Category: Daily Life

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Are you ready?

Does your lovely man have some pet frets? Mine does, bless him.

I have pet peeves, he has pet frets.

Top of mind, for him is AI.

Of all things.

Darling, he advised me, everything I read stresses that we need to be AI ready.

Are you AI ready he enquires of me.

I am not, I admit.

What is AI, he asks, I don’t feel I am in the least competent in it.

This is probably true as he refers to it, for starters, as A1.

You are retired, I reminded him, you don’t need to be AI competent, stop worrying about it.

Perhaps we should buy this book, he continued, or enroll on this six month course for a mere USD 2,000. It sounds critical.

That’s a hard no from me.

So, finally, I have come up with a cunning plan.

When you are competent with the TV remote, I tell him, I’ll teach you AI.

Every time he brings it up, we are going to have a TV Remote test. And then I’ll ask him to Google something.

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No, I can no longer move it, move it

I am sadly, living the era where a fair chunk of social conversation revolves around health issues.

Mobility in particular.

If your business is offering pain relief in joints, you must be in demand.

Back pain features a lot I have observed. Putting your back out seems to require less effort than one might think.

Many years ago, a girl I knew told a story that we can probably all relate to.

She had met a young man she quite fancied. They were at the very early stages of getting to know each other and were both young enough to still be living with their respective parents.

They had been to gym and were going to shower at his parents house, before they went out again.

Youth… That you actually have the energy for two outings. One of them gym.

So, she was in the shower, alone. And, despite being young and nubile, managed to put her back out while bending down.

So, she is in agony, immobile, and unfortunately in a bent peg position. With her head down by her knees and her naked arse in the air.

Did she call for help? No. She actually called for God to please end the world.

He did not oblige.

She realized that she would have to die in this position rather than face the humiliation of anyone finding her alive.

She also realized that she was unlikely to die before someone came to enquire why she was taking so long in the shower.

To add to her misery, the hot water ran out, so now she was being showered upon by the remaining cold water.

The only thing, she told me, that she could think of, was to try and turn her head and drown herself in the deluge.

I’d love to tell you that the relationship ended in marriage and three kids. It did not. I think she had to leave the country and change her name.

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Are you the a*hole?

I have a male Ginger cat. His name is Max. AKA Ginger Nutless.

He’s a big guy. I know this because everyone who sees him announces to me ‘that’s a big cat’.

The vet is a little more forthright and says ‘he’s fat, you need to cut his food’.

My Max does like his food. I seldom get to sleep in because he screams in my face a 5am reminder that he’s close to perishing.

I recently tried free feeding him and his fat little sister cat. This involves topping up a container which is supposed to drip feed and last for some time.

My Max fully embraced this new system and consistently ate a week’s supply in one sitting.

So, we are back to him screaming at me twice a day for his meals.

Whenever anyone meets him and gives him a wary look because of his impressive bulk and vocals (he likes to get things off his chest, my Max), I reassure them that he’s ‘such a nice guy’.

Nevertheless, intermittently I am at the vet with him, being lectured on his weight, because he has a wound that needs to be attended to.

He’s not a fighter I explain, he’s really such a nice guy, I suspect he gets injured trying to break up fights.

Recently a visitor alerted me to a cat fight happening across the road.

It won’t be my Max I said with confidence, unless he’s acting as mediator, he’s such a nice guy.

It was my Max, in the other’s yard, definitely instigating and giving the other cat hell. In the other’s home.

It’s possible my lovely Max is the bully, not the bullied.

Children. A constant disappointment really.

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Yes, I’m completely useless

We have had a flurry of visitors. The latest being my lovely man’s sister. She loves him very much (as he deserves), and there is much chatting and reminiscing.

I am listening, with half an ear, at the chatting outside while I am, inevitably, working.

As a side note, we have been without lentils for a while. I am uncertain how we got into this sad state, but that’s how it’s been.

The favoured lentil dish is, in fact, one that their mum used to make. So, of course, the conversation took this turn.

My lovely man’s sister is a great cook. I am not.

I braced myself.

Oxtail and the lentil dish were decided on.

I see you have a hot pot she said, how does it work and I’ll use that.

As you can see, I said, it is a virgin still in it’s wrapping, and all the manuals are in that drawer. I’ll be in my office.

You have an amazing amount of gadgets for someone who doesn’t cook she commented.

I am nothing, if not prepared for visitors and the services they offer, I replied.

It was not too long before she started asking ridiculous questions like ‘where are the onions and potatoes’.

Assume nothing I said, here’s some paper and a pen, make a list.

I just need one onion she tried…

I’m in my office I reminded her.

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Aaaaaaah eyeeeee

Apparently, if you don’t jump onto the AI bandwagon, you risk getting left behind in life.

I wonder how much new anxiety this causes the older generation who are already being advised that nothing can be done to assist them in their query unless they manage the matter through the ‘app’

Anyway, we can only hope we all die young enough or that our money lasts long enough I guess.

So, I have been diligently attending training in the insurance industry. These clever people have worked out how to insure people against the risk of implementing AI in some form or another, and the risk of it all going horribly wrong.

What the actual…..

Prior to this, more clever people offered ‘cyber security’ cover, and I attended much training in this regard. As mind blowing.

I had some enquiries on Cyber risk and sent the proposal form to them to complete. This often shuts down any insurance query some poor soul thinks about looking into. In this case, I suspect they ended themself.

I anticipate AI risk cover will have the same result. Can’t wait to get the proposal form and spend my days figuring it out.

In fact, if anyone asks me for cover to protect them against AI going wrong, I intend to immediately block them.

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It’s a mouthful

My lovely man and I are each on a dental journey. Some of it through necessity, some of it through choice. Not much of it, as it turns out, fun.

It’s lengthy, laborious and largely painful. On the one hand, we are grateful we can get these things tended to, on the other hand we are somewhat regretting our choices.

And then we watch TV. American TV in particular. The Brits don’t seem to have any dentists. But… There is rarely an American actor without perfect teeth.

As my lovely man and I sit and watch, in our own various stages of trauma and healing… We discuss this a lot. Spooning ice cream and cold soup into our wounded gobs, the only diet we can manage these days.

Are Americans born with perfect teeth? Surely they can’t all endure major dental work?

Can anyone shed light on this phenomenon?

Sincerely bewildered.

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OK, I can probably sort that out

I’m no relationship expert. God knows I’ve enjoyed my share of failures…

But, I do love my lovely man, so I do try.

Every now and then I check in and ask the man..

‘Are you happy my darling? Is there anything you need, or would like changed?’

So, I asked recently and the man went into deep thought.

I waited, with some apprehension, gotta say.

Well, he said slowly… There is one thing..

My underpants are too tight, can you please get me some more?

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Wot a lot I got

A little while ago we had some friends around.

As I’m the worst hostess ever, and have managed to get comfortably into middle age without ever actually cooking a meal, any fare served is either a take away or a smorgasbord of snacks.

In my defence, I make a great snack platter. And a decent sandwich.

As we generally have well bred friends…. Except for that one, now that I think about it…. They bought a little gift.

(It’s possible our friends bring something to sustain them in case there is nothing on offer).

But! These friends bought a bag of popcorn and a big box of smarties. What a delight of a gift.

It gets better…

Because… they said. ‘Put them together in a bowl and then every now and again there’s a smartie in the mix as you snack’.

How did I not know this? It’s as good as frozen strawberries in your wine instead of ice.

Life is a treasure for sure. It’s become a favourite.

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It all counts

We have four little fur babies that share our lives. We also feed the birds in the neighborhood. All of them I suspect. Who are ravenous. And two little mice, who come and go and at present are gone, possibly deceased.

The two cats, interestingly enough, are far less fussy eaters than the two little dogs. When it comes to little dogs, it is important to note that if you spoil them with all kinds of delicacies when they are pups, you are screwed forever and have no hope of changing the diet back to anything easy or reasonably priced.

I am in charge of the morning cuppa in our household and this involves feeding the ravenous cats. Lie ins are not permitted ever, they barely make it through the night from dinner to 5am feed. We have a very vocal Ginger, who screams in my face by 05h10. No need for an alarm.

My lovely man feeds the pups a bit later, who do enjoy a lie in, as long as there is a wee snack given to them as we enjoy a cuppa and a choccie bic. (This is not their snack, panic not).

My lovely man reports back as to how the breakfast he serves the pups is received. He is delighted if it is scoffed down and distressed if not. A discussion as to how we can tempt these fat, ungrateful and completely indulged creatures ensues.

I suspect, I suggested, the ratio of pellets to the other goodies, is too high.

How many pellets must I give them then, he asked unexpectedly. Twelve each I randomly suggested, in a panic.

Then, we were thrown a curved ball as the vet suggested we soften the pellets to help with aging teeth.

So, one of my 5am duties is soaking the pellets in advance of the feed in hot water.

Immediately, I received feedback… And criticism.

You are obviously not counting the pellets, I was advised, there were 13 and 15 in the bowl respectively this morning. And there was disdain and dissent at breakfast as a result. Will you count them please? We decided on twelve.

As it turns out, one cannot make and then break the rules here.

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Is that the complaints department?

My lovely man is prone to nightmares. I know, it’s awful, the poor bugger. Everyone in his dreams seems determined to beat him up.

It’s quite traumatic and involves a great deal of soothing and cuddles after a session of screaming and thrashing around. And that’s just for the pups on the bed.

We’ve got some help, so it’s much improved, but the occasional burst of terror sometimes means he throws himself off the bed.

So, to keep him safe, I ordered, (Takealot of course, is there anything you can’t get from them? I think not), a bed rail.

So, now he’s caged in on one side and is limited to throwing himself on top of me.

(Not sure I’ve properly thought this through).

He’s got quite adept at raising and lowering the rail, but before he does that, he follows his little ritual of sitting on the side of the bed and faffing with whatever we faff with before we turn in.

Darling, he says out of the blue, you need to get hold of these people about a potential design flaw of this contraption of mine.

Oh, I said, what’s that?

I’m in severe peril of clamping my ballsack everyday if I’m not careful, he shared.