WOOD PANELS - PAINTING

It’s been over 12 working days since I left the world of employment and what was meant to be my period of self-enlightenment (POSE) has instead turned into a calamine calamity. Shingles is not something I’d recommend so if you’re eligible then please spare yourself the agony and go get vaccinated. I will be beating down my GPs door for a dose of Shingrix as soon as I hit 65 as there’s no way I’m going through all this palaver again!

If I thought my spotty nightmare was bad enough, I’ve also been fighting off a bacterial chest infection since the middle of last week. ‘Not shingles related’ said my doctor smiling sympathetically whilst at the same time running through a checklist of potential candidates for the Virus of the Year award. Low immune system was her conclusion. No wonder they call your 60s the decade of disease, it’s just one thing after another.

Of course, most people stricken with these things would be tucked up in bed resting or molly-coddling themselves with soothing hot baths, rum toddies or a plethora of paracetamol but not me – I’m painting the corridor.

Masking up the primed panels

Getting everything ready for a paint job

Thanks to a small sunny window of opportunity, I’ve actually managed to paint the corridor walls above my wood panels which are still a work in progress (a bit like my retirement).

Green Earth walls above primed panels

Two good coats of Dulux Heritage Green Earth velvety matt paint later, I can now see the contrast with the white primed panels. Looks a little too stark for my liking maybe because I made the panel sections so big.

Are these panels TOO white?

The colour contrast may have worked better if I’d made my panels more of a tall, narrow shaker style type rather than going for large squares. Still, we are where we are.

And this is where AI would have been beneficial. Imagine having a computer programme where you could create a mock up of your empty room then tinker about adding wood panels, paint, wallpapers or other decorative features. Brilliant!

I suppose interior designers may already have CAD programmes that enable them to do this but it certainly would have made it easier to visualise the end outcome of this project if I could have produced a virtual reality version of what I wanted my decorated corridor to look like.

Maybe Microsoft could invent a free interactive ‘Changing Rooms’ website for those would-be decorators like me if they’ve got a few minutes to spare.

Cough!  Cough!  Cough!  Time for a rum toddy in a hot shower.  

SPRINGING FORWARD

Hurrah British Summer Time has arrived robbing us all of that extra hour in bed although now I’ve retired, I can compensate for this loss by simply getting up at midday.  

Spring is the ideal time to begin retirement not only because we’re heading towards better weather but because you can wind up all your financial affairs neatly in line with the end of the tax year.

Remember – a prosperous retirement relies on intimate knowledge of UK tax rules. Get to know them better than you know yourself.

For PAYE employees, the end of March marks the 12th month of the financial year. For those retiring at this time of year, your final pay packet is potentially the last time you’ll pay National Insurance, Income Tax or private pension contributions. I say potentially because you may have left work but income tax is still going to dog your footsteps like a demented stalker for the rest of your days.

First on the Tax To Do list is to inform the Revenue that you are no longer in employment. This can be done easily via the Government Gateway website or App. Log onto your account, go to the page that forecasts your income for the new tax year then zero any salary estimates shown against your past employer.

If you are getting income from any other sources such as a private pension, doing this should trigger HMRC into sending out a revised tax coding notice to your remaining income providers which in theory means that your full personal allowance should transfer across in its entirety if you have only 1 sole pension income provider.

Should you be drawing down from multiple private pension schemes at the same time then the situation is a bit more complex as HMRC will need to split your personal allowance across all your income providers so you could see lots of different tax codes suddenly appearing.

Apparently, it is down to an individual to take responsibility for correct tax coding and NOT the Revenue. This makes it even more important to keep on top of this stuff because HMRC can’t always be relied upon to get things right. If your tax codes don’t look right then challenge them asap. Don’t leave it as tax matters are always harder to unravel with the passing of time.

Secondly, if you have not already used up the annual ISA allowance then max out your ISAs. Stash as much cash as you can into any ISA accounts you have prior to the end of the tax year because ANY future retirement income drawn from an ISA account is completely untaxed.

If you are cashing in any private pensions fully to fund early retirement then an ISA is where you should be depositing funds to avoid paying any future savers tax.

Thanks to auto-enrolment I have a small private pension from my ex-employer that I will be cashing in as soon as we roll into the new tax year. Rather than keep the funds invested in a pension pot, I have decided to do this because:

1) Too much volatility in the stock market at present

2) Mansion House accord forcing pension providers to move money into UK equities

3) Possible reduction or removal of the 25% tax free pension lump sum by the Government

4) Possible increase in income tax rates in the next Budget

5) Tax wrapper benefits from cash ISA account


We’re all encouraged to pop our hard-earned cash into pensions BUT what is not always clearly pointed out at the onset are the tax liabilities you incur later on when you come to withdraw funds. Let me give you an example to explain what I mean.

Say I have a small private pension pot valued at £4,000 which I wish to cash in fully. I get to keep the first 25% or £1,000 free of tax. The remaining £3,000 is taxed at 20% so you pay away £600 income tax leaving you only £2,400 towards retirement.

Suppose, I change my mind and decide to leave the pension pot fully invested and draw down regular monthly income from it instead. The same applies. After the tax-free allowance of 25% is used up, you will pay income tax on whatever you draw out every month plus you will also be liable for annual Fund Management fees on the remainder.

Once you understand the above examples then points 3 and 4 made previously become much more important. Should the Chancellor decide to scrap or lower the 25% tax free lump sum allowance for pension withdrawals or put up the rate of income tax in November, your retirement finances will be impacted.

My gut’s telling me that there’s a pretty good chance that in November, income tax rates will need to go up. Not just as a result of the current Gulf war but to make up for loss of revenue from green levies being moved out of energy bills and into general taxation, pay for cost-of-living increases doled out to politicians/benefit claimants, the scrapping of the two-child benefit cap and to fund increases in the Defence budget.

I’d rather take a small tax hit now than a much larger one if the above comes to pass. Once my private pension cash is then stashed away in its ISA tax wrapper, income can grow without future tax penalties being applied. Naturally, the Government will try to stymie this by reducing the annual ISA allowances further because the ravenous revenue hyena is not going to pass up the chance of eating more of your pie.

It’s a given that a cash ISA isn’t going to potentially generate as much income as perhaps a stock market investment will but then again, it’s a small price to pay for security of your capital and NO taxes.

Whoops I’ve rambled on. That’s what happens when there’s no word limits imposed on blog posts. Was there a point to this post? Yes. Choose your retirement date wisely. Whatever you do to fund your retirement always spread things out across multiple tax years to reduce tax liabilities and make full use of tax wrappers. Hence why I will be waiting until at least May before cashing in my small private pension.

BELLS & WHISTLES

Big is beautiful. Or is it?

Back in January 2024 I put up a post relating to ‘shrinkflation’, the popular practice of making products smaller yet charging the same price for them but get this – there’s a new sheriff in town making BIG changes.

Living in a consumerist economy where you’re encouraged to buy, buy, buy means that retailers have to continually come up with cunning ways to part us from our cash. And the latest trend appears to be quite the opposite of ‘shrinkflation’ because instead of giving you less, you’re going to be paying lots more for a whole host of unnecessary bells and whistles or larger sizing.

This all became abundantly clear during the Easter break when I was searching for buns and eggs. Something strange going on here I thought as I perused supermarket shelves.

For example, let’s take the good old hot cross bun. For the past couple of years, I’ve noticed that boring old hot cross buns have been transitioning from what essentially was a simple currant brioche into a stylised poshed up tea-cake baked in a myriad of funky flavours.

Ugh! Why can’t they just leave these things alone? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! 

I don’t want chicken tikka/bubble gum flavoured buns costing £2 plus for a pack of four, I just want the old-fashioned variety to slot into the toaster then slather in butter for breakfast. I recall a few years ago, these currant buns could be bought in packs of six costing a quid now the price has doubled and so has the flavour profile.

And eggs. Don’t get me started on these as that’s a whole new ball game too. Why charge consumers a couple of quid for a plain one filled with a few smarties when for the price of a king’s ransom, you can flog them a ‘luxury’ egg the size of a watermelon in expensive looking packaging? The goose that laid these golden eggs allegedly made of ‘chocolate’ but with less cocoa in them than a bourbon biscuit is certainly fleecing its nest from gullibility.

Buns or chocolate eggs are not the only products being upsized in a bid to part us from our wonga because the eagle has also landed in the laundry basket in the form of Ariel’s Big One. Big mess? Big money. Why stick one ordinary sized pod into your washing machine when for a lot more cash, you could just pop in a bigger one costing double? Guaranteed to clean out mud, grass stains and your wallet all in one easy flick of the wrist.

Weirdly all this tinkering about in the detergent world has annoyed me so much that I’ve reverted back to good old fashioned wash powders. One scoop in the drawer, job’s a good ‘un. No fuss, no additional scent boosters, big ones or sickly-smelling glopping liquids that can be used at lower temperatures. Much more cost effective, less polluting/plastics so environmentally better.

I’m not convinced that washing dirty clothes in temperatures no warmer than a tepid cuppa is going to shift stubborn stains or germs. It’s a jolly hot soaking for the other half’s stinky socks, crusty smalls or sweaty bed sheets.

Super scrimpers beware of these artifices designed to trick you in buying stuff that doesn’t provide value for money. I stopped buying Easter eggs years ago, preferring instead to purchase chocolate bars costing the same but weighing more. Hot cross buns freeze well so buy when on a yellow-ticket price reduction then stick in the freezer until the Easter weekend.

And a bit like Christmas, it's sometimes best to defer your Easter celebrations until after the actual event because most shops sell any leftover chocolate eggs at reduced prices so you get more for your money.  

Remember, big is not always beautiful. Big can encourage wastage. Bells and whistles will cost more but won’t always be better. Buy only what you can afford and always look out for those pennies.

FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD

Unexpected item in the bagging area.

Woke up this morning to find that Ana Robic had paid us a midnight visit leaving behind a brightly coloured gift in the form of a food recycling bin. Animal, vegetable or mineral? Looks like a character out of Star Wars.

I come in peace

Not another bin! Just where do the Council expect residents to keep all these recycling receptacles? At this rate I’ll be charging them ground rent for my driveway. Pssst! Keep it to yourselves but I don’t actually keep my bins on the drive due to lack of space but have positioned them on the footpath by the front gate. My view is – council bins should sit on council property, not mine.

In Spain, households do not have their own personal set of waste collection bins. Instead, huge commercial type dumpsters are dotted around a neighbourhood on the street. Residents are expected to take out their crap and sort it on arrival at the recycling station according to whether it is glass, plastic packaging, paper/card, food or general waste.

Dumpster pilgrimages regularly take place because no-one wants a bin full of smelly rubbish cluttering up the kitchen. I know this because it was my job to take out half a dozen carrier bags of pre-sorted rubbish to feed to the dumpster dinosaurs near my parents house in El Rincon each afternoon before going off for my daily walk.

Somehow, I can't see this kind of system ever succeeding in lazy Britain where even clearing a table in McDonalds after chowing down on a smorgasbord of junk food is all too much for some peeps.

I’m all for food waste collecting because we rarely have scraps. I don’t peel veggies except onions and in a household of hungry hippos every last little bit is recycled in our bellies. Food waste is minimal. Brown bananas turned into delicious ‘nana’ bread, skins can be chopped into small pieces soaked in water to create liquid fertiliser which plants love. Stale bread saved for the birds.

However, it’s all well and good getting the population at large to donate all their peelings or parings but there’s little tangible benefit to us other than that warm fuzzy feeling that comes with doing something that in theory is going to ‘save our planet’.

Chichester District Council have been given around £1.7 million quid to spaff on a food recycling scheme at the Government’s behest. I consulted their website to find out what’s going to happen to anything I pop into my spangly new bin. Here’s what it said is going to happen to my food scraps:

Food waste that’s collected will go to an anaerobic digestion plant in Horsham. That’s nice, a scenic trip through beautiful South Downs countryside. Everyone loves a day out in the country including food waste. Benefits of recycling instantly wiped out by the carbon footprint of transport emissions.

Once in Horsham, leftovers will undergo a miraculous transformation into one of two things – fertiliser to help farmers grow crops or energy to power the plant. Do these processes create emissions? Not a mention on the website of impact to the planet of this conversion process.  Methane?  Phew!

The Council then went on to say that if there’s any extra energy, it will be sent to the national grid to power homes and business.

Sounds great. So, what’s in it for me? I grow veggies in my back garden. Perhaps if I rocked up in Horsham with a wheelbarrow some of that fabulous fertiliser could be given back to the community for free. And what about all that lovely leccy going back to the grid? Any chance of some kind of recycling discount on my energy bill for contributing to the nation’s power supply? Don't be daft.

I suppose the Council will sell both the fertiliser and extra energy, pocketing the proceeds yet keeping our council tax bills at the now extortionate band D rate of £2,400 per annum.

In addition to there being zero tangible financial benefit to compensate contributors of free food waste, it appears I have to buy my own compostable bin liners for the small kitchen caddy. The cheek of it! 

When I lived in Bournemouth, the local council provided replacement rolls of liners FREE OF CHARGE. So, not only am I paying for this service out of increased council tax charges but it’s also going to cost me to keep the bin from getting skanky.

Are you calling me a skank?

Whilst it’s not compulsory to actually use the bins, I can see this being dismissed as an additional faff by the average household who certainly aren’t going to be too happy at shelling out continually for bin liners. I mean, who’s going to remember to add these to the weekly shopping list? It’s bad enough having to buy compostable poo bags for cat turds.

My name's not Mr Jinx

Saving the planet with one hand, killing it by filling the atmosphere with emissions and landscapes with non-biodegradable plastic bins. That’s the ridiculousness of green policies for you!

NANASAURUS

Now that I don’t have work to worry about, I’ve volunteered to look after my darling grandson for a week during the school holiday break.

The little munchkin is now a ‘3-nager’ as my daughter puts it. You guessed – defiant, loud, stroppy, bossy and with an appetite to rival that of a giant panda so I’ve already come up with a cunning plan to make sure the little monster is properly worn out at the end of each day.

This miniature dynamo switches from boy to dinosaur, notably T-Rex, when you least expect it. I’ve been warned not to be shocked by loud roaring, stomping or attempts to ‘eat me’ as that’s what apex prehistoric predators do even to their grandparents.

I may be long in the tooth but I can still do Jurassic. Nanasaurus has bought herself a few silicone moulds in the shape of dinosaurs to make some yummy treats for visiting toddlers.

First stop – Lakeland. Silicone mould featuring 12 mini dino-sized creatures costing £2.99. Perfect for making mini chocolate monsters.

Lakeland silicone dinosaur mould

Here’s how to rustle up the perfect Jurassic treat for your little darlings:

Place your silicone mould on a metal baking tray.

Prepare everything before melting the chocolate

Melt around 150g of chocolate in a bowl over a pan of boiling water (or microwave in short bursts). I’ve not used any expensive fancy cooking chocolate, just a couple of bars of the cheapest supermarket stuff I could find for this experiment.

Take care not to let water get into your chocolate mix

Leave liquid chocolate to cool slightly then fill your mould either using a teaspoon or by using a plastic piping bag with the tip cut off. I found the piping bag method less messy than a spoon plus it enabled me to get right into those tiny silicone nooks and crannies.

Tala plastic piping bags.

Give the chocolate filled mould a few taps to disperse any air bubbles and level off the filling.

Fill then tap mould to disperse air bubbles

Put tray and mould in the fridge for a couple of hours to allow the chocolate to set.

Once fully set, carefully push the little dinosaurs out of their silicone settings. Don’t over handle the figures as I found these melted in your fingers quite quickly.

Pop into a plastic container to store in the fridge until needed.

Just look at how cute these little dinos are! Almost too good to eat.

These look roarsome!

Planning to have a go at making a few with white chocolate just to see how they compare to these dark choco ones.

To make our Jurassic treat even more fun, I'm going to hold our very own archaeological dig by hiding some mini chocolate or cookie dinosaurs in a small box/tray covered over with soil (grated chocolate). Won't it be great to watch your little one uncovering these tasty fossils with a small brush like a real paleontologist.  Steven Spielberg eat your heart out.

Can’t wait to try this out on my grandson later this week.  

Who says grandparents can't be roarsome!

SLICING & DICING

Five weeks have passed and there’s still a war on.

Increases in wholesale oil prices have so far only trickled down to petrol pumps but it won’t be long before those same increased fuel costs are making their way into food prices so I’m slicing and dicing my way to victory.  

Here's my super trooper cost of living tip to help you all save some wonga during these hard times.

My ears pricked up at hearing a recent radio advert for cut price veggies being offered in time for Easter celebrations. Super Scrimpers everywhere - rally the troops. Now! It’s time for a supermarket assault. Breaking news - carrots, parsnips and swedes all 4p per pack. FOUR pence. It costs more to use a public convenience!

Not quite on the same level as liberating the Strait of Hormuz I agree but my price-busting military coup costing £2.24p has resulted in a mega haul of 2 kg of carrots, 1 kg of parsnips and 2 fat swedes. My raid also included a couple of bags of tatties (spuds) at £1 per bag. Doesn’t sound like much but believe me, once frozen this little lot should be enough to feed two people for a good few months thus saving the pennies if food prices go up.

Gone mad buying veggies

Root vegetables are incredibly versatile so worth buying for storage. Think roast dinner accompaniments, wholesome soups, casseroles, mashed up or even baked into delicious cakes. Yep, you can actually make parsnip cake.

Now for the hard part – the slicing and dicing. In order to reap the long-term veggie victory benefits, everything has to be chopped, boiled, dried then frozen.

Blanching fresh root vegetables is easy peasy and doesn’t take long so not much gas used.

Top and tail the carrots and parsnips. I don’t bother peeling them just give them a good wash/scrub in the sink beforehand. Cut carrots into slices and parsnips into batons.

Blanched parsnip pieces

Heat a pan of lightly salted water until it comes to a good rolling boil then drop in your veg. Take care. Splashed hot water burns like hell. Boil only for 2 minutes then drain in a colander.

Spread the slightly boiled veg onto a tray then leave on one side until completely dry.

Two kilos of carrots is a lot of carrot

Once dry, place veg into clear plastic bags or containers and straight into the freezer. Label and date.

Same process applies to blanching swedes except that these are peeled and cubed before boiling. Swedes are tough to cut so use a large sharp knife taking care not to cube up a few digits whilst you’re at it. I’m using this lovely machete purchased from IKEA for this, cuts through anything – swedes, chicken bones, red tape. You name it.

Blimey - have you got a licence for that blade?

Spuds can be stored away in a cool, dark, dry place for a couple of months. The Ancient Mariner sticks his in his garden shed but mine are secreted away in my understairs Doomsday cupboard. Open the bags to prevent the spuds sweating or rotting. They may get rooty but don’t let that put you off. There is nothing wrong with eating rooty taters, after all you get to peel them first.

Going back to my roots

Having slaved away all morning over a steamy pan of boiling veggies, I can now relax with a cuppa and think of how many extra chocolate eggs I can buy once Easter is over with all that money saved.

One for you and six more for me

Happy Easter!

RASH DECISIONS

For the first time in my life, I haven’t had to get up at the crack of dawn to rush off to work. It’s the strangest feeling I can tell you.

So, what have I done with my first week of freedom? 

Well…. Relishing the warmth of our feathery duvet for starters whilst running through a mental ‘to do’ list to keep thoughts from turning to what I would have been doing at this very moment if I’d been back in the office. Saddo. Let it go. Now!

Utopian dreams of early retirement have been rudely scuppered by an unexpected sudden bout of shingles no doubt brought on from stress at the thought of having absolutely nothing to do. It came on rapidly, a Usain Bolt out of the blue.

The irony has not been lost on me. Here I am on my first week off work and all I’ve done is rest or dab gloopy calamine lotion on a super-itchy sore looking rash that appeared across the top of my left booby and armpit. Hardly the glamourous life of a retiree I’d imagined. I should be painting walls, digging up the garden, wild swimming or hunting capybaras not looking in the mirror every few minutes trying to figure out if my buboes are spreading.

Is this God’s punishment for idle loafers who should be spending their time in productive employment rather than dreaming of lazing around in the garden?

Having managed to get an urgent face to face appointment at the GPs, the lovely lady doctor proceeded to give my bouncing Berthas a jolly good fondle before prescribing a course of super-strength antivirals called Aciclovir. ‘Take five of these every day’ she smiled sympathetically quickly ushering me out with a barge pole to minimise risk of contagion and so she could fumigate the consulting room before the next patient.

Shingles is no fun. Awful calamine lotion aside, it’s the minor electric shocks rippling across your skin that leave you feeling frazzled. Now I know what it’s like being a fly near one of those electric bug zappers. Ouch! Itch! Dab! Not only do I look like an extra from a zombie apocalypse movie but Aciclovir gives you the stinkiest farts so I smell like a dead rat too.

Still, it’s not all bad news. I have to keep reminding myself that whilst I might not be full of the joys of spring, I have officially retired and that’s a bully bonus in itself. 

Just keep taking the tablets and try not to scratch.  Dab me!

THOSE THAT NEED IT MOST

The nation’s in yet another downward doom spiral as a result of recent wholesale gas and oil price hikes resulting from Trump turmoil in the Middle East.

And naturally, the vociferous few are making the most noise to persuade the Treasury to milk the taxpayer cash cow into funding yet another energy bailout.

Instead of imposing profit caps to curb price gouging particularly in supply areas affecting households powered by oil-fired central heating, the penniless (and clueless) Rachel from Accounts is looking to target funding to ‘those who need it most’.

So, what formula or criteria will the Government use to work out who falls into the ‘Those Who Need It Most’ bucket?

Somehow, I can’t see it setting up a registration scheme to identify households with oil-fired central heating. Creating a ginormous spreadsheet to record such data would be way too much work or be deemed far too complex for civil service monkeys to get their head round. Without means of corroborating applicant data, this would be a fraudster’s dream, with oil-fired central heating suddenly leap-frogging other conventional means of keeping homes warm.

I ask again. Who exactly are ‘those who need it most’ and what is the IT that they’re most in need of? A job, smoked kippers, bag of coal, silken underpants, a capybara?

Without further qualification of this statement, it will only serve to rile up the honest and upright tax/bill paying citizens that have always done the right thing into another populist froth because they will automatically jump to the conclusion that the IT equals more money for benefit claimants.

And with Treasury coffers already stripped to the bone then it stands to reason that if money has to be found for those needing it most, it's only going to come from one place - the taxpayer.

Some benefit claimants can surely not qualify as ‘those who need MONEY most’ because I’d bet my hat that many are ‘earning’ more from the Welfare State than some of us are in employment. Handing out cash on a blanket basis to anyone already getting a handout is not in my view providing targeted support with the limited means available to the Treasury.

Besides which, we’re heading towards summer. Most peeps (aside from the elderly or those with medical conditions) normally switch their heating off around the end of March so the impact of any price increases is not immediate other than at the petrol pump. In a few months’ time, this war might be old news and wholesale prices may have dipped back to lower levels so rather than jumping the gun, would it not be more prudent for the Government to adopt the NHS’s wait and see approach before scraping the bottom of the taxpayer barrel again?

Throwing out money the Treasury doesn’t have to the whinging throng is setting a dangerous precedent. It gives rise to expectations that the Government will always provide cash in any given crisis. It’s not really the way to build backbone or resilience in a population that wobbles like a hysterical jelly every time what is deemed a national disaster occurs.

People need to adapt to survive and sometimes this lesson has to be learnt the hard way; through struggle, self-sacrifice, squaring up to adversity and not cowering in a corner. Previous generations got through the repercussions of war or much worse and it wasn’t necessarily by receiving Government handouts.

Far better to equip those ‘who need it most’ with the necessary financial skills or mechanisms to help build strength of character so that when a bad situation crops up, they can remain calm and look for a solution rather than put their hands out.

LAST HURRAH

By Jove – is that a capybara?

Have you seen these fugitives?

Samba, the mischievous rodent recently escaped from Marwell Zoo remains at large, the capybara equivalent of the elusive Lord Lucan whose whereabouts still remain unclear to this day.

On the other hand, I know exactly where my illustrious self is - contemplating the light at the end of the workplace tunnel which is now rapidly approaching almost as fast as a drone missile locked onto a gas refinery. Only 1 day left or more precisely, 3 working hours before I waltz off into the early retirement sunset.          Not that I’m counting…

And no, I haven’t changed my mind about giving up work. There’ll be no political U turns here. It kills me to have to say ‘this lady’s not for turning’ but for once Thatcher summed it up in a nutshell. Quick, mouthwash me!

I’m more than happy to be leaving my job for youth or robots or any other bugger that fancies spending their time sitting at a draughty desk pounding a keyboard all morning. I have other fish to fry including finishing off my not-quite-completed wood panelling project.

Leaving your job should be a time for celebration so cakes are in order. My colleagues have been treated to a selection of Mr Kipling’s finest, enough sugary treats to last the entire week. Well, why not? It’s the least I can do to make up for my defecting to the west before the statutory age.

I shall miss the buggers in my own not-that-bothered-with-the-rest-of-the-world kind of way. We’ve had some good laughs over the past 5 years but now it’s time to plough a new furrow, write life’s final chapter and enjoy some quality ‘me’ time before this knackered bag of bones gives up the ghost.

‘And now the end is near and so I face the final curtain’. Fitting lyrics sung by the Chairman of the Board (or should that be Bored?) as he went off to do it his way much in the same way, I’m offski to do it my way.

Goodbye old chums!  It's been swell.

PERSONA NON GRATA

Only one week to go!

There comes a time during every departing employee’s notice period when you realise that you’ve achieved the status of persona non grata. And without even trying!

You’re no longer invited to team meetings, included in group emails or even asked for your views on anything pertaining to current office practices. It’s as if you’ve suddenly ceased to exist or died behind your computer monitor. Truth is, you’ve become about as welcome as a tax demand or a dose of crabs.

Colleagues you previously enjoyed a good banter with no longer give you the time of day or stop to ask about your weekend because as far as they’re concerned, your team membership expired the moment you decided to jack it all in. People talk as if you’re not there, making plans to integrate your replacement without so much as a by your leave. Views of a persona non grata count for nothing.

It takes a lot of balls to endure this cold shoulder treatment but tough old birds like me have weathered worst storms. This is all par for the course on handing in your notice. Just gotta let it all wash over you like water off a duck’s back.

‘Nothing really matters to me’ sang Freddie and in these instances, he’s more than right.

SINKHOLE IN THE BUTTER TUB

Everyone has pet peeves, right. One of mine is unlicensed mining of dairy products.

Just take a look at this. A giant sinkhole has opened up in the butter tub.

Ugh!  Now there's potholes in the marg

I don’t imagine for one minute that this happened all by itself. The spread-drilling fairies did not creep into the kitchen overnight looking for a margarine well to exploit even though this might have proved quite lucrative given the sudden surge in oil prices due to war in the Middle East.

SOMEONE (and I know who because it wasn’t me and only two of us live here) decided to excavate a saturated fat super-pit, a creamy crater in the middle of the marg. It’s enough to curdle the milk of human kindness, that’s what it is! A buttery blight on the horizon.

F***s sake! Would it really be too much to ask for people to just smooth a knife over the surface without disturbing the fabric of reality? We don’t need dents in the dairy or ripples in the PURE pond.

Spread the blade nice and evenly. Almost regally. Like a royal wave in the back of a gilded carriage or armoured range rover. Should be a barely perceptible movement. There. Like that. Smoooooooth.

What to do about this aberration? To create an almighty fuss over what might be perceived as ‘nothing’ or to continue to butter my crumpets as if everything’s fine and dandy? Well, what would you do in my position?

NHS - TIRED OF WAITING

Regular readers of this blog will know there are 2 topics guaranteed to instantly rile me into revolutionary mode – these are Energy and the NHS. When these subjects are on the blogging agenda, look out!

Neatly shoehorned on the front page of today’s Telegraph between Trump and Tehran was this little gem:

Today's  Telegraph

It’s not a crime to tidy up information on a company database. Getting rid of unnecessary data, duplicate or defunct records is considered good housekeeping to ensure your golden records remain exactly that - current and uncluttered.

The tabloids are right to cast aspersions on NHS record keeping because when it comes to anything health service related, it’s not always what the doctor ordered.

Since the hand grenade has already been lobbed then I’m going to take this opportunity to add the view from the pleb on the street free and gratis to the mix.

I’d like to focus attention on some of the reasons quoted in the reportage as contributing to removals from waiting lists. Here goes:

Going Private – It’s no surprise that private healthcare insurance or treatments are on the increase given the length of time most of us are expected to wait before we can access the NHS. It’s completely unreasonable to expect patients to grin and bear it for months even years when pain becomes so excruciating that it begins to impact mental wellbeing and quality of life. Believe me, I know what it’s like to live with daily chronic pain as I’ve been doing so for around 20 years.

Pathways to care are as long as the Great Wall of China, many offering a whole host of ineffective remedies or self-care advice when what is needed are physical medical interventions or surgery to deal with the root cause. Wait and See is the NHS mantra. What for? Going private not only gives you a fast-track pass to wellbeing but does so in a way that is not a ‘one size fits all’ approach. What’s more, you don’t even need private health insurance because most private hospitals/clinics offer interest free self-funding options for treatment.

The other reason peeps are going private is not always through choice but because over the years, the NHS has been sneakily offloading treatments into the private sector (ear syringing/dentistry etc). Bean counters decreed that GPs should no longer treat or prescribe for small, routine ailments forcing us all into the hands of private pharmacies who are more than happy to empty your purse for you. Although sometimes this can work in your favour especially if the over-the-counter remedy is cheaper than the average cost of a prescription which is now almost £10 per item.

Expect this trend to continue particularly when care is fully offloaded into the community. Any ailment categorised as being a result of natural ‘wear and tear’ or due to old age such as arthritis or conditions for which the NHS currently see as having no cure are likely to be added to this heap. The list of what you’ll be required to pay for will just grow and grow and grow leaving hospitals to deal with emergency life-threatening care only. All routine stuff will eventually be privatised.

Death – A direct consequence of the ‘Wait & See’ approach to healthcare and probably the NHS’s preferred outcome since it results in a permanent solution to any further expenses being incurred. The House of Lords may be deliberately scuppering the Assisted Dying Bill but who needs a trip to Switzerland when you’ve got the NHS. Almost everyday there’s one story or another about some poor bugger who died as a result of poor untimely diagnosis by doctors ie Sepsis. Sad but true.

Technology – Can’t kill you but it sure as hell contributes to a digital death since most of us lose the will to live trying to grapple with the whys and wherefores of new online portals to access healthcare.

It wouldn’t be so bad if someone actually phoned you to ask if you still needed a place on the NHS waiting list but most of the time, your spot has to be re-confirmed using a URL link sent to a smartphone. The elderly, techno luddites or even those peeps like me who don’t want a smartphone fail to understand why they suddenly aren’t in the treatment queue anymore all because they didn’t know what to do with a text message or couldn’t respond electronically.

I appreciate the NHS need to find out if anyone’s fallen into the first two categories but generic texting is not the answer for everyone.

There’s something this reportage hasn’t touched upon but I’m going to throw this out there anyway now I’m on my soapbox and that is a move towards more ‘evidence based’ treating of conditions.

Many a time I’ve read reports in the media about some new drug, therapy or treatment for specific conditions which NICE (National Institute for Health & Care Excellence) has decreed is either too expensive or doesn’t have enough specific concrete evidence to back up using it.

I have to chuckle every time I see NICE mentioned because it’s the only corporate entity that fails to live up to its name!

How much ‘evidence’ is enough to warrant prescribing new medications or treatments? How is this ‘evidence’ gathered? And how long a period should it be gathered for before NICE can make a decision on whether or not to offer it to patients? How many more questions can I squeeze into one paragraph?

Everything ultimately boils down to money, something the NHS struggle to manage almost as ineffectively as their patient database. Health outcomes should not be determined by an ROI (return on investment) algorithm. For someone with a chronic or terminal condition, an improvement even by a small percent can have a huge impact on their quality of life, something which I feel NICE fail to take into account because they’re too busy staring at the bottom line.

Fiddling patient waiting lists is the least of our worries. What is more important is challenging the status quo to get speedy diagnosis and access to effective treatments.

PUMP UP THE PROFITS

War! What is it good for? Lining people’s pockets.

Since war broke out in the Middle East, the neighbourhood grapevine is full of nothing but chit-chat pertaining to the price of fuel or more specifically how much it’s gone up in the past few weeks.

‘Oooooh, it’s just blatant profiteering’ screech the already squeezed top, middle and bottom in response to headlines concerning the price of a barrel of Brent crude. It’ll soon be cheaper to buy said barrel of oil than a litre of diesel the way things are going.

Just a quick visual reminder of where money goes when you fill up your tank. This nice little pie chart taken from the Petrolprices.com website clearly shows the various components that make up the cost of a litre of fuel.

Breakdown of the cost of fuel

Before war broke out, I paid a visit to my local supermarket filling station and paid about £1.44 for a litre of diesel. Curious to find out how this breaks down, I’ve used the percentages in the above pie chart to produce my own table showing exactly who is getting what every time I buy a litre of diesel.

Who gets what when I fill my car

Unsurprisingly it’s not petrol retailers who are trousering the lion’s share of pump prices but the Government.

More than half of the cost of a litre of fuel (54.5%) goes into Treasury coffers so the higher the price per litre, the more money flows back to the Chancellor from fuel duty and VAT.

Savvy petrol retail companies can hedge against rising wholesale costs with exchange traded futures, a stock market instrument that allows you to buy an asset for a set price on an agreed date. Unless you are simply speculating on oil price movements, you can take physical delivery of the asset (petrol or diesel) at an agreed future date. Such trades enable buyers of commodities to lock in cheaper prices for items they might need later on.

I suspect many petrol retailers probably bought their fuel many months ago when wholesale prices were considerably cheaper so agreed there is a degree of profiteering by anyone who hedged against price fluctuations and is now using older fuel stocks.

However, if you were not smart enough to hedge in advance then finding that extra cash to fund supplies at increased wholesale costs is definitely going to eat into your profit margin meaning any differences are likely to be passed straight down the line.

As the Government are not going to forego their slice of the pie any time soon and petrol retailers won’t want to compromise their profits then ergo it follows that motorists must pick up the tab.

Fuel duty raises a huge chunk of cash, somewhere in the region of about £24 billion quid every year. Persuading everyone to drive electric cars is pushing down revenue generated by fuel duty. Unless the Government can find a creative way of recovering that lost duty from electric car drivers then it will no doubt use the war to make hay whilst the sun shines.

I hope the Reevester uses that unexpected bonus from fuel duty/VAT receipts to provide much needed support particularly to those living in rural communities reliant on oil fired central heating.  However, as spring moves into summer then it follows less folks will be using heating so I suspect the Government will adopt their usual lets wait and see approach before rushing to spend any money.

When you stop to crunch the numbers, is it any wonder then that petrol retailers are just a little bit grumpy at being accused of profiteering when in reality it’s more of a case of the political pot calling the petrol forecourts kettle black.

THREE WEEKS TO GO

A few drones appear to have flown over the office at the weekend completely re-arranging our workplace layout. Some might say for the better as magically the room visually appears much larger just by having moved a few desks and filing cabinets. It’s amazing what a simple re-shuffle can do to increase available space.

However, it seems the music on the furniture merry-go-round stopped leaving me almost without a chair to sit on. My desk has been shoe-horned into the ‘Billy no-mates’ corner, a space so cramped that I’m considering changing my name to Sara Dean (sardine). It’s a desk with a view of our customer car park since it’s now right by the window. Whilst that might sound idyllic to some peeps, having sat in a chilly draught all morning I can assure you it’s not. No doubt when the low springtime sun re-appears, it’ll be like working under an interrogation spotlight.

The plastic desk bubble I’d desperately clung onto since Covid gone. How will I keep everyone’s germs out now? Thanks to a daily cocktail of vitamin supplements I’d successfully gotten through those winter months carefully dodging all the coughs, sniffles and squeaky bum episodes brought in by the hoi polloi but without my plastic protector, I may as well be wearing a ‘party here’ badge inviting all microbes round for a intimate tete-a-tete chez moi.

Thank goodness I’ve only three weeks of viral exposure and chilblains left to endure. If I hadn’t already handed in my notice, this definitely would have been the final straw.

Mrs Fannypack's survival tips for cold office workers

YEAR OF THE WAR HORSE

Looks like 2026 is shaping up to be the Year of the War Horse now that Trump has decided to bomb the crap out of the Middle East for reasons known only to orange jelly babies.

Great film and book

Entertaining sub titles on the Beeb’s morning news reportage – HMS Dragon still docked at Pompey apparently waiting for a beautician. Hilarious! Clearly the AI subtitle monkey can’t distinguish between the words ‘munitions’ and ‘beauticians.’ 

I think I prefer their erroneous version because the thought of going to war without perfectly manicured nails, exfoliated skin or unwaxed upper lip is just unthinkable.

Profiteering at the pumps, inflation wave and energy price cap increases all heading our way just when I thought the UK might have been turning an economic corner. It’s another one of those unfortunate setbacks for the Government and personal finances - life won’t be getting any cheaper any time soon!

However, global conflict is no excuse for changing one’s plans. Prices may rocket but I’m still heading for the exit come what may. We'll just have to manage somehow.

THE ORDER OF THINGS

Arctic blast on the way. Cheapest way to keep warm? Get a cat rug.

Months ago, I bought a small brown throw on one of my charity shop trips to keep me warm whilst knitting in front of the telly. Bertie had other ideas and has now commandeered it as his own personal cat bed.

Nice rug 

Not to be thwarted in my efforts to keep arctic chills at bay, I’ve now realised that by draping the rug over my lap to create a human cat bed, I can mooch all his kitty heat at the same time as he absorbs mine. It’s a symbiotic relationship worthy of a Blue Planet documentary.

There is a natural order of things that exists in the animal kingdom and so too in the world of household renovations. The trick is to work out what that order is to successfully bring about the desired end result.

I’ve decided that my wood panelling natural order of things is as follows:

1. Build all panelled sections to the point that they are ready to prime/paint.
2. Apply two coats of primer, sanding everything lightly between coats
3. Mask up the primed panels with a dust sheet
4. Paint the walls above each panelled area with two coats of matt emulsion
5. Carefully remove dust sheets
6. Paint all panelled sections with your choice of colour using silk or eggshell finish paint.

By painting the walls first, I hope to avoid covering my wood panels with unsightly splashes of coloured paint.

What I haven’t decided is whether or not to paint the panels white to create a contrast to the darker green walls or to use what is known as colour drenching.

Colour drenching is a technique used by interior decorators whereby they paint all available surfaces in the same colour or in similar colour tones. Skirting, architraves, coving, pipework even radiators would all be painted exactly the same. Apparently having everything the same shade creates an aura of sophistication, cohesion and can sometimes make rooms look bigger.

Since adding a bit of posh was the whole point of fitting panels to the corridor in the first place then I will make my final choice once the walls have been painted as then I can assess the effect on the overall order of things using the primed panels to help make the decision.

In the meantime, just need temperatures to climb into double figures and remain continuously high so that I can press on with some painting.

FOUR WEEKS TO GO

Not long now before we spring forward into British Summer Time. In anticipation of my own ‘springing forward’ into early retirement, I’ve already packed the contents of my office desk. Yep, one-way ticket to the Principality of Cuppa & Feet-Up bought and paid for.

Mug, pot plant, a few framed family photos, a wrung-out tube of hand-cream, packet of out-of-date Lemsip, a collection of pocket-tissues (unused) and a diverse selection of pharmaceuticals to alleviate all those pains in the neck, hands and arse caused by sedentary office job all squeezed into a small cardboard box. Drawers cleared. Papers shredded. A zillion biros handed back to the Stationery Monitor.

Is that it? Five years of service and that motley collection of tut is all I’ve got to bring home. In fact, I would have qualified for a length of service award to mark the passing of the last 5 years but I’ll eat my hat if our disorganised management actually remember to arrange a certificate before I leg it.

Four weeks to go and if this morning’s anything to go by then the rest of the month is due to rapidly descend into headless chicken chaos. It transpires that my replacement is starting next Monday which my boss had conveniently forgotten to mention. In her usual last-minute.com manner she’s now decided to re-organise all the office furniture because that’s what you do when you’ve got new starters starting. Advance strategic planning notably absent from her management tool kit despite working in a busy financial environment.

As a self-confessed control freak being surrounded by disorganised numpties is my worst possible nightmare. Is it any wonder I’m heading for the exit? Had I been in charge of our team, I would have re-arranged the furniture weeks ago in readiness for staff changes. 

But there you go. Everyone’s different so head down, drink coffee and keep crossing the days off the desk calendar until month end.

FUNDED BY YOU

Independence Day? Not again!!!

The Beeb’s Royal Charter is up for renewal next year and already the emotional blackmail has begun. ‘Funded by You’ - a much over-used slogan continually reminding us that when it comes to telly, you’ve no other choice but to get a licence in order to watch it. An undemocratic unpopular TV tax if ever there was one.

Funded by you?  Wish it wasn't

I don’t know about you but I’m more than happy to pay for something I want. Honestly though, the bilge that passes for TV these days has me scrabbling through my DVD collection more and more as time goes on.

Being a saddo with far too much time on my hands in the afternoons, I’ve perused this week’s tabloid TV guide to see how many films the BBC have on offer. The data is bleak.

BBC 1 has only 2 films scheduled after 5pm (Weds & Friday) both of which are on after midnight. Brilliant if you’re Count Dracula but pants for us mere mortals.

In contrast, BBC 2 is showing films almost nightly but all except one movie are scheduled to start after 11 pm. Again, brilliant for Count Dracula or all those retired/unemployed/night owls but pants for the working majority.

The rest of the Beeb’s schedule is peppered with the kind of shite you’d only see on a pig farm. It stinks!

Why am I being robbed of £180 per year for this muck? My Netflix subscription only costs me £72 per annum. I want recent films, thrilling dramas or interesting documentaries and I’d like to see them before I go to bed thank you very much, particularly during the working week which means prior to 10 pm.

I also want choice! Scrap the TV licence altogether then completely re-engineer the Beeb. In my ideal TV world, I would:

Set up a dedicated BBC sports channel so that anything which involves a bat/ball/cue/dart/racket or other form of physical exertion are removed from everyday viewing and broadcast to those peeps who are genuinely interested.

Same goes for all that reality tripe that gets served up daily. These types of programmes only fit for viewers with the IQ of a bag of compost would be consigned to a dedicated BBC Entertainment channel and taken off terrestrial TV altogether.

I would also set up a subscription service for BBC iPlayer so that those who do want to watch Beeb programmes pay for it.  It would be competitively priced to rival Prime or Netflix and be considerably cheaper than it is now.

Leave a basic free terrestrial service covering news, documentaries and kids TV and fund this by commercial advertising revenues like all the other channels do. This new Basic Beeb to include social education programmes covering topics such as finance, investing, fraud protection, DIY, gardening,travel and wellbeing.

Scrap this TV tax I say!! Its no longer serving the purpose in today’s modern streaming society where consumers want to pick what to watch and when to watch it. No-one really has time to sit down all evening to view stuff even more so when there’s nothing especially good to see. Most of us just want to ‘binge’ when it comes to watching telly, filling our heads with a never-ending glut of soaps or serials.

As there’s nothing worthwhile on the box, the other half and I have created the Independence Day Game which basically involves putting a pound in a pot every time this movie or its sequel is broadcast. To give you an idea of how often this film gets repeated, there’s already a fiver in the jam jar.

How often is this film shown on telly?

If Independence Day doesn't float your boat then try the Men In Black franchise but be warned, you may end up bankrupt as these movies get aired more than Lord Mandy's baggy white underpants.

Since Independence Day appears to be the go-to slot filler on pretty much every channel then looks like our replacement TV licence is going to be funded by repetition rather than by you.

YEAR OF THE HORSE

Joyous celebrations! 2026 is the Year of the Horse, a kind of Chinese Auld Nags Syne. 

Quick, speed dial the 'chinky'. Whoops! Forgot we can’t say that anymore. Scrub that last sentence, replace with – telephone the purveyor of Oriental world cuisine. I’ll have Singapore noodles, spare ribs with a side of sweet and sour chicken balls. Don’t spare the horses though, I’m starving!!

What sort of horsey year will 2026 turn out to be, I wonder? Let’s see what’s in my fortune cookie…

I can predict the future

Will it be a Red Rum sort of year? Yay or neigh? By some peculiar quirk of fate, this load of jockeys in charge of the country might actually smash the gangs, boost growth and lower our energy bills in an unprecedented grand national triple win much like our four-legged hero did back in the 70s. Don’t bet on any winnings from this ‘acca’ any time soon says the cookie.

Red Rum - three times Grand National winner

My second cookie predicts a Shergar scenario where our once mighty ‘island of strangers’ (he said it not me) mysteriously disappears, sunk by a tidal wave of protests, pollution and poverty. No-one ever did find out what happened to this infamous nag. By the same token, no-one is ever likely to pin-point exactly where it all went wrong for Britain.

Whatever happened to Shergar?

And a third cookie (munch, munch) reveals hot-to-trot fortunes may well turn out to be a Mr Ed. Muppet Miliband wakes in the shower one morning to find that all his crazy net zero schemes were just a bad dream. As he soaps his nether regions, he wonders if the pits have re-opened, Government coffers are flowing with revenue generated from North Sea fossil fuels or Britain’s motor industry is booming thanks to increased production of petrol cars. Hang on, was that all a dream?

Trust me - I'll bring down your energy bills

Bollocks! I’ve just dropped a sauce-smeared chicken ball onto the keyboard. This is what happens when you’re lunching and blogging on the hoof.

These fortune cookies are so scrummy though, I’m just going to have to continue chomping my way through the entire box until I’ve uncovered a fortuitous prediction featuring golden unicorns or a sure-fire winner in the 3.30 at Kempton Park.

Mmmm - bloody tasty!

Happy Year of the Horse to you all!