Monday, 29 July 2013

Finding your happy places

What do you love in life?  Have you thought about it.  When it comes to a lifetime of work and dreams and people, tepid is not a good idea.  Nor is hot, enough.  You have to live and work and love with passion and a ridiculous amount of joy.  On Friday night at a soup evening someone told me that I enter a room with a bang.  I loved it.  I would rather do that than slide in like a damp squid.  

How much time do you spend doing the things you love?  You need to, no matter your age, grab and hold onto something that makes you feel happy.  Whether it be a job, a book, a person, a life experience, whatever.  I am unashamedly spontaneous and enthusiastic.  I no longer make excuses for it.  I have found a whole lot of new things and people this year that make me want to rush out and completely emerse myself in it and them.  I call it my happy places.  I don't want to get old wondering if I should have, could have and all the other have's.  I want to know that I did.  I don't want to wonder if I make a difference to people.  I know that I did.  And I do. 
Is it always so wonderful, sunshine filled, ridiculously amazing and joyful?
No. 
Somedays it is downright horrible. 
But you brush yourself off and carry on, because the days on which I truly live my life, far outnumber the days on which I don't, normally as a result of someone or something buggering it up for me.  Or as a good friend of mine terms it, a windy day. 
I want to make a difference.  And when I leave the world one day in that coffin that my friends are going to cover in glitter, I want to know that I leave a ridiculously shimmering place behind in people's hearts, where I used to be. 
till whenever ...... 



c'est la vie xxxx 




Saturday, 27 July 2013

No. New word for Me.

Now I have never been really good with the word No.  
My family tell me that I am exceptionally good at Yes and seem to have no ability whatsover to keep my hands down when someone asks questions such as "Who can help with ....", "Who is able to ........", "Who can find time to ......" and a myriad of other such questions. 

I don't mean the Yes and No answers that one gives in your chosen daily bread and butter jobs, I don't mean the Yes and No answers that my kids get when they ask me questions on a number of subjects ... "No you may not get your nose pierced and a tattoo of Who's your Mother on your arm". 

Now the problem with this is that you open yourself to misuse and abuse of your willingness to help.  Some people assume that you are the "go to" person .... permanently.  And I am, but I am taking a bold step in the No direction by now being more selective about my yes' ... simply for that one word I love so much ... Appreciation  ..... oh and those other 2 sweet words ... Thank you.  For those two categories I will put my hand up and will continue to do so.  I don't want the sickly sweet fall over your feet and fawn over me false sort of appreciation and thank you.  I simply want the sincere one that says "you make a difference". 

This week I put it to the test, someone checked with me if I would do something.  No, in fact they assumed it and when I said No, they were actually about twenty steps away from me before they turned and said "No????".  The person looked as if they would need medical assistance.  And do you know how good it felt?  Because I got tired of giving my all and then finding it was sorta expected of me with no gratitude.  Those two words again ... Thank you ..... which I hear as I appreciate what you do, you make a difference and that is important.  

I manage to use those words frequently ...... they roll over the tongue quite easily ........ try it. 
And I will continue to do anything and everything for those that appreciate me ...... so if you get a No. ....... well let it be food for thought. 



c'est la vie ....xxx

Wednesday, 24 July 2013

Rumours ...... Tales by Tongue

The rumour mill ….. aaah that ever churning, ever flowing channel of miscommunication and misinformation to which so many people have a lifelong subscription.

How is it that some people simply want to hear something, anything, as long as they can repeat it to a myriad of other people, thereby discrediting someone, or harming them verbally, without even stopping to consider the harm they do, or the untruths and half-truths they carry forward?

How is it that some people simply want to say something, anything as long as …………. repeat paragraph above

I have a friend, about whom a stupid and senseless rumour was started recently.   It was wrong, it was misinformed and it was totally unsupported.  But the person who started it did so anyway and of course nothing like a juicy, incorrect story to spread like wildfire.  Did anyone take the time to verify the story with my friend?  No, because they did not have time to stop in their marathon of repetition cycle.  The person was then given the correct info, and they apologised, but once you blow your cigarette smoke out your lips, there is no way you can suck it all back …. it is out there …. gone …. spreading around.  And this friend deserved way more respect than that.

Someone decided I had had a bumper bashing …… so the story was told like that …. a simple bump …… the truth was something else completely ….. in fact a severe something else ……. did the repeater of the story bother to clarify …. did they bother to check if we were ok in the week?  Nope, too busy repeating the story of how I was off when there was nothing really wrong with me.  Always amusing when a lay person knows better than a trauma doctor.  What a waste to study for all those years.   When they saw me they realised their error ……. too late she cried.

Everyone at some stage plays this game, but some people?  Some people get their Masters degree in Rumouritis ….. hanging over other people like vultures, waiting for the opportunity to spread their venom.  It is actually a very sad reflection of those people’s lives that their joy comes from such behaviour.

And so it goes, rumours abound ….. why bother to say something truthful, when there is a half-truth waiting in the wings.  People comment on other people’s jobs, families, children, lifestyle and on and on, they interfere and make their own conclusions, often incorrect and harmful, about others.

So as a kid told me a little while ago ……… zip your lip if you can’t be nice.  In this case, zip it if you don’t have the facts.

Amen to that.



Till next time

c’est la vie xxxx

Sunday, 21 July 2013

4020 seconds aka 67 minutes ..... is it enough?

4020 seconds.  Literally the whole country raced to do good for 4020 seconds last week.  For those of you battling …. I am referring to the world renowned 67 minutes for Mandela.

Am I a fan of his? Yes.  Am I a fan of the 67 minute idea? Mostly.  Why only mostly?  Simple – I work for an NPO.

An NPO that looks after mentally disabled adults and many of those are adult orphans of all ages.  And they are completely cared for by us.  The financial responsibility falls to us and our generous donors.  But for most of our precious people, charity is not just money, not just how they are financially taken care of …… to many or almost all of these spectacularly special people it is about love ….. and attention …….. the visitors who spend time with them, read to them, paint their nails, entertain them, treat and spoil them, bring them a little something, share a little something with them, take a few of them on an outing etc etc.  TIME. 

And therein lies my “mostly” answer.  Now don’t get me wrong …… we have DROVES of people, volunteers, visitors, loving, warm-hearted and kind people, donors, lay people and more that do all the things I described in paragraph 3….. and much more.  I am not saying it does not happen, it does ……… but I am questioning the sanity of an entire country rushing out on ONE day to give their 67 minutes of caring.  What about the other 351 days of the year?  And I am mostly referring to the millions of people for whom those 67 minutes on that one day is their total “caring” contribution for the year.  And I mean hands on caring, not financial caring and support.

Is that meaningful enough?  Is that a genuine commitment to any NPO, shelter, home, charity organisation, orphanage, rural school and so on and so on?  I listen to people around me clambering for ideas on where to go and what to do, behaving as if they are deeply and morally inclined to care for those less fortunate.  It is a last minute morning rush for some …… “oh hell it is the day …. where to spend my 67 mins” and so to ease their conscience, many people simply go anywhere and do anything without even knowing what that organisation does, or for whom. 

Would it not be better if they rather used the 67 mins to do some meaningful research on the organisation, home, shelter, whatever and then set aside 67 mins a week, or 67 mins a month, on a regular basis to do their charity work by finding out what any specific organisation’s real ongoing needs are.  

There are so many organisations in the country that are struggling, so many street children and adults, starving to death as the Government looks on, homeless people living in filth and desperation (as the Government looks on), so many orphans, mentally and physically disabled persons, poor half-finished schools, charities …. the list is endless ……… desperate for help …… not just with their precious people, but in many cases for hands on assistance with repairs, maintenance, painting, erection of simple buildings, gardens and on and on.  These organisations are becoming more and more reliant on the generosity of donors and kindness of the public as other kinds of more formal funding become more and more of a challenge to find.

So come on …….. how did I spend my 67 mins?  Well frankly I spent it split between prayer and researching donors for the NPO …….. I am recovering from an accident and could not spend it at my office at the NPO for which I am the Business Development Manager…….. but you see …… due to the nature of my job ….. I give those 67 minutes, several times over, every day of my life.

Why don’t you consider giving YOUR 67 mins …… just once every month?



till next time,
c’est la vie xxx



Thursday, 11 July 2013

welcome to hell ... aka the licence department

Went to renew my driver's licence today.  And get an appointment for Jess' learners.  We went to Rayton, simply because everyone else that has been there in the past month or so has had a quick in, quick out experience.  So with great enthusiasm and a spring in our step we arrived there just before 10am.  

First off we met the car guard, who was an absolute treasure.  After guiding us into a parking, he enquired what we were there for.  He then told us exactly where to go in the building for both Jess and I, including which counter and the whole process.  He also enquired about photos and when he heard we still needed them he took us over to the "inhouse" (aka inside a Mazda 323) photo guy.  He had it all set up .... a white background hammered onto a large tree.  A plastic chair and a delightful manner about him.  We sat, he said "Look happy", took the pics, climbed into aforementioned Mazda for development .... and quick quick handed them to us in a little white envelope.  We happily each parted with R50 for 4 photos.  However, try as you will, these pics always make me look like some Mail Order bride in a bad catalogue photo.  Our car guard then walked us to the gate and also pointed out where the toilets were, should we need to go past there.  These 2 guys should be employed at one of the supermarkets where sullen is the order of the day for cashiers ..... or even better at that miserable Post Office I wrote about a few blogs back. 

We walked straight up to the counter and got the forms, filled them out and with joy Jess joined the "get given a date queue".  Since this had taken 10 mins, I could already taste the first of several cappuccinos I intended to have in Cullinan.  I should have had some tap water in the bathroom.  Or knowing what was lying ahead, perhaps even some of the toilet water. 
The eye test.  The thing that inclusive of two fingerprints and a quick photo, should take no longer than 5 mins per person, 2 people at a time.  There were roughly 30 people ahead of me.  Doing the maths I was still enthusiastic and chatted happily to those around me.  It took three (3), drie, drei HOURS to get to the front.  Because the 2 people were on a go slow.  Now I could not leave the queue as Jess had now joined me and had been allocated a date.  You cannot go to another centre then, plus behind me in the queue were some very bad stories being told about testing centres in Pta where service was slow .... 6 hour queues and a union meeting sommer taking place in the middle of the morning.  So we stood.  I had 3 hours in which to plot how I would storm the door, take them hostage, beat the crap out of them, sue them, have them tarred and feathered in the parking etc etc.  But we stood.  And stood.  And stood.  Then a miracle occurred when I was 2nd from the front ..... 3 before unseen persons materialised next to me .... and when the door opened (2 come out, 2 go in), probably to prevent the two eye testing go slow people from getting bitchslapped by a crowd, they just walked in and banged the door in my face. 

Huge mistake when the person you slam the door against is now 6 coffees and a good meal behind.  I swung it open, somewhat like a cowboy kicking open the swing door in a bar. 

I managed to utter "what the hell are you doing" through clenched teeth.  They looked at me, checked out my completely stiff in my head eyes, the foam coming from my mouth and the shaking from the coffee withdrawal before the young girl said "jy kan eerste gaan TANNIE".  Well that just was the cherry on top.  This was when the 2nd miracle occurred.  The offices were now 30 mins from closing.  Rules require everyone still in the line outside, to be helped.  It took 4 mins for my eye test, fingerprints, photo (Godzilla) and out the door I went.  No-one wants to be part of a go-slow when it is nearly home time.  And when I paid next door .... 9 mins and I had paid and been issued with a temporary licence. 

What really annoyed me was that no-one does anything.  They stand in the queue like a lot of hapless sheep, moaning non-stop, but do nothing.  I was pretty verbal inside about my displeasure.  They were pretty not interested.  Typical tomorrow is another day attitude .... prevalent in so many places in our society today. 

So we left, no in fact we ran to the car.  And broke the landspeed record to Cullinan where at the delightful Whispering Oaks restaurant, where we had a mindboggling waitress who gave ridiculously good service, we downed our sorrows in several hot, foaming cappuccinos and a really good sandwich. 

I have to go back in 6 weeks to fetch my licence and Jess in September for her licence.  We are taking 2 flasks (one with alcohol), a blanket, 2 camping chairs, 2 hats, scrabble, 30 seconds and Monopoly and a gun, just in case we get desperate.  Nothing speeds things up I would imagine like 2 random shots fired into the air. 



Till next time 
c'est la vie xxxx 


Wednesday, 10 July 2013

Warmth Empathy Dedication Respect Acceptance and Genuineness .... and exhaustion and tears

So my counsellors course at Lifeline via my parish,  is proceeding nicely.  Sometimes scary, sometimes enthralling, sometimes confusing, sometimes witty, but never ever boring. 

Having survived the Personal Growth portion of the course ..... which is somewhat like walking through a minefield whilst simultaneously having your eyes poked with a fondue fork and as an aside someone hitting you in the chest, I emerged wiser, stronger, more confident, as witty as ever but just with waaaaay less baggage, out the other side.  I also cried ..... the volume would have filled 6 medium sized buckets.  

Now comes the nitty gritty ..... the learning of the skills needed to be a counsellor.  Contrary to popular belief, in the real world, we don't just go out there, grab someone who looks as if they need a helping hand, slam them into a chair, mumble "whatsa matter" and dish out a lot of unsolicited advice, give them a slap on the rump and say "now off you go and smile".  Only now did I realise the hours and work and theory and practice and practice and more theory and more practice and role plays and more role plays that go into moulding us into possible counsellors. 

And this is a no holds barred thing.  You have to lift up your head, speak out, think in your head, think out aloud, share, ponder, comment (even if you feel you may be waaaaay off base), don't worry a qualified counsellor will be there to nudge you and assist you.  Flick, our ever fearless leader and counselling guru, would also remind us that we have to look at the person's feelings, feelings and more feelings.  And at the same time I must remember to listen, whilst keeping my mouth closed and my inner voice still until such time as they are both needed.  This is a skill I am working on .... because man that inner voice is vociferous!!  In between all this we do drink coffee, eat copious amounts of fattening comfort food and chat and laugh.  A lot.  

Now the role play thing .... the first time was scary.  Not Bates Motel / Psycho 3 scary, but the kind of scary that turns a confident, out there, never at a loss for words person into a babbling, unsure, glancing at the counsellor for assistance whilst looking a bit like Bambi in headlights kind of person.  It was hard, we kept forgetting to focus on the feelings, we scrambled around for questions to ask, how to phrase them or how to get them across correctly.  At some stage in the role play I did actually want to slap the person on the rump and say "oh pull yourself together for heavens sake".  But I refrained.  Luckily she was a classmate. 

This week we moved into Empathy.  An area I feel way more comfortable in.  And I think it showed because I behaved way more intelligently.  And the weirdest thing happened ..... when it was time to do work in our little groups, suddenly all the 9 previous hours came rushing out of my mental filing cabinets ... and I knew what to say, and how to phrase it and so the starting bits of skill we have been taught ARE there .... in my sub-conscious, filed away, just like Jorika told me it would be. 

So I know I am going to get the hang of it more and more as we go along .... I mean I learnt how to drive a bicycle once before, and a car ...... at 45 I learnt how to be a Corporate Fundraiser, and that was damn hard.  I learnt more about my parish office and how it functions than ever before.  Okay I never mastered the piano and I suck at singing and I cannot get a souffle' to remain uncollapsed ..... but hey this Counselling thing ..... I am in it heart and soul ...... my determination is frightening because I know I can do this and practice makes perfect. 

So in the meantime, I read my notes over and over, I speak to myself in my head all the time .... am I listening ... or am I just hearing ..... am I giving undivided attention ...... body language ...... what signs do I give off.  So sometimes I find myself like this.  Sit down opposite a friend .... she starts telling me something ..... I relax my arms and body, whilst trying not to look if I am slumping or have a hangover, I then lean forward with an open expression and maintain eye contact, but without, as Sonja would tell me, staring so intently that I freak my friend out.  I say uh huh uh huh regularly, I focus on her feelings, I watch her body language, oh no .... she folded her arms .... I am losing her, Follow follow ... Sonja would say whilst Lucky cheers us on.  I smile, in a sharing you are kind of safe way, without looking like the Joker from Batman ..... and eventually I say ...... "I am sensing that you are excited" ..... to which she replies ..... "I am, this is a damn good cappuccino, but what the hell are you doing?".  Flick would be proud.

So we have about 15 hours of training still before us .... and we will fly and sometimes we will stumble and graze our knees, we will laugh and sometimes, like with me today, all this emotional intensity will be too much and we will cry the buckets full again.  But as my close friend and mentor tells me (and boy I give him reason to have to remind me a lot) ... "be gentle with yourself" ...... and I have to remind myself to breathe, and grow, and sleep!!!  And he helps me to talk through the good and the difficult sessions .... the sounding board and sometimes, poor friend, the emotional punching bag. 

But one day I am going to make a difference to people's lives .... just watch me. I know it is in me somewhere. 




till next time, 
c'est la vie 




Monday, 8 July 2013

L is for Licence. L is also for Liquor.

Now many of you would have read the blog that I wrote last year in September for Wordpress.com  It was subsequently published in the December issue of the Good Housekeeping SA magazine.  It dealt with teaching Jess to drive.  

As she must imminently get her licence, her dad was tasked to take over with teaching her to drive.  Apparently I do not have the "correct personality type" to teach her.  Pfffft.  He on the other hand, apparently does (this is the same man who was very impatient helping me to get my contact lenses out). So they go driving every weekend, on the backroads, around and around the large school property etc etc.  They always return smiling and still friends.  That is not normal. 

So from Friday he was in P.E. on business and when I dropped Nic at CBC yesterday afternoon for the informal soccer club, Madam the 18 year old then said she would show me how she drives around the school grounds with dad.  I hopped into the passenger seat ..... and then it started.  

Now I swear, just like I am learning on my Lifeline Course, I was quiet.  My mouth was still and my inner voice was still.  She started the car, pulled forward and stalled.  She repeated the whole thing.  She then sighed, groaned and called my poor car something not nice.  I told her every clutch is different and that it is the driver, not the car.  Huge mistake.  Monumental. The look I got would have killed a lesser woman.  She started again and off we went.  It was going great, but because her dad's VW Vivo is pretty powerful, you can ride up the hills in 2nd and almost come to a standstill and pull away in 2nd.  In the aged Henrietta Hyundai, slowing down below 30km/h requires you to change into 1st.  So as we came to the uphill on the property, with speedhump, I said (in a calm voice) .. "in my car you need to change down to 1st before you go up".  That's all I said, I swear.  The reaction was "don't tell me what to do, I know coz I ride with dad all the time".  So we remained in 2nd, and at the speedbump we stalled because Henrietta was battling to do what normal cars do.  So now we are halfway up the hill.  Stalled in a car that is not great with pullaways due to lack of power, even on a straight road.  She can pull away on hills and I know this.  It is one of the reasons we have let her only drive manual cars and only with her dad.  But now he is in P.E. and I am not.  And the Vivo is at the airport.  And the Hyundai is not.  I say "that is what I was trying to tell  you" (in a nice, soft, calm, gentle voice).  

She says:

STOP SHOUTING AT ME. 

I am confused.  If I spoke any softer I would be whispering and had spoken only 2 sentences the whole time since we started driving. 

She continues:

YOU ARE SHOUTING AND THAT DOES NOT HELP.  I WISH DAD WAS HERE, I CANNOT DRIVE WITH YOU AS YOU ARE SO IMPATIENT.  YOUR CAR IS STUPID, I REFUSE TO DRIVE FURTHER. 

Just then Nic, who is in the back, decides it would be less traumatic if he just got out and walked down to the field.  He opens the door and puts one leg out ....

WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING? ..... GET BACK INTO THIS CAR .... says she the driver of whom we are now terrified. 

Nic scrambles back in, closes the door and I think he starts praying.  Around now I am wishing that some of the Tequila from Ant's 21st would now miraculously appear in my vehicle. 

I would like to point out, in my defence, that when we got to the speedbump, her stall came with braking that nearly put me through the windscreen.  I never said a word. 

And so she pulled away and we drove around and around the school (and it is a huge property), uphill (in 1st) and dowhill, and it all went very well.  Until she pulled away and went around the trees and I said ..."go around the big trees" ..... 

you know the drill ..... let us all say it together now ...

STOP SHOUTING AT ME MOM .....

sigh .... and next weekend Eug is travelling to Dbn. 

I am going to get a bottle of tequila on Friday. 



Till next time, I hope
c'est la vie xoxox 









Thursday, 4 July 2013

The tale of two contact lenses, two eyes and a novice

I got contact lenses today.  Now that in itself is nothing ridiculously amazing BUT ..... I have worn glasses for 20 years and now at the age of 47 got my very first pair of contact lenses.  Feel like a child who got their first bicycle.  

The optometrist worked wonders and they were ready 3 days after my eye test.  They closed at 530pm today.  I got there 535pm after phoning them and asking them to please wait as I was soooo excited.  They were even excited at my joy.  Now since I had my Lifeline course class at 7pm, all I had to do was go home and put them in my eyes.  As you can see, waiting for later was not an option for me. 

So I go into the bathroom, close the door, clean my hands, chase dog out, close door again, and stare at the two little sealed packets of liquid and lenses.  The 1st problem was opening the sealed packet, it was a challenge.  The 2nd problem came once I had opened it ... it was filled with liquid ... I could not see the lens.  I dug around blindly in the liquid until I found it. 

I decided to start with my right eye.  Position lens on finger.  Look straight into mirror.  Tilt eyes upwards.  Put lens on eye below pupil and blink once.  Then it is in.  That is what the booklet said and the optometrist.  Pfffffft.  After all that I moved away from the mirror and blinked.  The lens was still on my finger. 
Attempt two, move finger and lens towards eye, eye starts watering, lens falls on bathroom counter where I have messed 500ml of lens liquid and now I have to find the frikken lens again. 
Attempt three ... call Nic because I have now discovered that whilst I am looking heavenward, I am unable to see when my hand/lens is near my eye.  I keep dipping the lens into the liquid until Nic says, "mom for heavens sake it is not chip and dip".  So he is next to me going "closer, closer, closer, now".  When he said "now", I let it go.  It landed on my bottom lashes and stuck out horizontal to the floor.  I retrieved it.  No-one told me to keep pouring more liquid on the lens, so imagine how dry it was by now. 

Attempt four ...... he says "closer, closer, now"..... I let the lens go, I blink as instructed, I swing around to him and shout "TA DA".  He now collapses with laughter and says "mom you are an idiot, look in the mirror"...... I do.  My pride at getting the lens in was short-lived .... the lens was balancing on my right cheek, 12cm below my eye.  Sigh. 

Eventually at attempt six Nic grabbed my finger with the lens and guided it until the lens touched my eyeball.  I blinked.  It went in, "I can see", I shrieked and danced a little jig. 

It took only 7 attempts to get the left one in.  Twice I folded it, it fell once on my jersey, once completely out when I let it go and finally BOOM, into my eye and I can see there too.  

I admit it is a little blurry, probably because they are dirty.  I admit that I can see 70 % because I am battling to see far which is a bit tricky driving.  Those are things I will phone and verify tomorrow.  But they were in my eyes from 6pm to now ..... 6 hrs and the feeling is fantastic.  

But for now?  It is 1150pm and I need to now get these lenses out of my eyes and into their little holder ......... heaven help us .......... Nic, come here please ...... 

And I seriously need to stop pushing up my glasses with my fingers, especially since I am no longer wearing glasses :)



till next time
c'est la vie 

Tuesday, 2 July 2013

Service with a Glare

Now maybe it is not the case at all post offices, but the one that I frequent has a delightful similarity across all staff ..... they are dreadfully unhappy, insufferably rude and obviously hate their jobs. 

I have reason to go there quite regularly.  Maybe I simply pick the wrong days every time.  The first time I went armed with two slips and my ID book.  I had signed the slips, entered my ID number, given a thumbprint and a spit sample.  She did not greet me, simply snatching the slip from me as I said good afternoon.  She looked at me with disdain ... "is this you", she said, looking at the slip and ID.  I replied in the affirmative as the slip and the ID had the same number and the photo is clearly me.  She consulted a higher authority (aka the other unhappy teller) and decided she would trust me with MY parcel.  It got thumped down and the "thank you, goodbye" I expected was instead replaced with her filing her nails. 

The next time I had to enquire about a parcel that should have arrived but I had not received a slip for it.  It was a Speed Services parcel and all those parcels are recorded in a simple system in a lever arch file.  All she had to do was let me page through the file and find the correct name (heaven forbid she should have to flip through the file).  "No", she said, after I requested to look, "it is not here".  Now I thought that was pretty insightful, in fact bordering on a miracle .... she guessed my surname and knew in amongst 2000 parcels that mine was not there?  I mentioned this to her.  She pursed her lips, rolled her eyes, sighed, glanced at miserable teller no 2, pulled up her skirt, glared at me and thumped down the file. The parcel was there.  After waiting 3 hours for an apology I left. 

Now I wonder if their home lives are miserable, is the trip to work miserable or are their whole lives miserable?  When they chat to each other, which is often whilst assisting customers, they seem to morph into very social, friendly and chatty people, but as their eyes return to the customer on the other side of the bars, they give you a look that would be well placed in a Harry Potter movie. 

You would think with the unemployment numbers in this country that the GPO could find friendlier staff ..... or here is a ridiculous thought .... perhaps explain to them that customer service is not an option it is a must.   But rudeness seems to be a right often today. 



Till next time
c'est la vie xxxx

Mo Salah, My car and other stuff

Each year a group of bloggers circulates a questionnaire around this time, intended to be answered by bloggers on Google and other forums, t...