Perhaps I should lay off the jokes

I went swimming earlier today, and surely never has a blog post opened with a less interesting statement.

When prompted for my three quid to have a blast in the pool I reached for my wallet.

The receptionist is surely used to hesitation from me at this juncture, but today I had a legitimate reason. The £100 I thought I had in it (and believe me I KNOW when there's that much wonga in my possession) had gone.

I spluttered out “Is it okay to pay with a card?”

And she replied “Of course.” In her best 'I hate people that do that' tone.

This meant I spent my 64 lengths of the pool (that's a mile don't you know) wondering where the hell the missing £100 was.

Had I lost it?

Had I been secretly robbed?

Had I dreamed of visiting the cash point (it is something I regularly have nightmares about)?

Upon my return home a quick on-line banking visit established I hadn't gone mad, and that yes, money had gone somewhere.

I searched around the house to see if I'd dropped it anywhere, or if it was in a pocket somewhere.

But no.

I then retraced my steps to the extreme of visiting the actual petrol station I'd taken the money out from to see if anyone had handed money back in.

“No, not today.” Which may as well have been: “as if they would”.

Where was it then?

I must have dropped it.

Then after collecting my son from school, I think he sensed my agitation.

“You've not seen my wallet have you son?” I asked him, kinda giving my angst away.

I got an immediate smirk and that look of being prompted to remember something.

“Yes, I hid ALL. YOUR. MONEY. Dad.” my boy said.

It's not often I'm speechless, and I wasn't then either, but I did take a few seconds to respond.

“YOU. DID. WHAT?”

The mood changed a little, I remained calm, but the boy could sense he was in trouble.

We were soon in the house and my son was quick to hand back all my monies, to then promptly burst into tears.

“I feel horrible. Like I've been really naughty.” he cried.

I discussed his motives, trying desperately not to put words in his mouth, and affirming that yes, if he'd meant to take the money he'd be in big, big trouble.

As it was I accepted that it was a practical joke gone wrong, based on the facts that I didn't need to press him for an admission, he was quick to return the money from a place I'd would have discovered it with better searching skills, and he did claim to have hinted at taking the money last night, but I was distracted doing something else and more concerned with getting him into bed. Which sounds like me.

And it's quite possibly a case of my jovial nature coming back to haunt me. I'm not a prolific practical joker by any means, I'm struggling to think of an example of any physical trick I've pulled, but I do like to muck about and pull a leg or several (do we still pull legs?).

So I was torn.

Countering annoyance with possible admiration of his tomfoolery.

I'd love to raise a child of a bright fun loving disposition, but at the same time he needs to know there's a line, and a possible consequence for crossing it.

Hmmm.

Something to ponder.

How irritated, or amused, would you have been?

Being ready to love again

The very night before my wonderful wife passed away she told me:

“If I die, I don’t want you to be on your own.  I’d want you to be with someone else.”

It seemed ridiculous and completely irrelevant that she should make such an admission.  We were on holiday, and she was without so much as a sign of ill health, but yet only a few hours later, I was indeed left to face a life without her.

When she’d made this statement, I’d expressed not wanting to be with anyone else, and probably made a big joke of the potential ball-ache of trying to find another marvellous woman whose only flaw would be falling for an imbecile like me.

I really meant what I said at the time (apart from the flaw and imbecile bits), though I appreciated her rational, and think it is part of what real love is about.

For me a huge part of loving someone is willing them to be happy, regardless of the implications for oneself. 

She truly loved me, and it was a love well placed, as I loved her right back.

Since Samantha’s death six and a half years ago I have been occasionally quizzed if I was ‘ready’ to date again, and I - being the deflective dick that I am - would usually answer with ‘I was born ready’ or ‘why, has Martine McCutcheon/Britney Spears/Any member of Girls Aloud been asking for my number?’

Life in this period of time has been about focus, or of it not being available to me in abundance.  Very much a case of having simple aims and aspirations, and naturally these have been more about my son than me.

Putting my life – some parts of it at least - on temporary hold, focussing all I could muster on providing a consistent and happy environment for my mini-colossus to thrive in.

In all honesty, and in the more thought out answers I’d provided to timely questions of potential romances, I would say I’ve been open to the idea of a different partner for a long time.  Perhaps even subconsciously from THAT night before my wife’s death, and with her planting it with me.

I believe I know myself pretty well.  I might not be able to pick the back of my hands out of a line-up, but know what I am good and bad with, and when things are right or wrong for me.

There’s a mass of general advice for widows and widowers about new relationships.  Normally concerning themselves with the amount of time that should be left before starting a relationship with someone new, but I think such guidelines are for folks that don’t know themselves very well, and are meant to protect those who may make bad decisions, probably unwittingly for the wrong reasons.

“You’ll know when it’s right.” Is a cliché that fits annoyingly better here, for me, and I am sure more many, many others.

There definitely was a period where it would have absolutely been wrong to start a relationship with anyone.  Proved at times like when I was propositioned at a wedding and was literally left speechless and unable to articulate any response whatsoever such were my feelings of inappropriateness.

There was probably a bit of shock too.

But over time, while I wasn’t necessarily dating or even letting it get much further than a thought in my head, the theoretical possibility had been heightening.

Yet at the same time so grew my ability to find happiness on my own, ridding myself of dependence on others for smiles and warmth.

Seeing relationships as a possible bonus, an enhancement, rather than something I desperately needed in order to live a fulfilled existence.

Yes, I was ready.

Born ready, some might say.

Time to get smart with our utilities

I’ve a sister that works for the gas board, do you want to meet her?

That was always one of my favourite daft jokes, but perhaps it now needs updating to:

I’ve a sister that works for the gas board, I only let the smart meet her.

Or maybe, just maybe, I should drop it all together.

Anyway, back to why I’m writing this post.

Since being a homeowner - over ten years now - I’ve always been very pedantic with my utility suppliers.  Very anal about getting the best annual deal for my money that I possibly could.

However in recent times I’ve actually concerned myself more with my actual usage, and it seems the government would like us all to get familiar with the amount of electricity and gas we are using as we are using it.

Last winter I treated myself to an Owl micro-home electricity monitor, which was about £25.  I was mindful of rising electricity costs, and I actually wanted to know how much – and where – I was using electrical juice.

It seemed I wasn’t the only one, and I found a few others willing to share electricity saving ideas.  My personal favourite was changing my fish tank from tropical to cold water.  Which was a frugal move, not tight at all.

But now, with the government mandating that all homes will have to install smart meters by 2019, there will be millions able to share real time data and ideas.

British Gas is placing itself at the forefront of this initiative, and has already installed over 400,000 smart meters free of charge across homes and businesses in the UK.

What does a smart meter do?

Essentially it details, in pounds and pence (or in energy units if you prefer) how much energy, gas and electricity, you are using.

If you switch your cooker on the meter will immediately show you how much energy it is using.

Data is also stored, and these meters have useful menus to give you things like your day’s energy consumption.

It also means accurate billing rather than estimates, as these meters automatically send information back to directly British Gas.

How will this help me save money?

The Energy Saving Trust estimates that you could save as much as 10% on your bills.

By knowing how much energy things use, rather than being ignorant to their consumption levels, you are better placed to decide if something is worthy of being on.

You may find some electrical units use as much energy, thus as much money, in standby as when they are operating, digiboxes sometimes fall into this category.

I don’t carry my unit in my pocket, but have it in view casting it a glance every once in a while.  I know when my son has left the – rather expensive – spotlights on in the bathroom for example.

It also helps trouble shoot, so if the unit is recording higher than you think is should be, you can find the unit pulling more power than it was perhaps designed to.

Some wasteful habits I haven’t changed, but at least I am aware of how much they are costing me.

Don’t just take my word for it

This is a sponsored post on behalf of British Gas, who you can also follow on Facebook.