Cat Woman

Posted on February 1, 2008 by Hails

I think my landlady is descended from cats. This may sound like a wild, unfounded allegation, but, like all theories, it must not be dismissed until proved unreliable. Let’s look at the evidence.

Men in general have a dislike of cats because, as Red puts it, “they’re sleekit, sneaky, underhanded, and you just couldn’t trust them”. Some, like my friend Jay, have even attempted to extend the hand of friendship to a particular cat (who shall remain nameless), having been lured in by its look of sweet innocence, affectionate glances etc, only to be deeply wounded when said cat lashed out in sudden, unprovoked, vicious and unforeseen attack. Man retreats, hurt and angry; cat resumes innocent purring as if butter wouldn’t melt in its mouth.

My Landlady called round last night.

“I meant to get in to see you before Christmas,” she said apologetically as I hastily ceased my happy, doorbell-inspired dance and opened the door for her, “so this is a belated ‘Little Something’ for you.” She handed me a box of Milk Tray and a bottle of Chardonnay. How lovely! I have the best landlady ever, who brings wine and chocolates and calls in for a cup of coffee and a natter instead of a full-on house inspection.

We chatted for ages over our coffee, and she was a pleasure to talk to. I received so many compliments about my clothes, weight, figure, smile, hair, perfection as a tenant and general ability to breathe that my head was spinning by the time she stood up to leave. What a lovely, sweet lady.

“Oh, by the way,” she said, reaching me a sheet of paper as an afterthought, “would you mind awfully if we asked you to change the way you pay your rent?” I glanced at the page and saw some new bank details. “It’s just we’re tidying up our finances and trying to get one account sorted out for rent money, so if you could maybe cancel your standing order and just set up a direct debit into this account instead…?”

I nodded agreeably, anxious to please this pleasant, likeable woman. “No problem. The rent goes out on the 10th of the month, doesn’t it? So I’ve got time to get it sorted for February’s payment. I’ll get that organised ASAP.”

“Err… yes, yes, great. Good. Well, I’ll be off,” she said, sounding a little flustered. She took off into the wind and the rain, and I cheerfully waved goodbye. “Good to see you!” I called after her.

I have now looked more carefully at the page. She’s only gone and written a new list of dates that the direct debits should be made, so that the rent now falls due every four weeks instead of every calendar month. Which, to put it simply, means I now make thirteen payments per year instead of twelve. Having sat angrily punching numbers into a calculator, I have found that this means I’m now paying nearly £40 extra per month.

Do I look like I have £40 spare in the month? Do I?! (Clue: I shop in Lidl’s and my socks all have holes in the toes.)

I am forming a strongly worded phone call in my head, yet I will be incapable of making it because she brought me gifts and showered me with compliments. It would be like kicking the cat for leaving pawprints on the floor, when she’s nuzzling me with her furry wee head and purring sweetly.

Landladies, cats…. no difference, they both walk all over me and I apparently just sit here and let them.

Filed under: anger, cat, chocolate, complaining, conversations, greed, landlady, Lidl, money, one big fat money-making scam, rant, rent | 4 Comments »

In Which I Try My Hand At Writing A Consumer Review

Posted on November 10, 2007 by Hails

I spent this afternoon in Tesco. Yes, all of it. In its entirety. The whole flamin’ afternoon.

I’m not one to get all excited when a new shop/store/supermarket opens, and run there instantly with the hordes of people who are for some reason all excited. Zed is – she went to the WNT (Wonderful New Tesco) on whatever night it was last week that the blasted place opened. “Have you been to Tesco’s yet?” she asked everyone for the rest of the week, with an air of smuganicity. Apparently they had 80,000 people through the doors on their first day. Choirs sang at the entrance and there were balloons and various forms of entertainment. Why? Why??!!! It is a supermarket, not some kind of awesome rocket-launching event.

Anyway, it so happened that today it was time for my once-fortnightly grocery shop. I also had to get the car washed, as it has been becoming increasingly difficult to see out of the window lately, owing to the layer of muck and grime being sprayed on by passing lorries (probably Tesco ones, although I do not wish to make any unfounded allegations) on a now daily basis. Thus, having used the very efficient car-washing people in Pennybridge, I decided that I might as well do my shopping in the WNT, since it was marginally closer to my current location than Lidl.

Parking was troublesome. I swung round a corner to try scanning a new row for a space, and found myself in a very long, very still queue. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was queuing for, so I waited interestedly for a while, quickly got bored, and followed the example of various others by inching out of the queue, turning, and scarpering. I found a space, after some confusion and a small incident with a runaway trolley, and got out of the car, several miles away from the WNT.

After a pleasant hike through the rain, I entered the WNT, and instantly found myself involved in a minor scuffle with a harrassed-looking woman who was too engaged with screaming at her out-of-control infants to care that she was ramming her trolley into my hip bone. This did not bode well for the immediate future. I gripped my trolley with grim determination.

I do not want to talk about the rest of my experience, other than to express my annoyance at the narrowness of the aisles, my anger at the rudeness of a large number of my fellow Ballymenians, my confusion about the layout of the store, and my extreme regret at not having gone to Lidl’s. By the time I emerged, aching and exhausted, the car park seemed to have been transported on to the M2, and the tailback reached the outskirts of Belfast. Cursing the experimental part of my brain that had told me to ‘just go and see what it’s like’, I trudged around the (now dark) car park trying to find Rio the Clio, loaded my shopping, returned my trolley, got into the car, and moved forward approximately 2.5 inches to join the queue. Then I sat there for three quarters of an hour. I swear, three quarters of an hour, just to get out. How? Why??!!! I couldn’t see what the hold-up was, and the only explanation I could find was that every motorist in the area was trying to get as far away from the WNT as possible, all at the same time. There were cars queuing from every direction.

My frozen veggies dripped sadly over the back seat. I banged my head dismally off the steering wheel several times. I have been at venues like The Odyssey and the Waterfront, where several thousand concert-goers are attempting to leave the car park at the same time, and it doesn’t take as long as it took me to get to the exit of the WNT car park. It makes No Sense Whatsoever.

Anyway, I’m home now. I have refrozen my frozen goods and will no doubt contract salmonella at some point in the near future. I will keep you – and Tesco – informed. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to purchase some chocolate and crisps. I hear them calling to me.

Filed under: Ballymena, Car, chocolate, complaining, confusion, driving, freak-out, Lidl, rant, road rage, sheer silliness, shopping, tension, Tesco | 3 Comments »

Important Decisions

Posted on September 12, 2007 by Hails

“Zed?” I ask seriously as my colleague approaches my desk. “Do you have any strong feelings about toilet roll?”

Zed pauses reflectively, then shakes her head. “No. I mean, I have some feelings – obviously - but not strong ones. Why, do you?”

I nod earnestly, and she pulls up a chair, preparing herself for the onslaught. “Let’s hear it, then.”

I explain my thoughts, which have stemmed from a realisation on my way home last night that I had no toilet roll left in the house. I stopped in at the Spar on the Grove Road, and surveyed the toilet roll aisle. It was the first time in my life that I’d performed this task with the serious contemplation I now realise it deserves. Money was, until very recently, no object to me. This was a mistake, as I now realise (now that I don’t have enough, I mean). There are significant savings to be made in the most trivial and simple ways; for example, shopping at Lidl instead of Sainsbury’s, being organised about meals (as opposed to buying a Chinese here and a pre-packaged sandwich there), and – crucially – looking at the entire selection of toilet rolls on the shelves instead of just grabbing the one with the cutest animal on the packet.

I found myself overwhelmed and a little panicky as I tried to evaluate my prioities. Priorities concerning toilet roll were never something I’d ever had to consider in the Good Old Days (when I had money). “So,” I explain to Zed, “I’m looking at the 4-pack of Andrex and it says £2.49. And I’m thinking, holy cow, that’s an awful lot of money for something I’m going to intentionally flush down the toilet. Then I glance across and see 4 rolls of Spar own-brand economy toilet roll for 69p. Why would I spend £2.49 when I could spend 69p? So I examined it and realised that it was so thin, I’d probably go through more than double the amount, so it’d work out more expensive and less convenient in the long run, because before I know it I’m going to be standing here having this dilemma all over again.”

Zed is being very understanding. “I understand,” she says. “What did you do in the end – you did buy some toilet roll, didn’t you?”

I nod. “Lotus,” I inform her. “4 rolls, £1.29, not too thin, but not too dear. Would you say I made the right choice?” I’m looking anxiously at her, awaiting her sage advice. To my relief, she is nodding approvingly, proudly, even.

McBouncy appears and is brought up to speed on the situation. We ask how she chooses her toilet roll.

“Do you know there’s actually perfumed stuff these days?” she asks scornfully. “What a ridiculous idea. Why on earth would you want to perfume something that’s going to end up smelling like -”

“Which brand do you buy, McBouncy?” asks Zed hastily.

“I buy in bulk,” she says cheerfully. “Sports Relief phoned me and made me an offer – 60 rolls of toilet roll and 100 bin liners for £75.” We look at her incredulously. “You bought 60 rolls of toilet roll?” I splutter. “…for £75?” adds Zed. “AND 100 bin liners!” adds McBouncy, as if this makes it perfectly understandable. We stare at her. “Plus… it was for charity…” she finishes lamely.

If someone phoned McBouncy up and asked her to purchase a small Pygmy tribe, and they were giving away a free drinking straw with every order, she would do it.

Filed under: conversations, Lidl, money, Sainsbury's, shopping, toilet roll, weird | 8 Comments »

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.