Grrrr!

I've been searching for the perfect pair of brown boots for a very long time. Because of my dodgy feet, they have to be flat with spongy soles and comfy, padded insoles. The leather must be soft and flexible and mustn't rub, as my heels and toes, skin, bleed and blister at the slightest suggestion of a seam, a ruck or a too-hard surface.

The kind of boots I've seen in the shops were somewhere north of £100 (ouch!). I scoured the charity shops, and finally went onto ebay where - oh joy! - I found them. A pair of brown suede Timberland boots in that oh, so elusive size 5 1/2. There were 16 bidders after them and I put in the highest bid, at £39.75 plus postage. That style are around £145 new and the seller said she'd only worn them once, so I reckoned I'd got a bargain and couldn't wait for them to arrive.

This morning, the postie rang the bell and said I had to sign for a parcel. It was the boots! I put the package in the bedroom and worked up my anticipation by finishing twiddling with some photos on the computer. Then, unable to wait any longer, I hacked my way into the parcel.

The boots were perfect. The sole was just the right height and squidginess, the insole was perfectly padded, the suede supple and a gorgeous chocolate brown. But... what was this? My foot wasn't going in. I gave the zip an extra tug and tried again. Still no luck. With a nasty sinking feeling, I compared the size of the boot sole to the size of my foot. It was smaller. I peered inside the boot. 'UK size 5 1/2, Eurpean 38 1/2', it said. 5 1/2, my foot! I measured the shoe and found it to be 23 cms, then went onto an international shoe size site which proclaimed it to be a size 4.

Fury surged through me. I'd been cheated! Robbed of over £40! Livid, I stomped upstairs and opened up the seller's email. 'No returns', it said. What a rip-off. That woman must have known damn well that those boots had been wrongly sized. She'd probably bought them at some factory outlet place for seconds, or even been ripped off on ebay herself.

I sell a lot of my 'mistakes' or clothes that no longer fit, on ebay and am always scrupulously honest, telling people if they are a large 14, or tight under the arms, or have a mark somewhere. Not so this woman, though. I have sent her a stiff email and have re-listed them on ebay as a size 4.

But now a nasty, niggly thought has occurred to me. What if they are snide Timberlands and I get the counterfeit goods police contacting me? Could I get prosecuted for selling counterfeits when I bought them in good faith? I hope not. I also hope a lady with nice, small feet will give me at least half my money back. Any offers?

The patient fox

These photos should really have been put into my wildlife blog, but as I'm not sure if you all read that, I decided to pop them in here. Every evening, anytime from six onwards, the fox comes sniffing round the lawn to see if it can find anything tasty, then sits and waits, gazing at us through through the patio doors.



What a very fine brush it has. Wonder it doesn't trip over it!

Waterbutt

Mr Grumpy takes the name literally!

Location 1: efficiency 0

How about this? The new dentist is on the fringe of Harley Street, the most fashionable London location for private medics of all persuasions (there's even a brand new haemorrhoid clinic which, shudder, I may have to pay a visit to soon; I think I'd have been tempted to call it Piles of Smiles!). When you think of the money they rake in (I was quoted... wait for it... £5,600 for an inplant plus temporary bridge while the jaw is being prepared), you'd think they would be the very model of efficiency. And so, as I was leaving yesterday, I gaily fluted, "See you tomorrow."

The dental nurse frowned and flicked through the book. "I haven't got you down," she said. I produced the appointment card on which was written, Friday Oct 1, 12 noon. "That's my writing," she said. "Oh well, we'd better see you on Monday." No apology, no explanation for her failure to write it in the book. Just imagine if I'd arranged a day off work, or was coming a long way and had booked a rail ticket in advance!

Just heard on the radio that there is a threatened rail strike on Monday. So they won't be seeing me! All the same, it does not bode well...

New Dentist

I have had two visits to the new dentist so far, with two more pending. I arrived early for the last one and was in John Lewis's changing room when my mobile rang. It was the dentist, informing me that they were running half an hour late. "Great!" quoth I. "I can try on a few more things." And I ended up buying a dress.

Today I was at the other end of the spectrum, in the charity shop, to be precise, when my mobile rang again. Dentist again, asking if I could come an hour early tomorrow, at 10 am. Well, getting there at ten involves leaving the house at eight, crawling to the tube in heavy rush hour traffic, then standing for an hour and 20 mins on two tubes, squashed to smithereens. I said no. Receptionist tried to persuade me. Gently, I pointed out the problems of getting there in the rush hour when I didn't have to go into central London for work. Reluctantly, they agreed that I could stick to my original time.

I am now wondering if I have done the right thing in signing on with them. In 32 years with my old practice, they never once tried to change an appointment. Is this what you get when you move up market? I can only assume that somebody a lot richer and more important than me was also feeling reluctant to travel in the rush hour. Well, sod 'em! My appointment was made first. I think I am right in treating them as I mean to go on. The worst they can do is make me leave!

Chimimi's new way to torture humans

I have to hand it to that cat, she is fiendishly (felinedishly?) intelligent and really does sit and figure things out. While I was writing my last post, she came bounding up the stairs and began wowling for attention and purring loudly.

I ignored her, apart from a brief ruffle of her forehead fur, and thought she'd gone. Then suddenly I felt it! A needle-like claw in my behind. The little madam had pussy-footed around to the back of my typing chair and had poked her paw under the arm rest and given me a good prod. That'll teach me to ignore a cat when it's talking to me!

Sorry for the silence!

I've had my nose permanently glued to my computer, doing an appraisal and copy edit of a very interesting faction book about the theft of the Romanian crown jewels during the second world war. Now I have briefly surfaced before two trips into the West End to the dentist tomorrow and Friday, then another book editing job. I'm not complaining about getting in some work, though. The more, the merrier. I do hope that one day before I fall off my perch, I'll get some time to write my own stuff again. *sigh*