Category Archives: General

Blogberry

I have been very remiss in my blogging of late, (largely) for 3 reasons: I went on holiday to Mozambique, my Blackberry crashed and I’m now not going into the office in the morning traffic (which I was using as blog time on my phone).

The getaway to Maputo wasn’t as anticipated, with our ‘fun in the sun’ style island daytrip getaway plans thwarted by dreary overcastness. We instead spent Saturday exploring the city and were disappointed to see how derelict it is, with spotty reminders of what its former glory must have been like. The locals are also a lot less hospitable than their counterparts in the many and varied destinations we have visited and we had to draw information out of hotel staff as if local tourism was a secret of national proportions. Nonetheless, we embraced the R&R value frittering away hours enjoying the lush hotels and their facilities, admiring the panoramic views from our famed hotel terrace, gazing out at the sea from Waterfront watering holes and ensconced in local frenzy in the city centre… all the while sipping on Laurentina (and the odd local favourite, rum and raspberry).

The holiday blush was short-lived and I returned home to immediate holiday hangover blues, finding that my Blackberry wasn’t any better than it had been when it crashed to white screen ( and wouldn’t even respond to an IT Crowd ‘turn it off and on again’ so I had suspected that something was serious, but had maintained grave hope that a weekend of rest would help). This had happened on Friday at the airport, while I was logging into Foursquare to try and get the not-everyday ‘on a plane’ badge – no such luck, crashed before I got there (although must remember that bright side is that perhaps rather have the plane badge crash than the plane itself!)

Being away without a phone was one thing – and probably for the best – but getting home to zero comms was very unsettling (sounds melodramatic, but for an obsessive communicator like me it’s like losing your left arm – you know that technically you can be perfectly fine without it, but ‘fine’ is a word you use mostly when you’re really not). Having arrived home on Monday night, there was no action to be had until Tuesday morning anyway. I took the phone into Autopage (phone in one hand and battery in the other) and was told that the software had to be reinstalled or somesuch and that it would take at least the rest of the day or might need an overnight.

The clerk said he’d ‘call me’ when it was ready. Oh yes? Call me where? He asked me for my ‘other number’ like it was the most natural thing in the world. I don’t have one. Said he’d call me at the office. I don’t go to one. At home? Nope, Telkom deems the area to not be ‘economically viable’ for landlines… because everyone has cell phones. I asked if they offer loan phones. Yes! (he beams) and tells me to fill in the forms, which he will then send to Head Office and they’ll call me and let me know in 48 hours if I can borrow one. Call me? 48 hours? Seriously?!

So I did what I should have done much earlier… I called my Mom. No problem, she says: she has my Pappy’s upgrade – a Blackberry – sitting in its box (as it has been for several months as they’re both petrified of the complicated procedure it takes to smart up one of these smartphones) and I’m very welcome to use it for as long as I need to. She even offered to drop it off, with lunch to sweeten the deal. Bonus.

The phone is a Blackberry Pearl, which has the old style keyboard with the 3 letters per number format instead of the QWERTY button-per-letter. I can’t believe how much I have unlearned in the last 2 years! I was rendered virtually impotent on this phone – and resigned myself to understanding that this was the most temporary of measures to see me through The Dark Time. Didn’t install anything, didn’t save any contacts and used it only for the most necessary of communications as predictive text clearly isn’t the forgiving type and punished me incessantly for being flirty with QWERTY. My blackest hours had become dark grey.

The Autopage chap had initially seemed quite positive that with the restore process, he’d be able to retrieve all my data, contacts and settings, but by the time I went into the shop a day and a half later, there was a deep furrow in his brow and the prognosis was bleak.

He’d had to reinstall the software 4 times to get it to complete the process but, even after 4 more quality hours sitting in the store (foursquare, four times, four hours, unfourtunate for me!) trying all sorts of plugs and apps, there was still no sign of my contacts. Eventually, I conceded defeat and accepted that we’d done everything possible and it was all gone.

The bright side? The clerk had ascertained that I was due for an upgrade and successfully processed it – even managing to get me a free upgrade on my upgrade! – so I now have a shiny new Blackberry 9300… that was super simple to set up seeing as there was absolutely nothing to carry across to it.

As for the lost contacts, I’m viewing it as a sign that the slate was wiped clean on, of all days, 1 September. I came out of an unexpectedly revelationary August with a new schedule and a new plan and, while this whole episode has felt really traumatic, the truth is that although this change isn’t as good as my holiday, it’s really not that difficult to reconnect with lost contacts these days what with email, Facebook, Skype, MSN, Twitter, email making most people a single message away.

But one’s phone is more personal; we have it appended to a palm most of the time, pat pockets feverishly when it’s out of sight and put barriers and locks in place to secure our content. I am admittedly a hopeless crackberry addict and have chosen to cell my soul, so to have a telephonic blank slate in a time of such contemplation for me is perhaps a blessing in disguise, willing an exercise in self-restraint and consideration of who I want and need a call away. A bit of a forced housekeeping exercise on who it is that I wish to maintain contact with moving forward; realising that my Contacts should actually be people that i do intend to (unapologetically) contact (irrespective of how frequently or infrequently).

It’s not necessarily ‘out with the old and in with the new’, more like out with the phonies, re-in with the valued olds and more discriminate about the news. Spread myself too thin now and the Spring-cleaning will have been a waste – as flippant and unfelt as unfriending, unfollowing, and BBM deletes.

It’s like pulling the PIN out of a grenade and exploding a mess of Messenger contacts; just retreading trodden ground and taking a whirl around the same old (friend) block. It’s about choosing the people worth recovering if there is a next time, which is apparently super-simple with Blackberry Protect that is pre-installed on the phone and backs up all your contacts and settings regularly and automatically… and which *everyone’s* telling me about, now that it’s too late! Fat lot of good my old contacts did on helping me with that one – the solution to all my problems was right there all along! – but I’m spreading the word to anyone who will listen to save them the trials i have endured.

The long and short of making a long story even longer, is that hopefully this September (20)11 Blackberry tragedy will do some good, and the crash will lead to building a plain and simple future. Viva la liberation! Viva la future!

(PS: Erm… Call me! 😀 )

Slipping out of Cruise mode

I have been away on an amazing cruise holiday but, as always, am pleased to be back in home waters.

The cruise was a week-long adventure in the South China seas, starting and ending in Singapore with visits to Thailand and Malaysia in between.

The format is awesome seeing as the ship travels overnight while you eat(eateateat), make merry and sleep, then docks in the port during the day so you can tour and sight-see.

The whole on-board cruise mode concept seems to revolve around food. There are several restaurants on the ship, both free and for own account. The 3 main eateries included in the cruise price are a big buffet canteen-style one adjacent to the pool (with first sitting at 6am and last at midnight!), a Chinese restaurant (that we never got to) and the Bella Vista which we ate at most often with a continental buffet and full English ticklist breakfast and 3 course set menu lunches and dinners. Several 24-hour terrace options filled the 5-hour chasm of potential foodlessness… As we found out, quite nicely with 3am baskets of chips and chicken wings big enough to have been sourced from small ostriches!

Day trips onto coastal spots are a bit ‘hurry up and wait’ being large groups in coaches with short temple(templetempletemples), local produce (cashew nuts and batiks) and museum visits (and the inevitable mammoth buffet lunch stop) being interspersed with the delays of re-communing and requisite drivetime between points of interest.

Was a great group though – really friendly bunch with none of the usual unwarranted complaints and illogical requests. Had such a good time that have come home with determination to get my ass back over to the Far East for my much-spoken-about ambition to see Vietnam and Cambodia.

Alas, haven’t gotten around to much… have returned to a swamp of To Do things – amazing how much can happen (in some instances and not happen in others, neither favourable) in such a brief absence! So, having covered the reacquainting with lost and reuniting with good over last weekend and having had yet another week slip by, I have realised that it’s become buckle-down time. Have to slip out of cruise mode and get down to DOING.

It’s August. It’s 2011. So much good intention but still so much stuff that’s been waylaid along the way in cruise mode. I seem to have flip-flopped my theory and practical. Have learned loads in practical workday life, but lost the plot with my PhD theory studies as a result; yet am taking a more theoretical approach to my midnight hours, having lost faith in instinct. It’s not all doom and gloom. I have made inroads in the immediate On The Table stuff, but am gravitating toward the need for a plan (end of month, end of year, end of next year, 5 year), then a corresponding action plan and then action.

And then (hopefully) happily ever after. 🙂

PS: They say that loose lips sink ships, but seeing as everything always comes out in the end there’s no point in harbouring the secret…

Boys are like cruise ships: they think from meal to meal, they can take you exciting places but as long as they offer the requisite array of onboard interests then no matter how exciting the coastal options it’s always good to re-embark, you want them to be especially stable when you hit stormy seas, and it’s always good to be a-shored that you’re their first port of call.

Happy Birthday Mickey and Malory!

Today is Mickey (“The Mousse”) and Malory (“The Cake”) Mallett’s 12th birthday. We’ve come a long way (literally) since that kismet encounter at the veggie market in ‘Maritzburg. Mally was an instant hit when thrust at me and sealed the deal with a nuzzle into my neck… And first sight of Mick clarified unequivocally that they were a matched set that only the most heartless human would separate.

Their trip to their new home (several hundred kilometres away) was made in a box originally designed to house 5 reams of paper but, when lined with a fabric nappy, made for a premium puppy pad, complete with cotton wool bed, dining section, reinforced water and milk dishes and a sort of u-shaped seating amenity made from a rolled up facecloth.

They were SO tiny, each fitting into the palm of one of my hands. Way too small to be the outside dogs they were authorised to be. Night One they were allowed to sleep in the kitchen ‘to climatise’, but before long they were in the en suite… and then in the bed… where they’ve slept ever since (and, in fact, likely are right now as I type this).

Mick was quick to take Alpha male role, swinging off his big (Great Dane cross Labrador) step-brother Clyde’s jowels for fun and taking his responsibilities very seriously by doing a full perimeter curcuit in the morning to check that all was intact and then guarding the entrance of the Big Dog Igloo to make sure that they were up and manning the gates (Can’t call it ‘dogging the gate’. You know why)

Mal was all about adding to the décor. Looking beautiful and improving the aesthetics of any room she was in, simply by being in it. She never fettered herself with putting any effort into popularity, opting rather to follow a simple hierarchy of her mom… and then anyone with food and/or hands to tickle her with. Knowing that humans are less evolved, she’s quick to help us out with a nudge to the hand to remind us that we’ve stopped tickling.

Despite being as tightly wound as Scrat from Ice Age, Mally’s lived a charmed life, making the most of every lap, basket and bed opportunity (and there is always one of the 3 on the go) and enjoy the wide world of nature… through the sliding door from the comfort of the couch. She has had some troubles of late (too sensitive to be openly spoken about), but her rigid high fibre diet seems to be doing her the world of good.

Poor Mick hasn’t had it so easy. He had an unfortunate interlude with a BMW early on and was deemed a no-hope case by the vet several times over his recovery. But he’s a fighter. And he came back to life as good as he was before… but sans an eye and with some very butch war wounds. As if that wasn’t enough, he developed an allergy to dust (a real problem when your legs are 5cm), which went straight to his good eye. And if that wasn’t enough, the ophthalmologist found a lump on Mickey’s neck on his final visit, so he went straight from his clean bill of optical health to the vet to be checked in for removal of the growth. Although cancerous, it was benign and again, all was well. He’s had one last bout of cancer removal (lumps on his head), but besides that is a very happy and healthy little creature, with an air of sophistication from his premature greying, earning him the new mickname “Silver Fox”.

They’re a comical pair. As intro to birthday week, I took them to the Golden Harvest Park on Monday with the SA Gills. Mickey ran around like he was a Labrador in a perfume commercial, ears flapping all akimbo in the wind, leaping each step in the long grass. Every now and the he’d be in the distance and stop stock-still, look around, realise he had no idea where he was, he’d look left and right, then leftrightleftright, then whip around, looking everywhere for me. Of course I was shouting and arm-waving wildly… and as soon as he saw me he’d be off again.

Mal isn’t a huge one for the great outdoors – although she does like to win and is Rudolph-like in her dogged positioning as the lead dog when out walking in the neighbourhood – and isn’t subtle when she’s had enough. When she’d had enough at the park, she found an open car and hopped in. It wasn’t our car. It belonged to an ominous group of very suspicious looking fellows. Out in the park. During the day. On their phones. No sweat to Mal, she hopped in the car all happy and waggly. And then jumped into the back as I approached, as is customary (she doesn’t drive). I was horrified and mortified (especially seeing as we’d just come from the lake section so her feet were all muddy. But the men said nothing to my barrage of apologies and nervous giggles as we played the usual cat and mouse with her jumping in the front as I opened the back door and vice versa. And we’re still alive to tell the tale so no harm done really.

There are just so many anecdotes like the above. I wish I could jot them all down, but who has that kind of time?! It’s so busy at the moment that I’m postponing the Annual Hotdog Party even (who can forget the first one with wall-to-wall mattresses in the garage floor so everything was on the ground and the big dogs could party with us, the Barney tableware and conical hats, the hotdogs, the presents, the bunting…. Ah!) We’ve been through so much! I hope we have another 12 happy years together!

Blogging the i and not crossing the t

In the (hilarious! must watch!) sitcom, ‘Community’ (perfect to inhale a season in a single Sunday), one of the characters gets accused of cheating when crib notes are found and the little circles she uses to dot her i‘s are the distinguishing trademark that points the finger at her. Being Community and not CSI, they didn’t call in a graphologist to analyse the script, font, pressure, content, copy (still not sure why copy is called copy when mostly it’s supposed to be original?) and it still ended all smiles, laughs and happiness.

Made me think about “dotting one’s i’s” in the proverbial sense. I stopped literally dotting my i‘s in my early teen years. Seemed like a wasted nanosecond to stab the page when, if correctly scribed, the letter was perfectly recognisable on its own. Clearly, I was never the type to embrace the curly hooded a, elaborate g and y tails, Pacman-looking e or who’d finish the word and then retrospectively have to go backwards to dot and cross, as one would do in cursive. Instead, my script represented my preference for the quickest and most practical output.

The proverbial, as always, is not as simple. Is dotting the i really about tying up all the loose ends? How much i-dotting is enough? Can there be too much? Am I the i? And is there such a thing as getting one’s t’s cross(ed)?! Maybe the broader answer lies not in the way things are written down, but from the clues intrinsically in the words present themselves in. Putting the i into words I want to write, like happiness, smiles, patience, choice and communication (a two-way street so it needs 2 i‘s). Keeping away from t words like past, temper, tantrum, teary, tacky.

I also managed to squeeze in a half season of Gossip Girl (on Saturday), where the sins and tales of betrayals always seem to be pegged on trysts. Ex-oh ex-oh. Yup, ex uh-oh. No good ever comes from lots words with ‘her’: either, neither, slither, wither, dither, disher, fisher, poacher, encroacher, another, the other, why bother?! Complicated and emotional scenarios where the secrets and lies could have been eased by making the illicit (with 3 i‘s, definitely a crowd) explicit (although still 2 i’s and an ex, so still not easy). Expelling the ex as excess and putting the u in truth and trust. It’s a case of needing u and i to build a bridge and communicate; deciding whether you’re wanting to put the ‘am’ into drama or family.

But that’s all best-not-dwelt-in TV melodrama and I’m glad I’m pencilling my future and not penning my past. I think the answer to a question I was innocuously asked yesterday is that I’d rather be a ‘never was’ than a ‘has been’ because in my world, dotting my I is not a ‘make the circle bigger’ affair. I’m not just jotting down copy in a cheap attempt to put my am into famous, but am working at creating stories that are quality and lasting content. I’d like to think that there are bigger and better things to come all round.

White Lies Bigger Than Us

I have been ‘in a relationship’ with music for a meaningful amount of time. It gets me and I get it. Or at least I think I do. It’s bigger than us.

I’m the kind of person that gets immersed in a band / a song / a lyric and often feels like I’ve found a song that speaks my very soul.

Recently I have fallen prey to White Lies. Being a fan of Ritual at the best of time, this latest offering takes on new levels of invaluable at times of turmoil and strife. Peppered with the right combo of happy, sad, forlorn, baleful, determined and bravado.

It’s a very chick thing to fall in love with the depth and meaningfulness of the lyrics, but am starting to realise that it’s a little naïve to think that the ‘signs’ were always there, but disguised as mere lyrics until you needed them; like the song undergoes some sort of emotional metamorphosis to get you at just the right time.

Clearly, sometimes the ‘advice’ is perhaps best evaluated in the cold hard light of day – especially when you’re looking to White Lies for the answers to complex questions. Is “gonna write your girl a letter / it’ll make everything better” really the answer or will that just stir up a whole new hornet’s nest, giving his misguided girl leverage to bleat about?

Somehow “You find some best friends / we’ll hold each other / and I’ll turn the bells” leads me to believe that you’re going to be left with just you and the bells, honey. And while you’re so busy turning those bells, hopefully this isn’t ringing others: “If I’m guilty of anything / it’s loving you too much / honey, sometimes love / means getting a little rough / this is not bad love”.

Besides the ambiguities that are thrown out for the sake of romantic clichés, to keep you guessing, make things applicable to a broader audience or just plain thrown in for poetic licence because they rhyme, there are the malleable homonyms, where you read into it exactly what you want to. Like is “past tense” meaning it’s history? Or like uber-tense, just really angry? Are the “headlights on the hillside” a welcome wagon or heading to gun you down?

But I still make space for the White Lies. Because they’re wrong when they say “There’s nothing stranger than to love someone”; it is stranger to love the messages you know are so obviously off-base. But I do love them. And I do enjoy them. Especially where it’s intimate and personal, like alone in my car when I can’t do anything but drive. Because it feels like “It feels like coming home to stay”.

And I sing the same songs telling tales of betrayal and deceit, of loves found, lost and thrown away. Yelling out how “I’ve got a sense of urgency / I’ve got to make this happen”, when all I experience is the opposite. And anyone who claims they don’t do the same (with their own ‘inner voice’ band) would be the delusional to whom I would say “You’d be the one to turn your back and cast the first stone”.

But it’s a one-way street and White Lies doesn’t hear me. Doesn’t hear my silly songs that aren’t lyrical manipulative merde, and probably that make me look more like a country song than an anthem. And so, because this is indeed Bigger Than Us, “I pray for tomorrow / and wait listening out for a reply”.

(… which i would probably get sooner if Harry McVeigh was still my friend on Facebook. Shame, the poor dear probably didn’t understand social networking when he set up his personal profile and unwittingly accepted my friend request. Sadly, now has deleted me, but if he hadn’t I’d expect that his comment on this blog would be something like:

“The only thing I’ve ever found / that’s greater than it always sounds / is this blog” )

I think i’m overdue for making a mix tape!  😉

Every blog has its day

They say we write about what we know about. Although recent evidence seems to point that way, I have to refute it as applicable to me from my current personal point of view. You can’t judge this book by her cover.

This whole blogging adventure has been with the intention of self-discovery in complicated and confusing times. Chucking things down on paper to get the mind muddle out, swirl it all around, maybe make a lucid story and tick one more thing off the Top Of Mind list. Embracing that the (virtual) pen is mightier than the (s)word – and that sometimes (s)words are for fixing, not for fighting!

I’d like to think that that’s a redeeming feature of being the new dog on the blog. At least I’m trying to figure things out. Giving it a go to see what comes out. Not that old dog that’s just rehashing the same old tricks. Challenging myself for new content to create something worthy to reward my good and loyal ‘owners’ with.

Granted, there’s something to be said for working what you’re good and experienced at; predictable rewards for getting the other dogs to jump through your same old dog hoops. But that’s not what this exercise is about. It’s not jumping through hoops, it’s breaking new ground. Doggedly digging and delving in my own mental garden to try and come up with something exceptional.

Something special and meaningful.

Something clean and clear.

Something definitive.

Something that makes people choose to read me.

All that said (by me), they also say that every dog has its day, so let’s hope that this new dog on the blog gets the business end of that old platitude sometime soon! … and if not and I’m just a good old garden-variety bitch, then you now know why!  😀

Blogarithm Bonds

There seems to be a lot of home-making activity on the go at the moment. People moving, extending, altering, renovating and trying to get bonds to buy.

While changes are always hard, I’m most empathetic to the people trying to get kick-started (again). The bond situation seems to be getting better, but is still quite dire. Futures balancing in the say-so of bankers who seem to be making decisions based on rules rather than context or logic. The principles are nonsensical when applied in reality: they’ll grant 80% of R1m, so they’ll happily give you R800k… unless you ask them for the R800k in which case they’ll only give you 80% of that! … and who has those kinds of deposits hanging around gathering dust?!

‘Spose the bottomline life lesson is that seeing as you likely can’t change the banker’s decision tree and you’re having to find the extra 20% to contribute anyway, you might as well stretch yourself and get what you really want. Give more to get exponentially more. Be the (exponent) power in the logarithm that makes the fixed base number bigger and better. Give it your all and invest in your future happiness, keeping in perspective that the bonding still accounts for the lion’s share 80%.

And maybe, in an optimistic and improving world, seeing your word as your bond and your enthusiasm as your commitment will be the gateway to being met at least halfway.

Getting blogged down in the mess

I had made myself an informal mental commitment to blogging Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings (capturing in the car on my Blackberry during the hour-long drive and uploading when I get to the office). So it was quite jarring this morning when by the time I got into the car, I still had no clue of what to talk about. In Week 2. Out of ideas. Already?!

Sure, I could run through colourful anecdotal accounts of the adventures and misadventures of the weekend… But I’m not sure that would be compelling enough reading… And might soon result in a dwindling number of accomplices! So I resigned myself to putting the blog on hold and reviewing my contribution to the Monday Management Meeting instead.

We had recently changed the format from a feedback session to a forward-focused planning session. Each person notes on the whiteboard the list of things they need to achieve in the week, allocating activities to each project, with an associated amount of time it will take and/or time lapses before it can take place. Then interdependencies are noted by drawing lines between activities showing who they affect… and there we have it: the weekly ‘mess’.

Activities are then slotted into a single combined schedule, divided into daily blocks of mornings and afternoons and presto! Everyone has a plan for themselves for the week and knows what everyone else is doing, expecting and where they have gaps to accommodate ad hocs. The plan is pinned to the board in the open plan and any changes are then just a quick discussion between those involved and scribbling the alteration into an open slot.

So simple. So clear. And we’ve cut the length of the meeting in half and added team context and goal relevance for the full week ahead.

Would be awesome to do something similar for one’s personal life ‘mess’. Putting a bit of thought into what’s on your personal agenda, consciously jotting down your plans and intentions. Communicating your needs so that choices are considered and considerate. Reviewing the last week to see what still needs to be carried over and what can be considered ‘done’ and put to rest for good. Slotting things into the me/you/us compartments, deciding who else fits where in the mess and bedding down a combined course of action. Full disclosure and honestly ranked priorities so that the mapped path is realistic. The unknowns cause confusion, the confusion causes tension and tension creates a world of complication, where molehill details become mountains.

A dude I used to work with had the saying “feedback is the breakfast of champions.” I (now) reckon that feedback is too late. Can’t change what’s already happened. It should be the 20 in life’s 80/20. Proactivity’s the real winner. Offer information openly. Make plans and stick to them. Build a reliable track record and exceptions will be better received. More of the KISS’ing and less of the mess.

If dogs had blogs

Imagine the secrets they would tell!

There’d be a fair share of ‘Rags To Riches’ storylines, like “From Alexandra Dog to Top Dog at Cain Castle – The Lola Cain Story” or “I Used To Have A Little, Now I Have A Blog, I’m Just Billy From The Blog” and perhaps Lucky Gill’s life-story written under his nom de plume (which, having not been taught French at the SPCA, he’ll assume to be translated as his ‘other side of the nametag’), as Richard 082(something) and some more self-indulgent one-dog blogs (Kahlua’s Gill’s “Do(g)minating Lapland”, “There’s only one eye in Mickey… and it’s usually closed” etc)

But on the whole, once the Eliza Doglittle tales are told, there’s surely not a whole lot for them to say about themselves.

“Woke up. Well, more accurately, Human woke me up and ousted me from lovely warm bed to have breakfast. Chunks and mince. Again. Went through the ritual farewells (“Be a good girl and stay”? Like, where else am I going to go?!) and used the new dogdoor flap – that was pretty cool – to get outside to nap in the sun. And stayed there all day til Human came back”. Same everyday.

They rely on their humans for threads of colour in their lives… and there’d surely be a fair amount of ‘tell all’ blogs from the more highly-strung emo dogs.

“Dear Dogblog, It’s me, Malory. The Humans brought that big blonde dog here. Again. I really don’t know what they see in her – she’s all legs and ears! The new one’s not so bad, but that shade of orange?! Didn’t know we came in that shade… And all that messy saliva in the car?! Soooo embarrassing. That SPCA place they came from must be a special needs school since they’ve clearly never been taught that we’re only ‘sposed to drool for food, when Pavlova rings a bell. I think it’s time I take matters into my own paws and remind the Home Owners Ass(ociation) that this is a 2 Dog Per House complex! Am off to shout at the gate, Toodles!”

Of course, it’s all fantasy. Dogs are much simpler. They sleep when nothing’s happening, they’re quite uncategorical that their human is the centre of their world and they’re not afraid to demonstrate their unconditional love given the slightest of opportunities. They fiercely protect their territory and have every faith that they will be looked after, rewarded and loved in return. They’re not controlled communicators. They don’t have to gather thoughts and articulate eloquently. They sense threats and invasion of territory and shout about it right then and there. Get it out, do something about it, try and make a change right! …and hope the Human hears, understands and takes desired action.

On the converse though, sometimes to bark is worse than to write. Imagine if Malory was Malory-Anne Frankfurter and she was in the wartime attic. Then maybe not so great to be all shouty and “Mom! Mom! The Germans are coming! Mom! Mom! Mom!” (with Mickey in tow shouting “What? What? WHAT?!” as usual). 😀

Neighbourhood blogwatch

So I started yesterday off well. Moving from Monday mourning to Tuesday morning with a skip in my step and bright and sunny disposition to match the promise of a warm day (enough so to warrant skipping the ‘reach for the sky’ jersey exercise with the dogs, which always leaves Mally so sheepish in her garish orange harlequin number and Moose so comical in his red Sponge Bob ensemble) and ready to head off to earn the daily bread (no striking for me – no collective to do the “give US this day OUR daily bread” thing with!).

… And so, with an “I owe, I owe, it’s off to work I…” went.

A good day, making solid progress on a project that am working on with a great friend and intermittent colleague.

Headed for home to rest my weary as(s)hes. Only to have my house alarm set off on my re-entry to Blue House. Starting a whole new mission.

The procedure is supposed to be: activation –> ADT call centre calls –> give password to deactivate; wrong or no password and they send patrol to you. I hadn’t been using the alarm until recently because I wasn’t living at the house and there were repeated false alarms (now believed to be a spider making a nest of one of the passive sensors eeeuuw), and I had never been allocated a password so every false alarm was a palava. So much so that the Home Owners Ass(ociation) of the complex are trying to pass a resolution that all personal house alarms must be with silent sirens.

Fat chance of that! The alarm is there to protect my person over my possessions and I place no importance in having The Baddies arrested for GBH (or worse) over them scarpering and spreading the Open Sesame to the other 40 thieves about not trying The Noisy House. (You’d think the same HOA who is budgeting Half A Million Rand for security in the next financial year would get this!)

So, the alarm goes off… And nothing…

No call. No complex guard. No ADT patroller.

This irks me. I have just had the system upgraded to secure the extensions and alterations, spent a great deal of time describing my needs, comings and goings and entry, exit and at home requirements to the technician setting the keypad. Now I can’t come in via the garage interleading door – likely the 99% of the time primary access – without having the alarm scream at me?! I think not.

Incensed at the call centre not calling me (when I had a shiny new password all ready to show off), I called them.

I hung up after FIVE MINUTES.

What if it was an intruder?

Tried again, same story.

Have now posted a ‘please call me on their website’. And still nothing.

This from a company that vigorously communicates at me, sending me smses at 7 on a Saturday morning urging me to call them and test my alarm… Monday to Thursday 9 – 3 preferably (and they send it crack o’ dawn Saturday?!), sending me helpful notices that there is a suspicious car in the neighbourhood (‘A white golf with a driver of dark complexion’) and the a regular bland ‘ADT claims victory in Northriding’ self-promotion message.

I get the feeling that somewhere, sometime at ADT Head Office there was a meeting where they decided they needed a CRM programme. “Let’s make our customers feel safe!”… with smses and newsletters. I don’t want a blogwatch! I want a good old fashioned blockwatch! With branding emblazoned on the wall advising baddies that I’m secured (haven’t managed to get these despite several requests – clearly ‘branding’ was their strategy until they discovered ‘communications’), a presence of patrol cars so that the ‘suspicious’ resident knows better than to lurk on my road… and yes, call when you’re supposed to and answer when I call.

I’ll show them false alarm! The gloves are off – literally, as am ranting this on BB in the daily grind(ing halt) – and am ready to (g)rumble. Woe betide, they’d better call me today or me and my reference number are going to buck the system and call at 3.05 and see how they like that!

PS: the bright side in all of this is that same interleading door houses a dog flap for The Sausages, which they use with great aplomb, under the radar of the pet sensors and blissfully unaware of the ADT debacle. Perhaps, seeing as I did get the obscenely large one to accommodate all creatures great and small, I should side-step the complications of attempting to sort this out with the humans and rather try the tricks of the old dogs?