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.

Warning: Another Rant

This time, we're talking phone companies. In particular: Vodafone.

Himself is in the wilds of Scotland. His mobile tariff was due to end, and he was required to call them with his sim number in order to move to a new tariff. So far so easy. He called them, gave the necessary information. The chappy said "I'm just switching you now", and the line went dead. So, I got a call from pissed-off husband (from a payphone - he had 20p) telling me that his sim was now showing 'invalid', and would I please call Vodafone and sort it out.

Great.

The first moron I spoke to said she couldn't deal with me as it would be illegal to make any changes to my husband's account without his permission. "But you already have," I said."You didn't have his permission to invalidate his sim." But she wouldn't budge. She needed to speak with him, she said, and him alone, despite the fact that he is currently inhabiting the northern wilds with a non-working phone (and absolutely no inclination to stand in a freezing phone box feeding 20ps into the slot while waiting for someone to put down his cup of tea down long enough to answer the bloody phone.). I suggested telepathy, but she didn't see the funny side. In fact she didn't see my side of it at all, and put the phone down. (Though that might have been because I shouted at her).

The second moron was a bit more helpful. She was quite prepared to act illegally (huh?), but when I read her the number that himself had given me from the back of his sim card, she said it didn't exist, and that she couldn't do anything without the number from his actual sim, the one in his actual phone...

I won't bore you with the rise and fall of my temper (mostly rising) over the following hour, only to say that that was how long it took for absolutely nothing to happen. Husband is still stranded in the northern wilds without a phone. Fortunately, he is stranded within inches of a bar populated by rather a lot of our mates (and he's not actually stranded). I told him he can deal with it.

PlusNet has entered my consciousness by trying to charge me a cancellation fee for cancelling a service I reckon they didn't provide: 48kps anyone? Call that broadband? I don't.

Watch this space...

Warning: Rant Alert

The baby has been playing with the hoover switch this morning, while I've been trying to hoover - thus I am in ranting mood. However, toddlers are just having fun, whereas this lot have no excuses:
1. People parking on the pavement (thus blocking it), because they're too damn lazy to walk the extra 50 yards from the carpark.
2. People parking in parent/disabled spaces because they're too damn lazy to walk the extra 50 yards, etc.
3. Call-centre morons telling you that you'll have to 'put that in writing', because although they're happy to take your order (and your money) over the phone, they're completely incapable of taking your cancellation over the phone. Probably can't spell cancellation.
4. Teenagers on supermarket checkouts who zap your shopping through at 100-items a second, and hold their hands out for the money while you still have the European food mountain in front of you. And then, they put on this face that says: "Would you like help with your packing now?"
5. The dog-owner who says "Oh, he won't hurt you," as his fat labrador knocks your small child flying into a bed of nettles/brambles.

What gets your goat?

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And a big thank you to all my widget visitors, many of whom I've been magicked to already. I'll be popping by to say hello to everyone else soon.