Meg’s Diary


Before we bought Meg (sweet naive souls that we were) we tried to plan ahead. Our kitchen is open-plan style, which isn’t great for a new puppy, so some friends lent us their ‘puppy pens.’ They had two kinds, both used successfully with their Weimaraner puppies. One pen was fairly solid and not too big—ideal for in the kitchen. The other was lighter and bigger—perfect for the garden.

We collected Meg from the breeder, brought her home and placed her in the kitchen. After knocking over a plant, running round, peeing on the floor, etc in about two seconds, we put her into the first puppy pen. For a minute or two, all was calm. But Meg had no intention of staying inside the playpen, she wanted to be with us. When I moved away, Meg used the bars of the pen like a ladder, climbing up to the top. I managed to catch her as she fell backwards (very dangerous). Clearly this was not a safe place to leave her unattended. We assembled the lighter, larger puppy pen—maybe the larger slats would be too wide for Meg to climb. They were. Meg did not scramble up the sides, instead she used all her weight to heave into the corner, which obligingly slid across the kitchen floor. Meg triumphantly reached me, dragging the pen behind her. Not a success. 

We now had nowhere safe for Meg to be left. She had a crate, for sleeping, but it was small, too small to be left in. (The idea of ‘crate training’ in case you have never done it, is that you gradually introduce the puppy to a crate, which then is their safe place, like a den in the wild. When toilet training a young puppy, you have a bed-sized crate so the puppy cannot sleep at one end and toilet at the other which encourages them to form bladder control. Of course for this to not be cruel, the owner has to very frequently, day and night, take them to an appropriate place to toilet. The timing depends on the puppy. For Meg, it took one night, we never had another accident. For my black Labrador puppy it took 10 years and I’m not completely sure she ever fully understood where she was supposed to pee.) We needed somewhere else that was safe to leave hyper-active puppy unattended during the day.

It was a problem, solved by Husband-Fixer-Man, who set off at about 8pm, determined to solve the problem. He spent some time on the internet, then informed me he had found the biggest crate available, it was available in Argos about 10 miles away, they were open until 10pm, he was on it! Off he went. Some time later, he returned with the biggest box ever fitted into a Land Rover. From it emerged a crate, which when assembled took up a sizeable amount of kitchen floor. It was huge. It was also Meg-proof. She could not climb the walls, she could not move it along the floor, and it was big enough that I felt she could safely be contained with her toys when I was unable to be on puppy-duty. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked.

Over time, Meg moved from the smaller crates, and the huge crate was the only one we kept. It has been useful when we have guests who don’t like dogs, or guests who are fragile, because Meg can be shut inside and everyone is safe. She likes it, and even though the door is rarely shut unless we have visitors, she generally chooses to be in there and sleeps in there every night (with the door wide open). However, the top has become a dumping place for things. Over time old towels have been stored there, toys she no longer uses, odd bits of gardening equipment. I am not naturally tidy, and I stopped ‘seeing’ what was dumped ‘temporarily’ on top of the crate. Plus it took up a huge amount of kitchen floor.

I decided it was time to move it out. Meg rarely needs to be shut away, and when she does she can be put into the utility room. (To be fair, she hates it in there because she can’t see what is happening, so she would much prefer the crate stayed.) I experimented with putting a nice comfy dog bed inside the crate, planning to move the crate when something else had become her bed. She hated the comfy cushion. For a few nights she slept squashed next to it in the crate. Then she abandoned the crate and slept on the doormat. Then she tried to remove the comfy cushion from the crate and when that proved too difficult she tried to eat it.

I removed the partially shredded cushion and put it in the dustbin, replacing it with a towel. Yesterday, we removed the crate. I placed the towel in the same spot on the floor, and told Meg this is her bed. Meg lay on it. Later, while we were eating, I told Meg to go to her bed. She went and sat on the towel. This morning, when I came into the kitchen, Meg was asleep on the towel. Sorted. Very little has been easy with Meg, but being adaptable is one of her strengths. She understands her ‘bed’ is the towel. No crate required. Perfect.

I’m now enjoying my spacious kitchen. Thanks for reading. Have a good week.

Take care.

Love, Anne x

A playpen Meg could climb.
A Gremlin

Meg’s Diary: Life is a Compromise



24/3/2026

I have ducklings, rescued from the pond, in a crate in the garage. Meg is interested. I take her with me, and hold a duckling for her to sniff. She’s very excited, and tries to lick it. I speak very calmly, praising her, ensuring she stays sitting. It’s not (yet) very calm, and I can tell she’s bursting to leap on them. But I will continue.

I had a nightmare. It was very grim—something evil was hovering over the bed and I knew I needed to wake-up but I couldn’t. I screamed (which did wake me). Husband came running. The point of this, is that Meg was asleep on the floor next to me, and her reaction was…zero. I screamed a full-panic, real fear, scream. Meg did not move. I do not find this reassuring in terms of guard-dog duty. I suspect if a burglar came she might join him if he looked more fun than me. She scores 100% for resilience, 0 for empathy, 0 for security. Sometimes I wonder why I keep her.

Considering options


18/4/2026

Walking Meg in the woods is delightful. She is very obedient, especially when off-lead, and will come and walk beside me on command. She still grabs at sticks occasionally, so I wear tough gardening gloves to avoid losing a finger. But other than risk of losing a limb, she is great! I’m especially proud of her when other dogs invade her space, as she will always ignore them and come to me when called.

On a less good note, I still do not feel she likes me much. When no one else is here, she will faithfully follow me wherever I go, and will sleep on the floor beside my bed. But anyone more exciting (which seems to include everyone) Meg is off, looking for better company. This annoys me. I feed her, walk her, pick up her mess—but it is Husband who she greets enthusiastically. This morning, I opened her cage, bent to fuss her—Husband walked into the kitchen—she rushed off to bounce him happily and take him gifts of dirty towels. I was ignored, of no interest whatsoever. I find this odd. All my other animals like me, so I feel the fault is hers. It makes me less tolerant of her bad points (which is perhaps not rational, but I feel she should love me best!)

By the way, introducing Meg to the hatchlings has not changed her behaviour at all. She still views them as things to chase/bark at. I will continue to keep them separate unless she is extremely closely monitored.

2/4/2026

Meg has been fairly good this week. We have a nice routine in the morning, when she comes into the field with me and I water the new plants. Goose and Maverick are out, but behind a flimsy fence (it wouldn’t keep Meg out if she decided to join them, but it’s a psychological barrier, and it keeps the birds contained, even Maverick the fighty cockerel). If I am holding a stick, and I concentrate on directing her, then Meg stays with me, and doesn’t bark at the birds. She walks to the middle of the field with me, then stops and watches me walk the rest of the way. If I call her, she will join me (just to check whether I have anything interesting, then she returns to the middle of the field).

When I need to refill the waterings cans, at the tap right next to the birds, Meg is almost good. I tell her to ‘stop’ and to ‘wait’ in a place about a 100 yards from the bird enclosure. Meg stands still. I turn to walk towards the tap, Meg creeps forward a step. I turn, make unhappy noises, she stops. Every time I move towards the tap, Meg moves closer. It’s like one of those ‘creeping up’ games you played as a child. It’s very disobedient, and as a GSD, Meg should be completely obedient. But she’s busy concentrating on moving without me noticing, which means she is ignoring the birds, so I don’t really care. Life with Meg is all about compromise. She rarely does exactly what I want, but ‘close enough’ is okay.

August 2026

Meg is being hard work. I think this is due to lack of routine—we have been away a few times, there have been visitors in the house and I have been distracted by work and ill family. This means Meg has not been my focus, and she has started to ignore me when I tell her to do something. This week she even refused to come to be put on the lead in the woods, and then almost refused to jump into the car—problems I thought we had cured years ago. She makes me cross, because life has been disrupted for me too, and I don’t have any patience for her naughtiness.

On a brighter note, we used ‘Rover’ and no one died. Rover is an online site, a little like Airbnb for dog-sitters. You upload details about your dog (like whether they can cope with other dogs, or cats, or children) and then you look for a suitable host on the website. They can then ask further questions before agreeing to take your dog. We were going to Cambridge for the weekend, and it was holiday time so all the kennels were completely full, and several friends have recommended Rover. I was nervous. I worried about whether Meg would be safe (although we specified an enclosed garden and no walks, but people might interpret that loosely). I also worried whether the host would be safe—Meg has a lot of enthusiasm and is incredibly strong. There wasn’t a tick-box for ‘Is your dog like an excitable tiger?’ but we did our best. We found a host conveniently near Cambridge, and delivered Meg. I worried a lot. The host seemed very nice, and I felt a cross ‘sergeant-major figure’ may fare better with Meg. She also had a very nice house, with lots of pretty things that a tail might sweep to the floor. I did my best to explain that one of them needed to be the boss and it should not be Meg, and that it was probably best to contain her in the kitchen and garden rather than having free access to her very tidy house. But I still worried. We left.

Later that evening, we messaged (to make sure the host wasn’t weeping). We received a happy message in reply, and a photo of Meg, looking very pleased with herself, sitting in the lounge (though not on a sofa, thankfully). I tried to relax. When we collected Meg, the house was full of visitors, all of them said goodbye to Meg and seemed to genuinely like her. Meg (of course) was completely fine. She is bomb-proof (probably why her siblings are used in the police/army). It would take a lot to shatter her happy confidence (which is one reason why I was willing to risk leaving her—I would not have left my other slightly less robust GSD). After we were home, Meg received a review from the host on Rover. It said she was a happy affectionate dog, and the host had enjoyed having her to stay. That was nice.

Ruth is staying with us again. Meg loves this (and it’s one reason why she has been difficult, because Meg feels she now has options as to whether to obey me). Meg will be asleep in the kitchen, and will suddenly sit up, then race upstairs. Seconds later I hear Ruth’s bedroom door open. Meg enjoys leaning against Ruth, going into her bedroom (which is not allowed) and licking Ruth’s feet (I think Ruth is less keen on this). I will attempt to reinstate some discipline after Ruth has left. Meg sees her as backup in her quest to ignore me.

A Baby Shower


I have a grandchild (my first) growing ever bigger inside their mother. This is extremely exciting. I shall be called Granny Anne, and I am so looking forward to meeting them. As the prospective parents were visiting, I offered to host a baby shower. Such fun!

Several friends (and my hairdresser) gave me tips about what to do. Baby showers were not really a thing when I had my babies, so I was a little unsure of expectations. I learnt there should be cake, and games, and hopefully people would brings gifts. It’s a fun way to involve other people in the prospective birth, and to celebrate together (before the reality of sleepless nights and dirty nappies dominate). As the party was after our trip to NY, I also visited shops there, searching for baby tat (although they only had balloons and napkins). I baked lots of cake. I found all sorts of wonderful useless things online, and merrily made little chocolate shapes in baby themes, and gingerbread biscuits with cutters shaped like rattles, bibs, bottles and baby vests. (I tell you this, as the resultant biscuits looked decidedly dodgier shapes!)

The afternoon was fun. I am always worried when hosting a party, in case nobody wants to come, but people came and seemed to enjoy themselves. We scattered baby balloons in the hallway. I made a ‘nappy cake’ (which is nappies rolled up and tied with ribbons so they look like a tiered cake, and you hide little gifts inside). I found instructions online, and was pleased with the result (you never know with these things). I wanted some silk flowers to decorate it, ordered some from John Lewis, and was rather worried when huge boxes arrived. (Note to self: check dimensions before buying online.) I bought some terry nappies, because they made useful cloths for my own sicky babies, and one game was to practise folding one and putting it on a toy ape. We also listed all the things people say during labour, deleted the inappropriate ones, then listed the first letters to see if people could guess. (IAB: ‘It’s a boy!’ IANDTA: ‘I am never doing this again!’ ITN: ‘Is this normal?’) We also had some baby trivia (Day most babies are born: Wednesday. Bone babies don’t have: kneecap.)

I set the table with cloths, cups and saucers, plates of cakes, baby confetti, napkins. It looked pretty. Then we sat and watched the gifts being opened, which is always fun. People were very generous, and there were baby books, toys, and the cutest socks, lots of nappies, various outfits—everything that will make it easier for the parents to be ready for when the baby arrives.

I am so looking forward to the baby. It’s interesting how one baby affects everything—we (the older generation) all shuffle back a step, the parents’ siblings become the aunts and uncles, their grandparents become great grandparents. I know they are just labels, but they also represent roles, and family position, and they seem surprisingly significant. As the wider world seems to be on a mission to self-destruct, it is lovely to have something positive to focus on. A little optimism is good for us all.

I hope you have something to look forward to this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Cluttered desk with paperwork, “COFFEE & CHAOS” mug, and incoming call from Sarah Jenkins

Scam Alert!


I was working when my mobile rang. There was a pause after I answered, which told me it was probably a scam, but it might have been a business so I continued and said ‘Hello?’ (I never give my name when I answer–there are too many scams and I want them to have minimal information.) The person (a man with an Asian accent) said hello, he was from Amazon Fraud Department, how was my day going? I was half-inclined to put down the phone at that point, I hate chatty sales people when I am trying to work. But there was a chance (albeit a tiny chance) that the call was legit, so I told him (possibly not too politely) that I was working (and hoped he would take the hint). I was also on full-alert in case of a scam–no pin codes to be given, no information about my account, no pressing a number to be transferred elsewhere–I know all these things can be scams.

Cluttered desk with paperwork, “COFFEE & CHAOS” mug, and incoming call from Sarah Jenkins

The call continued, and the next bit is really clever (and easy to be fooled by) so please read carefully. The man said (again) that he was from Amazon Fraud Department, there was a suspected fraud on my account, had I bought an iPhone in the last week? I had not. I was being cautious, and trying not to say too many words, so I just said (slightly rudely) ‘No.’ The man then asked if anyone else had access to my account. I said no, still wondering where this was going. He asked if I would like the transaction to continue, or to cancel it. If someone had hacked my account, I did not want to pay for an iPhone, so I said ‘Cancel.’ I was still trying to use single words, still trying to work out how this could be a scam. The man said that to cancel the order, they needed a cancellation code, which would be sent by Watsapp. Please could I put the phone on speaker mode and check my Watsapp, and read out the number. This sounded very dodgy–it made no sense–why would he need me to give a number he had sent? And why Watsapp? Do Amazon use Watsapp? I said no, he could send the code via email. The line went dead. A scam.

I was now sure it was a scam, but to what end? What could he possibly gain by sending me a code and then asking me to read it out? Could he somehow access my Watsapp account if I used it while he was on the phone? It seemed like a lot of effort just to hack a Watsapp account! I asked the family. (I also checked my Amazon account on a different device–I worried he might somehow be inside my phone and able to monitor which keys I pressed). I also wasn’t sure if my voice had been recorded (some places use voice recognition) although I had said very few words, I doubted that would be a problem.

The family explained the scam. It’s a clever one. To open a new account (online bank, social media, shop, whatever) they now usually ask for 2-step verification. They will email you a code, which you then enter on the screen. The scammer was probably attempting to open a fraudulent account in my name, or at least with my phone number, and although they could complete most of the online form with a false email address, they needed the code that the company would send. Hence the phone call. The ‘cancellation code’ he wanted would not have come from the fraudster, it would have come from whichever company they were trying to access. Therefore, when I read it to him, he would be able to complete the 2-step verification and hey presto, a new account set up in my name of which I would have no knowledge and no access. He could use this to sell dodgy things, or build a false identity, whatever dodgy dealings he wanted. I would never know.

After the event, when I had time to think, I realised that very few companies (including Amazon) have my mobile number, so I should have known from the start it was a scam. But when these calls happen, it’s very hard to think quickly, and we’re never completely sure it’s a scam, so we keep talking, until sometimes it’s too late. I managed to spot this one, but it was clever. Please be careful whenever someone who you don’t know calls–they may not be who they say they are.

I hope you have a good week, and that all your phone calls are welcome ones. Take care, and do share this scam with others so it won’t work on someone else. Thanks for reading.
Love, Anne x

Accident at the Festival


Screenshot of Daily Mail online report

You may have seen on the news that there was an accident at a Christian Festival over the weekend. There are two responses which really anger me.

In case you missed the reports, every August bank holiday, there is a festival called ‘Big Church Festival.’ It used to be called ‘The Big Church Day Out,’ and we went once—it was great fun, with food trucks and a stage with bands playing, lots of stalls, lots of people. (I don’t especially enjoy most ‘Christian’ music, but there was even an opera singer event, which was marvellous.) Anyway, the festival has grown over the years, had a name change, and now includes camping. Thousands of people attend. This year, a large wooden sign fell (I think due to winds) and hurt several people, killing one man who was a pastor. Very sad.

Image taken from Daily Mail online.

The two things which anger me are the responses I have seen on social media. One reaction has been humour—jokes made about the fact it happened at a Christian event. This is such bad taste. There are even reactions by people who claim to be christians but want to say the jokes are funny, they can’t resist laughing ‘even though I am a Christian.’ Being a Christian has nothing to do with it—that just means they hold a certain theological belief, it doesn’t make them better than others (even if it should). I suspect their reaction has something to do with wanting to appear relatable, ‘I’m a Christian but I still have a sense of humour’ sort of mentality. I consider them weak and bad mannered. When someone has recently been killed, it’s just plain rude to make jokes, or laugh about it, or show any lack of respect towards those who are mourning.

The other response, also by Christians, is the ‘God has a plan,’ ‘good will come of this,’ misguided nonsense which is also being spouted. It’s like christianity teaches that nothing bad will happen to good people (which is so far off the truth), therefore if something bad does happen, it must be part of God’s plan and some great good will be revealed. Again, this shows huge insensitivity towards those who are mourning (and a complete absence of understanding about what is written in the Bible and what is evidenced in real life). They seem to think they have a genie in their pocket, and if they have prayed the right prayers, and have the right motives, God will do what they want—he will suspend the laws of physics, perform miracles on demand, protect them from all physical consequences. And if God does not protect them—if high winds and a heavy sign are not influenced by a physics-defying miracle, well that must mean God has a better plan—because absolutely every event is part of a secret ‘plan’ therefore we must sing worship songs and celebrate because it’s not bad really after all. Is it? Actually, yes, it is bad. It is sad and horrid and vastly unfair. Bad things happen to good people. (Visit people in countries who are desperately praying that their children won’t die of starvation or disease if you don’t believe me.) Maybe nothing good will come of this tragedy. Maybe a child will grow up without her father, a mother has lost her son, friends have lost someone they love—and they will live with that hurt for the rest of their lives. There won’t be some great ‘good’ which will unfold. Life is just plain rubbish sometimes, and acknowledging that is not lack of faith, it is truthful. Pretending otherwise is misguided and cruel—because then when horrid things happen people either think they must have failed or God must have failed, because they know there is nothing ‘good’ in the disaster.

I am not denying that God is God, nor suggesting that God is absent. I do believe that God is God, I just don’t think he constantly miraculously intervenes to reverse laws of physics (which he set) every time humans pray. That would make humans into gods. Nor do I think God is absent—every horrid event in my life I have found God is there, helping me cope, crying with me, holding me when I am frightened. But when tragedy strikes, that is the time to cry. I think those who mock, or those who see it as an opportunity for christian scalp-hunting through misdirected praise songs have missed the point. If you are unaffected, if you are not crying, now is the time to shut up. Anything else is just rude.

Thanks for reading. I hope you have a great week, but if it’s tough I hope you know it’s okay to admit that it’s rubbish—and I hope you find the help you need.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Meg’s Diary. Not a (German) Shepherding Dog


1/2/2026

A very bad morning. I was out, Husband took Meg into the garden. There was a duck on the lawn, Meg tore after it, ignoring Husband, caught the duck, killed her. I am so angry with Meg. I have repeatedly tried to teach her not to chase my birds, repeatedly distracted her so she doesn’t bark at them, constantly tried to teach her to be safe around them. But clearly, she is not safe with them.

The ducks are semi-wild (mostly the offspring of wild ducks which I have rescued from crows and raised on the pond, and they have decided to stay because I feed them). In the Spring, the drakes are annoying, so the hens will fly over the fence onto the lawn, away from the drakes. Usually, when they hear us in the garden they fly back, onto the pond. This one obviously wasn’t fast enough.

By the time I got home, there was nothing that could help the duck, who was lying, terrified, under a tree. I gently picked her up, and laid her in a nest of fresh hay, safely enclosed, so she could die in peace. Horribly sad.

I am so angry with Meg. I know that her instinct is to chase (although not to kill—she must have been very rough to have killed it) but she knows that she must not touch my poultry, which is why she was running away from Husband as soon as she had it, why it became a game to her, something to play with. It shows complete lack of obedience, lack of impulse control, lack of empathy (because I am sure that his tone of voice should have warned her that this was not a game, and she should stop).

After I sorted the poor duck, I went into the house. Meg was shut into the utility room. I told her to go into her crate. Something in my voice subdued her. She knows she has been bad. She knows I am angry with her—her tail is down and her ears and back and she is not making a fuss to be free, even though she would not usually be confined to her crate during the daytime. I am so angry and upset I need space from her for a while. After that, I will try to decide what to do. I have no idea whether there is a way to teach her not to touch the birds—it’s not as if I haven’t tried. I need an albatross to come and terrify her, so she never touches birds again. When things like this happen, I just feel defeated, and want to rehome her. I have not felt like that for a very long time now, but today I could send her back to the breeder and replace her with a normal German Shepherd dog. One who listens to me. Like Kia did.


Thursday 12/3/2026

We needed to go to Sheffield (to collect goose eggs to hatch) and I didn’t want her in kennels again so soon, so we took her with us. She was perfect. (Never thought I would write that!) We put her into her crate in the boot, loaded our cases, and set off. After several hours we stopped at services. I walked Meg round the car park, and through the services (because there was no sign saying dogs couldn’t enter) and Meg was great. There was noise, and people, and sliding doors, queues for food, people eating (so food smells) a games area full of flashing lights and loud sounds—Meg walked next to me on the lead, noticing everything but unperturbed by any of it. Marvellous.

When we arrived in Sheffield, we set up her bed in the Airbnb and had a cup of tea. Then we left her, in the strange house, while we went out for dinner. Meg was fine (I checked). She curled up in her bad and slept.

I didn’t attempt to walk her along the streets (she’s always awful) and I decided that being either inside or in the garden for a few hours was no worse than being in kennels. Meg seemed fine. In the house, we could hear the dog next door barking. Meg growled a few times, but mostly ignored it.

The next day, we put her back in the car and drove home. Again, she was perfect. She sat and watched the traffic, or lay down (not sure if she slept) and when we stopped she walked nicely beside me, toileted on grass next to the road, got back into the car without a fuss. I was very pleased with her.

As I said, we were collecting goose eggs. I hope to hatch some. I also hope that while I am raising the goslings, I can involve Meg in a calm way, and that she will realise they are fragile, and that instead of being things to chase they will be things she guards. (Surely, deep inside, there is some shepherding instinct??) This is my hope. We shall see…

Thanks for reading. I hope you have a good week and all is calm in your world. Take care.
Love, Anne x

Artificial Intelligence


Have you used AI at all? I am bit of a dinosaur when it comes to technology, and I tend to only learn what I absolutely have to learn, in order to achieve what I want to achieve. (I am waiting for when AI can clean a dirty bathroom and sort the laundry out–that would be an excellent use of resources.) However, I have used the picture-drawing tool on my WordPress site, for my blog, and this has been fun. Mostly though, AI has removed some of my fun. One of the features that WordPress offers is details of various stats–how many people have read my blog, which countries it has been read in, which posts are particularly popular. It was fun, and after publishing a new post I would usually check to see how much traction it gained, always hoping it would be shared on social media so it would spread beyond my faithful email followers. Maybe one day something would ‘go viral’ and a post would become ‘famous,’ read by millions.

However, this changed recently. I noticed my normal stats (in addition to my 500 followers, usually around 30 extra readers each week) had suddenly shot up. I didn’t think this was because I was more popular, I think it’s because my work is being read by bots. I think computers are reading everything on the internet, AI is learning, my blog just happens to be one of the things hundreds of bots are reading. Which is much less satisfying than humans reading my work. I do not think it’s coincidental that most of my ‘readers’ are now in the US, India and China. It feels a little weird to be ‘read’ by a machine. But I guess if they are ‘learning’ then my blogs are as valid as any other voice. Perhaps they will one day even understand my humour.

I am regularly ‘fooled’ by AI in everyday life. Like when I try to complain about something, and am having an online conversation with a ‘person’ who seems to be on a loop–a sure sign that I am talking to a machine. I also believe things that I shouldn’t–like that a restaurant has lots of brilliant reviews, when I know that AI is able to write reviews and post them to any business willing to pay. I understand that even online news articles are sometimes written using AI, which means what we read as ‘fact’ might not be factual at all. It makes for a confusing world, one where we are not sure what to trust. I guess we need to learn new ways of looking at things.

I think it’s more of a problem for older people (like me). I was discussing my fears with one of my sons, saying that when I watch cute cat videos on Instagram, I am sometimes aware that they are fake. Cats would never behave like the ones in the video, it has been created by AI not filmed by a loving owner. My son said this problem was not particularly one for younger people. They have grown up knowing that anything online might be fake, seeing is not believing. He said it is my generation who read something in the news, or see a video, and automatically assume it is true. Because in the olden days, when I was a child, it would have been true. Something in a photo really happened. But not today. Today we need to be wise, we need to not trust the media, not trust what we see. Which seems a shame. But perhaps it has always been like that. Perhaps we gave authority too easily to the church, the school, the BBC. Perhaps even in the olden days we should have paused more often, we should have questioned ‘is this true?’ Perhaps information has always been unreliable, or biased, it’s just that today we are more aware of it. What do you think?

For my readers who are not bots (and who might enjoying sharing the occasional blog with other humans) thanks for reading. Be wise and pause before you trust.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Person wearing an intricate golden crown standing in a dark, old room with vintage decor

A Short Rant


Feeling Entitled

Person wearing an intricate golden crown standing in a dark, old room with vintage decor
A person wearing an ornate golden crown of entitlement

I love England. I love the countryside, and I love the people—nowhere else seems to have the ironic humour, the lack of fuss, the basic honesty of British people. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.) If you’re standing at a bus stop in the rain, someone will make you laugh. If you drop your purse, probably someone will give it back to you. However, the big fault that I see in my fellow Brits, the one trait that might break us, is a sense of entitlement. (Be warned, there is bit of a rant coming.)

This seems to be a modern thing. When I watch old movies, or series set in the past on telly, the overriding trait seems to be one of duty. ‘What ought I be doing?’ But not now. Now I hear people complaining that their problems are not being solved by the government, by the NHS, by the schools… People seem to think that if they have a problem (don’t we all have a problem of some kind?) then someone else ought to solve it.

If a child has a disorder that makes them not able to learn as easily as other children, then they are entitled to extra help, special treatment, provided by the school. (Who do they think will pay for this? Who will lose out because the staff are giving extra time to their child?) Surely a diagnosis is helpful so they can form strategies to overcome the problem, not to make an excuse, certainly not to off-load the problem to the school. They may need extra help, and they can ask for it, but should they feel entitled to it?

If someone has a health problem, they think the health service should sort it, at whatever expense—irrespective of how much has been budgeted, and therefore which other patients might lose out. And they think that they should be seen locally, with little or no waiting time, by a friendly helpful professional, in a clean environment with comfortable chairs and facilities in case they need them. Oh, and easy parking or transport provided. All for free, of course. And if they find it difficult to walk, they should be able to park their car wherever they find convenient—irrespective of the danger to other drivers or pedestrians. And they should be provided with flat walkways. Because they are entitled.

The one which really annoys me is when things happen globally (not naming any names) and it messes up things like the oil supply. Instead of recognising there is a crisis, thinking about how to get round the problem, people feel entitled to compensation. If the cost of living goes up, the government should ensure no-one loses out. People still expect to be able to buy their coffee (imagine if they had to make it at home!) They still expect to have a holiday (somewhere sunny). They still expect to be able to have a car for every driver in the family, and a computer for everyone in the family, etc, etc. Because they’re entitled to. Aren’t they?

Now, I know that we pay taxes, and these taxes provide education and health services. But it’s not a magic pot. The money is only there if we put it there. And lower taxes are another thing that people think they are entitled to. There is a mentality of ‘let the rich pay.’ I’m not sure who ‘the rich’ are. Do they mean media celebrities who earn millions entertaining online or on the telly? Or perhaps they mean people who have inherited millions from their families (irrespective of what costs they might also have inherited). Or perhaps they mean the people who worked hard at school, and studied after school, and then worked long hours (not spending their evenings at the pub) and therefore earn more than them? Is ‘anyone richer than me’ the people who should pay? Because I am entitled.

This worries me, because it is not sustainable, and it breeds discontent. I think we need a change in thinking. Life is full of problems, and some of them will disadvantage you. But instead of seeing a problem as belonging to other people, of feeling entitled to not solve it ourselves, we need to take some ownership of the difficulty. If we have a problem (health, educational, financial) then it is our problem. We can look for help—and often it is available because we live in a great society—but we are not entitled to it. Sometimes having a problem means we need to change something, we need to forgo something, we need to accept that something will be more difficult for us. A child with a learning disability should be taught strategies to overcome the problem, not expect society to bend to them. A health problem might mean finding new ways to cope. A financial problem might mean living differently.

I’m not saying that our society shouldn’t help—it’s helping that makes us human. It’s the sense of entitlement, the continual moaning, the feeling that every problem (even when it’s our fault for buying something unwisely) should be solved by other people. Let’s take ownership of our problems. Let’s find solutions together, which might involve asking for help but please, can we try to not feel so entitled. At the end of the day, no one owes you anything.

Okay, rant over. Thank you for listening. What is your ‘pet hate’? What worries you in society? Add to the comments below, and perhaps we can create a perfect society!
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com
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Handwritten complaint letter about furniture defects next to an envelope and pen on a wooden table

Dear Virgin Media


Dear Virgin Media,

Thanks for allowing our query to go to arbitration after your complaints department deemed it something they were unable to resolve. I understand the arbitration has also proved unsuccessful for us, which means we must accept the decision. And wow! What a decision! I am writing because I am surprised this is acceptable to you. But perhaps it’s not. Perhaps you are just a person working in the Customer Services department, wishing there was air-conditioning that worked and wondering why the clock moves so slowly. Perhaps you, the person reading this, has no real idea (nor possibly interest) on what is actually happening to real people in the real world. Or perhaps I have misunderstood. In which case, please do reply and let me know. It would be nice to discover that Virgin Media is not exploiting vulnerable people…which is what it looks like.

The situation (from where I am sitting, in my non-air-conditioned room) looks rather grim in terms of customer service and honesty. The situation looks very like you (not you personally, obviously, but the company for which you work) have found that ripping-off elderly customers is a really easy way to increase income. I guess it is an easy way to make money. Especially if you put a friendly person with an authoritative voice on the phone—who wouldn’t believe them if you phone to query your bill and are told that this deal (double what others pay) is the best deal? Most elderly people would trust that, wouldn’t they? But I like to think this wasn’t your plan. I like to think there were strange coincidences along the way.

We must go back in time, to 2018, when my mother agreed a package with you. It seemed reasonable, we relaxed (this was our mistake). Every few years, the price would mysteriously rise (I know, cost of living, need to have a holiday, the first price was never meant to continue at that level anyway, etc, etc). We warned Mum (not easy to get your mother to take advice—have you found that?) that the price being offered was probably not the best deal. And so Mum (who did listen on this occasion) would phone Virgin Media. She would speak to a lovely person (I am sure you are all lovely) who would convince her that the price they could offer was the very best price available, they were doing her a favour really—you know the sort of thing. Now, these calls were recorded (by you, not Mum—that would be a bit too difficult and possibly illegal). Strangely, these recordings no longer exist. Isn’t that strange? You still have the transcripts, written by a Virgin Media person who is possibly unlikely to write: ‘I offered a really high price and the old lady seemed confused but accepted it, so we’re good to buy decent wine for the office party this year, soo easy to rip-off vulnerable old women! Go Virgin Media!’ Yes, it seems unlikely they would phrase it like that. And of course we cannot compare what they did write with the actual conversation because you no longer have the recording, apparently. I love my mother dearly, but I doubt if she would have seemed especially savvy on the calls. I don’t suppose they confused her with a stocks trader.

All we have are the basic facts. Virgin Media assured my mum that £63 a month, for the most basic package, was the very best deal available. So, from 2019 at £36:19, to 2025 at £62:27—that is quite a rate of inflation! Do you pay that much for the basic package at Virgin Media? I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I really am curious. How much do you pay for the most basic package?

The really funny thing (this will come as a shock, I know, so maybe sit down before you read it) the really funny thing is that when my husband phoned Virgin Media on her behalf, they offered a price of £33. Yes, £33 for the most basic package. Isn’t that strange! Now, I don’t like to think this is because my husband does not sound like a vulnerable elderly person—but he doesn’t. I don’t like to suggest that if he had sounded like a vulnerable elderly person Virgin Media would have decided to exploit his vulnerability to maybe increase the bill even more rather than halve it. Yes, practically halve it. But it’s certainly strange, don’t you think?

Now, we contacted your complaints department, but they were unable to help. (I think they offered a token gesture, but given how much money an elderly person has over-paid this seemed worth taking further). We continued to arbitration. I don’t like to think they are possibly biased, are not working for the consumer nor setting rigorous standards for the industry, but they decided that a vulnerable elderly person being exploited for several years by Virgin Media was an acceptable situation. We lost. Nothing more we can do. The amount paid to Virgin Media over several years is not insignificant to an elderly lady living on a pension—but I guess that’s of no concern to you. I guess nothing illegal was done, if exploiting vulnerable people is an acceptable practice for Virgin Media, then why worry? But I do wonder what you (this time I do mean you, the human who is reading this letter) I wonder what you think? You probably have a granny, or an elderly aunt, or someone a little vulnerable. Do you think it’s okay?

Thanks for reading. Take care.

Love, Anne x

I sent this to Virgin Media as a courtesy before posting on my blog. I will let you know if they reply.

Not Getting Home


Hello, you may remember from last week’s blog that we had trouble getting home from Italy. After a week in the Italian alps, we packed ready to catch our flight home on Sunday. At 3am we received a message from BA saying our flight was cancelled (there had been storms in London and the plane did not arrive in Italy ready to take us back). We therefore booked into a hotel in Milan, and waited for our rescheduled flight on the following Tuesday. (Yes, Tuesday.) The hotel was lovely, and we had internet, therefore although inconvenient it wasn’t the end of the world, we could both work, there are worse things in life.

However, by Tuesday I was SO ready to go home. There was a limit to how useful my work was without my computer (I could access the library on my phone, but reading theology books on a phone is not quite as easy as reading them on a large screen). The weather was really hot, so although we were near Milan, a hot hour on a train to get to the centre, followed by tourism in an overheated city, was very unattractive. So we stayed in the hotel–literally inside the hotel. Which after two days made me a bit desperate for fresh air (but when I ventured outside, the air was thick with fumes and it was so very hot, it was not ‘fresh’ at all!)

Tuesday morning, we packed our things ready to go home. I joked with Husband about how I had mixed my clean and dirty clothes before, and this time I wondered whether I should try to keep the not-too-dirty ones separate…just in case… But I didn’t. Although I did decide to keep snacks and water bottles, thinking I would discard them at the very last moment.

We left the hotel and entered the stale-aired chaos of the airport. Too many people, concentrating on pulling luggage, avoiding other travellers, signs flashing, noisy tannoy, watching the red letters on the information board, keeping track of my valuables, ignoring the smells of fast-food outlets, and perfume, and bodies, trying to balance on the escalator. Much too much noise and smell and stress. (I am not a happy traveller.)

We checked in and left our bags. BA had moved us down a group when it reissued the tickets, so we requested to be put back into the group we had paid for (Group 4–so nothing fancy, just not left until the very end when all the overhead lockers would be full.) The kind person at check-in moved us into Group 3. We walked to the gate. Due to Brexit (so much I could write) we have to go to passport control via separate screens, entering details about visas and right-to-stay, which adds another long queue to enter and depart Europe. We eventually arrived at the gate, waited to board.

We boarded the flight pretty much on time. Then we waited. There was a fault on the aircraft; an engineer was sent. We waited. After a couple of hours (yes, hours) they brought round cans of drink and biscuits. At one point they warned us the lights and air-con would turn off, as they were ‘switching everything off and then restarting the system.’ This reminded me of my son’s advice when my computer won’t work. It did not bode well. After about 4 hours, we were told they couldn’t fix the fault, we should collect our luggage, and we would be sent to hotels and contacted about new flights. Super.

We went back to the terminal (via the annoying extra queues because of Brexit) and collected our bags. There was no one with a sign telling us what to do or where to go. I went to security, and they suggested I should go to the BA lounge. There was a BA representative, but he did not make his presence obvious, and certainly did not make any announcements. If I had been travelling alone, I would have felt very insecure. I chatted to a couple of passengers who were travelling alone, and told them the information I had. When we left, I went via the lounge and told them they should send someone with a sign to the arrivals hall, because people did not know what to do. I’m afraid the bossy-school-teacher is still in me.

However, I was not alone, and 40ish years ago, I chose wisely. As soon as the flight was delayed, Husband had looked online for other flights leaving Milan. The instant they announced our flight was cancelled, he booked tickets on the flight the following day, and rooms back at the Sheraton. I suggested that if the flights BA sent were better, maybe we should use those? He made non-committal noises.

We returned to the lovely Sheraton. No clean clothes, yuk. But I still had water and snacks. We got to our room sometime after midnight. A message from BA arrived. They offered us tickets at 5am the following mornings (so after maybe 3 hours sleep) to Zurich. Yes, Zurich. We would then spend 12 hours in Zurich airport, and catch the evening flight to Heathrow. We declined, and requested a refund.

Wednesday, three days after our scheduled flight, we returned to the airport. The flight was delayed, which worried me, but after about an hour, we taxied to the runway. We made it home. It was so lovely to finally arrive, to see the animals, to unpack, to have clean clothes and my own bed. In the grand scheme of things, a few days in Europe staying in a hotel is not so bad. But something about being in limbo, of not being able to do things we have planned (I missed the funeral of a friend, for example) was very unsettling. We have our plans, and we like things to be normal. Normal is something to be valued, but we often don’t notice it until it’s missing.

Hoping you have a nice ‘normal’ week this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x