Lloyds Bank are muppets. As it would appear most banks are. I’m the treasurer of the Crawley Writers Circle. We took ages to get a bank account opened, and even when we did, they took ages to get a card to me for me to be able to use the online account facilities. I only got one about four weeks ago. Only for less than a fortnight later then to send a letter to say that from the 15th of January next year, they will no longer be allowing clubs and societies accounts free banking. No, just for holding an account they are going to charge £4.25 per month, and then charge 0.8% fees on any incoming or outgoing transaction. Before the ins and outs that is fifty-one quid a year. For an account that at the end of the CWC’s last accounted year had less than one hundred quid in it, so they want half of the account just for fees. Needless to say we will be looking elsewhere, although the options aren’t massive. Two banks who are open to all, and three who allow clubs and societies accounts, as long as one of the signatories already bank with them. That’s all who don’t charge. That number will probably shrink, so changing accounts may become an annual event.
I had an interesting chat with the doctor at my eye appointment las Friday. It would seem the injections I have been having into my right eyeball are working and the condition in the back of them is improving. All of the eye drops, scans, photos, and general prodding show my right eye is getting better. My left eye meanwhile has got slightly worse. The reasoning behind why that may be the case is surprising. The fact that my blood sugar has been reducing a lot during the year can cause the macular oedema to worsen as the blood vessels adjust to the lower blood sugar before they calm down again. There was a fair bit of fence sitting by the doctor when pressed on whether I should start having injections in my left eye to help that one along. Yes, it would help, but we can’t advise as there are the potential side effects. Yeah, the same ones I’ve already agreed to for the right eye. It took a lot of pointed questions before they would even give a yes or no answer into whether injections would help the left eye. When they finally relented and said it would then I’ve agreed to have the course of injections for the left eye as well. It would appear it would be easier to get blood out of a stone rather than to get a straight answer about helping the blood vessels in the back of my eyes to calm the fuck down.
Whilst in Horsham hospital waiting in the disorganised queue for my appointment, I was looking around and looked at my shoulder bag. Tie fighter are the words in largest print on the bag. And I was thinking it seems a strange thing to have a fight with. What did the tie do to offend you in the first place? Was it the wrong king of knot? Did the bow not bow to your will? Seriously, who fights with inanimate objects? It’s just stupid.
The night before I was at my Horsham writing group (a lot of Horsham visits this month). There was an exercise run getting people to write about Christmas. Which is not a subject I am happy to write about. It would appear that any kind of Christmas spirit I may have had relied on me having copious amounts of spirits at Christmas. Seriously, being drunk was the only way to be able to deal with all the faux jollity. They say it’s a time to spend with your family. Why? You can see those fuckers any time of the year. Don’t let them come over and interrupt a few days of work when you can spend the time relaxing instead of having to put up with all the family bullshit. Being teetotal nowadays I can’t even mainline rum and port to block this shit out. And don’t get me started on the food. What’s the big deal about turkey? It’s like a chicken on steroids only not very tasty and dry as fuck. And I’m not a fan of roasts anyway. Curry for Christmas dinner was one of the high spots of living in Manchester. No need for seventeen different types of vegetable. No sugar anymore means the nice stuff is off the menu for me. No mince pies, no Christmas pudding, so what is the point? Roll on Boxing Day when all the fuckers piss off back to whence they came, and we can go to the football and watch even more stuffing balls.
It would appear there is no such thing as a quick nip into town. Leaving the house just after ten in the morning, and it nearly being five at night when we get back. But on the plus side a lot of the Christmas shopping is done.
Speaking of shopping, does Poundland actually sell anything for a pound anymore? There’s a bloke with a random trolley/table down near Queens Square selling perfume off it. I’m sure there is no possibility that they are knock off perfumes, or that they have been knocked off the back of a lorry.
Whilst out I think a goldfish would do better than me on the memory front. I have little snippets of what I think are great (and often funny) ideas for things to write flash into my head, only for it to disappear into the ether in the couple of minutes before I get to sit down somewhere and whip the notepad out. Perhaps I should go full Alan Partridge and start carrying around a Dictaphone.
Taking the cat to the vets for his monthly arthritis jab, I saw a poster on the wall which said that 1.2 million cats visit a shelter every year. Why do I think that 1.199 million of that number are just nosy little bastards having a quick look around to see if there is anything to eat, or something interesting to sniff?