Not so long ago, I was privileged to be able to report positively on a large commercial concern; today, I return to the normal tetchy relation between Sinna Luvva and commerce. I post here an e-mail, submitted to the customer support team this afternoon via Dabs.com website. The automated response has allocated it the subject title of 'Catalogue price difference' which, bearing in mind the final paragraph (not highlighted in original e-mail) of my e-mail, serves only to irritate me further!
"HP Pavilion Media Center dv9088ea notebook
On your promotional e-mail, (rec'd. 6/10/2006 at 11.21PM), with free delivery on items over a certain value (£149) for this weekend, you advertised the HP Pavilion Media Center dv9088ea notebook at a price of £1149.99.
On following the links to your website, all the details refer to the XP Home edition for the higher price of £1217.99. Apart from assuming that this edition wouldn't have a digital TV tuner, I have no idea of discovering whether it even has the same graphic card as the advertised one, an overall package which was tempting to me - (in fact I was on the verge of making an impulse buy prior to noticing this discrepancy - I have previously been considering buying a replacement desktop PC of similar specifications).
Would it be possible to ensure the existence of items, at the prices advertised on your e-mail flyer, before mailing them out? I have noticed your disclaimer about discrepancy between 'Catalogue' prices and website but I would have thought that your most recent e-mail flyer wouldn't be subject to such discrepancies!"
e-mail to customer support team at Dabs.com
I look forward to the company's response and, may even feel motivated to supply a follow-up blog posting.
Having had my little moan, it's only fair to report that my previous transactions with Dabs.com have been most satisfactory experiences; so here I am giving back with one hand what the other has just taken away!
*************************************
PS A further posting for today, "Of Discourse and Distraction", can be found on Hirsute Antiquity.
- living and frequently struggling with moderate M.E. -
where (bad) health, faith, politics and the joys and troubles of daily life collide.
ME
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Sequels to 'A Ghastly Shade of Pale'
Sequels to Sunday's posting can be found on Hirsute Antiquity (A Day of Rest - intended and imposed) and Mal's Murmurings (Veiled in Mystery).
Sunday, October 01, 2006
A Ghastly Shade of Pale
After a lazy start to the day, the only tasks I had to perform before lunch were to pop the curry into the oven to simmer before preparing the accompanying rice with lavishings of turmeric, garlic, garam masala and the odd dried herb. As Helen had a meeting following on from the morning service at Wesley, it meant that the meal was almost ready, to put out on the table, by the time she arrived home.
The Madras variant curry proved a great success, an ideal combination of heat and flavour with a subtle underlying sweetness. The combination of spices, intuitively selected and proportioned, that I heated up on the griddle pan at the start of preparations yesterday afternoon, certainly worked their magic. The culinary gods certainly had smiled on me once more – and through it all I remained my usual modest self.
During the afternoon, we decided to catch up on a couple of TV programmes we’d recently recorded but, midway through our little viewing session, I was overwhelmed by the most discomforting fatiguing sensation. From feeling OK to a state of utter debilitation, in the course of a few minutes, is an extremely scary experience. Unusually for me, with my failing body thermostat generally leading to chronic overheating, I had to wrap myself in a warm blanket whilst lying down. The worst of the sensation had passed within forty minutes but, as this was the most rapid onset state of exhaustion experienced recently, it still proved a most disconcerting event. I felt as if every last bit of colour had been bleached out of my complexion, a feeling later confirmed to have been correct from my wife’s eyewitness perspective.
For some strange reason, I found myself apologizing to Helen for my turning such a ghastly shade of pale; I really should exercise a little more self-control! All I can do for the present is take it easy but, I’d assumed that was my total lifestyle!
Setbacks apart, I am still able to rejoice in this day the Lord has made and, especially the pleasure of my beloved’s presence. I really must be one of the most fortunate people in the world, to be loved and able to love in return; I have little need for more.
************************************************
This posting is a sequel to Spacious Time, which was posted yesterday on 'Mal's Murmurings'.
The Madras variant curry proved a great success, an ideal combination of heat and flavour with a subtle underlying sweetness. The combination of spices, intuitively selected and proportioned, that I heated up on the griddle pan at the start of preparations yesterday afternoon, certainly worked their magic. The culinary gods certainly had smiled on me once more – and through it all I remained my usual modest self.
During the afternoon, we decided to catch up on a couple of TV programmes we’d recently recorded but, midway through our little viewing session, I was overwhelmed by the most discomforting fatiguing sensation. From feeling OK to a state of utter debilitation, in the course of a few minutes, is an extremely scary experience. Unusually for me, with my failing body thermostat generally leading to chronic overheating, I had to wrap myself in a warm blanket whilst lying down. The worst of the sensation had passed within forty minutes but, as this was the most rapid onset state of exhaustion experienced recently, it still proved a most disconcerting event. I felt as if every last bit of colour had been bleached out of my complexion, a feeling later confirmed to have been correct from my wife’s eyewitness perspective.
For some strange reason, I found myself apologizing to Helen for my turning such a ghastly shade of pale; I really should exercise a little more self-control! All I can do for the present is take it easy but, I’d assumed that was my total lifestyle!
Setbacks apart, I am still able to rejoice in this day the Lord has made and, especially the pleasure of my beloved’s presence. I really must be one of the most fortunate people in the world, to be loved and able to love in return; I have little need for more.
************************************************
This posting is a sequel to Spacious Time, which was posted yesterday on 'Mal's Murmurings'.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Catching Up
After a familiarly sluggish entry into the world of the awake, yesterday was all go. Of course, the phrase “all go” has to be taken as a comparative expression, weighed carefully against my normal idling days. My first venture of the day was a moderately brisk walk, down the road to Open Church, for a time to chat over a cup of coffee. Having been sat for the best part of an hour, the elevation of oneself from chair to purposefully standing pose required a major effort. The return journey was more of a gentle waddle!
I wandered up to the garden pond, immediately on my return home, to feed the goldfish and apply a necessary anti-blanket weed treatment. A nagging little voice, inside my head, repeatedly made note of the fact that it was a suitable day to mow the lawn. I duly obeyed.
Unlock the shed at the house end of the garden, retrieve the extension power cable from the general detritus, stepped cautiously over sundry obstacles to reach the power point and began a steady unreeling process. Next step, hunt down the key for the shed at the far end of the garden and, retrieve mower and grass collecting box. Track down the garden refuse recycle bin and then, set to work on the mowing, remembering of course to alter the blades height as I approached the wilder end of the garden. There always seems to be a little more needs doing but, I restrained from over exertion on this occasion. I lost track of the number of glasses of chilled water consumed, during the process, but one needs to counter the effusive perspiration such effort gives rise to.
After a short respite from my labours, the aquarium was the next item calling for my attention. I prepared adequate water, appropriately treated for a partial water change, replaced the carbon filter, rinsed out one of the foam filters in suitably tepid water, and duly carried out the deporting and importing of fluid from the mountain minnows home.
After all my endeavours, no marked ill effect; please note the emphasized word, we’ve got to keep it real! This morning, however, I was back to that totally shagged out sensation, you must know the one, that sense that it’s too much effort to turn over in bed to find a more comfortable position. Still, I struggled through and found a better position, face suffocated in the pillow, arms crossed and stretched over the head to grasp the mattress, legs forming a figure 4 … and, in that apparently uncomfortable position, I managed to doze off once more.
It required a considerable effort of will to remove myself from the duvet realm but, by the time my beloved arrived back from an early morning trip into town, an arisen and dressed Malcolm was a wonderful spectacle for her to behold. The prospect of taking a shower had proved far too daunting so, a quick visit to the washbasin had to suffice.
By lunchtime we were ready for the off, to keep my appointment at the Chronic Fatigue Unit. It didn’t take long for Julie, the occupational therapist, to realize that I’d let my “pacing” slip a little, but then, as she was quick to point out, “if that’s going to happen to anyone, you’re the obvious candidate!” There are occasions though, when the reward/pleasure of taking a special day out, followed swiftly by a trip out closer to home, can outweigh the rather dispiriting aftermath. I promise to be a good boy.
***********************************
a little bit more on my day can be found on Bright Light, my beloved's blog.
I wandered up to the garden pond, immediately on my return home, to feed the goldfish and apply a necessary anti-blanket weed treatment. A nagging little voice, inside my head, repeatedly made note of the fact that it was a suitable day to mow the lawn. I duly obeyed.
Unlock the shed at the house end of the garden, retrieve the extension power cable from the general detritus, stepped cautiously over sundry obstacles to reach the power point and began a steady unreeling process. Next step, hunt down the key for the shed at the far end of the garden and, retrieve mower and grass collecting box. Track down the garden refuse recycle bin and then, set to work on the mowing, remembering of course to alter the blades height as I approached the wilder end of the garden. There always seems to be a little more needs doing but, I restrained from over exertion on this occasion. I lost track of the number of glasses of chilled water consumed, during the process, but one needs to counter the effusive perspiration such effort gives rise to.
After a short respite from my labours, the aquarium was the next item calling for my attention. I prepared adequate water, appropriately treated for a partial water change, replaced the carbon filter, rinsed out one of the foam filters in suitably tepid water, and duly carried out the deporting and importing of fluid from the mountain minnows home.
After all my endeavours, no marked ill effect; please note the emphasized word, we’ve got to keep it real! This morning, however, I was back to that totally shagged out sensation, you must know the one, that sense that it’s too much effort to turn over in bed to find a more comfortable position. Still, I struggled through and found a better position, face suffocated in the pillow, arms crossed and stretched over the head to grasp the mattress, legs forming a figure 4 … and, in that apparently uncomfortable position, I managed to doze off once more.
It required a considerable effort of will to remove myself from the duvet realm but, by the time my beloved arrived back from an early morning trip into town, an arisen and dressed Malcolm was a wonderful spectacle for her to behold. The prospect of taking a shower had proved far too daunting so, a quick visit to the washbasin had to suffice.
By lunchtime we were ready for the off, to keep my appointment at the Chronic Fatigue Unit. It didn’t take long for Julie, the occupational therapist, to realize that I’d let my “pacing” slip a little, but then, as she was quick to point out, “if that’s going to happen to anyone, you’re the obvious candidate!” There are occasions though, when the reward/pleasure of taking a special day out, followed swiftly by a trip out closer to home, can outweigh the rather dispiriting aftermath. I promise to be a good boy.
***********************************
a little bit more on my day can be found on Bright Light, my beloved's blog.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
'Back To Church Sunday' Backfires
Last Thursday evening, an unusual event occurred in the Evison household; the doorbell rang and, lo and behold, a vision from the past came to visit. A friend, from the church that I used to attend, called with an invitation for us to attend that church this evening as part of the Back to Church Sunday initiative.
It is almost three years since I was forced, for health reasons (frequently having to lie down during my morning’s work, recurrent flu-like symptoms and, regularly collapsing immediately on return home), to leave my employment as Caretaker/ Steward at that church. Much as they had been very satisfied with my labour; after my total collapse, I was reminded (on more than one occasion) by members of the clergy team that I had let them down! Was I supposed to fall down on my knees and cry, “Lord I repent of my inadequacy in letting you smite me down with ill-health; forgive me Father!”, or some such fanfared display of penitence?
The job that I did for 16 hours per week, plus many unpaid hours, became 32 hours per week regular employment for my immediate successor (who lasted just a few weeks) and, it now provides full-time employment for the present incumbent ( along with assistance from his partner on Mondays when “there’s just so much work to do”)!
For a couple of months, after my health enforced spontaneous resignation, I managed to struggle along to morning worship, invariably having to leave less than halfway through the service due to lack of stamina. Within a year of leaving my employment there, as well as the various functions I had fulfilled in a voluntary capacity (housegroup leader etc.), we had the misfortune of employing a warden from the church, together with his colleague, to do some decorating work for us. The work was tackled in, what we felt to be a very sluggish yet slipshod fashion, by these two retired gentlemen, and their presence in the house became too difficult for me to cope with. They billed us at an extortionate skilled professional rate, which I settled at half the asking price (we were still being robbed - but I yielded to my more benevolent nature). Around this time, alongside a growing realization of the cosily middle-class nature of this particular institution, my wife decided to move back to the Methodist church, as she had been feeling lost and alone in this ‘thriving’ church, once I was no longer able to attend. The Vicar called round to aggressively defend his Warden (against our wounding remarks) and … the rest is history.
Neither of us had darkened/enlightened their doorway since that time until I started going down to Open Church for coffee in recent months. In this whole period no-one from the church bothered to call around, or even make enquiries as to how I was doing, other than through a chance encounter with my wife near the local shops; so you can see why Thursday evening’s visit was such an unusual event!
Back to Church Sunday proved a terrifyingly daunting prospect, after all, I’m the person who on more than one occasion resumed smoking on National No Smoking Day; the very name of the day militated against any positive move on my part. Is attention going to be focussed on the Prodigal’s return? That’s the last thing that I’d want, a sure signal to lift up my backside and walk. I didn’t for one moment expect to receive the prodigal outpouring of love shown by the father in the tale but, I dreaded the focus being on us miserable returnees.
These misgivings apart, one of the greatest problems I have, at present, is with pre-planning. When I feel that I have sufficient emotional stamina, to attend a full church service, my first visit will have to be on impulse; for the present that little step is a step too far.
On reflection, it strikes me as an odd kind of pastoral care when, the only time one receives a visit is when a national returning bums on seat initiative is taking place!
I still have a lot of time for the Church as the body of Christ, a servant community; it is composed of people who, just like me, are all too human and frequently negligent of the service to which their Lord calls them.
It is almost three years since I was forced, for health reasons (frequently having to lie down during my morning’s work, recurrent flu-like symptoms and, regularly collapsing immediately on return home), to leave my employment as Caretaker/ Steward at that church. Much as they had been very satisfied with my labour; after my total collapse, I was reminded (on more than one occasion) by members of the clergy team that I had let them down! Was I supposed to fall down on my knees and cry, “Lord I repent of my inadequacy in letting you smite me down with ill-health; forgive me Father!”, or some such fanfared display of penitence?
The job that I did for 16 hours per week, plus many unpaid hours, became 32 hours per week regular employment for my immediate successor (who lasted just a few weeks) and, it now provides full-time employment for the present incumbent ( along with assistance from his partner on Mondays when “there’s just so much work to do”)!
For a couple of months, after my health enforced spontaneous resignation, I managed to struggle along to morning worship, invariably having to leave less than halfway through the service due to lack of stamina. Within a year of leaving my employment there, as well as the various functions I had fulfilled in a voluntary capacity (housegroup leader etc.), we had the misfortune of employing a warden from the church, together with his colleague, to do some decorating work for us. The work was tackled in, what we felt to be a very sluggish yet slipshod fashion, by these two retired gentlemen, and their presence in the house became too difficult for me to cope with. They billed us at an extortionate skilled professional rate, which I settled at half the asking price (we were still being robbed - but I yielded to my more benevolent nature). Around this time, alongside a growing realization of the cosily middle-class nature of this particular institution, my wife decided to move back to the Methodist church, as she had been feeling lost and alone in this ‘thriving’ church, once I was no longer able to attend. The Vicar called round to aggressively defend his Warden (against our wounding remarks) and … the rest is history.
Neither of us had darkened/enlightened their doorway since that time until I started going down to Open Church for coffee in recent months. In this whole period no-one from the church bothered to call around, or even make enquiries as to how I was doing, other than through a chance encounter with my wife near the local shops; so you can see why Thursday evening’s visit was such an unusual event!
Back to Church Sunday proved a terrifyingly daunting prospect, after all, I’m the person who on more than one occasion resumed smoking on National No Smoking Day; the very name of the day militated against any positive move on my part. Is attention going to be focussed on the Prodigal’s return? That’s the last thing that I’d want, a sure signal to lift up my backside and walk. I didn’t for one moment expect to receive the prodigal outpouring of love shown by the father in the tale but, I dreaded the focus being on us miserable returnees.
These misgivings apart, one of the greatest problems I have, at present, is with pre-planning. When I feel that I have sufficient emotional stamina, to attend a full church service, my first visit will have to be on impulse; for the present that little step is a step too far.
On reflection, it strikes me as an odd kind of pastoral care when, the only time one receives a visit is when a national returning bums on seat initiative is taking place!
I still have a lot of time for the Church as the body of Christ, a servant community; it is composed of people who, just like me, are all too human and frequently negligent of the service to which their Lord calls them.
Friday, September 22, 2006
New Postings Alert
Yesterday’s posting was recorded on ‘Mal’s Murmurings’ as A New Sensation (or an old one revisited!). A sequel posting, ‘Pacing’ vs ‘Boom and Bust’, has been posted on ‘Words From An Hirsute Antiquity’.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Adventures in the world of Customer Service
Today has been something of an adventure, for both my beloved and myself; an adventure we could have done without but, I suppose it’s all part of life’s rich tapestry. The fact that I was already quite exhausted and, full of miscellaneous aches and pains, as I reluctantly dragged myself out from the duvet lair, didn’t really help.
Last evening, my beloved belatedly informed me that she’d lost her mobile phone and, we realized we would have to go and sort out a replacement one this morning. I vainly tried phoning the old mobile number, several times, but only managed to get the network providers answering service in response as, “the person you are calling is not available” (or at least words to that effect).
This morning, my beloved drove us into town to visit the Orange shop and, much as I like to berate capitalist enterprises, the staff there proved most helpful. Our only requirement was a rather basic pay- as-you-go telephone, we’re not the last of the big spenders by any means, but the young gentleman who served us (despite having a rather irate customer to calm down) couldn’t have been more obliging.
As Helen had her top-up card with her, he told us that he could transfer the old number to the new phone and Sim card so no credit would be lost, nor would my beloved need to contact everyone to inform them of a number change! I was somewhat surprised when the company, on the telephone asked to speak to me, as well as Helen, to approve the change and, I struggled to try and remember whether the original phone (to which the old Sim card belonged) had perhaps been a present from me!
Having spent over an hour in the shop, my fatigue was beginning to get the better of me and, the only seating was of the bar stool variety; at least that was a slight improvement on my rapidly faltering attempt to remain upright on my feet.
Transaction completed, we returned home for lunch when, almost by accident, I recognized that the mobile number ma belle had given to the shop was that of my phone! Crisis … panic … chest tightening … nausea inducing …; after last weeks extra exertions, I’m still somewhat struggling in the emotional stamina stakes.
Helen boldly sallied forth to the Orange shop once more and, they supplied her with the appropriate number to call so that the mix-up could be sorted out. Once again, as soon an advisor was available telephonically, Orange came up trumps and the whole matter was resolved in a much quicker time-frame than had been envisaged. Within an hour of our call, my mobile had been disconnected and re-connected and, Helen’s mobile was functioning correctly on her old number!!!
In an age when the words CUSTOMER and SERVICE seem to dwell in an uneasy relationship, these CUSTOMERS are well and truly pleased with the SERVICE they received! Thank you ORANGE.
But as I whisper sweet nothings in my beloved’s shell-like, I feel that I should add the words, “but no more adventures please!”
Last evening, my beloved belatedly informed me that she’d lost her mobile phone and, we realized we would have to go and sort out a replacement one this morning. I vainly tried phoning the old mobile number, several times, but only managed to get the network providers answering service in response as, “the person you are calling is not available” (or at least words to that effect).
This morning, my beloved drove us into town to visit the Orange shop and, much as I like to berate capitalist enterprises, the staff there proved most helpful. Our only requirement was a rather basic pay- as-you-go telephone, we’re not the last of the big spenders by any means, but the young gentleman who served us (despite having a rather irate customer to calm down) couldn’t have been more obliging.
As Helen had her top-up card with her, he told us that he could transfer the old number to the new phone and Sim card so no credit would be lost, nor would my beloved need to contact everyone to inform them of a number change! I was somewhat surprised when the company, on the telephone asked to speak to me, as well as Helen, to approve the change and, I struggled to try and remember whether the original phone (to which the old Sim card belonged) had perhaps been a present from me!
Having spent over an hour in the shop, my fatigue was beginning to get the better of me and, the only seating was of the bar stool variety; at least that was a slight improvement on my rapidly faltering attempt to remain upright on my feet.
Transaction completed, we returned home for lunch when, almost by accident, I recognized that the mobile number ma belle had given to the shop was that of my phone! Crisis … panic … chest tightening … nausea inducing …; after last weeks extra exertions, I’m still somewhat struggling in the emotional stamina stakes.
Helen boldly sallied forth to the Orange shop once more and, they supplied her with the appropriate number to call so that the mix-up could be sorted out. Once again, as soon an advisor was available telephonically, Orange came up trumps and the whole matter was resolved in a much quicker time-frame than had been envisaged. Within an hour of our call, my mobile had been disconnected and re-connected and, Helen’s mobile was functioning correctly on her old number!!!
In an age when the words CUSTOMER and SERVICE seem to dwell in an uneasy relationship, these CUSTOMERS are well and truly pleased with the SERVICE they received! Thank you ORANGE.
But as I whisper sweet nothings in my beloved’s shell-like, I feel that I should add the words, “but no more adventures please!”
Monday, September 18, 2006
Further blog posting on 'Hirsute Antiquity'
At least I've found sufficient energy to do a further blog posting today, apart from 'A long night's exudation into day' which appears below.
'The Perils of Irony' can be read on my blog on MySpace.
'The Perils of Irony' can be read on my blog on MySpace.
A long night's exudation into day
Last night was one of those occasions when I quite simply wished that I could peel off my skin, dermis and epidermis, in order to allow my body to breathe and free itself from all the perspiration oozing from my pores. Night sweats are nothing unusual to me, at least for the past several years they haven’t been, but overnight they took on epic proportions. For much of the preceding day, I’d been feeling rather hot and achy; the tenderness of glands in my neck and under the chin being a particular irritant but, this hadn’t prepared me for the torrential ooze of moisture from head, chest, legs and arms, in the wee small hours.
Working on the supposition that all this exudation should allow the body to cool down, the routine was, on this occasion, apparently performed in vain. When I removed all the bedclothes from my side of the bed, the initial sense of refreshment was short-lived and, Malcolm remained in a state of rampant overheating!
Still, casting issues of perspiration aside; the degree of fatigue, giddiness, and discomfort, that I’ve experienced, consequent upon drawing on more of my reserves of physical and emotional stamina during the past week, is nowhere near as severe as might have been anticipated.
Progress is the Goal : Pacing is All!
Working on the supposition that all this exudation should allow the body to cool down, the routine was, on this occasion, apparently performed in vain. When I removed all the bedclothes from my side of the bed, the initial sense of refreshment was short-lived and, Malcolm remained in a state of rampant overheating!
Still, casting issues of perspiration aside; the degree of fatigue, giddiness, and discomfort, that I’ve experienced, consequent upon drawing on more of my reserves of physical and emotional stamina during the past week, is nowhere near as severe as might have been anticipated.
Progress is the Goal : Pacing is All!
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