Sean's Stories

Posted by sean on July 10, 2019 at 11:38 pm in Fun At Home with No Comments

Don’t you just hate it when all your best-laid plans go out of the window?

As Claire and I are both off work this week, we decided to use one of our days away from the ward/office, to tackle the mess in our garage.

When we moved into our house in 2017, anything we spotted that we didn’t want in the new property was boxed up and stored in the garage. This included things which would be better placed on a charity shop shelf, or in most cases, the bottom of a giant skip at the city rubbish dump.

There have also been a very small number of my possessions, that I haven’t seen since the house move. I hope that I will find my prized assets – which include a DVD recording I made, of a Leeds match against Bolton in 2004, which saw them relegated – but this is almost literally like looking for a needle in a haystack. Don’t believe me? Take a look at this…

I think there is a pizza delivery boy lost in here somewhere *

See yesterday’s blog for that reference.

Now do you see why it might be difficult to locate a single DVDR?

We gave up on the garage organisation, before we had even begun.

Considering it was just Claire and me available to clear the entire contents of the garage, not forgetting that I am wired into my mobility scooter or wheelchair, it was going to be an impossible task to do on our own.

I remember playing Tetris in the 1990s, so thought that experience might have come in handy, when it came to organising the boxes.

Then I remembered that we would initially be taking stuff out of the garage, whereas Teteis, of course, focuses on incoming blocks.

We both concluded that we will need help and ideally someone with access to a car, who can get to the rubbish dump, doesn’t mind moving boxes and isn’t scared of some fecking huge spiders. From what Claire has told me, the arachnids in our garage have been pumping some serious iron and eating steroids for breakfast.

I’ve already nominated my Dad. He’s currently living it up in Cornwall, so I don’t want to tell him the news just yet. It’ll be a nice surprise for when he arrives home from his holiday.

The second failure of the day involved our evening meal. It has been seriously hot today. Claire, Roman and I have been suffering with the high temperatures all week and are getting a little fed up – when will this heatwave nightmare end?

When it got to tea time, Claire declared that she didn’t want to eat, as she was far too hot. While I thought the idea of going to bed without consuming anything, apart from a packet of Chilli Heatwave Doritos, was notbthe best idea ever thought up, I was in full agreement with my wife, that turning on the oven and increasing the air temperature in our house even more, was a savagely cruel thought.

Oh, and yes, I am aware of the hypocrisy of complaining about the heat, while eating a spicy corn-based snack.

After giving it much thought, we decided that the only food we could eat, without causing ourselves to spontaneously combust, was McDonalds. Probably because food from Maccy D’s, especially once you get it home, is nearly always luke warm. Nobody has ever burnt their tongue on a potato fry, or needed a skin-graft on their lips, after biting into a scorching hot McChicken Sandwich.

The only reason we even considered a takeaway, is because McDonald’s now deliver, saving Claire the effort of driving across town, in a modern ‘hunter gatherer’ type of role.

Upon choosing our meal, we were about to pay – only to be told that they were no longer taking orders. Presumably, at some point between logging onto Uber Eats, adding our food to the basket and checking out, the delivery driver had decided not to take any more orders. I was Uber annoyed!

Still, these things happen , I told myself, after I had calmed down from a huge rant, where I used words no Netherland Dwarf rabbit should hear – sorry, Roman!

Claire and I were therefore prepared to give Uber Eats another chance. We kept refreshing the list of takeaway restaurants on the Uber homepage, hoping for McDonald’s to become available again. After half an hour of trying – yes, we were that desperate – it appeared…

Never have we been so excited about the prospect of a cheese dipper and Flake McFlurry. We had to fill the shopping basket with our order again and enter all the necessary payment details – all this being done at lightning speed, as we didn’t want to miss out again.

When it came to sending the payment and confirming the order, this happened…

No swear word would give justice to how we felt.


Posted by sean on July 9, 2019 at 10:57 pm in Fun At Home with No Comments

What the hell is the problem with finding our house?

Since buying and moving into our new property in 2017, we have had issues with takeaway delivery drivers finding where we live.

It seems like more often than not, while waiting for a pizza or curry, one of our mobile phones will start to ring, with a number we don’t recognise.

“Here we go again”, Claire and I will say to each other, before one of us – normally my dear wife – answers the phone; only to be greeted by the all too common sound of a man or woman, asking where we live.

The instructions provided at the time of placing the order are relayed to the driver – “Past the first set of garages on your right and up a small path. The house has a ramp outside.”

Sometimes this helps the delivery person and their car/motorcycle/bike, sometimes it does not help. When the latter happens, poor Claire has to venture outside, wearing her PJs and slippers. She then has the challenge of pacing the streets, trying to find the wayward courier. Just to add to the difficulty, these delivery drivers apparently use their own forms of transport – their unmarked vehicles – making the takeaway hunt an even greater challenge.

Claire and I become very peeved by this regular debacle. Our house isn’t hard to find. It is, in fact, on Google Maps. Search for us, and you’ll see the red cursor is placed directly above the roof of our house.

Anyone would think we lived at Area 51…

Mercifully, it has only been takeaway deliveries that have caused us grief. That was until today…

Every week we have a supermarket shop delivered. If you’ve been reading this blog for a number of years, you’ll recall my many encounters with Tesco. We’re still using them for our groceries, as well as Morrisons and when we’re feeling posh, have even been known to shop at Ocado.

I am happy to report that the people tasked with delivering our ‘big shop’, do not have a problem finding Château de Kitson – even those from Tesco!

Clearly supermarket delivery drivers carry a SatNav and not just an A-Z map from 1986, like Deliveroo employees.

For some strange, but worrying reason, this week’s delivery driver must have forgot to charge his TomTom Go, as a call on Claire’s mobile gave us both a dreaded case of deja vu.

It was the Morrisons driver…

He was parked around the corner from our house, but could not proceed any further. Evidently he was unable to pick his way through the guillied landscape, dense undergrowth and hidden temples, which lead up to our three bedroomed, semi-detached mansion.

Claire talked the driver through the near-impossible path involved in finding our house – “Past the first set of garages on your right, blah blah blah…”

She rightly did not go outside to look for the driver. Going out in your nightwear during the evening is one thing, doing the same at midday is just plain weird. Yes, Claire does wear pyjamas in the day, as do I. There is nothing wrong with that – we are on annual leave – so stop the Wayne and Waynetta Slob jokes.

The Morrisons driver turned up at our front door sometime later. He sounded pissed off and Claire told me that he looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp.

After dumping the shopping at our front door, he slumped back to his van, and drove off to his next delivery. Apparently the next destination is a bungalow – how on earth will he find that?

Posted by sean on July 8, 2019 at 3:02 pm in Fun At Home with No Comments

Over many months (20 to be precise), I have finally managed to twist NPower’s arm – almost to the point of it snapping – to replace the archaic, overpriced electric and gas meters, which came with our house.

I did have to play the ‘disability card’ – something that I am not proud of. I was, however, very honest in my initial email; even managing to spin my situation into a sob story, so well crafted that it could have been from an X Factor audition.

My goldfish died when I was just 3. I have never fully recovered emotionally. As a result, I now use a mobility scooter. I cannot get to the shops to top up my gas meter. I had to spend last winter huddled up to my rabbit to keep warm. Did I mention my rabbit has a growth condition and has been diagnosed as a dwarf?

Anyway, whatever I said to NPower worked, because Claire, Roman the growth-stunted rabbit and me, now have a prepayment gas and electric meter.

Cue that catchy celebration song from Westlife, they always use on X Factor and Britain’s Got Talent – “What about now? What about today…”.

You could say that I got watt I wanted. Get it? I said that I got watt I wanted. WATT I wanted!

Want to know the coolest thing about the electric meter? Of course you do. The reading was set to 00000. Sadly, I don’t think it’ll stay that way.

Posted by sean on July 8, 2019 at 12:37 pm in Fun At Home with No Comments

A while ago, I blogged about some rather annoying neighbours, who have a habit of sneaking into other people’s bins, to place their own rubbish, because they have ran out of space in their own, due to their poor recycling habits.

Things took a turn for the worse last Friday, when a troubled Claire contacted me at work, to report that she had found something disgusting in our bin.

Granted, bins are not renowned for containing fluffy clouds, sweet-smelling flowers and cute bunnies; but what Claire found lurking at the bottom of ours took disgusting to a whole new level.

Amongst random bits of foodstuffs was a full baby’s nappy. It was a discovery my wife was livid to make – not least because, in order to dispose of the poo-filled parcel, she had to come into contact with it.

We believe that the nappy and other stowaway waste, found their way into our wheelie bin, either before the rubbish men emptied the contents into their lorry – meaning the nappy somehow clung onto the base of the bin – or the parcel of poop somehow fell onto the pavement, only for someone to throw it into our bin.

Whatever the case, it wasn’t our nappy, so shouldn’t have been our problem. Anyway, in response to Nappygate, I prepare to fan the flames of this (so far) very civilised episode of Neighbours From Hell, by attaching a notice to our bin, asking that people don’t place nappies in there.

I am hoping to guilt-trip the flytippers into not repeating their actions. Maybe they’ll become so guilty and embarrassed by getting found out, that they will have no choice but to move away from Weston and even Bath. Feeling forced to run away and never return.

Posted by sean on July 5, 2019 at 11:28 pm in Cooking, Fun At Home with No Comments

Sometimes you can’t beat a simple meal. Especially when it has been lovingly prepared by your incredible wife.

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