Charity begins with a lot of hassle – first published 25 January 2013

Most people don’t expect a medal when they donate to charity, not unless they’re running a marathon of course. In fact most people don’t even really expect a thank you, especially when the giving merely involves dropping a few unwanted coins into a charity tin. At the end of a January 2013, amid all the melting snow, I discovered that donations are not always as straight forward as you’d think and occasionally the recipients are less than grateful.

25 January 2013

Right now it seems to be all about the weather. Commando came in this morning with tales of blizzards on the way home from work. Not too confidence inspiring for the walk to work for me. It was, he said, quite strange, one minute he was driving through a snowy tempest, the next minute perfectly clear. The saving grace was, it seemed to be melting as it fell but I still didn’t fancy being in the middle of either bridge when it started. Gigi and I had planned to walk over the New Bridge this morning too. Decisions, decisions.

By the time I had to leave it wasn’t looking too bad. My front garden was clear, but for the odd patch of melting snow that looked a bit like soap bubbles after a washing machine disaster. As there’d been no more Blizzards since Commando came in I decided to brave the New Bridge with Gigi. Of course, this meant starting with the Little Hill. The pavements were more or less clear apart from the odd patch and some sad looking melting snow men. Gigi lives right at the top and, as I climbed my way to the summit, she was there watching me. Pride made me try to keep my pace up and make it look as if a hill like this was no problem at all. Then of course I had to pretend not to be too out of breath when I finally got there. I’m pretty sure she sussed me. Still, she walks up there herself often enough so she knows how horrible it is.

There was still a bit of snow on the common at the top of the hill and the parked cars had a light dusting but both roads and pavements were clear and wet. Just before we reached the muddy green there was the most beautiful sunrise. There was a touch of slipping and sliding on the mud but before long were were over the bridge and crossing the last road to the office. We didn’t make bad time either, I swear Gigi is getting quicker or maybe it’s the cold speeding us up.

Work was more or less without incident. The book delivery had finally arrived so I had that to check, catalogue and stick labels in. There were also some carpet samples for Arabella. I had a lovely thank you email from the man I sent the scans of the old brochures to which was nice. He said it was more than he could ever have hoped for and bought back many happy memories. Hope he books again!

On the ship there are RNLI charity boxes for passengers to donate and, when the last cruise came back, a full box came with it. There was a phone number on the bottom to call to get it collected and order a new box. When I called it a very elderly lady answered. After giving me her life history she eventually explained that her husband was the RNLI collector, although he’d retired. She then passed the phone to him and he told me his life history before saying he would collect the box, pass the money on and order a new box for me. Honestly, I was losing the will to live. They arrived about an hour later and I went down to the car park with the box because they “couldn’t possibly make it all the way up to the top floor, even if there’s a lift dear,” where they both told me their life histories, again, while I shivered in the cold. Eventually they took the box, gave me a receipt and then made a real meal of getting out of the car park.

That was all a couple of weeks ago. Today I had a phone call from the elderly lady. She asked to speak to me by name and I said she was and I remembered her. She then went through the whole life history thing again before telling me they’d ordered a new box and what a difficult process it was because they don’t keep that type of box any more.

“I was quite disappointed actually, because there were a lot of foreign coins in it,” she went on to say.
“It did come from a cruise ship,” I told her, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. I think I may have fallen asleep at one point when she was talking.
“There was only eighteen pounds in English money, one five pound note……” and she gave me a break down of exactly what the eighteen pounds was made up of. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with all the foreign money?”
“I think if you take it to the bank they’ll change it for you,” I said.
“Well, it’s a lot of trouble to go to.”
Grrr. To think, I’m probably going to have this all over again when the next box comes back. Maybe we should support a different charity.

There was another little flurry of snow this afternoon but it was dry for the walk home. Tonight I took the Big Bridge. I can’t wait for the lighter evenings, all this walking in the dark is getting boring. It also means I can’t take any interesting short cuts or diversions because they’re invariably dark and badly lit. Spring can’t come quick enough for me.
Rachel was coming to cut my hair tonight so I had to crack on with eating my dinner as soon as I got in. We always talk for ages and I’d have been starving if I left it until she’d finished and gone home.

Surprisingly she turned up exactly when she said she would, normally she operates on hairdresser time which is about an hour behind the rest of the world but having a baby must have shifted her clock. As usual we spent a lot more time chatting than hair cutting, I saw the latest photos of baby Tommy, heard how the twins are getting on at school, lots of girly talk. Somewhere in the middle of it she cut my hair.
“What am I doing this time?” She asked.
“Whatever. You know it does what it wants no matter what you do to it.”
“They say dogs are supposed to be like their owners, I think hair is too.”
“What, I do what I want no matter what?”
“Yeah, and a little bit wild, a little bit out of control.”
She knows me so well! We’ve been doing the same routine since CJ was a baby, through births, marriages, divorces, deaths and many, many different hair styles. I can’t imagine anyone else cutting my hair.

The only trouble with having my hair cut at home is having to clear up the hair afterwards. When you go to a salon there’s someone to do it for you. Commando rang me when I got in from work to tell me I’d have to put newspaper down because he had the Dyson box thing that collects the dirt (I’m so technical) at work to clean it so I wouldn’t be able to use it. Putting newspaper down wouldn’t have been a problem but Commando had emptied the recycling bag yesterday so I had to go out in the dark in my slippers to the bin and rummage around until I found one. Why is nothing ever easy?

To be honest, I don’t have much to do with the Dyson, it’s Commando’s baby, in fact I have trouble remembering how to switch it on. I’ll never live down the time, a few years ago, when Commando rang after I’d had my hair cut.
“Did you clean the hair up?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, feeling quite miffed that he’d think I’d just leave it.
“How?”
“With the Dyson. I do know how to use it you know,” I didn’t tell him how long it had taken to work out how but still…
“But I’ve got the box at work to clean it! All you’ve done is suck up all the hair and spray it round the room! How could you not notice?”
He was quite cross. Just goes to show how much attention I pay to the blasted thing. To think, I’d been quite proud of myself for finally getting it to work as well.