.comment-link {margin-left:.6em;}

The collected opinions of an august and aristocratic personage who, despite her body having succumbed to the ravages of time, yet retains the keen intellect, mordant wit and utter want of tact for which she was so universally lauded in her younger days. Being of a generation unequal to the mysterious demands of the computing device, Lady Bracknell relies on the good offices of her Editor for assistance with the technological aspects of her journal.

My Photo
Location: Bracknell Towers

Friday, August 14, 2009

Job satisfaction

Rejoice with me, for I have just learned that the specialist DDA advice I gave some months ago on a personal case has resulted in the abominably-treated member concerned accepting a substantial out of court settlement :-)

I won't regale the details because I wouldn't want to run even the slightest risk of anyone being able to identify the person involved. But I was asked to find a compelling argument that the way in which she was treated constituted discrimination. And it wasn't easy. But I did. Armed with my advice, the local union rep escalated the case to the Employment Tribunal. At which point, evidently, the employer recognised that it had little prospect of success and offered a financial settlement. Crucially, the member has now had confirmation that she wasn't just making a fuss about nothing, and should be able to put the whole ghastly business behind her. Result.

In other good news, my scarabs were delivered today.

Thursday, August 06, 2009

Farewell, cruel world!

Having but lately returned from an appointment with my diabetes nurse at which I discovered that the miserable half hour I spent three weeks ago waiting for blood tests had been largely wasted in that the only test they didn't do was the crucial one which indicates how my diabetes is doing, I hobbled down to the front door to open it for that nice Mr Sainsbury who was bringing me a delivery of heavy groceries.

Prior to actually opening the door, I grabbed the post out of the wire basket behind the letterbox in order to bring it back upstairs with me.

Before I continue with this anecdote, I should perhaps explain that I attended the colposcopy clinic at the Women's Hospital a couple of months ago for one of those regular girly tests which is intended to prevent one from turning into Jade Goody. (Tests which most women endure at their GP's surgery but for which I, being of an unbending frame, need the support of specialist furniture in order to achieve the necessary position. Even with that support, the necessary position is very far from comfortable. And that's before the test starts. Deep joy.) Anyroad up, I'm always informed of the appointment by the hospital direct rather than my GP's surgery acting as a go-between in these matters. Once the whole ghastly experience is over and done with for the next however many years, one tends to push it to the furthest recesses of one's increasingly-unreliable memory.

Back to my post. (Or 'mail', if you are American.) Today's post consisted of a white, A4 envelope, evidently containing quite a lot of paperwork. Assuming it was probably a communication from my trade union, I scanned the envelope for identifying marks whilst expressing my amazement to that nice man from Sainsburys that there were no changes to my order. As he high-tailed it back to his van to start transporting the crates up the path, I saw that the envelope was boldly marked Private & Confidential and that the return address was the Women's Hospital.

I think I probably aged about ten years in the time it took me to get back up the stairs and open the envelope to discover the questionnaire within.

So, assuming this questionnaire contains the standard 'Is there anything else you'd like us to know?' box, I might just mention the fact that, whilst the difference between an envelope containing a questionnaire and one containing a 'Sorry, you have inoperable cancer' letter might be really obvious to anyone who works in the hospital, we are not all blessed with this insider expertise in the finer points of hospital stationery, and they might just like to think about buying a nice rubber stamp with the words, 'Don't panic. This is just a questionnaire', on it.

The Editor

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

A futile gesture

Recently, every time I have trudged into Tesco after work, I have been presented with, in addition to my till receipt, a further flimsy piece of paper offering me £3 off the next time I spend £30.

Whilst this is kind of Tesco, and I appreciate the offer, they do appear to be confusing me with someone who can actually lift £30-worth of groceries.

Given that I have all the heavy and/or non-perishable stuff delivered by that nice Mr Sainsbury every so often, my trips to the local Tesco generally involve buying bread, milk and fresh veg. Bread is, I suppose, not inordinately heavy. But add two pints of milk - or whatever the equivalent is in new money - and several days' worth of vegetables, and goods to the value of less than £10 can easily be about as much as my weedy back is happy to carry.

Having given the matter some thought, I accede that Tesco does sell some things which are relatively light in weight. Unfortunately, they tend not to be things for which I would have much, if any, use. £30-worth of cotton wool balls, for example, would last me until the end of time. Ditto boxes of matches. And, whilst £30-worth of loo roll probably isn't impossibly heavy, it takes up so much space that I would have to wrap myself up in it like a mummy in order to carry it home.

So it looks as though I'm going to be unable to redeem my generous £3 discount (£3 - imagine!!). Unless, of course, anyone has any inspired suggestions.

('Learn to drive', by the way, does not constitute an inspired suggestion for the purposes of this blog post. Just so's you know.)

The Editor