Credit; gammy feet; premature Christmassyness

Mightily annoyed recently to apply for the same Galaxy S IV deal via Mobile Phones Direct that Ruth took out a couple of months ago, and have Vodafone decline my application for credit. Firstly, because I have been a Vodafone customer for some years and finished a two-year Galaxy S contract last winter, on which I had never missed a payment, and secondly, because as far as I knew my credit history was pretty clean. Ruth suggested I obtain my Experian credit report (a more constructive course of action than the hour of ranting and swearing I had planned), which I duly did. Was reassured to see that my current credit score is in the ‘Excellent’ category, but did note the one ‘negative factor’ stated as ‘You have recently opened 1 or more new credit accounts’. Quite true, as I took out a Lloyds TSB credit card in September, as it had a lower interest rate than my current first direct Visa card, which I am intending to close. It had been intended at the time as a piece of sensible financial management, rather than the reckless behaviour creditors evidently take it to be. The assumption, presumably, is that applying for a new credit card means that you’ve maxed out your old one and just want some more Yummy Credit.

What was particularly galling was that my credit report also revealed that Vodafone had already searched it about a month previously following Ruth’s application for credit for the same phone deal – evidently this can happen when someone you are ‘financially connected to’ makes an application for credit – and had subsequently approved her application. A number of ‘hmph’ noises were made, before I decided that I wasn’t that bothered about having a new phone anyway, new up-to-the-minute phones being symptomatic of the grasping consumerism that plagues our society. OK, I didn’t decide any such thing.

Spent the first part of the weekend before last paying another visit to Mum and Dad’s, as Dad hadn’t been home the previous time I visited. On the Saturday we went for a lovely lunch at the Stonemill at Rockfield, where Dave and Hazel got married in 2011 and where my parents – and, evidently, also my aunt and uncle – have gone to eat a couple of times since. Don’t often order desserts, and certainly not sticky toffee pudding, but couldn’t resist the golfball-sized sphere of clotted cream it came with. And in fairness, the portions were fairly modest. Ruth and I walked down to the covered market in the afternoon, part of which was given over to a craft fair where I bought this charming doorstop in the shape of a hen. Although she is shown in the photo actually acting as a doorstop, I don’t intend keeping her on the floor as a matter of course as don’t trust Lexie not to inflict mortal wounds on her.

Bumped into my MK neighbour Susannah (from two doors down) while putting my rubbish out early last Wednesday, and enquired after her health, to be told that she’s healing well from her recent surgery. Susannah is probably around my age but evidently has some sort of problem with one or both of her legs. When I'd met her a month or so earlier I'd realised I hadn’t actually seen her for quite a while previously and she noted that she’d been housebound for a while due to a problem with one of her feet. She had appeared particularly cheerful on that occasion and shared that she was shortly due to go into hospital to have one of her feet amputated, which was “really good news”. I pondered on our strikingly different conceptions of what constitutes good news, but I concluded that it must say something for the level of discomfort she must have been in. I didn’t manage to figure out quite what was wrong with her, but seemingly some sort of infection. I subsequently spoke briefly to her scary-looking but pleasant partner while she was in hospital, and passed on my good wishes. When I next saw Susannah after this she seemed to be walking around quite freely, and indicated that her scar was healing quite nicely, pointing at her stomach. Not that I am any sort of surgical expert, but amputating someone’s foot via their stomach does seem a tad odd. In any case the freedom with which she now appears to be walking around suggests that an alternative way forward was found. All a bit mysterious though. I’m restricting myself to general enquiries as to how she is doing, rather than “What exactly was wrong with you?”, though I am a bit intrigued.

Stupid headline from an online news site this week. Why is this news? If the word ‘upset’ had been e.g. ‘thrill’, ‘please’, ‘stimulate’ or similar, then it might have been.

Went for another curry with workmates last Thursday at the Rose of India in Bletchley - again, very nice food; in fact I took care to order exactly what I'd ordered the previous time. Matt and I met again for pre-dinner drinks at the Enigma Tavern, having both forgotten that there is a marginally nicer-looking pub much closer to the restaurant. The Enigma was much busier than the last time we'd visited and appeared to have some sort of carvery going on in one corner. Matt had bagged us seats in front of the fire well away from the gravy-slurping locals.

Little Harley had another operation to file ('rasp') his teeth down last Friday, barely six months after his previous one. His teeth are evidently out of control. He came through it with seemingly no ill effects, though when we had told Sandra at RRR that this was impending, she expressed concern about the frequency of anaesthetics and recommended a cruel-to-be-kind feeding approach involving fewer fresh vegetables but a mountain of hay and grass on tap. Harley has never shown himself to be particularly keen on hay but I think the idea is to starve him into submission.

On Sunday Ruth and I visited the Tree Barn at Greenfield Farm at Christmas Common and were suckered into buying a real Christmas tree. Only a little one, but still. It’s currently out on the patio in its pot and we’re just hoping it manages to retain its needles for the next month. Also managed to spend a further £50 or so on baubles, candles and some mini gold faux cowbells.


It's apparently unclear how the village of Christmas Common came by its name, but I still recall an incident relatively early on in my relationship with Ray, when we were driving around the area and he asked, rather to my confusion, “Is Christmas common round here?” Being unaware at the time of the existence of the village, I replied something like “Once a year, same as everywhere”. How we laughed …

We called in at Waitrose on the way back from the Tree Barn and bought some tinned goods and a big box of tea bags to contribute to Reading’s FoodBank. Hope they appreciate having Waitrose groceries. Re the tea bags: we did have a brief middle class angst-ridden discussion about whether we were making an unjustified assumption that poor people don’t use loose tea, but erred on the side of caution and grabbed them a huge box of tea bags labelled 'Everyday Brew', or some such, while Ruth sneaked her loose Assam into the other end of the trolley.

Pearls from this week’s job search: Crop Technician (remarkably poorly paid) and Climbing Wall Instructor.