And how much ‘screen time’ a child should have.
Feck.Off.
He’s my son. I’ll decide what’s good for him.
The Good And The Bad…
A week or so ago I placed an order with my favourite porn kitchen store, Lakeland. I love their products and their service.
On Wednesday I had a card through my door from Hermes Delivery Service saying nothing but that they had missed me and would try again on Thursday. No phone number to call, despite there being a space for it on the card.
Thursday I was home for a good part of the morning but, alas, came home from picking Adam up from school and found another card from Hermes through my door. This one had a phone number and a name and, more or less, said if I didn’t get in touch they’d try one more time and then return it to the sender. I immediately rang the number, getting a generic answer phone rather than a specific one, asking them to re-deliver Friday afternoon, as I’d be out all morning.
Friday afternoon I get home to find a third Hermes delivery slip. This one said ‘Luckily your neighbour at number 15 was home and we don’t deliver to your area except in the morning.’ So my lovely neighbour had taken in my box and I finally got it.
And so I went looking for a way to complain to Hermes, not just for the lack of phone number the first time, but the tone of the final note. That is not good customer service. If a customer rings you and says ‘I can only be home in the afternoon.’ you say ‘Okay, then I’ll deliver in the afternoon.’
However, if you go to the Hermes website you learn something. You learn that all Hermes drivers are contractors. And that they have no complaints procedure. Really?
So I went to MyHermes, made up a tracking number, as it wouldn’t let me fill in the form with out it, and made my complaint that way.
I also told them I would be contacting the vendor to let them know how unhappy I was with their delivery and to suggest they find a better company.
I received replies from both companies today.
Lakeland fell all over themselves apologizing and assuring me they would speak to their delivery firm and they hoped I’d give them another chance. Which, of course, I will. They are the Good.
Hermes fell all over themselves blaming the driver and explaining that they are trained but are on their own beyond that but they’d try to speak to them. The Bad.
Here’s the thing. I have a voice. I have a computer. I have a Twitter. Granted, Hermes has no social media presence that I can find, although if you search Twitter from them you’ll find hundreds of complaints. There is one local Hermes franchise delivery page on Facebook but nothing for the general company.
But I will be hash tagging this as Hermes and @LakelandUK.
So people will know: Lakeland is The Good. And Hermes is The Bad.
And Hermes? It’s time to come into the 21st Century, improve your service, and use the internet. I know a really great company that could help you…
Pie!
The Last Pie.
So if you follow me on Twitter you may have seen this:
Which is a pie that I made.
So tonight I did it again. And took pictures.
Veggie Tables.
To make my chicken pie, which is made with leftover chicken. Or turkey. Or, in tonight’s case, chicken and ham…anyway, to make it you start with some vegetables.
Tonight I had a swede (That’s turnip to those of you in the US. Or maybe rutabaga. Not sure), some carrots, potatoes, a parsnip and some leftover green beans. I also used a small onion and about four cloves of garlic. All of that, except the potatoes, was thrown in the food processor with some sage and made into a rough medium to small cut. Different sizes is good because texture is good! The potatoes I just cut into small chunks.
The chicken I used was leftover from one I made in the slow cooker on Monday. If you’ve never made a whole chicken in the slow cooker, give it a go. Just shove it on there with four or five halved and squeezed lemons with one or two shoved inside the cavity of the bird, bung the lid on and cook for around 10 hours on low. So.Very.Good. And even better?
Solid Stock. Really.
The stock you get. The chicken fat just all melts and combines with the lemon juice and the chicken juices to make this incredible stock. You can try making gravy with it but gravy is the one cooking nemesis I am still working on, so I save it instead and threw it in the ‘fridge to use in the pie.
I took it out of the ‘fridge and removed all the congealed fat and brought it to a boil. Once it was boiling I added the veg and potatoes and turned it down to medium low. I let it simmer for about two hours, until all of the vegetables were tender and there was a thickish sauce.
Now with added cream.
I then added some single cream (which is just, well, cream, in the US) and cooked it another 10 minutes with the lid off.
Meat! (And beans.)
While I was letting that simmer and heating the oven (200C, that’s something or other F. Use Google.) I layered the bottom of my pie tin (Don’t you love this tin? So old fashion. Lakeland. I love them.) with the ham (which, by the way, was also made in the slow cooker. On Sunday. Ham in Coke. Let me know if you want the recipe), chicken and green beans.
Now I have a confession to make. I don’t make pastry. Ever. I buy it. Always.
Store bought. Don’t judge me.
See?
Do you want to know why I buy my pastry? Do you? Because Angela Hartnett told me to in a recipe of her’s I use. If it’s good enough for her? It’s certainly good enough for me.
Anyway, after the veg is finished cooking, it is poured over the meat in the bottom of the tin. Then I egg wash the edges of the tin and place a strip of the pastry along it. Then I egg wash the strip and place the rest of the pastry on top, trim the edges, make a cross in the top and shallow cuts along the sides (This makes the pastry puff up more) and then egg wash the whole thing.
Place in the middle of the oven for about 30 minutes and you get…
TA DA! Okay, a bit burnt. Again…don’t judge me.
It was delicious. Again.
Poultry pie. Nailed it.
End Of The First Week Of School
One missed day due to fever.
Welcome to my son and new children’s germs.
Sigh.
Proving One More Time Why I Will Never Be A Citizen
Of the UK…
So yesterday PM David Cameron was on Letterman, who hit him with a few choice questions about British history, most of which do actually appear on the Life in Britain test as required to become a UK citizen or, apparently these days, get the Visa I have.
Cameron failed spectacularly.
As does my husband.
As would I.
And therefore I will never ever be a citizen of the UK. A citizen test that not even citizens can pass? Is not a citizen test.
Luckily I got my Visa before they required the test otherwise I would have, obviously, sucked it up and taken it.
But until they tell me the UK and US is at war and they are revoking all Visas?
I’ll stay as a Legal Residence Alien.
Thanks.
When You Walk To School…
You get to see the men unloading trucks in front of Iceland and get to watch the lift on the back of the truck go up and down.
You get to see a train at the train station and get to watch it leave.
You get to see how many front doors you can count.
You get to jump into puddles.
You get to say hi to lots of dogs.
You get to carry an umbrella.
You get to point out all the flowers and berries you see.
So who would want to drive?!
And So School Begins…
And Adam had a very wet walk to and from school today. But we did it. More importantly, he did it, with really no fuss. Despite being soaked by the time we got home. And cold!
Although I gave us an hour to go the 1.3 miles to school this morning, we did it in my actually predicted time of 45 minutes. So we’ll leave the house 10 minutes later tomorrow, giving us a bit of a cushion, just in case.
Of course, that 45 minutes includes the million years (hyperbole at it’s best) it takes to get a green light at Finaghy Crossroads. We probably actually walk for about 35. I kid you not.
To be fair, we have three lights to wait for, but the one at the Crossroads definitely takes the longest!
The nice thing about the walk to school is that it’s mostly down hill.
Which, obviously, means the walk home is mostly up hill.
But we made it home in about 45 minutes as well.
Including the 10 million years waiting at the Crossroads…
Only In Belfast…
Posted as part of One Topic / Forty Opinions via The Belfast Bloggers Network.
Only in Belfast can you overhear someone in the office talking on the phone, cancelling a meeting as one member can’t make it down from Derry today due to a bomb alert and closed streets.
And no one blinks an eye.
Being an Introvert
If you’ve read this blog for any length of time you may become aware that I am an introvert.
Many many people don’t realize what this actually means.
Does it mean I am anti-social? Not at all. I love going out for a coffee or a drink with a friend or a group of friends
Does it mean I am shy? Yes, in my case it does, but not all introverts are shy.
What being an introvert really means is that after I’ve had a coffee or a full day with my son or a long day at a client’s, I need to be quiet for awhile. I need to stare at the internet or write in my journal or just stare into space for a bit.
Simon and I are perfect mates because we are both introverts. And can find our quiet while being in the same room. Often after Adam goes to bed barely a word passes between us as we both recharge from our days. And the words that do pass? Are usually important, not just idle chit chat.
I’m actually having my quiet time right now. I sent the son and the husband to get the Sunday papers and a treat or two while I cleaned the bathroom. Yes, cleaning the bathroom is quiet time. Sometimes folding the laundry on a Sunday morning is my quiet time.
And a bath is definitely my quiet time.
Although I hear a key in the lock and it’s about to end!
11 Years Ago Today…
I was living in California. I was home from work but up at my usual time as my grandmother died on the 10th and I was trying to decide if I should sort a flight to Boston.
I had my usual radio station on. My favourite DJ said ‘We’ve had unconfirmed reports of a small plane hitting the Twin Towers in NY.’
I scoffed.
And then turned on the TV.
And then called my sister in law who was down The Bay from me, home alone with my now 12 year old niece, because my brother was in Boston for business. And we sat, on the phone, not speaking, watching the towers fall…