One Week on

 Just seven days ago we were exhausted, surrounded by boxes of our possessions and trying to find the essentials to make it possible to sleep. At least our bed had been assembled but everything else was a jumble. Suffering from the after-effects of a virus that had given us both coughs the week before, we now had breathing problems caused by a brand-new carpet that had not even been vacuumed once, so piles of fluff accumulated everywhere.At least the weather was good to us - it remained warm for several days and we lived with the doors open.

Now we have begun sorting ourselves out. Huge numbers of boxes have been opened and contents decanted and placed more or less where we want them. The bare rooms are starting to feel homely - putting up lampshades in the last couple of days has certainly helped. We ate off our knees for several days but now have cleared all the stuff cluttering up our tables and can sit down to eat in a civilised way. Even the television - which did not work because the internal wiring system was not properly set up - is now functioning.

We have barely left our secluded estate, other than to pop out to Alcester for shopping and a couple of times to local pubs. This, however, feels right and proper. We have chosen a rural location and expect to be spending most of our time here.

We had hoped for a warm welcome from our fellow-residents. What we have experienced so far has surpassed our expectations. We feel part of a community in which everyone has an abiding interest in living harmoniously with their neighbours.

Moving

 This is the first despatch from our new home in Warwickshire. Amidst a welter of boxes, packing tape, piles of things in every corner and the joys of trying to find stuff you know you packed but can't quite put your finger on, there has been barely time to draw breath. And we have been here fully five days.

I am, finally, sat at my desk looking out over the edge of the estate - and it really is an estate - over a wildflower meadow to a horizon of trees. 

 

 

 

This is one of the key reasons we left beautiful Ruislip; we were fortunate to have lived in one of the pleasanter parts of the suburb but houses surrounded us in all directions. Here it is mainly trees, fields and the low density buildings of the retirement village to which we have migrated.

Our moving men did not do us many favours. We had a plan for us to arrive at the property first so as to direct them - they changed it and split the load into two. Load one arrived some time before we did and they had unloaded wherever they thought fit.They piled up the boxes four and five high in front of many of the storage units to which the contents were destined. We had to shift the boxes before we could do anything and they were heavy! They elaborately packed up wooden spoons and similar with twists of paper but took apart a delicate display case containing miniatures that were all stuck firmly in place, damaging the case in the process and breaking the bonds that held the pieces in place. 

We moved into a newly-built house and have the usual "snagging" issues but so far nothing that is worse than a minor irritant. 

There is still much to do so I will end here and resume when I have renewed my literary energies.

Farewell to Ruislip

 After nearly 30 years in beautiful Ruislip, it is time to move to greener pastures - literally - for Mrs C and I are relocating in the lush countryside of rural Warwickshire. There will be no more despatches from this agreeable part of west Middlesex and no more blistering invective on behalf of commuters everywhere.

But fear not, this blog will continue. Perhaps the Ramblings bit will become even more relevant as I explore the  byways, the disused railways, the canals and riverside walks close to my new home. Even my editor has agreed to make the move and I hope to find an untenanted tumbledown cattle shed to provide suitable accommodation. [Thanks. Thanks so very much: Ed]

 The problem confronting us today is whether to change the name.  Or not to bother, maybe just insert a tiny little "ex" before the word "Ruislip". Changing well-known names for neologisms has sometimes had damaging results - The Post Office attempting to become Consignia amidst universal derision is a good example. And the hamlet to which we are migrating is not a household name; I don't want people distracted by trying to work out exactly how to find Upper Silage-cum-Bishop's Nodules. Yes, I think Ruislip needs to remain at the heart of the marketing side of things and I can be a sort of writer-in-exile, warming my heart in the long dark winter evenings with thoughts of the roadworks on the A40, extensive delays on all Tube services to Harrow, the unending posts on Facebook about missing pets, found pets and pets found sadly deceased¹, mislaid keys, strangers outside one's house ("Stay safe, everyone") and the unstinting efforts of the O'Hara Bros to replace every pavement in the borough whether it needs it or not.

 More when I have had a chance to settle in ....

 

1. No pet ever dies - they are always found deceased.

Going to Extremes

 I received a puzzling message from my energy supplier today and I need some time to decide how to respond.  Perhaps one of my readers with a better insight into modern corporate thinking can assist.

Hello Anthony,

 You've been in contact with us recently and I hope that I was able to help. 

 We're keen to hear what your experience was like so we can make improvements to our service. If you have a spare minute, please answer below and give as much feedback as you can.

Have a great day,

So Energy

And it ends asking me to click on one of three buttons, labelled Extremely Satisfied,  Neither satisfied nor dissatisfied and Extremely dissatisfied. I am not allowed to be mildly pleased or a bit miffed. It's the extremes or the middle.

Jolly nice of them to wish me a great day and my degree of chuffedness has undoubtedly risen a notch or two. But that is where the pleasantries must end, I fear.

Let us, if we can, pass over the "I was able to help" and the corporate signature; no name of any real person (or even bot) was appended to the missive, leaving us in some doubt as to who the mysterious "I" may be. I don't suppose they have a autonomous AI brain running the customer communications.

No, the issue at hand is that the reason I contacted them was of a problem entirely of their making. The facts are these clears throat, refreshes memory with a quick glance at notes, reassuring smile to the jury  Last summer, after much pleading on their part, I permitted the installation of a smart meter to monitor my use of gas and electricity, both being supplied by the aforementioned SO Energy. I was assured this process would be seamless with the previous billing system based on my reading the meters every two months or so, backed up by the odd¹ visit from a man in a brown overall and a clipboard. 

Four months elapsed. My account was credited with the monthly direct debit that I pay them. But no charges for fuel. Consequently a hefty credit balance built up. When I looked at the account online there was apparently not a volt of electricity or therm of gas being consumed at Ramblings Towers. I emailed them to point this and was reassured that they were receiving my meter readings and it was all the fault of their dastardly billing team who would "reach out" to me very soon to fix the matter.

Three months later I politely emailed again if the team were now ready to do a bit of reaching, perhaps followed by a bit of pulling their bloody fingers out and doing some actual work to complete the apparently mind-bendingly difficult task of linking a meter reading to a customers account. A couple of months passed and I finally received a series of statements showing the fuel used since the meter was connected and giving me a correct statement of my account. Case closed, I thought. But no. Yesterday came this message

Hello Anthony,

Thank you for your email regarding bills.

Firstly we would like to apologise for not responding to your email query within our usual timeframes. We have received unprecedented levels of customer contact recently due to the ongoing energy crisis, which has meant we have not been able to keep to our usually quick response times.  

I've checked for you and I can see your previous query has already been resolved therefore I'm now closing this ticket.

and this was actually signed by a named person²

 Alright, it's taken them three months to acknowledge my email but I don't care because the account has been sorted out. End of story, yes? The ticket has been closed, the papers are filed away in a plain manilla folder marked "The Ramblings Affair" over-stamped with "Closed" in red ink, and in turn deposited into a heavy cardboard box along with similar cases, the whole being labelled "Embargoed until 2035" and placed in a high security warehouse somewhere near Loughborough.

 No, this one won't die. Today they are back in touch with the message displayed at the top of this column,  to say that they hoped they had been able to help in a problem entirely of their own making, and asking me to rate the "experience".

I don't know what I being asked to rate. The fact I had to chase them to bill me correctly or that they eventually got round to it? Is it the experience of raising the issue with the surnameless ladies of Customer Care? And how do I rate it? Wishy-washy, middle-of-the-road, don't rock the boat opinion or plump for an  "extremely", let them have it with both barrels as it were.?And that, my friends, is why I brought you here today and presented you with the full story. Over to you.

Footnotes

1. There was nothing actually odd about the visits per se. Or about the meter readers. It's just that they only came occasionally.
2. It was only a first name, as it happens, but it feels like I have been contacted by a real person. Or do they call their bots by ordinary English names?

The Coronation - 6: The Day After

 Everything went exactly as planned, bar the weather which, typically, refused to supply warm sunshine and fluffy white clouds, and instead went all gloomy with a steady drizzle and cloud so low that part of the RAF fly-past had to be abandoned. The crowds cheered, the state coaches glittered, Chas and Cammy, surrounded on all sides by bishops charged with preventing their escape, managed to get through a fairly dull service in Westminster Abbey, albeit enlivened by some splendid traditional music plus some modern extras and made a triumphant appearance on the balcony at Buck House a little later.

It was strange to see the blend of religious service and political rite-of-passage. When he arrived at the West Door, Charles was greeted, not Archbishops and Deans, Dukes and Marshalls, but by a young boy, a chorister, who effectively asked him what he was doing there.  His reply was that he was there to serve. (It should have been "This is my personal church, young fellow, and if you don't want my beefeaters to rough you up, I suggest you get out of the way"). Charles, keen to not just endorse Henry VIII's title of Defender of the Faith but to be all things to anyone believing anything by being Defender of Faith, spent a fair amount of time affirming the privileges of the Church of England and the truth of the Protestant religion. Oddly, various clerics participated with readings from the Bible, including some whose faiths do not acknowledge it at all. The one who played the least part in proceedings was the Chief Rabbi, bound by hundreds of years of tradition that forbid Jews participating in the religious proceedings of others. But at least he was there, processing in with the others and being greeted at the end by the newly-crowned monarch.

I was looking forward to seeing the massed ranks of the peerage swearing homage, wearing their ermine state robes and flaunting coronets and tiaras but there were none - modernisation has relegated them to mere onlookers wearing similar gear to everyone else. Only the Archbishop of Canterbury and then the Prince of Wales made a personal act of homage - the rest of the congregation and all of us watching were invited to take a mass oath. 

And now I must revise one of my earlier pieces in this little series, where I opined that not much seemed to be happening locally. Mrs C and I strolled into the heart of beautiful Ruislip this afternoon and saw three roads closed off for street parties. One was rather discreet -

but closer to our house, our near neighbours made their usual exuberant expressions of loyalty 

and, fortuitously, warm sunshine and fluffy white clouds graced the scene.