London

The beauty and the trouble with London is the size of the place.

I love its distinct areas, especially the east end, it used to be Camden that I gravitated to, but these days it’s something like Columbia Road at the weekend for Monmouth coffee and battered prawns on market day perhaps. Then of course there’s Borough Market just south of the river. Brilliant. Although both these places are often so heaving with people it’s hard to actually enjoy.

When folk ask me where to go I usually direct them to the City Visitor website. Let’s say you’re looking for a solicitor in London, or maybe hairdressers in London, just pop onto there and get it sorted. Of course if I actually know a place that is good at whatever someone is after then I’ll tell them, but I can’t be arsed with being some kind of tour guide.

Now fuming at Paypal

After I touched on the subject of Paypal yesterday I began thinking more about it and got increasingly angry.

I called again, determined that I would wait as long as it took to get an answer, and was actually pleasantly surprised when the phone was answered quite quickly. I’d remembered my own advise and was careful not to give more information that they absolutely needed to discuss the account, but then of course because their letter was addressed to Y they couldn’t speak to me anyway.

Y tried to find out what was going on, but without disclosing personal email addresses and date of birth they wouldn’t talk.

Right now we’re at a stale mate. But they did suss out enough to realise that they have got the wrong person. There must have been someone else with a similar name at the same post code at some stage in the past. The trouble is data matching software is now pretty good and will pull data from all over the place and create conclusions that may be bang on, but are just as likely to be shots in the dark. To a certain extent I can support that – but not when the result is letters being sent that threaten bailiffs and generally scare the life out of people.

Imagine if it had been an old biddy they were in touch with? Or your mum?

I’m not sure what we can do next, I reckon we’ll just sit it out and see if they persist.

Trouble with Paypal

The dreamy Saturday carried on, and on, in fact we hardly did a thing all weekend. That is so unlike us, but now and then it’s really nice.

We cooked our own food.

As I typed that I though how decadent it sounds, but fact is that we hardly ever cook for ourselves at the weekend.

A roast chicken for last night – fantastic. No spuds, just huge Yorkshire puds and loads of veg.

Blissed out we then took an early night and slept like kings.

All got a little annoying this morning though as Y was working from home and hence was there when the post man came. She signed for a letter which turns out to be from a firm of bailiffs who are chasing her for a debt with Paypal.

Now on the one hand this isn’t a problem as she doesn’t even have an account with them, but she scanned and emailed their letter to me and it’s pretty scary, threatening to come and take possession of goods to the value of… etc.

I’ve tried calling the number they give and waited for ages, well, over ten minutes as the work phone just tells you stuff like that, yet got no answer, just held in a queue.

This isn’t the first time something like this has happened and it tends to be down to a company doing data matching to try to find people then sending letters that look so similar to your own details that you believe it’s for you. Apparently you have to be very careful not to give them additional information as they’ll tie that to the incorrect details and you’ll find it harder still to get out of.

I’m deeply suspicious and uncomfortable about such things.

Dreamy Saturday morning

Y’s doing her university coursework for the day and Stuart’s knackered form a hard week, so all”s quiet in the Barbican today.

And I’m so looking forward to doing very little.

Got the paper earlier on when we took the dog for her pee. Haven’t opened it yet.

Got a couple of magazines too.

Haven’t opened them either.

Two cups of excellent coffee at St Johns over in Spitalfields.

Bought rock hard but gorgeous bread there.

And donuts.

Managed to avoid rabbit stew though.

Taking it slow just now and then feels like an absolute luxury.

Think it’s nearly time for a nap.

Still thinking about the car

Every now and then Y and I have a fling with a silly idea. At one stage it was a cottage way up north, then a cottage in Cornwall. Sometimes the fire keeps burning and we end up actually doing the crazy idea, like the cruise she has booked us on. And in fact the idea of the cottage in Devon, or maybe Cornwall is still simmering away in the back of our minds.

And so is the car.

I’ve rarely known the girl to get excited by cars, but she’s certainly up for this one. I got a text earlier to say that she is making enquiries with the Corporation of London about parking at The Barbican. Blimey, that’s about the biggest hurdle to buying the thing. Well, that and the small consideration of having a car already that we never use and that we keep talking about selling.

Trouble is I can absolutely imagine us going out for a pose cruise on a Saturday. We’d dress well. Have a restaurant booked. And gently amble out into the country for lunch or something. She’d drink to much and sleep on the way back. Dog would be sleeping in the rear window. I’d take advantage of the opportunity to open the car up a bit, see what it can still do.

It all sounds a bit dreamy, but after the first couple of months would we still love it?

It kinda feels like we might be about to find out!

A very different Mercedes Coupe

After getting excited by the new Mercedes Coupe outside a friend’s office yesterday in town I was truly surprised by my valentine coming home and also mentioning a car – a Mercedes Coupe!

But the object of Y’s eye is a very different beast to that which I desired. She’d fallen for one built in 1975, the year of her birth. It’s a beautiful thing. She took a photo with her phone and then we scanned Google trying to find out what it is. It seems to be a 280C, has a huge six cylinder engine and is probably one of the silliest cars we’ve ever thought of even considering.

It has the best looking and most sumptuous imaginable red leather interior – all plump and comfortable.

Apparently it’s fast as a fast thing, and could just about be coaxed up to 25 mpg. That’s bloody awful, but when you don’t actually drive far I guess it doesn’t matter that much.

Oh God, I feel an itch starting that may cause all sorts of problems if i scratch it.

Aside from car desires, the valentines meal was great. Washed down with a couple of bottles of fizz. Good tunes from Moby, UNKLE, DJ Shadow and others. And we tracked our friend’s Facebook who is asking for suggestions for music to go into his self catering cottage in Sennen, west Cornwall . He wants to have 9 of the best cds, films and books. By the time we went to bed it looked like he be choosing from hundreds just from the suggestions he’d been sent.

C Class coupe

I’ve just been sitting in a mate’s office overlooking Brewer St and there was a new C-class coupe sitting on the street and I’ve felt strangely attracted to it.

I rarely care about cars and something has to be interesting for me to notice, generally that means old, but not always.

Great shape is important. The Morris Minor is a gorgeous shape, I like the Diahatsu Coupen, even though I don’t think I could get into it. The modern Bentley Continental. Bristols in general. Old Volvos. Most old Mercedes.

And the little baby outside.

Still, we don’t drive anywhere so there really is little point in thinking of another car. Although if I mentioned the idea at home Y’s eyes would light up. I think she’d love one.

Just being in town in the week is great. I sort of wish I worked in Soho. So many beautiful people wandering around. Great little individual shops and cafes and restaurants. The down side would be that I would spend so much more money on the way to work, at lunch time, we’d meet in town after work. OK. I’d need an extra ten grand on my salary, but the idea is a nice one.

Walking home in a bit. That’s nice too.

Valentines day. Roses. M&S dine in meal. Steak. Chips. Starter. Desserts (which we won’t get to). Card. All sorted in advance. Get me.

Domestic?

I admit, part of the reason I live in a rented flat is that I’m close to scared by the idea of doing anything practical around the house.

I don’t have a drill.

I don’t have a saw.

I’d be terrified of most power tools.

So when the towel rail gave up the ghost in the Barbican flat bathroom and Y agreed with the landlord that I’d buy AND FIT a new one, I was pretty horrified.

I’ve just been looking on the UK Bathrooms site and found what I need, but I sure as hell won’t be fitting the thing.

It doesn’t bother me in the least. I wouldn’t expect the guy who comes and does a great job of fitting the new rail to know anything about marketing and banking. Each to his own.

Arrgh!

So much for a fun trip to Manchester in the name of work.

The work was fine. The meeting was good and will get us some good business, but it was what happened after was more fun. I met up with a mate from college and his girlfriend, they’ve worked in Manchester for years and profess to even like the place. We did the usual, too many beers in town in what they call the northern quarter, then to a new curry house called Akbar’s that we used to go to in Leeds yeras back.

So far so good.

But then the snow got worse and the train was cancelled and so we just went back to bar. And drank, and drank.

And then yesterday I got the early train down which cost an absolute fortune, but fortunately the bank will pick that up. And then I had to drag myself through the day at work so so tired, and more than a bit hungover.

Whoa! Don’t want to be going through that agin for some time.

Manchester

Having said that I hardly ever travel for work, I’m now on the train to Manchester for a meeting this afternoon. Great. Having friends here I’m hoping to get together a bit later and catch teh late train home.

Britain looks quite special from the train window when you have time to look out at it all. Having done very little yesterday I ought to have my head down working, but it’s just looking too good to miss out there. There was a heavy frost last night and the morning sun is creating lovely patterns around tress where some frost is still in the shade, but bright green grass is exposed all around it. I do feel sorry for the poor livestock out there trying to scrub around for a few sharp frozen blades of green though.

We’ve just passed Macclesfield which looks deceptively pleasant from the train today, but having been a few times I’m not fooled. It’s the first bit of Grim Up North in my book. Next up Stockport. One of the horrible places to be absorbed into the Manchester conurbation and worth just passing by too.

Right. Ten minutes to go. Best pack up and get ready to step out into the chilly day. Quick stride across town to Deansgate and into the new complex of Spinningfields. Smart and a bit Spitalfields like, but lacking the benefit of the cool Shoreditch brings to the London lookalike.