Blue Witch

Speechless

Blair gives in to the EU's demands to relinquish Britain's EU rebate with no payback.

Come back Maggie, all is forgiven.

The Nanny State Imposes

So the Turner Pensions Commission Report is out.

The state pension age is set to go up to 68, and people will be compelled to save for their old age. "Under the national pensions scheme, individuals would contribute 4% of their post-tax earnings, their company an additional 3% and the government 1% through tax relief or credit." OK, so there is a bit of talking and a bit of voting to go, but, it will happen.

Because, if people can't be personally responsible, that's what happens.

Everyone has to suffer.

As Ann said yesterday, in relation to now having to ask if she can go to the loo outside of a break at work,

"It's a pattern I've seen time and time again in my thirty years of employment. It's much easier to clamp down on the entire employee population than spend time finding and dealing with the ones who are causing the problem.

And since 9-11, this same sort of corporate attitude has been applied to the population of the US by our own government. We are all logged, tracked, and monitored at every turn because a small percentage of the population might be ne'er-do-wells and/or quite a few government officials are control freaks.

Most of us, myself included, just sigh and muddle on rather than kick up a fuss. Now I suppose some people are actually afraid to say anything or do anything, but that's not my issue. I just don't have the energy to do much other than whine about it. My adolescent self would be appalled, but I no longer have the fire and drive to try and change the world. That sort of thing is better left to the young, but I suspect the youth of today are not start the revolution of tomorrow."

I was having an email dialogue with someone the other day about something that has disturbed me greatly in blogland over the past few days. He has given permission for me to quote a passage, and, although I'm not now going to use it in the original context (because I currently haven't the energy or inclination to get into the debate that would undoubtedly follow), it fits in perfectly here.

"Well, the last thing I want to be is a curmudgeonly grumpy old man, but I think we live in a more superficial society these days.

My parents generation despaired at the youth of their day because they were hippies or punks or whatever, but at least they believed in something and had passion. It doesn't matter whether of not some people considered it misguided.

No-one seems to have any passion for anything these days except for this vacuous celebrity and consumerist culture.

I don't consider myself to be particularly radical, but many people I know think I am just because I have views on things that aren't who should win X-Factor.

People seem to revel in mediocrity these days, to celebrate being dumb, and to have no personal responsibility. Or in other words, we are becoming more like America every day."

Hallelujah to that.
But, I don't see it changing any time soon.
Because most people just cannot see where it's all coming from, or where it's leading to. And I don't understand why.

Witchy Beattitude No. 1: "Blessed are the cynical for they are rarely disappointed."

Thought for the day

The least of things with meaning is worth more in life than the greatest of things without.

- Carl Jung

Familiar Site

Blog leaving present

Bit busy making one of these for him :)

Just Another Manic Tuesday

It's all go round here.

I keep doing spells and they keep having interesting effects.

I don't like it when people consistently turn up late for pre-arranged appointments. So, Architect BW, who has not yet turned up less than 15 minutes late, has been the subject of a few D'Ove and maran hen feather concoctions thrown into the ever-simmering pot on the Aga.

He turned up at 8.50am for an 8.30am meeting to go over the final details before he submits the planning application later on today. "I'm late, I'm late, can you just check the plans are OK and I've remembered all your modifications, I just need to dash round and check a few measurements because The Coven is a rather interesting building... the software nearly can't cope with it, and is throwing up anomalies that I, and your photos, know aren't there!"

At 9.05am my 2000 litre oil delivery arrived, effectively trapping Architect BW in the drive for 15 minutes. I sniggered to myself and resisted the temptation to say, "That'll teach you to be late!"

And then there's the spell for Good Friend BW. Senior Witch (the one who sorted out my energy problems a couple of months ago) and I both had a go at making the naughty malignant cells feel unwelcome. The consultant who operated said that she'd never seen a lump change so much between Friday lunchtime and Monday morning, and has sent it off for analysis by several different places as she is so amazed. All being well, they'll know more by Friday. "I just can't understand it at all!" she said.

It's quite hard doing spells without the Ginger Familiar's assistance, and the new White, Ginger and Tabby Familiar is not yet old enough to take her place. She's also developed the loudest miaow you've ever heard in a cat. Best not do a spell though or she'll end up oinking or something...

The WGT Familiar also seems to have a dislike for litter trays. I've never known a kitten who couldn't work it out. It'll only matter for a few weeks, as once she is old enough to go out unsupervised, she'll just use the thousands of acres of farmland behind us, like all the other animals around, but it's annoying at present. Anyone know any good tips - other than repeatedly putting them into the tray and scrabbling their paws in the granules, and moving the tray to where they're going instead?

Apologies to those of you who were eating while reading... :)

Thought for the day

We must accept finite disappointment, but we must never lose infinite hope.

- Martin Luther King

Respect

MrBW had to get up at 5.15am to be 90 miles away by 9am to read the riot act to some aquired dissenters, which was just as well, because I needed to get the Aga cleaned before I went out at 6.45am to take Good Friend BW into the hospital for 7.30am.

This because the Aga is having its annual service today, and it only gets turned off once a year for this maintenance, so it's the only time it's cool enough to really clean properly. The service man arrived soon after 9am, just after I'd got back.

Now, he's been servicing the Aga since we had it put in a few years back, so I know him fairly well, and usually his banter is amusing, and I enjoy pointing out the error of his sexist, chauvinistic, ways to him.

However, today, faced with the reality that later on I'll be going back to the hospital to sit alongside Good Friend BW when the consultant tells her the extent of the cancer that she found when operating (*consults clock* - ah - they should be starting about now), and, I suspect, the prognosis (which I already know, but of which she has no idea), I really wasn't in the mood. He should have got the hint from the monosyllabic way I responded to everything he asked, but, he didn't.

Yesterday we made some marmalade (using some Seville oranges from the freezer).

Having finished cleaning the Aga oven grids and the blue enamel doors, I washed off the latex gloves I was using to protect my hands from the caustic cleaning agents, and went into the fridge to get some milk for the tea.

I found the saucer that we'd been using for the marmalade set-test last night, and scooped some onto my still-gloved finger and tasted it. Delicious.

Aga service man saw. "Ooooooh Mrs BW, can *I* do that?" "Do what?" I said, slightly irritated. "Lick marmalade off your latexed finger, that'd get me really excited!"

I stuck my finger into the remaining marmalade on the saucer, walked over to him, and stuck my finger about a centimetre away from his face.

He jumped back in astonishment.

"I was only joking, love!"

"Well, I'm not. Sorry Aga service man, but remarks like that are just not amusing. It would not be funny any day, but it is especially not funny today. Either you lick it off, or I shall ring up your boss and make a complaint about sexual harassment. Your choice."

I glowered at him.

He meekly did as I told him.

I gave him a BW Hard Stare (which are at least twice as hard as Paddington Hard Stares) and held his gaze, raising my eyebrows slowly as I did.

"God, I feel such a fool!" he said. "I am so, so, sorry. But I was only joking, really." "Right," I said in a monotone, and left him to get on.

He sheepishly called to me an hour later, when he'd finished, and apologised again.

He was treated to a BW Lecture on acceptable standards of conversation and behaviour towards customers, and about judging where a line might be, and then keeping well back from it. From his reaction it was clear that he had absolutely no idea about how offensive his remarks often are. He was really shocked, and incredibly apologetic. I have a feeling that I've given him food for a lot of thought.

But why should women have to take verbal disrespect from men?
(and this links in nicely with this and, as a follow-on, this that amazed me last week (read the comments too)).

Thought for the day

No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.

- Charles Dickens

Not the Best thing to do

Well, the minute's silence of respect that I've been saying for a while is being devalued by over-use has reached a new low today.

A minute's silence at every Premiership football match this weekend because some once-great overpaid footballer and abuser of his own body and a dead person's gift to give him a second chance has died by his own hand?

What next?
Minute's silences when soap stars die?
Minute's silences when pop stars die?

Oh please.
Show some respect.

Bad news

I seem to have spent this year being supportive of people, visting hospitals and coping with death.

I don't actually know how I'd have got through this year so far without Good Friend BW.

Or indeed, how I'd have got through many of the other things that life has chucked at me since I met her at the end of 1990.

She's always there, saying the right thing, or jollying me along when I get really down. She was the one who sat with me for hours when I had what was initially thought to be a brain tumour, back in 1991. The one who picked up the pieces when I split up with the person I'd moved 200 miles to be with and then had a miscarriage back in 1992 (before I met Mr BW). She was the one who decided that 'art therapy', led by her, was the way to help me after I had my breakdown at the beginning of 1997. She's the one who's been like a mother, as well as a best friend, to me, amidst all the head fuck that my own mother dishes out. She's the one with whom I do all the arty and crafty things that keep me sane these days.

On Wednesday afternoon, she had a phone call from the local (NHS) hospital saying they needed to see her urgently about the results of some tests she'd had the previous week. I've just got back from spending the day at the hospital with her.

The consultant she saw (a very bright lady, about my age, with a lovely, unassuming, human, manner so rarely found in doctors at that level) was absolutely brilliant, and spent over three quarters of an hour talking to us. Or, rather, answering all my questions. Because I had lots.

Good Friend BW doesn't feel ill, and has had no other symptoms. She is generally a fit and healthy person who has never smoked and drinks 2 glasses of wine a year (birthday and FOTCR).

But, I knew from the first time (3 weeks ago) that she asked me to feel the lump in her neck that had suddenly appeared that it was serious (just call it Witchy Powers) and had done my homework (thank you internet, especially Google Scholar). Having done two needle biopsies and an ultrasound, last week, the consultant knew what it is. She confirmed my worst fears, but Good Friend BW hasn't the faintest idea what it means, and, until they have biopsied the lump, and are totally sure, they're not going to tell her.

They're operating first thing on Monday to remove the lump and whatever tissues around it can be removed (remember, this is the NHS...), but the consultant was very clear that there isn't a great deal else that can be done.

As Good Friend BW is 29 years older than me (although I always forget that, as she is the same age as me, mentally), I always thought that one day I wouldn't have her around any more. I just never thought it would be quite so soon. And it's going to be so hard spending another year watching someone die. Particularly when it's the only person (other than Mr BW) who really understands me, and who I rely on to support me.

Missing season

It seems to me that we've gone straight from late summer to deep mid-winter. Somehow Autumn has been forgotten this year, and many trees still have green leaves.

They have snow in the south-west, it's minus one here, yet we still have clematis and honeysuckle in flower. Madness.

Maybe it was one of my spells? *worried now* :)

Thought for the day

Modest doubt is called the beacon of the wise.

- William Shakespeare

The Veterinary Medicines Regulations 2005

What a truly wonderful organisation the EU is.

This time - a piece of legislation that has resulted in making life more complex for pet owners has been enforced (bet the French aren't enforcing it as the UK appear to be though...).

As of 1st November just gone, a new piece of legislation on animal medicines means that anyone who wants to buy effective flea and worm treatments for their cats (or other pets) will have to take the cat to the vet every 6 months for a full check before they will be allowed to buy the product.

Well, that's what the vet that we used to use has just told me. Having had the receptionist refuse to sell Mr BW a £2 wormer for our new GWT Familiar Kitten at lunchtime, I have just had a 15 minute discussion with the vet on the phone.

Apparently he now has to be able to prove that an animal is 'under his care' to sell POM flea and worm treatments. And for that he requires to see the animal every 6 months, at a cost of £17.50, plus VAT, in addition to the cost of the drugs (£30+), and the hassle, cost, and time, of getting the animal to the vets.

What a bloody nonsense.

I suggested to him that there are ways and ways of interpreting EU legislation, and that he might, just possibly, be attempting to profiteer ever so slightly. He tried to tell me that he could be struck off for selling me a £2 wormer for my Kitten Familiar without having seen it. I told him, politely, that I doubted that, and he referred me to his professional association's website, which probably has interesting info on the subject, but it's members only, password protected. Super.
(I have just found this, elsewhere, that isn't though)

I've had a quick look at the 96 pages of legislation and accompanying 75 pages of guidance and can't make head nor tail of it.

All I know is that many people, like us, who don't believe in lining vets pockets unless animals are ill (for fuck's sake, they are animals - animals like most people, though not us, eat - and much as I love animals, as I don't go to the doctor's for a check-up every 6 months when I'm perfectly healthy, then sure as eggs are eggs, I'm not going to take a Feline Familiar along unnecessarily) now cannot buy effective products to keep their pets fit and healthy (flea and worm preparations you buy in supermarkets are virtually useless).

The end result? Disease will spread and animals will suffer. Oh and vets and pharmaceutical companies will get richer.

Anyone know anything more about this, or how other vets are dealing with the issue?

"Information is no longer a scarce resource. Attention is. "

Excellent post over here by Croila on information chaos.

Thought for the day

Generosity lies less in giving much than in giving at the right moment.

- Jean de la Bruyere

Desperately seeking...

A goldfish bowl.

A traditional, simple, glass, one, probably about one gallon in capacity.

I can't find one anywhere (online or in shops), as keeping goldfish in them is not recommended.

I hasten to add that I don't want it for keeping goldfish (we have a large pond for that), but rather to display a collection of fragile tropical shells (currently still in the Pringles tubes in which they travelled back from the places where they were collected) in our new art/craft studio (the initial plans for which have just been delivered by Architect BW, and are currently on the dining table :)). I saw one in an artroom in a school the other day and thought what a wonderful idea it was.

Any ideas where I might get one (or two...)?

Taking civil liberties?

I know that one's every move can be tracked if one has a mobile phone in one's pocket.

I know that store loyalty cards are used to keep databases of one's purchase and spending patterns, and to target marketing campaigns.

I know that Oyster cards allow one's movements to be tracked around the London transport infrastructure.

I know that ID cards are an inevitability, despite the fact that I don't personally know one single person who thinks they are a good idea (I do know one person who thought they were OK until I pointed out how much he'd have to fork out for one). Even an ex-MI5 boss thinks they are a bad idea.

But now...

There is going to be a network of roadside spy cameras every 400 yards on main roads, at supermarkets, petrol stations and in town centres, that will track all vehicle movements, using automatic number plate recognition. "Several thousand cameras have gone up and fines imposed on motorists will be used to expand the network. The new cameras are harder to spot than speed cameras because they are not painted in bright colours."

This gross invasion of privacy is supposedly to crack down on uninsured driving, road tax evasion and stolen cars. But data on everyone will be collected and stored. And so is available for any purpose that anyone in 'authority' chooses to use it for. Apparently it's already operating in Sheffield and Northampton and will soon be live in Newcastle.

Why do such complex systems have to be introduced? Surely it's easier to have numberplate stickers to show a car is taxed and insured? That system works successfully in many other countries. But, while we have police who would rather send a squad car to caution a mother for breastfeeding on a street bench than do useful things with their time, I think there is little hope of sense prevailing.

And people laughed at George Orwell...

I'm bloody glad we don't have kids, because the future doesn't look good.
What's that you say?
They already have my genetic material from that last blood test I had and so I could be cloned in the future?

Oh scary stuff.
And there seems to be absolutely nothing one can do to stop it. (Via)

Write? Right.

Interesting link on self-publishing for all you wannabe writers here. A lot of it is common sense (well, it was obvious to me, maybe I'm abnormal...), but it's sometimes nice to see what you think is the case in print.

Also possible scope for assisting writers with book jacket design for those photographers amongst you with images to sell (see page 24 of the link), or those with good design ability who fancy a dabble in something different.

Thought for the day

As was his language so was his life.

- Seneca

Puzzling

I'm struggling to work out the genetics of the new GWT Familiar. I found this article, which confused me more. Is she a 'tortoiseshell' (which reminds me...), or a 'calico'? (Oooh look, here it says that "the first tortie came to be in Southeast Asia during a magic ritual" (seems I'm not the only Witchy who has spelling problems)) :)

So, to distract me from my genetics text books internet articles, on a totally unrelated note, what is the longest word you can come up with without using any letter more than once?

Thought for the day

There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.

- Graham Greene

Value Kitten Witch

In true Value Witch stylee, I have remembered where you can get 3 free packs of kitten food, a £1.50 voucher off future purchase of kitten food, a free handy hint booklet, and a free cat mouse toy.

It's here.

Now, how many friends without kittens do I have who would be a post-box for all my free samples? :)

If you don't have a kitten, you could use the kitten food as filling in shepherd's pie or mixed into a curry. Probably tastier and more nutritious than the 'meat' [insert name of your own least favourite supermarket, mine's Tesco's and I just love seeing the Tesco bods scurrying in here every time I mention their name] put into their ready meals.

Thought for the day

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.

- Martin Luther King Jr

The new Ginger White and Tabby Familiar

... is jolly hard to photograph.

She spent a purrfect night on her waterbed (hot water bottle wrapped in a cuddly towel on top of a pillow) in her new house (Mr BW's workshop), with eucalyptus oil sprinkled liberally around to help her sniffly cold.

Mr BW went off to stay overnight with some friends yesterday afternoon, and it was hard to resist the temptation to bring her in and cuddle her all night. But, I know it isn't fair to take a kitten who was born into a long line of farm cats (albeit very tame and well cared-for ones) and has always lived in barns, inside for a brief while. Particularly as the change of temperature out-to-in won't help her cold.

This morning she's already hungrily eyed up a lady pheasant promenading in the white frosted field just beyond the boundary hedge, and the D'Oves (who have been taking the piss by flying around enticingly, momentarily safe in the knowledge that they are presently as big as her).

Just looking at that picture, I'm struck by how much her lower portion looks like my childhood white rabbit. Who very unhelpfully chose to die the first weekend that I was at secondary school, when I was away on a Guide camp. I came home to find a pocket-sized knitted white rabbit that Mummy BW had spent the weekend making. I still have it.

We have bagfuls of the GF's long ginger fur, collected from the mats where she's sat, or combed out as we've helped her with her knots over the years. I've always said that when she died I was going to learn to spin, and then knit us a souvenir GF. It's nice too that when I made some felted panels for cushions for The Rest Room recently, I felted in some GF fur. Maybe I'm weird, but having useful reminders of my dead Familiars is helpful.

It's the Ginger Familiar's Ghost here...

I hadn't expected my Blue Witchy Familiars to be quite so upset when I decided that I'd best repent for eating quite so many D'Oves by taking my fluffy self off into the next dimension to look after Mr BW's Daddy who died 51 days before me.

So I had to quickly find them another Kitten Familiar.

It was a bit of a tall order this time of year, particularly as they couldn't decide what colour they wanted, but, I found an appropriate multi-coloured one, that looked nothing like any they'd ever had before, eventually.

My plan was to have her installed at The Coven by the time BW got home from working in London last night. All was going to plan, and I'd arranged for Mr BW to be directed to the farm where she was born 13 or 14 weeks ago.

Unfortunately, although Mr BW immediately fell in love with her cute little round face, he was rather concerned as she was sniffling a bit, because it was very cold. It was also very dark, and he couldn't see well enough to check her over thoroughly. So, he arranged to return this morning with BW.

I was worried that BW might still be unsure, so I arranged for their new familiar to be sitting in the farmyard sunshine, on a log, with an Edward Dog at her side when they arrived there. I thought that was very clever.

So, she's now been at The Coven for 4 hours, and seems to be settling in well. They've called her The Ginger White and Tabby Familiar.

So, job done, this is The Ginger Familiar's Ghost signing off; I'm sure BW will tell you more about my successor later.

PS Please tell BW that I am truly sorry for the 6 D'Oves I killed during my time at The Coven. And for having to make poor Mr BW bury them, when I couldn't bring myself to eat them, before she found out. No-one told me that Mr BW was away on business on the morning that I accidentally got carried away and caught a pure white one which BW found, as long-term readers may well remember.

Her spell to get rid of the 'ploppy black tails', as she called them, was just a bit too strong you see. Still, at least Mr BW has told her now. I think she forgave me. But only because I was dead myself.

On which subject - I was rather touched by the sign BW made for the verge next to the lane outside The Coven where I met my end. Loads of people have slowed down, or stopped, to read it. One person who came by in a big silver car just after Mr BW had put it up, at 6.10pm on the night I died, even turned round and came back to read it. It may have been the person who killed me on their way to work, going back home after work. I have a bit of a blurry memory of that part of it... Good words though - 'Did you kill me and not have the decency to stop?' It seems to have made a few people think and slow down a bit, which is a good thing.

Now, all that remains is for me to keep watch over the Ginger White and Tabby Familiar to keep her safe, and for me to get the Parish Councillors to finally agree with my Blue Witchy Familiars that a 40mph speed limit is necessary on that road.

I'm special. No?

Hmmm... anyone else get this email yesterday?

Dear Blue Witch

We are contacting you to ask for your help in a survey of British bloggers which we are undertaking. We are research and teaching staff at The Robert Gordon University in Aberdeen

With the phenomenon of blogging growing at a tremendous pace worldwide, academic researchers have started to take an interest in this form of computer-mediated communication. However, the vast majority of the research undertaken so far has been American based.

We have therefore received funds from the university to undertake a survey of British bloggers, in particular focusing on their motivations for blogging. Your blog has been chosen as part of this research.

We would be very grateful if you could spend ten minutes undertaking the survey, which can be found at
https://www.rgu.ac.uk/***********

Thank you very much for your help. If you would like further information about our research, please email either Dr Sarah Pedersen (s.pedersen@rgu.ac.uk) or Dr Caroline Macafee (c.i.macafee@rgu.ac.uk). All respondents to the survey can be assured that their anonymity will be preserved in any academic papers based on this research.

Dr Sarah Pedersen and Dr Caroline Macafee

The Aberdeen Business School
Garthdee Road
Aberdeen
AB10 7QE

I keep getting this sort of email and I'm getting a bit tired of being an unpaid guinea pig for research on blogging to be honest (particularly when people are being paid to do the research).

I tried to look at the questionnarie last night, but couldn't make the page load. Is this indicative of the number of people who were 'specially selected' to take part I wonder?

What do others feel?

Thought for the day

Let us act on what we have, since we have not what we wish.

- John Henry Newman

The Ginger Familiar

12th July 1999 - 17th November 2005

Theory

Excessive drinking has been encouraged by pubs now taking credit cards.

Discuss.

Art Class 2005: Session 6

Having had to miss a couple of weeks as I was working or on holiday, Good Friend BW and I returned to our art class last week to find them deep in the heart of painting an English Winter.

Art Tutor provided some wonderfully atmospheric stimulus photos of winter scenes, and told us to do something 'different' with them. So I tried.

4"x6" photo on the left, more than A3 size painting on the right (drat, I didn't quite manage to crop the painting so that the horizon lines exactly match - interesting, too, that at the very low resolution I've used here, the shapes of the light in the photo looks very different to those of the stylised light in my painting - in actuality, they are very similar)

I got really annoyed with what I was doing because it wasn't coming out how I wanted it to. When I get annoyed, I stop concentrating, which was when the thin branches on the tree got added very half-heartedly.

The painting came the nearest that anything I've done in the last 15 months has come to ending up in the bin. The only thing that stopped me scrunching it into a most satisfactory round paper missile was the knowledge that the disaster was painted on a large sheet of heavyweight Bockingford Watercolour Paper that still had another useful side. Value tendencies run deep, you see.

Art Tutor, on the other hand, was jumping around the room telling everyone how brilliant it was, and what a good starting point it would be for a bold abstract design to take into another medium and do something splendiferous with.

Now, considering that Art Tutor currently has an art exhibtion of her own bold abstract pieces on view in a prominent regional venue (and that more than half of them sold at the Private View), Good Friend BW promptly decided that I was fast becoming Teacher's Prot�g�e. "You need to have confidence in what you could do," Art Tutor told me. "And you'll make lots of money doing that sort of thing!"

All well and good, except for the fact that I've always been able to do craft / design / display type things standing on my head, and I have no desire to make lots of money doing that sort of thing, because, as I've said before, the minute �sd enter into the equation, I lose interest rapidly.

Still, it is in my two favourite colours :)

Thought for the day

It is never too late to be what you might have been.

- George Eliot

What's in a name?

Yesterday I got junk email about "Season@1 Affi1i@te M@rket1ng" from a company called "Spreadshit.co.uk". Or, rather, that's what I thought they were called. There was actually an 'r' in the word.

For a company sending junk email, spreadshit was a much more appropriate name than the one with the 'r' in it, I thought.

But - would you employ a company to do a marketing job for you if their own brand image was so open to misinterpretation? I wouldn't.

By coincidence, MrBW also sent me a list of other companies who have very unfortunate domain names.

Given the amount of time and money that companies put into devising their company and product names, it's a pity they don't give similar consideration to the implications to their domain names.

Firstly there is 'Who Represents', a database for agencies to the rich and famous: http://www.whorepresents.com

Second is the 'Experts Exchange', a knowledge base where programmers can exchange advice and views: http://www.expertsexchange.com

Looking for a pen? Look no further than 'Pen Island': http://www.penisland.net

Need a therapist? Try: http://www.therapistfinder.com

There is an Italian Power company: http://www.powergenitalia.com (but they seem to have password proteceted their site now)

Finally we have the Mole Station Native Plant Nursery, based in New South Wales: http://www.molestationnursery.com

Do you know of any others?

Thought for the day

I realised a while ago that I allowed employment to anaesthetise me. It's a well evolved system which removes individuality under the illusion of 'teamwork' when ultimately it's all about money. Only most employers and employees are either unaware or not honest enough to face that. I wonder what would happen if they did?

- drD, 14.11.05

Their latest trick

We rarely watch advertisments on TV. We tape programmes on 'commercial' channels and watch them at a time of our choice, with the remote control to hand to fast forward through the inducements to needlessly over-spend and over-consume. Life's too short to waste it watching adverts for products in which we have zero interest.

Just occasionally, we do see adverts accidentally. This has happened twice recently. The first time we saw an advert for porridge oats using Windy Miller form Camberwick Green, and this evening an advert for a Supertramp album on sale at that supermarket that I boycott. The latter with a concluding statement along the lines of, 'Better than the music your kids listen to, eh?'.

The advertisers are getting cunning aren't they? Attempting to appeal to those of us late-30 and 40-somethings who are so turned off and immune to their usual pathetic attempts, through our childhood favourites.

Are there any other examples of this tactic?

Update: 34sp support have done a quick spell and tell me that the problem described below should now be fixed - please let me know if you find there's still a problem. See... you can still get timely customer care in this world!

There appears to be an intermittent problem somewhere that is occasionally producing the error message, "Got an error: Bad ObjectDriver config: Connection error: Too many connections". This is occurring both when I try to post something, and when people are trying to comment.

Therefore, please use ctrl/a then ctrl/c before you try to send your comment and then ctrl/v to repost it if you get the error message the first time. Or post it into an email if it still doesn't work.

Sorry - I suspect it's a server problem at 34sp (are any of you other 34sp bods finding this - there's nothing on the server status page?), and if not I'm stuffed as Mr Dressmaker is off on his travels this week.

I saw the whole of the Moon

First hard frost here last night. 2.4 degrees on the weather station, although methinks it was colder as the sensor is a bit protected tucked up into the soffit, to, well, protect it.

Luckily everything, including us BWs, was already tucked up warmly. That is, in bed, in the greenhouse, or in the summerhouse. But, there are still green leaves on many of the trees. Unbelievable for November 14th. I wonder what Shrublet thinks is causing this if it isn't climate change?

Brilliant annotation of the moon over Bignjuicyville by drD here. He's managed to identify the positions of all the Apollo landing sites, something I've often wondered about. Mind you, I've also wondered why no-one's produced pictures of the debris left behind by those missions...

But, for some annoying reason, I can't seem to make the annotation print onto one page in any way I normally can, to enable me to take it outside next time I peer through my telescope. I could save the image and resize it, but it shouldn't be that difficult. Better not do a spell, judging by my 'success' rate of late...

Thought for the day

You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Monetesque

Blue Witchery

My spells are getting more out of control.

Spooky things are happening.

For example, yesterday's post brought a credit card bill with a transaction I didn't recognise. "BW! £7" it said. I checked with Mr BW, who also did not recognise it. However, by this morning he had remembered that he did buy something for that amount, on the date in question, for me, for my Witchday, at a shop in the town where he works. He wouldn't, of course, tell me what it was. And the shop is obviously not called 'BW'.

And then there are the thoughts that accidentally turn into spells that cause things to happen.

Regular readers with good memories may recall the saga of the changing of The Coven's electricity meter that I wrote about here? I don't think I ever wrote about what happened after, but it got a whole lot worse, and, I think ended up taking 5 technicians visits to resolve (I refuse to call them 'engineers' or 'electricians' because none of them did work of an adequate quality to make me believe they were). One broke the meter cupboard door, and all but the last one managed to have no clue why they'd been sent out, and no idea how to solve the problem.

Needless to say, I got my Witchy Consumer Teeth into the Chief Executive and I ended up with a total of £50 in 3 separate 'goodwill payments' (NB in a situation like this, never ask for 'compensation', always ask for a 'goodwill payment' - they don't have budget headings for 'compensation' as this is viewed as a matter for insurance, whereas they do have budgets for 'customer goodwill').

This £50, together with unintentional Witchy Cost-Saving measures (like using the laptop rather than the main PC for most of the summer, which seems to have saved £45 over the quarter - or 50p a day in electricity - listen up you people who leave your PCs on permanently, it's costing you £180 a year...) meant that our quarterly electricity bill ended up nearly £10 in credit.

I thought to myself, "Hmmm, I object to them having an interest-free loan on that money for 3 months until the next bill is due!" but I decided that the interest I could otherwise get on the £10 would be less than the cost of an 0845 rate phonecall to their customer services* to get it refunded.

Anyway - this morning I have received a letter from the electricity company informing me that the money has been credited back into my bank account anyway.

How's that for a psychic spell? :)

* actually, not strictly true as I do know a way (courtesty of the "say no to 0870" link in the sidebar) of ringing their customer services for nothing - ring the meter reading 0800(freephone) line and don't follow the instructions, so you eventually get put through to customer services anyway, so saving yourself 5p per minute in call charges

I wish...

At the till in a shop today I saw something, consisting of half a piece of very thin A4 card divided longways, folded into four in zig-zag fashion, with the numbers 1 to 100 printed on it in one colour, with the title "Wish List for Santa".

It was 49p.

I picked it up, stared at it incredulously, and said to the cashier, "Do people really buy these?" She smiled knowingly and replied, "I know! But we've sold nearly a thousand in the week they've been out!"

Why?

Design evolution

I went to a fascinating talk on the development of musical instruments the other evening.

One of the things the presenter said was how little most instruments have changed since they were invented.

By contrast, he asked us to think of man-made products that have not changed at all in design during our lifetimes.

The only one the group of more than 50 people present could come up with was an Oxo cube. Mr BW says that Coke bottles haven't changed either.

Can you think of any more?

Thought for the day

Wisdom never kicks at the iron walls it can't bring down.

- Olive Shreiner

Appropriate names

I've just had a letter from HSBC.
It's from their 'Centre Manager'.
His name is "Mr R L Proffitt".

Do you think this is why he got the job, or did he change it by deed poll to curry favour? :)

Yesterday's post

Thank you to all those of you who provided yesterday's text while I was busy driving up and down the A12, wondering whether 6 speed cameras and 2 'slow down 40' signs in each direction (and yes, you do slow down when you get to 40, if you've any sense ;)) of a 3 mile stretch of roadworks just before Brentwood was a record (and there was not a single person working on any part of all day).

Here's the finished effort:

I was riding into town earlier on my Value Broomstick, when suddenly I saw a sparkly black dress

I realised that I had forgotten to add a full stop to my previous sentence.

So the choices were to buy:
a) a sparkly black dress;
b) a new marrow; or
c) a fridge.

Unfortunately, just as I was reaching for both my purse and my decision-making wand, I was distracted by the arrival of a Scottish Thane.

I realised as soon as I'd done it that I'd inadvertently pulled out my spells wand, and changed the Thane - by accident- into a small purple lizard. The lizard (incidentally called Arty, surname Choke) turned out to be a chameleon and proceeded to turn BRIGHT PINK.

Now, as you know, witches don't do pink, so I popped home to collect my paintbrushes and paint, but on my arrival home there, to my amazement, sitting in the middle of The Coven Grounds, was an enormous pile of credit cards, all of which had 0% interest for the next nine months. Being a Value Witch I immediately wrote a strongly worded e-mail of complaint about the waste of paper, used up all the reply-paid envelopes to return extraneous bumph, and transferred £4m from existing credit cards thereby saving myself enough to buy a small bank, should I so desire (which I don't).

So there I was, feeling pretty chipper courtesy of lots of free money, when I saw that underneath the pile of credit cards was sitting a small green gnome, whose angry stare was directed at his owner Greavsie, seemingly for sidelining him as a comedy sub-writer on his blog. The gnome was brandishing a rather large marrow, given his small stature, and was threatening to threaten the Ginger Familiar with it. But he was in trouble - having bought the marrow at an end-of-day knockdown price, it was beginning to droop rather, leaving the Ginger Familiar free to advance without any cucumbrous fears to overcome.

Meanwhile, the still BRIGHT PINK - "Arty" decided to wonder through town to a rather un-English bus shelter where he found an abandoned dog who looked very much like Edward worrying a small courgette.

The courgette was worried because the small dog was wearing a smart tartan suit, not something that it was used to seeing. The reason said small dog was wearing his best tartan suit was to try and charm BW in to giving him the recipe for the Chocolate Meringue Gateau that he had been waiting for for what seemed like absolutely ages.

Upon learning this, the courgette gave a little sigh of relief as it was pretty sure the recipe did not include green vegetables. However, the recipe did include radishes, which was unfortunate because the small green gnome was violently protective of all things radish-related, and so I put the courgette in my new fridge (did I forget to tell you I picked one up cheap in Cephalonia?) to keep it cool on these unseemly warm evenings at The Coven.

The irony that it was because of all of these cheap fridges in the first place that we had such unseasonably warm weather was, I'm sure, not wasted on the courgette as I placed it to chill on its shelf.

The plan was to preserve the courgette long enough to perhaps bring it to the next class and sketch it, sans the bright purple background demanded by the instructor of course, more likely in a nice BW blue.

No sooner had I placed the courgette onto the chilly shelf than there was another Scottish Thane at the door looking for advice about his hives. "Those are not hives," I said " but acne, probably brought about by the over-use of non-organic, high-interest call centres."

I'd write a proper critique, but a crisis has just blown up (someone else's, not mine, I hasten to add), so I need to attend to that. So, I'll summarise:

(a) There are some careful readers with good memories amongst you.
(b) There are some readers who are scarily good at imitating my style. Or taking the piss. Depending how you look at it :)
(c) There is one very patient reader who seized the opportunity for a little reminder. Sorry Chris. Soon, really.
(d) People who responded seem to think I am obsessed with courgettes and marrows. I can't possibly comment ;)
(e) I'm really not sure about the gnome. Or the Scottish Thane. However ;)
(f) It's scary how many commentators fail to understand that 'a sentence' begins with a capital letter and (generally) ends with a full stop :)

All in all though, a pretty good job I thought. Well done to all contributors - and a BW Blue Star each :)

Any more observations?

Thought for the day

Love looks through a telescope; envy, through a microscope.

- Josh Billings

Free post

Right.
Today's challenge is to write today's post in the comments.

Each person is allowed to add only one sentence at a time.
You can add as many sentences as you like as long as they aren't consecutive (ie someone else has to add something in between your contributions).
Only topics that I might write about can be used.

Out for the day, and no time to write what I would have written today, moi? Play along nicely now.... And let's see some of you voiceless lurkers delurking, eh? ;)

Thought for the day

Imagination is the highest kite one can fly.

- Lauren Bacall

Cinderella doesn't want to go to the ball

Oh dear, dear, dear. My spells are out of control. They're even happening when I don't mean them to.

Take last night for example. Mr BW was attempting to persuade me to accompany him to an important awards ceremony he has to attend for work on Thursday evening.

Now, making false small talk and being unnecessarily polite to people I've never met, would never choose to meet, and with whom I would be unlikely to have anything in common is not my thing. And I don't suffer fools gladly. As you may have gathered by now, if you've been reading for more than 10 minutes :)

I can do it, and do it admirably (I'm told), but that's when I'm being paid to do it, and the subject matter is within my professional expertise. But, when the small talk is likely to be of a PR/ marketing/ media spectacular/ company profitability nature, my eyes glaze over and I find myself wanting to point out all the problems with today's consumeristic lifestyle. For starters.

So, basically, of course, I'm scared to go. You see, I know nothing about the latest TV programmes, films, music, sport or 'celebrities'. Nothing at all. Other than what I read on your blogs, of course. And I couldn't talk about my 'witchy interests' now could I, because then all the important company dignitaries in the area would forever think that Mr BW is as odd as me. Which he's not. Obviously.

This kind of glitzy awards ceremony, with 20 course dinner, as much free alcohol as you care to inflict on your liver, live music, dancing, and after-dinner casino games, is not really Mr BW's thing either. It hadn't actually occurred to me when he had PR bolted onto his existing role a few months ago that attending this sort of thing would be an expectation.

So, I was trying to find a way out of it for both of us.

"Mr BW, I don't have anything that I could possibly wear to a black tie dinner, now do I? No dress, no shoes, no dinky bag just big enough for a lipstick (I think I do just about still have an old lipstick somewhere...). I don't even think that I currently possess a pair of tights. And, come to that, there's no way that you'll fit into your dinner suit - the one you got married in - you, like me, have put on a stone and a half since we got married the best part of 11 years ago!"

"Ah, but, BW, that's where you're wrong! I've already tried it on and it still fits. In fact, it's actually a bit big."

"Fibber!" I said, "That's absolutely totally and utterly impossible!"

"Don't you remember, BW," continued Mr BW, "as a Value Witch you refused to buy trousers that fitted me then. If you recall, I had shrunk from a 36" waist to just about a 34" waist, following the Big Wedding Diet, but you still made me buy 38" waist ones, saying, 'That'll allow for future growth and you'll get a lifetime's use out of them.' I had to have an extra-wide cummerbund and braces to hold them up and cover the pleats, and I couldn't take my jacket off despite it being 35 degrees on the tropical island where we got married."

Something stirred deep in my memory.

"Bugger," I thought, "Bugger. That 'nothing to wear excuse' just isn't going to work for both of us, is it?"

"Well," I said, "you may fit into your dinner suit, but I certainly won't fit into my wedding dress. And anyway, there isn't time to get it dyed as I always thought I might, for such an occasion. And, I'm certainly not spending £200 of Sacred Witchy Pennies on an outfit I'd only ever wear once - even if I had the time or inclination to go shopping for one between now and Thursday."

I thought, but didn't say, "I'd need to be very, very, very sick before I'd ever lose enough weight to fit back into my wedding dress. But, I'm a Sentimental Hoarding Witch, so I shall carry on keeping it anyway."

Lo and behold, the thought somehow transmogrified into a spell.

For 2 hours between 3am and 5am, I was very, very sick etc (I'll spare you the details in case you're eating as you're reading). And then I somehow managed to fall asleep, with the bed in its upright position, until 5.30am, when I was very, very ill again, even though I thought there was nothing left to be more ill with.

And I'd still be in bed now, except that I have Architect BW here measuring up for the Great BW Expansion Plan. "You don't look very well!" he said as I opened the door to him.

In case anyone's interested - I think what made me ill was the raw runner bean seeds that I ate as I was de-podding them from their dried skins last night. I know they always say not to eat raw beans, but I love them, and I didn't think 4, 5, or 6 (I can't remember exactly how many I ate) would have quite that bad an effect.

*goes off to sip more water and gingerly nibble a small-size Carr's water biscuit*

Oh dear, dear, dear. My spells are out of control. They're even happening when I don't mean them to.

Thought for the day

If you aren't good at loving yourself, you will have a difficult time loving anyone, since you'll resent the time and energy you give another person that you aren't even giving to yourself.

- Barbara De Angelis

Olde English

10 year old Pupil BW: BW, that's 10p off your pocket money!

BW: I beg your pardon Pupil BW????

Pupil BW: You just said 'yer' rather than 'yes'! My mummy takes 10p off my pocket money every time I am lazy and say 'yer'. And what's more, it's the first time I've ever heard you say it, and, I'm going to tell my mummy because she says that I should try and speak like you because you speak proper.

BW: Properly, Pupil BW, or, rather more 'properly', correctly.

Well, it made her day - although she has had to wait a whole year for me to slip up...

Result. Well... sort of...

Nice to see from the stats from while I was away that M&S notice when BW moans about their poor customer service - or, rather, threatens to if they don't sort themselves out...

*Adds M&S to list of companies known to trawl blogs for negative things about themselves*

As no doubt they'll turn up here again now, I'll just add that, M&S your company policy of returning customers' goods to the shelves if they are half way through having a multi-item transaction rung up when there is a need to evacuate a store, irrespective of whether the customer has made it clear to the sales assistant, and separately to a manager, that they will be returning to collect the goods is CRAZY. £15 in gift vouchers to compensate for the rude attitude of your store manager when I complained, and 3 hours of my wasted time is rather insulting, although you might have thought it was a generous gesture of goodwill. Sorry, but I don't get out of bed in the morning for £5 an hour... and nor does the person in your Chief Exectutive's Department who answered my letter, I'll bet...

And if anyone is interested in M&S' new line in faceless consistent corporate customer care, The Gober Method, here's a blogger exposing it.

M&S - fast going down the Tesco "customer last, profits first" route. And now on my 'only go to when desperate' list. Which is a shame, because, having worked there as a student I used to have the upmost regard for the company. In my day, you'd have been sacked for chewing gum or talking to your friends instead of attending to customers - now it seems the norm. BW is not impressed M&S.

Thought for the day

I do not want to be right in theory but in nature.

- Paul Cézanne

Where I'd rather still be

The Controversial Witch Returns

A short summary of some of the thoughts that have filled My Small Blue Mind over the past week follows.
(Not all of the statements are true, but at least one is in each case.
Pick your own answer(s) to suit your politics/sensibilities/beliefs.
I'd hate to be upsetting anyone after all ;))

Sunday 30th. After a bracing walk along the seashore, lunch in a (once excellent) pub the BWs have been going to for many years. The selected dish - Seafood Soup - turned out to be tinned tomato with 4 prawns and an unidentified blob of something white floating in it, and stale hunks of brown bread. BW:

- Shrugged and ate it anyway.
- Immediately sent it back.
- Demanded to see the chef, planning to give him a cookery lesson, but left in disgust after he failed to appear after 5 minutes.
- Refused to pay.
- Laughed when a local told her the new owners were 'in financial difficulties' and that most villagers no longer went there.
- Vowed not to return until the owners change.

Monday 31st. Witches' Christmas. BW:

- Thought: how lovely that everyone is celebrating with me!
- Had a Purple afternoon.
- Thought: another American-inspired opportunity for people to spend money they haven't got on tat they don't need that will be in landfill in a week's time.
- Thought: teach your children to extort gifts with menances from strangers. Excellent.
- Said to Mr BW: let's not answer the door. It's someone else's door anyway.
- Threw a bucket of cold water out of the upstairs window of their rented cottage over a group of extortees, shouting "Trick!!! Now bloody well go home and stop annoying people!"
- Didn't have anyone knock on the door.

David Blunkett. BW thought:

- Well, that's a Value saving for the country. No more having to braille all those papers at the DWP.
- Wonder how long before he gets to hold Mandy's hand in Brussels?
- How will he keep poor Rover Sadie in dog food now?
- None so blind as those who can't see.
- Did he get free DNA testing through having all those shares in DNA Bioscience?
- How could anyone want to go to bed with that?

Fireworks. BW Thought:

- 1605 terrorism celebrated in 2005 by yobs inducing terror in animals and people for weeks on end.
- Fireworks should be banned.
- Fireworks should be banned except at licensed public displays.
- How different might our lives be now had the infamous Guido been successful?
- There are so many better things that all that money could have been spent on.
- Fireworks are pretty.

The President of Pakistan's complaints about the low level of world aid following the earthquake. BW thought:

- I thought that one was supposed to be grateful for whatever gifts one received?
- See, I said at the time of the tsunami that people only gave as they did because it happened on Boxing Day and there was wall-to-wall media coverage.
- So that's where certain immigrants get their ideas about entitlement...
- How could a country like Pakistan possibly be thinking of spending £2000M on 40 more F-16 fighter planes (to go with the 30 they already have) from the US anyway?
- And, knowing the situation in that part of the world, why were the Americans planning to supply them?

Burial of London Murderer/Bomber. BW thought:
- His remains should have been put in black binbags and deposited in landfill in several different anonymous places in London, not allowed out of England so that somewhere between 100 and 200 (depending on source) muslims in Pakistan could celebrate his life and splendid and selfless dedication to their 'cause'.
- Erm, no, there can be no choice for this one.

'Christmas.' BW:

- Finished her gift shopping and wrapped everything.
- Agreed with The Good Friends BW (with whom we spent a happy and alcohol-and-good-food-filled catch-up evening) that ritualistic exchanges of presents were henceforth unnecessary, and breathed a sigh of relief.
- Saw real christmas trees already on sale in a farm shop.
- Laughed at certain councils banning the phrases 'christmas tree' in favour of 'winter tree' and 'christmas lights' in favour of 'winter lights' as the former terms are considered offensive to some. This is England. If you don't like our terminology and customs, it's very simple. Don't come here/piss off somewhere else!
- Wondered why black trees are so popular this year.

And yes, we did have a nice relaxing break (although rather wet and windy - it was Devon after all), thanks for asking.