Daniel is sick. Since Mr. Waffle was home with sick children on Thursday, Friday and Monday, today it is my turn. While I am not saying that this is how I would have chosen to use a day’s holiday, it is surprisingly restful. I have been keeping an eye on work emails and it is not restful in the office but they seem to be soldiering on without me.
The patient is much improved and, in retrospect, could possibly have gone to school today though he is barking like a seal so I suppose not entirely better. I brought him breakfast in bed and the Beano arrived so, frankly, it has been a pretty good day so far from his point of view. I have been sunk deep in domestic administration. Aside from standard issue stuff like tidying up the house, putting on a wash and steaming plum pudding [standard for this time of year], I have also telephoned photobox to tell them that they sent me some of my photos and some of someone else’s. Photobox has been my photo printer of choice for a year and I have never had a problem until now. They only allow email by contact form and, bizzarely, my problem wasn’t one of the choices which were listed. So, I turned to the telephone. 25 minutes on hold. That is a LONG wait. When the phone call was answered, the person was gratifyingly on the ball and apologetic. But still, 25 minutes. The call centre person sounded like she might have been from the Far East which is why I forgave her for her one faux pas in our conversation: “Please tear up the other photos. Normally we ask you to mail them back but we only have freepost on the mainland.” If there is one expression more than any other guaranteed to irritate someone from Ireland it is English people saying “the mainland”. As I say, she didn’t sound English, I rose above it.
Other non-standard tasks included the insurance cheque. My husband is, as you know, a saint. He renewed our house insurance but then got a better offer so wrote to the original company and cancelled their policy and they promptly refunded a large cheque made out to both of us but, let’s call a spade a spade, paid over by him. The other night he endorsed it and said to me, “You might as well have this.” Oh the thrill and at such an expensive time of year. I lodged it gleefully and promptly spent it. It was therefore with some regret that I received a letter from my bank this morning [written on non-headed paper with hardly any details, is this not odd?] returning the cheque and pointing out that since it was “account payee only” it could only be lodged to a joint account. In a very 21st century way, we don’t have a joint account except, as Mr. Waffle pointed out, the mortgage account. I rang the bank to ask whether we could lodge the cheque to the mortgage account. I left a voicemail message and had very little hope that they would get back to me but, bonus points for Bank of Ireland, they did and gratifyingly promptly. Yes, they could lodge it in the mortgage account. My cheque (note how possessive I have become in the space of one short paragraph) is now about to be spent (again) in the most boring way known to man. Woe. Though logistic convenience, I suppose.*
Final non-standard task was library book renewal, I am astounded at how easy this was to do (normally my husband takes care of these things) – Dublin city libraries, I take my hat off to you. This afternoon, I have a further range of exciting administrative tasks to achieve in my unexpected day off. Honestly, could this blog be any more exciting?
*Updated to add: An inspection of my bank account this afternoon indicates that my saintly husband has decided to make good the deficit. Hurrah, Christmas is back on. Also, I was able to pay the plumber who has just gone, leaving hot water in his wake.
