My email to Play.com

I am writing to complain about the despicable service I have received from play.com that has left me absolutely livid and really quite upset. I have called the 0845 800 2010 telephone number to try and resolve my problem twice and have, in total, wasted two hours talking to people who were rude, unhelpful and insulting and then proceeded to lie to me, cheat me and insult me.
It is now one in the morning and I am composing this email after finishing on the telephone to a manager who actually has no authority to help me whatsoever. What exactly is the point in his title?
I initially ordered two games from Play.com to be delivered to an address in France. This was clearly stated on my order – Play.com INSISTS that when purchasing items for France that they be paid for in Euros. I gather this is an inexplicable company policy and so, despite the fact that my bank (and billing address) is UK based, I was forced to pay a premium rate in Euros and incur charges from my bank for the ‘currency exchange service’. This naturally makes it much more expensive and so I VERY OBVIOUSLY wouldn’t be wanting to pay any extra than necessary; that would be illogical, but illogical is clearly how play.com runs, because when I received an email stating my FIRST item (New Super Mario Bros, Wii) had been dispatched I was pretty annoyed to see that it was being sent to the WRONG address and I checked my second item (Legend of Zelda, DS) and found that was due to be sent to the Wrong address as well.
What? How can this be? I thought, I very clearly instructed the delivery address to be to France! I’m not going to be in the UK over Christmas, New Year or until February. I ordered these games as Christmas gifts for my family who live in France. Why would I pay the premium rate for items to be sent to the UK. The play.com website was the system that instructed me as I was paying to pay in euros as my delivery address was in France, so quite perturbed |I gave the call centre a ring.
I may as well have set fire to my face. I was put on hold four times during this first conversation. The first reason for this was because “I had not entered a delivery address” so by default the product will get sent to my billing address. Now, I’m not Sherlock Holmes or anything, but WHY WOULD I PAY IN EUROS, ergo paying a premium and then some, for something to be sent to the UK?
This, of course, was tosh, when the call operator then asked me if it was supposed to go to “2 Impasse des Toinons, etc . etc.” Well, clearly I ENTERED that address, for that is the French address I SPECIFIED as the delivery address and I have never had anything delivered to that address before – how would that address be there if I hadn’t entered it??? So, like a pig pulling a cart load of sausages, a draw my own conclusion; I was rudely told it was my fault and made to feel like a liar, when in fact I WAS BEING LIED TO! This is not customer service to be proud of.
The first solution to this predicament was for me to re-order my presents to be sent to France and to wait for the ones being sent to my UK address and then return them by recorded delivery at which point I would receive a refund in Euros.
I pointed out how ludicrous this ‘solution’ was; I would end up paying nearly double for each game as I would incur bank charges for 3 currency transfers and, more to the point, I’M NOT AT MY UK ADDRESS. I CAN NOT RECEIVE THINGS, I CAN NOT RETURN THINGS! Oh, and thirdly, I would have to be paying a second time for the games and this is something I CAN NOT afford, and I have no time to wait for a refund to re-buy the games... Can you see where I was getting at?
Well, I thought I had made myself quite clear. So the next solution sounded fine...
I was told as I was not at the address at the moment that the items would be instantly returned and I would not have to worry about that. I was told that the items have to be signed for now, although this I have a feeling, is a load of ‘frolics in the park’. When I have had items delivered before they have NEVER been signed for and have always been posted through the door and sat on my door mat until I’ve found them. Well I gave the operator the benefit of doubt, possibly because she continued with a solution that I thought was going to resolve my problems – she would simply have my item sent to the correct address and she would change the delivery details on my second item. I was told not to worry and that she would sort it out “because it is Christmas and we understand everyone wants their items on time.”
BINGO, or so I thought....
Ok, so I was still sizzling a bit when I went to check my email and to check my orders status on play.com
An email came through after a while –a RE-ORDER of Mario Bros??? I didn’t want to pay for an item twice! I DID NOT AUTHORISE a second payment! That’s just naughty and plain bad manners. You can’t vaguely tell someone over the telephone not to worry and that the problem is sorted by STEALING money from their bank account and hoping they don’t notice to appease them. I was shocked to say the least! I’m not a girl of great means and I don’t have the sort of money to pay for things twice. I don’t have the convenience of a bank account in the black which can pay for something twice with an uncertain wait for something to be refunded at a point sometime in the future, which judging from your diabolical charade of a call centre would be never.
And how come this item (the re-order of Mario Bros) which WAS ACTUALLY to be delivered to France, can now be paid for in UK pounds? That’s just making the rules up as you go along; worse than my brother at Monopoly.
I thought I best check the status of item 2, the Zelda game for the DS, and low and behold, it was still due to be shipped to the UK. So, despite being told that item 2 would simply have a change of address before it would be dispatched and that it would have a simple destination change; it was all a crock. The delivery details hadn’t been changed and as I sat on hold in my second call to the 0845 call centre, I watched the item status change from getting packed to getting dispatched, all to the wrong address AFTER I had been told it was sorted.
So, nothing to worry about turned to EVERYTHING to worry about. This was supposed to be a hassle-free Christmas present for family members and you’ve turned it into an incredibly stressful circus for me where I’ve sat on the telephone for nearly 2 hours only to be told that no one has any authority to do anything to help me, even after waiting to speak to a so-called manager. It’s bitterly ironic that they can take MY money without authorisation, but nobody in the whole building is authorised to give it back.
I’m finishing this email at 2am and I desperately hope you can help resolve this issue as soon as possible.
I’m at the point where I feel like laughing an insane sort of banging your head against the wall cackle, but don’t get me wrong, I do not think this is funny. I am really very angry indeed and I have endeavoured to be as polite as Britishly possible, but in all honestly the air here is blue, to put it mildly.

Purple Girl

You're here with me in this room,
as we drink our soup from bowls,
but your eyes gaze is miles through me,
over stormy seas and sail boats.

The howling of the wind,
harks the ending of the day,
as I long to reach out to you,
but your eyes gaze is miles through me,
over stormy seas and sail boats

The red soars on your face,
your knotted brown hair,
with hands grasping for warmth
and the purple knit jumper, drawing me in
but your eyes gaze is miles through me,
over stormy seas and sail boats

I see your cracked, pursed lips
and they're not smiling for me,
your arms folded across your chest
and you clutch onto your memories
your blue eyes of longing, a million miles away
for your eyes gaze is miles through me,
over stormy seas and sail boats

Toothache

People always say, "ooooh toothache, it's the worst sort of pain..." and I secretly think, you know, what a load of bollocks, because surely like, dropping a chainsaw on your leg has got to be worse than some toothache. Man up! swallow a few paracetomol and get yourself down to the dentist, who, for a small fee, will sort you out.
Unless you're absolutely terrified of the dentist I suppose, then you deserve to be in pain. I actually am absolutely terrified of the evil bastard dentist. I mean, what sort of person becomes a dentist anyway? Sadists with an oral fixation, that's my guess anyway. I have really bad teeth, possibly because I sometimes forget to brush and I like sugary food. I try to scrub my teeth though, go nuts.... using mouth wash and dental floss and brush my teeth for a good 10 minutes, clearly it doesn't make a difference if you chow-down on as much sugar-crap as humanly possible and don't visit the dentist. I hadn't been for 6 years - I had refused treatment when I was 15 and not been back. I was supposed to have a filling then, but as he was about to I found myself unable to let him and ran away. By the time I was back in a dentists chair, 6 years later I needed 6 fillings and a root canal. What an effin' b*****d! to put it politely! Needless to say I was a mess and had more panic-attacks and hyperventilated and couldn't breath as I came out in a clammy cold sweat and wished I was dead! hahahha, it's funny, but it's not even funny. I despise that irrationality. What sort of person becomes a dentist, huh?
Now my wisdom teeth are coming through and it hurts... a lot!
Pile me up with the pain-killers please.

Nothing...

Words aren't really working.

been drawing with me felt-tips, old school!

I forget how hard it is to draw with felt-tips, whatever you do will look rubbish! 

And then I made a puppet... Just bored...

Kick in the arse, how long will it last?

Ok!
Thanks for that kick in the arse JC!
You are, of course, a million times right and I should stop being a lazy Charlie Uniform and get writing, doing, whatever... so after I've eaten all that damn tasty fudge, I should begin... and start writing... good or not it has to be done otherise I might as well be doomed to return to Norwich and get a job at NU! arghhhhhhh!
Might as well sign my own death certificate!

So, I will endeavour to write and post more words to be attacked...

Lets get started...

Thought I could do with a re-fit

Brushing off the cob-webs, and having a re-fit.
I guess this coincides with the completion of my bedroom!
I've moved out of the squat and now I have an actual bedroom! YAY!
I'm in the middle of a building site, but, hey! It's my space, I can start to unpack a little.

pass the bucket!

Here is the revolting poem I had to read for my brother's wedding! Very sickly!
I couldn't stress enough that I hadn't chosen it!

On Your Wedding Day

Today is a day you will remember
The greatest in anyone’s life.
You’ll start off the day just two people in love
And end it as husband and wife.
It’s a brand new beginning, the start of a journey
With moments to cherish and treasure
And although there’ll be times when you both disagree
These surely will be outweighed by pleasure.
You’ll have heard many words of advice in the past
When the secrets of marriage were spoken
But you know that the answers lie hidden inside
Where the bond of true love lies unbroken.
So live happy forever as lovers and friends
It’s the dawn of a new life for you
As you stand there together with love in your eyes
For the moment you whisper ‘I do‘.
And with luck, all your hopes, and your dreams can
Be real.
May success find its way to your hearts.
Tomorrow can bring you the greatest of joys,
But today is the day it all starts.

Anon

Albert Picked His Nose

Page 1.

Slap-bang amidst the hubbub of the city is the giant block of flats where eleven year old Albert lives with his Dad. There is a communal garden in the courtyard on the ground floor and every flat has a two by one metre balcony – just big enough for a window box and a few pots. Albert lives on the fourth floor and IS NOT, under any circumstances, allowed to play in the courtyard – even if Teri and Michael are down there and especially not if the Gordon's brothers are playing football.

“But I like football!” Albert would protest, “And they said they don't mind me playing.” but Albert's Dad would point out that Ady, the oldest Gordon's brother is sixteen and is no doubt up to mischief and then he would finish his argument by indicating to the faded green and yellow sign in the courtyard:

“The sign says, 'No Ball Games Allowed.” Albert would wave a miserable farewell to his friends and stomp up the snaking concrete steps, running his fingers across the dirty, flaking paint of the metal hand rails.

Albert was thinking how horrible his dad was as he reached his floor, and then panicked, in case there was anybody about who was able to read his thoughts.

“Come on Bert!” His Dad stood in the open doorway, jangling the keys. “Cheer up, mate! If you finish your homework early enough, I'll take you to the park.”

Albert's stomach did a somersault. He had completely forgotten about the homework task his grouchy teacher, Mr. Rocksted had set him. If only he had his old simpering teacher, Miss. Housely, from last year – he wouldn't have even bothered doing it. Miss Housely would listen to Albert's wild excuses on not having done his homework and would let him off with a pseudo stern word – usually something like, 'This is very bad of you Albert, you really must do today's worksheet or I will have to talk to your parents.' But she never did, and Albert never did the work.

Albert sighed, knowing he'd never finish his homework before it got dark and his head dropped to watch his feet as he trudged into the house, the delighted whoops of one of the Gordon brothers scoring a distant goal echoing round the stairwell. The front door shut behind him and the want of being outside instead of unjustly caged in on a sunny afternoon pounded in his ears louder than the quiet of the flat.

Albert couldn't help thinking how unfair it was as he trudged straight to his room and threw down his battered rucksack, knocking over the waste-paper bin in the process. He slumped down at his desk by the window and pressed his forehead against the glass. Teri and Michael had joined the Gordon's brothers in the football game now, Teri was still in her school uniform and was using her pink bag as one of the goal posts. The youngest brother, Jake, was in goal, he was only eight and he was always allowed out to play – sometimes until nine o'clock. Albert noticed he had breathed a vapour mist across the window and he drew a vampire bat in it, if he shut one eye and squinted, the bat had Jake's head in its mouth.

Albert stared out of the window, watching the football, but not really looking – just staring in the direction of the game. He brushed at his nose, he sniffed once or twice and then rubbed it again. Before long, his index finger had worked its way up his nostril and was picking out at the stubborn lumps of crusting snot that were blocking his nasal passage.

“Stop picking your nose and do your homework!” Albert hadn't noticed his dad come into the room. He yanked his finger out of his nose and gingerly scratched at it instead.

“I'm hungry...” Albert replied automatically.

“You won't get full-up on boogies.” His dad sighed, “wash your hands and I'll make you a snack.” Albert's dad left and the door swung shut behind him. In the courtyard below a car alarm started going off. There were shrieks of excitement as Teri, Michael and the Gordon's brothers snatched up their bags and dispersed. Teri followed Ady into the bushes and the other two Gordon's brothers clambered over the wall into the pub car park, with Michael in hot pursuit. Albert wiped his hands on his school trousers and with a final gaze outside, left his room for the kitchen.

back to business

Well, I'd say I have had a bit of a mental few weeks, but here I am, back to the grind.
My brother got married (yeuch), but it all went off very smoothly and no fights were had, possibly because my brother didn't really invite anyone from our side of the family, that made for amusing pictures. I did a reading from some anonymous poetry book, my grandma had chosen it to be read for them and asked me to do it (muggins me said yes) but, me, being me, didn't read it until a day before the wedding - and then I nearly vommed! I tell ye, it was so repulsive, icky lovey dovey squelch squelch, blubber blubber, I really did want to vomit 'pass the bucket' echoed round my head a good few times. Nevertheless, I got up and read this with some gusto infront of a crowd of their nearest and dearest and then was told what a lovely poem it was by a great deal of them. 'LOVELY POEM'? I thought, did you listen to the freakin' words? What a load of vom!
I guess I'm just a great actor, I'll dress a turd up as a prince and people will kiss it! Ok, maybe not, but still, eeek.

Now I'm back to work& back to business! Still doing specialist certificates (mini-courses) to complement my TEFL qualification and I've decided I need to find time to write more. I wrote 600 words today and once I've had a re-read, I may even let you have a laugh at my abymal dribblings!

SOFA so errrrm, yeah, hadn't really thought this through...

COMING BACK TO NORWICH!!! BE THERE FOR A WEEK - EARLY HOURS TUESDAY MORNING (travelling all day and night Monday) The sofas have been delivered and I'll be collecting them with Seb.
WOOOOHOOO! PUB PUB PUB, so much I want to drink, I mean do! drink and do!

I am really looking forward to coming home, it's been a long time coming!

But, I have lots to think about and consider when I get there - like DO I WANT TO STAY?
arghhhhhhhhhhh!

Bloody Mozzys

I am peppered with bright red mozzy bites. I have finally put up the mosquito net over my bed, but it only covers my top half. This morning I had 9 bites from my knee to my ankle on my right leg, what a charlie uniform. CURSES.
I have some deet anti-mozzy roll-on, but want to find something more, urgh, organic...

Plan for Life

Go left at the next junction.
Go straight ahead until you get to something interesting.
Don't dwell.
Keep on going.
Turn right.
Keep going straight until you get there.

Going Backwards

I threw a stone, I threw it really far, it just soared into the air.

I watched it shrink as it swam straight ahead into the sky.

What a throw.

It disappeared onto the horizon. I stared, quite amazed.

That's got to be an Olympic size throw, that one.

I threw a stone, I threw it really far, it just soared into the air.

I watched it shrink as it swam straight ahead into the sky;

Only to find that it hit me in the back of the head.

Home?

You know, I often find myself wishing I could go home. How funny is that?
What's it all about though?
When I lived in Norwich though, I'd find myself thinking... I want to go home.
Problem is, I don't think Home really exists any more. Maybe this is something that everybody experiences at some pint in there life, or maybe not, maybe I'm just so stuck in a rut of sentimental bullshit that I find myself lost more often than not.
I will be looking for the comfort. I look for everything familiar and the people who I like the best.
I look for friends, both real and inanimate. I look for Sirius. I look for my 'tools' - my paints, my pencils, my papers and inks. I want my duck-feather duvet and comfy pyjamas. I want to understand what makes home, home. I want to be there and not feel like I'm missing something significant. There's just something missing where-ever I go.
So maybe that's what people deal with all the time, just a space, a black hole... that emptiness that knows how incomplete we are.
When I was in Norwich I thought that 'home' meant the family home, and It would all feel 'right' once I was here. I am so wrong though; this feels less like home than the Hotblack Road. I suppose Sirius is the anchor at the minute, which means I'm on a boat now, hopefully finding home. You big loser.

Is there anybody there? Life and Death

Well, my my, hasn't it been a tumultuous few months?

How the hell my grandma is still alive, is beyond me...
hip replacement, heart attack, brain damage, broken wrist, stroke - all in a couple of months. If she was in the UK, I'd say she might be trying to get some of that money she's paid in tax back through the NHS. But... we're in France, so healthcare costs a fortune and I'm pretty sure she's had more money in pensions compared to what she paid in during her working life....
LOGANS RUN LOGANS RUN LOGANS RUN. What an awful film... I can see the sensibilities.
Now, don't think I'm hideous, it's just hard work and she wouldn't be alive / at home if it wasn't for all the support she's had from the everyday visits at hospital to her constant care that she now needs at home. She's doin' all right.
My brother on the other hand... I REALLY effin (can I swear on this?) hate him, that selfish bastad can rot in hell.

Why the hell I didn't kill myself, well that's beyond me to.

I didn't, of course, probably because that would be admitting defeat, and I'm not quite ready for that. Don't get me wrong though, I'm not afraid to die - I just hope it's by my terms. I don't want to be an old old ancient wreck of a human, pissing in my nappies and not being able to wipe my arse on my own, but I'd be pretty pissed off if someone declared a nuts sort of nuclear war and I had to die like that. I've always (don't know why) envisioned myself dying or pretty much dying, in a horrific car crash, I haven't ruled out hanging myself either. Don't think I fancy shitting myself though, that kinda puts me off - I don't want my last few dying seconds to be obscured by the stench of my bowels opening and my insides dropping out, down my leg onto the floor beneath me.

Have you ever seen Where the Wind Blows? (it's a graphic novel too) I think that is the scariest thing you could ever show your children. That's the horror movie that haunts my child-hood memories.

Anyway, James May awaits...