life

Migraine Remedy

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If you suffer from migraines, you will know how awful they can be. Over the years I have learnt to manage mine so that I can usually avoid the pain. Everyone is made slightly differently, therefore my remedy might not work for you—but you won’t know unless you try.

Migraines have different stages. The first stage is usually unnoticed, but involves the hypothalamus. This is a small oval section of your brain; it’s responsible for regulating things like your temperature. When it begins overreacting you might not notice, or might feel tired for no reason, or crave certain foods. I notice smells that I usually wouldn’t detect. The next stage (for me) involves an aura. Apparently this is because the body starts dumping sodium in the brain. For me, I first get a bright spot in my vision (so I have to stop driving, and I can’t read or see very clearly) which develops into seeing the world as psychedelic images—everything solid looks like it’s made of lights (which apparently is a similar affect to if you take LSD). I also have dysphasia, which makes speech very difficult. This is my big warning.

The next stage is the pain, which when it hits is agony, not a pain I can ignore, one which most medicines don’t touch. When I had the tumour (and constant migraines) the medics gave me rizatriptan, which were brilliant. I had them in injections, so if I needed to do something (like cook dinner for 40 elderly people at the church lunch club) I could inject myself, and within minutes, like magic, the pain was gone. I understand that the pain is due to the capillaries in the brain constricting (to avoid all the sodium that was dumped there) and the medication opens them up again. Caffeine does a similar job, so most migraine remedies involve caffeine. The final stage, after the pain has gone, is feeling completely washed out and exhausted.

To give a little background, I have always suffered from migraines—one of the traits I inherited from my father. Although brains are either predisposed to migraine or not, they don’t usually strike unless something triggers them (and usually you need two triggers). When I had the brain tumour, this was sufficient to trigger them, and I suffered from almost back-to-back migraines. Not great. (A normal migraine is triggered by two factors, and there is a list on The Migraine Trust website. For me, missing a meal and lack of sleep were the main culprits until the tumour took over.) My headache stage lasted a couple of days and was pretty awful—I used to pull out my hair to try and diffuse the pain, and I would wander the house at night feeling wretched. After the tumour was removed, my migraines changed—I still get the first stages, including an aura, but if I do certain things, I can escape the next stage, so I skip the headache stage. Which is excellent. This is what I do.

When the aura hits, I try to relax, I have to try and switch off my brain. I try to escape to somewhere silent, I breathe slowly, relax my muscles, shut my eyes, wait for the aura to pass. As soon as the aura has gone, I take aspirin and strong coffee—trying to get blood into my brain to counter those constricting capillaries. If I can, I try to lower my head (hanging it over the side of the bed if I’m at home). I avoid speaking, trying to keep relaxed. Usually, this is sufficient. After about 30 minutes the tight feeling in my head passes (rather than developing into agony) and I have escaped a day of pain. The following day I will feel exhausted—so I haven’t escaped the migraine, but for some reason I can usually avoid the pain. I have no idea why this works—maybe when the surgeon sliced through my brain he cut the bit which triggers the pain. Or perhaps the tumour pain was so severe that now my body is unimpressed with a ‘normal’ migraine, so it doesn’t bother to register most headaches. Whatever the reason, I am not complaining—the other parts of a migraine are much easier to live with.

To those of you who contend with migraines, you have my sympathy. I hope you find a way to relieve the pain. Thanks for reading. Take care.

Love, Anne x

Student at desk viewing an error 404 page on laptop

Coping with Criticism

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I am not good with criticism—are you? Whether or not it’s justified (and to be honest, it often is) it makes me sad and saps my confidence. When someone tells me I am wrong, I want to curl into a ball and hide; leave and never come back, or resign on the spot and say it never mattered anyway. I realise this is not good, that I am often overly sensitive, and need to be more resilient. But I’m not. For whatever reason (perhaps it’s because as a middle child I spent the first 19 years of life being told to ‘Go away Anne!’ or perhaps it’s just how I’m wired) I am not good with criticism.

Student at desk viewing an error 404 page on laptop

This is something of a problem when a PhD candidate, because being criticised seems to be how the system works. It seems to go something like this—I spend a few months studying, forming opinions, clarifying my argument. Then I write, and rewrite, what I have discovered. When the chapter is as perfect as I can manage, and trimmed to fit the word count, I submit it for feedback to the university. The feedback is always very negative. Universities do not, in my experience, keep to the ‘Say two nice things first, then say the criticism.’ No, it seems universities study your work carefully, then tell you every tiny point which could/should be better. Which should be helpful, it helps me improve my work and brings me to a level whereby I can achieve a PhD. But when the feedback first arrives, when I open that email with a sense of dread but a tiny glimmer of hope, and I read a list of suggested improvements and an overall not-exactly-enamoured comment, I want to give up. I don’t need a PhD, I’m clearly not up to it, why am I bothering?

Yet something inside of me is not ready to be defeated. Not yet. When I think about when I applied, about how every door seemed to open in front of me, so I simply walked through them—then I remember that it felt very ‘right’ to do this. When I remember the enthusiasm with which I began, the help I received along the way, how much I have learnt already, then I decide to continue. I know, in the logical part of my brain, that all the criticism is helpful, it will make me think more clearly, write more concisely, be better able to defend my position. It will turn me (slowly) from a PhD candidate into a doctor of theology. But the process is sometimes difficult. Going to bed with a tub of ice cream and a novel seems very attractive today.

I suppose that criticism is a form of disappointment, and being alive involves coping with disappointment. Coping with apparent rejection. Like when we feel excluded from a friendship group, do not receive an invitation to an event, fail an exam or miss a promotion—all these produce similar feelings. Which I think is okay—it’s okay to feel disappointment—but what we do next determines what sort of life we will have. At some point, we have to recover (after eating the ice cream) and plan what to do next. For me, this involves prayer, not especially with words, more a lifting of the disappointment and dumping it with God and then moving on, deciding how to procede. Sometimes other people can help but usually I find they make it worse because it’s harder to leave hurt behind if someone else reminds you of it (they either join you in the hurt and fuel the anger towards whoever is to blame, or, worse, they agree with the other person and then all your disappointment and anger turns to them instead). Personally, I find God a better audience. We get second-chances with God.

In the case of my studies, I just need to take the criticism in the spirit in which it was given—it was intended to help me improve. I need to decide what I agree with and change those aspects, and decide what I disagree with and rewrite the chapter so my argument is stronger. It will take time, but that’s okay. I have time. I might not have the ability to achieve this PhD—but I shall keep working with optimism. Because in the end, it’s okay to fail, but never trying, never taking risks, is just a waste of life.

We only get one life, live well. Thanks for reading. Take care.

Love, Anne x

A Baby Shower

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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

Too Difficult

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Lots of things in life are, frankly, too difficult. As I get older, I seem to encounter more and more things which are too difficult for me. Obviously some things are easier—I don’t need to think about how to drive to the shops, or cook dinner, or give a talk to a group of elderly people. But I think there are more things which I now struggle with—exceptionally long walks, carrying heavy things, training Meg, learning something new. The last one is becoming annoying as I continue my PhD research—but I have a strategy.

I have discovered that when I encounter something which I don’t understand, I don’t let myself worry about it, and I return to it very briefly in the future. If I return to it often enough, eventually I will get there. It’s like learning a difficult language—you do it one word at a time, however long that takes. When training Meg, I make her sit and look at me before I open the door. Sort of nibbling round the edges without worrying about swallowing the whole thing at once. This has been an especially good strategy this week, because I have some new grammar books.

The books were frequently referred to by the other scholars, and some were not available in the online library (plus I do like to hold a physical book) so I took out a mortgage and treated myself. (Grammar books are incredibly expensive if you look at the single price. If you cost them according to how much interest/pleasure they will give over time, you are paying about 10p per hour of absorbed activity over several years—which I think is better value than a Netflix subscription.) I ordered them. They arrived. I began to read the first one—and did not understand what they meant. Not a good start. I mean, I understood (nearly) every word, but not when they were arranged in that order! For example, Chapter Two begins:

“The thematic domain is the lowest one in the minimalist program/distributed morphology hierarchic template.”[1]

However, I am no longer phased by such lack of knowledge. I knew in time it would make sense, I just needed to continue. I read on, letting most words wash over me like a waterfall but understanding the occasional paragraph, learning new things in drips. The main strategy is just to keep on going and not slip into panic. The second book (by Noonan) I read in the middle of the night. It was 2 am, and much too hot to sleep, and the book was on the floor next to the bed (which is the best place to keep books). I began to read. It all made sense. Best of all, many of the things that were explained I recognised as the non-understandable terms used in the first book. Because I had already encountered the concepts (without understanding what they were talking about!) I gobbled up the explanations in this more accessible book. What fun! Now I was ready to tackle the first book again, armed with new knowledge. My memory isn’t great, so I scribbled notes and charts to help me remember the main points.

For me, this is how I learn. My research is currently about looking deeply into biblical texts and trying to decide what the early authors were saying. I’m not doing ‘theology,’ so I’m not drawing conclusions about what is applicable today, or even how it impacts other parts of the Bible. (That will come later.) I am simply looking at the Hebrew, examining how the sentences are structured and exploring possible meanings. It’s fun. But it’s difficult. I shall keep nibbling…

I hope you find a way to cope with the difficult things in your day. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

[1] John A. Cook, The Biblical Hebrew Verb (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2024)

Accident at the Festival

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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

Artificial Intelligence

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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

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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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Badly Behaved People and Jersey Zoo

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I have just been out for lunch. My sister Ruth is visiting from Canada, Husband suggested I should break from work and have a pub lunch with them. To be honest, it’s too hot to achieve much decent work (lots of slow blinks as I read scholarly articles) so off we went. We arrived as the pub was opening, and it was initially lovely and peaceful. But then two women entered and chose a table near to where we were sitting. You might think I am going to moan about the volume of their voices, or that one spoke on the phone at the table (most people are incapable of speaking at normal volume on the phone). But no, they started to play music on their phone. Not quietly, full volume music. Not even good music. I realised they were watching a video of a concert. They started to sing along (I nearly choked on my french fries!) Then, to help things no end, Husband also started to sing along! I thought (hoped) this might encourage them to reduce the volume. No such luck. The pub started to play background music of its own, so now we were surrounded by screeching singing on one side, and hits from the 90s on the other. It was not peaceful. I thought about saying something, or taking a photo (people get very huffy if random strangers take their photo) but I did nothing. No point in making an enemy over a bit of loud screeching.

I did however take photos at Jersey zoo. We visited towards the end of our holiday, and it is the best zoo in the world. Lots of animal-friendly cages, not so large you want to die before the end, some spectacularly pretty landscaping. The zoo was originally set up by Gerald Durrell, who looked a little like Russel Crowe of Gladiator fame in later life, but he’s better known for his books–which I read many years ago. It really is a lovely zoo. Somewhat spoiled by people behaving badly.

The badly-behaved people were in the butterfly house. This was an amazing area–you walked through doors and plastic screens and entered a world of huge blue butterflies. (There were other colours, but the blue ones were the best.) There was a window into the hatching area, where recently emerged butterflies were hanging to dry their wings. There were feeding stations of nectar and fruit, and you wandered amongst the plants enjoying the wonder of it all. Except for the people–a family–who were encouraging their children to hold the butterflies. I mean, who does that? Who doesn’t understand the fragility of a butterfly, that children holding them is never going to end well for delicate wings? I was too annoyed to trust myself to say something appropriate, so I left.

Unfortunately for you, I did not inherit my sister’s patience for photography, and she wasn’t with us. Therefore my photos are mostly more like ‘Where’s Wally?’ pictures (other than the ones ‘stolen’ from the walls of the bird house). I will leave you to spend happy hours trying to find the animals in my photos, but really you should go to Jersey, even if just to visit the zoo.

Hope you avoid all badly-behaved people today. Thanks for reading.
Take care,
Love, Anne x

Really poignant display showing devastation of smuggling animals.
My family likes a map!
Butterflies
Butterflies
Title: Harming Butterflies
Drying
Spot the birds
Bit of a show-off and easy to photograph
Spot the gorilla
Photo of wall display
Photo of wall display
Spot the birds!
Handwritten complaint letter about furniture defects next to an envelope and pen on a wooden table

Dear Virgin Media

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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

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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