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See, told you I'd be here and this wasn't a scam to get your internet details, find out where you live and just turn up one day telling you that the small print on the previous page says, "By clicking here you agree that I can live with you...for free."

The links on this page are all dedicated to past opinions I have had and experiences...experienced. Please don't take any of them too seriously or come looking for me for some kind of vengence if you are mentioned or you recognise my side of your story.... All persons portrayed here are ficticious and any similarity to any person living or dead is purely coincidental(even if I use their name).

Water, water (nearly) everywhere --- 9th Mar 2017..... Puddles in the bathroom appearing miraculously every time I take a shower or flush the toilet. Is there a leak somewhere? I think so, yes. I wipe up the first puddle and apply a square of toilet tissue in a genius move to prove the floor is no longer wet. I use another square to test that the pipes are dry....genius. No droplets. So where is this water coming from? I touch the side of the bath. It’s bone dry. I flush the toilet tissue and walk away thinking of where the water could be coming from. Twenty minutes later I return and find the puddle has too. Where is this stealth leak coming from? I test the pipes. Still dry! I check the skirting board to see if the leak could be coming from a burst pipe. No bubbling water there, hmmm! Once again I wipe up the water and leave the floor dry to give myself thinking time. I submit a work request to the complex management company so they can investigate the issue. I realise it’s the weekend so it’s possible we may not have someone to investigate anytime soon. I submit the request advising that it requires immediate attention, not because it does but in case there is some obscure clause in the tenancy agreement that makes me liable for the damage which could be caused by not alerting them to escaping water. It’s now evening and testing time again. I don’t think the time of day determines when there is a leak but just in case, before I take a shower I conduct the toilet tissue test again on the floor, pipes, bath and surrounding area (the bathroom isn’t that big but “surrounding area” makes it sound like there’s a bath in the middle of a room with a sofa nearby so I can chat with passers by if the urge took me). Nothing! Everything’s as dry as a mouthful of crackers. I turn the shower on, set the curtain as usual so water doesn’t trickle down the bath, let the water warm up then step in. ----This next bit is all naked. Cue lift music (I don’t know why there’s a lift in the bath)----- Now fresh, dry and dressed I check out the floor area to the rear of the toilet. It’s wet. I wipe it all up....again, then strategically place my genius toilet tissue around the area to see where gets hit first. The toilet area remains clear. The bath area becomes wet but the side of the bath is still dry. Further investigation leads me to what I believe is the cause of the mysterious puddles. Ninja drips! Water has been sneakily running along the channel between the bath and the tiles....rendered invisible by the silicone it travels along. The ninja avoided the tissue test by sticking to the channel. I’m beginning to feel like this leak is mocking me The complex maintenance man arrives. His investigations prove what I already know. There is no leak. He advises closing the curtain more securely and that he will close the issue as resolved.

Happy New Year --- 6th Feb 2017..... Better late than never, yet not that late if you happen to be Chinese. I’ve been in shock for the last few weeks as it became apparent that the USA had pulled a “Brexit” by completely side swiping the planet to elect what some would call a megalomaniac, to run the country. His election, based mostly on the fact that he has run “successful” businesses (into the ground) and been the chief executioner on a telly show called “The apprentice”, has, as we all could see before it happened, come at a price. That price is the sanity, comfort and ease of the sane free world. Unless you’ve been living in a bubble or in shock like me you know exactly what’s been happening so I don’t need to waste anymore finger taping time on the subject here. Just let it be noted that I, along with a vast majority of the planet, according to statistics that I just made up, am not happy in any way shape or form with the outcome and currently rest a little less easily. That’s enough of that chatter for now although I'm sure it won't be my final comment on the matter.

The Christmas charge has begun --- 27th Nov 2016..... It’s the weekend before the week that will begin the Christmas charge and it seems as though those of us that will be Christmas shopping the old fashioned way (in physical shops) have started. We were at Blue-Water (a shopping centre near Dartford, Kent) earlier today just on the lookout for some “party” shoes for the wife (apparently there’s a difference between regular and party shoes). We weren’t there for long compared to other times, but long enough, before we found ourselves in Frasers House department store where I got myself comfortable and watched my wife trying on shoes whilst also ogling other ladies in between bouts of my wife asking “what d’you think of these?”, referring to several pairs of pencil thin healed, break necks, which were only really separated from the last pair I passed judgement on, by the height from which they could break her neck. All I really try to do in these situations, apart from choosing a nice shoe, is make sure that whatever she chooses will allow her to come home in one piece and without sore feet. This is not an easy call to make as invariably “the best” shoes are the ones that hurt after a while but look sensational ALL the time. The fashion parade went on for some time. Models came and models went but our show continued until “we” decided we’d look elsewhere then “come back later.” Several shops later and I had to call “time-out”. My stomach probably thought my throat had been cut. I was too hungry to continue so it was time to eat otherwise we’d have to contend with Mr grumpier coming to visit (nobody likes him). We find somewhere we haven’t been before, offering cuisine I hadn’t tried before...Lebanese! I tried a chicken dish my wife a lamb one, both judged to be good. I also tried a spiced hot chocolate, something I’d first had a few years ago in Egypt. This one was ok but didn’t really “do it” for me. My wife had a fresh juice which we both judged to be delicious. At this point my wife notices that the shops are beginning to close (that’s a shame). We order another juice and get the bill. My wife points out the “cheeky” composition of the bill whilst I pay it. “They’ve added the service charge then added VAT to the total...cheeky!” Her words don’t hit me until we’re leaving. My temperature goes up at my lack of due diligence. I’d have paid the service charge with no quibble, as the food was good and the staff were friendly and helpful enough, but the stealth increase of the VAT charged was more than cheeky. It’s been a while since I’ve complained about stuff but this is a stark reminder as to what I should keep my complaints chops sharp and what we all need to look out for as the festive “teefin” season begins to get underway. Happy shopping!!

Yesterday went well --- 16th Nov 2016..... About 6 weeks ago my wife decided that whilst back in the UK we were going to do something we, as a team, had never done before (and I’d only had done for me as a child). We were gonna have a party. Not just any old party but one to celebrate the wedding ceremony we’d had performed at a registry office over a year ago, a quarter of the way around the world where our only witnesses were our nephews, their mum, my wife to be’s uncle and my mum and sister via Skype. I thought it was a nice idea, one we’d spoken about many times in the past year, but I didn’t think it was going to happen.....until it started to happen, (it’s nice when that happens). She was on it continually, designing this, ordering that. It was a sight to behold. I couldn’t get up the enthusiasm she had for it but she’d been through this process many times before, having organised club nights when at University.....I barely went to college. She came up with ideas to dress the tables with ornaments, Rose petals, lights and pictures which I witnessed come together from concept to concrete. The venue we used for the event was one we’d eaten at many times before. We just happened to be there discussing where we could have the event, when it struck my wife that maybe they had a function room in this place. On asking we were told they didn’t have a function room but they regularly let the entire establishment for private parties and would be happy to accommodate should we wish to engage them....Reeeesult!! We sat down with the manager and hashed out what it was we required. Along the journey to the day of fun we had various interactions with the chef regarding what we wanted, what was possible and other changes to the final menu, all accommodated cheerfully and helpfully which in itself made the experience more manageable. Reading this back makes it sound as though it was easy sailing...it wasn’t. Everything that was put together was done in house. No outside help...none! My wife decided she wanted to give guests party favours. I didn’t know what these were but as she IS my wife I offered to help. That was a mistake!! I’m just glad we couldn’t invite more people. Putting these “lovely” little gifts together was akin to the work of a sweatshop employee (with toilet breaks and without the abuse....no pay though). Repetitive, mundane, slow, no end in sight (apart from the fact you do know how many you need) production line of two with no product. I must take this moment to admit that at the end of the event the smiles on people’s faces at having had such a good time, made all the effort more than worth it. The event went off without a hitch and we’ve already started receiving thank you messages and requests for more parties. I think if we do this again we’ll need a larger venue as unfortunately we had to cut our initial guest list quite ruthlessly meaning many family and friends were omitted. It makes my heart jump when I consider those that weren’t there but were wanted. Hope to see you all again soon!!

Make that stretch --- 20th September 2016....Since I last wrote some day to day stuff back in June, and after three visits to the Chiropractor, my back has been slowly improving. I’ve been stretching daily (seriously...no let up) with a combination of Yoga stretches and any other kind of stretch that benefits my mobility (which is pretty much all stretches) mainly garnered from videos found on the WWW. Many of the stretches were already part of my arsenal but hadn’t been used for what could be considered an age, and as we know, if it’s not being used, it’s seizing up or deteriorating in some kind of way. Having come from a background of sports and knowing the benefit of stretches I am more than a little annoyed at myself for having become so complacent with my abilities. I now count myself quite fortunate to have experienced this problem with enough mobility remaining with which to turn myself around. The Yoga stretches along with the Chiropractic manipulation have shown me how misaligned my body is but that through careful and gentle exercise things can be improved. I realise I am stretching against years of inactivity and a self imposed sedentary lifestyle but so long as the stretches are maintained and incorporated into everyday, things will improve. I can feel my body loosening up everyday and my stamina levels improving as I have continued to play (turn up and stand on the field at least) football with the same group of people where the problem first manifest itself in such a bold manner all those months ago. What I realise now is that ironically the fitter I get the more susceptible I am to injury either through over stretching, exercising or over-compensating which in turn leads you to ask yourself whether this fitness moo-yakey is really worth it. The answer to that question is a resounding “Yes. Yes it is worth it.” Going through a series of stretches that last no more than 20 minutes I have seen significant improvements achieved to my own level of mobility. As I noticed immediate benefits within a few days I increased the stretch frequency to twice a day, morning and evening (whilst watching telly). What has been different about stretching this time around when compared to the years I’d put in as a sporting participant was that I had no choice but to completely relax into the stretches as any tension, no matter how slight was greeted with a painful nervous system generated prod to “relax”. I also now realise how easy it is to sit into bad habits with bad posture which at the time can seem either comfy or cool but unfortunately the long term benefit is nil. I count myself fortunate to have experienced this at a time when I was trying to become more active as it has also helped me realise how unfit I had become yet given me a goal (pardon the pun) of being able to run about, pain free for at least 90 minutes....like the good ol’ days. Bottom line, stretch more and loosen up those hamstrings, calves, hips and quads.

It finally came through --- 27th June 2016.... I’ve been out here in the Divided States (off and on) for approximately 2 years now, unable to work, not due to a lack of skill but due to “da rules” which say that I can’t work unless I have a permit to do so. As up until a few months ago I didn’t fulfil the criteria required to work here I pretty much spent my days figuring out how not to get into trouble and what I would do once I became eligible to work. Today I received the much coveted “Permit to work” card, which pretty much now means I can officially join the ranks of the Divided States jobless. In order to be acknowledged as existing I need a Social Security Number, without which you don’t get access to anything. No mobile phone, no bank account, no health care, all of which are staples of modern society. I’d rather not need the healthcare, prefer cash in hand and the old fashioned phonebox served me just fine for 20 plus years. Anyway.... I arrive at the Social Security office, my first real foray into the real life world of this country, and the Security guard politely and helpfully advises that I need sign in using the automated self help machine in the far corner of the room. It looks and acts much like the self appointment machines you find in many doctor’s surgeries these days. I follow the on screen prompts and within about 30 seconds am presented with a ticket declaring letters and digits I should either listen out for or look out for on the screen towards the front of the room. I’m sweating now as I actually walked the two and half miles in the blazing sunshine just for the hell of it. I notice that the seats in the waiting area are plastic, much like the moulded material found in many schools. This poses me with a potential problem as once I stand up I’m likely to leave a sweat streak on the chair. Then it hits me.... I don’t know anyone here. Literally in this whole state I know my wife. Suddenly the sweaty butt crack thing becomes a minor. Ah.... they look like my digits being displayed and that sounds like he’s calling them...bingo. I present myself at the window, much like those at the post office back home, and am greeted by a friendly man with a not so friendly looking face (possibly due to stress of the job) I give him my documents and await instruction. A woman appears behind me from nowhere and bangs the desk in front of me. “Is Lynn working today?” The reply is a swift “No” followed by advice as to who can help her. When the woman is out of earshot, the friendly but unfriendly looking gentleman advises me that he thinks “..that woman is crazy....She comes in all the time... I think she’s on crack”. All is well again. He makes reference to my accent then decides he wants my opinion on “Brexit”. Not wishing to go into a deep conversation about how for the past months the British public were, despite their many fears, anxieties and requests for information were instead, lead on a merry song and dance like the Pied Piper guiding the mice to their doom, by both the for and against advocates, neither of which were able to clearly layout, reasons for either option and have, by their neglect, confusing rhetoric and playing to peoples fears, bent the entire country over a barrel face down in the mud exposing the soft spots to Europe’s jousting stick. Instead of having this conversation I smiled politely and gestured to the Exit sign above his head. We both laughed politely. My documents and paperwork are in order. The permit to work, works. I’m advised that I should receive a Social Security Number and card within two weeks. I’m done. Have a nice day. I gather my things exchange final pleasantries ending with, “Good luck with your vote and please make sure you don’t let that idiot into the White House”. I think he knows who I’m talking about. I step back out into the blazing sunshine and prep for the journey home. I am now officially employable. Soooo....what now?

Football friendly --- 21st June 2016.... I played football today for the second time in three weeks after an approximate 20 year lay off. The first time I laced up my boots (trainers), three weeks ago, was not followed by the best after match experience. During my back to the future (in the past) moment I had major issues adjusting to the heat, breathing and running coupled with the fact that I hadn’t had a drink or brought any fluid replacement of any kind. I had an apple in my bag but I figured I should save that for the end of the game. I started out just watching this group of guys kicking a ball about then when asked if I wanted to join in it was as if I’d been transported back to childhood. I stepped onto the pitch “ala Kevin Costner” in “Field of dreams”. I thought I was doing the right thing by starting out slow and not over exerting myself then for some reason the fool in me took over. I stretched for a ball I would have reached easily all those years ago, only to have my body say “Nope, you can’t have that...” and emphasise it by pulling on my hamstring as if controlling a horse (I guess I am kind of a thoroughbred of sorts). The over stretch also managed to destroy the shoe on my trailing foot as I dragged it across the pitch in an effort to reach said ball. I styled out the sudden shock of my body punishing me by bopping (limping) over to the sideline for some water that we all now know I didn’t have. I stretched for a few minutes then back to the game, this time more cautiously. Every time I tried to put a spurt of latent energy into my step my body said, “Nope not yet old fella. You take your time and reach that ball in a second or two.” This went on for a majority of the game at the end of which my head felt tight due to lack of fluid and I could barely walk due to the sporadic cramp occurring in my hamstring. I made it home, flopped on the sofa where I intended to pass out then realised I really, really needed a drink. As I knew my legs were no longer supporting me, I rolled onto the floor and dragged myself to the fridge. “Water, water.” I poured half the bottle straight down my neck then dragged myself to the middle of the floor where I passed out for the next couple of hours. For the next few days my body was stiff as expected then something strange and unexpected happened. My back refused to bend in any direction without first offering pain as some kind of greeting. Transitioning from sitting to standing or standing to sitting, lying down to sitting up, sitting up to lying down, all greeted by “Hey how are you? I’m pain. I’m only here for a little while but long enough so you won’t forget me.” This greeting went on consistently for the next two weeks after which it eventually became more manageable. Today was the test. I turned up and played, not for as long as I’d have liked but for as long as my body was comfortable. I laced up my old boots, which have clearly seen better days as they pretty much disintegrated on my feet after about 20 minutes, which was fine as I needed the rest. I made some footwear adjustments and got back in the game. Unfortunately my feet aren’t as swift as they once were and I ended up stepping on some poor soul’s foot with my studs (those who know the pain, know the pain.) I apologised but his game was done. I think for the foreseeable future I’ll wear trainers until I get my feet under control and am less likely to cause injury to others. I didn’t overstretch myself this time, although I could feel myself wanting to.

I saw another one today --- 11th May 2016.... Substance abuse of the hard kind seems to be rife in the neighbourhood. She looked as though she was rehearsing for a part in a telly show or something. Walking backwards and forwards past the second hand car dealership (pre-owned they call it here) throwing her hands up in the air as if speaking with someone. It’s possible she may have been speaking to someone I couldn’t see due to the fact that I had not taken any substances, abuseable or otherwise. Maybe I was the one in the wrong here. Maybe I should be able to see and interact with whatever this woman was interacting with. Maybe my negligence in using some sort of stimulant was shinning a spotlight on me as some kind of weird society outcast. Nope, it turns out that she was actually just high. I say, just high, in that matter of fact manner as it seems to be what people do (not just here but on a global level) when they have hit rock bottom, or a place close by. We, as people, try to escape pain by replacing it with something that numbs us, not only to that pain, but to everything. Looking at her from a distance, she was reasonably shapely (that’s shapely not lumpy). I could make out the remnants of a once enviable figure, but as I got closer the damage which had been sustained, by what I can only guess to be self inflicted substance abuse, was obvious. It seems to be a thing amongst the addicted that teeth are as good a currency as money. She was missing a few and the ones she had lost had been somehow etched onto her face as lines. These lines aged her more than the platinum blonde hair falling down her back with it’s dark roots springing from her scalp, more than the “shapely” figure she was trying, unsuccessfully, to stuff into clothes that fit someone else, and more than the shoes which elevated her at least two inches above her natural height but years past her natural age. It was a lot to take in so quickly, label, conclude and pass judgement, but I did it. I wonder if people judge me that quickly, from a distance, based on the way I do or don’t dress, walk, speak, move?

Leave the distractions at home --- 2nd May 2016....We're on time, there's no queue to buy tickets, the ice-cream, popcorn queue is non existant. The assistant is very capable at assisting. Goods collected, taste tested and we're through the door. It's only 10 minutes of adverts for other films that don't seem so bad. Looks like a summer of super heroes is on the way. The film's started and the story was set up at the end of a different film but this is the showdown I've been waiting to see for years. Batman (who has no powers) Vs Superman (who has all the powers necessary for anything you could think of). Wait a minute.... Who are these late comers? Why the hell are they coming up here? The cinema is all but empty. There are seats everywhere. There are seats next to seats asking for someone to put their bums on their face cos they feel like they aren't bein fully employed. The place is EMPTY!!! so why? why? do you have to carry yourself up all the stairs to the row I'm sitting on with my wife, and not only that but then you push past us to sit four seats away? The place is EMPTY(Charlie Brown faces the sky and pleads for help). Ok I'm gonna let it slide. Maybe this is just their favourite spot. Lets just enjoy the film. "Blah, blah... something Spanish, blah, more Spanish..." Are you "Forking" kidding me? You've come in late, pushed past people already seated and enjoying the film and now you're gonna talk through it. Why are you here? Is the shelter closed? Too many people in your mum's house? Is the manager your cousin? WTF... Turn the phone off man! The Cinema already asked everyone that was here on time, to be mindful that mobiles are distracting and ya know what, Cinema wasn't lying. It's annoying as "Fork". It's dark in here so you constantly pushing the buttons on your phone and lighting up the corner is enough to cause a distraction. Now your female counterpart decides she wants to go to the toilet?...now? Where's the 'king camera? This must be joke or something. It's not..."for sucks fake!". She smells odd... sweaty covered in perfume. She heads for an exit that doesn't exist then heads for the entrance she came in from. Now she's gone I don't even notice that this guy is sitting there. Maybe we can all now continue to enjoy the film....but not for long....she's back. I guess the toilet wasn't far enough away and was really easy to find. Yup, she's definitely sweaty and covering it (badly) with perfume. Back to their Spanish conversation, maybe I can pick up a phrase or two. Maybe they're here as some kind of community outreach program to teach non Spanish speakers, Spanish. As I begin to effectively drown out their presence they up the ante and switch to both conversation and phone light flashing on and off, add to that, the seating is all linked and now I believe they are trying to give us an interactive experience by making the row move....lucky us. The film now has about 30 minutes left. The couple two rows in front decide they've seen enough and leave. I start to consider that we may be in the wrong kind of cinema. Is everyone here to see the film or was it just a cheaper option than a hotel? The film ends, the couple in the corner are up and at the stairs. I can't help but continue to wander about their reason for being here, not just in the cinema but on this planet. The total lack of consideration for others was something to be seen. They seemed completely unaware that there were other people in this room of darkness, sporadic light and sound. There were three other corners these two could have sat in without disturbing anyone at all. As scenarios go, if I'd have asked them to keep the noise and activity to a minimum chances are I'd have been the one charged with causing a disturbance (possibly because I wouldn't have asked politely)as I doubt people this ignorant are going to be able to understand someone asking them politely to keep the noise down. Deep breaths taken all through the film and we've made it to the end incident free. Test successfully passed...no voices raised, no tempers missing. Waited around at the end of the film hoping for that "extra" scene a lot of these new films tend to have these days...It wasn't there. Easy, non tense, funny conversation on the way home with my beautiful wife...she doesn't smell of sweat. I check out showbox when I get home and watch the film again.

It could just be me --- 28th April 2016....The sun is shinning, I'm smiling....great day. What is this man singing? Oh! "These shoes were made for walking and that's just what they'll do...." He's dressed like a farmer and singing as he all but chases a woman down the street. The woman is...grimacing...no she's smiling. She seems to be missing the top front row of her teeth but generally happy. I try to avoid too much eye contact but maintain enough composure to warrent a simple "Good morning" with no follow up. The, no follow up, doesn't happen. The man, dressed as a farmer jumps toward me, "Hey, how about Prince?". In my head..."WTF" Why is this man chatting to me bout Prince? Why does he think this to be an acceptable choice of conversation? Man was just singing a song to some semi toothless woman about walking boots. Why not continue on that theme? Ask if man is wearing new shoes, tell me the last time he had a new pair, talk about the weather....anything....why Prince? The farmer is of a hue several times removed from my own as was the lady he was singing to. I don't believe this to be an issue but maybe, just maybe, possibly he wanted to talk and felt this was the only avenue open to him. I put my initial sharp rise in temperature down to the exceptional weather provided by the Californian sunshine. I'm different these days taking that extra headspace I've found, to give the benefit of the doubt and be considerably more measured in my actions. This has been made possible, for the most recent part, thanks to the patience of my wife. Instead I smile at the farmer and wish him a good day as I continue my walk. Mary J said it and I'm gonna live it, "No more drama..."

Surely it shouldn't do that --- 15th April 2016....Today I watched as the doctor tried, again, to murder my wife. Maybe thats a little (lot) exagerated. I didn't watch all of it and maybe the doctor is a Chiropractor and maybe thats not actually a movement of death but one designed, instead, to relieve tension and promote relaxation and self healing....maybe. All I know is that at, what could be condidered, some very opportune moments I see my wife's head do things it should not be doing in public (or inprivate) without a serious warm up or being hastily followed by the expression "WTF". Not that she seems to be in any kind of pain, in fact it's quite the opposite. She actually looks to be getting some kind of immediate benefit from this bodily assault. I shudder as I hear the manipulative clicks and cracks followed by yelps of tension releasing joy coming from my wife, none of which engratiates me to opt for the yes button when the doctor asks if I'd like to try being manipulated. I'm afraid (wait let me finish).... I'm of the old school conviction on that front that, if aint broke, don't fix it(see not scared). At this moment in time I'm about as far from broke as a brand new toy sitting at the back, on the top shelf snuggled against a cotton wool wall. My wife escapes the doctors grip, rolls onto her side and sits up. It's another good session. Pleasantries are exchanged and we book another session for next month. In my mind the setting changes to the dark ages and the doctor's table is replaced by the rack. Would we have booked another session for that, or am I little warped? Back to reality and we leave the practice. As I get into the car I feel my back twinge, my wife notices my expression and suggests I give the doctor a chance. "Nope, the body will heal itself", I reply, "I've just got to use it properly". As we drive home I begin to realise that maybe I didn't read the instructions on how to use my body properly and maybe it is in need of some reset manipulation. We'll see, but I'm not gonna tell my wife she might be right. That would be like giving her the remote control or admitting how much I like chocolate too...no way.

Situation under control --- 14th April 2016....So we're now back in the U.S of A. The sun is shining fortunately so it immediately negates the pain of the pre journey journey. Flights to the US had been booked for sometime. There had also been some personal complications leading to rebookings and extra charges. Now on the day before our return the online check in defense system tells me that my wife can check in but I can't...."why?" This is the question I pose to the customer services agent I speak to who informs me that during one of the previous rebookings one of the helpful agents had taken too much money. That's fine but I can't check in "why?". Well it turns out that in order for me to check in now I need to be reissued another ticket. Great so reissue the ticket and lets check me in. It will take at least two hours for the ticket to be reissued...."what?" This would not ordinarily be a problem but I've already checked my wife in and we would like to sit together. "No problem sir, the ticket will be reissued in about two hours and you can check in then." But my wife is already checked in so can you reserve the seat next to her which I was about put myself in? "Unfortunately not sir. There's nothing I can do." So the only way for me to change my wifes seat is to pay for it right? "Yes." But it's your mistake not mine. If you try again in a couple of hours once you have the ticket I'm sure everything will be fine. I'm sorry but your reassurance isn't reassuring. No matter what you say past experience advises me that that seat will be gone in an hour or so. Heart begins to beat a little faster, jaws tighten, I can feel my temperature rising and the dark clouds descending. Then the lessons my wife has taught me kick in and I manage to push the clouds away as I remember that this person is simply a conduit for a company line and as one dimensional as she seems, it is only her job and she may like it less than I am enjoying our interaction. I thank her kindly and hangup the call. Onto the company website feedback form filled out(ctrl-A, ctrl-C)submitted, detailing issue experienced, customer services email address obtained, feedback submitted again (ctrl-V) via email and just because I can and have nothing else on my mind at this point in time, I Tweet, tweet, tweet to the airline. I'm of the opinion that in the age of social media, brand defense and social perception beats any amount of email tennis. I'm engaged by the Tweety bird and handled very delicately. I am definitely on the company radar now. It's been two hours now and still no new ticket issued. I tell my new Tweety friend who expresses sincere yet (online) apologies and also believes the ground staff will rectify the issue at the airport. It's fly day. I'm up early, checked my emails and still no ticket. That's over 14 hours since i was told it would be delivered in two hours. Good job I didn't sit up waiting on it (honestly... I didn't). I Tweet to my new, inside airline, buddy. Again Tweety is very apologetic and is adamant (Prince charming....some of you will get the reference) things will get sorted at the airport. A few more hours have passed, I'm now at the airport and I must admit I'm feeling less than helpful but again the wife's teachings as well as Jerry McGuire's kick in..."help me, help you". we are approached by a smiley faced member of groundstaff. I wonder to myself, how long the smiley face will continue once she hears our story and realises the huge injustice which has been served upon us, then the realisation that she is not up to the task of sorting out this colossal error of clerical misadministration. Situation explained, groundlady walks away calmly speaking into walkie talkie advising before departure that she will get to the bottom of our issue and sort our problem. "Pahh!" I've heard that before. The proof will be in the pudding. Wait, wait she's coming back and she's still smiling..."Oh ok so everythings sorted is it? You have my ticket? Customer services are aware of the situation and will be in touch? The flight's half empty? We have an entire row to ourselves....Oh Ok then. Nice one. Thanks." Incident free loooong flight

You may or may not know --- 6th April2016....On a not so regular trip around the M & S men's section today(not to be confused with S & M), I observed true masculinity in the guise of a poster advertising men's handbags... a manbag if you will. I know as well as the next person that this is not an easy feat to carry off as I myself have struggled with the practicality aswell as the social stigma of a manbag. "It looks good and has lots of pockets but brah! It an' you don't match. Stick to da rucksack yeah?

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