further update on shut down

BREAKING NEWS!!!

I bumped into the fellow who is now dealing with the pipe (due to the aforementioned non-payers it has now become a legal issue) and I was told that if, after 14 days from the date of The Letter payments have still not been made, the EHO will organise and undertake payment for the work and (hopefully) sue the asses off those who have caused such an unneccessary delay.

I have, as yet, not received A Letter.

So:

If The Letter arrives by the 1st of October, the 2 week grace period elapses on the 14th and we give ‘em 2 weeks-ish to faff about, work should start in the last week of October.

If the pipe is fixed within a week and the refit takes two weeks and we add a week for shits and giggles, we should reopen in the last week of November.

Maybe. *sigh*

(Does anyone else think that this is getting ridiculous??)

further update on the shutdown

I cancelled two authors, one of whom was travelling from the US to perform.

I cancelled three artists, because I didn’t want anyone to waste their money printing flyers when we might not be open.

I got a letter last week stating that two flats and one shop have not paid their share of the bill. So I got my cheque returned, and my neighbours have had to schlepp down to the Association to collect their cash so that it can be re submitted when we are all taken to court for non-compliance.

I AM NOT BEST PLEASED.

it could be…me

I seem to have a disproportionately large number of successful friends. I feel like a human lightening rod, drawing all bad fiscal matters away from them, an unintentionally sacrificial career-failure.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled that they are doing well and I appreciate that they have all worked bloody hard to get where they are and they are all, without fail, wonderful peoples etc…but there will always be that little voice, nagging away in my subconcious, wondering why not me? I work hard. I turn up, every day – albeit a little late on occasion – come rain or shine, and do my best. Admittedly my best is often sarcastically edged and I haven’t had a decent nights sleep since that time I got plastered and danced in a cage so I can be, I know, a tad sharp at times, but I do try.

I don’t have a social life. I rarely see my family or friends unless they come to the shop and my last just-for-me purchase was a new set of Stanley blades. My perfect gift would be a bandsaw for the refit (there’s a good one in Machine Mart but Colin won’t let me have the catalogue) and the only way I’ll get a holiday this decade is at Her Majesty’s Pleasure if I assault that silly cow with the unleaded mochachino lite. Hmmm. Three meals a day, eight hours sleep a night and, according to the Daily Mail, Sky Plus in every cell…

Dorothy Parker said “I’ve never been a millionaire but I’m sure I’d be just darling at it” and I agree. It’s not avarice, it is simply an avid curiousity about a life where bills are never red, and is the main reason I allow hope to trump experience and put my numbers on the lotto every week.

I want to put the household bills on direct debit and know that they’ll go through. I want to be able to go out to dinner, oooh, say, once a month without panicking that the card will bounce. (I’d settle for a KFC if I could just guarantee that I wouldn’t be washing dishes for a fortnight to pay off my tab). I want to socialise without feeling like the perennial poor relation. I want to buy my family flash cars and large houses, and foot the bill for a multitude of friends without checking the total. I want to have a fridge freezer large enough to fill with food that will see me out the quarter. (Of course, this implies that I will live in home where I own the roof and have some say as to whether a sodding ‘ecco-boiler’ is fitted, and rooms within large enough to house all the over-sized electrical equipment my little heart could desire. Oh, and water pressure. I want water pressure). Although they say that money can’t buy happiness, penury isn’t exactly a dream, dammit!

So I leave you with the words of another wise woman, Rita Rudner:

“Some people get so rich they lose all repect for humanity. That’s how rich I want to be.”

UPDATE: been reading about the Lehmans Bank/mortgage/credit debacle and I’ve come to the conclusion that now is a very good time to be a non-home-owning, sans pension holding debtor with no savings. Seriously, I’ve never felt so secure…

Hmmm

Well, it’s a thought…

http://www.questionablecontent.net/view.php?comic=1227

jargon-lite

I applaud the eagerness of some to embrace the consumer caffeine culture and spread their newfound knowledge far and wide – trim flat americano, treble tall dry cap, semi half caff mach…All are brand specific, in-house requests for a personalised beverage.

No probs.

If you have the cash I am more than happy to interpret your demand but be aware that if you shout UNLEADED MOCHACHINO LITE I’m going to look at you blankly for a second or two - just because you have learnt a new way of asking for a skimmed milk decaf mocha without cream it doesn’t mean that I have the faintest idea what you are talking about.

Even though I do this for a living, and even though I am bound by the blood-oath of my trade to ask a bunch of irritating questions (at least on your first visit) to ensure that you get the drink that you want and then to make up a stupid name for it, I, personally, am quite happy with plain English. For all of those who just want a coffee, dammit there are a disproportionately large number of customers who revel in the confusing slang. And it’s all our own fault.

The accepted norms of social behaviours have changed and we find ourselves lost, without a common point of reference. So desperate are we to belong to something, anything, that we create our own little cliques around our daily activities. So as the licensed trade, previously the declarative badge of lifestyle/political/religious/sporting choice, fades away and a coffee culture emerges, rather than drinking in The Kimberly Tavern because you support Celtic you buy a ridiculously convoluted drink from your over-priced chain of choice to demonstrate your affiliations.

In Edinburgh, between Haymarket and Waverley Stations, there is a half mile strip of coffee shops and, if you exclude geographical considerations, a pattern is clear: the financial workers imbibe vente, extra shot, semi-skimmed caramel macchiatos with a dusting of vanilla powder, extra hot, to show that they have both the cash and the time to fanny about with a Starbucks drink that scalds the taste away. The intelligenzia wander into Caffe Nero as it has a Euro-flavour to it’s decor and, before the ban, a Gallic attitude towards smoking and the deconstruction of Borges. Old school business-types go to Costa for its traditional air and ‘Costa Brother’s Family Concern’ fanfare (despite the fact that Whitbread own the whole chain and have done for years) whilst the cash-savvy and caffeine afficionados tend to use the independants as the brew is superior, the price lower and the service more personal (well, I would have to say that, wouldn’t I?).

The point of this? I don’t really have one – except to say that I am happy, no, thrilled to pander to the faux sophistication of that chunk of the coffee-guzzling populance who (after practicing the phrase under their breath as they wait in the queue) rattle off a stream of absolute bollocks instead of just asking for a bloody mocha. Just make sure you have your purse to hand.

quote of the day

DUE TO BUDGETARY CONSTRAINTS THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL WILL BE TURNED OFF UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

                                                    – ANON