The phrase which has been uppermost in my mind for the last couple of hours is “What the actual £$%@?” This is in response to our household insurers, who, somehow, have a conniving, devious loophole in whatever multiple-paged, tiny-fonted, scheming document we signed when we agreed to contents insurance for another year.
Yes, I’d still prefer to be insured (on the whole).
Yes, if the house burned down or the place was ransacked, I’d prefer to be insured.
But What. The. Actual. £$%@?
It took Husby and our insurance broker several phonecalls to establish that no, in fact, there will be no remuneration for the stolen bike. Not a sausage.
Their reasoning for the casual disregard of the stolen-ness and subsequent lack of several hundred pounds worth of bike – ‘Violence and force were not used – nothing has been broken.’
So, let me get this straight; we could have everything stolen from our abode and as long as the thieves are skilled enough not to break anything (locks, doors, that kind of thing), we get zilch. Zip. Nada.
Dear Insurers, you conniving, underhanded, obliquitous, loophole-loving bastards, you SUCK.
Fascinating news for British would-be adopters today – a new map has been published showing the numbers of children waiting for adoption in different areas of the country. Whilst interesting and undoubtedly one of the new measures coming in alongside the supposedly reduced waiting time for people approved to move forward in the adoption process, the map comes with a caution against raised hopes and an emphasis on the fact that prospective parents will still be thoroughly vetted first.As they should be, but the sad fact is, I expect the map would be coloured vastly differently if Local Authority data was published pertaining to the time it takes for them to process an adoption. Sadly, where social workers are not ringfenced, many of them spend most of their time fighting the fire that is urgent child protection cases.
As they absolutely should, but it does seem to mean that adoption gets pushed to the back of the queue, with no-one to take up the slack. The other matter is that if your adoption is not processed through a Local Authority, then the agencies are only able to offer the ‘left on the shelf’ children (this may be a gross overstatement) and the LA offers the easiest, most desirable children to those on its books.
Had a brilliant conversation about dreams with some of my college mates. One occasionally has lucid dreams in which everything is utterly identical to real life, except he’s in control, he’s invincible and he can make anything happen. I’m jealous. Another friend no longer dreams, another gets ‘plopped’ into a dream, but, like me, sometimes dreams in first person or narrative (I often switch between the two). I also re-dream and do things differently than last time the dream was dreamed.
The other thing which marks my dreams out from those of my friends; I’m not always me in my dream. Sometimes I’m other people, though not anyone real. There seems to be no rhyme no reason for it, but it happens with stunning regularity. I could be anyone and it’s usually fantastic fun being someone else, acting as they would and navigating their life and relationships as they would.
The last psychedelic dream I had, I was me. I was visiting a friend (who in real life I haven’t seen in over a year) who had a part in a play. I was also meant to be doing this play but hadn’t realised. The part I was playing was the pantomime dame (not sure why) and I had to make myself up to look like a man in pantomime dame makeup (I remember doing the contouring in the mirror backstage) and my stage husband was played by a very cheeky, twinkly, old man.
As the play continued, I kept having to rush into the wings to read the script and find out what my next lines were, because I hadn’t known I was in the play. My friend was getting crosser and crosser at me because I didn’t know the lines and halfway through the play, the stage morphed into a giant water tank with a clear side towards the audience and we finished the play by swimming it.
I may have to look out and see if there are any psychological/science-based explanations for dreams which aren’t utter hokum.
Following last week’s optimism, my new year’s resolution is going rubbishly – utterly, totally pantsly. So I’m changing tack (it’s my resolution and if I want to amend half-way through, I consider I have absolute rights to) and I’m going to aim to be in bed by 1.30am for the next week, 1 for the week after that and 12 for the week following. Trying to go from a standard 2.30-3am bedtime to midnight in one fell swoop has proved inefficient and frankly, rather naive.
I have discovered this week that I know squat about business plans. I don’t think my mind really works that way. I have great ideas and am in the process of researching niches in the market and developing proposals, but I don’t know if I’m the person to carry them off. I wonder if I could sell the ideas instead and let someone else carry them to fruition. I wouldn’t make the ongoing profit but they’re good business plans and the ultimate point would be to benefit the customer demographic, so that might not be the end of the world. I wonder if there’s any position open for a ‘bright spark’ – some kind of innovator who can come up with a great idea or solution and then hasn’t to be bogged down in the completer-finisher-ness of it all. I remember we took the Belbin test at work and I came out as ‘the one you only want one of on a team, and possibly not even that many – I truly am a plant.
Am hoping that somewhere along the line there is some serious recompense for those who take the hard, straight, narrow path rather than the wide, easy path. Having been in similar (in fact, slightly better) penniless situation to someone I know, I have found out that this someone (and various others in my acquaintance) are raking in the cash by supplying a particular demand. A widely held and largely not-that-frowned-upon non-exploitational demand, but nonetheless, one which would warrant official sanctions if supply were found. Sometimes I wish I had no morals, no conscience (or at least hugely less than I have) and could enjoy participating in reaping the financial rewards. Life would be easier, forsure, and as long as no-one is being hurt, the justification seems almost easy.
The more I find out about school for young children from the children I know and from being involved with a local school, the less I want to send any children I may have in the future, to school. The whole system’s in a bad way so far as I can see. Hope I don’t have to enter it and that it all improves ASAP.