by Monkles twitter.com/#/monkfry twitter.com/#/saramo
The following post was made in the first year of Shoestringonline.
| 24 Jan 2004 Discipline in Waitrose Took tea in the Waitrose coffee shop while Mrs. Monk checked out labels on groceries. On the table behind me a party of four arrived. Middle class mother and father, and two beautiful girls, one age maybe two (could just about walk), and a sweet little sister, maybe four years old. Most of what happened, was behind my back. One voice, the father, dominated what was said. He chastised the kids as soon as they sat down. “I WONT TELL YOU AGAIN, STOP SHOUTING” Not only was he raising his voice but he did so with a supercilious tone that I found most annoying. He went on scolding the children in this manner for some time, and I was finding it hard to concentrate on my newspaper. Eventually, the inevitable. The two year old starting crying uncontrollably. I put down my paper and poured another cup of Earl Grey. Both parents tried everything to stop the baby crying: reasoning was the father’s futile tactic, hugging and rocking, by the mother. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the father had his head in his hands. As I went back to my paper, I heard the father say gently, “If you finish up your lunch, we might just give you a very special treat….” The crying subsided and faded away slowly to a whimper and then eventually….. silence. The four year old girl broke the silence with the sweetest little voice….She said, “What kind of very special treat……..” “AM I TALKING TO YOU? HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO EMILY” Guess who raised his voice once more. And then some more, and then some more. Eventually Mrs. Monk joined me at my table. I passed her a cup of Earl Grey and whispered, “That guy’s an Arsehole”. She said, “I know, ……he could be a teacher”. |
shoestringonline.co.uk twitter.com/#/monkfry twitter.com/#/saramo
by Monkles twitter.com/#/monkfry twitter.com/#/saramo
The following is an extract of the first page that appeared on Shoestringonline.
| 22 Jan 2004 Alan Clark 2nd part of Alan Clark’s Diary is on TV tonight. Last week’s enjoyable episode did not precipitate this diary, but it did make me wonder if I should spice up these pages with a few improbable threesomes: Margaret Thatcher and Ann Widdicombe spring to mind. John Hirt was marvelous as Alan Clark. Such a naughty boy. Ran into John Hirt a couple of weeks ago at the National Gallery. Do you know, he completely ignored me…? |
when Shoestringonline looked like this………
shoestringonline.co.uk twitter.com/#/monkfry twitter.com/#/saramo
by Monkles twitter.com/#/monkfry twitter.com/#/saramo
The following is the first post made on Shoestringonline. Coincidentally Mrs Monk complained this morning about what she thought was the unnecessary pulling of cat’s teeth to make money for commercial Veterinary Practices
| 19 Jan 2004 Seamus Is Sick Part1 Seamus the cat is sick. Not terminal, but he does have to get his teeth fixed, possibly pulled. The vet said he doesn’t need teeth to eat. Excuse me for asking. New German vet sounded Scottish to Mrs. Monk, but passed Monk inspection nevertheless, due mainly to her willingness to clean up cat poop with enthusiasm. Sent away to administer antibiotics before big op on Friday. Pray for Seamus. |
when Shoestringonline looked like this………
shoestringonline.co.uk twitter.com/#/monkfry twitter.com/#/saramo
Seamus is Sick by Leslie Monk
Introduction
Before we purchased our present home, we viewed it, and also the four incumbent residents, two humans and two cats.
The adult humans who owned the house were pleased that we liked the cats and explained that one of them would be staying with the house and only one cat would move with them out of the house.
Subsequently we purchased the house and embraced the resident big fat black cat, and in time we learned that he in fact belonged to another household. A lady came searching for our cat lodger and we discovered that he was named Seamus. We handed over Seamus to the lady and said our goodbyes, but within the hour Seamus was back with us and in the house that he had adopted.
Seamus was happily boarded by the former owners and was fed a diet of fresh shrimp. Mrs Monk had continued to feed him but not with shrimp. Even so, he seemed content with the new arrangements, and had no desire to return to the other household where he belonged. One theory is that he did not like the other household because it had a number of other cats in residence, with whom he did not get on.
In time we got to appreciate Seamus and he got to appreciate us. We saw ourselves as foster parents. I spent more time with Seamus because I worked from home while Mrs Monk was teaching in school. Seamus would stare at me all day, every day for over a year. Occasionally he would be recovered by the other woman, his owner, but within an hour he would be staring at me again as I worked on my computer. I was inspired by him and even made up some songs about him, and recorded his sleeping habits and purrings.
One day the husband of the lady that owned Seamus came to the door.
“I have come for Seamus. We are moving,” he said.
I was obliged to hand over my best friend and on this occasion Seamus did not return. Mrs Monk was horrified when she came home from school. That night she was unable to sleep with the worry, but then it got worse. 24 hours later the owner of Seamus came to our door. We learned that Seamus had escaped their new home and could not be found. When we were told where they had moved to, we were not surprised that he had not made it back to us, since it was a mile away and would involve crossing two major roads.
Mrs Monk and I walked those streets every night for a month calling his name. Occasionally we would find a black cat on top of a fence, and get excited but in time we began to accept the inevitable that he was lost for ever.
We took a summer holiday in America that year and then returned to Leigh and got back to life without Seamus.
4 months after we had lost him, I got a call from the Cat Protection League. I was told that a very small black cat had been found, even though we had reported losing a big fat black cat.
We crossed the two major roads on to the house of the lady who found the beast. There we found a skeletal Seamus who immediately did a very slow figure of eight around my legs. Mrs Monk was in tears in front of this stranger, who admitted that she could not afford to take this barely recognisable Seamus to the vet, and that is why she telephoned the Cat Protection League.
We thanked her and got Seamus some professional help. The vet did not immediately reassure us that he would survive his ordeal, but in due course he was restored to his former stature, and back where he wanted to be
.
However Seamus was still not our property, and we would be tormented once more.
One year after he was lost and then restored to apparent fitness, Seamus went missing once more.
An old lady two doors away recognised Seamus and telephoned the owners who came over and picked him up once more. This was to cause so much distress, that we were obliged to confront them. We were not pleased with them and they were not pleased with us, but they held all the cards and of course Seamus.
They invited us over and we begged them to let us have him back. They turned us down, but twenty four hours later I got the call back I hoped for.
They agreed to let us have Seamus. Mrs Monk and the lady were hugging and crying all the while, as I and the other husband kept ourselves together.
Seamus would no longer be a fugitive and would see out his days with the Monks.
I started Shoestringonline in January 2004 and I began with a Seamus who was sick.
The Story of Seamus and other cats will be serialised on these pages, but if you cannot wait for the whole story you may read all about it here in one helping.
Seamus is Sick
I tried and failed to get costs for the waste of my time in challenging and winning a small battle with the white van spy cams of Southend on Sea.
The story of what happened is on these pages.
I made an argument for costs and put it to the Adjudicator who shared my argument with the Council.
The Adjudicator has replied to me on this issue of costs, and it is hard to decipher the gobbledygook but I had a go. For example the Adjudicator implies that Southend Council has made representation to him or her about my claim for costs, but this has not been shared with me. In fact the Adjudicator does not rely upon these secret representations by the Council and is happy to admit to inferring what the council might have meant had they actually said it.
In this respect the Adjudicator is not acting as Adjudicator but as the advocate of Southend Council.
If that were the case, this would be a scandal that needs to be exposed.
Therefore, I have asked the Adjudicator to send me a copy of Southend Council’s representation to them on my claim for costs.
Let us see what happens. Watch this space.
Southend have not said a word to me about this. Not a squeak. Not a Miaow.
The Adjudicator has spoken for the Council and made a hypothetical argument on behalf of the Council confirming what they might have said had they said anything at all. This concerns Cat Flap Charlie who is not amused.
The adjudicator wrote. “These are all areas that have been discussed in great detail in relation to numerous non-sentient items but not, so far as I am aware, in relation to a cat.”
I am sure my readers would not need to look up that word as I did. Non-sentient means that Cat Flap Charlie is incapable of perception from his senses.
In other words Cat Flap Charlie is incapable of making a judgement upon what might be fair and reasonable.
Cat Flap Charlie may not understand gobbledegook, but he certainly does understand what is fair and reasonable, when it appears in his food bowl.
Here is the Adjudicators Decision.
I have responded to gobbledygook with gobbledygook, so beware.
Here is my response in full.
shoestringonline 