Hope For us All.

Hi Everyone

You will probably remember that I volunteer at our local library on one morning each week. All the small libraries in the county are run by volunteers, something like fifteen in total. Each library is offered to organisations to manage. Eighteen months ago, our library was put out for bids. The successful bidder already has seven other local libraries, so presumably the legal paperwork should be quite simple. Now, eighteen months on, our library is still waiting to be taken over with “It’s with the legal department” or “it is waiting to be signed off” or “there have been staff changes”. Opposite the library is an attractive block of twelve apartments with a car park at the rear for the residents and a twenty two space, much needed public car park at the front. The whole project was completed in March, but the public car park, which alone probably cost about £50,000, is still fenced off with nobody apparently able to give a definitive reason why it has not been brought into use. On the main road at the bottom of our lane, a council employee with a tin of white paint and a brush marked about thirty areas where the road needed repairs. That was five weeks ago, and to date nothing has happened except that the paint is slowly wearing away. On the same road, a convenience store closed about two years ago. In January, new shutters were installed together with new lighting and shelving. Then in April, new shop signs were fitted. Now, as I write this Rubbish, that shop has still not opened. On a BBC political programme this week, someone in the audience asked the panel if there was hope for our country. Predictably, all the politicians said that there was, and we all hope that they are right of course, but when you consider those four situations all within a mile of where we live, with the implication that that same story could be repeated across the country, then the hope that we dream of seems a long way away.

It is said that house buyers spend less than ten minutes in a property before making an offer to buy it. In our case, we spent six months looking at about ten properties before deciding in one minute that the house we now live next door to was the house for us. All the owners had to do was open the front door, and we were hooked. We then moved to the house next door, which is the one behind where we live now; complicated, isn’t it? Anyway, the same thing happened when we sold that property: when we opened the front door to the only couple who came to view the house. 

Now we live in a house, but as we approach middle age, we become more conscious that we have to climb stairs probably three or four times a day. Now you might think that after reading all this Rubbish that we are thinking of moving again, but this time into a bungalow. Just do the sums. It is far cheaper to transfer ourselves to bed on a stair lift rather than line the pockets of solicitors and estate agents. The good news is that when we make our final exit, the next occupants will only have to see the Main Contractors tidy house and colourful garden to be hooked. That assumes that I have already gone of course. If I find myself the final occupant, I will have to do a deep clean every day to prevent being haunted by the Main Contractor. 

I have used the same garage for my vehicle servicing for nearly fifty years. I also now buy my petrol from there, as although it is more expensive, it is better quality than the supermarket version. I filled my car with petrol this week. I was a day later than I intended as I had to wait for my bank loan to be approved. Thank you Trump; you are doing a great job. Perhaps we will not need that new car park after all.

Just a Thought:

My friend told me “I hope you die in a deep hole full of water”. I know he means well.

Someone complimented me on my parking this week. They left a note on my windscreen saying, “Parking fine”. 

I went to the pump for my petrol, and it asked me for my credit score.

Brian