Is it Me, or the Rest of the World?

I am less grumpy now, but it's taken a while. I don't believe in writing things down during a serious grump, because then the grump's there forever, and it looks like you're a grumpy person. And I'm not. Much.

I've forgotten the more trivial things now, which is good, but others still stick in my side:

• The teenage staff in the Ptarmigan Restaurant who were rude and surly - when they work in one of the most beautiful places on the planet. I might be getting old, but when I make a justified remark (politely) about the disappearance of the children's play area, I don't expect the staff member to say, "Well it's not my fault." And then turn to his (teenage) colleague, and say, "It's not my fault, is it?" And snigger.

• The woman who told me on the phone, "Oh yes, our climbing tower is suitable for little ones. My 18-month nephew goes on it all the time." So, we went, having spent considerable time and effort locating a climbing venue that would let the Smaller Girl (three and a half) have a go. And when I got there? They said the Smaller Girl was too young, the helmet wouldn't fit (it did), she would be scared (she wasn't), she wouldn't be able to reach (she could). After a fight (I was cross), they let her go, and she waved delightedly to me from ten feet up. She loved it.

• The People's Friend, that last bastion of old-fashioned values, has stopped sending out complimentary copies to authors, citing "rising postal costs and the current difficult economic conditions." Sure, I can see that 81p, is really hard to find when you have a circulation of three hundred thousand. In addition, they didn't tell me my story (published on the 21st August) was out until the 23rd (at which time I was in remotest Scotland, with no newsagents to hand), and by the time I returned to civilisation (on the 25th), the next issue (dated the 28th) had replaced mine.

• Some yobbo threw a rock at my windscreen (mercifully not breaking it), and yet it would have been wrong for me to take a hiking pole and beat him round the head. The police came. Looked bored. Was I wasting their time? Should rock-throwing fuckwits go unreported?

And there is one other thing I'm grumpy about: the fear that I'm getting old and grumpy. I'm not a luddite. I can change. I embrace change; but I'm tired of falling standards, and seeing good services - that cost nothing - replaced with bad services, or none at all. Above all else, I'm tired of lethargy and rudeness, and grumpiness.

People: the Good, Bad & Ugly

I've been to London three times this week, on crutches, and have alternately enjoyed and hated the experience every few minutes. Because of people:

The Good: the woman in a Clapham Junction coffee shop, who leapt out of her seat to haul open the door for me saying, "Been there myself, love. Know just what you're going through"; the man on an increasingly crowded train who growled "crutches" at anyone who tried to sit on a seat occupied by my foot (I would have happily made space, but I appreciated his care); the railwayman at Clapham who unlocked the staff loos to save me walking to the other end of the platform; the man who carried my coffee; the Sussex taxi-driver who waited an hour (until 12.45am) for my delayed train; the people who offered me their hard-won seats; the handsome Naval officer who treated me to two hours of enjoyable conversation (started on the subject of my crutches) and who escorted me to my destination (Hi, Tim).

The Bad: the people who barged into me, stepped in front of me, plonked themselves on the seats I was aiming for; all the other people who simply didn't notice; the colleague who kept me talking for twenty minutes in Waterloo station while I stood on one foot; the people who stared (they're only crutches for gawd's sake);

The Ugly: the man who kicked a crutch out from under me on Victoria concourse, and walked on without even registering what he'd done - I like to think his shin registered it, but he didn't break stride; the fit forty-something in the disabled seat on a packed tube, who held my gaze and did not move...

You'll notice there are far more Goods, than Bads & Uglies put together, but I think that's because gems stand out in the muck. My lasting memory is one of others' indifference. Which I think is sad.

Thanks for all messages of support! Ankle getting better, albeit slowly - small improvement every day. Am now able to hobble without crutches in the house, but am taking things very carefully! Scotland beckons.

Anti-Social Behaviour (...& Your Messages)

I am speaking to you today via a little yellow ethernet cable. I am actually joined to the net. I feel in touch.

I am staying with my Dad for the night, having brought him his birthday present, and three lovely grandchildren to coo over. The trouble is, it was Fireworks' Night last week. 'Last Week?' I hear you cry. 'So what's the trouble?'

The trouble is that the anti-social nouveax-riches of the home counties, think it's acceptable to blast rockets sky high for over an hour while much of the world (inlcuding 99% of the little kids) is/are trying to relax and/or sleep. It would be tolerable if it hadn't already been going on for three weeks.

I have three screaming children upstairs. Actually, I haven't - the fireworks have stopped at last, and the kids have (miraculously) gone back to sleep - otherwise I wouldn't be down here writing this; but, God, it makes my blood boil.

Sorry. Rant over.

Posted today's Message at 21:57.