I'm going home. Back to Belgium.

This country has started to drive me absolutely mad. The house is almost ready to live in as all rooms bar one have been decorated and just need the final polish and eventual hanging up of pictures etc, etc.

I went and signed on at Crewe's wonderful Job Centre where it seems to be cool to be seen hanging outside, covered in tattoos, cider in hand, dressed in a tracksuit while trying to keep a Staffie in control as you talk about how long you've spent inside. Obviously, the longer, the more impressive. I didn't quite fit in with that lot so decided to go inside and meet the charming, flame-red haired Wendi. I was pencilled in for the appointment as 'Zowie' which did, admittedly, make a change from the usual 'Zoey' or 'Zoei'. And I thought Belgium had problems spelling my name....

I followed Wendi, burdened with all my papers that I had been told to bring in, as she wobbled slowly to her desk.

"Right," she started, "What is your full name?" and then proceeded to ask me the usual, mundane questions that I get asked each time I go there.

"Have you got a Form 301?"

A blank cloud loomed over me as I wondered what on earth this could be. A fine? A speeding ticket?

"No, but I have brought in everything that they told me to bring in when I called Chester. Some is in French and some in Flemish - but I was told that that wouldn't be a problem as you have translators here."

Wendi studied the papers and slowly looked up at me and gave me a smile that meant, quite evidently that she wanted to say "like fuck we have" but instead chose to say "I'll take copies of these, if that's alright with you?" After about an hour of going through the papers that I had previously filled in, stating my address and wish to receive corresspondence there (errr.....where else?), my marital status, lack of dependent children, bank account, address (again), vital statistics and so on, I signed the papers, was told to sign on the next day and would be told how much JSA (Job Seeker's Allowance) I'd be entitled to within the next 2 weeks.

I signed on again but had still not received this mysterious letter from Chester and so, after having been told at the Job Centre that I wasn't entitled to anything, decided to make a few calls of my own. After having called the third number given by numerous people at numerous other numbers, it appears that I should be in possession of a U1 form proving that I was in the Belgium system when in Belgium.

The following day, I received a letter telling me that I was not eligible for JSA. No reason was given at all, just the fact that I am not, apparently, eligible for JSA. The letter was sent to.....Richard's.

Not the address that I put down on the papers that I filled in.

I decided to call the number given on the letter to ask why I am not eligible for JSA, simply to see what explanation they would give me.

"You need an U2 form."
"U2? What about the U1?"
"You need to provide an U2 form by next Friday."
"Belgian post is very slow, you know."
"You also need a letter giving you authorisation to seek work in this country."
"But I'm an EU National - surely I can WORK in this country?"
"No, I am sorry, but I'm reading by the guidelines and you definitely need this letter."
"And where do I get this letter from?"
"Oh, I'm sorry - I can't help you there."

I have carried on looking for work but have made it clear for my adviser that I really shouldn't be as I don't have this letter of authorisation from....well, your guess is as good as mine.

And then I went and called Belgium today for my U2 form.

Several pounds poorer and after dealing with a country which refuses to speak French - if you are a francophile and they're not - and I may be slightly closer to getting that U2 form.

It will take 4 weeks to arrive. If I qualify.

I'm thinking of moving elsewhere now.

Honey, May 1974 - 6 September, 2011.

Eulogy at Honey's funeral by Patrick Devitt (I have taken the liberty of substituting Honey for her real name.)

My friend Honey lived an extra-ordinary life. She died before her time and we miss her. Trying to sum up such a life is impossible. Honey could be remembered as anyone of the following:
Honey the Artist – who sought to bring beauty to world, who sought to challenge and confront her audience, to ask them to stand back and observe or to move in to see the detail, to challenge their own perceptions.

It was Honey the Artist, I met first in Glasgow in 2000, she invited a bunch of students to watch some performance art in some downtown gallery. I believe she even promised a free glass or two of wine. So being a fan of a free drink, I trooped along. Little did I know that was how I would meet one of my greatest friends ever while being sworn at by a German eating Bratwurst. We shared many laughs and memories over the years, this brings me to the second Honey.

Honey the Friend – my friend Honey was a firm and mighty friend, putting herself out for those around her. Her friend, Marianne, who cannot be with us today, asked me to recall one of her fondest memories of Honey. After a serious operation in Brussels, Marianne needed some assistance getting around, Honey stepped up and organised a rota of friends to come around and take care of her.

She had a habit of producing some unusual gift for her friends, including a jar of Marmite on one occasion. She had an unusual sense of humour and anyone who saw her painted car Malcolm would certainly agree. Our friend had a generous spirit and a way of making things happen for her friends.

It was as a mother that Honey really came into her own. She took great pride in her beautiful children. They are the very expression of Honey, her creativity, her joy and sometimes her sheer devilment. In her children, I see Honey’s poise and grace, her creativity and curiosity, her playfulness and mischievousness. They are the very best of her. She took great solace in you. You gave her great comfort. In each of you I see part of your mother.

In her eldest daughter, I see Honey’s art, the beauty of creation, a beautiful young lady from afar and when you get to know her you see her, like her mother’s art you find complexity and sincerity that warms the soul.

In her son, her little man, I see the playful side of our Honey. Whenever I would visit Honey, I remember her son using me as a climbing frame. You have such joy in you, and you share it so generously, just like your mother.

Her little Pema, who I am just getting to know, you helped her mother fight, you gave her the energy to fight, you spurred her on to confound everything she was told. One of the things I will remember most about my friend was her spirit, her determination, her sheer will – she was fierce.

Another Honey – Honey the Warrior. After Honey was diagnosed with cancer, she was not given long to live, she fought, she fought hard, she survived. She endured pain. She kept going. She made sure her children would be well cared for.

To those of us charged with their care, help them remember their mother for the strong and complex woman that she was. For the sometimes daft and funny woman she could be. For the artist that she was. Know that we, her friends and loved ones, will be there to support you as you help these wonderful children grow and develop.

To those of us left saddened by Honey’s passing, I say remember! Remember her joy, remember her Spirit, remember her creativity, remember the friendship she gave each one of us. Our Honey was many things to many people: friend, counsel, lover, mother, foil and inspiration. Our lives are richer for having known her. We each have our own memories of Honey, hold them in your hearts, share them with her children, share them with each other and in doing so remember!

I will always love and miss my friend; she was taken from us too early. I know she does not suffer anymore. I know she is in a better place, I know that she is watching over us all, especially her children. May you grow to be like your mother, true of heart, creative and wise, fierce and determined and always thoughtful of others.

Honey was my friend and I will miss her but I feel her strength and love here today, so we do not say goodbye but see you later.

Killing me softly.

I have been lazy and ignored this little corner of the internet while I carry on wishing that I win the lottery week after week - if only I gambled my money away in such a fashion, allowing me to get professionals in to finish off my house and landscape the garden properly. As it stands, the main bordello bedroom has been completed, including lighting. So far there are no pictures on the wall as Richard's taste in art greatly differs from mine. But I have had the fitted wardrobes done and although designed by a female there is no way in hell that I can hang a dress in my wardrobe. I'll have to hang them in the guest bedroom's wardrobe, when we get it.

Slowly, the house is coming together although it is still a bit of a very dusty building site.

We are getting to know our neighbours, although only by sound on one side. Some very friendly Polish people live there, or at least, there is a man who smiles at us a lot whenever he tends to his roses in his front garden. As he and several friends were enjoying a barbecue the other day one of the men decided to have a good, long pee against the hedge separating our gardens just as Richard went out to get the washing in. Even the Belgians, who are well known for having a pee here, there and everywhere, don't tend to pee in front of their friends at a barbecue.

Perhaps it's an English thing.

I am still enjoying my visits to ASDA and its little 'Vulture Corner' where I can buy some fantastic deals when they reduce the prices. I bought a £6 joint of beef yesterday for 44p and 2 trays of chicken goujons worth £4 each for £1 each. I never got such deals in my local Delhaize in Belgium so it's like winning the lotto here. Well, sort of.

Today we went to a Boot Market, and although I have been to one in Liverpool, it was fun. We came back with four books, a bottle opener, a leather bracelet to replace Richard's broken one and three antique glasses. Oh, and Richard bought a stack of ancient copies of the Daily Mail (of all papers) dating from 1952-69. I'll burn them next week.

It's back to prepping the hallway, landing and dining room tomorrow.

My back really hurts.

Go on Richard, correct my apostrophe's. Snigger.

Impossible

Richard: Zoe, I tell you something and 5 minutes later it's gone, hasn't it. It's like fucking Mission Impossible in this house, isn't it. I feel like adding "This message will self destruct in 5 seconds" after everything I say.

I do love you though.

27 worms for lot 116

The World Worm Charming Championships were, despite all my own preconceptions, great fun. We were shown to lot 116 and once the 'charming' got going, it felt as if a mini-earthquake was taking place. The entire ground beneath us was vibrating in a manner that we were quite unexpecting, and worms crept out at quite an alarming speed - almost as fast as they disappeared underground again.

But we didn't come last and we shall get better in years to come. If you want to join our team next year, just let either of us know.

We WILL become The Worm Charming Champions.

The bestest EVAH.



Via Flickr:
....

Back from down-under.

I've been away again, atop ladders, under ladders, standing in hallways, bedrooms and stairways brandishing a steamer as if it were a weapon of mass destruction, which of course it is - if you are a piece of wallpaper.  I haven't reported on the worm charming in which a worm entered the Guiness Book of Records, although not physically, I don't think, nor the Wrenbury scarecrows, although I may get around to it all in my memoirs that you all keep begging me to write.  No, it's been 'all go' in the house and I think that I have finally had it for good with this wonderful customer service that all Brits in Belgium rattle on about.  Give me Belgian customer service any day; at least they get the point when I am sick to the back teeth of answering the phone to give praises to Scarlet, a telephone company that I was not using nor ever did.

But England?  Oh why, oh why oh why oh why didn't anybody tell me how much this country loves, no, adores and craves sending out surveys.  Since I arrived here at the end of April this year I appear to have spent at least 28 days filling out absolutely pointless surveys that do not improve the service that you may have received - or in some cases, not even received.

Let's see where it all started.....

Scottish Power.  Well, they were so good in not replying to my emails and phone calls that I simply went ahead and switched to British Gas.  Scottish Power finally contacted me, most likely after British Gas notified them that I was switching meters and before they could even start asking me questions I told them that I wanted nothing to do with them whatsoever and would they please leave me alone.  For good.

Result: A+

British Gas came next and aren't they just charming?  They called me up, sent me follow-up letters to all the emails that they sent me and then confirmed again via text message.  Mmmm.  And then, before - yes, before, I am even using their services, they sent me a survey.  My first.  Of many surveys, it appears.  How was I to reply to the question: On a scale of 1-10, what do you think of British Gas? or even: Would you recommend British Gas to friends or family?

Result:  Pissed Off+++

BT.  Now BT really, really pissed me off in a major way.  Once I finally got a date for the technician to install my phones (the poor dear ended up having to call a cherry-picker to get up the telephone pole opposite as it appears that this house has been cabled with alarm wire, or something.  I wasn't here so ask Richard).  Once the mega-slow wifi and phones were installed I ended up being bombarded by emails - and a survey.  This being only my second survey, I thought that I would point out something that really angered me, such as the fact that the day after, yes, the day after I signed up for the world's slowest internet connection as that was all I could get in this third world country, BT started promoting this slow internet connection for free for the first four months.  Surely they would read this and think "Oh no!  Poor Zoe, who had to leave her home country to live here really has had a bit of bad luck - let's forward her order by one day so that she can take advantage of the great offer that we are offering and then she will tell ALL her friends too." 

Fat chance.

It does get better though.  For some reason, probably because my ancient laptop is foreign to these climes, I couldn't get onto the interwebs.  With some great help from someone at BT who knew how to operate a laptop, I was connected.  Many thanks, mate - but hold on, an email already - from BT?  Ah, a 'quick' survey to report back on how great the technician had been.  While I was doing it, BT called asking how the technician was, so Richard just told them that his partner was filling in the survey as they spoke.

Result:  D (even if I do have a landline and wifi.)

Hairdressers.  A 19 year-old who called herself a Creative Stylist, got the colouring more or less right but cut off so little hair and was even more minimalistic when it came to conversation, leaving me on the search for a different salon to go to - and a survey.  I didn't even bother filling this one in.

Result:  D-

Currys.  Lovely people who sold me the World's Tallest Fridge at half the price and a washing machine with £80 knocked off decided to deliver the items at 6.39am this morning.  I was not happy and it's best not to say anything to Richard today as the poor sod only got 4 hours sleep last night.

Result:  Too tired to judge.

AXA.  I was with them in the Heart of Europe and their prices over here were by far the cheapest so I have stuck with them.  They sent me a survey.  How could I fill that out when I hadn't had to make any claims or anything yet?

Result:  Z

BettaLiving:  Great cupboards, excellent and very professional, but the two lads who delivered the cupboards had the cheek to ask us if we could take the 3 two metre boards off them as "if they went back with them, the boards would be knocked off their salaries."  So we have 3 huge boards to saw up and take to the tip, along with the leftovers in bedroom.

Result:  Annoyed.

So apart from 10 days in hot and sunny France at a family reunion where the wine was plentiful and the food was excellent, I appear to be getting on slowly.

Filling out surveys.

Am still here, despite the arsenic.

Sorry to have neglected you all, chickadees, but things are moving quite well here and we're both rather busy.  I finally have all my belongings out of storage and have only managed to empty the boxes with kitchen utensils etc in.  I was delighted to be reunited with my Hello Kitty mug - the last thing that the Twat gave me, so it holds a lot of sentimental value - although Richard isn't so fond of it.  Or any of my other Hello Kitty items.  He's no fun.

I had wood flooring put down throughout the house last weekend after Richard and I had ripped up the ghastly carpetting and Richard had removed the skirting boards.  Some of the skirting boards in the dining room were rotten so will have to be replaced which is a bit of a bummer, but the house looks improved already, simply by the new flooring.  Days are spent listening to Radio 2 as we attack the walls and ceilings, ripping them bare of thick wallpaper covered in even thicker layers of paint.  Even the ceilings are covered in wallpaper, so it is a slow process and we have only finished taking the paper off in the dining room - we have now moved on to the main bedroom, which is easier, but larger.  The green colour underneath the wallpaper suggests that there is arsenic on the walls, but I don't think that is a serious issue now.  It's not as if I have taken to licking the bare walls.

So there we are.  I haven't even had time to observe much of Crewe lately apart from some shocking fashion faux-pas.  A fairly large woman in her 30s crossed the road in front of us yesterday wearing leggings that looked as if she was wearing a pair of ladders.  The oozing cellulite wasn't pleasant to see and actually managed to shut both Richard and I up as we watched her cross in sheer horror.  We gave her kudos for having the guts to be dressed like that, but really - she should put them away - or give them to a charity in need of a duster.

Hermie is enjoying this warmer weather and has spent nights out for a while now.  I was getting  slightly worried about Hermie's diet as he doesn't seem to think much of English chicory and I never know how much he actually eats when outside so bought him some protein pellets which he loves.  I had to hand-feed him at first as he didn't eat them - but christ, the little bugger has such a sharp beak and has nipped me by mistake on several occasions.

I shall have to report on the worm charming event at some stage, as well as the Wrenbury scarecrows, photos of which will go up as soon as I get wifi later this month.

I think that's all for now.  Richard remains as caring as ever when only yesterday, because of the arsenic on the walls, he warned me not to pick my nose that evening.

He's all charm, that Richard.