Quick update, I seem to have turned into a floating head.
I suppose anything that gets me one step closer to forming a tribute act to Talking Heads…
Jokes aside, things are still very on/off. Moved onto new antibiotics on Thursday and I’m holding out on those to sort me out which should take a couple of weeks. I’m also on strong pain meds, probably why you might find me posting things like this:
My stomach is swollen up and burnt to shreds from the hot water bottle, but nobody wants to see that (including myself). It also means I can’t drink alcohol while on this medications OR COFFEE* (*on the particularly bad days).
I’m aware that to an outsider perspective this might look like me adopting Kerry Mucklowe levels of melodrama…
…But if you genuinely want you to know why I’m not responding to your emails or texts or anything else, that’s why. It’s not you, it’s really all down to me. Well, and Squeaky the cat.
I put her as acting secretariat but as expected, she’s a cat.
The times I feel more myself, I hurriedly blogging future posts/writing Christmas cards/doing human things, as well as the full-time job.
So please and thanks for bearing with me. x
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Oh, and I’ve had a few questions about why I’m so rough. High-level summary; cut in my arm didn’t get bandaged correctly, so that got infected. Plus complications with a routine procedure so more infection! (It took 5 weeks to get a formal diagnosis which is never ideal, especially when you’re being told to take painkillers and see how it goes. But hey, it’s in the past now. Totally over it…totally.)
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This post has been sparked off my Mumma B, who only the other day asked me about this year’s John Lewis Christmas advert.
The thing is, she comments about the lack of visibility, but at the same time records everything on her YouView box purposely to skip all the adverts. You see the dilemma here?
Basically I’m posting all the Christmas adverts for the main UK players so that my mum can see them in one place (and once only).
I’ll add to the list as and when any additional companies release theirs (please do also poke me with a metaphorical stick in the comments). Otherwise lets get to it! In no particular order…
UK Christmas TV Adverts (2020)
John Lewis / WaitroseSupermarket
Aldi Supermarket
Lidl Supermarket
Walkers Crisps
McDonald’s
TK Maxx
Argos
Barbour
Very.co.uk
Amazon
Tesco Supermarket
Asda Supermarket
Morrisons Supermarket
Sainsburys Supermarket
Boots
Lego
Dreamies Cat Treats
M&S Food
Disney
Coca-Cola
JD
Ralph Lauren
(Disclaimer: All videos above have been lifted from YouTube via the URL. I don’t own any part of these videos.)
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Following the huge popularity over my previous post on the topic of Papa Bennett’s polytunnel/allotment (Dad’s Polytunnel), I decided to drop on by to give an update on how things were progressing as of October 2020.
Papa B was busy at the time I wanted to film this, so I didn’t have his services to help document the changes. But still, it’s only a couple of plants, how hard can it be?
Yeah. I think the cat had a better idea of what was going on (and she’s a cat).
Thankfully, Mumma B showed up to provide from subtle guidance. And you know my Mum, she was incredibly patient and by no means frustrated by my lack of knowledge…
I think we can agree that going forward we’d be better off asking the cat to tend to the plants.
That said, at least the raspberries are coming out alright (Papa B asked me to include this as proof he can grow more than six. Sorry, Dad).
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Full disclaimer – I’ve been bloody rough of late. At best, I look like this:
And at worst:
(Oh, and there was a delightful interlude when my arm got infected and swelled up to the size of my face. My face, that was too sleep deprived and exhausted to even care anyone.)
I’m still rough (the water bottle and I are now exclusive). Hot drinks = pain, eating too much = pain, too much sleep = pain (wft?), ice cream = PAAAIN!
You get the idea.
I’ve been watching Selling Sunset in a bid to get my body to pull it’s shizz together:
If anything I think it’s making me worse.
It’s an unpredictable situation, after I upload this I’m going back to bed. I’m that exhausted.
I’ve got loads of great posts lined up, bear with me on this. If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one missing my sparkling presence.
NB – this is totally unrelated to Covid, it’s not contagious and I’m being cared for and supported by a mix of family and friends.
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You’re only as valuable to the community as the last thing you did for it.
That might or might not be a plagiarised quote from someone notable or, more likely, something I just made up after two (large) glasses of wine, but I’ve put it in fancy italics so the point stands.
This is the story of a group. No, actually, not a group, a community. Thrown together by birth, work, or sometimes just passing through; a community of humans who came together under limited expectations, only to save something far greater.
The Birth of a Community
When it comes to community the good deeds you make only go so far. It’s harsh but true. Unlike the good old days, people come and people move on.
The movement of people was one of the reasons I initially established Swindon 18-30 Professionals. People were coming into the town (mostly for work) and then rapidly fleeing as soon as they’d decided it wasn’t a place for them. Not enough to do, not enough of a scene for young people. And I couldn’t blame them; I’d relocated to the area and was feeling the cold shoulder of the real world. A world outside education where you can’t make best friends with people simply by shaking hands or offering out birthday chocolates by means of bribery. The real world just simply isn’t like that, in or outside Swindon.
From Strength to Strength
It came as a massive relief to me when I won the support of a local sponsor to cover the essential website maintenance costs. With the free subscription membership blossomed, and with it the strength of having a group that arguably was the biggest apolitical collective of local voices the town had seen in many years, if ever.
Over the months and years that followed, friendships were made and romances solidified. Multiple engagements, weddings and even babies have been created as a direct impact of the conversations struck up in pubs or over bowling lane rivalries. I was humbled, that feeling that the group was now self sufficient, it didn’t need me to babysit it 24/7 anymore.
Anything But Normal
And then Coronavirus happened.
Our version of normal was now ‘old’ and everything else was now to be referred to as the new version (whatever that was). Social gatherings were illegal, mental health, financial security, a secondary concern compared to the threat of a killer virus. We watched it all slip away, like sand through our fingers.
My steadfast sponsor, like everything else, was forced to close. As their income disappeared overnight, so did the lifeline of Swindon 18-30. I sat on my bed one night, barely able to sleep. Years of hard work, of creating and building, ended before people had even the chance give it a decent send off. I was left hollow, wounded but without the blood to show for it.
“Sh*t Happens, Get Over It”
I proposed to the leadership team setting up a fundraising page. A last-ditch hope that we could scrape together enough to cover the next six months of fees (around £100).
I did some research, compared the options eventually went for GoGetFunding which was one of the few which let fundraisers withdraw money, even if they don’t make the target set on the page. This in mind, I went for a over optimistic £260 which would cover costs for a year, plus the fundraising page fees. I hit submit, the page went live.
I sent a frank and blunt email to all the members with a link to donate money and walked away. A watched pot never boils and I couldn’t bear to spend a wasted evening watching a page that got no engagement. In five years I’d never asked anything of my members, new and old, so to be begging for money now? I was adamant that they’d see me as being unrealistic.
The Kind of Thing That Only Happens in Movies
I retuned to my laptop and was taken with the number of emails in my inbox. “Probably spam,” I thought, but I was wrong. Very wrong. Because instead of the junk mail I was expecting, all the emails were notifications from the fundraising website.
Donations came in thick and fast and at values that almost made me want to cry. I probably would have if not for the personalised messages getting to me first.
There I’d been, working my socks off and building up a strong leadership team and thinking no one had noticed. That no one had particularly cared for all the effort we put in. The words I was reading now, they proved me wrong.
“Every penny well deserved!”
“An amazing organisation, I hope it carries on long into the future.”
“This group helped me take control of my social anxiety and build my confidence.”
“I owe so much to Swindon 18-30. So many incredible people I wouldn’t have even crossed paths with if it were not for the events put on.”
“Well done Alice! Keep up the good work and long live the mermaids!”
In just over 24 hours we hit my target for funding, but yet the money kept pouring in, it seemed everyone wanted to show their support and ensure the group stayed alive. And this wasn’t just current members, people who’d long left Swindon donated, keen to ensure its legacy for new batches of young professionals.
For the second time that week I found myself unable to sleep, although this time it was out of happiness and relief. The group had validated its existence, it had an army of young people prepared to fight tooth and nail to keep it running.
Stop the Press!
The local press release was published the following week with a number of last minute updates. The original purpose, framed to act as a plea for help was now repurposed as an awareness piece, to reach out to those who felt alone and isolated. That at the end of all this there would be a place to safe place to meet and engage with other people.
Like everything that happens in my life, there had to be a catch to all this positivity. For me, this came when the webpage was bombarded with fraudulent donations. The alarm bells came when the donations were coming in tiny denominations (usually £1) and from people I didn’t recognise. Later it transpired that these payments were likely stolen cards being tested out prior to the thief either selling them on or using them for bigger transactions. Wanting to do the right thing (and wanting to avoid severe penalties), I promptly returned the money back to the payment card, only to then be charged a handling fee for doing so!
I spoke with both customer services on GoGetFunding and then PayPal, voicing frustrations. They both pointed fingers at the other, both refused to acknowledge the faults in their system, both saw no reason to refund me for doing the right thing. I enchanced secrity controls, as per PayPal’s recommendation, which made things worse. The next morning I had ten transactions to refund. It was at that point, stressed and deeply angry, that I was sadly forced to close the funding page ahead of time.
If there is one top tip I can place in all of this it is to not use GoGetFunding. The commission is less but damn, you pay more in blocking fraudulent payments in the long run!
However, all said and done the final figure at the point of close spoke for itself. The group had done it, we had enough to keep going throughout the tough months to come.
The Future is Bright…
On the far side of all this (whenever that might be) it’s confirmed, that there will be a group and place for people to call their social home. A place to buy a pint or two and give toast to everything that’s made us who we are today.
Here’s to the silent supporters and the ‘this one’s on me’ drink buyers. Long live the donators of good causes, the ones who have the vision to see beyond the news headlines and the weeks on a calendar. From my heart to yours, thank you. Thank you so much.
With the new track and trace system, Mumma B asked me to print and laminate a sign for the holiday cottage in Devon (#MiddleClassProblems).
“Sure!” I said. “What could go wrong?”
It started off alright…
But sadly I discovered this afterwards…
It’s a little blurry, but aka it’s a black hair from one of the cats who have now taken to sleeping in the house 24/7. So there goes another perfectly useable laminator pouch.
Yes, Bubble, I am looking at you.
Oh well, nothing is ever perfect. At least I didn’t blow anything up this time…
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This isn’t a sponsored post. Support an unpaid writer like me by donating to my funding page: Buy Me A Coffee
Just a quick reminder that I’m still here, earning tumbleweed from my writing (well, actually, tumbleweed would at least be something…)
A big, big thank you to those who have donated so far (you lovely people know who you are). For those less aware, I have an active donation page called Buy Me A Coffee, a platform which helps creatives get money doing what they love and keep producing content for their fans.
If not for me and my coffee spilling antics, it’s worth checking out to discover some hidden gems from people across the world.
I’m always reviewing the page and just recently added two funky new extras you can buy as a one-off. Check out the website to find out more.
Thank you in advance!
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This isn’t a sponsored post. Support an unpaid writer like me by donating to my funding page: Buy Me A Coffee
As part of the UK’s approach to tackling Coronavirus, a number of establishments have implemented methods as part of ‘track and trace’.
I get it, makes perfect sense. What I’m less supportive of is how a lot of venues are using as a way to get hold of personal details for marketing cr*p.
Do I really need to informed of your new banana loaf range? Oh, great, you’re offering 2.5% discount because it’s the CEO’s daughter’s 25th birthday BUT ONLY THIS WEEKEND! God, can we get GDPR in to fix this again?
So, in a mark of defiance, I am now now using an alternative details on any wifi login that demands it. Just for clarity, if it’s strictly track and trace I am providing accurate information. However, you asking me to set up an account to order a cup of coffee from the counter literally three meters away? Nah, girl ain’t having that.
In those occasions this is what I’m registering myself as:
Yes, that’s right, my name is now Ms Boom Town (although where possible I choose to not identify as a specific gender). I was born on 1st January 1950 (because we all know that was the birth of Boom Town) and my email is a randomised mix of letters @GenericEmailProvider.com.
So there you have it, from henceforth I insist all my food and drink orders sent over public access wifi are made in the name of Boom Town.
You got a problem with that? STOP EMAILING ME YOUR SPAM THEN!! (Thanks.)
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A perhaps more sombre video (pretty blue compared to the stuff I normally produce, I admit), of the four days I recently spent in York. I wasn’t going to do anything, that was until I came back and Mumma B said, “when are we getting the picture presentation?”
So I quickly pulled this together, complete with backing music which I heard whilst watching the world go by in one of the nammed coffee shops below.
Big love to the city of York, big love to whoever controls the weather for giving me sun and zero rain and big love to ‘The North’ for giving me a warm welcome during my visit.
Remember a little while back I introduced you to a new family addition called Mr Potato? He first came into family life not long after lockdown started, when Mumma B found a misshapen potato in the shopping. She took a liking to the vegetable and before you know it you’re fighting for parental love from a flipping potato.
Well patience has finally paid off and it’s now with a heavy(-ish) heart that I have to report Mr Potato is no more.
He’s wrinkly, he’s shrivelled and, in Mumma B’s own words, it’s started sprouting stuff from the back of his head.
(And technically his bum, but lets not dig too deeply into that.)
Mr Potato is now in the compost bin. Actually, given the rate of decompostation for your average potato, I’d probably say he’s more likely to be feeding Papa B’s runner beans in the polytunnel. But again, we’re really splitting hairs here.
If you are just as upset as Mumma B over this development can I kindly suggest you invest in a new hobby. Also, I have reason to believe that during his/its lifetime Mr Potato was a little bit right wing…
And trust me, in our household there are enough personalities going on to then try and fit a Boris lover in there as well.
So, in short, Mr Potato is gone and life is certainly no worse for it. Lets just leave it at that (please, Mum?)
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This isn’t a sponsored post. Support an unpaid writer like me by donating to my funding page: Buy Me A Coffee