Wednesday 10th August 2016
I stirred around 0425hrs and sat there pondered on the dream I had been having for a few moments. Underground again, crawling through tunnels, this time, I had on a face mask, goggles, knee pads, etc., but was wearing my slippers? Being chased again, the pursuers caught me this time and tattooed me on my back and neck? Found myself in a luxury high rise apartment with cats and dogs licking me as I changed channels on an old Rediffusion Radio on the wall… much more took place I felt, but could only recall these bits of the dream. Tsk!
The £300 second-hand recliner noisily and shudderingly allowed me out of it to get for a WRWW and WWHD. The tiniest bit of blood from the rear and Little Inchy, and the activities were far less painful than of recent. Not a bad start I thought.
Carried out the checks and medicating of the required areas, then into the kitchen to make a cuppa and take the medications and wash the pots in the sink that I’d failed to do last night…
Whoopsiedangleplop! I’d left the oven on 220 degrees all night long! Oh dear, I thought to myself. Still, it was nice and warm in the kitchen!
Got on with finishing the Tuesday diary and starting this one, doing the graphic for the top of the page first. (Hope it gets a laugh?)
I mustn’t get carried away with lap-topping or internetting today, the appointment at the Cancer Clinic is for 1600hrs. This really gets me down, a late appointment. I’ve got get a bus to town and another, or a tram to get to the QMC, I know I’ll be tired and weary when I arrive because I always lose steam around this hour every day. Then, getting back will be a nightmare! I’ll be coming home in the rush-hour, the legs and feet will be aching, and I’ll face the onslaught of being crushed and knocked by the other passengers as they attack the tram doors, the seats are not supportive so the back will start to play up as I limp through town to catch a bus to Sherwood.
Of course, the L9 bus will have long stopped running, the last one will have departed from town at 1503 hrs! So I’ve to catch one that drops me off in Sherwood, then either walk up Winchester Street hill, or through the Woodthorpe Grange Park to get back to the flats. I anticipate, a weary, irritated and antisocial Inchcock will arrive home. That is, if they don’t keep me in, I’ve got to take me jammies shaving stuff, etc. in with me in case, like. That reminds me, I’ll put the things in the bag ready now!
Updated this tosh.
Deana came to the flat as I was about to have a shower. She’s received this email from British Gas in reply to her complaint about the hassling me with Red Letter demands for a non-existent meter.
Wednesday 10 August: Warden Deana emailed the answer to me from BG. The five grammatical errors in the email have been corrected by Inchcock, before being put on this page
From: “email@example.com” <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Date: 9 August 2016 12:38:24 BST
Subject: Your reply from British Gas (18953202) (KMM43902975V30033L0KM)
Dear Ms Walker
Thank you for the enquiry you sent regarding Mr Chamber’s account, I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to get back to you.
Unfortunately, I am unable to help for the time being, as you are currently not named on the account, and as such I am unable to disclose or change any information regarding the account.
This is due to the Data Protection Act.
If you would like to be named on the account, please call us on 0800 048 0202* when you are with the account holder so we can get permission to either speak to yourself or add your name to the account.
Alternatively, you can send a signed power of attorney letter from the account holder, with the account number and details, authorising you to be added to the account. This can be posted, or attached to an email. Our mailing address is British Gas, PO Box 227, Rotherham, S98 1PD.
Once you have been added to the account, or we have verbal permission from the account holder to discuss the account with yourself, we will be able to disclose any information you require.
I apologise for any inconvenience this may cause.
Please contact us should you need any help in the future and thank you for contacting British Gas.
Kind regards Grace Winearls
britishgas.co.uk – Looking after your world
Deana came to the flat at 0955hrs and rang BG and got her name on record as my representative and added her name to the account. (Which account, the actual one or the fictional one, we were not sure)
She ran the BG Complaints number, and tried to get put through to them, but had to make-do with the Billing section.
She explained the situation yet again to this BG agent, and was put through to another agent and explained everything to him as well. To complained to each person she spoke to, and asked them why she could not get through to the complaints department?
She was put on hold. (Half an hour o the phone up to here)
Someone spoke to her and decided to put her through to someone else again.
She was put on hold.
She explained everything again to this agent.
She was put on hold.
She asked for written confirmation that the account had actually been close like he has been verbally told on four occasions now, but the demands continue?
She was put on hold.
Mr Ricmondo came on the line.
We were told it had been cancelled (Again!).
She was asked to give the meter readings from the one meter I have. (Which of course is not the meter in question (…67), but the meter I am paying by direct debit (…95). Bewildered we both were!
Deana complained again, about not being able to talk to their Complaints Department directly!
Her phone battery was now down to one bar. She complained about being kept waiting on hold so often.
She was put on hold.
Ricmondo returned to the phone eventually.
1) It seems an engineer will contact Deana to make an appointment to disconnect the non-existent meter and take the readings?
2) No further demands would be received. (Oh yes, very confident about this we were!)
Deana spent 53 minutes in total on hold – the poor woman had lost the will to live!
After the frustrated and deflated woman had left, I got the details put on G+, Facebook and updated the sad story on TrustPilot.
Emailed the GP surgery to get an INR Warfarin blood test booked.
Then had to get ready for the trip to the cancer clinic at the Queens Medical Centre. Ablutions, paperwork got ready.
Called in to see Olive, but she was out. All alone at the bus stop, I was the only person on the bus, it felt like a chauffeured service. Hehe! In town early so I could take some photographs… Oh, no, forgot the camera didn’t I!
Had a walk through the Market in Victoria Centre – got a pair of trousers in my size from a stall there. Must remember this when I need another pair.
Bought a bacon cob and newspaper. Ate the cob.
Walked down to the Slab Square to catch a tram to the hospital. There was much going on that was photographable, but of course, I was without the camera. Humph!
Swiped the bus-pass on the machine then realised I was stood on the wrong side of the tram station where the trams went in the opposite direction. So, I crossed over and caught the right one, had to wait a while as I’d just missed one. I was the only person waiting on the platform, swiped my card again, and the crowds grew as I waited. When the tram arrived, I buffeted about a bit in the rush and was the last one to get on it. Packed solid it was, but I got the last disabled seat, if you can call them seats, they are very tiny plastic, flat and uncomfortable.
No hiatus getting off at the hospital, with it being late in the day I suppose? Walked down the winding staircase, across the crossing over the road (The driver of the white van, the index starting with BD51, might like to know he didn’t hit me as I crossed over, although, he made a valiant effort), and into the Treatment Centre.
Logged in with the receptionist and got the buzzer thing they give you to inform you when it is your turn, sat down and read the newspaper while I waited.
The buzzer buzzed, and I was led into a corridor to take a seat outside a consulting room. Minutes late I was in with the doctor and being checked. The blotch on the side of my head first (The old one), he decided it as definitely a safe form of cancer. Then he moved to look at the one on my back that Olive had told me about.
Walked up and logged in with their receptionist, and was called in almost straight away, and they did an autopsy on my back. It was obviously a lot smaller than the last one that one took over an hour to dig out and stitch, this was over in a few minutes.I caught a view of my blobby body in the mirror when they weighed me
I caught a view of my blobby body in the mirror when they weighed me, it was horrendous, terrifying!
Awaiting the results now. Took the paperwork back to the receptionist, and plodded out and back up to the Tram Station above.
Getting on the tram reminded me of when I went to see Nottingham Forest play Arsenal on a boxing day around 1968? It was so crowded it took me twenty minutes to find out Arsenal were playing in blue and yellow!
Thus, was the tram so crowded! Bruised, actually bruised I was by the time the masses had got onto the tram. Mind you, that helped I think, I just got carried onto the tram between the stern-faced determined passengers battling each other, scowling, with bottom chins protruding. How many of them hung onto their mobile phones I don’t know.
I got off in the Slab Square in Nottingham without much bother and walked up Queen Street to see what buses were available, and I was in luck for once. A number 40 bus was due in fifteen minutes. This bus is the best for me, when like now, the L9’s that take me to the actual flats, had long since stopped running.
The lady driver, apparently a Demolition Derby fan, soon had me well bruised and nervously getting off the bus-stop on Mapperley Drive above Winchester Street Hill.
Walked back up the hill to use the small central reservation on the bend.
I got onto the reservation quickly, then sort of lost heart and interest as I had to wait for what seemed like hours, for a break in the traffic so I could complete my crossing of the road.
I thought at one time, I’d grow hair or snuff it from old age before I got over the road! Hehe!
In fact, I suppose it was only a few minutes I had to wait, by the time a gap came up, Arthritis had set in!
Wobbled along back to the flats, and called to see Olive, but again she was not in. (Sob!)
Back to the apartment and utilised the wetroom throne painfully and at length.
As I got the meal ready, the dizzies returned.
I had an easy meal as I was feeling a bit drained by now.
Tinned sweet and sour chicken in sauce (Added some extra sauce from the jar), potato cakes, the last cheesy cob and followed with a jelly, honey yoghourt and an apple.
Seeing my body mass in the mirror at the hospital, helped me resist having any nibbles afterwards!
I soon nodded off while trying to watch some TV.