26 August 2020
Amy is here cleaning my shiny surfaces. As I type I hear soothing sounds with the odd squeak as she cleans the windows outside. Music as good as Bach. She arrived on her bike in the rain clasping her bucket and pole. Whatever the opposite of wimp is, that’s Amy. Trouper perhaps. When introducing her to the outside, I had to remove the hare defences which H has had to erect all around the vegetable garden.
Otherwise, our vegetables are shared not just with snails, slugs, mice and voles but hares who are most efficient eaters. They even ate the leeks when nothing else was available. Must have been so hungry.
Lismore has no rabbits but did once have hares, but they died out some time last century. The Norman family (some member of) reintroduced them in the 1990s despite being advised against it by Scottish Natural Heritage. They died out for a reason. They are skinny sad looking creatures not the beautiful robust specimens I used to see boxing in Dorset.
A BT engineer is here dealing with our rubbish broadband. The speed is dreadful at the best of times, and we are always being promised better. Improvements are all ready to go at the exchange they say but COVID-19 … How convenient COVID-19 is; all slackness excused. Our speed is a lot worse in the evenings if the houses around are let. Of course if you are letting a house you have to offer broadband for paying self caterers. So we have to share our measly speeds. The engineer has had to up the pole next door and is complaining it is becoming inaccessibly overgrown. Our neighbours have done a lot of planting; everything grows rampantly on this lime rich soil. Mrs Carmichael positioned this house so that she could see Ben Nevis from her bed. No chance now. Can still see it from the garden and the conservatory.
The Financial Ombudswoman, or her agent, rang around 7 last evening re my complaint about Experian repeatedly refusing me a clean bill of financial health. Every time I want to invest money, not borrow but invest, they act as though I am laundering or worse burying the stuff. They regret, they always regret, they cannot guarantee my financial probity. Please send a letter proving you are who you say you are, and a bill with your name on it to prove you live where you say you live, blah blah. It’s been going on since I wed.
I went through all that legalising of our union never imagining my probity would be questioned. I thought the opposite if I ever gave financial probity a thought. I do not hold out much hope the ombudswoman will help as I believe this is to do with my not ‘taking’ his name. Worse, for convenience, I closed by utterly probity-rich accounts and went in with his. Purely for convenience. But his name is first on them all. This matters, I believe. The second person, if his or her name is not the same, has no probity. In London and New Zealand (and not being born here is suspicious all on its own) I could hold my financial head high. Still can in NZ. With hindsight, we should have opened accounts with my name first, and I should certainly not have appended myself to his credit cards. I reveal these sordid facts to save any reader from these marital errors. Not changing your name is punishable in so many cute ways.
Or … is there a Pauline Dowling somewhere (Ireland?) defrauding the universe, and they think it is me? If so, please fess up now. Unlikely, as it is not a common name and I own all the domain names. Experian is only interested in Experian and can withhold the reasons they are failing me. It’s their right! So what’s the point of the ombudswoman? There will be more chapters to this. The real defrauders burying millions: the banks love them. I tick boxes for them. ‘Job done’ they say to the Financial Conduct Authority. ‘She’s up to no good.’
Today’s Tip: Every day you do not consciously stretch you unconsciously shrink. You may quote me.