed to do the job. The tool provided has now been re-united with the instructions on how to use it.
Isn’t technology wonderful!
The sat nave is plugged into my computer not only taking charge, but also making a meal of updating itself. One hour and twelve minutes according to the magic timer, long enough to gulp a re-energising first and second course electrical feed.
So, here I am pondering. A bit of plugging in to an energising surge would do me the world of good too.
This morning I ‘mislaid’ a towel which was placed near the washing machine to remind me to add it to the wash load. When the time came, I just couldn’t find it. The wash load was done minus the towel. I discovered it some time later. It was wrapped round a freezer pack which had been easing a sore point on my back!!
My excuse…..yes I do have one; this was the morning after the night before: this morning in particular, was too early to be awake thinking about anything. I was even too tired to expend energy being grumpy. Why? You might well ask. Twice during the night I was was abruptly disturbed out of my slumbers.
* “Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, smiles awake you when you rise….” Oh, were it true.*(Brahms Lullaby)
Just Checked the satnav update progress. It looks like it’s charging up for an all night session. The progress bar has regressively jumped from forty minutes to fifty minutes…..zzzzzz.
Hubs has been feeding up the local bird life – mostly, Rooks just now – with lots of luscious fat balls. He leaves the fat balls hanging in net bags on the bird feeder. The Rooks spend a bit of time untying and unhooking the net bags containing the fatty feast. Once the fat ball bags have fallen to the ground, the Rooks nip at them. The fat balls are pushed and rolled around on the grass using their beaks and the odd clawed foot or two. It’s like watching a bird version of croquet. For them, it’s not enough to just peck at the goodies through the wide gauge netting, these birds want the food unencumbered. Any missed morsels to be found at the base of the bird feeder, or, in the grass, are picked up by a few smaller birds that sneak in. They know the Rooks will not bother them as the Rooks have the bigger prize. The smaller birds also know that being amongst the Rooks will provide protection for them from any marauding predatory birds.
We’ve had the first few days of bright breezy drying weather for many weeks. As cold as it is, (balmy highs of 4-5 deg C with wind chill) you take advantage of it to get the laundry out on the washing line to dry. As a thank you for hubs tender loving care and forethought in providing delicious fat balls, the Rooks have copiously shat all over my washing. About 90% of it. Of course, they waited for the day I pegged out big stuff like bed covers and sheets!
Well I never! It’s not every day when I go shopping, my purchases on the check out belt generate laundry tips from the check-out operator. He had tried it himself, he said, and it worked. A quick bit of advice on the amount to use as he handed me my change, and “only with clear vinegar mind, definitely not malt vinegar, ( perish the thought) and no detergent”;
“If you do it like I said, your cotton towels will come out of the wash nice and soft”. It’s amazing what you learn at the checkouts, I said, as I was leaving. Giving me a thumbs up sign, he assured me again it really worked.
Emails have always seemed to me to be a very informal method of sending mail. The minuscule ‘Hi’ and the nondescript ‘Hello’ definitely do not suit all situations. Very occasionally, ‘Good morning/Good afternoon….Mr/Mrs’ turns up; it’s easy enough to similarly respond, if I know of the writer, though not if it is mail from the business. Business emails are business communications like any that are delivered by postal mail services. They just do not look like it, or, maybe, it’s just they do not look like the business mail I have been used to.
If it’s a formal communication conventions state I should respectfully open with, ‘Dear Sir’, or, ‘Dear Madam’ or, a combined version of both; I have never considered any particular business entity dear to me, nor anyone in it with whom I may have developed a working business relationship. (Oh dear). Looking at terms of endearment, I am no further forward in creating alternative salutations for the purpose.
I might feel less inhibited if I felt free to open with something nicely terse at times. Huffing and puffing, I might just consider dropping terms of endearment and begin, “Sir”, or, “Madam”. It’s the worst I can allow myself to do. Undoubtedly, this is exactly the reason for beginning a written correspondence in a traditionally, accepted, mannerly, style, at all times. The moment your thoughts turn to ‘dear….’ the system structure draws you into its conventional framework. And dropping ‘dear’ to a curt ‘Sir or Madam’ only frames a much more formal, but still a conventionally acceptable mailing. So be it.
The written word speaks volumes.
FOREIGN LEGION – CONSIGNMENTS & LEFT LUGGAGE
Twelfth night is meant to be the time for clearing away greetings cards and festive decorations. In my book, some superstitions are best ignored. As I don’t receive some mail till early January, mostly from abroad, my cards stay up longer and the last to arrive are the last to disappear. Thus, I span the Western and the Eastern festive dates.
My decorations are the cards people send me. Switch on candle glow (LED’s) provide an atmospheric friendly warmth. The little candles (tea lights) have been tucked away. A couple of stocky gold coloured ones have not. They glitter and look quite pretty when daylight turns into twilight, even if they are not lit.
Tomorrow we have a recycling collection. The bulk of the cards – not the late arrivals – have been sorted between those that will be a keepsake, (just a few) or those needing some attention. The others, will provide material for recycling. Our collectors do not want anything with metallic finishes, which includes glitter. Lots of cards have those pretty finishes. The best I can do is to separate re-usable bits of a card from those bits that are not. That was late morning……..
….Even later morning, I seem to have spent hours sorting out a small area of desk. The quarter truth is, some of the space on the desk has been created by shoving some stuff to the right of it, (probably, should be ‘right off it’). I am trying to be tough on myself…about bits of paper (cringe). I know it will be worse before it gets better.
Early afternoon……hubs interrupts my bits of paper throw away flow. “Are you having any lunch?”
On Boxing Day, (26th December 2017) a National Bank Holiday, I was sitting at the centre table of a row of three tables for two, in a busy village coffee shop, we consumers were all in close proximity.
On my right was a very delightful little girl with her daddy. She was amusing herself with a game and also talking with daddy. Quite a number of ladies stopped to talk to both of them and she told them she was three years old.
As me and hubs started to sip our coffees I heard………….
Daddy may I go to playgroup this afternoon? […. may I……from a three year old. Wow!]
I commented to dad on his little’s girl’s remarkably good manners.
Dad.…..Oh, we have the Manners Book at home don’t we, and we like reading it. She nodded
Me– Have you got the ‘why’ book……Dad….No
Me…you’ve got all the answers then? ….
Dad…No…..and looking at his daughter….. no,we haven’t have we?
3 year old.…Yes you have. …….
Daddy… No I haven’t …
3 year old…Yes you have.
Daddy…Why do you say that?….
3 year old….Because you’re a grown up.
Daddy….Oh, I see; grown ups don’t know everything.
3 year old…… uhm yes. You’re not mummy are you.