Monday, September 04, 2006

Pump up the volume

Today

When we were at last able to stay at the flat in Brighton, we were delighted to discover just how tranquil it is.

No funny noises (except when the newly fitted intruder alarm tried to go off), no floorboards talking.

We couldn't hear the neighbours moving about, so assume they couldn't hear us.

The bedroom's at the back overlooking a side street and there were hardly any cars.

We weren't even troubled by the seagulls!

In My Day

When we lived at the flat in Belmont in Brighton we had a very different experience. Our flat was on the top floor of a building that was opposite a British Rail working man's club.

External noises consisted of pigeons and seagulls on the sloping roof outside the bedroom window, the roar of traffic from Dyke Road and, on Friday and Saturdays nights, drunks issuing from the club.

What was even worse was the noise we ourselves made. We couldn't afford very thick carpet which probably made it hard for the lady in the flat beneath us. She was a single lady, called Miss Steele who worked in a clerical role at the Brighton & Hove police station.

Her recourse when we made a noise was to bang on the ceiling (we always assumed she used a broom handle, but it could have been a shotgun for all I know). This was particularly irritating when Lizzie was learning to walk as she fell over quite a bit. So we spent quite a lot of time taking Lizzie to parks so that she could run and jump freely without percussion accompaniment.

One night, at about 3.00 am, we were deeply asleep, when the doorbell rang furiously. Paul staggered to the door in his hastily donned dressing gown. There was Miss Steele, face screwed up with rage. "You're playing a guitar" she accused. Paul pointed out that he had been in bed asleep, that the room from which she'd thought she'd heard it was Lizzie's (I know she's talented, but she was only about a year old) and that, anyway, he didn't have a guitar.

We were furious, but decided with youthful arrogance, that she was probably going potty from being an old maid.

On the day we left the flat, she actually banged on the ceiling as we removed the carpet!

At the new flat there is someone on the ground floor who practises the piano occasionally, but I'd call that a civilised noise.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Spondulicks

Today

The work on the Brighton flat is just about finished. Over the past month we've gone down a couple of times to sort out last minute details.

Because our friend John who's been managing the project, was in France, it fell to us to pay the builders, plumber, and various other rude mechanicals in this drama.

Now builders take a dim view of cheques and direct transfers. No, they want cash. However, I take a dim view of walking through busy city centres with wads of the readies. I realise that I'm probably no more likely to get mugged than if I'm only carrying 50p, but the loss would be greater!

However, I did want the radiators to work and the rubbish to be cleared, didn't I? Well, then.

These things have to be managed. Firstly I had to make sure that there was enough cash in the cheque account as my other account is web-based only and doesn't do cash (does do high interest, tho' so there's a trade-off).

Secondly, I had to find out where the nearest branch in Brighton was.

Thirdly, I had to phone the bank's telephone hotline to arrange for the cash to be available at the branch.

The money would be available after 2.00 pm, they said. So Paul & I set off in the car. I had my passport, just in case they wanted proof of who I was.

The money was ready and I was taken into an inner room to count it (Rather a good precaution, I thought).

A quick dash to the car, clutching the bulging envelope, then up to the flat to hand it over.

In My Day

In 1972, Paul & I could at last take a belated honeymoon. I was very pregnant with Lizzie and had been working at my new job for about 3 months. We were always utterly broke. The arrangements in the Civil Service at that time were that you could draw your salary fortnightly for the first 3 months, then move to monthly pay. The salaries were paid either by cheque or in cash. I had just moved onto the monthly pay arrangement but realised that I would be away on payday. We absolutely couldn't afford to wait until we got back - if we did there'd be no holiday - so I arranged to have a payable order that I could cash at the post office in Brendon.

I trotted into the post office. It took the form of a rickety lean-to against an ancient cottage. I walked in confidently, shoving out of the way some sheep who appeared to have wandered in to collect their pensions. An equally ancient old crone appeared and I handed her the cheque.

She broke into grin quite worthy of the witch in Disney's Snow White and cackled "Oi think you be in for a baad marning!". She started rummaging around in drawers, biscuit tins, teapots etc for enough money to cash the cheque.

At that moment I was saved! A Post Office van arrived with the cash for the day. I had my money, but I expect that all the pensioners in Brendon had a bad morning instead.

Anyway, that's the last time I'm walking around Brighton with several £1000s in my pocket!