Making Christmas great

Everyone's in the same boat, I'm told. Nobody, but nobody has any money this year. To clarify, we are all skint. So all the people milling in and out of shops in various high streets across the land must be spending money they haven't got then. Far be it from me to pontificate on other people's finances, but I decided that to make things easier for us this year, I would impose a ban on myself - from visiting any kind of shopping area. This is actually easier than it sounds, since the only shop within several miles is of the village store variety. A great little place but mostly stocked with food items, so unlikely to tempt me when it comes to presents.
Accordingly, we have taken a brisk trip down the home made present road, and the result, I have to say, has been deeply satisfying. Home made wine, jam and biscuits, all gussied up with pretty labels, ribbons and boxes, each a tasty reminder that lovely presents don't have to cost loads, or require an exhausting process of battling hordes of tired stressed fellow shoppers.
The tree is up, the presents and home made cards wrapped and delivered, and yes we are ready for Christmas. And while I'm on the subject of being ready for Christmas, I reckon I'm also ready for the aftermath of this one day. Which of course is the rest of the year, and the nice shiny new one waiting for us. It's going to be great.

Aren't we all put on this earth to look after each other? Isn't that the way it's supposed to work? It seems sensible to me - and it also seems to me that the world is divided - into those who do and those who don't.
We hear terrible stories on the news of someone being beaten senseless in full view of a crowd of people. Or a girl being dragged by her partner screaming through a crowded precinct, while shoppers stand and stare. But last time we witnessed a clearly violent man bullying his partner outside a pub, my own partner was only prevented from stepping in by the fact that three other people had got there first. One of them a woman. And when I saw a young girl go into an epileptic fit in the street, she and her carers were immediately surrounded by offers of help, phones and blankets.
There are those who instinctively help and protect their fellow man in this world and those who don't. But I prefer to think there are more of the former.

It's so easy to be sucked into that 'what do you expect at my age?' nonsense. The assumptions by condescending medical staff that if you're over 45 you must be on some kind of medication. The temptation to blame any kind of ache and pain on your advancing age, and worst of all the insiduous and extremely creepy sensation that you are slightly less important than someone twenty years younger.
However, you may or may not be glad to know that I have resisted all this, and am very happy to say bollocks to it all. Personally I intend to remain fit healthy active and presentable until I am ready to turn up my toes - which I shall do with grace and style. And looking around me at people two decades younger, I'd rather, dare I say it, look and feel like me at my age, than them at theirs.
Age rage? Too right.

Scamming the scammer

If the working day drags a bit, why not take a leaf out of my book, and, instead of cursing the scammers, have a bit of fun with them. Sadly, this one didn't go as far as I would have liked - I planned a lot more correspondence with this would be Russian agent. But as you see, our cosy chat came to an abrupt end. I haven't given up though - I'll be emailing him on a daily basis from now on....


----- Original Message -----
From: "TOM WEST"
To:
Sent: Thursday, November 05, 2009 9:17 AM
Subject: ACCOMMODATION BOOKING

Greetings,
How are you today?
I want to make a reservation in your facility for 2 couples from
Russia,
on there forth-coming honeymoon.
Date :20th to 30th January, 2010.
There are 2 couples.
1. Kindly get back to me with your total cost for 2
couples for the duration of 10 nights stay.
2. So that i can send you my credit card for immediate
deposit.
Arrival Date: January 20th
Departure Date: January 30th
Number Of People: 4
Number Of Room :2
Kindest Regards
TOM WEST
tomwest007@gmail.com


On 11/5/09, Deborah Dooley wrote:

Hello Tom, how nice to hear from you. Yes, those dates are fine. Our
rates
are £500 per person, per night (to include champagne in the rooms), and
I
would ask you for a deposit of 20%. If this is acceptable, please send
me
your credit card details and I will make the booking.
all best
The proprieter

----- Original Message -----
From: "TOM WEST"
To: "Deborah Dooley"
Sent: Friday, November 06, 2009 4:23 AM
Subject: UPDATE
Good day,
Thanks for your reply. I am glad to tell you that cost and conditions
of your offer are acceptable by My Friends and such, they are willing
to make a deposit payment immediately. Due to there acceptance of your
offer, I have concluded payment with them also.
I have been instructed to pay you for your services and provision of a
language translator whom would be able to translate every word to them
because they are Russians and do not speak your local language.I have
arranged this with a linguist who is willing to undertake these
responsibilities on their behalf. He would be with them throughout
their stay with you.I will send you my credit card details once I
receive your confirmation email so that you would charge as
agreed/authorized by my Friends.

However upon the receipt of my credit card, confirm you will charge as
follows:Take 50% for the cost of your services plus 7500euros for the
Translator who will also take care of their travel logistics like
insurance,ticketing etc.Then, deduct your deposit and send the balance
of 7500euros to the Translator.I really need you to make the charges
for the Translator as she does not have a POS machines to process her
charge and such all money for the tour has been credited to a credit
card.So kindly Confirm this and provide me with the following
Information:

Your Company full name/address
Name of the Manager/Owner
Telephone and fax numbers
Looking forward to your reply.
Cheers
TOM WEST
+447035942452


On 11/6/09, Deborah Dooley wrote:

Dear Tom, that's all fine, but how can I send the money to the
translator?
In cash, or by cheque?
And will he or she need a room here too?
all best
The proprietor



Dear

Thanks for the email please confirm below the translator also will
need a room and his funds will be wired to his account.i will send you
my credit card details to process on the reciept of the total i have
outlined below. I will send you bank details of were to transfer the
funds to the translator when you have charged the card . I will pay
for the charges of the 7500euros so please so confirm to me below.

1.Cost of your service = 50%
2.Translator Fees = 7500euros
3.credit card fee = ?
TOTAL

I await the total in other to send you my card details now
Regards
Tom West
Mobile:+447035942452
Tel:+447031830872
Fax:+44-7006-002-404


----- Original Message -----
From: "Deborah Dooley"
To: "TOM WEST"
Sent: Sunday, November 08, 2009 12:23 PM
Subject: Re: CONFIRM THIS

Dear Tom, thankyou so much for your reply. But I still don't understand
how I will get the money to the translator. Could you please clarify?
all best
The proprietor


On 11/9/09, Deborah Dooley wrote:

Tom, did you get my email below? I'm waiting to hear more details on how I
could transfer money to the translator? Or, maybe if he/she is coming to
stay here too, he/she can just collect it on arrival.
I look forward to hearing from you as soon as possible.
all best
Deborah

----- Original Message ----- From: "TOM WEST"
To: "Deborah Dooley"
Sent


: Monday, November 09, 2009 2:06 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: CONFIRM THIS

Hello Deb,
I tolsd you i will send his bank details for you to make the wire to
him to enable him book for there flights before then. Please send me
your number to call you and advise you my card details to process.

Regards
Tom


On 11/9/09, Deborah Dooley wrote:
Tom, one more thing - will the translator mind having a room with a single bed? I can reduce the price a little, but we only have a twin room left, so that's all I can offer him. And please advise me if any of the guests have particular dietary requirements. We can do most things, including vegetarian, vegan, Halal and kosher. Also, will they need collecting from the train station (included in the price.)
I look forward to hearing from you.
all best
The proprietor.


----- Original Message -----
From: TOM WEST
To: Deborah Dooley
Sent: Monday, November 09, 2009 2:58 PM
Subject: Re: Fw: CONFIRM THIS


Hello Deborah,

Thanks for the mail, they are no need for dietary is okay. please make availabel the room for the translator and add it to the total bill to charge. They will be picked up at the train station also include the bill.

I thinbk i have answered all question please prepare the bill including the 7500euros for the translator and send to me now with your number for me to advise my card details.

Thank You
Tom

On 11/9/09, Deborah Dooley wrote:
Tom, that's all marvellous. One last question - you do realise that this is a naturist establishment? Accordingly we do require all guests to be naked. There are facilities for disrobing at the front door, the house is very well heated - and of course we are naked too, so no need for embarrassment!
If you could just confirm that's all ok, I'll go ahead and send you the number.
Have a good afternoon.
all best
The proprietor.



YOU ARE SICK

Nosey - good or bad?

I fear I may be suffering from small village-itis. (SV)Symptoms are a keen interest in the activities of one's neighbours - often to an unhealthy degree, a heightened awareness of anything even slightly out of the ordinary, and the ability of listen to more than one conversation at a time. Admittedly, I am self diagnosed, and have no confirmation from a qualified expert, but all the signs are there, and I can't help being worried.
Yesterday I was in the village shop, keen to collect my weekly veg box (brimming with veg from a local farm, all lovely and fresh out of the ground and covered in proper earth and everything). While I was waiting for the very elderly Mrs Heard to complete her purchases and finish discussing the relative benefits of gravy granules versus gravy powder, with the endlessly patient Roy, who was serving that day, I chatted with Arnie, from up the road. He was interested in my plan for the large green cabbage sitting plumply on top of my veg box.
'Let's see, I mused. 'I'll probably stir fry some of it tonight, in olive oil, with a few pumpkin seeds and a bit of Tamari.' Arnie frowned. 'Soy sauce,' I added helpfully. His expression cleared and he launched into a joyful reminiscence of his mother's bacon and cabbage, embellished with a rather lovely description of the pinnie she always wore when cooking. I rather enjoyed this mini trip down memory lane, but while it was going on, Anne, from round the corner popped in, closely followed by Lynette, from the other side of the square. They were talking earnestly about a planning contravention by a well known local resident. Fascinating stuff which made one of my ears lean well towards them, so that I wouldn't miss a syllable. In the meantime, Arnie and I had completed his journey into the past, and Arnie had nipped in front of me and asked for a quarter pound of boiled sweets. While they were being weighed up, I got the gist of the planning scandal -and also earwigged a couple of kids chattering just outside the open door of the shop.
'He had a right go at me,' said one. 'Silly old goat,' said the other. 'It's only a stupid car, after all. And you could hardly see the dent.' I had a pretty fair idea who they were talking about, and when I finally got served, Roy was able to confirm it.
So you can see that at that point I was already displaying classic symptoms of SV. But then, this morning, i behaved in a way that really has left me in no doubt at all that I have a full blown case. Every Monday to Friday, as my running mate and I pound our way back into the village square, several miles of countryside under our belts (OK, 3-4), we see one of the local chaps getting into his car and departing for work. 'Morning girls,' he cries, and gives us a cheery wave. 'Morning!' we reply, cheerily waving.
Anyway, this morning, no sign. Nothing. His car was still parked outside his house, and his curtains still drawn.
Mindful of the fact that he lives alone and is not in the first flush of youth, I found this strange.
'I expect it's his day off,' said Bob. 'But supposing he's lying unconscious,' I worried. Eventually, half an hour later, I could bear it no longer. I strode across to his house, and knocked loudly on the door. No answer. Panic rose within me. Clearly I would have to kick the door in - or rather Bob would have to. I knocked again - nay, pounded on the door, in a last attempt to evoke some sign of life, before I raised the alarm. There was a scuffle behind the door, and a bleary eyed person clad in a bathrobe opened the door. He blinked at me. 'Are you alright?' I asked anxiously. He stared at me. 'You woke me up,' he said sadly. 'It's my day off.'

Thursday, 22 October 2009
A place to go
When I was a little girl, I often used to pack a small rucksack with rug, book and apples, and carefully climb halfway up an old oak tree close to our house. I'd swing myself across onto a high wall running close to the house, and jump down onto the small section of flat roof above the utility room. It was flanked on each side by steep sloping roofs and there, in complete seclusion, I'd curl up on my rug, read my book, munch my apples and dream the summer afternoons away. Occasionally listening with some satisfaction to adults shouting my name in exasperated tones. Luckily my family were the type to shrug their shoulders when a child was missing for a few hours, rather than alert the authorities. And when I emerged, dozy eyed and flushed with sun, the answer 'nowhere really' always seemed to satisfy questions on my whereabouts.
In the winter, I scaled a high bookshelf in a little used end room in our rambly old Elizabethan house, prising open the 'secret' doors, which looked as if they were part of the panelling, and slid into the ancient hayloft, now dark and musty with years of dirt and cobwebs. But I didn't mind. A torch, a blanket and some cushions created a nest that endlessly beckoned me, and a haven that soothed, when my childhood world became uncertain and full of anxiety.
Everyone needs a place to go. A comfy windowseat with a view, a bed made plump and inviting with cushions and throws, or a well arranged study with a solid wooden door that firmly rejects the world beyond.
The other day I spent a couple of nights staying with friends, in their new spare room. A shepherds hut. Based on the traditional shepherds huts used for centuries in rural England, it is beautifully made, and about the size of a small caravan, on wheels. Its clean lines show off diligent craftsmanship, and create a cosy, light and draught free space, for spare room, study or children's den. A delight to be in, and, teamed with white cotton bedlinen, a recipe for the kind of sleep one usually says farewell to around the age of nine. The kind babies enjoy.
As I left, the son of the family confided that my room was actually his special place. I could see why he was so pleased to get it back. www.theshepherdsrest.net

My book

I started it with such enthusiasm and excitement. I could hardly wait to begin tapping away at my keyboard, watching in fascination as my new novel really did write itself. Characters took shape, personalities developed - often suprising me, sometimes horrifying me - and situations evolved, all coming together in a lifelike entity that, at times, seemed to have a life of its own. I wrote chapter after chapter, often hardly able to tear myself away from the creation that was so effortlessly taking shape. I called it Irish coffee.
And then, somewhere around the 5o,000 word mark, I lost momentum. An urgent and well paid commission distracted me from a planned novel writing session. A family crisis diverted my attention for a few weeks - in short, life got in the way. I know that many people will say that writer should have the passion and comittment to find to the time and energy to write what they love. But I do love my novel - even though I haven't been near it for over a year. Maybe I should get up at five am and write before the day starts proper. Or perhaps burn the midnight oil. I'd like to, but I get up early anyway, and I need lots of sleep - or I'm proper grumpy.
But it's still there - tucked up cosily in the deepest recesses of my computer. And I still love it. And one day I'll do the next 50,000 words, and finish it.