There’s a chap who has set the challenge to knitters across the globe to knit one million teddy bears. So at Clicking Needles we were handed a bear pattern and our teddies will be sent to children in third world countries with AIDS – apparently children recover better if they have a teddy to hug. It won’t be a big hug though as the teddy pattern is very wee. So far I have knitted one half of my Edward Bear, in traditional mid-brown. I noticed the other ladies were using multi-coloured bright wools so my next effort will be in blue.
Before I could get started on my teddy, I first had to furnish my Malawi hand puppet with eyes, nose and mouth. Let me tell you, it is quite difficult to knit a smiley face.
In other news, Gordon told me about a fellow from neighbouring land, who I think must be a laird of large acreage, who sent his messenger to Edinburgh. This messenger apparently can run very fast, and in no time (well, maybe several hours) he had run to Edinburgh, delivered his message and run all the way back to the castle. Exhausted, he curled up under the kitchen table and fell asleep. The laird saw him there and was absolutely appalled as his message was for none other than Her Majesty The Queen herself – he assumed the messenger was being an idle lout and had not yet set off on his journey, preferring to take a nap instead. In his anger he cut off his head.
“Oh my goodness!” I said. “Was this just recently?”
“Och, quite a few hundred years ago,” said Gordon, who is keen that I should tell the readers of my blog the various stories that will make your hair curl about the goings-on hereabouts.
Sadly, some of them refer to the living and may be libellous so best avoided. Although I quite liked the one about the lover who was found drowned in the river that runs along the end of our garden. His cries were heard in the night by the man next door, who was unable to work out where the screams were coming from so he rolled over and went back to sleep - but it seems highly likely the lover was murdered by his scorned mistress. It remains a local mystery to this day.
In further news, already I am feeling the symptoms of withdrawal as there will be no more daily chats with the Indians at the call centre for me – my golf clubs arrived late yesterday evening, in a somewhat damp bag, but all in one piece.
To satisfy my yearning and desire to be placed on endless hold and listen to bad music and an annoying woman telling me how important my call is to her, just one more time I placed a final call to find out about compensation for non-delivery of bags.
“Oh madam, you need to dial another number,” said Jane in an Indian accent.
So I dialled the new number/option 5.
“Customer relations!” answered a cheery Indian voice.
I relayed my tale of delayed luggage.
“Oh madam, you have to go online or write to Customer Relations for this.
“And please accept my sincere condolences for all the inconvenience this has caused you.”
That’s nice, I thought, at least four colonials have now apologised for my troubles, what a polite lot.
So, I have now written to Customer Relations and apparently I will receive a reply in three weeks. If I don’t, I shall be renewing my acquaintance with my Indian pals quick-smartish, who I feel certain will be full of empathy for my position – even if powerless to do anything other than refer me on to yet another department (Customer Relations Complaints, perhaps?).
No comments:
Post a Comment